Enough about vada pao, cutting-chai,
and the jolly ladies on the local train slicing bhindi
on their way home from work.
We're stuffed on Cafe Leopold, Bandra fair,
Mario Miranda, dabba-wallas and the amazing resilience
which 'Mumbaikars' show as they bounce back
from being shafted by this and that
natural calamity, act of god, fresh new bomb blast,
building collapse, biblical flood, and so on and so forth.
We, The Republic of South Bombay -
that's 'Bombayites' to you -
do solemnly swear under our breath,
demanding a change in narrative.
English is our mother tongue after all -
you've said so yourself - not just a little disparagingly!
We want more than a tired old hankering
for Nissim Ezekiel, Adil Jussalawa, et al.,
for the Irani Cafe, as we all know, is a dead duck.
Poetic Justice however is alive and quacking,
for at Starbuck's not long ago, I saw in my latte art,
a likeness of Datta Samant, and it whispered thus:
Forsake this mill-mall and run for the hills posthaste,
ye Pedder Road Princess!
No longer are you safe here while the railways kill ten a day.
Listen up ye Maharajas of Malabar Hill,
prostrate feline on that slate grey chaise,
No longer will you be safe here, though you can afford the rent.
Wake up, O Barons of Breach Candy,
and smell the ghost of old coffeehouses,
No longer are you safe here while the coastal road offends your senses
and slashes the real estate value of your little boxes.
I see sea levels rise and the Mithi choke.
I see poets and artists gagged and bound.
I see godmen wringing hands in glee
at the twitish partitions that have festered.
They've churned the oceans, and the devil's won!
They've taken your city, leopards and all,
as you sipped a dirty martini with your BFF
on the roof while discussing gender fluidity.
They've fused your islands into a brittle spine arthritic!
Oh, colony comes in many flavours - now you know!
But darling, please don't cry!
For you, there is a second innings.
For you, there is a Second Coming.
For you, some rough beast slouches
towards Bethlehem to be re-born.
Gather up your trust fund and cucumber sandwiches!
Down that G&T, then take the cash and run!
Run to Kensington! To Manhattan!
To an island off Costa Smeralda - if you have any class! -
For this ship has sailed.
PS: Pudhchya warshi lavkar ya!
Comments