Sunday, November 4, 2012

You Bring Out The Bambaiyya In Me

(Inspired, of course, by Sandra Cisneros' "You Bring Out The Mexican In Me" and the equally delightful "You Bring Out The UP-waali In Me". This one was written over the course of a couple of DPC classes more than six months ago. I've been encouraged to take the dust off the jacket after reading Spadika's beautiful Bengaluru version. Originally commissioned by Meghal Mehta - New York, London she will keep saying, but who'll come back to Bombay)

You bring out the Bambaiyya in me.
The October heat, the July downpour in me.
The rush of the 8:50 to Churchgate in me.
You are as spicy as bhel with extra theekha chutney,
As tangy as sev-puri with extra meetha chuntney.
You bring out the Bambaiyya in me.

On Juhu Beach, we will have gola made with mineral water,
We will eat vada-pav and you will say, "Boss, ek Coke dena."
You bring out the Bambaiyya in me.
The cricket at Shivaji Park in me,
The football at Azad Maidan in me.

Tonight, your dress is the red of a BEST,
Your necklace is nothing but the Queen's,
You light up like the screen at Metro,
You grumble like traffic jams on Link Road.

I hear you say, "Pude chala, maushi" as you enter the ladies compartment,
And I want to jump in, and get off only at VT,
Where we will take the subway and walk towards Fashion Street.
You bring out the Bambaiyya in me.

The bruch at the Trattoria in me.
The Pizza by the Bay in me.
Sandwich ice cream at Rustom in me.
You are my chavi, my item, my fataka,
I am you hero, your luchcha, your badmaash.
You bring out the Bambaiyya in me.

I will kiss you at the Gateway, and police uncle will run after us,
But we will slip into the streets of our Colaba,
Where your fresh lips will sip mosambi juice at Kailash Parbat,
And your friends will insist on brownies from Theo.

You bring out the Bambaiyya in me.
The 4 Ltd. to Fountain in me.
The itna paisa mein itnaich milenga in me.
The azaan echoing in Bhendi Bazaar in me.

Tonight, you are overwhelming my senses,
Like the phool bazaar under Dadar Flyover,
Like the swell of humanity on Mohammad Ali Road,
Like the madness of Crawford Market.
You shimmer and sizzle like pav on a tavaa.

Your eyes are shifting tonight, like the sands of the Aksa.
Yet, you hold my hand and take me to my peace.
Like the lanes of Bandra in me,
Like the softy at Matunga in me,
Like falooda at Badshah in me.

You bring out the Bambaiyya in me.
The Dalal Street in me,
The illusion of money in me,
The impossibility of love in me.

You are the flavour of ice-paan,
The taste of my growing up, the taste of my coming down.
You, chokri, are my latka, my matka, my jhatka,
Beacuse you bring out the Bambaiyya  in me.

2 comments:

sweta Singh said...

amazingly fresh to read...
but where is the local train and the gents compartment with u and ur chokri in it.

Anonymous said...

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