Tale of Two Totem Poles or Sofa & Charpoy Totem Poles

Eons ago, it seemed

there were few of us desis

in this Snowland.

At an anniversary or a crisis in history

of some far off land

we would gather

to celebrate, deliberate, renunciate,

agitate or protest.

Bonding, really, by another name.


The mere sighting of a desi face

woh chehra apna apna sa jo lagta hai

ek muskurahat labouN per jo laata hai

one of us in an ocean of them

said Ikbal

alone you're not.


As numbers increased, enthusiasms decreased

soon there were too many desis

all over this city, country, continent


With numbers came first

the Sofa Totem Pole, and soon after

the Charpoy Totem Pole.


These poles had bastees, castes, languages

-the ones one is never eloquent in,

heavens, and levels thereof

as in Jannat and Jannat-ul-Firdouse

but no animals, thank you, we're believers!


At the top Jannat, heavenly Heaven

or something similar

but at the bottom

no mention of hell per se.


Ghareeb ki bastee, by any name

at the bottom rungs

newer additions to the city

ensconced above them.


Kharadar, Chakiwara. Lea Market,

Lyari, Las Bela, Lalukhet,

Dastagir, Nazimabad #1 to infinity,

Society, Clifton, Defence,

and Bath Island.


AND


Medium of instruction in schools,

language one spoke with

-parents, friends, servants

far-off cities

-Mecca, Medina, Moscow, Washington

far-off places somewhere in the universe

-Jannat #1 to infinity.


All of these and more

were on these two totem poles

and as more people came here

the totem poles grew.


Over at the international airport

the Immigration folks

developed their own test.

A sharp needle they'd prick

unbeknownst to the new-comer

and record the outcry

Oooi Allaaaa or Haaiii Alaaa

-yes, that's Charpoy material.

Ouch or oops, merited a nudge

towards the Sofa.


Waqt kay guzarnay say

khaleej yeh phail jaati hai

aur hum

"jo thehray ajnabi"

apni hi kohtaaiyouuN kay

banay mujassim

taktay rehtay haiN

taktay rehtay haiN.


This subcontinental dichotomy

grows ever more apparent

as years go under.


Exertions of living, of time

stacking, sifting, crushing

(for a breather

dormancy is willed)

yet the tussle goes on

between warring values

building, growing, self-destructing.


Musings of a desi

a pardesi desi.

Sub-zero winds embracing his parka

looking over the horizon

searching for something

warm, known, comforting.