Circle or Helix

At Malabar Hotel, near PaiCo:

 

We said "Two Wills" at the door, 

"Two strong coffee" at our table;

Swaggered to the kitchen to light,

Young cowboys with mean looks,

Slurped coffee in stain'd crack'd cups,

Our whiskey shots to face tough life,

Talked about Anju's tits and Anu's hips:

"What is the omega in sine omega t?"

We were not dumb, he and I,

Quiz aficionados et al. actually.

He had Jane's handbook on planes,

I had Manorama yearbook and more,

We knew all about Wilfred Owen, 

Lady Chatterley, WW1, WW2 too, 

Kamikazes, Woodstock, 'Nam, 

The Beat crowd, Pirsig, madness,

Watergate, Deep Throat, both kinds!

We could recite the Gita and the Bible,

We did not know the Ramanan of that Changam-chap,

But we knew our local politicians, that's family;

We did not trust VoA or Sputnik, but BBC was ok

For the music, the plays and the news, was it?

We knew what to believe. We did not know our PM.

We knew when we had choice,

We knew our free will well,

We did not fuck ourselves.

We did not touch on heritage or discrimination.

We knew we had to go abroad to be accepted here.

We did fight over something. What did we fight about?

Before I forget, let me tell you

We were not sure about anything.

That saved us, believe me!

Malabar Hotel is no more, PaiCo too:

We don't smoke, we don't drink strong coffee,

We have had two wives, one kid, a few lovers,

All premarital we swear, believe us,

Extramarital would be tougher fiction.

We have been husbands, widower, divorcee,

Maybe a murderer, no just a killer.

We have lived, loved and let go. 

We have fought for women. Cursed by a few.

We could be trash. We are not all bad.

We should not complain when we have been us.

We still don't talk about commies or fascists.

Is it their salute that embarrasses us?

Or did we expect them to be gone by now?

We don't touch the losers either,

They just won't do whatever, right?

We know all about the shit that happens.

He talks about his heritage, his new citizenship.

I talk about my lot, about perceptions common.

That's old guys' stuff. That's nothing new.

But he's uncomfortable, I notice.

It's not just me who is scared of me.

We talk about the new ones, the dangerous ones,

Who talk about heritage without changing citizenship,

Who talk about discrimination, believe what they say.

You sound a lot like them, he accuses.

If he can be sure about all, why can't I?

He accuses the majority of thinking like the minority.

Why can't the minority take the load of the majority,

I counterattack. Did we fight about this then?

Did that fight come back to haunt us?

Is that our hope too, the cyclical,

The circle of life, with its Yin and Yang?

Maybe, Malabar Hotel will rise again. Maybe not PaiCo.

Will entropy reduce here? At another's expense?

There is no escape from this circle of hate, is there?

We want to talk about Anu's tits and Anju's hips.

But what if the circle escapes into the unknown 3d,

Will this cycle of hate return to good only after us:

"What is the omega in sine omega t?"