a desi of the nation


first memories when delving into this battlefield
obsess over the motherland and reject the others
yet is this not home? the land in which there was birth
no seed of hatred had been planted, yet it still grew.
 
staying mute, for their language was incomprehensible
isolated in a colourful sea of the unknown
more sparrows came flocking in to rest, now more at home
the common tongue of the englishman now acquired.

the phrases and lexicon: english
the mannerisms and adorned clothing: “western”
the food and drinks in the house: a mixed clutter of indian and english
what is blaring on the television screen? the news in rp or sometimes in malayalam or hindi
the music: pre-2010s bollywood/regional for mum and dad, modern pop and rap otherwise.
 
churidhars, sarees, an earthen exclusive church
no questioning of the status quo or else a yell and a beating
the heart should only belong to the man who shares the same skin
but the eyes fleetingly glance at the male of the mediterranean.

the skirt of the lehenga elegantly dancing with the cornish breeze
his hands warm on my waist and the red of the blouse against the white of his t-shirt
is this irony? a fantasy? the binding of two souls at a spark
but this is a different red, one most would not comprehend against the gold of the sun.

pick up the phone, i no longer speak the motherland's tongue
suppose i can still talk with the "gulf" but the heart does palpitate
but even better to converse, the west and the southern hemisphere
while my heart belongs to the brother of those that is the rose.

cornish pasties, butter chicken
basmati rice, warm seaside chips
paneer dishes of all kinds, traditional sunday roast
the buds gleefully devour two nations

a constant war but no battlefield
the fields, farms, tractors and horses, the symbols of home
but also the bindi on the forehead, the jhumkas dangling on the ears
shifting paradigms that are cherished so profoundly.

there has been no oblivion
the tender adoration remains for their earth
country oaks and coconut towers
see how the sun still rises over these lands.
Posted by Ashika George
23 | art history grad | journo student film enthusiast |🌸
itsashikai.wordpress.com