The Homeland Dear

I crawled in bed with Nani many a night

To listen to her many tales of a homeland dear

I held to her to escape my night’s fright

Of Her folktales and her childhood I would hear

Her delight she could never hide

With all those memories she would cheer

“What was it like Nani?” I asked wide-eyed.

She smiled and said, “Not like here.”

“Oh my child I wish you could feed

Upon the mangoes and melons we did

As large as my thumb was the melon-seed

The fruits of my Des were splendid

The fields were green and grass grew tall

Oh that scent of my Des in the rain.”

She came here and left it all

Her tales spoke both of longing and pain

My grandparents were both Gujarati

They boarded a ship and came here

From Junagadh all the way to Karachi

The ship sailed but their hearts did never steer

To them India was always Des

To them Pakistan was watan

And to us it was a confusing case

How they loved the two as one.

That love from them we did inherit

Were taught the Gujarati language too

I am a Pakistani , I did declare it

I loved English, and I romanced Urdu.

They passed on one more thing

They told me to never forget my roots

And to my roots I did cling

Yet, I did keep growing shoots

My parents of Pakistani birth held

 The notion that Urdu makes you strong

It enriches your soul child they said

And so to Urdu I did as well belong

I truly cherished Meer, Faiz and Ghalib

I learnt and sang their poems merrily

My love carried me to Urdu’s crib

And I did once walk the streets of Delhi  

My soul of a child grew, met someone once and fell in love

They called themselves Mahajir, of Urdu birth he said he was

To me that was of no concern, to me love stood all above

But our union was not to be, “nobody from non-Urdu birth” was the cause

And I pondered over life then all dejected,

That my grandparents were mahajirs as well you see

Yet only for a language-difference I stood rejected?

When in spoken Urdu he was not any better than  me.

Life moves on and it did at its good pace

Years went by and I did learn to love again

What I narrate now is a whole new case

Of two lovers across borders tied only by love’s chain

He was from none other than Urdu’s heart – the city of Delhi

He was a bit of English, a bit of India and a whole lot of Urdu

He was a bit of everything I did hold dear you see

And one fine day he said, “I am falling in love with you”

I said I loved him as well in return and truly I did like never before

We shared a companionship of letters, of calls, of music, poem and prose

He spoke of Delhi’s food, his life there and the capital’s grandeur

I narrated my life’s mundane details and a longing to visit Delhi again arose

I would smile and laugh heartily when he would rejoice correcting my Urdu

He spoke of my flaws in Urdu, “Lady, you don’t have a clue”

“It’s bahar not baahir. Don’t tell me you say mubarik not Mubarak?”

“Haan tau Urdu hamari hai , Gujrati bhi hamari hee hai, koi shak?”

We laughed and celebrated each other and it is strange how

The borders that were once made to divide

Were a reason we loved each other so much now

Cricket matches seemed the only problem on each side

And yet, the only problem these were not sadly

Love between India and Pakistan is not merely a matter of the heart

Love howsoever we may , love howsoever madly

And yet, it was mad to assume we would not be apart

I once sat, looking over at the Arabian Sea

Wondering why did my grandparents travel on it  here

When acceptance for us on this side either, wasn’t to be

Was it worth leaving the acceptance that could be there

Love knows no boundary, Love’s propellers are insides us

Why then did we let birth, blood and barriers guide us?

Like many dreams and tales ours too at the border died

The barriers caught up and pain did greet

We left each other with a promise to hearts inside

That someday, you, me and Delhi shall surely meet.