After the Nursery Rhyme, This is the house that Jack Built.

This is the city my father loved
That he called home, that wrote his poems,
That created the slums, that built the skyscrapers
That jammed the trains, that crowded the buses
Where he walked the streets - that somebody built.
 
This is the city that I have loved 
Where I was born where I was raised
Where I ran for the buses, in four-inch heels
Danced in discos all night long, studied in the colleges, sang in choirs
Dated the boys, then married a man - that I loved.
 
This is the city where I lived by the sea 
Ate street food, shopped fiercely, listened to Rock music
Read Enid Blyton, Ayn Rand, borrowed from friends,
Practiced for Sports Day, studied for exams - that I did not love.
 
This is the city that I have left, I know not why, I cannot remember
This is the city lodged in my soul, something stuck in a tooth, I cannot remove.
This is the city that I still love, with its dust and grime, will always be mine
That I must in Hindi call Bombay Meri Jaan, meaning Bombay my love
A city whose name I no longer can pronounce - that is now called Mumbai.
                        

Here the entire sea 
Comes in with the fish
Wet, Wet, Wet,
Everything is wet
The stench, indescribable!
Bell-bottoms and flipflops
Not appropriate apparel
In a Bombay fish market.
Mother scolds me for making
Poor dress choices.
 
The fisherwomen loaded with gold ornaments
Jasmine flowers in their hair
Call out in raucous voices,
The fish wear sad expressions
Lying on stone slabs
In salt sea-water.
 
Mother bargains with her usual style
The fisherwoman says
I’ll sell you the fish cheap
if you give your daughter’s hand in marriage to my son.
That was the last time
I went to the fish market with Mother.
Fish curry at home erases 
The fish market experience.
Still the enjoyment of the curry 
Comes tinged with a bit of guilt
Sadness for the fish
On the stone slabs, their eyes follow me.
 
Father takes me to the Aquarium
A once-in-a-while treat.
A better place to admire fish.
 
Still my preference is to go down to the sea with him
Where I dream of writing a poem
like John Masefield’s Sea Fever.
 
The fish are at home in the ocean
That travels the shores of my city.
I wish for everything Masefield desires
Unlike him, I am afraid of the sea.