This is a fond tribute to all the microscosms of colonial design and demeanour/ architecture and attitude that continue to faithfully roost in various cities across what was once the coveted Jewel in the Crown.

I’m having a day that’s making me feel 
More sterile than a beetle on its back 
I’m walking on the thin side 
Of breaking down, losing sight 
Of my psychedelic, privileged life 
I need some of the forgetting tonic 
That Pir Buksh so expertly whips up 
That makes me happy, schizophrenic 
With every sip and every glug 
I drink the potion, and I duly grow 
My Abs synth-esizing my lost bravado 

Suddenly they’re all like flies 
On the periphery of my eyes 
They cease to make me wince and curse
They cease to be a part of my universe 
I sit back, bark an order 
In Bloodhound, German shepherd tones 
Throw a carcass, throw some bones 
Throw a tantrum for good measure 
The club becomes a pyramid 
I’m at the top, the very apex 
Those hoisiting it upon their shoulders 
The club like a majestic boulder 
Matter not, they sit there 
Like a pile of boring underwear 
They’ve seen it all but you don’t care
They keep it all precisely together 
The erstwhile jewels in their imperial leather 

“One more!” I shout in thundering tones 
“Absinth me up quick bartender!”
Before I lose the precious threads
Of the delicate lace of elegance 
Pir Bukhsh gives me some more manna
From the counter in the shadows 
And I swallow and I glide
In the throes of happy amnesia 
The absinthe in the Ab-sind club 
Makes me feel so damn superi-a
Heavens be praised I’ve had a day
Like I’m lord of a castle in the UK
Indeed, the last few hours have made me feel
Like a hero in a Bollywood reel.