VERSE | THE AB-SIND CLUB

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.

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