Driving Daljit Nagra His Home!

(In response to ‘Get off my poem, Whitey!’)

Hello, Guvnor, didn’t see you there

in the dark. You’ll be wanting Southall, yeah?

Willesden, you say? Well, hold your chapattis,

that’s a respectable neighbourhood, that is!

You got business there? Well, no offense,

but you must travel miles for ingredients.

I’m sorry? You got the wrong end of the stick —

I was just being friendly, not xenophobic.

You’re a poet, you say? Well, jolly good,

let’s find some jangly ditty from Bollywood

with words you can sing to. Ah, here we go —

it’s the Pussycat Dolls murdering Jai Ho!

Bet that takes you back to when you was a kid

on the cinnamon streets stained with betel quid,

amma haggling with street jalebi sellers,

shokri babes in peacock saris, dark fellers

with mustard-oiled hair and bugger-all arse

in their pants, rolled up prayer mats under their arms,

when every Nissan minicab assembles

outside the doors of the mosques and the temples.

Now if you’d just sign this book for the missus

I’ll drop you right at your door. I’m betting this is

your house, the one with a coriander hedgerow,

an elephant statue and a Shiva fresco!

(c) 2013 Slush Poet

[For the avoidance on doubt, this poem has not only been shown to Daljit, he very kindly offered several tips which have been incorporated into this version. I have the greatest respect for him and great love for his poetry.]