Wednesday 22 September 2010

Nel mio tempo libero mi piace scrivere

I don’t know where I came from
Those words were long lost
Now, instead of ‘kemcho’ I say ‘hello’ to my boss
The lines of communication
Were severed when I was young
My grandma shakes her head in disappointment
If only it was in Gujarati I had sung
The further I move
Away from my origins
The further I move
From an Indian kitchen
No shaak and rotli,
Just pasta and pie
No bhaat or puri
But pizza from the delivery guy
I don’t know where I came from
But I know where I am going
Studio l’inglese e l’italiano
Ma, Gujarati, non parlo

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