We haven’t met in years now
But have managed to stay in touch
Across decades
Across continents
We grew up together
Fighting for window seats
On the bus to school
Playing cricket on Sundays
At Cross Maidan
Rollerskating down Old Cuffe Parade
To each other’s house
In the days when it was possible to
Roller-skate down Old Cuffe Parade
We would walk home together
On half-holidays
And use the bus fare saved
To buy
Brightly coloured
Icy-cold
Golas
We officiated as Best Man
At each other’s birthday parties
Nudging mutual friends
To gift to the other
The correct Asterix or Tintin
That neither of us had
Ink fights at school
And Sunday detention
Junior college and girlfriends
College and career
Wife and kids
All this has happened
Seemingly in the blink of an eye
But there were always
Long long letters to and fro
Whichever corner of the country I was in
Whichever corner of the world he was in
Exchanging news and views
Today he says
He does not want to read my poems
He is not interested in
My brand of self-serving politics
He asks why I am so anti-Hindu
He wants to break off all communication
It breaks my heart
As much as those
Intense childhood kattis
But, alas, with no hope of
A redeeming batti