Comment

Oh East is East/And west is West/And never the twain shall meet/Till a Cockney and Sardarji /Share blows on a Southall street….”

The literature-loving reader will catch out the distorting in Kipling Saheb’s poemtry. A terrible beauty is born. Plenty of alternations has taking place in Vilayat, this sceptic isle, this various throne of Kings. I am thinking this way because even after they closed the lights I was still yesterday drinking in a pubs with a Cambridge lingamist who was telling that in very soon all English will become Indian English. I did say that there are too many Indian Englishes but he said all will bloom and take over from Colonel Sanders and the Queen.

It is possibly convincing and I am now expectorating that this could easily happen and all newspapers will be reading like this. In UK desis have come by the dozen, some legals, some illegals, sailing in and frauding the local police.

I am telling about 50 years ago. Vilayat, or Grateful Britain as we are calling it, has received us brown folks by the open arms and have enjoyed us as we are curryfull and gay. They have afforded too much opportunities for us and promoted all persons of colour long past the station platforms where they should be stopped.

I myself have sojourned to these pastures when GV Desani have encourage me to become a writer. I landed down here and am inventing now my own talkies.
Plenty water has flowed under the fridge and persons who are coming after me has won Novel prize, Booking prize, Commissionwealth prize, every prize because Vilayatis are very bloody keen. ‘Skin over skill’ they are telling.

Desis are crawling everywhere, even this week in the Prawms. It is not what you might be thinking — chingdi-maachh. It is very big concerts where laydiss and mans is going in Alberto Hall for weeks and seeing plenty orchestra music from Chaipeekayvaapsy to Jeesap Vardi. This year first time desi bandmasters were called in.

Ishtarting with sarangi and Mr Ram Narayan, now 80 years old telling about pulling sarangi from mujra into mainstream. Then gentlemans called Shaans, wearing white jeans and cow skin dzakit, like cricketer crossed with lorrywallah is telling gathered desi crowd: “All the hot girls/ Put your hands up and sing.”

Bherry maas Asians girls who is bherry maas suppressed in their homes by bad Punjabi/Gujarati/Bangladeshi papas are loving to be called ‘hot’ and straight away is putting hands for clap and sing. Night out yaar!

Master Shaan himself person is with necklining hair and dark glass very lounge-lizardwallah, the kind of person I am warning my daughters off to. Asians were simply swarming to this Prawms because there was boarding and hoarding in desi markets and peoples are want to see hot Mr Shaan. If Mr Shahrukh or Mr Aamir was coming for clapping and calling ‘hot girls’, ‘cool girls’ or even lukewarm girls there would be big stampede of brown girls in London.

Every audiences was enjwaaing. Except I spotted some white personwallahs, real billaytis, firangeez, who was paying season ticket and coming to see Prawms hoping for Wagmare, Catallani, Puccani or some other Sindhi opera and all they is getting is Desi confusion.

Albert from the BBC who is in charge of all the Prawms is trying bherry maas hard to make integration between peoples. I meet with Mr Albert at a cockingtale party and was telling how long is taking before Dravidian and Aryan cultures was amalgamating in native Hindustan.

“Tell me,” he was saying,” Mr Shaan is not strictly classical is he?” “Oh yes,” I said, “just like jazz became classical of America and invented Indian English is becoming universal speaking so Shaanji is the Bollywood which is the contemperwary new Indian classical.”

“I see,” he said.

The writer is a London based scriptwriter.