The little one looked up
Squinting as the sun shone through
Asking us how old the building was
It looked old, the people were new

There was a creaky staircase
Polished wooden floor
A smell of the days gone by
A knocker on every door

There were steps that took you to the orchard
And peaks that peeped through the trees
The Bhutias lay lazing
Beneath the deodar trees

A rhododendron on the table
A pine cone too
Looking invitingly, a meal for two

A young lad asked, what can I do
Can I get you a  drink, a starter or two
The menu and the venue didn’t seem to sync
Or maybe it was right after all, I think

Curries and kebabs and chutneys too
Rotis from the tandoor
Gulab Jamuns too

No mashed potatoes, no cheese, no ham
No high tea muffins
No butter toast, no jam

We’ve gone Indian over the last few years
You’ll find the Raj in the stories from yesteryears

You’ll find them in the bar though
With bottles of Scotch
The cigar room, the billiards
The antique watch

He told us of the time that stays and that flows
The history that changes like bends in the road
‘The soul is the same, we just got a few new clothes’.

All through this
The little one sat
Waiting patiently with his napkin and his hat
Looked up finally and said, “Daddy, can you draw that?”.