This week’s poem, dedicated to my niece Kristina, newly arrived in this part of Asia.

Curried vegetables

Oh God, save me from curried vegetables.
Three times per day,
bitter, spiny and ash gourd, all yellow,
cabbage, potato and green papaya,
all grated, mixed and yellowed.

Soft boiled fish with staring eyes
and invisible, sharp bones,
mounds of boiled white rice,
fans overhead ensure only the first mouthful is hot
and lots of yellow dahl floating in watery soup.

Please, sir, may I have a pizza,
thin crust,
concentrated taste of tomato
with fresh green basil leaf
and just a little extra cheese.
Perhaps a fresh green salad –
drizzle of balsamic vinegar and olive oil.
Clean, fresh taste of simple ingredients

No need for condensed milk and sugary deserts,
boiled milky sweets, white and grainy with sugar,
cold milk-grey tea I do not require,
just a little glass of wine –
that will be fine.

Dhaka 2010