The Pakistani-Hindustani and the Chammified Smile

We’ve all been the fool for love, pacing the same streets just to catch a fleeting glimpse of a muse who doesn't even know they hold our heart. In this love-filled rhythmic guest piece, our narrator walks the delicate tightrope between cultural identity, playful birthday teasing, and the agonizingly beautiful ache of unrequited long-ing. Grab a coffee and meet the charming mystifier. I dedicate this poem to the cheeky smile-l 😸. 


She is beautiful, but I am a fool.

How foolish to think that she’d be mine.

God knows how she made me cry,

Yet I miss her every single day.

How she fills the air with her fragrance—

Unknown. One moment I feel I know her,

The next, I am just a spectator in awe. 


The Pakistani-Hindustani walks along the way,

Each and every day.

Morning once, afternoon once,

And in the evening too,

Hoping to catch a glimpse of a life so new.

Living, loyal, loving—the charming mystifier. 


I think too much, they all say it.

"If you rest your mind, you may find her,

Perhaps in your dream world."

I did dream of her yesterday,

And I craved a glimpse there too.

How long must I wait?

Lord, you know the world is filled with testers ever so new.

I came to taste, and be the taste, of love divine—so true. 


The Pakistani-Hindustani walks along the way,

Each and every day.

Morning once, afternoon once,

And in the evening too,

Hoping to catch a glimpse of a life so new.

Living, loyal, loving—the charming mystifier. 


Her charm surrounds me, her cheeks invite me.

I wonder if I share those dimples too.

When I smile to myself, I feel she’s smiling,

With the very same dimply show—

The chammified smile of Chintu in his youth.

I saw it in her, mimicking my face ever so close.

Is she my shadow, or a live reflection?

Is she my life matter, dressed in yellow-yellow skin? 


The brown guy that I am, her friends pulled my leg

When they brought the Black Forest cake on the day I was born.

The forest... oh, a hairy chest on light brown skin.

They call it fair, though.

I loved their gesture and enjoyed the day,

For I knew the fun and meaning they had figured out.

Equanimous, and hiding behind my chammified smile,

I hoped someone would help her know. 


The Pakistani-Hindustani walks along the way,

Each and every day.

Morning once, afternoon once,

And in the evening too,

Hoping to catch a glimpse of a life so new.

Living, loyal, loving—the charming mystifier.


With a little help from Shaper again, 

For the Marvellous Mystifier

Loving, Living, Loyal 

Manoj

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