As I was dozing on the grass,
A-musing in the sun,
I saw a family picnic,
Lots of people having fun.
The smokes were out,
They sprawled about,
They chattered like a gun.
Great camaraderie there was,
‘Tween each and every one.

Not far away, across the path,
Another happy scene:
With children laughing gaily,
Chomping sandwich platters clean;
Dogs were sinning,
Folks were grinning,
Lounging lazy on the green.
And I’m spinning thoughts and reeling,
Thinking how things might have been.

All at once the first group rises;
Men are smoothing slacks and bums;
Stubbing out their foetid fag-ends –
‘Cross the path the signal comes:
Plates start flying,
No more lying;
Kids are kidnapped from their scrums.
The women know, when their men go,
Who’s cleaning up the crumbs.

And as the two groups fade away,
I think I start to see,
Though parallel lives they may lead,
However that may be,
Why Pakistanis don’t divorce,
Holding a certain harmony.