Consider the unfortunate Bombay Duck.
Neither from Bombay, nor a duck
Clearly a fish out of luck
Named for a train that brought it to the city
Ugly as sin, it deserves your pity.
But squeeze out the Arabian Sea in which
But, squeeze
out the Arabian Sea in which it was spawned
Embalm it in
a pungent mixture carefully ground
Slow cook it over an embracing flame
Warn your
veggie neighbours – especially Mrs Jain!
Soon, a pungent odour will rise in the air
Redolent of
oceans, trawlers
and rugged men
with wind in their hair
As the edges begin to sizzle and the skin
turns to gold,
You'll feel
as elated as Sanjay on his third parole.
It's crispy, it's crumbly, it's a winner
without doubt.
Its flavours explode against the roof of your
mouth
They swirl and they roll like the surf on the
beach
they access parts of you even Budweiser cannot
reach
The end is now nigh, you slower the pace.
You regret having started with stuffing your
face.
But, as the last piece disappears,
you so want
to cry :
You just
finished your plate of Bombil Fry!
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