An Ode to - Saath Saath - Tumko Dekha To Ye Khayal Aya..

I have born with the riches...

lived in the clouds..

wearing silk sarees around my fancy house,

socialites and high profiles...

though my feet searching for the ground...

I long for the scent,

when a raindrop touches 

parched earth, 

and the soil becomes

scented clay....

promising a blossom,

of champa, bouganvalle and marigolds

I step out of my fancy car...

and I see you...

with your cotton shirt,

holding your sociology notes...

your hands so rugged,

your eyes at unease,

leading a demonstration,

orating young minds....

You look at me...

like a snob drunk with

inheritance, 

I shall convince 

you that I am yours

and ready step down 

my princess crown...

I am basking 

in your conviction,

that's hell bent on

changing the world,

from a class divide,

corruption to idealism.

You are no Angry young man, 

no Mahatma, just a young blood

driven with an idea

of independence...

You are busy saving our free nation,

Though I have found my wings with you,

my champa, mogra and marigolds in 

my tiny balcony.....

resting my peaceful head in your lap....

on a Sunday afternoon..

I am happy, satisfied....that a mango tree shadow 

is just across our tiny house..

and on an unfortunate day you meet 

my rich father, who offer you some 

cheques...and humiliates you for 

your cotton shirt.....

You are feeling inadequate and 

you change your cotton shirt,

your new car suffocates me,

and you buy a house 

again in the clouds.

Your satis shirt makes your body scratch,

and you forget to bow to your school teacher..

you are too busy earning money...

and I am waiting for my lover,

like a piece of fancy furniture..

in a corner...

Your means are wrong,

although you are rich,

I have been robbed of my ideals

and my corrupt lover is the thief..

I'd rather be a single mother

although I am terrified as if

a woman with a child stuck in the 

middle of the ocean.

I thought you gave me this earth,

but you are nothing more than a storm

that has drenched my existence,

and your shady means left me with shivers..

I am leaving with a suitcase,

packed with my cotton suits..

you hold me back...saying

I shall take you to the soil

to our small house...

You were no angry young man,

no mahatma, 

just a young man searching for truth....

who I loved 

and you are wearing your old cotton shirt....

- Nirzara Verulkar