Editor's Choice
Theme: Social

A Beggar's Son

My dad was a beggar
Sitting on the temple steps
With his torn dhoti expertly spread
The beggarly blood
Is coursing in my veins
He made sardonic comments
On the world which had
Worked hard to keep him
And his brood of nine
Fed and clothed.
He joked that
His house had no windows
No doors and no roof
And no walls either.

Clumsy me
Had a lump in the throat
I could not look the devotees
In the eye nor make that
Distressing appeal
Which brought a shower of coins
I ended up as a non-performer
My dad tried to teach me
The tricks of the trade
To no avail ;in the end
I had to give up the time-honored
Profession of my ancestors
Times are undoubtedly bad
Unless one knew the ropes
It was difficult to survive
In this dog-eats-dog trade

Then one day it all changed
I discovered that I was different
I got into a small-time business
Which grew and flourished in no time
Into a crorepati business
My dreams of a college education
Could not be fulfilled due to my poverty
I now give others their education
It is others who come to me requesting
Seats in my numerous colleges
It is they who have lumps in their throats
It is they who cannot look me in the eyes.
I am now square with the society.

02-Jun-2002

More By  :  A. J. Rao

Views: 1401     Comments: 0


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