I wrote this poem years ago. It’s about a simple man. And how he’s misunderstood and branded as simple and boring by one and all. Until one fine day…
A simple man that’s what he is
But then nothing is simple, neither is this.
A straight and dry nine-to-five routine–
Our man is a king without a queen.
No money, no woman, no car, no wine–
A nut for many, a genius for none.
Does he mind not having a mansion or a missus?
Well, he appears quite calm and gracious.
Every morning at six his daily ritual begins:
Get up, shave compulsively, wait for the pick up van,
Check mail on the way, wrap up dreams and quickly sign in.
On some days, he sits in the van and waits for the road to turn into something new.
Maybe a palace with a lovely princess or a magical chamber with a view.
To me he is an amazing guy,
Never seen him pick up a fight or check a woman out on the sly.
He does secretly admire one vivacious woman though–
But has never found the courage to ask her out or tell her so.
Now is this turning out to be clichéd for you?
The same old geek and the beauty tale–
Wait up, it’s not yet your time to boo.
Our man is a strange fellow–
He has no family, no relatives, no bitter pill to swallow.
“He never hangs out with anyone man”, says one.
“Does he hang out with himself winks the other or get high on weed like the divine”!
He hears them chatter trying to hurt his ego,
Oddly but sensibly he lets it all go.
On Friday his colleague asks him out for a drink,
He escapes saying he is busy and she thinks: “he definitely is on the brink”.
Instead, he eats his dinner and turns the lights off at ten–
Rumbling to himself, “I know they don’t get me, those women and men…”
Saturday you see is a different day though–
Our man is up at five and rearing to go.
Humming his favourite tune he sits on a bus,
And wonders how on some days, time simply doesn’t pass.
The government vehicle creaks towards the destination,
Jumping and bumping, he looks out at the green paddy fields in fascination.
The bus tumbles through a familiar kachha route.
As our man pulls out his mobile and puts it on mute.
He thinks, “its time for their morning prayers.
They must be rushing to the toilets to finish their showers”.
“I know the forgetful Mr. Raghavan will be late,” he wonders aloud,
“And the silent Farida must be staring childishly at the cloud.”
He gets off the bus and stands facing the house.
Just happy, plain happy — no regret, no anger, no grouse.
The old, dilapidated building is holding good,
But who knows when it’s going to sink to the ground and change its mood.
“Lord, do keep the old guys hale and hearty till then”, prays our simple man.
And clutching his bag of goodies runs towards the oldies–
As quickly as he can.