Sardarji (For Khushwant Singh)
I search him, search him the Sardarji,
The great Sardarji,
I mean Khushwant Singh,
The mariner of Coleridge
Holding the hands,
Telling stories to the wedding guests.
I search him, search him the great Sardarji,
The novelist and the short story writer,
The journalist and the columnist,
The historian and the poetry-lover,
The entertainer and the commentator.
A tourist and a traveller,
Where has he not gone,
Where has he not toured and travelled,
Not only Delhi,
But to Peshawar, Lahore and Rawalpindi,
Oxford, Cambridge and Edinburgh can he go.
A master man of King’s Standard not only,
But of Indian English,
He can take it to Punjabi English,
Bengali English, Tamil English,
Even can question, b, u and t but,
But why p, u and t as put in pronunciation?
You take out the labels from the bottles,
He can taste and say
Which one rum, whisky, brandy,
Taking tandoori, roti and tadka
And keeping hale and hearty.
Dyes he the hair brown,
The beards grey and glistening,
Looking so smart, young and handsome
Even in his 90 plus age,
Even failing his son Rahul Singh
In showing age,
As the son himself looks older than the appearing
To be young father.
Comments about this poem (Sardarji (For Khushwant Singh) by Bijay Kant Dubey )
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