We can be divided into two groups
The perfectible, and the perfect.
I fall into the perfect group, thinks my wife,
For I speak with assurance and arrogance.
But she thinks she is the perfectible group,
Which is modest, and thinks it can improve,
And perfect itself in future, and perhaps never
Does, ha ha ha! that is the eternal joke on them.
Now I shall reveal to you what led to the birth
Of this sad but realistic poem on Gandhi jayanti.
Waheeda and husband had come home being Id,
The Muslim festival, and a holiday for us all
Because Gandhi chose to be born on this day.
I had to leave to meet the guy from Hong Kong.
While leaving Waheeda and hubby at home,
I got into the car and thought came up in me
Waheeda is a good and warm friend to us both,
But she is a no brainer, my mind threw up.
I checked myself at the impudence of it:
How can I judge: judge not, judge not
Not just to be mathlabi, and therefore
I shall not be judged because I don’t judge.
That is the hallmark of the traditional Jew.
Same problem, world survives on prejudices.
So, while moving in the car to Powai Lake
To the beautiful Renaissance Hotel
To meet Mr Avinash Mukherjee from Hong Kong
COO of a German company of Ship-management
I decided I shall write about the perfect
And the perfectible, noted on a slip
With the pen I always keep in the car
Along with notes to keep the memory on.
Journey of thousand miles begins with a step,
And the birth of a poem is with a thought
And a word that stands for a metaphor
Or feeling which springs from within.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem