We both stare at a familiar statue
Near the Maidan -
Bapu, emancipated, glass-less
Marches on
Somewhere between Mayo and Dufferin’s roads
Bapu was standing up for Hindustan,
‘What strikes me most,’ I said
‘Are those barbs upon his path’
The frayed cloak tugged
By the thorns of everyday life,
‘Would he appreciate how we struggle
Even on ordinary days?’
‘He would, even now –
Decades after independence,’
Your sagacity in a dulcet voice
‘And hence he walks –‘
‘Not still, not gleaming with swarajya
But telling us, generations later
That in the song of the wayfarer
The refrain is to keep going’
Just like he did -
From Tolstoy farm to Sabarmati
Towards Dandi, towards prison
Towards partition, towards liberation
In a hidden oasis
Of a dusty city,
The father leaves his legacy -
The footsteps don’t disappear…
26th June, 2026
Comments
Post a Comment