Jackpot, a Pot of Worries

When hundred's one hell of a count, To reckon crore, a long sentence, And five times that a long penance, Almost a live tiger to mount, Wonder, many a dot must make a crore, A mouthful of zeros and a wild roar! Hope still, it’s enough of a number My family for life to feed, To cover an untoward need, Hope, it saves me lifetime of labour, Or I'd be back to where was ere— Tea with a loaf or bun but bare! An unexpected irony That money such a problem be, And three months’ wait for this money Till then he must pinch his penny, No worry thence a price tag may carry, Be it Adidas or an Armani. He seemed in love with life so lean, He, what with wealth a confirmed date That hardly rhymed with his odd fate, Feeling secure in pauper's skin— Mind, nimble with sewing needles That never knew: money made such riddles! Resigned to past of a pauper's penny, The prize grooved on his face sad glows, Drew wrinkled furrows, knotted brows, These tangles of tonnes of money! Weird, O wealth, wayward thine ways, O Happiness, here come worrying days! ______________________________________ A zari (artificial decorative silk) worker from Mumbai recently won half a jackpot of over 100 million rupees. It was a rag-to-riches life story. Fortune smiled at him but he was unable to cope with it, and seemed more comfortable with what he was before the fortune struck. This poem probes unto his problems that came with the prize. Happenings | 03.09.04 |Narrative