My lot of d’ mega omelet

                                                                                   

 That bright Sunday morning,

we got up early,

me and my sister Jolly

Went for morning walk,

to the nearby park

Came home, felt hungry,

waited for breakfast eagerly 

Heard mom’s egg whipping

Onion, tomatoes, green chilies,

coriander chopping

All mixed to beaten eggs,

to make a mega omlet

 gushed to d’ largest frying pan,

allowed to cook, for a short span

We seated at d’ table, gossiping,

avidly waiting

Hoped it won’t be late,

dreamt first bite of d’ floppy omelet

Sunday omelet extra large, routinely,

 shared by each one in family 

Papa walked in with someone,

we stared at him, our look wearisome!

Wrinkles on our forehead,

big and broad a person,

Papa’s boss, a valued guest

Sat down at d’ dining table,

In a deep gentle voice,

turned to us, uttered hello

Put numerous question,

"Which class do U read in,

how far your school ?"

Dad observed, d’ way we answered,

sitting at his usual place at d’ table

 A mouth watering hypnotizing aroma,

wafted out of d’ kitchen

Manners d’ priority,

desires to be kept hidden

My stomach rumbled,

Jolly nudged me and giggled

Dad and his boss drowned in talks,

never bothered for us

Redolence grew stronger,

diffused to nook & corner

from d’ kitchen, mom walked out

in hand, a plate with d’ mega omelet

Went first to d’ guest,

to him, held out d’ plate

To cut one of d’ wedges,

 marked on d’ omelet

murmured, “Eat it while it's hot”

He didn’t pay attention,

fully immersed in conversation

Casually stretched his hand,

grabbed d’ whole plate

Set it down in front of him,

began to eat

Mom in shock, recovered first,

to discover our panic stricken face

Rushed to d’ kitchen

came with few bananas in hand

 We reached out glumly for them

Breakfast over, guest departed,

d’ horrible moment gently passed

Since then,

no more mega omelet,

ever made in our kitchen

Mom makes little omelets for each of us,

 thrill to reach out, a triangular piece,

my lot of d’ mega omelet’s lost

I stick to my Stick

I’m proud of you, my old friend,

made me strong enough to stand

Legs so lethargic, not confident,

stagger to carry, my body weight

Crumple on walks, joints worn out,

on whims to move, painfully shout

U my partner, be with me always,

when with me, I’m full of courage

Need no wheel chair, nor a walker,

no firm grip of a supporting finger

You my valued prized possession,

offer much valor, allay all tension

In an active life’s receding year,

I realize, you an honest partner

D’ moment U prevail in my hand,

I never bow down, wish to bend

Rather a stick, one would prefer,

instead of helping hand of others

A kid leading Father of d’ nation,

with a stick, sketches R K Laxman

In life drama, a multipurpose prop,

used best, before final scene drop

Not chair ridden, confined to bed,

looking forward, marching ahead

U savior, save from Collis fracture,

no fall, no crack in neck of femur

Arms to parry stray dog menace,

keep unwanted at safe distance

An ornament, for added dignity,

projects one as head of d’ family

To bow down a flowering branch,

for morning offering of flowers

To pull guava, from plant’s hold,

with asthenic stature, I feel bold

Now just an undesirable situation,

no sticks seen within wanted items

Conspiracy theory slowly creeps in,

 sticks, missing from market scene

As if a commercial business story,

for a booming Orthopedic surgery

As road traffic accidents rampant,

also extremists, miscreant attack

Accidental falls, numbers on rise,

innocent, old,  getting victimized

Heaves of plaster of Paris dressing,

now on roadsides frequently seen

Stringent law to be passed by State,

it’s no humiliation, not to hesitate

A stick luxurious or ordinary one,

to be carried by all senior citizen

March ahead, head towards sky,

no stooping low in anyone’s eye

without even slightest inhibition,

I’ll make a deliberate declaration

With harvestable organ donation,

enlist stick, my precious possession