The Portrait Of Grandfather Poem by Bipin Patsani

(For my grandfather Sri Chaitan Patsani)

Grandpa was fortunate to live the way he liked.
He had no fear, no compulsion;
Life being easy as it could be
In the first half of the Twentieth Century.
The unchallenged lord of his land,
Free from grudge or greed,
And satisfied with the year's yield
He would enjoy life on his steed.

No, I never saw him;
Nor did I know when he became memory.
Even I don't know how he looked like.
He died when I was a baby,
Small enough to wet his face and dhoti
Making him laugh to his heart's content.

They told me, he was very much happy
When I was born though he did not know
What was there in store for me,
Having to bear the burden of his name.

A liberal humanist, he enjoyed helping others
And being kind to the workers in the field,
While his elder brother sought pleasure
In scribbling verses on palm leaves.

A straightforward man
Of hard work and adventure,
He despised hypocrisy and inhibition.
Perhaps that was the reason
Why he chose to remain cut off
From some of his clever cousins
For whom breaking homes
Was all game and fun,
Though every autumn evening
They would sit listening to scriptures
And try to outwit one another
Displaying parrot-fashion pedantry
On The Ramayana and Mahabharata.

Bold enough in his decisions,
He was father's opposite.
He never allowed others
To interfere in his world;
Nor did he feel any snobbish shame
To soil his hands in his fields,
And that made all the difference.

He did not know much of suffering.
One stroke and he was no more.
His dear horse went on weeping,
Shunned fodder and died, shaken to the core.