Red T-Shirt

I look back at those days
And wonder how did I survive.
A penniless, homeless, aspiring
Movie star aimlessly wandering

Among crowds or riding trains
From Bandra to Churchgate
From Churchgate to Bandra
In Bombay Bollywood.

I could act.
But a fist of a bulge on my forehead,
My body like a stick,
My receding hair line,
My patches of hair falling on temples,
Every movie producer would detract.

One day in a train I sat
Next to a white clad man wearing
Dark glasses looking out of window.
He was humming some old movie song.

Suddenly he asked why was I fidgeting.
How do you know I replied.
“Your body language, and listen,
Put on some colorful clothes.”

I looked at my beige stained T-shirt,
I looked at his snow white kurta and pajama,
And asked why was he in whites.
“Because in me is serenity,” he replied.

At Dadar station he proceeded to the door.
Getting off the train he stepped
On someone’s feet who blurted:
“Can’t you see, you’re crushing my feet?”

“Sorry, sir, I am blind, I cannot see.”
And then off the train he went.
Since that day, when I am down
I put on a T-shirt that’s red

Not beige, not black, not brown.
And keeping my head high I walk around.
It works, my friends, it works. Try sometime.
It cheers me up. No low downs.

(after Anupam Kher’s post at Intentblog)