“Don’t they pay you for the job anymore?”

Asked my father with a huge uproar

“What’s with the jeans that are clung on to you,

Have you ever thought of buying a new?”

“No dad no, I am gonna hold on to her

She’s the one that makes, me a wanderer

I got her for a thousand bucks way back then

Every time I pull her, I catch the memory lane!

I like the way she looked at me

Before I picked her, she winked at me!

From Mumbai to Delhi, I went onward

Wearing her on my skin, like a shining armor

I spoiled her, I ripped her, I tore her, I stitched her

But wait! Here she is like an unspoiled fur

I cared for her like the girl in my dream

But never really bothered to wash her in the stream

Mathura smeared her in its colors

And Matheran drenched her in its showers

She smells of caffeine, she smells like a pizza

Pasta, Pav Bhaji, and food unknown

I took her in the forest this summer

And now she becomes my secret bearer

To wash my sins I went up the hills

The wind there gave me chills

That’s when I pulled on my old rugged jean

To hear her whisper ”Long  may he reign’ “

-Saumitra Shinde

Story of My Travelling Jeans

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