“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
Your real feelings for jean pant is fantastic. I loved it. I think first time someone has worte about his own pant. Great