TWO OLD PALS

 

One afternoon, as I passed through Queen's Way

I could see two old pals, gossiping at bay,

Standing along the Race-course grounds

Chatting as if they had a friendship profound.

The tram said, "Do you know our routes are all curbed

Just 2 routes to go and purpose served,

One starts from Shyambazar and ends in Esplanade

The other plies to Gariahat, rest all dead."

The taxi replied, "Oh that's so sad

You are a veteran, not so bad,

Although I heard that its no different for me

Perhaps some day, even I would lose the need.

A tap on a smartphone, fetches a flock of cars

Just put the location and travel moon to mars,

No need to wait for long or stop a running van

Bid for a price that suits and travel as much you can."

Listening to this tram said, "The same might be for me

They said I was so sluggish that I was a wasted breed,

Drawn by horses then and dragged by current now

Perhaps it high time to break Victorian vows.

Or perhaps I have grown to old, as all my owners claim

I cause congestion in busy road, oh! its such a shame,

Bikers who rode in hurry say they often topple on rails

Now I ain't a grape vine that they would fox tale."

Laughed out the old taxi, rattling his bonnet

"Oh dear, you make limericks out of every sonnet,

I wish the humans ever knew how crude you have trolled

They would never prefer stop you, and let the wheels roll"

Pleased by his friend's remarks spoke the big fellow

"But you are the true gold mate, with stripes of black on yellow,

Giving you the significance of a Royal Bengal Tiger

The true identity of Bengal, wealthier and wiser.

You are free to move around from Howrah to Behala

Like the fearless sailors of ancient Karbala,

You trace down the circular rails, along the Ganges banks

And maybe after a whole day's trip, you fill your tanks."

Smiling the taxi replied, "And you are the vehicle of loves

Several couples, and many love stories are your nested doves,

Many proposal, many heartbreaks and many poetries laden

Heritage to the deep culture with the whole city your Jaden.

From the derby matches to the age of Lefts

With a cup of tea and cigarette,

You have borne the city's banner

Since then, till date."

Sighing the tram says to taxi, "You know what my friend?
Every thing that once begins, comes to an end.

I was the first EV of the world, even before a trend

And now to tie my hands and limbs, they are hell bent."

Taxi smiled with a heavy heart, "That is the way of life

Change is the only constant, and in change we all survive,

Velocity becomes a vintage when waves replace wheels

Pace leaves no trace for them and time gradually kills.

Necessity has mothered inventions

And inventions have mother the race,

Just few souls, love being old

The others fasten their lace."

Time and tide, waits for none

Be it the youth or the aged,

Updates and Upgrade are the new normal

The backdated are cursed and caged.

But my question is for all, for the young or the old alike

Have you thought that we too would be, vintage after some nights?

Even we would be using walking sticks, as we see some use before us

Wouldn't we desire someone to care for us then, or leave it to the time's consensus?

Well, old things are indeed slow

And hence we all had evolved,

But forgetting the past in the greed of the future

Is never the matter resolved.

Today as the Municipalities are planning to uphold

The regular ply of taxies and trams,

Never would they know how old drivers would survive

In the market with inflation's drums.

Hence I request, to respect the vintage

And lets not shed them as scraps in trucks,

As nobody knows how they could save us

When the developed break downs and sucks.

That's all I had to say in this poem

You decide its a bane or a boon,

I just penned down the lovely chit chat

Between two old pals, on a winter afternoon.

-- Lucifer Khursao