At the traffic signal, I crawl up
Next to my friend's Mercedes
My thirty-three year old scooter
Hardly one-fourth its length.
My friend, his business worth crores
Puts down his Blackberry on the table
Beside my five-year old Nokia,
Scratched, scarred, and shoddy.
He hugs me, his cologne- laced shirt
Wrinkles its nose
At my faded cotton -
It tries to hide the button-less hole.
He said how, one day
He had this vision of a huge Banyan-like tree
Ants marching, monkeys jumping
Children playing, plucking fruits.
He talks about his mission
About the five thousand acre arid land
Turning it green, growing organic cotton.
He talks about his company
Employees more than five thousand
About his effluent treatment plant
Where, even the sludge, bacteria-treated
Lets onions bloom beneath the soil.
My friend's arm thrown over my shoulder
I remember how I once saved his life
From drowning in the river.
Osho says do not compare
Accept the you you are.
I guess I have to accept
That Giant Redwoods
And coarse grass as well
Have their own places in the grand scheme of things.