Wearing white smocked frocks
red socks and matching shoes,
a red band on the head, three
kids walk towards the tarmac.
One garlands him twined
with red roses the other offers a bouquet
where pink is dominant the youngest
hands over a ripe lemon,
Nehru lifted the one who
garlands throws her up in the air,
takes the hand of the second.
kisses the third.
The kids, innocent as they could be,
steal the limelight, become in no time
the cynosure of all eyes, stand dazed
knowing not what to do.
I being the privileged of the three,
the one who went up the air
walk beside him.. Why such a reception?
I wonder, he is another man in the crowd.
( it is befitting to recall this anecdote on Nehru’s birthday)