Ode to Pops

He's my father this man is and he's all of 24. He abruptly launched into a family some two and a half years ago and he's managed to keep it going ever since. He left to study Marketing and Branding at the University of Leeds on Wednesday and even though I haven't seen him since I left Bombay on August 30, I miss him like hell already. I don't usually rhyme, so it's even more obvious now that this nutcase is really important to me. Until we meet again in around a year's time, I hope this temporary goodbye message does justice to the occasion. 

You stand six feet off the ground

Your wisdom is profound

That gap between your eys and hair

Covers a brain beyond compare

You'll always be a failed engineer

Even though it's copy that you now hold dear

This you can't ever refute,

Like your wit I won't dispute.

The little thing in your pocket,

that you call a wallet

Hold a lot of notes and dimes

That I've begged for too many times

But you're a real miser,

Who loves his Budweiser

Sometimes you splash the cash

And throw a big bash

And get everybody thirsty

For a mad maaza party!

You're not my first pop

The list won't ever stop stop

But you've always been around

Whenever my world went round

From pulling up my pants

To reading all my rants

You've been at my beck and call

Despite being a baap to us all.

Now that you've gone to the U.K.

Thane won't ever be okay

Your kids may go to jail

But you'll come online to post bail

This may come late and out of the blue

But just remember I love you.