Thankfulness, revisited

 

This morning, as I trudged back to my room,

From a test, and hence submerged in gloom,

The date finally struck me.

A day when the grossly underappreciated get their due,

If only on Facebook,

And attempts like these.

 

English teachers were always my favourites,

And I, in most cases, theirs.

Every essay, every attempt to weasel a debate out of me,

Has had a part to play in where I find myself today.

 

To attempt to quantify what they, along with numerous others,

Have done for me would be foolhardy and insurmountable.

Instead, I turn to the characters I’ve come across,

Watching matches, turning pages, scrolling through channels.

 

Tyrion Lannister taught me that small men can cast large shadows,

And that wit beyond measure is indeed a man’s greatest treasure.

Jaime Lannister, for showing that it’s possible to lose what one holds dearest,

And yet emerge a better, and stronger man, after it.

 

Harvey Specter, for setting the standards high,

And getting the comebacks right.

Rust Cohle, for pandering to the pessimist in me,

And for the monologues delivered with a sigh.

Sherlock and John, for restoring my faith in true love.

Vinnie Chase and team, for making bros count.

 

Roger Federer, Rahul Dravid and Sachin Tendulkar,

For introducing me to ‘Grit. Guts. Glory’, much before BOSM did.

Munaf Patel and Ishant Sharma, for exemplary perseverance through abuse,

And for post match interviews in English nigh candid.

 

Kipling, for Mowgli and the belief that ‘If’,

One does things right, the world’ll be his.

Tennyson, for making the brook go on forever,

And instilling “that which we are, we are”.

Frost, for bringing out the dilemma of choice,

And trudging the less travelled road.

Apogee
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.

Billy Beane and Kabir Khan for showing that

When talent fails to take you through, passion will.

Niki Lauda and James Hunt, for depicting,

The thin line between respectful rivalry and a blatant rat race.

 

John Lennon, Aerosmith and Gurukant Desai taught me

That there’s nothing wrong with dreaming.

Pink Floyd, for chiding my tendency to be just another brick in the wall,

And giving me a song to hum whenever I wished I had company.

 

Andre Agassi, for giving me “autobiography goals”

Amit Chatterji, for doing things right, yet failing to get the girl.

Tony Webster, for the introduction to “Philosophical Meandering”.

Holden Caulfield, for showing that not all phonies are bad.

 

Vikram Seth, for teaching me that long works are the worst,

And the resultant realization that this post must end.

Lastly, to the man in the mirror, who refuses to give up,

Despite shoddy attempts at overcoming a writer’s block.

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