I lived easily inside my little Maruti 800—
a modest shell, yet roomy enough
for a family of four and the soft cargo of our laughter.
I never longed for chariots of chrome and thunder;
my journeys were simple,
just the quiet stitching of one place to another,
and my small car carried those threads without complaint.
My friends steered their lives into gleaming kingdoms—
Rolls Royce thrones, Mercedes fortresses,
BMWs that growled like restless beasts,
Audis, Ferraris, Lamborghinis—
a parade of metal peacocks fanning their feathers.
They called me a miser,
a man too frightened to taste luxury.
But I had money—plenty—
I simply refused to mist up my spirit
with the smoke of unnecessary wants.
My home was no palace,
but a warm, breathing place
with the comforts that cradle a family.
Their mansions rose like monuments to pride,
shining so brightly they cast long shadows.
They laughed when I arrived in my humble car—
a sparrow amidst their falcons—
yet I stayed unshaken, nested in my own quiet contentment.
I spent on things that grew—
books blooming on shelves,
children’s minds opening like monsoon lilies,
health that kept the body’s lamp burning steady.
I fed the poor without leaving fingerprints,
sent anonymous wings under the feet of the needy.
I invested not in vanity,
but in the patient soil of prudence.
Even my employees drove finer cars,
lived in houses larger than mine,
and still, in our modest rooms,
peace slept beside us,
love warmed the walls,
and respect held everything together
like a gentle, unbreakable thread.
Then the economy cracked—
a great sheet of ice giving way beneath the world.
My friends’ fortunes fell through,
their grand homes collapsing into obligations,
their roaring cars reduced to silent statues.
They sold their luxuries to stay afloat,
learning suddenly the weight of wings.
Now they drive small cars
and live in rented dwellings,
the wind quieter around them.
They do not laugh at me anymore—
but I offer no triumph,
only a soft, steady empathy.
For money is not a crown,
nor a measure of a man.
It is simply a river—
and wisdom lies not in gathering its waters,
but in choosing where they flow.
My friends learned this truth,
though the lesson arrived
with the harshness of a storm.
