The Rime of The Nirmal Baba Bhakt

Most Respected Nirmal Baba,

Accept my koti koti pranaam.

You’re a soul so divine, so pure,

The savior of our janata so aam.

The wrinkles of experience on your face,

The grayness of wisdom in your hair,

Bless us through the words of godliness,

That generously from your lips appear.

But unlike my Bham-Bhole Shambu,

You don’t put your third eye on display.

Is it hidden under your clothing,

Or preserved in your Colaba duplex?

Behold the kripa of the third eye,

That provides solutions from its hidden abode.

To questions that no other prayers could answer,

With a perspective unmatched by Adobe.

My friend was a poor eighth pass,

A divorcee, job-less and insane.

In return for a meager ten percent,

Baba promised to eradicate his pain.

“Babaji, mujhko chain nahin,

Kaise main roti khaun?

Na pakaane wali ghar pe,

Na koi paisa jo kama ke laaun.”

“Tum pehante rubber ki chappal,

Kabhi pehne kya sports shoes?

Kaise hogi kripa tum par Lakshmi ki,

Agar bane rahe kanjoos?”

He ran to a Lakshmi mandir,

And searched for the perfect pair,

That would change his life forever.

Oh behold, a Nike Air!

To escape any suspicious eye,

He darted with the shoes on his feet.

He scuttled for his life on NH8,

In Dilli ki badhti heat.

A Mercedes he did run into,

That almost gave him a kiss.

But he fell on the highway open armed,

Though he was saved by two inches’ miss.

“By Golly, driver bhaiya,

Yeh kya kar diya aapne aaj!

Isse le chalo jaldi se hospital,

And throw some money for his ilaaj.”

Three thousands he was paid in cash,

And a bottle of Glucose at Apollo,

That he drank through his mouth,

Quenched his thirst, and walked away solo.

He wrote a cheque of Rupees two hundred

To Baba’s PNB Savings Account.

As part payment for the instant income,

That in excitement he could hardly count.

He strolled down the streets of Pahar Ganj,

A meal at Sam’s Café he wished to devour.

With twenty-eight hundred in his pocket,

He could eat as much as his tongue would savour.

A firang with thighs so white,

Puffed smoke on his face so brown.

She flashed a tattoo inked on her belly,

In her beauty our friend did drown.

The words that she said with a smile,

Went above his balding head.

But from the table that served falafel,

To the neighboring room they tread.

Love sweet like lemony ganna juice,

They both made the following night.

Her piercings, total of twenty-four,

Did clang on the armor of our knight.

To the Qutb Minar he pointed high,

And later straight to the India Gate,

During the Metro trip that they made next day,

Which they marked as their first real date.

“Nirmal Baba, oh Baba!” he cried aloud,

With joy dripping from his eyes.

Not just had he found his doosra prem,

But a job opportunity in disguise.

“I marry you, my kaju barfi.

I earn from guide work here.

Then I fly you to country of your choice,

My pockets full; don’t fear.”

Then before he retired for the night,

And practiced making babies with the babe,

He ran to the PNB branch nearby,

And wrote a cheque from the money in his jaeb.

A cheque of hundred he honestly deposited,

Keeping the promise of full ten percent,

That the Baba had to receive as guru-dakshina,

Calculated to the last earned cent.

The night that followed was fulfilling,

He got massages from fingers of white skin.

And he lay in bed till twelve noon,

When he opened his eyes to the sin.

“Uski sister, uski mother, uski holy cow!

She take my money! She pimp! She tout!”

And he jogged on the streets in his VIP,

That the lady had left without.

Our hero couldn’t find himself another client,

No one was ready to pay for a tour.

The Delhi sun shone bright on his head,

And left him crying like a man so poor.

To the Nirmal Darbar he rushed next day,

“Oh Baba, kripa mein hai rukaavat.

Mere sapnon mein phir se lagi aag,

Main toh kar dunga aaj bagaavat!”

“I paid in cheque full ten percent,

And not a fifth, or a quarter or a half!

Then why have my wishes been taken back,

Main maangu aaj tumse insaaf.”

“Kya TV pe ghoshna na tumne kabhi dekhi?

Main na leta cheque na Promissory Note.

I want payment, beta, of full ten percent,

Either by DD ya Gandhi wale note.”

And all praised the Baba in Nirmal Darbar,

For his word that has always been kept.

Our hero was guilty of breaking his promise.

So, no one cared when he sat there and wept.

To you, my friend, I must tell.

My Baba is so just and fair.

He gives solutions to all your problems,

Don’t you cry alone in despair.

He’ll ask you to write with a Parker pen,

If you’re flunking your CA exams.

He’ll command you to eat samose,

To cure your wife of the terrible spasms.

His third eye has a simple solution,

For any problem that you wish to share.

Only a payment in cash or by Demand Draft,

From your income is what you need to spare.

P.S. To know the real deal about Nirmal Baba, click here

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