A Musafir

If your grandson asks, who you are

You might tell him the usual things

If he is not satisfied and says

He knows all that and wishes to know more about you

You might feel like telling your travails, your accomplishments

Grandson might still not feel contented

You might then think of identifying yourself

A wanderer who has no home, no address

A wanderer who doesn’t know where to go

You might see a smile on your grandson’s face

You might feel good that he understood

What you conveyed

You might feel happy if he says

“Now I know who you are

You are a Musafir

Always on the move.”