These days onion prices are hitting the roof in Delhi. It’s now even entered as an ice breaker in posh drawing room conversations. The government is scurrying for cover, and the people are scurrying to procure them as and when supplies arrive in shops.
So, here’s all power to the onion!
I am an onion, I can make you all cry,
whether you cut me, or watch as my prices fly.
I have layers, you’ll discover as you peel
treat me with care, for I’m now a raw deal
I’m sensitive, always tormented,
rains, heat, cold make me fermented.
I just have to sneeze and prices catch cold,
my value goes up, second only to gold.
I am there to remind you, while you sit and worry,
I pack a lot of punch, despite being so ordinary.
I am small, round and you may even call me fat,
but when I throw a tantrum, I’m quite a brat.
I’m used in cooking, eaten raw, and used in salads,
that’s the stuff on which you should sing long ballads.
I am sharp, odorous yet difficult to replace,
you have no alternative to fill my space.
I am pungent, but that’s my USP,
food in most cases can’t be free of me.
I am indispensable, and I have no worries,
essential as I am, in all kinds of curries.
My moods send shivers up the market’s spine,
I love it when my scarcity makes people whine.
People queue up in shop in order to hoard,
arguing why a `no supply’ is written on the board.
All this is very flattering, an ode to my presence,
I’m an onion, to make you cry is in my essence.