Panditji's office is on the foothpath,
With two stray dogs, always on guard.
He makes Pan and and offers solid Gyaan.
His customers are a merry lot,
The range from your mad poet to the Stock market boss,
In the middle are sandwiched the laborers who build the Naval Dry Dock.
Panditji knows what was the last closing of Sensex, what was the Range bound Nifty,
Which Stocks are punters molls, which are fundamental trolls,
What was gold yesterday, and when will it turn into silver today,
Why is the GDP poor, when will the FDI go for cover.
I always get into a romantic mood when I hear pandit jee's tune,
Mumbai allow me to bite that black mole,
You flaunt on your fresh juicy red lips my dear moll.

Hardik Vaidya

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/pandit-jee-3/