With 31st March fast approaching, I can well comprehend the state of many Chartered Accountants caught in the intricate web of year closing work, being one myself. Yet, despite the incredible pressures and occupational hazards, I believe that they work in silence as compared to many others. Accountants known for their penchant at behind the desk work and being orthodox and boring are somehow away from limelight, save for an annual bit of budget analysis where they are unceremoniously asked to chip in with brief comments. Not that it really counts... more so, in a country of like ours, where it is increasingly being felt that the voice of sanity is being smothered without remorse. I feel for this most misunderstood breed of professionals, not only because I am an integral part of the fraternity but also for the reason that I carry an sense of acute responsibility to show them in true light for the kind of work they do and life they lead. Perhaps, being an author, it becomes all the more imperative that I take up this onerous responsibility. So here it goes, a small narrative prose in honor of every CA and for all who think of us as anything but a big bookish-bore:
Ode to a Chartered Accountant
I knew of an auditor not too long ago,
Very sincere he was but a wee bit slow,
With numbers his days were endlessly long
Could never slumber or break into a song,
He always felt that his work was life
Was disliked by many but most by his wife,
Seemed forever on the barrel of a gun
Be they statutes or bland figures undone,
He seldom smiled and never laughed aloud
People thought he was stuck up and proud,
His folks were tired of his workaholic ways
For his face was long and so were his days,
But sincere he was and knew all norms
And rarely erred when filling up forms,
His earnings were measly and often low
For despite his diligence he was unpaid so,
With advancing age his health grew frail
Yet he never allowed his duties to trail,
Life-long he seemed harried with work
Annoyed he was but he never did shirk,
Accused of wrongs was his destiny’s guile
Be it a report or an income-tax file,
Once he told me of his jumbled state
Which none could follow, but just his fate,
He sadly mused of his work and duty
And never chancing upon life’s beauty,
Felt his obituary would be short not shallow
For the happy readers would soon follow,
One last little wish made my dear old mate
May the heavens balance his sheet on date.
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My dear readers, if you ever happen to spy upon a balance sheet or financial figures.. do spare us a kind thought. We need it... even if you feel we do not deserve so!
