Monthly Archives: June, 2013

30th June 2012, This Day, Last Year

On this thirtieth day of June

With Chapter One over, I feel bold,

Taking in contradictory headlines that loom

Bombay: eight acres plot, for Rs 600 cr sold.

The news is about money and more money,

So a titillated Index sees a 439 points jump.

Now Pranab’s measures are getting a drub,

It’s the Midas touch of Manmohan, honey.

But in Dirty Paper, paradoxes are grilled:

In Chhattisgarh, nineteen Maoists are killed.

For all his wisdom, Manmohan does forget,

That in Chhattisgarh, there’s no stock market.

And that in India, 3 per cent of us trade in shares,

To ninety-seven per cent others, who the f_ck cares.



However meagre the Bombay rains have been,

The met office only talks of rains gone past!

430 trees have fallen, but maybe they were lean.

Privately Bombay doesn’t want rains to last.

In Pakistan there’s been a survey

That amongst the two evils the Taliban

And India, the former is safer than

The latter, who’s more dangerous any day!

However pleased with Manmohan, the stock index was,

The sulking rupee continues to post loss.

It’s slipping downhill like rainwater,

And has recorded its worst ever quarter.

Remember what we said about the horny market’s erection?

The rupee’s more sober – needs a fundamental correction.



So here we sum up the month of June,

Though we started on seventeenth only.

A sad opening with a corporate chief, no goon

And soon and suddenly Mamata is lonely.

Then punctuation in the story: Anna and team . . .

Soon rating agencies make the market flaccid.

And across the border, PM Gilani has it,

But here, a battle for PM-ship starts unclean.

As a retired Pranab digs into presidential caviar,

Moneyman Manmohan returns to be old saviour,

And the erectile tissue of the stock market’s rigid.

Yet an unperturbed rupee remains frigid.

So faces changed, but India waited for someone

Still selfish, leaderless, disparitous –  again ‘twas done.


June 2012 – Quotable short verses


The face unseen, the woman nameless,

From some village, a bus traveller so less

Privileged than the ruling or moneyed,

Was enough to get India up and frenzied.



On one side a societal unrest of classes;

A ‘lower’ man prevails on citied classes,

Through the biological force of rape,

Which becomes easy in a state with this inscape,



But to say it isn’t about women is silly

For that’s like saying for civilization

That it isn’t about being civilized really.

Further, blood rushes at the abomination



Now with folded hands when they scrounge for votes,

These chronicles will then come handy folks.

For us I’ve recorded in dates and verses,

So we’ll laugh and know who to bless with curses.



So who gives a f_ck, trains collide at Andheri station,

Or that well bug_ered is the economy of the nation.

Rather that a minister’s son’s deals are dubious,

Even Dirty Paper’s nosey and far more curious.



If a Finance Minister seeks office of President

It’s their personal gain, so sc_ew the dividend.

Its b_lls on its ears, the economy does a dance,

But a preoccupied country has elsewhere to prance.



Strange how tainted teams turn around and say,

In this shamelessly shining India of today.

How one insists the other must get the sack,

Is the proverbial pot calling the kettle black.



With so many heroes extolled here,

With incalculable gods to caretake us,

With boundless blessing, dizzying fuss,

Why we’re so fu_ked, is rather unclear.



You know what the word ‘reforms ’must mean –

The failed western model we must emulate,

And turn it modishly into a capitalist state,

Where private companies on public bailouts preen.



As companies hungrily seek market share,

Whole industries are stripped naked and bare.

Now on MBA education one rightfully shudders,

For once upon a time there was Lehman brothers.



And now when speculation is rife on early polls.

With twinnie, how we share the bell that tolls.

Not surprising that we’ve so much in common:

Geography, history and a fate f_cked by a demon.



Reminiscent of the good old Nawabs, till

Well after they’d lost all their wealth,

Just to show they were in the pink of health,

They would pay income tax still.



And Nitish is targetting Modi from Bihar.

For the PM’s chair, will be an all out war.

As a CBI judge’s booked by Anti Corruption Bureau,

This isn’t a country anymore methinks. It’s a curio.



See, if we were meant to be so alike,

Then why the partition, why the dislike.

Instead at each other we must beam,

And to win, form a common cricket team.



For nowadays, even spectators appreciate

Slimy, cunning innovation that may grate

Of a deviousness that’s quite chilling,

A moral turpitude long simmering.



Now Congress is left with only such types –

Spokesmen all, but no representatives,

English speaking is what Sonia likes,

Articulate lawyers on accented sedatives.


These days it’s all about the Upper House;

Sonia’s nominees and democracy’s grouse.

A Rajya Sabha seat is for servile royalty,

And Lok Sabha for wily yokels and loyalty.



Finally our strong silent PM has spoken,

Maybe because Sonia allowed him to.

And we are obligated to listen to his view

That ‘reforms’ will be back is his token.



The date changes but the flavour’s the same,

And again it isn’t me being naughty.

‘Ol Dirty paper is at it again,

So here’s the daily dose of potty.



The PM’s an old economist, decent and quiet,

Another significant upper house acolyte.

He’s warming the chair for Sonia’s son;

What a fat position for loyalty done.



But Narendra Modi’s seeing a new low,

With a trial court refusing to tow

The line that he’s completely in the clear,

In the Gulbarg Society massacre.



Are we only getting what we deserve?

For we are parochial let’s just admit,

When caste creed and colour we preserve,

That’s when we swim in our own shit.



There’s naturally a frustrated feeling –

Pray why like this, Pakistan had to be.

But still, let’s not hit the ceiling,

For did we not create the LTTE?



Instead my friend, there’s another way,

You too can play a role, by joining the NDA.

No, no, oh no, not that political nanny!

But The National Defence Academy.



Under the holy name of the law,

A Mumbai policeman sees everything he saw,

That You and I see as just fine,

To be one helluva heinous crime.



Laws are archaic it’s quite clear,

And the cost of living is also dear.

So let’s arrest some and heap some bribe,

That explains half the actions of this tribe.



Now here’s a dose of subcontinent football.

And Maharashtra’s no less than Brazil, Argentina.

Dribbling the ball on the Adarsh scam are all

Ex chief ministers changed frequently by Sonia.



A tree fell to kill a twenty-four year old.

Train services and roads were badly hit.

Though BMC promised all would be fit,

The cause: just 75 mm of rain, we’re told.



How man doesn’t see the earth from the air

From the aircraft that he only invented,

And misses the ravage he’s caused everywhere,

On a planet, so excessively inhabited.



Compelled, now and then nature gives

Hints, we still turn a blind eye to.

Stolid, cretinous, and filthy as pigs,

Failing to see what will eventually brew.



We’ve excavated deeply, despoiled the earth

Even though there is no dearth,

Of places that we occupy already,

With needs and wants of the terrifically greedy.



No, no, oh no, not that political nanny!

But The National Defence Academy.

And these days it’s damn easy to get a seat.

On its recruitment scam, Dirty paper has meat.

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