We open with that fetid organization,
The pecuniary pundits of a cricketing nation.
(To losing to the Pakis, we’d prefer to die –
A strange thought enters my stranger mind.
Does our historical hate at the border fuel
And make us treat a game as a duel
Or is it to both we’re equally kind?)
But today it’s about Kali Yug cricket.
To five cricketers, BCCI’s given a ticket.
On camera they were caught in a sting operation
Match fixing, an indigenous Kali Yug invention.
On cricket somehow we are more indignant,
But why should vagrant behaviour, here be different?
The Saudis have nabbed another bloke and how,
But on State Bank’s home loan rates, there’s no hope.
And cornered on Adarsh, Chavan blames Vilasrao,
For after Mantralaya’s fire, no evidence, no dope.
So dispirited, I take in tokenism to relax:
For NSG membership, the US pitches for this nation;
A two-month-old girl’s abandoned at Dadar station;
And by the way, actors will now pay service tax.
For abortion pills they were illegally selling,
About four doctors, Dirty Paper goes a-telling,
It appears they were stocking it like chemists,
A diversification the law doesn’t permit.
For aren’t doctors supposed to have standards high,
At this I bet you’ll laugh till you f_cking cry.
Good lord isn’t this is a strange one!
In Chennai, is candidate Pranab Mukherjee,
A presidential candidate and canvassing he’s done,
Seeking the support of Karunanidhi.
If he’s gone pleading for support, then
On being elected he will take sides,
And favour those with positive vibes.
How then can the president not be partisan?
With years behind him, he’s seen it all,
A decent man who’d never had a fall.
No head-turner, or stature, certainly no sensation,
He relies on wrinkles to supplement his reputation.
Even now, prim and proper and decent is he.
Just so we say: President Pranab Mukherjee.