The Nirbhaya Chronicles – December 28th, 2012

These sonnets (each with the same fixed rhyming scheme) cover:

what India (us and the political class) was doing

when Nirbhaya (who symbolized the apathy of politicos) was dying.

To her memory. And to our awakening.

Let us continue our fight for a 2nd azaadi with the same verve. 

( the links are clickable; so read about our representatives before 2014! )

Nirbhaya seems to have silently protested.

On leaving India, her blood pressure collapsed

Midflight, but doctors kept her alive and nested

Till she was wheeled in, and half-day had lapsed.

Her condition’s critical now, but sadly even here,

Politics has played out its dirty and shamed hand:

Safdarjung doctors handed her to a private band,

To Naresh Trehan’s Medanta, a private belvedere.

The doctors who kept her alive, barring just one,

The government chose to sideline and shun,

Retaining their fancy for their private buddies,

Like an arty upturned moneyed nose for nudies,

That you and I are hard-pressed to understand,

Quite like debating the beginning of an engarland.



Another inheritor says something asinine.

The President’s son’s (sc_ew his name)

Sexist take on women protestors is acauline.

From the safety of a TV channel it came.

Imagine him saying with the same temerity,

The very same words at the stormy India Gate,

Tempting then the predictable hands of fate,

Which would have peeled his pants with alacrity,

And whipped his a_se till blood, red not blue

Ooozed out, to diabolical laughter that’d ensue.

Meanwhile another a_se will be overdue in getting taken,

As a woman is gangraped in Delhi, and quite shaken

Must be all those who thought the deterrent’s missing,

And that once that happens rapists prefer choir singing.


Mount Elizabeth Hospital is matter of fact,

That Nirbhaya’s condition is extremely critical.

She’d even suffered cardiac arrest that had

Inflicted more damage. And the apical

Possibility of neurological damage looms.

But now she’s far way and the news is slow

In coming and it somehow lacks the glow,

The glimmer is now is suffused with glooms.

It’s almost as if the agitation was her heartbeat,

And so it stopped three minutes on leaving the leet.

Now suburban prayers with candle marches.

Replace frantic agitating under colonial arches.

And now when a girl saunters to some lonely stretch,

She is cross-eyed, and sees in every man, a letch.

Three sonnets covering each day of the Nirbhaya period will be posted everyday. Follow them here on ‘WordPress’ on or through my twitter account: @nirbhayasindia 


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