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! )
Predict a landslide for Modi in the former;
A scrape-through for Congress, just the needful
In the latter – did they fail to hammer?
In Maimed Mumbai, the Sena’s begun,
The process of shifting the memorial.
Rajya Sabha’s done with the quota ordeal,
But Lok Sabha promises much more fun,
But Sena’s shifting seems too good to be true,
And Mulayam must now have a trick or two,
To puncture the sails of Mayawati’s yatch,
With something dirtier than whatever she’s got.
These two desperately need numbers in 2014,
Given their life expectancy and CBI’s guillotine.
After trying to thoroughly botch up FDI retail,
Mamata beamed winningly at industry captains,
Assuring them that her government wouldn’t fail,
Even on land acquisition – the U-turn was at pains
To appear convincing, to the natural lie detectors,
The simple one we intuitively have for protection;
Yet, almost immune to its inevitable detection,
She continued to bullshit the money attracters.
But midway Pawan Munjal exited the meeting,
Saying he wouldn’t invest in Bengal, (without seething).
A little bird says that he broached the FDI topic,
And Mamata’s response was rude and ectopic.
And so as usual she again achieved the exact opposite,
Of what she had set out to achieve – predictably quixotic.
Something intolerably mundane for Delhi
Happened again; and again shameless mention
Of it must be done, in the hope that finally
On some odd day, somehow, there’s ACTION.
A twenty-three old girl in a moving bus,
In pretty normal hours as normal can be,
Was gangraped by five bastards brutally;
Again, the holy police was far as Phoebus.
Stripping her, they then beat her brutally,
And threw her off the vehicle roughly.
Now after four hours of difficult surgery,
She’s on ventilator, and India’s angry.
Her intestines are ruptured, genitals injured,
And the thought crosses, where are the bastards.
Will they again first elude our fantastic police,
And then once caught, get off with ease.
Three sonnets covering each day of the Nirbhaya period will be posted everyday. Follow them here on ‘WordPress’ on http://www.nirbhayasindia.com or through my twitter account: @nirbhayasindia
Do click on the links within the text to open up the subject fully
Now Sibal’s plan’s gone quite sour,
As more IITs tow the hard-line.
You know each thinks he’s a star,
Including Sibal who doesn’t give a dime.
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.
A new breed forms the powers that be,
English speaking sycophants in plenty.
Now Dirty paper is downright entertaining,
As the rupee falls to 56 point 57.
Suicide rates in southern states are gaining;
And the economy inches closer to heaven.
A Principal over admission gets beaten,
The rain deficit is twenty four per cent.
Fined for cartelization, are companies in cement;
Now watch how their shares prices get eaten.
On the border they both say they won’t fuss.
It’s trade they will both boost instead,
But this new spin sounds both fake and dead.
Wonder what’s behind this double deception.
It’s weird like b_lls undergoing erection.
Are we plunging into a vortex deep,
Where it’s depressing to even converse.
And peace will come only from sleep,
For the news around is always perverse.
That’s why I call the newspaper, Dirty,
Though what it bravely reports is hard fact.
But when it’s not its job to resort to tact,
How can these verses have levity.
I know as a writer or poet I’m in danger,
Of being labeled activist or scavenger.
But how can my stanzas be brighter,
When the news makes paper, toilet paper.
That’s brings us dear reader to the root cause.
It’s a lavatory today; a country it once was.