The Muted Roar....

The concrete jungle I live in, is a great place to be,
But I’m no great fan of the tiger you see.

The Old creature, way past his prime,
Still living in his archaic time,
Just refuses to let the jungle be,
The concrete jungle I live in, is a great place to be,
But I’m no great fan of the tiger you see.

He seems to have a problem with the animals here,
He says he likes the donkeys but he hates the deer.
His fear of loosing power is for all to see.
The concrete jungle I live in, is a great place to be,
But I’m no great fan of the tiger you see.

Violence is his virtue, threatening others, his plot,
Two of his cubs, keep fighting each other a lot,
Who succeeds him doesn’t affect me,
The concrete jungle I live in, is a great place to be,
But I’m no great fan of the tiger you see.

He’s always been a bully, telling us to shut up,
Either talk his language or rename our shop,
Most annoying of his vices, is his misplaced priority,
The concrete jungle I live in, is a great place to be,
But I’m no great fan of the tiger you see.

All these years, we let him roar,
Honestly, now, he’s just a big bore.
Let’s just mute the roar, and set the poor ‘ol chap free,
The concrete jungle I live in, is a great place to be,
But I’m no great fan of the tiger you see.

It is the end, my prophecy states,
We no longer subscribe to the policy that hates,
Waiting to read the obituary of the T – Company,
The concrete jungle I live in, is a great place to be,
But I’m no great fan of the tiger you see.

The legacy of hate...

The Prelude:

What inspired me to pen this one down was a series of events. Firstly, a detailed TV report on the defeat of LTTE and the death of its leader Prabhakaran. The report also laid stress on the severe violation of human rights and an old tactic of LTTE of using Female Human Bombs. One of the kinds that killed perhaps the most charming PM India ever had, Rajiv Gandhi.

Followed by these reports I also happened to see, perhaps one of the most underrated Bollywood movies of all time, Dil Se which really aggravated the urge to vent my poetic frustration…That is exactly what I did, albeit in a storyline format which to some purists might be too long for it to be called a poem… Who cares!!

So here it goes…

Fallen lies our soldier brave,
Misguided by beliefs, she dug her own grave,
Now she lies in eternal sleep,
Leaving behind hundreds to weep

A false battle she fought all her life,
Someone else’s ideals became her strife,
High on the venom of vendetta and hate,
She herself was the author of her ugly fate

She’d seen her sister being raped at five,
The fanatics set on fire her mother alive,
She was held by her hair and dragged a mile,
The cops merely compiled her miseries into a file.

A childhood full of trauma had gone astray,
Under the tutelage of terror and guns to play,
The lessons of violence were taught so well,
How they would manifest no-one could tell.

She was chosen then, to be part of a demonic plan,
Despite being a girl, she was the best in her clan,
The spectacles of hatred, the world will watch with aplomb,
The holy sacrifice will be made by a human bomb.

The girl who could have been a mother or a wife,
Was now prepared to sacrifice her life,
Thinking ability of her mind, since childhood was chained,
The moment had arrived for which she was trained.

Twenty sixth day of January did arrive,
The Republic Parade was being telecast live,
Thousands had gathered to feel the pride,
Bejeweled with her pearls, ready was our bride.

The President had taken the last salute,
The army band was playing the flute,
It was just then, “BOOOM” went the sound,
With it, the sound, took hundreds to the ground.

The masters across the border had reasons to celebrate,
The plan they’d conceived, had worked just great.
Bloody corpses lay on the hospital bed,
Official figures stated four hundred dead.

Our little girl never realized I guess,
She was used like a pawn in the game of chess,
The result of her mindless act,
Could prove to be more heinous in fact

Another one of the orphaned child,
Could take the path of cruelty and go wild,
She never realized what she did create,
She left behind a legacy of hate…

Freedom - A Disturbing Thought!!

“Into the heaven of freedom my father, let my country awake”, wrote Rabindranath Tagore, the Nobel laureate from India. I thought of this today and wondered in amazement. Do I really know what freedom is? What does freedom mean to me? What would it mean to others around me? I just thought of the few people and wondered what freedom would mean to them?

Just began thinking… and believe me, there came a point of time, where I just couldn’t, rather didn’t want to think anymore. I’ll just express my thoughts here and leave it for you to figure out what freedom would mean to these people, what it means to you.

Savita:

The first one I thought was a running, scrambling, struggling lady trying to fight her way into the 6:34 p.m. Virar fast local from Churchgate station after work. All this, to reach home safely in time to be able to cook her drunkard abusive husband, taunting in laws and mischievous ungrateful kids a delicious dinner. What would freedom mean to her?

Raju:

Just when I began feeling a bit uncomfortable with the flow of thoughts, the thought of Raju came to my mind. Yes, Raju, who works from 5:00 am to 11:00 pm at a tea stall at the end of my lane. He has varied hobbies, from cleaning the table to washing the tea cups; he has been made to love all of it. Oh, I forgot to mention, he just celebrated his seventh birthday yesterday amidst great fanfare. The delicacy for the day was a ‘Five Star’ he bought from his weekly savings of a rupee a day. He also had the pleasurable and much sought after company of ‘Moti’ & ‘Seema’, the two beloved pets of Mishraji who also happens to be Raju’s master. ‘Moti’ & ‘Seema’ are lucky, they are often fed a cup of sweet milk, little Raju has never been so lucky yet in his 3 years of dedicated service to Mishraji. What would freedom mean to Raju? Any idea?

Munni:

Just when I was trying to recollect my thoughts around Raju, another great personality struck my mind. “Munni” – the outperformer. Yes, Munni sold orchids, carnations, roses and any other sundry seasonal flowers as handed over to her by her incestuous uncle at the Churchgate Station Signal junction. She was truly an outperformer, better at delivering bottom-line results and meeting her assigned targets better than any other corporate head honcho.

This was her second consecutive week where she had exceeded her target of sales of Rs. 155/- everyday. She got her vada pav for dinner every day that week from her mother who was otherwise busy teaching her younger son the art of persuasive begging at the car windows at the signal junctions. He was underfed for a week too, so that he could look the part when it comes to the real act in a day or two. What do you think freedom would mean to Munni?


Rani:

By now, I was sweating heavily and wanted to go to my building compound for a walk. This was when I banged into an overjoyed Bahadur Singh, my building watchman. This one that Bahadur narrated to me took me a time to fathom. He told me the reason for his delight was ‘Rani’. Bahadur and Rani shared a lot of things in common. For starters they shared a bed last night in Kamathipura and more importantly for Bahadur; Rani also shared his native place in a small village in Nepal. Obvious reason for Bahadur’s excitement was the fact that he had a 16 year old Nepali girl to satiate his wild fantasies. It was dream come true for Bahadur. Something he always wanted! Wonder what freedom would mean to Rani???