Tuesday, September 27, 2011

golden deer

merchant of Venice,
trader of Taipei,
investor of Indonesia.
i invite them all -
from everywhere
every year.

pasture, hamlet, hillock, seashore, jungle -
i can even give them a pound of flesh of any denizen
in exchange of gold.

these auspicious pitchers planted on the river bank,
these temple domes,
those kites in the festival of uttarayan
this Miyanbhai's dog and that Ramjibhai's rabbit
this old man's specs, spinning wheel and his loin cloth

those shanties and basties across the river,
that big broom in the hand of that scavenger woman
that beggar woman's bowl
this jobless mill-worker's seat-less bicycle
that certificate of a job-hunting university graduate -

they are all made of gold,
pure 24-carat gold.
it is golden, golden everywhere !

you are unnecessarily doubting on this golden deer.
this deer is grazing with no intention of abducting.

no, i am not magician, nor rakshas king.
not only your bodice,
i want to turn all of you into gold,
like golden girls of Shanghai or Dubai.

how long will you wait to cross that Lakhamanrekha,
drawn far behind that BPLine ?
i want to make you global goddess,
more glittering than that Statue of Liberty
on your golden jubilee birth anniversary.

i am your lover,
madly in love with you, dear Gurjari !

dr bhaga manga, ms and dr mhera mohan, frcs

with bamboo baskets on head
and hoes in hand,
dr bhaga manga, ms
and dr mhera mohan, frcs
lifted open the lid of an overflowing man-hole
and slipped into the nether-land.

without any gloves or gumboots,
apron or oxygen- cylinder,
first-aid-box or thirst-aid-box,
scalpel or stethoscope.
they prove more brilliant and competent
than the B J Medico boys.

expert in art
and skilled in science
the real Schweitzerian tribe -
acting upon the every letter of Hippocrates.

very simple docs indeed!
municipality supplies
a pair of blue shorts of khaddar
and a half-sleeve, ash-coloured tennis-shirt.
just like the Harijan-volunteers of yesteryears.

hogs graze upon the earth
or lick the excreta
and dr bhaga manga
and dr mhera mohan
deep down the earth mud-ball playfully !

this ahmedabad city
is a case of multiple malaise,
drinks daily dose of dialysis
thanks dr bhaga manga and dr mhera mohan -
they clear the cotton-wools
forgetfully flung by meritorious medicos
and the honourable citizens.

but the day is different today.
doctors diagnose a tumour :
a dead bud
of innocent love-making.
may be a nuisance to the virgin belly
or weightier than the world!

doctors decided for autopsy :
the rotten bundle issued forth
noxious gases in guffaws.
like miners
suffocating doctors sought for the SOS string.
but dr mana mehtar, ABZ in sanitation
the head of the dept of hygiene
dozzed under lattha influence
with the aristocratic air of dr vani or dr dani.

chain-smoker dr bhaga manga had wished to light a telephone bidi
as soon as he comes out.
but dr mhera mohan was a little romantic by instinct.
he had promised lakhdi to take her to a fillum :
jai bhathiji maharaj !

they did not obstruct
the system of the city -
smoothly floated out of drains
into the sewage farm of Sarkhej.
one frog-yellow,
one milk-white.
all cleansed and washed off !

hundreds and thousands of their children
clear and move about
the blind bowels of the gluttonous city.
they live and die,
die and live happily.

the misled sun

i have no word of welcome for you,
o saffron sun of the new millennium !
no beating of drums
no blowing of trumpets
nor will i go ga-ga on the gala-eve.

whether you rise from the deep romantic chasm of the Konark apsara
or from the shaft of the Koteshwar ling,
you are no longer the global God :
the messiah sent on the perennial mission
of shining on all and sundry
distributing fraternity, liberty and equality.

you were sent to herald a new day everyday
with a ray of hope for each and everyone.
but you fell prey to the prayers,
succumb to the shlokas
enamoured of the enchanting riches
tempted by the Aryan offerings
shed all your rainbows to dye in saffron.

you disowned us dalits
and called it a day.

you now shine on the shrines and skyscrapers
and never even peep into our pits:
treating us as untouchables.
you made them citizens,
make them netizens
ousting us as the denizens of Narmadas
you made us churn the ocean
to have amrit for them
and poison for us.
father of all bio-diversity,

you are now the mere misled meteor
fallen from the pedestal
devoid of gravity and dignity
the savage son of the universe:
unjust and oppressive .
you are not y2k ok :
a corrupt, varna-virus-affected disk
unfit to be ushered in the next millennium

i curse you
you will diminish on each sob and sigh
of the despaired dalits

let me call Lorca's woodcutter
to cut your evil shadow falling on us
no, i won't bid farewell to your eve
nor shall i welcome your dawn.