No Heroes for Jessica

When Jessical Lall was shot in full public view in an illegal bar owned by an influential socialite, nobbody had any doubts about the case. There were witnesses, circumstantial evidence, the weapon, the bullets, the getaway car and an absconding key accused. Despite all this there was no conviction. The case is open again and this prhyme is all about the queer developments of the recent past.

Jessica died
Some people cried
And then they lost the case.
Manu walked
Coz no one talked
Justice has its ways.

Manu's Dad
Was big and bad
And pulled out all the stops
To cover the tracks
With cash in stacks
To the Shayans and the cops.

Bina and daughter
Threw lots of water
On the bloodstains in the bar
Who disappeared quicker
Than the illegal liquor
Was the culprit in the car.

Years after the crime
There came a time
When the case was opened again
Jethmalani
Came into the kahani
For the slayer, not the slain.

There's lots of talk
With pain and shock
Of where the case is going
The sex angle
The socialite tangle
The intricacies are growing.

Its a filmy plot
With all that's hot
Violence, glamour and sex.
The heroine's nailed
The vamp is jailed
The villians are saving their necks.

But its not a movie
In which a groovy
Macho hero crashes the party
Beats up the crooks
While the system just looks
And everything is hale and hearty.

In the land of zero
There is no hero
Who will bring the bad to book
There was a Ram
Who said, "No ma'am"
I'd rather represent the crook.

Holy Kirpans

It was 1984, when Punjab went completely crazy. I was still growing up and the questions raised by the terrorist movement seemed absurd and real at the same time. This prhyme is dedicated to the indomitable spirit of Punjab.

Holy kirpans smeared to the hilt
In innocent blood needlessly spilt
The burden of such awesome guilt
Is this how homelands are built?

Shattered loves and friendships torn
Mantles of violence justice worn
By fanatic minds of reason shorn
Is this how nations are born?

Adoloscents brainwashed and taught
The trade where life itself is bought
Where love is spurned and hate is sought
Is this how causes are fought?

Terrorists in saintly disguise
Treating faith as a merchandise
Preach dogma for their own rise
Is this where salvation lies?

You’ve got to curb desire Bill.

When Bill Clinton decided to divert the attention of the American public from his antics in the White House to the Middle East, Saddam provided the perfect excuse. It is amusing to notice how similar Bill's reaction was to two totally different stimuli ...

You’ve got to curb desire, Bill
You’ve got to curb desire.

A general with coquettish pride
Shows a garter thong to you
And before the UN can decide
What does the President do?
He whips out a missile
From his own stockpile
And gives the order to fire
You’ve got to curb desire, Bill
You’ve got to curb desire.

Oral commitments do not count
Is a fact that you have stated
And only the aggression that you mount
Has the right to be satiated.
Small nations learn
How to be an intern
In the White House of Bill’s empire.
You’ve got to curb desire, Bill
You’ve got to curb desire.

Nuclear warheads do not leave stains
They only threaten to blow
And cocktail dresses are no restrains
When the Prez is in full flow.
Nobody trusts
Your pelvic thrusts
Is the point of this satire.
You’ve got to curb desire Bill
You’ve got to curb desire.

Bovine Intervention

There have been many scams in this country. But the fodder scam is my favourite for the brash recklessness with which it was committed. When this prhyme was written, Lalu was cooling his heels in a make shift jail... and hopes of conviction were high...

In the land of cows
He took his vows
To rule the ones that bred him
But he showed his class
When it came to grass
He bit the hoof that fed him!

But when his plot
Soon got caught
He scoffed at the brewing storms
With contemptuous flair
He stuck to his chair
Flouting all codes and norms.

Emotionally strirred
The rival herd
Flung accusations and scorns
A battle ensued
And the bloody fued
Had everybody locking horns

Victory is sweet
But impending defeat
Was the bitterest pill of his life.
He was no quitter
So he set off the bitter
With a dose of Rabri – his wife

Now Laloo chews cud
And wallows in the mud
Of infamy in guarded confines
Will Rabri make hay
The Laloo Yadav way
Till the proverbial sun still shines?