THE BALLAD OF THE PIPED PIPER OF INDIA
(With sincere apologies to Robert Browning and trolls and all)
I come from a small town in which everyone is sick
We stay awake all night staring at the lantern wick
This is a story I heard from my grandmother’s side
A woman with bigger bosoms you could never have spied
This is where begins my dramatic ditty
It could be TODAY or five hundred years ago
To see how my townsfolk suffered so
No one knows how
And that is the ultimate pity
Arre Bhai, you want some chai
Or I can serve you a cup of tea
Look
Here is my town on this geographical map
Let me say this is in desi-rap
My town is in this country exotica
She is quite famous for its erotica
A naughtier town you won’t find
If that is, the donkeys and dust you don’t mind
So if you pass by, you must visit my township
Decades ago it was called something very hip
Nay – Names don’t make a diff they say
This while everyone is joining the Angrez bandwagon or Rashtriya fray
Sangh Parivar v/s Singh Parivar
Anti Gandhi and Pro Dandi that’s another war
But
Let me cease my tattle and talk
It’s time for my parable to walk the walk
Hmm
I can hear the murmurings of the poor folks
Who earn Rs 10 per day and accept it as fate
Cause our country has a double-digit growth rate
But when the poor, they raise their voice
The world at large dismisses it as noise
(Problems, Problems, Problems)
(The Big Problem being there are just too many ephing Problems)
These Rats!
Wish someone could drive these
These vermins from our cities
It could be the Righties
Or it could even be the Lefties
So
As I was saying These Rats
They fought the dogs, and killed the cats
Soon no dog had its day; and no cat had nine lives
Though certain people could bribe and have many wives
These Rats indoctrinated babies in the hospital bed
They swallowed the bottomline, the RBI was in debt
They stole cereals and grains in the food godowns
That’s how our PM inherited a permanent frown
They ruled the garbage, they roamed the lanes
They laid tiny eggs inside the human brain
They even spoiled the WhatsApp chats
By drowning their speaking
With shrieking and squeaking
In fifty different sharps and flats.
In another part of our rich and diverse country
Cheese and sparkling wine was totally free
The bureaucrats and babus were happy
They said: Hey with the 7th Commission pay
Our salaries will quadruple, day by day
To which every law abiding citizen should have filed complaints
But there were no such citizens – and therefore no complaints
The Government had installed a nice big Complaint Box
But if you looked carefully, it was sealed with a lock
Oh yes,
Everyone had their routine Nukkad Chit-Chats
None could defy the might of the Indian Rats
In fact one paan-wallah said It would have been quite all right to have Bats
But Rats – Nyet, Nyet, Nyet
(Once in a way, this narrator, in other words I, shall remind you of our Socialistic Policies)
So, I said once before
Quite OK to have Corrupt Bats
But Rats – Nyet, Nyet, Nyet
The Rats had their wheeling and dealing
Sometimes with Pu-Ling, sometimes with Stree-Ling
With their methodology which was highly painful
Especially, if you were some kind of idealistic fool
Hmm.
Long lost some disgusted people formed a body
They had no place where they could gather a flocking
By this predicament, the rest of the world got totally turned on
Academic scholars and experts decided to thrust upon
They started to blame scapegoats and ideological turncoats
They mentioned David v/s Goliath plus other stereotypes by rote
To which TV anchors said: Arre Bhai, all this is rocking
And night after day, all we got was: prime-time ballocking
“Samasya Gambhir Hain,” cried the people, “where’s our Sarpanch?”
His PA said he is gone for afternoon siesta after a heavy lunch
People found all this quite shocking
They shouted slogans which were mocking
To think we pay taxes to the Panchayat
Who lived in bungalow – while we in huts
And are idiots that can’t or won’t determine
What’s best to rid us of our RAT vermin!
Wake up Shri Sarpanch-ji!
Give your brains a racking
To find the remedy we’re lacking,
Or, sure as fate, we’ll send you packing!”
At this the Sarpanch and the Town Corporation
Quaked with democraticised consternation
They had seen how the People of the Nation Voted
And caused Political Partification
For hours and hours, they sat under the Parliamentarian Tree
The Sarpanch confabulated about how to change the course of history
Yet, except for the thought of their own bank accounts, no one cared
Yes, one or two good activists, had their souls bared
Some like Khobad and Gaddar who really dared
But then the whole country knows how they have fared
Cause BASICALLY no one had heard of a Miracle Messiah who could really scare
Or make these Rats vanish into thin air
Hmm.
Even I ladies and gentlemen
Here truth be told
Sat on my bathroom pot
And thought and thought
There was faint whisper, a discernible change
From the Himalayas to the Sayadhari Range
But the Netas Betas and their chelas created pandemonium
They sent out notices in the name of jingoism and even religion
And soon our country was threatened with a new peril
– Not Rats but National Dis-integration
Hmm
I tried to rack my zero IQ brain—
All I got was migraines and headaches again
I’ve scratched it so, and all in vain.
Oh for a Doctor, a Pandit, a Sardar, a Mahatma!
Years and years, it seemed to pass by
To reason and sanity I said goodbye
“Oh Lord in Heaven, Please send us a saviour
I, as your devotee ask this favour”
Nowise, the cynics and skeptics jeered
And downed their arrack and warm glasses of beer
Their indifference gave vent to acronyms as slogans
Which will be around, as long as we are governed
Just as I said this, what should hap
At the door of the Sarpanch’s door there was a gentle tap?
“Bless us,” cried the grandson of the Sarpanch, “what’s that?”
With the Corporation the great-grandson sat,
Looking through his wondrous fat
He was a carbon copy of his father’s father
Most people preferred his great-grandfather, rather
He jotted all sessions in a log book type muster
This ensured his rivals could not make him fluster
He ate from a plate full of paalak along with curd
This prevented indigestion and eased his turd
“Just then we heard the scraping of shoes on the mat?
It sounded like the sound of a rat
Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!
Rata-a-tat
Pit-a-pat”
“Come in!”—the Sarpanch’s great grandson cried, looking bigger:
And in did come the strangest figure!
Knock, knock, knock –
Come in –
And the strangest figure sauntered, he looked very chic
His face it resembled a Hindu, a Muslim, and even a Sikh
His face it lit up like a halo
Or may be it was the noose at the gallows
Was Mr Nobody guilty of deathly sins
Oh, his eyes they darted and pricked like pins
Surveying the scene like a time-bound prejudicator
For the first time, the silence of 1.2 billion people overwhelmed the din
For 24 hours he spoke from the top of his head
He could out-talk everyone, till they were totally dead
His designer robe from heel to head
Was half of saffron with bloody red
And he himself was tall and thin
No tuft on cheek but beard on chin
But lips where smiles went out and in—
There was no guessing his kith and kin!
His rags to rich tale, everybody learnt by heart
His 170 centimetres and not a single fart
Said one: “It’s as though Sardar is here,
Now we have none to fear
Another said: He looks like Subaash Chandra Bose
He will vanquish all our foes
Another said, he has Dr Ambedkar’s tone
Our enemies will drown in the Ganges like a heavy stone!
He advanced to the Sarpanch-table:
Walk-walk-walk.
Walk-walk-walk.
JAI HIND
VANDE MATRA
I’m not from the North
I’m not from the South
I’m not from Kanchenjunga
I’m not from the Sind
This PROBLEM you have to solve from the grass-roots
And if I fail, you can give me the royal boot
I’ll charge a million
Swiss Francs as my fees
But this does not mean I’m ummm not patriotic
A Rupee isn’t good equity these days
It’s hedge funds and foreign cap that speaks
And although you can pay me in any other currency you prefer
If you pay me in Rupees my work ethics I think will suffer
With this money, I don’t intend to do anything funny
Except buy back the Rig Veda era of milk and honey
For which I’ll work and work till my dream is served
So no food, no water, not even a micron of dust
Talk-talk-talk
Talk-talk-talk
He continued:
“Please your honours,” said he, “I’m able
By means of a secret BILL, to draw
All creatures living beneath the sun
That creep or swim or fly or run
After me so as you never saw!
And I chiefly use my PR charm
On creatures that do people harm,
The mole and toad and newt and viper;
And people call me the Pied Piper.”
Hear Hear Hear
Hip Hip Hip Hurrah
So went a cheer
Now the nation had none to fear
Let’s give this chap, some lassi and chaas
Oh, look at him, he has so much class
Cheers to his Gujarati village in the Bombay State
His woes can be shifted to Antilla on Peddar Road
Oh. Let’s unburden his shoulders of all the load
Uff. Uff. Uff.
In between there will be a reformist cry about secularism and socialism to indicate the helplessness at red tape, ghoooos and lack of infra
Uff. Uff. Uff.
So some people who had a gripe
Here they noticed round his neck
A pen drive which determined his life
(Recommendations by Marwaris and Banias)
Honoured by a hefty cheque
And then everyone noticed the pipe
And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying
As if impatient to be playing
Upon this pipe, as low it dangled
Over his vesture so old-fangled
“Yet,” said he, “poor Backward Caste as I am,
Ambani-bhais, I made more than a petrol pump-wallah
For Adani I got a coal mine deal from Australia
Ratan, I introduced to Corus and the Jaguar Land Rover
Sunil, I eased into Zain Africa before bandwidth was over
Baba’s food factory I can bless in Hardwar
With all of our neighbours I can go to war
And, as for what your brain bewilders
If I can rid your country of these rats
Will you give me one percent of your country’s GDP?
“One per cent!”—was the exclamation
Of the astonished Sarpanch and his corporation
Onto the stage the Piper stepped,
Smiling first a little smile,
As if he knew what magic slept
In his quiet pipe the while;
Then, like a musical adept,
To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled,
And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled
Like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled
And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered
You heard as if an army muttered
And the muttering grew to a grumbling
And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling
And out of the houses the rats came tumbling.
Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats
Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats
The rat who jeep scammed
The rat who food scammed
The rats who stock-market scammed
The rats who Satyam scammed
The rats who CWG scammed
The rats who 2G scammed
Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins
All committing malafide sins
Families by tens and dozens
Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives
— Followed the Piper for their lives.
From gulley to gulley he piped advancing
And step for step they followed dancing
Until they came to the Indian Ocean
Wherein all plunged and perished – just for fun!
– Save one who, stout as Uncle Shikandi,
Swam across to Mauritius and lived to carry
(All the P&L and balance sheets he cherished)
From his offshore-land office he sent this eMail
To the Supreme Court:
Which said, “At the first shrill notes of the pipe
I heard a sound of the passing of a People’s Bill
It had me in shivers, it gave me a deep chill
What will happen to Exim
And CIF and cards of SIM?
What about the skeletons in North Block cup-boards,
Plus the AGMs rigged by company secretaries and their boards
Will there be a rollback of Government ruling
Are all bureaucrats playing the fooling
Because they hear the people’s voice
(Discordant and from the Ram Lila Maidan)
Calling out to children, behenjis and bhaijans
‘Oh, rats, time for you to stop your rejoice!
Uff. Uff. Uff.
Followed by some more
Uff. Uff. Uff.
The world is growing and the country needed goods!
In spite of which there was a shortage of edible food
And so, we procured a license to smuggle and import
To munch on, to crunch on, take your nuncheon
Breakfast, supper, dinner, and a five-star luncheon!’
The trick was to over-invoice
Show a really inflated price
Become entitled to a greater value of import license
The differential paid through hawala, in a sense
And so, black money sent out to an international destination
While farmers were starving in this particular nation
The only way to fight for the right of man!’
– Was to expose transactions from Panama to the Isle of Man.”
Uff. Uff. Uff.
This is an articulation of middle class helplessness about school capitation fees, traffic signal harassment, and the Family in Italy.
Uff. Uff. Uff.
You should have heard the billion and three people
Ringing temple bells, cheering from domes and steeples
“Go,” cried the Sarpanch, “and get long poles!
Poke out the nests and block up the holes!
Consult with carpenters and builders,
And leave in our town not even a trace
Of the rats!”—when suddenly, up the face
Of the Piper perked in the market-place
With a, “First, if you please, my one per cent of GDP!”
One per cent! The Sarpanch looked blue
So did the Panchayat too.
They started to consult every single Finance Minister
Starting with Liaquat Ali Khan to Mr Nehru to Mrs Gandhi
From Chintamanrao to YB and SB Chavan to Madhu Dandvate
From Mukherjee to Morarji to Chidambaram to Y and J Sinha
Even the present chap, The Boy Who HAS Stopped Smiling
If the money is replenished, it will result in fiscal deficit
Their exchequer’s cellar would be a pile of shit
To pay this sum to a wandering fellow
With an ideology that’s unbecoming and rather un-mellow!
“Beside,” quoth the Sarpanch with a knowing wink
“Our dirty business was done at the Ocean’s brink
We saw with our eyes the vermin sink
And what’s dead can’t come to life, I think.
So, friend, we’re not the folks to shrink
From the duty of giving you chai to drink
And a matter of money to put in your poke
But, as for the one per cent, what we spoke
Of them, as you very well know, was in joke.
Beside, our losses have made us smart.
One per cent! Instead you can become a dealer in Kishore Biyani’s mart!”
The Piper’s face fell, and he cried
“Vande Matram! I can’t wait, beside!
I would have thought I would be honoured with a Bharat Ratna
A proper ceremony not in New Delhi but in Patna
You awarded it to a foreigner
You awarded it posthumously
You gave it Subhash Chandra Bose and withdrew the honour
You gave it Abdul Kalam Azad and he refused the honour
You awarded it to a political survivor—
Surely you can gift it to me, even if I’m a bargain-driver
And if you don’t – then you will escalate my passion
May find me pipe to another fashion
“How?” cried the Sarpanch, “d’ye think I’ll tolerate
When you’re unwilling to re-negotiate the rate?
Insulted by this – this lazy chap
With idle pipe and talks in Hindustani rap?
You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst,
Blow your pipe there till you burst!”
Nyet, Nyet, Nyet – The Sarpanch shouldn’t have said so
Said the socialistic editors in Lutyens Dilli
(Once in a way, this narrator, in other words I, shall remind you of our Socialistic Policies and rich and wealthy cultural diversity)
Once more he stepped into the street;
And to his lips again
Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane
And ere he blew three notes
(Such sweet notes as yet musician’s cunning
Never gave the enraptured air)
There was a rustling, that seemed like a bustling
Of currencies jostling at pitching and hustling
Small change were pattering, paisas clattering
The coins in all mints were blanking and doddering
Commemorative coins, and certificates bonds were scattering
Out came the money running.
Be it black, be it white
Be it illegal, be it right,
Tripping and skipping, the Indian Rupee ran merrily after
The wonderful music with shouting and laughter
The Sarpanch was dumb, and his Panchayat stood
As if they were changed into blocks of wood
Unable to move a step, or cry
To the money merrily skipping by—
And could only follow with the eye
That demonetized currency flow at the Piper’s back
But how the Sarpanch was on the rack,
And the wretched Sarpanch’s bosoms beat,
As the Piper turned from Dalal Street
The money stopped at RBI to sip some water
Planning their future in a foreign land for their sons and daughters!
However he turned from South to West,
And to Sansad Bhavan his steps addressed
And after him the money pressed
Great was the joy in every breast
“He never can cross that mighty top!
He’s forced to let the piping drop,
And we shall see our money stop!”
When, lo, as they reached the mountain’s side
A wondrous portal opened wide
As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed;
And the Piper advanced and the currency followed
And when all were in to the very last
The door in the mountain-side shut fast
Did I say, all? No! One rupee was lame,
And could not dance the whole of the way
And in after years, if you would blame
His sadness, he was used to say,—
“There’s a recession in our town since all the other cash left!
I can’t forget that I’m bereft
Of all the conglomerate sights they see,
Which the Piper also promised me:
For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,
Joining the town with finance at hand
Where turnover gushed and profits grew
And ROI put forth a fairer hue
And everything was strange and new
He showed selfies with Trump and Netanyahu; Erdoğan and Putin, right here
He whispered, All My Dosts, Bhai Jaan. Of none you have to fear,
I was so happy, so I invited him before his next travel,
He said, Hanging out with you people does not augur well:
But Jan Dhan and Niti Aayog babus, they assured
My minoritised aggregate would be speedily cured,
Just then, the music stopped and I stood still,
I found myself outside the Masjid, near the Hill,
Left alone against my will,
To go now limping as before,
And never hear of that world more!
Alas, alas for our country!
It was all too tale
None could change our country’s fate
There came many reformers who were sane
From Charvaka to Jyotiba Phule to Savitribai
From C V Raman to Kailash Satyarthi Bhai
But none could alter
The country’s fate
As the needle’s eye takes a camel in!
The Sarpanch sent East, West, North, and South
To counter the Piper’s, word of mouth
But the Piper had become larger than all around him
Bollywood and IPL could not match his content
He was Mick Jagger everywhere he went
He travelled around the globe in a whirrrrr
And the money? Twas a lost endeavour
And Piper and the Indian currency were gone for ever
They passed a money bill that CAs said is a single tax
But if you look, it has multiple slabs, all rather lax
So, after the day of the month and year
These words did not as well appear,
“And so long after what happened here
On the First of August
The fiscal turned to dust
The place of the money’s last retreat,
They will call it, the Pied Piper’s Street—
Meanwhile the peasants and farmers and housewives
They still thought the Piper is going to save their lives
So they tune in to AIR, to hear the pipe, and sing along
But on the Sunday mornings, the lyrics sound wrong
He is talking of Bharat Mata, how to boost its stock
But their fields are mortgaged, their jobs are locked
They need money to buy a few things
Like rozi-roti, padhai-dawi and hing
But no money for all this, becoming like Papua New Guinea
You are in debt, its time you practice begging on your knee
Uff. Uff. Uff.
This is an articulation of the middle class helplessness about call centre nuisance calls, neighbours that cook fish and lack of Indian values in the young generation.
Uff. Uff. Uff.
Brother and Sisters
Please memorise this story in your brain,
Even if it causes a great deal of pain
And on the great Parliament building let it be painted
In order to, to make the next-gen better acquainted
How our hard earned money was stolen away;
And not a paise has returned to this very day.
And I must not omit to say
That in Panama there’s a tribe
Of foreign people that ascribe
The outlandish ways and eating habits are wow
Which their neighbours say exclude the cow
These people we don’t know what’s their use?
Except they have the money for every single JV or MOU
Governments come, governments go
Sponsored by this mighty band
Out of a small town in a distant land
How or why, we will never understand.
The moral of this story, cause every story must have one
These days, you can say anything for frolic and fun
So, let you and me remember this
Money is of no use without its fizz:
And, when some Saheb says he will pipe us free, from rats or from mice
Always do ask: Mota Bhai, will you keep your election promise?
Till then, we must DO OR DIE
(To conclude, this narrator, chooses to remind you (our reader) of our Gandhian Philosophy).
