The Ballad of the Piped Piper of India (With sincere apologies to Robert Browning and trolls and all): Ramu Ramanathan

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 Ambedkar bandwagon or Rashtriya fray 
Sangh Parivar v/s INDIA Parivar 
Anti-Chowkidar and Pro SRK 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 farmers, they raise their voice 
The corporates at large dismiss 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 unleashed demonetisation, 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 monopolised the WhatsApp chats
By drowning their speaking 
With shrieking and squeaking 

In fifty different memes 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 Godi ballocking

“Samasya Gambhir Hain,” cried the people, “where’s our Sarpanch?”
His PA said he has gone to Tokyo in the Bullet Train 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 Stan and Sudha 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 Digital Aadhaar 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 Sant, and even a Fakir
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 1.4 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
Made it a point never to wear 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 Sardar Patel’s tone
Our enemies will drown in Swacch Ganges like a heavy stone!

He advanced to the Sarpanch-table:

Walk-walk-walk.
Walk-walk-walk.

JAI HIND
VANDE MATRAM
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 
Silicon Valley can pay 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 vaccine, 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 of class
Cheers to his Gujarati village in the Bombay State
He has to report to the Bhai in 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, revdas 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
All of our neighbours I can nuke in a 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 Rafale scammed
The rats who Aadhaar scammed
The rats who 5G 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 angst about the nation’s two favourite topics: PAETS and patriotism.
Uff. Uff. Uff.

You should have heard the billion and four 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 diabetic one, The Lady 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 with Dmart!”

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 to 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 use my 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 the new 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 an all too familiar tale
None could change our country’s fate
There came many reformers who were sane
From Charvaka to Jyotiba Phule to Savitribai
From CV Raman to Kailash Satyarthi Bhai
Even the EVM could not alter
Our 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 Bhakths multiplied his content
He was like Atilla the Hun 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-dawai 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 news on TV, how the trees have TB, and why Pied Piper’s cronies don’t have a raid by ED.
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).