India is dimming, not shining

With 8% growth rate quotes,
Our policy wonks grin and gloat,
Eighty percent slave away,
On twenty rupees a day,
India's not shining, please take note.

Scams and swindles opportune

We won't have a helium balloon,

To herald the Games in full moon,

But we are enthralled,

With the daily roll call,

Of scams and swindles opportune.

Delhi's Fort Loo

Fortress Loo at Defence Colony Market

 


The MCD decided to push through,
An eatery above a loo,
But the residents raised a stink,
It's no place to eat or drink,
Welcome to Delhi's Waterloo.

The missing ministers

Spectrum Raja's hands are in the telecom till,
Mamata decamped to West Bengal seeking thrills,
DMK's Alagiri doesn't care,
The Prime Minister despairs,
"It's not my brief, it's Sonia's will."

The Ten Lakh Treadmill

If you wish to dupe the exchequer by stealth,
Or amass a share of the nation's wealth,
Send Kalmadi an inflated bill,
Amass 10 lakhs leasing a treadmill, 
You'll augment the politicos' collective health.

Congress Wealth Gains

Are the Commonwealth Games a chaotic fat wedding, 

A shambolic affair towards which we're heading, 

The taxpayers have been fleeced, 

So politicos palms can be greased,

A gargantuan scam, that's what we're dreading.

The UnCommon Wealth Games

Delhi's citizens are enraged, 

The sportsmen are disengaged, 

The Games costs have ballooned, 

To enrich the nation's goons, 

'Tis for political leaders, the Games are staged.

Is the Foreign Minister a cream puff?

In the Indo-Pak talks SM Krishna wasn't tough, 

Not hawkish, not aggressive, nor rough,

He wasn't well-prepared, 

Wily Qureshi had him ensnared, 

Is he a Foreign Minister or a cream puff?

The Deaf Politician

If you have the gall and gumption,
To whine about corruption, 
You'll be treated with disdain,
So you'd be wise to refrain,
For politicos are deaf, never forget that basic assumption.

Stop whining about the fuel price hike

"The fuel price rise," the PM explains, 

"Will reduce the budget deficit, so don't complain,

The price hikes are a bitter pill, 

You paupers have to pay the bill, 

Stop whining, and drink some champagne."

Prayer: the inflation slayer

Inflation's causing citizens to despair,

Policy wonks claim it's a short-lived affair;

As prices rise, 

The PM beseeches the skies,

Hopes ride on the wings of a prayer.

Where's the Prime Minister?

Where's the PM, ask his detractors? 

Is he Sonia's stooge, or a consummate actor, 

He addresses science conventions, 

Travels overseas to alleviate tensions, 

Of heading a government swarming with malefactors.

Congress declares Rajiv Gandhi its patron saint

"Rajiv Gandhi never had a taint, 

To Citizen Morons we must acquaint, 

We worship idols,

Our sycophancy's unbridled, 

Towards Rajiv: our patron saint."

None wept when Bhopal died

In Bhopal, twenty thousand gassed and died, 

Justice delayed, the leaders inflate with pride,

Horrors even Bruegel could not have painted, 

Efforts are afoot to redeem the criminally tainted, 

With golden guineas, lawyers' egos are puffed,

While lives in gas chambers were summarily snuffed.

Political parties have a policy objective, 

Victims must endure, for justice is selective, 

The poor man's life is to be expended, 

The rich are nurtured, never apprehended; 

Politicos, judges revel in the macabre game, 

Passing the buck, shuffle the blame. 

Impervious to the images of ghastly death, 

Indifferent to the victim's last rasping breath,

Attorneys, politicians on Carbide's graveyard dance,

Absolve themselves of guilt's sharp lance,

Weak and impotent, more's the pity, 

The Prime Minister fiddles, forms a committee. 

Mega corporations, may your colonization never cease, 

Pillage and pollute what you can with ease, 

"Life's cheap," our leaders boast with glee,

"But in India we give it away for free,

We'll shield you from meddlers while you bide, 

Remember, none wept, when Bhopal died."

Capital punishment

There's no need to workout,

In the current heat bout,

The wind's on the boil, 

We sweat without toil, 

You'll shed kilos even if you're stout.

The heat wave's beginning to roast, 

Our bodies into toast, 

The neurons gather silt,

While our frames sag and wilt,

We'll keel over and give up the ghost.