Constitutional Repression

June 12, 2016

Thou have repressed me, thou has repressed me,

No more, black pages,

Those have repressed us like withered leaves,

For almost sixty years, merit and poor;

Difficult even to breathe.


Cruel Book, I want to disown thou,

Praying thou to die before I had time——

Emotionless-heavy, a load full of borrowing,

Ghastly acts with no good one,

Big as thou writer’s statue.


And a head in the pious Ganga,

Where it showers blessings on the devotees,

In the holy waters descend from divine Gangotri,

I pray to respect my merit,

That was denied to me.


In Bihar, in Tamilnadu or anywhere;

Of caste wars, wars, wars,

But the name of the hate is common,

Multiculturalism and social justice;

The words most obscene.


Game of hate everywhere,

So never know where your

Roots and foot are uprooted,

The tongue jailed in the jaw,

Struck in an insult noose.


No right to express the pain,

Quotas, quotas,

Chewing me like slaughtering goat,

Began to talk like a goat,

Scared, I might be slaughtered.


The ideas of Delhi, the writing on the wall;

Are very clear and biased,

With my learned ancestors and my bizarre luck,

And my merit and my merit,

I may be a bit of goat.


Always scared of the writings,

With biased laws and draconian vies,

Not by a holy book,

But a book black and regressive;

This is democratic fascism.


The boot in the facade, the beast

Monster quotas to crush all voices,

You sit on the chair like a boss,

A crack in your jaw instead of your foot

But no less a demon, no less the black man.


Cut my cute pink heart in two,

I was a child when they killed me,

At twenty they almost killed me,

And could not get anything,

I thought even the bones would be crushed.


Secularism is communalism

And communalism is secularism,

Fair is foul and foul is fair,

Caste is socialism and socialism is caste;

There merit is curse.


But I was thrown into the fire,

And jammed me together with wire,

And then don’t know what to do.

I was made a clown by naves,

A book in black with a dangerous look.


I want to live, I want to live;

But this cruel nation is pushing me off the root,

No fine voices going to pay attention through,

The parasites are sucking my blood,

The cruel book is arming the suckers.


There’s a snake in your writings

And the nation never liked it,

Ignorant are dancing and stamping on merit,

They always knew, they were ignorant,

But no respite I’m through.



N.B.: This poem is a bitter satire on the caste and communal, reservation and

quotas in India in the name of secularism and social justice.  This is a

kind of racism envisaged in the constitution on India and validated by the judiciary. Due to this provision meritorious persons are denied their right and they are oppressed by the people of quota castes and religions.


Constitutional Racism  

June 12, 2016


Constitution then, leaving all other policy of human ideas,
Is an impartial equalizer of the humans.

But this is only on lifeless pages;
Any demand of equality is seen as an contempt,

And punishable offence.
For ages world has honoured knowledge’s infinite power.
But now knowledge is mocked and laughed down,

The makers of the constitution, — The guardians of justice,

Unfortunately, have been more dividing and repressing,
In this order of justice — a monstrous racism in reality.
For some, the only diversity between equality and inequality is votes.

Days out and days in we are killed by quotas—
Like symbols in artificial phrases? —
“Diversity,… Inclusion,…Equality,…Social justice,…

Secularism,…Affirmative action,…”
These are days I feel like non-existence in the cauldron of democracy.

I stand alone in the beautiful flower of false manifestos,

But I always been a victim of injustice,

Disruptive,…Caste-ist,…Anti-Social justice,…
With fervor that outdo the margins of my awareness.


With veins crying foul,
I am the weird patriot that grew too strong for the masses,

I am a vision, vision for a strong nation,
I am a spirit, – a blend of excellence nation would love to disregard;

My roots, won’t let me sit still, nor can be contained.
All the voices, rather than voicing their resistance

Over the oppression and slavery;
Remain mute and laugh on the cuffs,
Un-concerned by the oppressive weight
Of caste and religious privileges.
Politics and power greed,

Crush the merit and talent,
“Merit and talent is become waste energy of no to good use!”
And merit and talent fear the sound of their own voice.
No stage,…No platform,…No ladders…
Those make it impossible to for the merit to reach the stars,
Keep struggling to grab them, but low merit grab everything;

Beyond curriculum, beyond values, stand here, a symptom of sting and pain.

Still we enlighten the world and pour out our souls,
Illuminates the world with our radiant appeal.


Merit requires Arjun-like hard work and insight,
Today, look in the eyes of students- ignorance and fear,

If you try to enlighten them with knowledge,
One is bound to fail in shaping their genius—

As they are the creation of dark quotas.

Look in the eyes of those, victim of quota onslaught;

They have the same light that tamed the mighty empires,

And the Mount Everest…

Same twinkle that guided the Mahatma to freedom,

But the racial quota mischief has undone all.


Exists frustration and gloom; slaves of racial system,

We were meant to be equal, living across caste and religion—

And we are crushed by the counts of democracy,

A cruel method which shook the consciousness.

Are we not humans, waiting for the next dying star?

All work hard to go into space—looking into telescopes,

Every child has potential,

Discrimination is branding them as unwanted,

Denying them their rights,

While some continue take the fruits.


Law in no equalizer—

Rather, it is a killer of Indian Dream.

So wake up! Raise your voices, lift your heads,

Until patches of decimation are stitched.

Potential of every citizen must be honoured,

Non-quota classes have been treated as black sheep;

Absorbing every insult and no escape,
Together, can enthuse galaxies of excellence,

So wake up! Raise your voices, lift your heads,

Otherwise nation will be ‘ghastly statue of Frisco seal.’


N.B.: This poem is a bitter satire on the caste and communal, reservation and                               quotas in India in the name of secularism and social justice.  This is a kind of                    racism envisaged in the constitution on India and validated by the                                        judiciary. Due to this provision meritorious persons are denied their right and                  they are oppressed by the people of quota castes and religions.


Intoxicated Delhi

June 7, 2016

Even the bikes and autos are drunk and dancing
All the dirt and filth float down the Yamuna

What kind of city is this?
Those are demons in Delhi by Sunlight
And how the stink of garbage kill?
It is the true condition of the metropolis;
We ate in the little restaurant an hour ago
Under the dark fumes of inferno
There is no end to our pain and agony
The trees are not to be seen ant where
Clean river and roaring dams are never in reach,
Morning after morning the stink of garbage
Makes masses sickening
While leaders dance painlessly in Lutyens’ Delhi,
Intoxicated and conceited
Our aching and tired heads in the hot sun burn
We are like lifeless advertisements and votes;
For those who come to power,

No one can see the pain of Delhi
They just dance and play while we are fried.





June 4, 2016

Do not wait for time, you make it slow

It runs fast, when you are in late row

It is in deadly mode, when you are on sad route

Time is short for those happy and white,

Time never ends when you have sad breathe,

Time is never ending long when you are bored

And you have to kill Time.

Time is determined by you and God;

You died before time had time,

But some live even after the time.



Othello: Tale of Love and Suspicion

June 4, 2016

Play of conflict, designed as the play of love,

‘But our new heraldry is hand, not hearts,”

“Who steals my purse steals trash,”

Love and suspicion make it a tragedy of life, private;

But end leads to deaths and disaster.


Army Chief of Venetian Republic, Othello;

Iago and Cassio, serve as officer military, in State of Venice;

Intrigues make Othello a might tragedy,

Fatal sense of misunderstanding makes Othello a tragic hero,

Unflinching love for Desdemona made Othello a jealous lover.


A fabulous example of disaster follows-jealousy or credulity or simplicity;

Too deeply, Othello loves Desdemona but dazed so easily too.

“Thus credulous fools are caught:

And many worthy and chaste dames even thus,

All guiltless must reproach.”


Chance, unreason, Fate and accident are prime attributor,

Love passion of Desdemona is an accident,

Unsuspecting, Othello and Emilia, wife of Iago, surprise all;

Loss of Desdemona’s handkerchief, a minor loss became a major;

Poetic justice, replaced by a belief in chance.









Mightiest Pen

June 4, 2016

Embarked the pen with comedies and histories;

But switched the device and wrote,

Best ever tragedies including Hamlet, Othello;

King Lear, and Macbeth, the supreme works;

And ended with tragicomedies or romances.


Remained popular across the ages and borders;

Best known for Romeo and Juliet,

Richard III, and A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

The Tempest, Twelfth Night;

Apart from some “lost years” in wilderness.


Wrote a book of sonnets hundred and fifty four,

Venus and Adonis was his most famous verse,

Gave three thousand words to language English,

Second most quoted works after the Bible,

Performed for Queen Elizabeth I and King James I.


Genius in him redesigned dramatic chronicles of Henry VI;

Surpassed the horrors of The Spanish Tragedies;

Adapted the farce of Plautus, in Comedy of Errors,

Left behind Green’s quixotic sentiments in The Two Gentlemen of Verona;

But the humble bard wrote, “I am weakfish speller.”


Bard and his play popular, globally;

Constantly adored the syllabi,

Studied, performed, translated, world over;

Established mighty Globe theatre, near River Thames;

His pen made the theatre in London, a name to be.



William Shakespeare: An Ageless Bard

June 4, 2016

Born on April 23, 1564;

Brought up and Baptized in Stratford-upon-Avon:

Father was a booming businessman,

And his mother was the lass of a landlord.


Was third of six offspring,

Two older sisters and three younger brothers,

Lived in a big abode on Henley Street,

And attended grammar school to learn poetry, history, Greek, and Latin.


Married Anne Hathaway at eighteen,

Eight year older to the bard,

Added three kids: Susanna,

And twins Hammet and Judith.


Ageless bard, playwright, and performer;

Bard of Avon penned plays thirty-eight,

Sonnets hundred fifty four,

And narrative poems two and verses.


Toiled and performed in London,

Amid 1585 and 1592,

Owned a theatre Lord Chamberlain’s Men,

Later known as the King’s Men.


Retired to Stratford-upon-Avon, yet again;

More or less in 1613, at the age forty nine;

Ageless pen and voice was silenced forever,

On 23 April, 1616, at the age 52.



Gentle Doctor Narang

March 26, 2016

No Rahul Gandhi,

No Kejriwal,

No Brinda Karat,

No Barkha Dutt,

Will visit him.


No secularist,

No communist,

No human right-ists,

No Islamist,

Will visit him.


No one crore,

No four plots,

No job to kin,

No soothing balm,

Will be given to him.


All the absurd theatre,

Of secularism, of multiculturalism,

Of tolerance-in-tolerance,

Of award wapsi, human rights,

Will not run their shows.


Why ????


He was no Akhlaq,

He was no Rohit,

He was no Kanhiyya,

He was no disruption-ist,

He was no vote bank.


He was a gentle Hindu doctor,

Playing cricket with his son,

Celebrating Indian victory,

Serving humanity,

Slayed was Doctor Pankaj Narang.




1-Doctor Pankaj Narang-was a doctor, murdered in New Delhi- India, by unauthorized

slum dweller patronized by politicians as a vote bank.

2- Akhlaq-was a resident of Dadri, UP, India killed in local feud but his family got very

fat relief package after his death.

3-Rohit-a student of HCU, Hyderabd, India, committed suicide. Secular and communist

politicians made a big issue of his death.

4- Kanhiyya Kumar-President of JNUSU New-Delhi, India recently is a controversy for

raising ant national slogans.




March 23, 2016

Souls of Lance Naik Hanamanthappa

And Lance Naik Hemraj

Lamenting and shedding tears,

Why we died? Why we died?


They wake up in the midnight,

Their voices can be heard from distance,

Just hear them. Just hear them.

Their voices can be heard at LOC and Siachen.


They heard the slogans of JNU,

A paradise for communist propagators

And lovers of Afzals and Maqbools,

But hardly thinking their own nation.


Hug and kiss are their cherished syllabus,

Beef and mutton parties in the dorms,

Burning of the Manusmriti, slur to Goddess Durga

Are their cultural fests.


Foreign repressor Lenin, Mao and Marx,

Are their Gods,

And worship Mahishasur with pride,

But no love for nation and martyrs.


In hostels and chambers,

Gather for fake revolutions,

On subsidized education and rooms,

But nation love this subsidized heaven.


Enjoying quotas and cashing backwardness,

Weaved a circle round so strong,

And close the eyes to enjoy backwardness,

For honey-milk are they fed.


Freedom to roam with secular butterflies,

Those sleep among the revolutionaries,

Souls of martyrs in their combat dress,

Seeking freedom to gun rogues in mortal dress,




1- J.N.U.: is a very famous University in India. Full name Jawahar Lal     University, situated in New Delhi, India.


2- JNU has been in news for wrong reasons, (a) for anti-national slogans. (b)

hailing terrorists like Afzal Guru and Maqbool Butt etc..(c) for insulting Hindu

Goddess Durga and celebrating the birthday of demon Mahishasur. (d) for

organizing  hug and kiss fests. (e) for burning the Manusmriti. (f) distributing

sweets on the massacre of soldiers.


3- Lance Naik Hanamanthappa ; is a soldier on Indian Army who died in a snow

avalanche at Siachen, defending Indian posts.


4- Lance Naik Hemraj ; Another Indian soldier who was kidnapped by Pakistanis

and he was very brutally murdered and his head was cut by them.


5- Afzal Guru and Maqbool Butt: Both terrorists and given capital punishments.



Lost in the Light

December 31, 2015

Maya crossed the gates of the highest court of India that is the Supreme Court of India with the final order of the judge, ending her four decade old marriage with Aditya, means divorce. She had tears in her eyes and a dirty jhola on her shoulder, loaded with old dirty files related with the case.


She said she would fight the case herself. Her lawyer had cut out his work for her for a hefty fee. Today she got the much sought after divorce but she was feeling cheated and broken. Other clients were also coming with their lawyers. And then, thought Maya, what a day-‘sad and cursed,’ as if she was standing near some freshly lit pyre.


What a dark day! What a break up! She could not stop her tears. Now officially she was alone, again a single, free woman. How aged, stiller, the air was in the late winter evening, like the panic of a wave due to foam of dirt, kiss of smog. Chilled and bitter yet grave, standing there under the polluted sky, that something appalling, just happened, looking at the red bricks and wall with the smoke engulfing them and dirty DTC buses honking, rogue motorists driving and gazing until a hand on her shoulder broke her stream of thought.


He was Aditya, my husband for forty five years. He hugged me very warmly, praised me and my sari, and looked pointedly towards the road.

I asked, “Can’t I call a taxi from here?”

He said, “My driver there will do it. There won’t be any problem. Try to forgive me, if I have ever hurt you or caused any pain to you and forget me. Take Care.”


I thanked him.


He looked at me, with tears in his eyes and vanished in the crowd of litigants.


I still remember my last unfortunate day when I had a heated argument with Aditya before I decided to file an application for divorce. I discussed with Sanjay, my husband best friend, the flirting of my husband with another lady.


She still remembers the day when she was informed by her maid Kiran about a woman visitor.

‘God, the front-door bell rang’ Maya listened.

I want to see Mr. Aditya, said the young charming woman in her mid twenties. ‘Oh yes, he will see me.’ She repeated, putting me aside very gently, and almost rushing so quickly. Yes, yes, yes’, she muttered as she ran upstairs. ‘He will see me. After six years in America, Aditya will see me.’


Maya heard a bang upon the door. Aditya rushed to receive her. She tried to hide her blushed face, like a virgin protecting her chastity.

“But who am I?” I wondered. My brain was flooded with number of questions about her relationships with Aditya. Was she only an ordinary friend or more than that? There was no body in the room, except Aditya and his friend. Their behavior added to my discomfort as my questions were to remain unanswered. I felt claustrophobic in the room and rushed out in panic to breathe a whiff of free and fresh air.


Faraha works in America. She is six inches longer than me and almost five years older to me. But she looks five years younger to me. I think, she is much more pleasant woman to talk to, I have ever met. She is extremely soft and sweet spoken, always has a charming and attractive smile on her face. In short, she is one of the very few women, whom I actually find beautiful and charming.


What the hell is going on between my husband and that bitch?’ Maya’s patience was at its lowest ebb and she was ready to burst.

Sanjay knew that she was serious. ‘Look, Maya. There is nothing going on between the two of them. Just a little bit of healthy flirting, I’d say.’

‘Flirting? Healthy flirting? Really Sanjay . . .’ she rolled her eyes in disgust. ‘That’s what you men call it? There is nothing healthy about flirting, Sanjay, not for a married man.

Healthy flirting is a term introduced by perverted men who want to lend legitimacy to their extramarital dalliances. Flirting invariably has a sexual connotation to it.’ She got up from her seat and walked around the room gesticulating and muttering something to herself. Suddenly she stopped, turned back, looked at Sanjay and asked, ‘Did my husband sleep with her? You are his friend. Did he ever tell you anything about it?’


Sanjay preferred to remain silent.


Straightway, she rushed to the office of an NGO; she knew that claimed to be working for the right and safety of distressed women.


The NGO, Director was in his mid thirties, bearded but young and energetic. He was wearing a long kurta and blue lagoon jeans. He was very soft spoken. I told him my entire story.

Listening my story, he took me in his car ‘Ford Icon,’ to the nearby police station. We lodged a police complaint.


The inspector charged Aditya under a number of sections of which I have no idea. He took my sign on that complaint written by the NGO director. Inspector left the office with his men.

We both remained seated in the police station.


The director looked around and could not see anybody. He put an arm around me and hugged me and consoled me.


I was deeply impressed by his behavior and helping attitude.


The inspector returned after half an hour. He arrested Aditya under domestic violence act and dowry act. I was feeling very happy, victorious and relieved. Aditya was sent to jail but I knew it was all frame up.


Director and I left the police station. He dropped me at my residence. I took him inside and prepare coffee for him. During coffee we discussed about the future plan to fight the case. The director was very kind and generous to me. He offered a job to me in his NGO office and very happily I accepted that offer.


I was on the cloud nine with all this success. My eyes felt very heavy but very happy. He came close to me, held my chin up and said, “ Listen carefully. I am always there for you now, never feel hesitant for any help and work. Your mind will be troubled and you so far ignored your happiness which censured you. That was something nasty. I feel for your pain”


I was mesmerized. He told me that he was a bachelor.


Outside there was lightening, thunderbolt and very heavy rain. He could not step out of the flat. I prepared the dinner for us. At around ten it was still raining.


Ultimately we decided that the director sir will stay in my flat although I felt a little uncomfortable. But there was no other way-out.


We continued talking up to almost midnight.


I was feeling very uncomfortable. Suddenly he got up from his bed and held my hand. I could not sense the fear running my body. I was very nervous, extremely nervous.


He asked me, “Are you alright?”


“Yes. Of course I’m,” I said.


He said, “Why are feeling nervous then?’


He put his arm around my waist as a sigh of affection and concern. I did not resist.


“O god, there is nothing like that, I am fine,” I said.


“Please continue,” your stress will be lessened, he asked me.


I took a deep breath but could not speak.


He hugged me and kissed me. He switched off the light. We both slept together. In the dark his gentle hands searched my entire body. I enjoyed this new beginning. Now this was almost a daily routine. We never slept alone.


From next day onward, I started going to his NGO’s office. There I saw an altogether different society.


“Women, I never knew about them, but saw first time,…many women working there, women wear micro minis and with heavy makeup and always live in the company of a man and made as if they love each other , but only for money and sex and …offer them…every-thing…money …..bodies…And use each other…and stuff with them….to satisfy their own urges.…sex…money…activism…and ultimately awards and positions…Some used to come every day only to be used for paid and fixed dharnas, gheraos and demonstrations….all for money”


Now I was a part of this dark world. But now I was lost and trapped completely but there is no escape.


Sex and money have engulfed every part of their world. Once finished with DU or JNU, through artificial relationships, care free parents and relatives, than nothing is left drugs, sex, fake activism, NGOs but dark alleys.


Now my case was also going on in courts. Dates, adjournments, lawyers on strike, vacations, judge on leave or sick, etc., etc., all this became a part of my life. Now I started to see this new and ugly world for a ‘dumped’ woman.  World and guys is freak.  Director, lawyer and I talk a lot about my case, my future. But all loud talk, no escape. They all wanted money or sex. I had gotten used to the snobbery and drubbing and vice versa. It became realism that in that world, nobody cares about anybody.


Now I was shattered. It was my fault to destroy my happy home for a non-issue. Wasn’t it? I was blinded by light and thunder of fake and false modern, new world. Now I couldn’t cry even. Nobody loves me nor I. Here I was realized that I had lost everything and was crushed by my protectors. We did smile and laugh. But to my euphoria the smile didn’t encourage my crushed movements that would have converted my disabilities into joy.


Always I tried to be a little closer to my lawyer, understand his tricks and moves and catch glimpses of his hidden jibes beneath his face as I kept craning my neck from one side to another with every beat of files and law books. When the saying and shaking of head and eyes became tired I had to pay his fat fee. At times I had no fee then we flopped down on the couches. He wants money or me.


And ultimately I became victorious but lost everything and of course Aditya forever.


Now I will never get back Aditya. He will never be mine again. But the beautiful moments, the delightful time that we spent together, will always be mine. And it will always give me pleasure. And joy. I may not have in him in my life in reality, but he will always have in my dreams. Not even God can take him away from me. Only he was capable to make me lose my memory by his love and care. But he will always be in my mind, in my heart, just like Jack always stayed in the mind of Rose in Titanic.


“Many budding and aspiring actors leave their native places to pursue the American Dream in Hollywood, only to return and little did they know that Los Angles is not all about Hollywood but also about millions of slum-dogs who never became milliners.”


Broken and shattered I packed all my belongings. I decided to leave this city. It does not have anything more to offer me. Not in life, nor in love. I am moving to Vrindavan which has been given shelter to those who have no one in the world. Today once again, I am standing on another gateway, which will take me to a new world and new people. A new beginning will be there again. And I am all set to start everything, all over again. Vrindavan is the town where Lord Krishna spent his childhood days.

Like thousands of widows, orphaned women, etc., who have been making to this town their home till their end, where once Lord Krishna played with his gopis and gwalas. Left by their families, all alone in the world, some travel hundreds and thousands of kilometers to get some space and some peace in this holy and divine land but no-body knows why?

‘Tomorrow I will be one among the lost thousands.’

‘Problems of West, find solutions in east.’


From Kashmiri Gate, I boarded a bus going to Mathura.


The engine of the bus roared. I saw outside the bus- The heartless city of Delhi, which robbed me of everything. Now I hate this city.


The bus began to move; leaving small clouds behind. And slowly and slowly and slowly Delhi vanished out of my sight.


The bus reached Mathura at around seven p.m.. City was abuzz with temple bells and evening prayers. All the roads and streets were echoing with the hymns and shlokas of the Srimad Bhagwadgita and Lord Krishna.


I was very much confused and afraid of my loneliness. I was tired of travelling. I could not decide where to go. At times I was feeling to commit suicide. But ultimately I decided to go ISCON temple. It is a very beautiful temple and very lovely structure. I was mesmerized by the spiritual environment of the temple. There I felt a unique peace of mind.


I moved towards the manager’s office. There I enquired about the system and rules to get a room allotted on the permanent basis. When I was busy talking with the manager, a gentle but firm hand touched my shoulder. Taken aback I turned back. It was Aditya.


He asked the manager to allot a room. In the entry register, he filled the first name as Aditya Sharma and second as Maya Sharma (Wife). I did not question. The manager gave the keys of the room. Aditya took my luggage too. I followed Aditya like an obedient child. He opened the door. He unloaded himself and sat on a chair. I sat on the bed. We were silent but our teary eyes were talking about the lost four decades.


He muttered,  “Don’t live in an American Dream My Dear! Life is not as rosy as you suppose to be. ..”


Aditya muttered the lines of famous poet T.S.Eliot


“Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.

Om  Shantih     shantih     shantih.”


“He who works, having giving up attachment, resigning his actions to God, is not touched by sin,  even as a lotus leaf (is untouched) by water.”

The Bhagavadgita, ‘True Renunciation’, Ch.V, Sl.10.






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