sickly medicos

Sickly medicos went mad one day –

First they tore off the scroll of Hippocrites

And inserted into their anus, tail-like.

Then started ransacking, raiding

And razed to the ground

Like a young jumbo

Who drank some wild juice.

Threw off the holy robes

And loitered around in nude.

Putting scissors inside the abdomen

They stitched up skillfully

As the marwaris do up the gunny-bags.

From the sling of the stethoscope

One lobbed round a brick bat

That broke the Constitutional rim

Of the statuesque specks at Sarangpur.

In the bid  of hysteric frenzy

They injected violent virus

In the veins of caste-hindu vandalas.

Pulled apart the posters:

Service before self

And

Kind words are more than medicine.

Instead, hang around their neck

A strange slogan :

Abolish reservations

And save the patients.

Savarnas are skilled and

Dalits are semi-skilled!

Only yesterday ,

Baby Nasareen’s playful sun

Was nipped in the bud

By a skilled scalpel.

Alas, her starlet eyeball

Had already drooped dead

Like a sunflower at the sunset.

Thanks to the efficient docs—

The Pasteurs and Jenners of India.

The great nobelists of India,

They started the game of monkeys –

One doffed the cap,

For the other had done it already.

And started the game of donkeys –

One brayed,

For the other had blown its bugle !

The whole of the city went wild –

An epidemic was prescribed for all,

By the dirty dogs.

Poor dalits, the reservationists !

Left their burning busties

Like migratory birds

In search of shelter , food and friendship.

A frightened flock rushed past the chawl,

With tin-boxes, buckets and rags,

Dragging their bare-bottomed children fast

Lest some beast of prey should pounce upon them.

Some were stabbed

And some were simply killed.

And some were murdered.

The curfew herded them all

Into the overcrowed ghetto

Starving and begging.

The cop beat,

For he was a sawarna.

The advocate argued,

for he was a sawarna

the judge jeered,

for he was a sawarna.

The policeman remained busy changing masks,

For he was sawarna,

The embers of the hutments glow,

The smoking roofs emit the sink

Of the roasted flesh.

Whereas all medicos dabced Dala Tarwadi,

Dr Bharati Achyut bravely  played her solo

Of dissentful distress. 

And massaged the wounded dalit soul.

Girish Patel offered

A coloumnful of smelling potion

To the swooned medicos

In the hope they regain

Sense and sensibility.

Justice thakkar prayed with folded hands

Not to play the game of fire.

A frail old fakir Bhanu adhwaryu

(beloved of the harijans and girijans )

Oracularly opened the mouth

For the deliverance of the down trodden dalits.

He knitted them into a mighty chord

To lash back the falcons.

Ramesh Menon cornered the culprits in the newsprint.

x-rayed the ailing sentiments

and rushed in the sides of dalits.

Manishi, the young and Hirabhai parmar,

Thew lone dalit MP

Choked with agony of the anguished

Was gagged by the party whip :

The great fall of the august house!      

angry messiah

Operated round the clock

To save the destiny of the dalits.