Pusings (poetic musings) From Manali

They said they’d give me five more years,
Five more years, they said, amidst cheers.
Let’s go ahead and declare an early poll,
Before painful incumbency takes its toll,
Take it from us, if there’s a drought,
It will be khalaas for us, a total rout.
So let’s trim our sails to the very wind,
That won us Jaipur, Indore and Bhind.
Let’s perceive in our victory in Rajasthan,
Our inalienable right to rule Hindustan.
Let’s seize the moment, fly the jhanda,
Let’s conquer Delhi and set the agenda.

They read the reluctance in my face,
So raised the pitch, hastened the pace.
Early election, ji, is the only way out,
To battle both incumbency and drought.
The opinion polls are totally in our favour,
You, sir, are the nation’s preferred flavour.
Winning these elections will be a breeze,
Let’s bring our great batsmen to the crease.
You, sir, are our own Sachin, they thundered.
You are clearly destined to hit three hundred.
Look, the sun’s in the sky, India is shining.
The Sensex is rising, the Congress, whining.

And so they whispered in my ears all day,
We’ll win, we’ll win, we’ll win this fray.
So insistent were they, so persistent their pleas,
That finally I had no choice but to acquiesce.
But even as I nodded, I felt a wave of cold,
The earth wobbled, I felt suddenly too old.
And my charioteer, Lal Krishan, at my side,
Was already making plans to take a rath ride.
As I sat at my 7, Race Course, office table,
I felt I was suddenly in a malodorous stable.
With their ill-thought out, ill-intentioned ramble,
They robbed me of a full term with their gamble.

AAR PAAR KI LADAIYEE

These hills are the perfect cover,
From which to shoot from the hip,
Unleash my great verbal firepower,
Thow poison darts, give them some lip.

First I tell the world on TV,
That our party would have won,
If it weren’t for a man called Modi,
BJP would be glowing in the sun.

My words sent them into a tizzy,
While up here I have a little laugh,
They issue statements in great frenzy,
While up here I just discreetly cough.

Down there, they issue a bulletin,
There’s really no crisis, they drone,
As for Modi, he’s not out, but in,
He remains firmly on Gujarat’s throne.

Up here, I quickly lob yet another one,
Tell crowds about the Gujarat tragedy,
How at the party meet, my writ will run,
And how we’ll discuss the fate of Modi.

There’s a message I wish to convey,
That all is fair in love, war, satta,
That I’ll speak up, come what may,
Is baar haar nahin manoonga.

GEET NAYA GAATA HOON (ON ITALIAN FOOD)

I’ve battled some Italians in my time,
Against Sonia as PM, I drew the line.
But let it not ever, ever, be forgot,
That Italian food’s the best of the lot.
Now I like Chinese, chowmein is nice,
Our Indian meals have got the right spice,
French food has style, nice for a change,
In Thai, the lemongrass can taste strange,
But of Brahma’s creations, take it from me,
There’s nothing like a plate of spaghetti,
Cooked with bolognese sauce and chicken,
And lasagna mushroom is next to heaven.
My granddaughter likes her pizza, so do I,
But I’m more partial to pesce con legumi.
And there’s nothing as great as fritto misto,
Ending it all with choco torte and cappucino.