Ramblings

Denied him bail

They got his boy
They got his boy
On a cruise
A drugs bust, they said
Before the ship had sailed
Threw him in jail
Denied him bail
6 gm of ‘charas’
And some WhatsApp chats
Enough to get him nailed 
They shut the door
He’s on the floor
Cheek by jowl
Smells most foul
They got his boy
And the father’s wealth 
Mean nought
Justice is sought
In the meantime
a boy languishes
Hope vanishes
A megastar goes 
From GOAT 
to scapegoat 
They got his boy
A smokescreen
To prove some point
Few grams of coke
A complete joke
Elsewhere in a port
Some heroin lies
Unclaimed
Unquestioned
They got his boy
He’s no king
Just a pawn
In a larger game
If he could shout
Let it all out
But justice is deaf
Whose vengeance?
Whose vendetta?
Narcotic
Psychotic
Realpolitik
Drug bust
Dreams to dust
The clamour for glamour
They got his boy
The price of fame
What’s the point of his name
Can this film be re-shot?
Can these scenes be reworked?
Can this script be re-written?
If he could just beat up those ‘baddies’
To his son, be that protective daddy
They got his boy
His pride and joy

Illustrations/Uday Mohite

You’re a Super King
In a world of chest thumping 
show ponies
And bureaucratic power yielding 
phoneys
There’s Dhoni
They’ve bayed for his blood
Those mean little men
With their bitterness
And Twitter-ness 
Lesser men with their caustic views
mere mortals seeking to curtail
They’ve tried to shuffle him
Ruffle him
Muzzle him
Trouble him
Kerkuffle him
But Dhoni
By comparison yogic
Follows his own logic
MS Dhoni
Almost lonely
He’s shut out the white noise 
With much poise
Now he’s the mentor
That they sent for
Heaven sent
The calm
The balm
The charm
Decisions made, 
with much ‘aaram’
What’s going on in that head
And when he bids adieu
Have we given the man his due
Dhoni?
The man in yellow
What a fellow

Who drove me that day?
Who drove me that day
I can’t say
Who was at the wheel that day
I can’t say
Couldn’t see his face
Even when he fled
As the victims bled,
Left for dead
I can’t say
I begged him to brake
But the driver 
The killer at the wheel
Didn’t slow down
Mowed them down
Slammed them from the rear
I have blood on my hands
Am I an accomplice, an accessory?
A spectator that’s mute?
If they summon me
If I could speak
I’d track the day
What I heard
Did he lose control?
Was it an act of vengeance?
An act of violence?

Illustrations/Uday Mohite

An act of venom?
An act of vilification?
But there’s blood on my fender
Me, a weapon of mass destruction
To men of harvestation
We’ve become a nation
Of devastation
Protest has no place
Debate is extinct
The dharna
The strike
The placard
The resistance
The cry for help
Will not be tolerated
Berated
Condemned
Interrogated
Whoever drove me that day
Will he ever pay?

Rahul daCunha is an adman, theatre director/playwright, photographer and traveller. Reach him at rahul.dacunha@mid-day.com

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