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Mainstream, VOL LIX No 27, New Delhi, June 19, 2021

A Sequel to Parul’s Poem Shav Vahini | LK Sharma

Friday 18 June 2021

Voice from Heaven
Image credits: Unsplash

Come ye Indians, you have a chance.
Come to our wonderous land to
breath and laugh, sing and dance.
We were brought here by Ma Ganga.
Here it is all changa! Truly changa!

Come ye Indians, young and old!
Come to this Land of silver and gold.
You don’t know it but you have become
your own enemy, we are told.
Internet poisoning has sickened your soul.
All izz is not well. Not well.

Here we are having Good Times.
Come and see. Come and see.
And the best is yet to be.

The Supreme Being released us from
earthly bondage. He called on
Ganga Maiyya to bless our souls.
The Mother came rushing, embraced
us all, carried us for a million miles
and deposited us in this Heaven.

We left the Land of Lies where we
lived as the living dead. Reduced to
that state in the Republic of Fear
awash with blood and drops of tear.

There we saw violent mobs, perennial
conflict and performing politicians
selling snake oil.
The trollers made our blood boil.

They called poets anarchists and
murderers patriots. At times,
they went beyond trolling, which led to
obituaries in literary journals.
Those who refused to make literature
serve their cause met this fate.

We saw uniformed humans with
microchipped brains selling souls.
We heard of separatist farmers,
seditionist students, subversive journalists,
misguided workers, dissenting academics,
and ex-bureaucrats turned letter-writers.

We have left all that behind.
Here we are not abused. No barbed wire,
no smoke and no smell of gun powder.
The air is pure. We need no vaccination
against Corona or Communal Virus.

No caged parrots, no lapdogs.
No tax inspectors, policemen
and spies doing His bidding.
No buccaneering businessmen.
No bungling bureaucrats.
No frightened journalists.
No kneeling officers.
No bending judges.
No fawning heroes.
No fake news. No inflammatory views.
No stories to sell. No killer IT Cell.
No one out to grab a public sector
unit and buy your soul.

No one masquerades, wearing a mask.
No whacky beliefs. No blind believers.
No power-crazy man idolised.

We are not prompted to troll, shout
abuses, throw stones and kill.
We feel peaceful, listening to the sacred
music and watching a green hill.

We are not forced to show fake piety,
faux nationalism and proof of
citizenship. Not taught to hate Nehru
and to hail Nathuram.
Nor forced to shout Jai Shri Ram!

We have escaped the screaming
TV anchor who turned us deaf.
We are rid of pointless debates
descending into whataboutery.

Here we remain true to our faith that
has millions of Gods and numerous
sacred books. We feel like Hindus,
away from those who hijacked
our noble faith and turned it into
a weapon of identity politics.

Hindu prayers are free of the
ungodly association with politicians
who made us ashamed of our religion.

We feel liberated, liberated from
your political Godman.

We eat, drink, speak, write and wear what
we like. We are safe.
Our religion is safe. Life is perfect. It is a fact.
Heaven has no Other. We are one.
No pollution, no din. Only achhe din!

The Pied Piper playing Jumla Jingles
can’t reach us.

This is the promised place.
The place you dreamt of in 2014, hoping that
India will be. It was not to be.

What could you do since you were
infantilised, told that in 70 years
you have never had it so good.
Till 2014 your plate had no food.
You were starved while termites
were fed, that is what you were told.

You were told the state built
kabristans but no shmashans.
And this led to the crisis of 2021
when Ganga flowed with bodies.

A Gujarati poetess wrote on us and
the sacred river turned into a hearse.
You trolled her heavily because
she called your Emperor naked.

You charged her with “urban naxalism”.
The state literary akademi
ruled that Parul’s poem was no poetry.

You defend your religion and nation by
indulging in violence against the other
while suffering the Government’s
misdeeds in silence. You protect both
from the internal enemies “conspiring”
to persecute the majority!

You feel protected by the Saviour.
As nationalists, you place the Saviour
above all. You obey Him and live in thrall.
Like him, you know nothing about right
and wrong. If he gives a stirring call,
you are ready to give your all.

You are there not to question but to die.
You have no choice.
Hail or go to jail! You will get no bail.

Addicted to political porn, you
sleepwalk to the polling booths on the
appointed day to vote for the one
who has nothing new to say.

You know now how it is to live in Hell.
You bear it well because you are trained
not to grumble but to shout:
Hell is Swell! Hell is Swell!

Dutifully, you repeat with him thrice.
It is so nice! It is so nice! It is so nice!

You can’t break the spell.
Nor could we. Covid broke it for us,
as the broken health system
went killing while
the Leader kept electioneering.

Now oxygen has run out.
You will not be able to stick around
till the elections in order to hail the
Leader and watch his coronation.

Covid made us migrate. It turned out
to be a blessing in disguise.
Heed our warning.
return to Reason. Abandon fear.
Don’t be moved by drops of tear.

Take your voting cards and run.
In 2024, ghosts are set to appear.
They will use your cards, if you
leave these there.

Come ye Indians, come and
enjoy with us in shiny sun and sand.
Get away from your Gaga Land!


(This is no poetry, they will say. Logo ka kam hai kahna. Others will respond: The Age defines poetry!)

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