Violent Night

Violent night, drones in flight

Palestine’s sky is bright

Israeli bombs come down like rain

Killing infants by day and by night,

Weep, for forgotten peace,

Weep, for forgotten peace,

Violent night, holy shyte!

Phosphorous clouds are white.

People scream, it’s Israeli planes

Young and old cry in Gaza

Limb from limb we are torn

Limb from limb we are torn.

Violent night, Kristallnacht.

They have faced the ugly hate

Yet they kill us in the same way

Will we get to see Christmas day 

Jesus look at your land

Jesus look at your land

Music: the original tune by Franz Xaver Gruber to Joseph Mohr’s lyrics

Voice: Shubha Sharma

Favourite schemes

Airdrops of roses and whiskers on Amit-kins
Light copper’s lathis for warm wooden kickings
All of the activists tied up with strings
These are a few of my favourite things

Yellow journalists and Arnab my poodle
Door bells at midnight and News TV bamboozle
Wild talk that flies out through WhatsAppian pings
These are a few of my favourite things

Girls in white mourning and communal clashes
Snowflakes with long noses get fifty lashes
Silver white cashflows from corporate kings
These are a few of my favourite things

When a pup dies
When I lose a state
When I'm feeling feels
I simply remember my PM CARES s̶c̶a̶m̶ scheme
And then I don't feel so bad

The doors of managing perception

You know that it would be untrue
You know that I would be a feku
If I was to say to you
I know exactly what to do

Come on baby, light my pyre
Come on baby, light my pyre
Try to get the light on hire

It's time to isolate it's true
The situation's really dire
You clapped and yet we're in the goo
Wait a minute, gotta sue The Wire

Come on baby, light my pyre
Come on baby, light my pyre
Try to get the light on hire, haanh?

We could take care of the poor
We could push testing rates higher
Help the farmers, okay, yes, sure
Wait a minute, gotta sue The Wire

Come on baby, light my pyre
Come on baby, light my pyre
Try to get the light on hire, haanh?

You know that it would be untrue
You know that I would be a feku
If I was to say to you
I know exactly what to do

Come on baby, light my pyre
Come on baby, light my pyre
Try to get the light on hire
Try to get the light on hire
Try to get the light on hire
Try to get the light on hire

Violent night

Violent night, holy shyt
Fires are lit, flames are bright
Round yon Muslims the bigots go wild
Pretty sure no case will be filed
Weep in Muzaffarnagar
Weep in Muzaffarnagar

Violent night, holy shyt
People quake at the sight
Mobs are coming — is that a cop car?
Saintly voic's saying 'Kill the mullah'
Bro, a pogrom is on
Bro, a pogrom is on

Violent night, holy shyt
Kutta ka bachcha in the headlights
This will go down well with the base
Together they'll de-Muslim the place
Hindu rashtra on earth
Hindu rashtra on earth

I am an island

A winter's day
In a dweep I bought from
Ecuador
I am alone
Gazing at my phone at news reports from desh
And a freshly powdered silent pile of hash
I am a prick
Who owns an island

Abducted kids
Have a rape case pending too
That they can't litigate
I have no need of justice, justice is a pain
Punishment and jail time I disdain
I am a prick
Who owns an island

Don't talk of love
But sex tapes I've made before
I was sleeping with an actor
I won't disclose the number of offshore crores I have
Tax-free dollars paid for Kailaasa
I am a prick
Who owns an island

I have my kooks
And my bhakts are there to protect me
I am shielded in my exile
Safe within my room, eating magic shrooms
I can touch everyone and no one can touch me
I am a prick
Who owns an island

And my prick feels no shame
And no one hears my victim's cries

Real life, as often happens these days, outran satire. Ecuador said it hadn't agreed to sell the 'swami' anything and he had left, presumably for Haiti.

Dystopian Rhapsody

Is this the real life?
Is this Republic TV?
Won in a landslide;
No court will call us guilty.

Open the door
Of your refrigerator:
Oo meat!
I’m just a गौ boy,
You get no sympathy,
Because this is not the north-east,
There they can eat more cow
Because there we’re winning now.
Kerala तो is all commie, commie.

मामा, we lynched a man.
Broke his door down, then his head,
Threw some bricks and now he’s dead.
मामा, who needs a gun?
See, now they’re all scared and running away.

मामा, ooh,
Did you hear the sickulars cry?
If it’s grief for Muslims, is it sorrow?
Carry on, carry on.
As if minorities matter.

Oh hell, real war might come,
When I yelled that battle-cry
I meant you should die, not I
Goodbye everybody, I’ve got to go,
Gotta leave you at the front I need to wee.

मामा, ooh
(The winds of war blow)
I don’t wanna fight,
Just sometimes want television rating points.

I see a camouflage-cap-wearing wanker:
News anchor, news anchor, will you do the flak jacket?
Studio graphics,
Very, very scary pix
Eeee!
(Goswami-o) Goswami-o.
(Goswami-o) Goswami-o,
Shivshankar Navika
O TRP-ee-ee-ee-ee.

I’m just a गौ boy, nobody’s देवर.
He’s just a गौ boy from a poor परिवार.
Spare him his life from the actual army.

You know I died in ’64?
Jawahar! Ho, you do not understand. (Understand!)
Jawahar! You’re our only plan. (Only plan!)
Jawahar! Take the blame old man. (Blame the man!)
You and all your clan. (Rename their plans!)
Just because we can. (Because, because, because, because we can!)
Oh oh oh oh
No, no, no, no, no, no, no
Oh, Nehru-mian, Nehru-mian (We’ll use you till ’24.)
Maybe by then we’ll also go after Gandhi! Gandhi! Gandhi!

So you think you can stop us from re-election?
We’ll win and we’ll change the constitution.
Oh, baby, remove ‘secular,’ baby,
Then ‘democratic,’ just gotta get five more years.

(Ooooh, ooh yeah, ooh yeah)

India is in tatters,
Anyone can see.
The rich are getting fatter,
That’s what really matters
To me.

Can you feel war winds blow?

We are WhatsAppians

I’ve got my phone
I’ve got the time
Can’t write a sentence
That’s not a crime
Can copy-paste
So sucks to you
I’ve hit ‘Share’ and sent to all my groups
And it’s gone through

(And I can go on and on and on and on)

We are WhatsAppians, my friends
And we’ll keep forwarding till the end
WhatsApp historians
Our tones are stentorian,
No time for research
’Cause we’re not really sapiens; hello world!

I’ve taken my vows
I’ll make India tall
I’ll mix up science and stories and reproduce as fact what’s myth
And then ‘Send all’
No I have no neuroses
No self-worth issues
I’m attractive to all around after I’ve had some booze
And I’ll always amuse

(And I just need go on and on and on and on)

We are WhatsAppians, my friends
And we’ll keep forwarding till the end
India we glory in
Our phones Chinese or Korean
No time for fact check
’Cause we’re not really sapiens; hello world!

We are WhatsAppians, my friends
And we’ll keep forwarding till the end
We are WhatsAppians
We are WhatsAppians
No use for AltNews
’Cause we’re Whatsappians

We are the weird

There comes a time
When we heed the WhatsApp call
When the weird must come together as one
Infocell is saying
Oh, it’s time to type a tweet
’Bout him, the greatest mard of all

Stop watching porn
Pretending we’re at work
And someone, somewhere thinks we’re all cool
We’re all a part of our great big parivar
And the truth, I mean cow, is all we need

We are the weird
We are the paid trolls
We are the ones who make the fake news trend,
So let’s start tweeting
There’s a voice we’re faking
We’re cutting and pasting
It’s true we’ll earn one day’s pay
Just for this tweet

Oh, type them out fast
So the rest of us can share
And mantris will jump in and retweet
Demigod has shown us
That throwing stones at heads
Is just another bailable offence

We are the weird
We are the paid trolls
We are the ones who make the fake news trend,
So let’s start tweeting
There’s a voice we’re faking
We’re cutting and pasting
It’s true we’ll earn one day’s pay,
Just for this tweet

When there’s no template, and no Infocell call
Make up some shit, curse the Congis, have a ball
Well, well, well, well, let us tell some lies
Oh, the bhakts will surely come
And we’ll game algorithms as one, yeah, yeah, yeah

We are the weird
We are the paid trolls
We are the ones who make the fake news trend,
So let’s start tweeting
There’s a voice we’re faking
We’re cutting and pasting
It’s true we’ll earn one day’s pay,
Just for this tweet

We are the weird
We are the paid trolls
We are the ones who make the fake news trend,
So let’s start tweeting
There’s a voice we’re faking
We’re cutting and pasting
It’s true we’ll earn one day’s pay, just for this tweet

We are the weird (are the weird)
We are the paid trolls (are the paid trolls)
We are the ones who make the fake news trend,
So let’s start tweeting (so let’s start tweeting)
There’s a voice we’re faking
We’re cutting and pasting
It’s true we’ll earn one day’s pay, just for this tweet

Oh, let me hear you!

We are the weird (are the weird)
We are the paid trolls (are the paid trolls)
We are the ones who make the fake news trend,
So let’s start tweeting (so let’s start tweeting)
There’s a voice we’re faking
We’re cutting and pasting
It’s true we’ll earn one day’s pay, just for this tweet

[repeat chorus until it trends]

Bumpy and Western song

Almost ’leven, Lower Parel
Traffucked as ever, full of party people
Air is soiled there, they ain’t got no trees
Building jostle buildings, cutting out the breeze

Potholed roads, take me home
To the flat I do not own
Get me an Uber, even Ola
Take me home, bumpy roads

Battery’s low now, b-pack’s empty
Should’ve plugged in while we were still drinking
I might have to take a kaali-peeli
Worse, the local, with the hoi polloi

Come on app cab, take me home
To the flat I do not own
Lokhandwala, 1 BHK
Take me home, bumpy roads

Nakabandhi, breathalysers oh FMG
Oh why did I, remind me, move to this bloody Bombay
Lurching down the road I remember
That I am very late on my EMIs, EMIs

Potholed roads, take me home
To the flat I do not own
In Wadala, please don’t judge me
Take me home, bumpy roads

Bumpy roads, take me home
To the flat I do not own
In Vikhroli, at least it’s not Vashi
Take me home, potholed roads

Take me home, down potholed roads
Take me home, down bumpy roads

Apologies to John Denver.
Sing along: Karaoke version

Where have all the flowers gone?

Where has mother nature gone, long time passing?
Where has mother nature gone, long time ago?
Where has mother nature gone?
She lost to progress, poor old girl
Oh when will they ever learn, oh when will they ever learn?

Where has all the progress gone, long time passing?
Where has all the progress gone, long time ago?
Where has all the progress gone?
Gone to rich men, every one
Oh when will they ever learn, oh when will they ever learn?

Where have all the rich men gone, long time passing?
Where have all the rich men gone, long time ago?
Where have all the rich men gone?
Seeking tax breaks, every one
Oh when will they ever learn, oh when will they ever learn?

Where have all the tax breaks gone, long time passing?
Where have all the tax breaks gone, long time ago?
Where have all the tax breaks gone?
Into foundations, every one
Oh when will they ever learn, when will they ever learn?

Where has all the funding gone, long time passing?
Where has all the funding gone, long time ago?
Where has all the funding gone?
Greening the planet, every one
Oh when will they ever learn, oh when will they ever learn?

How many queues must a man wait in?

At a concert on Saturday, our Prime Minister quoted words of protest written by a certain Robert Zimmerman back in 1963. That reminded us of this more contemporary work by Balbir ‘Bobby’ Dhillon, who owns Noble Lorry 8 Pvt. Ltd. (‘We have no brunches’) and writes a bit while he’s waiting in line to withdraw cash to pay his drivers.

Come gather ’round people
It’s not time to roam
While you whined the lines
Around you have grown
Just accept it that soon
You’ll be tir’d to the bone
If your savin’s to you are worth drawin’
Then you better start queuin’ or you’ll be all alone
For the notes they are a-changin’

Pressti …wallas and critics
Who editorialise often
Do keep your eyes wide
We’ll change the rules again
So don’t speak at all
You can’t counter my spin
Here’s one more RBI notification!
Don’t try to figure it, you just can’t win
Hah! The notes they are a-changin’

You UPA Congressis
Don’t get it all
I’ll use your best schemes
And rename them all
I’m sure it must hurt
To hear all my trolls
Being ‘offended’ and ‘hurt’ and ‘outragin’’
And while you’re trying to figure it all
The notes I will be a-changin’

Grand-mothers and -fathers
A separate queue for you
And ’cause I sympathise
Take Saturday too
Your sons and your daughters
They will have to stand
Out on the road slowly agin’
Yes it’s your money, yes I understand
But the notes they are a-changin’

The line it is long
Do have a blast
The slow queue now
Will never be fast
You resent me now
I am aghast
Is your nationalism fadin’?
Alas your cash stash is now ballast
’Cause the notes they are a-changin’

The #GoodGovernanceDay Hymnal & Songbook

Carols for the fat man with the white beard

मेरी Good Governance Day!

Christianity, mitron, has often appropriated festivals and celebrations from other religions. The Christmas tree, the Yule log, mistletoe (and that debauched custom of kissing under it) all have origins in pre-Christian times and pagan customs. Even this so-called Christmas day was conveniently shifted to coincide with the Winter Solstice to make it easier to lure in followers of other religions.

Now that we are doing a bit of Ghar Wapasi for the 25th December, as a former Christian and devout believer in and proselytiser of Good Governance, I present for your singing pleasure a few songs I, ahem, 'converted' from their previous use. Perfect for chanting around a pile of burning books.

1.

Jingalala! Bail! Jingalala! Bail!
I got out of jail!
O what fun it is to be
Pals with India's leading male!

2.

Silence! We're the Right
Stay calm, sit tight
Curfew time for mother and child
No going out, the night is wild

Sleep in, we'll keep the peace,
Sleep in, we'll keep the peace

Silent night, no not quite
Safe for you to go out tonight
Chow mien has been stuffed down faces
So, no, the night for you has no place

Stay home, cook, & give birth
Stay home, cook, & give birth

3.

Hark the herald Sanghis tweet
"Glory to the Virgin King!
Peace on earth? Only my child
If Ghar Wapasi pleas are filed"

Joyful, all ye nations rise
In from India Modi flies
While the NRI hosts proclaim:
His undying glorious fame

Hark! The hired Tweeters sing
"Glory to the Virgin King!"
By the VHP adored
And by all who can afford
To have him use their private planes
Achche dins will fall like rain!

56 inches round is he
Custom-made is his finery
Pleased to watch that tummy swell!
No sorry, that's his chest that fell.

Hark the hired Sanghis tweet!
Then off to Burger King to eat!

4.

Deck the halls with balls of haldi,
Fa la la la la, la la. Aila!

Clear out all western baggage jaldi
Fa la la la la, la la. Aila!

Don we now saffron apparel,
Fa la la la la, la la. Aila!

Trolls are here with you to quarrel,
Fa la la la la, la la. Aila!

Choose: against us or are you for us?
Fa la la la la, la la. Aila!

What western culture is this chorus?
Fa la la la la, la la. Aila!

Follow me! Your RTs are treasure,
Fa la la la la, la la. Aila!

They give me all kinds of pleasure,
Fa la la la la, la la. Aila!

Ancient culture for our masses
Fa la la la la, la la. Aila!

Never mind if it's anti the lasses
Fa la la la la, la la. Aila!

Sing, you yoyos, all together,
Fa la la la la, la la. Aila!

While I tuck in to my headband a feather,
Fa la la la la, la la. Aila!

5.

Godse rest ye, mere gentlemen
Let nothing you dismay
Remember, Good Governance
Was born on 26 May
To save us all from Western powers
Such as this Christmas Day

O tweetings of comfort and joy,
(It does not cloy!)
O tweetings of comfort and joy

For three score years and seven
This country had not known
The joys of being governed
And not by a Kangressi pawn
But now, mitron, I am here
Give thanks that I was born!

O tweetings of comfort and joy,
(It's a boy!)
O tweetings of comfort and joy

Watch us wield our jaadus now
In the TV camera's frame
So that tonight at nine pee em
Arnab can say our names
Never mind that we're sweeping up
Pre-arranged garbage for fame

O tweetings of comfort and joy,
(It's a PR ploy!)
O tweetings of comfort and joy

"Fear not" said the party head,
"I got you in my sights,
I got info on your foes
Enough to give them frights
They'll soon sing the party line
If they know what for them's right"

O tweetings of comfort and joy,
(Don't be coy!)
O tweetings of comfort and joy

The NRI fans at those tidings
Rejoiced as do their kind,
By abusing all the sickulars
And libtards they could find
Though strangely very few returned
To the land they left behind

O tweetings of comfort and joy,
(Green card joy!)
O tweetings of comfort and joy

And when they came to New Delhi
Where our dear Saviour stays,
They found him not in the Lok Sabha
Though you may remember the day
When he knelt down and kissed its steps
The 20th day of May?

O tweetings of comfort and joy,
(MPs annnoy!)
O tweetings of comfort and joy

To our chief we sing praises,
Bless his bearded face,
We the insecure brotherhood
Are right here in your face;
He may call it governance
We call it running the place

O tweetings of comfort and joy,
(We love our toys!)
O tweetings of comfort and joy

6.

Jai to the World, #SwacchBharat has come!
Let no one be shirking!
Let every hearth prepare their brooms,
Cameras are looking,
Cameras are looking,
News TV cameras are looking!

Jai to the World, soc'l media reigns!
Let pee aar firms employ
Benched geeks and jocks to shill and 'splain
Retweet the sounding joy,
Retweet the sounding joy,
Retweet, retweet the sounding joy.

You love the words, and I have more!
Lots more, so hang around!
Good Gov'nance Day is my next play
I really like the sound,
I really like the sound,
I like, I like, I like the sound.

He trolls the world, with a straight face,
Though he is yet to prove
That he can do the things he says,
We drink the Kool Aid, Love,
We drink the Kool Aid, Love,
We drink, we drink the Kool Aid, Love

The itsy bitsy teenie weenie song

She was afraid to come out of the locker
She was as nervous as she could be
She was afraid she’d land up in the lock-up
She was afraid of the Goa Pee Dubyu Dee

“One, two, three, four! Showing body? Thoba! Haw!”

It was an itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, symbol of her own agency
It was her body, so she thought it was okay
An itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, ordinary flash of whimsy
But Mantriji said it would make men prey

“Two, three, four! Two-piece? Shee! Must be a whore!”

She was afraid to come out in the open
Sex crimes were because of her, see?
“Poor men can’t help gawkin’ and gropin’
And next thing they’ll do Ar Ay Pee Ee”

“Two, three, four! They raped because of what she wore!”

It was an itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, symbol of her own agency
A garment she wore ’cause she felt fine that way
An itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, ordinary flash of whimsy
But now Goa’s gorment was saying “No way!”

“Two, three, four! Western nangapan on our shore!”

Now she’s afraid, this new India’s daughter
“She asked for it I say, what to do?”
What if Muthalik was prowling and caught her?
The Ram Sene would beat her black and blue

“Two, three, four, patriarchy is the law!”

It was an itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, symbol of her own agency
That she thought she had a right to display
An itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, ordinary flash of whimsy
“Shut up woman! It’s our world! Obey!”

(First the lock-up then a blanket ban)
(No more women on our sea shore)
(We learnt it from the Taliban)

Yes, there isn’t any more

Hairfall

This is the end
Hold your scalp and count to ten
Feel your comb move, and then
Hear my hair fall again

For this is the end
I've combed and brushed this moment
Comb-over time, can't grow more
Taken away, it's stolen

Let the hair fall
When it tumbles
We will stand bald
And face it all together
Let the hair fall
When it tumbles
We will stand bald
As hair falls
As hair falls

Hairfall is where we part
Our hair but then it parts
From us and clogs the drain-hole
Got a trichologist's number?
Can you give me a name?
Yes I'll give the devil my soul

Let the hair fall
When it tumbles
We will stand bald
And face it all together
Let the hair fall
When it tumbles
We will stand bald
As hair falls

Let the hair fall
When it tumbles
We will stand bald
And face it all together
Let the hair fall
When it tumbles
We will stand bald

There it goes, it goes
On its way out to sea
I know I'll never be thin
But the lack of keratin's
Lovely strands atop my crown
Makes me feel really down
Gimme a hat my friend
And we'll stand....

Let the hair fall, when it tumbles
We will stand bald
And face it all together
Let the hair fall, when it tumbles
We will stand bald
And face it all together
As hair falls

Let the hair fall
We will stand bald
As hair falls

(Sorry Adele)