Martin Luther King, I am told
Had a dream for his nation, bold
I, too, had a dream, but of a different type
It concerned our TV hype

With panellists primed, audience in rows
Most TV Anchors on their evening shows
Drunk on their ego, in love with their voice
Making only fools rejoice

Oh so smug, with no knowledge deep
Making my skin creep, even in sleep
I dreamt I’d set on them, hives of bees
Making their TRPs suddenly increase

There was AG flailing in fear
And BD trying to get one out of her ear
One straight up the nose of DC, on air
Making him jump out of his chair

RD, suddenly hopping up and down
SG imitating a female clown
PR in panic, running around
Their feet finally touching the ground

What headlines next day,
what deflated egos
Tho’ a few did have an inflated nose
I woke up feeling very very proud
And, of course, laughing aloud

This is the only joy I’ve got out of these
Worthless chasers of TRPs
Oops, on this specimen only his mother can dote
Please, please, someone pass the remote

Now that it is proved you were mortal

Having died, though some desire you to live on

Cast your image in bronze

Place on your head a cap of gold

Even in death to protect from rain and cold

In a park of the city where children play

For them to see you everyday

And imbibe your practice of hate.

Will you stand alone or sit on a horse?

Depends on the sculptor’s thought

Whichever way that may happen to be

You will certainly be in glorious company

Looking stern or a hand raised

Depicted as the tiger you were hailed.

But years from now when more sense

would’ve prevailed in our minds

Having been rid of your nonsense

You’d lie forgotten in the corner

of the very same park. The pedestal

used by children as wickets or mark

graffiti would have spoilt your face

Reflecting your deeds: violent and dark.

An innocent child to her mother asked

Unable to remember, the mother

requested others if they could

tell the child why the decrepit statue still stood

Spoiling the beauty of the iconic park?

None could answer except an old man

Who spoke in an ashamedly hesitating way

That you remain to remind the people

Of the horrible times that had prevailed

When he and others like him had revered the devil

And intentionally banished god from heaven.

If there were a Heaven and Hell,

and you could tell,

between the two,

and choose,

and stay.

Where would you?

An easy choice?

You think it is?

I think not – consider this.

Would Heaven have God in all Her might?

Would we have to do everything right?

Would we sit at the same table to eat,

and drink and swallow. And have no meat?

They can’t slaughter lives up there.

God wouldn’t allow things so unfair.

So greens it is; well, bring it on.

I’ll miss the steak, the lamb, the prawn.

In Hell I guess it would be hard,

being boiled and cooked and fried in lard.

The minions of Satan from end to start,

stabbing our spleen, our eyes, our heart.

At banquets we’ll be served, as food.

For Lucifer and his sinful brood.

Being minced by molars smelling rotten,

all for wealth on Earth ill-gotten.

Now Heaven, on the other hand,

may be a more tranquil land.

But could we smoke. Or guzzle a few

pints of beer, a scotch or two.

Or would She always be watching you.

A bit of sin never hurt a mortal.

Porn, in fact makes the finest portal.

But God does not approve of this

kind of indiscretionary bliss.

The Devil may let all that’s nice

flourish in his den of vice.

But we access shall never get,

from pleasure you’ll remain bereft.

That’s the point of Hell you see,

to suffer for all Eternity.

For all the fun on Earth, our Mother,

you pay a price to the Bad Brother.

Though Heaven may offer the chance to lie

on roses and stare at a perfect sky.

Have thrushes of honey and brooks of nectar.

There is a cruel interjector.

No skinny-dipping with Miss May or June.

Not even a loud wicked tune

of Prince, Aerosmith or the ample Madonna

Choose between hymns and bhajans. Would you wanna?

Though in Hell they do have deals

of Souls, exchanged for full meals.

You’d be ill advised to accept the pact

’cause the Soul includes the alimentary tract.

For all tempting offers made down in Hell

there is a “fine print” on the deal as well.

If you think you’re a shrewd trader,

Think again, honey. Remember Darth Vader?

So Hell and Heaven is yours to make.

It’s here that you can have your cake

and eat it too. ’Cause once you’re dead,

you’re not behind, you’re not ahead.

We do our best and suffer our worst

here, on our planet first

and last. Unless I’ve guessed all wrong

and have Hell to pay for this thoughtless song.

Oft I wondered as a child, in life what lay ahead.

So off I went and rushed right in where angels fear to tread.

I learnt a neat and groovy walk, an accent just as cool.

This I never could have known had I just stayed in school.

I’ll walk the ramp and answer everything that’s asked to me.

This will be done by a not-so-bright, but rich and powerful coterie.

I’ll tell ‘em just how wonderful and good a girl I’ve been.

A year or couple down the line, I’ll strut my stuff on screen.

I’ll heal the world and banish hunger and pain to hell.

And while I’m at it I’ll just do a film or two as well.

A judge once asked which man I’d choose, if I had just one date,

LalBahadurShastri said I would surely be my mate.

He was five feet three inches and I’m only five ten.

Don’t look at me like I was lying, I’m turned on by short men.

Another judge once chanced to ask what an ideal woman should be?

I pouted, giggled and said aloud, “Oh darling! That would be me.”

Getting here has been a climb with toil, silicon and sweat.

There were sleepless nights and family fights, but wait there’s still more yet.

I had to leave my brain behind, my self-respect was dead.

A bit of this, a bit of that, and a bit of head.

Being a beauty queen is not as easy as it looks.

This woman of substance does all that, and sweeps and cleans and cooks.

Swapan Seth

My God!

Gujarat 2002

My God is kind and benevolent

Your god is mean and irrelevant.

Swinging blades we roamed the streets

Hacking noses limbs and teats

Jai Shri Ram he would be proud

To see his subjects scream so loud.

Evil conquered, left to die

A woman’s head an infant’s eye

Your god is weak and irrelevant

My God is strong and benevolent.

He was with me when I hacked and hit

With me – when I sliced and slit

With me – always wanting more

The body count and keeping score.

For one of us, we’ll lay down ten

And God bless us for this – Amen

Your god is silly and irrelevant

My God is wise and benevolent.

Pursuing our religious goal

New age ways to cleanse the soul

The flame of wisdom burning bright

Fuelled by homes, torched at night.

Satiating our spiritual lust

Ashes to ashes – dust to dust.

Your god is mean and irrelevant

Isn’t my God kind and benevolent?