The final curtain

When you tell me you're my watchman, what are you watching exactly? What do I need protection from?

Six down, one to go
The seventh phase of polling, a new level in trolling, extolling, The Indian Polling league,
true fatigue,
It's been a trying time
Seven phases… shrill voices
Voting for 543 seats, in the heat, one man to beat, not enough food,
but, what's the debate?
Trading blows. Below the belt
'Your daddy is the worst'… a
dynastic curse
Skeletons tumbling out of the closet
And I'm thinking, “What are we,
in school?”
Stop getting personal, get over the pettiness, give me a promise I
can believe
And so like a marriage, that enters
its sixth year..we have to take
that call
Five years ago, we gave you our oath
we exchanged vows… well, you wowed and vowed
And we followed with hope
The truth is, you failed.
Well maybe not failed… but the
report card: average, way below
average
Much talk, not enough walk
Perhaps you need to study harder, my friends, more homework, more research
Not, who you are, but what we want
The rose-tinted glasses are tainted somewhat
The veneer has dropped, the venom upped
Slogans, empty cleverness, more lofty statements don't cut the ice anymore
When you tell me you're my watchman, what are you watching exactly? What do I need protection from?
Break it down: what is my
vote worth?
We've seen your true colours, and gentlemen, the long honeymoon
is over
But there's no one else. You are the best of a bad lot.
Do we renew our vows with you, do we even have a choice?
You really haven't delivered on the promises, And when the time comes to truly speak, you don't. The DND sign comes on.
You took my money, that's not funny
In the dead of night, no warning,
I was broke by the morning, in mourning,
Stood in queues, our businesses
collapsed,
But we forgave. But we've not
forgotten —
you have to now deliver, you have five more years, no more
The level of debate has to
mature
Five years ago, it was only you we wanted. And yet today, the refrain is, “Aur kaun hai?”
Rafale jets, hitting below the
belt, silent press cons, just not
good enough
The gathbandhan could become a gadbad-dhan
That remains the concern.
We're jaded, faded,
The shrill screaming of men in power is dissolving into white noise for us
And now, the end is near
And, as we face the final curtain
We have to ask, “Aur kaun hai?”
(And, I ask, “Aur con hai?”)
Morale is slow, the moral fibre lies in tatters
And I'm a democrat in a republic called India
And I'm being told every day:
What I should eat
What I should think
What I should study
What I should read
What I should say
Will Democracy be the new DeMo?

Rahul daCunha is an adman, theatre director/playwright, photographer and traveller. Reach him at rahuldacunha62@gmail.com

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