Year after potholed year, we in Mumbai, particularly in the suburbs, tolerate endless roadworks, traffic blocks, pollution, and delays, like a movie extra standing in line for makeup, while the heroine, South Mumbai (where the government and its minions reside ), gets immediate preferential closeup treatment for minor cracks and pimples on the roads.
Year after year, someone gets paid for shoddy repairs, and year after year some folks continue to come up in life, to unimaginable levels.
Makes you think. It isn't of any use, except maybe for writing verse ? The poem was triggered in Marathi by a comment on FB made by a blogger friend Harekrishnaji, whose new car is probably in tears by now.....the English thinking follows !
(photo courtesy Google, inset : the Moon's surface !)
आयुष्य जरा सुरळीत झालं
आणि
माणूस हुरळून जाउन
त्याचे मन
फार उंच उंच झेपाउ लागलं,
कि
त्याला खाडकन जमीनेवर आणण्याचे
काम
आपले सरकार करते ......
रस्त्यावरचे खड्डे ,
विश्वासाबद्दल खड्डे ,
आश्वासनांचे खड्डे ,
करदात्यांच्या खिशाला खड्डे ,
आणि एकीकडे
कुणा एकाचा खिसा
गरम होउन,
गच्च भरून,
ओतू जात असतो,
आणि त्याच्या निर्लज्जपणाचा
खड्डा वाढतच जातो,
वाढतच जातो......
Life ,
smooth and comfortable,
and the
Mumbaikar
dares to dream
higher,taller,
and skyward....
But the hole-obsessed
powers-that-be
with great relish,
drag him back
to earth
with a thump....
Holes in the roads,
Holes in the trust,
Holes in the promises,
Holes
in the taxpayers' pockets,
While
somewhere else
some one's
pockets
hot in anticipation,
and remorseless,
fill up and overflow.
And
the pothole of shame
in some one's
avaricious life
continues to
grow
out of control....
Between A Million And A Billion
6 days ago
You said it all!
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