The gates have been barred.
Now the fixers with sticks
And bricks can enter
Without hindrance
From the turnstile left
Open for them.
The guards are disciplined
And prudent. The official
Word has been uttered
To them: they are trained to know
Which side their bread is buttered.
The administrators are elsewhere
According to plan. The fixers
Need have no fears; the appointed
Hours are theirs.
So they set upon the women
In earnest, cracking as many
Curious heads as time
And tide allowed. The slogans
They raised were all laudably nationalist,
Menacing, proud. Whatsapp chat
Came pat. It said “give it to them
Who threaten Bharat with fancy
Posers. Now, our sticks, bricks,
And politics alone are authorized.
So have at them, fellow goons, till
Their anti-national brains are terminally
Terrorized.”
Job done, among blood and battered
Skulls, they left as they came—
A sleight-of-hand that would have
Put Houdini to shame.
Then came the police on cue
To make all the right noises that
The guilty make after they come
To the scene they helped create.
Enquiries will follow, after the
Evidence is rendered suitably hollow.
An orderly state times its moves
With precision. Good governance
Means who to wink at or not,
And where, how, and when.
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