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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