Thursday, September 20, 2012

The Good Guys wear Brown

(an Ode to the FDI in retail related strike)

A crisp new morning, it’s a Thursday;
It’s 7, an empty road,
Except some garbage in the way
Like a big sign board
Yeah! It’s strike today!

The old man’s waiting for the printed sheet,
That lady’s looking for the milk ferry,
The school boy’s put up his feet,
And watching soccer on the telly,
He knows today the school can’t turn on the heat

The mob crosses with the banners and flags,
“Keep the pigs out, they’re here to pillage”
The chauffer and buddies light their fags,
Wonder why the bosses are in a rage
This early, and in unusual rags

The young man watches the crowd,
In his hut by the pavement
No wages today, its all that loud,
Nothing he can do to prevent
This work day being in a shroud

The little girl asks her mom, “Why”?
“It’s war between saffron and white
They can’t let a thing lie
And have to show their might”
“So, mom, life stands still while they vie?”

“There’s some bad men coming here,
Who’ll steal our very souls,
Stoke up all the fear
And leave us with begging bowls;
They’ll start by telling us what we want to hear

They’ll sell us things we want to buy,
At what they call a low price,
Force us to keep up with the next guy
Tell us its all nice
Leave us feeling all high”

“But isn’t that how Dad’s boss runs things?
Sells stuff that people want
And collect the money that it brings?
He goes on a holiday  jaunt?
While  Dad answers to the customer rings?”

“Remember the time, Mom, the food was bad?
And two hundred fell ill
‘cos they’d been had
Even we ended up taking a  pill
And we got all really mad.

So what are these bad men gonna do?
It can’t be worse than that.
Come on, isn’t that true?
So why put them on the mat?
Unless there’s another reason for this crew.”

She points at the crowd with her forefinger
And looks to her mom for a reply
Mom doesn’t want this moment to linger
Even if it means telling a lie
“This crowd is just a harbinger…

Of the great glory of our land
Of managing our own life
Without an alien hand
Even if means a lot of strife
What’s playing will be our band.

So even if we have to take the bus
While the boss is such a jerk
Why make such a fuss?
He’s the one who gives dad work
And then, he’s one of us!

Remember, little one, its about pride
To live poor but with our very own
Even if they take us for a ride
We know that they’re home grown
And they’re always on our side.

You see, dear, the good guys wear brown
They’re always from our part of town
Even if they’re giving us a hard time, honey,
Can we forsake them for just money?

Don’t let them here, to Dad I say,
Even if means a job with more pay
We can’t let the bad men take over our land
Rather die here, by our very own hand.

“Mom, how do you know they’re bad?
When you don’t know them at all?
Or are you just glad?
To see them try, and see them fall?
If that’s the only reason, its sad.

I just don’t want to be poor,
Of that I’m sure
More money, cheaper stuff,
Of law that can call the bluff
The aliens I can then endure.”

The evening mob adjourns to the bar
Turns to the leader, he’s the star,
The party carries on late into the night
The drivers all out of sight
They never get overtime, and not tonight.

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