M C P*

He placed his head on the idol’s feet In soulful prayer For his wife and kids The world and all that lived Didn’t the age-old prayer say In pristine Sanskrit “All that I see, All the worlds, as worlds are the seen, Be auspicious and happy”? His better half, vociferous like Greer Her fair body clad in chiffon Like a lollypop in transparent wrap Told her friend I can’t stand the guy My husband, he is an MCP* He asks the kids to pray Prescribes ancient texts Picked from scriptures That have lost their sway Pries into what they read Detests the TV they are glued Her friend cackled In effervescent bursts “He sure is the last, Don’t care two hoots If the first two are true” Chiffon-pack chuckled Like a cuckoo bird To join in the mirth The humour was worth Loud mouthful laughter Let us hurry to the club Work still awaits Before the evening meet On the fight for our oppressed ilk Let us clad ourselves well A woman’s success dwelled In her body cleverly wrapped Age didn’t matter And in the degree of discomfort It gave young male rabbits Who throng women’s meets Meanwhile, the pig toiled Between his factories His mind fully occupied With how to plan taxes Manage the kids’ expenses Pay their growing spectacle bills Settle the wife’s vagaries And run an empire growing beyond his skills The union guy demands A new television On top of a cell phone Gifted a week before The nasty guy must be laid to rest Lest he steals peaceful sleep Shouting proletarian rights He recalled the way he began From scratches on days bygone In the city suburb He still loves it To follow old rules That made him a man of worth Crores has he amassed Wisely placed hither and thither He would get into the middle Of his workers and toil Like one of them It didn’t matter if his attire was soiled And if he smelt sweat Which the chiffon called a stink He would then don At the end of the day The tie and jacket hung On the wall and hurry Brushing his hair on the way To clients with cart-loads of deliveries Invoice book, carbon and pen Ever ready in his long coat pockets The pig sat ruminating Yawned to the grinding tune Of the grandpa ceiling fan As the sweating summer afternoon Sank its way to horizon The brats are yet to return And cause commotion Pandemonium would soon devour The peace of the house after school hours Agnes, the maid, moved in like a breeze Holding his steaming cup of tea She is their maid ever since He married the chiffon pack Brought her home long back Childless, widowed, she was it If gentleness had another name Hailing from Goa she brought in Peace of beaches, moonlit nights She did bear the chiffon’s whims Saintly with a distant smile She could stand the kids’ antics Sagely composed like a stoic Wherever did she turn her eyes She saw only Jesus Christ Her one and only single child Though she mothered everything Elsewhere, in an overcrowded hall Extempore prolific chiffon spat To unending thunderous applause Swooning over a big-wig guest Acclaimed champion of the weaker sex A perennial wife-beater in secret He sat stroking his moustache Ogling the fluttering damsels And rehearsed the rhetoric stuff His junior has penned for his address The lofty stuff the guy fabricates Has always been beyond his wits Knowledge he guessed Never courted success The junior was evidence Unknown he remains accursed As slumber weighed his eyelids down The pig wished he had married the maid Guilt soon brought his deity in To duster the thought off his mind As he snored his way down in To the land of peace with no things seen _______________ MCP* = Male chauvinist pig Please read the poet's note below.