Mama Miandad! Here we go again!



We let him hit a six off the last ball
We let him marry his son to a gal
sired by a gangster, most wanted
while the cops fumed, sleuths ranted
He did some things that are not quite cricket
But found his way through a political thicket

What gives? What makes Mr. Miandad
who’s now more than a cricketing lad
flout conventions with happy impunity
and move freely from here to eternity?
The six he hit in the match in the desert
Is a metaphor that returns to assert.

A loose ball in a critical moment
Is bound to make us sit and lament
Why did he bowl that ugly ball?
Made them look big, and us too small?
The point must be mulled, as attitudes go
From such thoughts wisdom must flow

Think for a while on our babu’s follies
And see how our flawed numbers tally
Visa for a man who is married to a clan,
whose head is India’s Most Wanted Man
says a lot about the papers we chase:
Like the loose ball that made us lose our face!

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