LEAST CONCERNED

Air Pollution

Plastic Pollution

                                   

                   

   

           1)                Always we talk about our heritage great

                              Our hospitality and respectable state

                              Our virtues, values and nobility seen

                               In so many legends and historic scenes

                              Oh, all that now just a mere thing of past

                               Those merits we boast of – we already lost;

                               Our learning made us wear egoistic masks

                               In dead routine we live—no noble tasks;

                               Our human values replaced by lust and greed

                               We shrank ourselves, none cares for others’ needs;

                               Even in simple things, show least concern;

                               Helping others in need, we never learn;

           2)                We spit on roads and pavements—everywhere

                              We throw garbage and waste and never care;

                              We smoke before others, we chew betel and spit

                              We talk and laugh aloud, we need no permit;

                              Our children play on busy lanes and streets

                              Who cares if they with accidents meet?

                              Our drains are choked with plastic stuff and waste

                              Roads with potholes and manholes decide our fate;

                              Bikers ride on pavements flouting the traffic rules

                              If you question they treat you like old fools.

                                   

               3)           New guests and elders we never greet

                             Ladies and elders with respect we never treat

                             We pride ourselves in making louder sounds

                             We never think of others—we cross our bounds;

                             Loud talk, mobiles and mikes create much noise

                             We kill silence and mental equipoise;

                             Through loudest sounds we often display

                             Our religious fervor throughout the day

                             Causing restlessness and commotion

                             Is this the proper means to show our devotion?

             4)            We waste water as if our own birthright

                            We never think about poor people’s plight;

                            A broad social outlook we need

                            To check our overuse and greed;

                            Enormous waste of food we see

                            When people party with aggressive glee;

                            So many items beyond human appetite

                            Welcome our palates with tempting sight;

                            We glut our stomachs full and quickly throw

                            The rest as waste though we fully know

                            About the poor who struggle for remnants thrown

                            Along with hungry beasts which compete and groan.

                 5)      To satisfy our selfish needs we breed

                           As lifeless toys poor beasts and birds indeed

                           Depriving them of their natural freedom and food

                           Confining them with chains and cages crude;

                           The sick and old cattle left to their fate

                            To feed in streets, a pathetic state.

                            In treatment of animals we show our minds

                            Our sense of humanity lost, being unkind;

                            So many species became extinct and rare

                            Peaceful co-existence we never care; 

              6)          Corruption killed our human feelings in fact

                            Power and pelf directs our every act;    

                            Our files gather dust in the office tray

                            Left to stay there with undue delay

                            Till we push them by gifting staff and pay

                            Due attention to their demands and pray;

                             Our requests fall on unresponsive deaf ears

                             Who understands our sorrows and tears?

                              Our laws too lazy to relieve our stress and strain.

                              Rules are meant only to extract money and gain.

                                                                                                   

                  7)             Our boundless greed killed lakes and trees

                               Even rocks and hills not left free;

                               Drilling for water springs under the ground

                               We left the earth a barren, desert mound

                               Disasters created by our own hands

                                Polluting air, rivers and lands 

                                No more pure air, water and abundant green

                                Welcomes our eyes with heart-throbbing scene;

                                An arid congested crowded place

                                With dirty slums and roads lacking space;    

                                    Let us not ruin this earth that gave us life

                                    We ruin ourselves with destructive strife.    
            
                                                 **********************

                         29th July, 2019                              Somaseshu Gutala
                                              

                 

                                                                                                                             

                                 

                     

THE TALE OF VIROO, THE COOK

                              

    

                      

           1)       A typical South Indian cook he was

                   Wearing a colored dhoti tucked up to knees;

                   An old faded shirt with rolled up sleeves

                   Up to his elbows formed his typical dress;

                   A short towel always hung on his left shoulder

                   Three bars of sacred ash smeared on his brow

                   In sharp contrast to his swarthy color

                   With grinning white teeth ; Viroo, our cook

                   Whom we can never forget in our lives;

                   His final act of leaving us in the lurch

                   Ever remained imprinted in our minds;

2)                 As newly employed youth, three of us stayed

                    In a rented room with simple belongings

                    In a small village in a corner remote

                    Almost with no comforts at all;

                    A small wayside canteen, a dingy place

                    Where stale biscuits with dirty tea were served;

                    At last after a frantic search for a servant-cook

                    We found Viroo roaming in search of work;

                    His sickly face bespoke his wretched state

                    Given to drinking and other vicious habits;

                    We found some country quack to cure his state

                    Bearing all costs with sympathetic hearts;

                    Viroo with grateful tears gave word

                    Not to fall into wasteful ways again;

                     He gladly grabbed the chance of serving us

                     A small tin shed turned into a kitchen

                     And as a simple abode for his humble stay;

                     Viroo with agile spirit served as a cook and servant;

                      His sharp smart looks captured our tastes and hearts

                      A variety of dishes he used to cook

                      Unlike other untidy folk with nasty looks;

                      Viroo, always appeared fresh, neat and clean

                      Never he seemed exhausted or tired

                      He kept the cooking place quite tidy and trim;

                      He made our morning time lively and fresh

                      With steaming idlis served with ladles of sambar;

                      A tribal girl helped him in kitchen work

                      With wheat-brown complexion and plaited hair 

                      

                      With three bluish tattoos on her cheeks and chin;

                      She too appeared decent in her cleaning work;

           3)        A few months passed; we felt our problem solved;

                      All of a sudden Viroo came with a perplexed face

                      And begged for help to clear his pending debts;

                      Out of firm faith in him we loaned him much

                      To get it back in parts from his monthly dues;

                      He felt quite relieved at our generous offer

                      And bowed with tears surging in his grateful eyes

                      Profusely thanked us with folded palms;

                      One day surprise knocked on our door at once

                      No trace of Viroo and his assisting maid

                      The kitchen-shed mocked us with vacant looks

                       All utensils and monthly provisions gone

                       Our old problems returned, our hopes all torn;

                      “A sheep in wolf’s clothing”, someone shot out

                      “Fools we are to have faith in him

                       His knavish attitude hidden behind

                       His grin; he broke our trust and cheated all;

                       We made enquiries to catch the culprit

                       No use; he stabbed us in the back

                       Someone hinted at police complaint

                       No proof to justify our charge;

                       A heap of curses we uttered and left;

                       We never recalled that tragic dream again

                       To make ourselves a laughing stock

                       To others by trusting a wayward cook

                       With deceptive show of jackal-faced looks;

   4)                  Years passed, no more about Viroo we thought

                        A stranger from a distant state

                        By chance in the wayside tea-stall appeared

                        And told us about a South Indian cook

                        Doing good business in the industrial town;

                        From him we got the trace of Viroo

                        Who changed his name and in course of time

                        Became the owner of “Veerendra Vilas”.

                        He wedded the tribal girl and fled away

                        Well-planned to start his life afresh;

                         No more a wandering vagrant life he spent

                         But a decent livelihood with earnest work.

                         The wretch has ditched us often we thought

                          Snatching away our wealth by cunning means

                          Yet on pondering over his present settled state

                          Our vengeful ire dispersed like scattered clouds;

                          A grievous error he did make, no doubt

                          Using dubious methods to gain his ends;

                          A wave of sympathy arose for him

                          As he went for a better turn in life;

                          He gave shelter to a poor tribal girl

                          Made her his life-partner with no vicious aim

                          His earnest and prompt services ever remind

                          Him as a pleasing cook enriching our tastes

                          With his cooking skills; our loss we felt no waste.


                     ******************************************************************

                  23rd July, 2019                     Somaseshu Gutala