Labourers beating the heat

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The tea maker offers a glass,
and I say, it is mid-February
and the day is hot,
“Sir, after 15 March, papers and channels say,
people cannot come out of home.
It will cross 45 .”

A labourer waiting for tea, says,
“How can we work on tin sheds then?
How can our mates work in fields at noon?”
He moans.

“Don’t worry.
Your bosses will take care of you,
I say .”

“How?” He looks puzzled.
“Surely, they will do something for you.
If you die in the heat, who will serve them?
Who’ll salve for them?
They cannot let you die
like scurrying ants on a frying pan.
They cannot let you roast in the sun, believe me.”I assure.

The man in blue pants feels happy,
thinks a man of learning is saying, so it must work,
and happily, he hurries towards the piles of tins.

He cannot think that a learned man can betray him.
It is beyond his imagination
that a man of learning can kill him with his learned words.

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I write because there is some lie that I want to expose, some fact to which I want to draw attention, said George Orwell. As a writer, I never kowtow to the whims and dictates of the sacred godmen or godwomen, the political bigots and hypocrites, dealers of laymen, the dishonest and self-serving intellectuals, traders of religions, the betrayers of ‘other’ Indians who eke out a living by their sweat, who are living in fear for being lynched for this and that.

Articles: 105