Hotel Boy

Poor were my parents all their life-old and young,

Forced to work, never opened my lungs and my tongue

Hardly learnt to 'Weep! Weep! Weep! Weep!’ and throw deep,

Your pot and utensils I clean, and in filth, I sleep.

The little Brahmin boy cried to see his bald head,

Shaven to declare him a poor, deprived child, sad, 

Quiet, Brahmin! Never feel bad, for, destined to be bare,

You must know that the merit cannot change your fate, rare.'

Worked day and night but stay silent, day and night;

The child was washing dishes, loads in-sight!

Innumerable such cleaners, Pundit, Raju, Chotu, and Babu,

All clad in a shroud of dirt, ill fate and all rue,

And appear an archangel, fake, displayed a dazzling humanity,   

Vowed to remove the shroud, and get us liberty;  

Shown and signed loads of papers and photos, never to appear,  

And we again wash the dishes, happy or jeer.          

Half-naked, scantily clad, no belongings left behind,

We get up before sunrise, and sleep with the moon by side; 

The fake angel assured the boy if he had a degree,   

He’d have by Jesus, happy and free. 

And so little Brahmin boy awoke, with a kick, in sad tenor, 

And pushing up with his scrubs and soap as bonded labour,

Though the morning was happy and pleasant, he has no charm:

Destined to face constitutional apartheid and racism. 

Wandering astonished at my own lightness and joy,

My eyes settle to the TV, and saw the angel happy and coy,

Laughing, leaping, gleaming, hugging, and kissing:

Awarded the Nobel Prize for Child Labour, eradicating.

N.B.: Brahmin is a varna (caste) in Hinduism. The traditional occupations of Brahmins are priesthood, prayers and teaching. Now in India, Brahmins are badly repressed and prosecuted. A number of so-called reformers and caste groups repress and abuse Brahmins and all the benefits of government jobs are denied to them. In Kashmir, Tamilnadu, Bengal, Kerala, etc states, they are driven out.