Readers' Forum
An assault for no fault
The writer narrates in verse an assault that took place on him in May this year.
So suddenly it happened one morning/ On a calm and peaceful day/ That it served as an unpleasant warning/ About a serious lack of safety in Bombay.
I was waiting at an intersection to go across/ Just outside a popular Lamington Road café/ For whom Bisleri crates were being carried/ While right up came a car with "Big Boss.”
In no manner did the Bisleri truck obstruct/ The "Big Boss” in his car of fancy design/ Who refused to drive around the truck/ So between the two the handicap was mine.
The driver indicated that space was enough/ For Bogus Big Boss to easily pass by,/ But he "hung on” to show he was big stuff/ Asking who was the driver and who was I!
Boss lowered a glass window, to show/ resentment that not he, but we should budge/ He clenched his fist indicating a "blow”/ And offended, screamed with a grisly grudge.
To his nearby garage, a mobile message was sent/ Whereby his rowdy brother came running for war/ The crates of water unloaded, the truck went/ While alone I stood and knew I was done for.
"So you have been giving us bad words/ You have challenged us to come on for a fight/ We are ready with a lesson to teach you”/ And straight on my face came his right.
It was a familiar case of "road rage”/ Which goons accept as an undisputed privilege/ So they bashed me up, all of seventy-three/ And dragged me to Lamington Road Police station nearby.
My cheek-bone swelled while I profusely bled/ As the duty officer heard yarn after yarn/ I went on hearing rubbish they shamelessly said/ And began to conceive my safe "rescue plan.”
"This goonda passes by giving us abuses every day”/ Went on the third-rate hoodlum of a Boss/ "Why does he always come down our way?”/ But I was no more discouraged, or at a loss.
How? I am a close friend of a medical family/ A conglomerate of doctors of wide renown/ "Doctor friend,” I rang, "I am framed by thugs/ At the police station, so please, please come down.”
The hoodlums were upset that doctor identified/ Me as a friend of the family and as an advocate/ Suddenly "their goonda” was an honorable man/ Who found his timely savior, rescued from a bad fate.
"Why did you bring him here only today/ When every day he abuses you?” the officer asked/ "Doctor’s house nearby, happens to be on the way”/ So what more rubbish are you going to say?
The duty officer noted my detailed complaint/ And the disgraced two thugs left the scene/ Thanks to the medical family I was relieved of taint/ For their truth could be most clearly seen.
All told, Bombay is just not a safe city/ A city where an assault for no fault/ Leading to a bloody face from unscrupulous thugs/ While the victim has no remedy, and finds no pity.
RASHID G. KHOSRAVI
So suddenly it happened one morning/ On a calm and peaceful day/ That it served as an unpleasant warning/ About a serious lack of safety in Bombay.
I was waiting at an intersection to go across/ Just outside a popular Lamington Road café/ For whom Bisleri crates were being carried/ While right up came a car with "Big Boss.”
In no manner did the Bisleri truck obstruct/ The "Big Boss” in his car of fancy design/ Who refused to drive around the truck/ So between the two the handicap was mine.
The driver indicated that space was enough/ For Bogus Big Boss to easily pass by,/ But he "hung on” to show he was big stuff/ Asking who was the driver and who was I!
Boss lowered a glass window, to show/ resentment that not he, but we should budge/ He clenched his fist indicating a "blow”/ And offended, screamed with a grisly grudge.
To his nearby garage, a mobile message was sent/ Whereby his rowdy brother came running for war/ The crates of water unloaded, the truck went/ While alone I stood and knew I was done for.
"So you have been giving us bad words/ You have challenged us to come on for a fight/ We are ready with a lesson to teach you”/ And straight on my face came his right.
It was a familiar case of "road rage”/ Which goons accept as an undisputed privilege/ So they bashed me up, all of seventy-three/ And dragged me to Lamington Road Police station nearby.
My cheek-bone swelled while I profusely bled/ As the duty officer heard yarn after yarn/ I went on hearing rubbish they shamelessly said/ And began to conceive my safe "rescue plan.”
"This goonda passes by giving us abuses every day”/ Went on the third-rate hoodlum of a Boss/ "Why does he always come down our way?”/ But I was no more discouraged, or at a loss.
How? I am a close friend of a medical family/ A conglomerate of doctors of wide renown/ "Doctor friend,” I rang, "I am framed by thugs/ At the police station, so please, please come down.”
The hoodlums were upset that doctor identified/ Me as a friend of the family and as an advocate/ Suddenly "their goonda” was an honorable man/ Who found his timely savior, rescued from a bad fate.
"Why did you bring him here only today/ When every day he abuses you?” the officer asked/ "Doctor’s house nearby, happens to be on the way”/ So what more rubbish are you going to say?
The duty officer noted my detailed complaint/ And the disgraced two thugs left the scene/ Thanks to the medical family I was relieved of taint/ For their truth could be most clearly seen.
All told, Bombay is just not a safe city/ A city where an assault for no fault/ Leading to a bloody face from unscrupulous thugs/ While the victim has no remedy, and finds no pity.
RASHID G. KHOSRAVI
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