Black Money, White Money, Kissa Black Money Ka/ Gabbar Singh, Kahan Hai Tumhara Maal, Mungerilal Asking With A Flog In Hand Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

Black money, white money,
White money, black money,
Who has what,
Who can but say it,
Why not to make white black
And black white
Which is but a matter of colour
As they know it not
Black and white, white and black
Just colours
And we cannot without one?

Wherever go we, there people keep
Talking about,
Black money, white money,
White money, black money,
Where is that hidden treasure,
In some old building
Or in some Sethji's cabin
Or under the bed cover,
God knows,
God knows it,
Who keeps the news of others
When we are ourselves busy with,
Oiling our own charkha?

Who has what, we like it not
To peep into,
Who has gold, silver,
Jewels or gems,
Let them be with,
It is their personal matter,
Why to poke into another's affair,
As no Khabarilal are we,
News-collectors
Who has got what?

The police are after,
The politicians are,
The detectives with the sniffer dogs
Are searching,
Searching, where that maal is,
Hidden stuff, treasure of black money
Is in bundles, wads of notes
And you counting
Making them slippery
With the fingers sliding
And gliding.

In the bus, train bogey,
At the station, platform
People talking,
Black money, white money,
White money, black money,
The loafers cracking jokers,
Bhaiyya, have you black money
Or white money,
The village swains, rustics and clowns,
The paanwallahs, chaiwallahs and beediwallahs,
All talking, taking fillips,
What about us, as we do not have,
Those who have the worry is theirs,
Their sleeps gone away from their eyes.

People in lines, rows, queues,
Long rows and queues
Queued unto the road
From the bank gates
And the banks unable to exchange
The older notes,
The demonetized, scrapped, discontinued notes
Of Rs.500 and 1000 denominations
As the new notes not available
And even if Rs.2000 notes
The bigger ones for small transactions
And the common people unable to market
And the ATMs kiosks without money,
Cashless and dry.

Mungerilal searching the hidden treasures,
Where the maal lies it hidden,
The matter, stuff,
The older palaces
And the temples
Made from clay and small bricks,
Sethji's lockers,
The pickpockets and thieves,
They too sharing the experiences with
As for detecting black money
Where does lie it?

And hearing it Gabbar Singh running away
On horse-back
Galloping in the dark,
Firing and going
With the mafia dons
And underworld gangsters,
Bosses and goons,
Scamsters, fraudsters and gangsters,
Bootleggers and drug peddlers,
Taking daru in a den
To calm and comfort themselves.

Gabbar Singh, kahan hai tumhara maal,
De do varna goli maar dunga,
Surrender, surrender you,
Gabbar Singh, you Indian robber,
Dacoit, don, mafia man,
Tax-collector,
Gabbar Singh, saying politely
Otherwise shall fire upon you
And you cannot escape,
Escape from my hands,
Mungerilal saying,
Saying to Gabbar Singh,
I Mungerilala speaking,
Surrender, surrender you
With your maal, Gabbar Singh,
Gabbu!