Kalki Koechlin: The Printing Machine | Unblushed


Chrrr tak tak taka daka tak chree
Goes the steady printing machine Chrrring bloody scenes into bold black ink,
Chrrring headlines that make you glug glug your drink,
Chrrring crimes against women, (Steep rise in ink.)
Gang raped Japanese tourist, (International stink stink.)
Strip searched for menstruating, (Blink blink.)
Irom force-fed from starving (Think, think)
Child raped by politician, (Ka’ching ka’ching.) Chrrr tak tak taka daka tak chrrreee
The machine harps happily And we drink to ink
That makes our stomach sink And teaches us to fear Everything. Fear the beasts riding the nights
From Delhi to Pondicherry, Cat calling, wowing, growling,
Grrr grrr grrring. Beasts of poverty,
Beasts on a shopping spree, ‘Its midnight Cinderella’
‘Its ten o’clock you dirty fella.’ Oh hell it really doesn’t matter,
It was afternoon in the warehouse and nobody heard her,
There’s was just grr grr grrring Growing louder and louder
And the machine chrrr chrrr chrrring Faster and faster.
Chrrring a nation that prides itself in the hanging of four men
Five if you count the suicide bastard. Chrrr chrrr chrrring a village dangling
Of two girls, like pin up dolls, upon a tree. Chrrr tak tak taka daka tak chrrreee
Goes the busy printing machine Till heads pile up in our hands
Printed crisp and clean on our newspaper stands And blend smoothly into our morning routine.
Heads for one side or another Like a black and white marketplace,
Two heads for four, Four heads more, Eight heads for a martyr
Enough heads to start a war, How many heads are we after? Chrrring one after another Tak tak taka daka tak chree And when you think its over,
When the machine stops with a sudden chrrreee Wait a little Wait patiently It’s just readying
to chrrr at textbooks of rewritten histories Of dissected countries
Of majorities and popular beliefs, And then the
Long Slow
Chrrr Of italics
In roman prints Of sweeping statements made by official establishments To take safety precautions and make improvements Based on political views
and religious sentiments Chrrring out the marks of sin
Cut out of the clothes you’re in, The men with whom you’ve been,
The colour of your skin, Speaking of which… Chrrring horizontal lines vertically,
To pay for print In soft baby pink
The pleasant opening page Revealing a ‘Fair and Lovely’ face,
Which melts slowly A few pages on
With the rise of acid sales. Chrrr chrrr chreee
Our machine sings obliviously Chrrring magazines
With shiny sheens To accommodate setups socially serene,
A world we can buy into, A dream we can hang onto,
A love that divides one into two Values that depend on what others think of
you And you know the tune,
You are what you say and not what you do, So keep tap tap tapping
On keyboards computing Virtual drawing rooms of communicating Tap tap tweet.
Tap tap sweet. Tap tap texting.
Tap tap emoticoning. Whilst our machine
Keeps chrrr chrrr chrrring Chrrreee, the family you marry,
has nothing to do Chrrr chrrr chrrrooo,
With the man you woo. Chrrr tak tak taka daka tak chrrraaa, to underwear and bra, Ladies can’t fight seriously in lingerie, So hurrah hurrah,
Let’s throw her a bikini Everytime she raises her head defiantly,
You see, God forbids multiplicity
For a woman in our society. Chrrr tak tak taka daka tak chrrreee goes our precious printing machine Chrrring you to mask your nakedness
By wearing Less
And Less.
Chrrring bitterness in mothers Like slow venom seeping into future generations,
The quiet revenge of the weaker sex From behind the guise of a tear stained Cleenex.
Tak tak taka daka tak chreeee Chrrring little brats that grow into men, Chrrring little ladies that use hearts to pretend
And find ways to manipulate and defend themselves From the grr grr grrring beasts Of Darwin’s survival of the fittest theories,
Until our existence becomes just a little series of tak tak taka daka tak chrreees. dailies,
weeklies, stories that becomes our histories, Which, oh, in irony of all ironies,
Will one day reveal How our great Indian heritage
Fell to its knees At the mercy of innocent Little Printing machines.

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