Natwarlal the great con man of India,
With the cigarette on the lips,
The great con man of India
On the way
And with the cigar
On the lips
Of Natwarlal.

Friend, your passbook is in your hands
And you going to draw money
From the bank,
But your money lies
It debited,
The same signature,
Already cashed and drawn
By Natwarlal,
The great con man of India
Whom the police failing to arrest
And eh escaping them
Lies dusting the people
And their eyes.

Natwarlal, the great con man,
Con man of India
Whom the spies too failed to arrest
And put behind the bars,
The great con man,
A genius was he
In doing forged signatures,
Artistic as well,
Natwarlal a character,
The model,
Of the cine artiste.

Natwarlal, Natwarlal is gone,
But his students doing the jobs,
In service,
Many of them
Appointed on fake certificates
And testimonials
As duly signed by
The controller and the chairman
And the vice-chancellor,
The signature is the same,
The certificate too is intact,
But the certificates
Not registered and entered into
The scrolls and sheets of documents.

Natwarlal is not here,
The invisible man,
Out of sight, out of mind,
But his image is,
His followers are there
Working as professors,
Doctors, engineers,
Clerks, ministers
And university officers and officials,
Just say it,
I am,
Present yourself
And you are,
Who dares to ask you?

Just say you, I am a Ph.D. from Chicago,
A Ph.D. in Linguistics,
Who goes to Chicago
And verifies it
And you will retire as
When the enquiry will be complete,
Just say you, I am a Ph.D. from Russia
As an opposition leader,
You say it, I am a B.A. from foreign
As a minister in position,
I am a D.Litt.(Honoris Causa) from Taiwan
For your service to literature
And we shall believe you,
Believe you.

Natawrlal, what to say you,
On your fake and false certificates
Many have retired
As primary school teachers,
They had not even matriculation degrees
And they taught
On the basis of just seven class pass certificates,
Many B.As. posed as M.As. from Dacca University
And taught the college students nicely
Before none could doubt them,
But the critics followed them into steps
For which fled they
Before the rumours could leak
And they arrested
And put behind the bars?

Many quacks pose as not doctors,
M.B.B.S. from India,
But from London
And that too simple M.B.B.S. not,
F.R.C.S., F.R.C.P.
And treating as R.M.P. not
But failing the M.B.B.S.,
The simple ones
Without degrees
Turning into
Homeopath practitioners,
Bogus ones
From physical education
To physiotherapists,
What to say, Natwarlal?

Why to blame you merely,
Many your students
Pleaders and judges
Who failed to clear
The law exam.,
Many of the last benchers
Dispensing justice
As for money,
Not for law’s sake
Who used to steal
In the exam hall
And used to attend
The evening classes
Just for name’s sake?

Your Ph.D. my Ph.D., my Ph.D. his
And his others’,
I copying the matter
And re-writing
And putting down
And you putting your initial over
The letterhead
That this is an original work
To the best of knowledge and understanding,
But I know it,
This is not an original work
But copied, mixed
And re-written,
A re-mix
And even that is not
As for re-mixing
There must be some talent.

Natwarlal, what t say to you,
Why to blame you solely
When the gangsters, fraudsters and scamsters
Can be leaders,
I mean the ruffians and the rustics,
Murkhamantris to mukhyamantris,
What to say about you,
If the jail birds can be,
The lathimen
And the buffalomen
Our policy-makers and nation-builders,
What to say,
What to say to you,
If the goons and looters can be,
The cowboys, buffalomen and goatwomen,
What to say,
What to say to you?

Bijay Kant Dubey

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Disclaimer: The image used herein is in the public domain and taken from the Internet. Due appreciation and credit is acknowledged for the same.