The T'roor Fan Club of Kerala
(Author - Anonymous)
After international adulation
He came back to serve the nation;
But the politics of desi ghee
For him didnt quite agree
And he feared imminent isolation.
So he started to tweet
Messages, short and sweet,
And followers he gained
He was their messiah ordained
And Twitter became his daily retreat.
Breezy with his words
The King of Clubs of nerds,
He was irreverent and witty,
Twitter-folks his community,
The parliament was for the birds.
By his tweety slip of tongue
Many a surprise he sprung,
Like that one about cattle-class
Which displeased not just his party brass,
Giving him a taste of political cattle-dung.
Living a protected, charmed life
He emerged alive from every strife,
His face ever aglow
He loved his daily show,
And relished his twitter butter knife.
But yes, this boy, Tharoor
A saab, Haan Jee huzoor,.
Had this one thingy-thing
He went ding-a-ling-a-ling,
For pretty things, to be sure.
And so his tweets didn't bare all,
For instance there was this doll
Sunanda was her name
His newest, hottest flame
With whom he was having a ball.
It's rumoured she runs a spa
For sheiks and starlets, oh yeah!
Sounds rather hoity-toity
And somewhat naughty naughty
But it sure ain't anything too raw.
Her hair dyed like the Tricolour
She's a mover, baby, not a scholar
She oozes come-hither looks
When she ain't cooking the books
She loves India, I'll bet you a dollar.
She's a good gal who avoids felons
Tho' she looks like the Cabaret star Helen
You can see her at the Oberoi
And at the Burj in Dubai
Or tweet her @ItsLikeMelons.
So in this salubrious duty free port
With his gal, he was about to disport
When she put her head on his 'seena'
And asked the fee for her 'paseena'
Sure, babe, he said to his Kashmiri comfort.
While caught in this heady spell
Came the Kochi IPL,
And his private Pushkar Mela,
Became a public 'jhamela',
And heaven suddenly became hell.
The Knives were quickly out
There was hardly any doubt
Except in his mind
And in his faithful twitter-kind
That this bout would see his rout.
He fought hard, kill-or-die,
But found no real ally,
He got booed off from the floor,
His own folks pointed him the door,
And finally he had to eat humble pie.
But in this loss is surely a gain,
That with this political stain,
In the parliamentarians' zone
He's accepted as one of their own,
A crucial win in his career campaign.
Much remains to be seen;
He's no political has-been
He's no Keralite son of the soyil
To get stuck with Cock a nut Oyil
He'll soon be back in Delhi and in pastures green.