you reach your house-
tired wife, excited kids.
a packet of mutton in
your hand.
Weekend luxury.
Masala ready.
Oil sizzling.
An occasional happy meal.
Then a mob kicks the door,
drags you out,
beats you senseless-
no question,
no warning.
Your head spins,
teeth crack,
vision blurs-
and just before
you fade into blackout,
one voice cuts through
the chaos-
Beef! says a
saffron laden voice.
and that’s it-
One word. your trial,
your verdict,
your sentence-
fuck the stairway to
heaven, when the
source of your protein
can get you there.