The modern age of Westernisation has heralded a new era of presumptuous critics, when what the country actually needs is dynamic leaders!

Friends, foes, countrymen, lend me your ears:
I come to bury humanity, not to praise it.
A reminder to all, of its untimely demise,
Truth be heard, that mankind has no soul.

The noble leaders had told you humanity was still alive:
If it were so, it was a heinous lie,
And blindly had you accepted it.
Here, under the leadership of your leaders—
For, Sibal is an honourable man. So is Manmohan. And, so is Advani.
So are they all, all honourable men, along one honourable woman.—
Come I to speak in humanity’s funeral.

It was my inspiration, only mine. My will to live, only mine.
For, there was still hope, there was still time.
But, our leaders say humanity was misguided, it had to be beheaded;
And, our leaders are honourable men.

Alas, my words fail me,
To boast of a nation with no honour,
Gandhi the surname, corruption the manner,
Politics the battlefield, thugs the warriors;
Like fools you all did see that in May of ’04,
We (alas!) presented her a kingly crown,
Which she did (alas!) refuse: was this sacrifice?
Yet our leaders say it was sacrifice;
And, sure, our leaders are honourable men.
Manmohan her pawn, her son yet unborn,
One said to be the PM, the other the one to be,
All at the Centre with their crook, our money they all took,
But, our leaders have decided that so be the order;
And, our leaders are honourable men.

My heart beckons me to say,
Women are but objects of desire,
Howsoever well they choose their daily attire;
Yet, the perpetrators live as they see fit,
For, our leaders say everyone except the innocent, deserves a second, third, or hundredth chance;
And, our leaders are honourable men.

In a country of such rich ancestry,
A child does the work of a dozen men,
And, women beg for a crumb of bread;
While over the skies some mansions spread,
And Mallyas sail in their kingdom of wine!
But, none has the valour to stand up,
For, our leaders believe Ambani a farmer, Mallya a saint,
And our leaders are honourable men.

The world around me lies in shambles,
Out for money, with hands of blood,
None worthy of trust, nor one with the will to trust;
Where Love isn’t but a word,
Where Hate drives men and women forward;
There lies no hope on the horizon,
For our leaders think the country needs it not,
And as we know, they are all honourable men.

What does it take to stand up and see for yourself,
That all is not well?
That the world we see is not what it must be?
That humanity is dead once and for all?
That our leaders are not honourable men?

I look up into the skies, searching for all my whys.
Why fight the wars?
Why be led by thugs and thieves?
Wherein lies the freedom?
Where to find peace?
Alas, where is the love? Where is the honour?

P.S.: And, of course, Why this Kolaveri Di?

The author has decided to skip on the archaic grammatical technicalities, in order to reach the audience in a more comprehensible way. Thank you, Shakespeare, for providing the template for this sad obituary.

(with some inputs from Tanay Sukumar)