O Lord, Save us from economic progress

O Lord, Save us from economic progress
(original in hindi by Shantilal Jain, Indore)
- Adapted and abridged in English by Anurag

The bus had gathered momentum. I was sitting with farmers and labourers on the very last seat. We were fed up with the bumpy road. Each time the bus passed over a pothole, the pain in our empty stomachs doubled. We bumped our heads into each other whenever the bus bounced over bumpers. Head-banging had acquired an entirely new meaning. I narrowly escaped banging my forehead fatally twice. As the situation was, I went in front to complain to the driver.
By the time I reached him, the bus had transformed into the government. On the driver's seat was the most important office-bearer of the government. I said, "Sir, could you please slow down. We are facing life-threatening circumstances at the back."
He said,"This is just a small price to pay for progress. Can't you see the bus of economy is running at a speed of over 9%?"
"That's very good. Can we come and sit in the front?", I inquired.
He gave me a puzzled look as if I had said something unforgivable. "Those are reserved. For Ambanis, Tatas, Mittals, Bajaj etc" he replied.
"That's not a problem. You could drive a little more carefully."
"Days of carefulness and control are over. We need to remove whatever control is still left. A promise has been made to the World Trade Organization. Reforms will not be stopped."
"But the prices are going over the top!"
"We have asked the industrialists to reconsider their prices, but you people should be ready to face a harsh decision."
Just then, the conductor arrived. Wearing a red uniform, he smiled gently. A hammer and a sickle were hanging by his side. Gradually, the hammer began to melt. The sickle faded away.
Realizing my apprehensions, he said, "There are Harvesters. Now, the sickle has become outdated."
"And what will the small-scale farmers do?"
"They can come to the big cities and pull cycle-rickshaws. Masonry, carpentry...the jobs are in abundance there. The bus of progress cannot pass through open fields."
"What about the hammer?"
"We are going to hand it over to the industrialists. When people like you get it on the head, only then will you realize the consequences of opposing capitalism."
The driver's face turned red like the flag of the party. He was in a hurry to leave the lush countryside behind and reach the industrial town. Suddenly, another driver creeped up behind me. "Please take the wheel and bring the bus back into control" I pleaded.
"This is our own economic agenda. If we were in the driver's seat, the Second phase reforms would also have been executed by now."
"But unemployment is increasing!!!"
"There is alrady an Employment Guarantee Scheme in place. The work on it had started when we were in power. Work 100 days, earn Rs 58 daily and enjoy!"
"What about the other 265 days?"
"We are not Superman. We can't feed your entire family just for your 'one' lousy vote. Go back to your seat."
I was scared. Everyone is in a mood to drive the same bus. The uniforms are red, green, blue, tricoloured, uncoloured, discoloured. And the bus itself. It seems it is headed up the path to nowhere. The steering is in the hands of Bharat- The India of yesteryears, gears controlled by the World Bank. The Reserve Bank has its feet planted on the brakes and WTO controls the accelator. As for the fuel, it is made up of LPG. LPG itself meaning Liberalization, Privatization and Globalization. Those who are down are bound to be trodden.
Some time later the bus stopped at a roadside dhaba. The name 'Kake da Dhaba' gave no indication that it was being run by Uncle Sam. We eagerly bought the prepaid tokens aand waited for the tea to be served. A business channel was running on the TV. A leading consultant of the bus company was babbling about about the Velocity of Progress. "We will turn India into an economic superpower" He boasted. Suddenly, the price of wheat went up Rs 200 per quintal on the scrolling news-strip.
"Profit on material goods will not be curbed", he said.
The price of pulses went up Rs 500 per quintal.

"Exports need to be increased, the decision on SEZs will not be reconsidered."
The farmer inside me panicked. I had 3-4 acres of land, now that was gone too.

"Contract farming is to be motivated." 'He won't allot the graves of our ancestors as land to produce cash crops, would he?' I was baffled.

"Foreign investment in agriculture and retail will be encouraged." I panicked again.
'Now I can't even become a roadside vegetable seller.'

"Labour reforms will be strictly implemented." 'No pension, no salary, no home. Everything was gone'
The dhaba owner saw my pathetic state. He switched the channel. Cursed to bang my head for eternity, all I could do was to pray in my mind
"O LORD SAVE US FROM ECONOMIC PROGRESS"