By Kamlesh Tripathi



All dressed up but nowhere to go,

Well qualified yet no place to serve,

I too had ambitions and aspirations,

I too had rank and ability,

But for me it was only apply-apply and no reply.


For jobs have thinned out, as business reeks,

Where industry and agriculture are made to creep,

Is what makes, the loving sisters weep,

And, just there the cunning politics freaks.


Job websites and advs have parched,

Emptiness is all around,

Where 65% are below 35, not knowing which way to go,

And where 1% decides for 100%,

Is where they pitch the employers- ‘Industry’ against ‘farmers.’


And, in the middle of all this, I distinctly hear,

The continuing din from the well of India, stalling India,

Is when, the mother weeps for her children.


And each morning when I leave my home,

I have nothing better to tell-my aging home and frail parents,

And, as they look at me I look somewhere else, in shame,

Not knowing what to tell them,

And, as I tread out thinking about ‘acchey din,’ – a job,

My mother tells me don’t worry son,

Your unemployment … is your employment.

For ‘acchey din’ (Good days) was for someone else.

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