Smriti Irani, what can we Indians call thee, 'dear' saas jo kabhi bahu thi?

What do we Indians call thee, Our Twitter-happy Mantri ji? Dear makes her ears red, Mata ji is cruelly inept, For aunty, her hair isn’t gray, See, already not many in fray.

What do we Indians call thee, Our anger-on-nose Queen Bee? Bengal has a patent over Didi, UP says there’s just one Behenji, Punjabis would object to Bibi, That’s just Jagir Kaur, unfortunately.

So, what do we call thee, The one with a Yale degree? Smriti would not make you happy, And Irani could just be geography. No first name, no surname, Oh, what a terrible linguistic shame!

What do we Indians call thee, Dear saas that kabhi bahu thi? You deserve, nee, demand a salutation, That won’t lead to a silly situation, Where, imagine our sorry plight, You perceive a non-existent slight.

Since we tried all options in Hindi, From history, across Geography, Amma, Bibi, Behenji and Didi, Saas, bahu.. everything that could Be, Let’s see if we can find for thee, Something suitable in Queen’s Angrezi.

Would you mind, Her Excellency, If, out of bewildered awe and fear, Instead of epistolary niceties like Dear, We called you just Her Petulancy? For, since you joined Modi’s Cabinet, We have seen you regularly fulminate.

Woe betide the one who asks a question, Seeks a clarification or asks for action. For everything you have just one formula, Treat them all like poor Rohith Vemula. Deny, discard, humiliate, grind them to dust, In the end, accept defeat they all must.

For everything you have just a steely glare, Bellicose words with which you declare: “Will chop off my head, if I am wrong,” This war cry has been your standard song. That’s why, Her Excellency of HRD, Her Petulancy we’d love to call Thee.