ULFA Chairman’s wife Kaberi Kachari revolts against Assamese media

Kaberi Kachari, the wife of the Chairman of the United Liberation Front of Assam, Arabinda Rajkhowa, had left her home to take the path of revolution for her motherland decades ago. In her life along with her husband Arabinda Rajkhowa, Chairman of the much dreaded ULFA who rang sleepless nights for  Indian security forces and the Government for three decades had turned into a hard rebel herself. But her form of rebellion is not with guns and bullets, but pen and paper instead. Many poems of revolution and social thoughts have been published in her name in different magazines and newspapers, even when she had been underground for years.

Now Kaberi Kachari has come with a bang, slamming the vandalism of Assamese media for being two faced. This understandably is following the recent series of allegations by Assamese media against the pro-talk faction of the outfit. Instead of giving any verbal statement or explanations, Kaberi Kachari chose to reply with a firebrand Assamese poem, calling the journalists of Assam even worse than prostitutes.

It is to be mentioned that Times of Assam has already reported about the reason why the Assamese media is suddenly up with allegations against the pro-talk faction of the ULFA in reports Tame Media Mafia of Assam and ULFA-GoI talk and Hate Campaign by Assamese Media.

Following is a translated version of Kaberi Kachari’s poem against Assamese Media:

The Balloon Journalist 

When I wanted to go to jungles you said, go, go without fear, we need change!
When I wanted to return back from jungles, you said, Come, come back, this is the right time
And when I really came back, you asked, why did you come?
Who played on your road back the welcome drums and divine chants?
 
Suddenly, your colors changed like the head of a chameleon
Suddenly you started singing the song of revolution instead, because
This is your opportunity, using the tune of peace, to sing about revolution
And turn into men from a bunch of eunuchs.
 
When you sit with your syndicate lord at his free party, Wine and dine
It is not luxury, it is your right.
You move in your Raymonds, Adidas or Reebok but you don’t remember
The landless farmers who spends daily a sleepless night
 
When we have alu-pitika you call it a royal lunch, our minimum clothes you call luxury
Strange animals you are, – prostitute chasing journalists, the fourth pillar of democracy
And contractors, strangers are your face like masks
Even prostitutes have virtue for truth and depth in life
You are just balloon journalists who keep flying with emptiness.