With sincere apologies to Sir Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your minstry when all about you
Are losing theirs and wanting to topple you,
If you can cheat your people when all men trust you
And also make space for your babus too,
If you can steal and not be tired of stealing,
Or being garlanded around, don't serve the country,
Or being coaxed , don't give way to hearing,
And yet don't look into matters, nor talk about development:
If you can fraud --and make criminals your guard,
If you can scam--and never get caught;
If you can lick the CM’s feet each day
And treat the peasants with disdain;
If you can bear to attend parties each day
And yet manage to watch thousands go hungry,
Or watch the lepers out in the winters each night,
And stand atop a hill and drink Blender’s Pride:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And know that it will be taller than any Don Bradman’s innings,
And lose not a penny to a noble cause
And never breath a word about your wife’s gloss;
If you can force your officers
To serve your cause even at bars,
And so hold on to the office when there is nothing in your brain
Except the lust which says to you: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and make false promises,
Or walk with dignitaries—and lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can meet you;
If all women are afraid of you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of money stolen,
Yours is the India and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a MP, my Minister!