akhbar ka daftar hai
ye akhbar ka daftar
badi iski bat nirali
akhbar ka daftar
ye sansar ka daftar
akhbar ko mat samjho tum
do paise ka pepar
akhbar se kanpa karti hai
sari duniya thar thar
ye sathi sachhe logo ka
jhutho ke liye jahar
dekho khiladi hai ye
bin takat ka jadugar
akhbar ka daftar
ye sansar ka daftar


chahe use parvat kar sakti hai
jiski ek najar
murdo me jiwan bhar sakti hai
jiski ek najar
chanda ka josh badha deti hai
jiski ek najar
indar ka hosh uda deti hai
jiski ek najar
akhbar ka daftar hai
ye akhbar ka daftar
badi iski bat nirali
akhbar ka daftar
ye sansar ka daftar

are ye to ek tamasha hai
akhbar ka daftar
iske gun mat gao
ye akhbar ka daftar
hui dilli jo mar jave
billi darwaje par
tutu ke sang chapti hai
uski bhi yaha khabar
kal kahi gatar ke pas
lad mare aapas me bandar
to akhbaro ne sath diya
bambai me hua gadar
akhbar ka daftar hai
ye akhbar ka daftar
badi iski bat nirali
akhbar ka daftar
ye sansar ka daftar

kuch ajab shakl ke log
yaha par aate hai akshar
dadiyal koi much munda koi
koi gunda ser babar
koi pandit ji koi maulana
koi shekh koi musal
sansar la daftar nahi
kisi ki nani ka ki chadar
kahi ha nani ki chadar
akhbar ka daftar hai
ye sansar ka daftar
akhbar ka daftar hai
ye akhbar ka daftar
badi iski bat nirali
akhbar ka daftar
ye sansar ka daftar

A press, a press, a house of ink and word,
Its tale a wonder, rarely to be heard.
Don't deem it paper, cheap and easily torn,
For from its pages, worlds are newly born.
A friend to truth, a poison to the lie,
A stage for players where the shadows lie.
A sorcerer, with power unseen,
This house of worlds, this printing machine.

A glance can mountains move, their peaks undone,
A gaze can wake the dead beneath the sun.
It fuels the moon's bright, silver fire,
And Indra's senses with its power inspire.
A press, a press, a house of ink and word,
Its tale a wonder, rarely to be heard.
This house of worlds, this printing machine.

A circus, this, a spectacle untold,
Forget its virtues, stories bought and sold.
If Delhi falls, if cats at doorways die,
Their deaths are printed, reaching for the sky.
If sewer fights erupt, where monkeys clash,
And Bombay burns, its words in fiery flash.
A press, a press, a house of ink and word,
Its tale a wonder, rarely to be heard.
This house of worlds, this printing machine.

Strange faces gather, formed in ink and type,
With grizzled beards and mustaches swept aside.
From thugs to scholars, priests and holy men,
A tapestry of lives, again and again.
No grandma's shawl, this shelter does not claim,
This house of worlds, this printing fame.
A press, a press, a house of ink and word,
Its tale a wonder, rarely to be heard.
This house of worlds, this printing machine.