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EkEkulam*

Tuesday, November 2nd, 2010

If the world asks: what's your caste,

what can I tell society, the swine

the scoundrels and the sinners?

— Dudekula Siddaiah+

This is the story of how the world's crows ostracized me

by stamping me into eekus*

Like dividing the Masjid into four domes,

this is the tale of how the Manumullahs

tore the thread of faith which united all

into unequal parts

The betrayal of Moulvi Saabs

who threw pepper into the eyes of Allah who said everyone's equal,

and reduced me to a dwarf

chopping off the rungs of my ladder

The cunning of the Khandaani conspirators

who found impurity in my Kalma

and defects in my Duwa

and painted me as Laddaf Latif

I don't remember the prophets talking about it anywhere

I don't know how the plot was executed

but the river under my mat split

And before I could adjust the collar of my Nawabgiri

it threw me as a carpet beetle into cotton bales

The pride of my Moghlai-ness

evaporated like incense on burning coals

and as pale cotton like smoke

engulfed me

from the tongue of our faith of eeka-kulam**

I was born for the second time as the one who cleans cotton

I am now a Mussalman..

No, a sahib…

No, no…a Pinjari…

Hahaha.. a Noorbasha..

Sigh..no..a Dudekula…

My translation of the Telugu poem 'EkEkulam' by Khaja ( from the collection of poetry 'alaava: muslim sanskRti kavitvam').

* eeku/Eku and EkEkulam: J.P.L Gwynn's Telugu-English dictionary says:' eeku I. n. flock of cotton or wool cleaned and prepared for spinning. II. v.t. 1 to gin or clean cotton. 2 colloq to criticise, condemn.' EkEkulam is a compund word conied by the poet to indicate a caste that cleans cotton, or a caste that's condemned and also a caste of the ostracised or abandoned. Because the new word sounds so very close to EkAkulam ( roughly, 'we're loners' ), it lends itself to more profound interpretations. The sub-caste of cotton cleaners, or cotton carders, in Andhra Pradesh and other regions in the south is known as 'duudEkula' (duudi- cotton, and Eku- to clean) which is also employed as a term of derision, often.

** eeka-kulam/Eka-kulam: another phrase coined by the poet to indicate lack of caste ( 'one caste' ) in Islam.

+ Dudekula Siddaiah: probably refers to the Muslim disciple of the 17th century mystic Potuluri Veera Brahmam who spoke against caste and Brahminism. The mystic attracted a large number of Dalitbahujan and Muslim followers in Rayalaseema and other Telugu speaking regions, but is now mostly remembered for his prophecies.

Tags: Khaja
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The conspiracy against the pointer finger

Friday, October 29th, 2010

In the beginning, they came to the banks of the Sindhu for livelihood

With deceit, they drove out the Moolvasis who welcomed them

Next, with a sense of defeat, they infiltrated Buddhism

With treachery, they uprooted its foundation of equality

They penetrated Jainism, Shaivism as spies

and upheld the Manuwad of penal codes as the universal truth

In the guise of avatars they suppressed all Shudra emperors

With an axe they decimated all dynasties and seized control

Where they lost, they waited as ministers..where they won

they became prophets..and lords of Agraharas

Frightenened by British cannons, they ushered them inside

Brought down those who resisted with bullets

And sent the heroes to the gallows

When the time was right they called for a struggle..for freedom

Through the scheme of transfer of power they became the rulers..

and also the opposition

Sporting a red rose, they spread a red carpet

for capital

They penetrated Marx's beard and Lenin's button

and called themselves the left

If they approved, it was progress, and casteism if they disagreed

Russia's the weapon they said, China's empowered they said

The mind's Mao's, they said, and the patent is ours, they said

They turned specific realities unspecific

and became loudmouthed Gireeshams*.

* * * * * * *

The Vanara army has been wagging its tails..from then till now

If not, as feathers on tails..then as flies on feathers,

According to the only history of all the Mahaprasthanam** of progress

The history of speaking the truth and getting heads chopped is ours

Let us step into the cage+

By the people..for the people..that's the rulers' assertion

People are the builders of history….that's the revolutionary rulers' statement

Who are the people? Where is people's history?

We have a glorious history of braving ostracisms

Let us step into the cage

Only the heirs of the bloodthirsty Parasurama clan

Became the leaders of the peace talks++

Only the middlemen of Hindu imperialism are talking about autonomy

The talk of land distribution here is a conspiracy..

The Brahmanyam hiding behind land is a conspiracy

History's a conspiracy..the progress of history's a conspiracy

The media's a conspiracy.. progressive intellectuals are a conspiracy

The parliamentary democracy guarding

the four-hooded Hindu caste serpent is a mammoth conspiracy

Our courage

is of those who were pushed into the list of traitors by back-stabbers

Let us step into the cage;

All through history, there's been a conspiracy against the Moolvasis

A conspiracy against the Sun of Mahajana revolution's pointer finger+++

A conspiracy against the fragrance of social democracy.

My translation of J.Gautam's Telugu poem 'chuupuDu wElupai kuTra' (from his collection of poetry 'nalu dikkula nuncii ranDi').

* Gireesham: pronounced 'giriiSam'; a character from the satrical epic play 'kanyASulkamu' written by Gurajada Apparao, a social reformer and writer-poet (in Telugu and English), in 1892. Gireersham is a smooth talking trickster who poses as a progressive thinker fighting for the freedom of 'nautch girls' and widow remarriage. Gurujada pioneered the movement for democratizing literary language by celebrating dialects of the masses and broke the hold of Sanskrit on written Telugu. A humanist, Gurujada in one of his popular songs pointed out: 'a nation is not land (or soil), a nation is people'. Gurujada's work can be viewed as a perceptive commentary on the social reform and nationalist movements of the late nineteenth century; and Gireesham as an early representaive of Macaulay's savarna 'interpreters'?

** Mahaprasthanam: or 'mahAprasthAnam'; a poem, and an anthology, written by Marxist poet Srirangam Srinivasa Rao (popularly known as 'Sri Sri') in which he echoed the Marxian view that all history was the history of class struggles.

+ cage: the Telugu word used in the poem is 'bOnu', which also refers to the witness box in a court of law.

++ peace talks: probably refers to the peace talks between the Government of Andhra Pradesh and the Maoists (formerly 'People's War Group') held in 2004.

+++ pointer finger: the Telugu word used in the original poem is 'cuupuDu wElu' ('the finger that points', roughly). So I thought, 'pointer finger' was a better choice than 'forefinger' or 'index finger'.

Tags: J.Gautam
Posted in Poetry, Telugu, Translations | 4 Comments »

A Rakshasa’s proclamation

Thursday, October 14th, 2010

'The poet should be a complete man'.

Feel angry

Feel impatient

Like pins are being stuck all over my body

Like I am being skinned and salt and pepper are being rubbed over my flesh

I feel stuffy, uncomfortable

Like being stranded in a tunnel

and struggling to find my way;

I am the carcass of the mosquito which died

stuck between palm leaf manuscripts,

I am the empty centuries bleeding

from the weight of the thorny crown of distorted oral literatures.

My mind

became fuel for some fictional fire accident

My imagination

is crouching in shame, fear and submissiveness

in some crevices of humiliations-filled latrines

I have no Jandhyam*, no Sandhya

You won't find a letter if you cut open my stomach,

I have no faith in prophets or reformers

and, especially, no loyalty either;

Feel hot

Feel a nausea stirring in my stomach

Feel like I am listening to Sanskrit Slokas

A desire resulting in action

A bird flapping its wings to fly

A man living as a man–

When all those remain mere illusions

When I always remain an unending debt

When un-men pass off as human and honourable–

how can I be a man?

How can I think with complete humanity?

I eat salt and pepper like everyone,

I am an ordinary living creature

composed of weaknesses, satiations and passions:

it might be possible for a Mahatma

to forgive and offer his tears

to someone who has raped his mother in front of his eyes,

stripped, paraded and banished her,

to wash his loins,

but not for me.

It might be possible for some good soul

even in the last days of this 20th century

to love Manu and his serpent offspring

and write worldly love letters, but

I can't do it

I was born to one father

I love my country and citizenship

From the age of the Vedas I've been dreaming with sweaty eyes

of realising here a heaven without caste and varna

I am not a complete man

You might not accept me as a poet

You might not have a seat for me in your literary sabhas

nor a page, a line

in your underhand literary history

it still doesn't matter

I still can't show my cheek again

I can't chop off and present my thumbs or heads

to prove my humility and loyalty

Feel foul

Feel very disgusted

Feel very Chunduru Chunduru

Feel very Karamchedu Karamchedu

I need a great bath now

I need a purification–

until then, the need to prove myself human

is a great historic un-necessity.

My translation of Madduri Nagesh Babu's Telugu poem 'oka raakshasuDi prakaTana' (from his collection of poetry 'velivaaDa').

*Jandhyam: janeu, the Brahmin's sacred thread.

Tags: Madduri Nageshbabu
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Soyarabai’s abhanga

Friday, October 8th, 2010

A body is unclean, they say, only the soul is untainted.

But the impurity of the body is born with the body.

By which rule has a body become pure?

Not a creature in this world has been born

except in a gory womb.

This is the glory of God: defilement exists within.

The body is polluted from within.

Be sure of it, says the Mahari of Choka.

Soyarabai, was the wife of the Mahar saint Chokhamela. She was a poet and belonged to the Varkari movement of Maharashtra during 13th-14th century. This movement was open to all castes and women, married or unmarried.. This abhanga is numbered 6 in the text and it is one of the 62 abhangas written by Soyrabai that has survived; in it "she clearly protests the very basis of untouchability, pollution, in explicit and moving terms."

Source: Untouchable Saints An Indian Phenomenon, ed. Eleanor Zelliot & Rohini Mokashi-Punekar

Tags: soyarabai
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Nasaab

Thursday, September 30th, 2010

You cut our tongues

and poured lead in our ears?

It is we who gave letters to your tongues

and sounds to your ears–

we're both sarkari servants,

why this unusual grudge towards me?

Did we demand

your agrahaaras and antahpurams*?

Thinking our brains are in our knees

you dispatch a new memo every day,

but every memo shall turn into a new dawn

that will shine like eej**, expanding our wisdom.

If you don't stop your flood of memos

we'll hunt with our barchis***,

you are of the clan of beggars

we'll catch you by your pilaka+

and drag you to our thanda++,

gather our chiefs

and hold a nasaab+++.

My translation of Vadthya Panthulu Nayak's Telugu poem 'nasaab' (from his collection of poetry 'nasab').

* antahpuram: here, it means mansion, palace (in Telugu).

**eej: lightning, in the language of the Lambadas/Lambadis/Banjaras/Brinjaris.

***barchi: weapon used by the Lambadas for hunting.

+pilaka: tuft of hair at back of head, usually worn by Brahmins (in Telugu).

++thanda: lambada village/hamlet.

+++nasaab: panchayat presided over by Lambada elders, or Nayaks (in the language of the Lambadas).

Tags: Vadthya Panthulu Nayak
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Night dreams

Tuesday, September 28th, 2010

We ridicule daydreams

but do even night dreams come true?

For our folks who go to Bombay,

to change life

to learn life,

I have been writing letters since I learnt letters

but I have never been able to write

them in line with my dreams.

The preaching of caution

to the son, who squandered wages,

getting on the bus,

the sorrow of mothers

weeping behind kongus*,

the travails of hunger

and the persistence of debts,

sisters' questions-

'did the rakhi reach my brother?',

the appeals of brothers

to send small chappals

through someone returning

and many more

became the letters I wrote.

They stil do.

Changing life

is not as simple as inviting colours into your sleep during the night

and dreaming–

whether you dream intentionally or otherwise,

do dreams ever come true?

More than dreaming,

I comfort myself

that at least the writing I am capable of

is performing the role of an emissary

through letters.

My translation of Taidala Anjaiah's Telugu poem 'rAtri kalalu' (from his collection of poetry 'punaasa').

* kongu: the free end of the sari, the pallu.

Tags: Taidala Anjaiah
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Tanning

Thursday, September 23rd, 2010

After erecting three pillars

The gross, the subtle and the causal bodies

After beating the buffalo's rough hide with a staff

Of the manifest and the hidden to remove the flesh;

After tanning the hide with the fiber of dualism;

The caustic juice of quintessence;

The blemishes of the soul thus destroyed,

I have come to reach the sandals to the feet of the wearer.

Take care, not of the ground below

But of the path they tread

Do not be a slave to the hand-awl, the blade or the peg

Know Ramarama, your own true self

The joy of joys.

Prose poems that could be sung, recited and performed forms the bulk of the Vachana literature of Medieval Karnataka. They were written to question and respond to dualities , largely by poets from the artisan and untouchable castes. Vachana poetry is also the longest, continuous critique of the caste system, spanning several centuries (11^th to 18^th century).

The Dalit poet, Madara Channiah is considered the father of Vachana poetry. He pioneered the effective use of metaphors from the everyday, marking a clear departure from the earlier ornate and contrived poetic traditions of ancient Kannada literature.

H.S Shiva Prakash says “ The manner in which this cobbler-saint combines abstract philosophical preoccupations with a vision of a society free of caste differences and expresses them in concrete metaphors taken from the cobbler’s trade is astounding”.

Source: H S Shiva Prakash's chapter on 'Medieval Kannada Literature' in the book Medieval Indian Literature: an anthology, Vol 3.

Tags: Madara Channiah
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Brotherhood of Man By Kapila

Wednesday, September 15th, 2010

Do wind and rain avoid

Some men among the rest

Because their caste is low?

When such men tread the earth

Does it quake with rage ?

Or does the brilliant sun

Refuse them its rays?

Oh Brahmana, has our God

E'er bid the teeming fields

Bring forth fruits and flowers

For men of caste alone?

Or made the forest green

To gratify the eyes of

None but the Pariahs?

Oh Brahmans, listen to me

In all this blessed land

There is but one great caste,

One tribe and brotherhood

One God doth dwell above,

And he hath made us one

In birth and frame and tongue.

Kapila was a poet of the Sangam age; one of his compositions, the Kapilar Agaval, has remained popular among the Tamils since ancient times. Sangam poetry is a Dravidian, pre-Christian literary tradition of Southern India that carries no influence of Sanskrit.

Source: Folk Songs of Southern India, Charles Grover.

Tags: Kapila
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Main Boraywala!

Thursday, September 9th, 2010

Kasab Pinjari Laddaf Dudekula

Ghodewala Lakdewala Chamdewala– like them

I am Boraywala,

The forgotten Muslim,

Until now

Out of the reach of all Muslim literary history,

The one banished to darkness by the Muslim khandaan

Discriminated against because of my occupation,

But I am still a Muslim

A brand new Boraywala Muslim.

******

Mother jungle was my livelihood

I'd climb hills, cut wood and sell it

I would make my living from carrying tree trunks to the village

I'd wander around valleys and streams

I'd gather date palm leaves

and make mats for a living

and that's how I became a Boraywala!

You avoided all relations with me

because of my caste and lifestyle

You considered me unfit,

I learnt the Kalma even when my belly was on fire

I am reciting Suras even as you keep your distance

Like you, performing Namaz..Roza..Zakat

I mingle amidst you

but still you look at me with derision

and talk differently with me,

interact coldly with me and show

scorn for my occupation

scorn for my language

scorn for me.

What's human? What's inhuman?

Who's civilised? Who's uncivilised?

I'm of the Boraywala clan which doesn't know all those things

All I know

is that I am a Mussalman too!

Islam is my religion too!

Call me Boraywala..

Or call me a Girijan Muslim..

Or call me a Dalit Muslim..

Or call me any other Muslim..

But one thing is certain..

If I don't weave a 'bora'*

Your Janaza won't move!!

******

From the oppression of the Hindu order

and the discrimination in the Mullah order

I'm waking up only now

Leaving the inertia and indifference

that burnt me for decades

I'm sounding the marfa** of the Boraywalas.

My translation of Shaikh Peeran Boraywala's Telugu poem 'main bOrEwAlAn' (from the collection of poetry 'alaavaa: muslim sanskRti kavitvam'). The title 'Main Boraywala' would mean, roughly, 'I am Boraywala' in Hindustani.

Would like to thank my friend Khalid Anis Ansari for sharing certain valuable inputs on Islamic burial practices in India.

*bOra: here it refers to a mat made of date palm leaves.

** marfa: a musical instrument that resembles the kettle-drums.

Tags: Shaikh Peeran Boraywala
Posted in Poetry, Telugu, Translations | 1 Comment »

Hissaa

Tuesday, September 7th, 2010

'Salim, do chai'–

'In a moment saab'–

Salim of young, milky cheeks

carries hot chai glasses to your hands

with a smile–

— Salim doesn't think about reservations at all

'Arre Rabbani

Check

whether the Honda's got a flat tyre or needs air'–

Rabbani, who can remove a tube from inside a tyre

and check its life in a water tub,

can't think about reservations

despite his punctured life–

Akbar who sells 'Har Ek Maal'

without respite at the chowrasta*

becomes 'Har Ek Maal' himself

— Akbar hasn't heard of reservations

Ghouse who drives an hired auto

Khaja who sells jasmines

Silar who sells ice-creams

Abbu who sells bananas

Chand Miya who burns incense in shops on Fridays

Imran who cleans tables in restaurants

Salman who collects tickets in the cinema

Afzal who drives the 'National Permit' lorry

Hussein who stitches clothes

Mehboob who irons them

Pasha who lifts soil

Ali who sells crockery

Nazir who sells rat poison…

If they become educated

If there are reservations

Won't life change?

Won't the country improve?

Their forefathers weren't Jagirdars

Their fathers were never Nawabs

They're all sahibs**

Every meal's a struggle

Who eats biryani everyday?

It's no longer a question of ten children

Now Muslims face a drought of marriages

The home is filled with

Unmarried girls

Jobless boys

Abandoned wives…

The one who should go to school is going to work

The one who should go to work is going to the kabrastan+…

Our nation which kills

girls in the womb

is reluctant to yield

reservations to Muslims.

To serve you hot hot chai

To plug your punctured tyres

To sell ice-creams to your kids

Should gentle-hearted Muslims

remain coolies and servants?

Today

you're blocking reservations

Tomorrow come to our gallis++ for votes…

we'll circumcise you

only then will you become our people

and understand our lives

understand our sorrows–

Salaam–

My translation of Anwar's Telugu poem 'hissaa' (from his collection of poetry 'muThThi').

*chowrasta: traffic junction.

*sahibs: here, it refers to a term commonly used to identify Muslims in many regions of Andhra Pradesh.

+kabrastan: graveyard.

++gallis: or galis. streets, alleys, by-lanes or quarter.

Tags: Anwar
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