Image 01

Archive for September, 2015

Janeu-less writer 

Friday, September 25th, 2015

Musafir Baitha

Mister writer is a Brahmin
and has turned seventy two
not his fault to be born 
in a Brahmin clan
he says so himself, we do too
reaching this grand age
the writer has initiated
a massive programme to
wash away his Brahmin-ness
to wipe it clean
by breaking his janeu

despite his self-proclamations
or as per the worlds’ claims
in fact, because the world says so
people still accord him respect 
reserved for a Brahmin 
even in this de-casting that unfolds
what’s his role?
to who all,
where all
should he keep swearing by
this breaking of his janeu?

all exclusive savarna panels
still extend him ceremonious invitations
and his janeu-breaking,
de-casting trick
has been deliberately ignored
by his friends and foes alike
who continue to revere him 
at his savarna pedestal
even if he wants to escape all this
then how can he
or why should he?
given the benefits 
of this special treatment
it is easier to break that janeu                                  
because it only breaks on the surface  
even as it stays intact under 
seven layers of clothing

that this outward breaking
has some visible effect
is not necessary

to have that effect
a lot more than this thread 
needs to be broken

the twenty two years Dasrath Manjhi took
is the kind of persistence one needs

janeu is brahminism
the claim to be a different being
to be born of the same mother
and yet imagine oneself to be differently born
it is a reflection of the hubris
of some false exalted origin.
It requires persistence
whether it comes from the heart
or against one’s wishes

I asked the writer:
good you broke it 
but apart from this janeu
what else have you broken
in the thread that binds your caste?
The writer seems at a loss for words.

~

English translation of Musafir Baitha’s Hindi poem 'Janeu-tod lekhak'; translated by Gaurav Somwanshi and Akshay Pathak

Burnt Skin!

Wednesday, September 23rd, 2015

Dickens Leonard M

 

I am a burnt skin

A burnt skin I am

Beaten to the death

For the death of the dead

I am a burnt skin

A burnt skin I am

 

Danda danda danda nakka

Danda danda danda nakka

 

I die to love and live

A truth I choose to give

To the ones who stay alive

For the ones who lie and die

I am a burnt skin

A burnt skin I am

 

Danda danda danda nakka

Danda danda danda nakka

 

I rot from within

Beaten black and blue

A flamed kovil theru*

A theru to be bombed

I am a burnt skin

A burnt skin I am

 

Danda danda danda nakka

Danda danda danda nakka

 

I stink from within 

Silent were the voiced

Kidnapped and suicided

Honoured on the rails

An engineer murdered*

Forsaken forgotten

 

I am a burnt skin

Flamed and bombed I am

Forsaken forgotten

A burnt skin I am

 

Danda danda danda nakka

Danda danda danda nakka

~

*Kovil Theru – Temple Car; a colony at Seshamudram, near Villupuram was attacked on August 15th, Independence day.

"A promise ends in a riot," see http://www.thehindu.com/news/national/state-view-a-promise-ends-in-a-riot-in-tamil-nadu/article7569721.ece

*An engineer Gokul Raj was reportedly murdered on June 23rd.

"Caste-gestapo in TN," see http://www.thenewsminute.com/article/caste-gestapo-tn-cracking-down-dalit-boys-falling-love-caste-hindu-girls-31893 

Dickens Leonard M is a research scholar at University of Hyderabad.

You cannot die, Manu Taanti!

Tuesday, September 1st, 2015

Gurinder Azad

I kept silent at your death
didn’t speak with anyone either.

but then yesterday, 
just across the metro
when I spotted a crowd of daily wage labourers 
the thought of you came flashing,
in their faces
I searched for the elegy to 
what followed those four days of your labour.. 
but I kept walking, didn’t stay there for long

there were moments when
the slogans to demand our rights
and your screams ground in that thresher –
both seemed the same to my mind.

and moments when
my conscience
got drenched in fear
after looking at
a vacuum appear on the vast backdrop
of our movement.
then giving myself false assurances, I moved on

your last few pictures on facebook – I 
have not been able to look at those.
But that image that moves faster than imagination –
it disappears somewhere 
after witnessing your helpless last moments
at the unknown shores of your family’s remorse

but even in this
the memory throws forth,
however hazily,
the vast backdrop of our movement
where Khairlanji and other such massacres
appear holding on to canvases.

however, Manu Taanti
knowing my conscience 
in whatever form,
today, I shall speak with my 
broken, perhaps dwarf-like words
that the time will change
your circumstances
your condition
the news of your murder – all
have passed on to our marching feet

Our massacres do not die!

and this wasn’t about demanding your wage 
for those four days of labour
this is the account of many centuries..
till it is settled,
You cannot die, Manu Taanti!

~

Akshay Pathak’s English translation of Gurinder Azad’s Hindi poem, 'yeh chaar din ki dehaadi ki baat nahin thi, Manu Taanti'

Welcome The Shared Mirror

Log in

Lost your password?