Apna Surat Bombay
In the twilight between two pogroms
In the mist between two arsons
In the deceptive pause between two maneuvers
In a while of wink after the lavish feast of mafia
Bombay’s human heart
Was fondled by a rally of a six thousand red flags
The labor force moved in waves
From the first leg of the century
When Tilak was freed
To the eighties of Naujawan Bharat Sabha,
Recognized that still there is sweaty salt in the ocean and
Life force lights up in the spilled blood,
Brought life into the eyes
Trembling hands became closed fists
Heard a solace with fear and hope like a chick in the nest
Hesitantly
Joined the crowd and
Raised anguished slogans
To hear whether its voice comes out
It seems Arjun Dangle felt confident
He said this thousand-hooded cobra would be finished
By encircling Adivasis from Dandakaranya,
Dalits from Marathwada, Mahim and Matunga
He said that minorities are also Dalits
The vigor of Navabouddhas
Flowing onto the Bombay roads and foot paths
As if the sky is their limit to attend
Ambedkar commemoration on December six
Still touches my heart
On the second night of the New Year
Sipping tea in an Irani hotel in Bombay
I felt jealous seeing the shops around
And the sunlight reflected that midnight in the
Necklace wore by Marine
By then the tear-gas of the burnt bastis did not bring
I heard that the history of Kaurava Sabha
Suggestions to have a sixth husband,
To sit on the lap
Wandered into terrible Hindutva that shot mass rapes on
Video to titillate sivasainiks in the textile city Surat
But, still the tragedy of disrobing men in Bombay
To find out their religion didn’t start
The tiger tasted human flesh
Has already began its search for quenching thirst
Have you seen, in Maharashtra,
Sivasena tiger invites you with its roar
At every panchayat along main roads
Our is a land where every village has an untouchable colony
Now Muslims are untouchable in towns
Surat and Bombay
Cannot even be compared to Chintapalli or Chundur
Will they become Kilvenmani or Karamchedu – who knows?
If you want to throw us into Arabian Sea do it
(That plea was not heeded while they were alive, but that was done after their death)
But where can we migrate
Again those places become your Kasi and Prayaga
Your merciful pilgrimages
This is the silent anguish of the minority refugees –
Not from Burma or Bangladesh
But from Bombay
These sons of the soil, who came from where
Where can you throw them?
They’ll be relieved if
Sangh Parivar, which speaks of maathrubhoomi
Could tell them the way to get back into mother’s womb
It is not a question of same old poem writing again
Here upper caste chauvinism
Posing as majority religious sentiment
Claiming itself as Hindu way of life
Boasting as democratic secular republic
Crushing thrisharanams under the weight of the constitution
Thrishuls are having their day now.
So as to hide the tiger’s roar,
Lotus opened up its smell
Saying that destruction was people’s demand
(What a perfect coincidence
That pundarika means tiger and lotus!)
Historian Verma says that excavations are needed
If we dig, is it only temples and icons that come out?
Let them dig, further dig.
Not with Karseva, but with tears and lust for life
Skeletons will come out
Beneath the layers of earth
Traces of lives and struggles of human beings can be seen
Memories of human relationships come out
We will come to know that
There was a great civilization of
Harappa and Mohenjo Daro
Ganga and Sindhu here
At that time,
The waters of Ganga and Sindhu
Were not divided as Hindu and Muslims parts
Question is not of old or new poems
While the old civilizations flourished on the banks of rivers
The new one took its birth in the heart of petrol
This genocide is the result of
Imperialist conspiracy of half a century
To cut the umbilical chord off the
Arab countries to steal away the petrol child
Ask Palestine
Ask the shelters of fifty years of struggle
Where there is no place of their own in the desert
From Ajarbaijan to Bosnia
From Libya to Somalia
Everywhere behind the `communal clashes’
There lies the bloody thirst of
Great demon with nuclear stings
The culprit we discovered in Iraq
Is today
Creating communal wars all over the world
Bush, the victor, has not won
Saddam Hussein is not tired though
UN pronounced his death warrant
See the world scenario rightly
Jaganmohini has joined the fetish of commodities
In the world market
IMFs and World Banks cannot enter without repression
Ayodhya is a ruse
Protective hand is not for people
But for the donors
Nobody lost by trusting somebody else
It is only the masses who lost trusting the rulers or not.
Is it a lengthy but same old poem?
Is not the guilty conscience pricking somewhere?
Are we somewhat better than others?
Maybe - somewhere our wounds of poetic heart
Suffer and shed one or two tears of blood
For Gulam Yasin and Gulam Rasul
P.S. In the slums of Surat working class
Two Gajal weaving young poets –
Heirs to Kabir are missing for last one month
Yes, it is true, who is bothered
In the world of `secular’ street plays
Slavish song recitals and show-peace Morchas
***
31 January 1993
Translated by N. Venugopal