Postal – mortem
1
Darling,
As I was flying into the 21st century
On borrowed wings
The letter you wrote in 1988 reached me
How marvelous is the diversity of our culture
Our is the hereditary democracy
In which coexist
The bullock cart and INSAT 2
The dhobi ghat and the Supersonic Jet
The khadi of non-violence and the bulletproof jacket
For some time
I have been feeding my thoughts to a Super Computer
To find out what it will be like when
The carriers of messages become the robbers of messages
Suppose that
The monkey had wondered what exactly
Rama had meant in sending the ring to
Sita in Lanka
And had stolen it
Suppose that
Wondering why exactly the message of the Yaksha
Specified the route from Nagpur to Kashmir
The messenger-cloud was made to burst over Delhi
Suppose that
The swan had withheld the message
Suspecting Nala of impersonation
Suppose that
The pigeons carry away into the sky
The messages of our lovers’ quarrels
In the interests of peace
Suppose that
The Intelligence Bureau
Intent on sharpening its intelligence
Discovers new meanings in our much-read letters
And hidden them
Then as Zafar said
It will be a life of Arzoo and Intazaar
2
Dear,
How many hands will crumble this endearment
How many eyes it will burn with envy
Before the language of my blood and the breath of my love
Touch you heart with the tips of emotion
Or, because I have written of Nature’s
Sweet secret of friendship
Will it be confiscated in the interests of security of state?
I sit down to write a letter
But the Constitutional Principles strung across the
Rashtrapathi Bhavan, Parliament and the Supreme Courts
From Chanakyapuri to Rajghat
Come between us like the `mangalasutram’
The good old Kaloji says
What is the need of a third witness
For a marriage of three knots or two hearts
But it seems that
Others can intercept and investigate
The paradise of my dreams that has
Dropped all night onto the softest jasmine
They claim that they will break open
The secret chest of love, what shall I say?
Whatever I say I cannot accept love being
A second hand message
Suppose
Like a Kalidasa I were to say that
When I tried to portray
Your memories as bullets that pierce me
Your eyes as fireballs that burn me
Your heart as the Temple of love
(Now the special branch will read this Temple of love as the Golden Temple)
And put it on paper
A tear fell from my eye and Smudged the picture
They will wonder which Nation’s in stigma
I have hidden there
And send it to the defense labs to decode it
Suppose
I write that your absence makes my heart burst
Perhaps they will say I have conspired
To blow up the Parliament
And arrest me under the Terrorist Act
Before my letter reaches you
For criminal conspiracy in a sedition charge
Or perhaps they will shoot me dead
For crossing the borders (of love)
The love poem will then become an elegy
3
Is it new for our letters to be read by others?
If we want others to read we will even print them
But what gives pain is that plainclothesmen will spirit them
Away against our wish
If Chalam had not dared and taught us to write love letters
So that love may not run into wayside channels and narrow darkness
If the Brownings had not shown us that
Even after marrying for love
We not only love but write of our love
I would not have written to you
Even if the postal charges were not hiked
But then I feel; does love ask for secrecy?
What we ask for is not secrecy but privacy
Let it be, since it is the Intelligence fellows
Let them at least learn the values of
Love, friendship and humanity that they lack
From our letters
But it is my foolishness
They are there not to read but to proscribe writings
If they could read
Would they try to block history?
Bhagat Singh had to throw a bomb in the Deaf Parliament
Asking them to read the leaflets of national liberation
Look, I have again mentioned the terrorist bomb
This must certainly be of concern to National Security
If this Act had not been passed in this Session
They by this time this letter would have reached you
And what would have happened to this country
Because of this conspiracy of love
I shudder at the very thought
Postscript:
That is why I am not posting this letter
I am keeping it safe in my own pocket
So that afterwards
Each may discover in it the evidence they want.
***
November 1986
Translated by K. Balagopal