Broken Man- In search of homeland

Published by Panther's Paw Publication

Yogesh Maitreya: Poet -Translator-Publisher

Yogesh Maitreya is a poet and translator.Recently he has translated the first volume of ‘Ambedkerite Movement after Ambedkar ’ in English,authored by J.V.Pawar in Marathi. At present, he is doing Ph.D.from  Tata Institute of Social Sciences, Mumbai.

Farooq

Farooq, I never thought we would meet again

When there were wars fought between the religions

In that hastiness, while leaving our land

You gifted me a peacock feather  with your

Puerile hands

With great pride, I have kept it safely for years, decoratively

Over my heart

As if it were a medal I won for my bravery

For killing an enemy

Many days passed

A moustache covers my lips and

Then I realize:

It is human tendency

To find it difficult to let  go

It happened on one bleak evening

That I bought for you a magnifying glass

From the city’s black market

But it shattered against the black rock

Farooq, in the grandeur of your eyes

I see symptoms of cataract

We meet after  so long

But the world is still small and narrow minded

Engrossed in its aggression for wars

When we were small and naïve

Massacres took place between religions

Today, it happens within religions

After you left

We abandoned our shelter

Under the thorny wild barriers and

Sheltered under the peaceful,  cool

And densely shadows of the Bodhi tree

As a symbol of what should I gift you this

Magnifying glass?

Indeed, the hearts of people are not as grand as this glass

Should I touch your eyes

Your eyes that show the symptoms  of cataract

With my fingers that have grown wrinkles now?

I wish for this

Farooq, tell me something about the land you migrated to

Why do you smile at me ironically?

I know that my past experiences of this society

Are shared by you as well

Let’s go!

We’ll go to the habitation of a peacock and

Gather the feathers

For others

Translated by Yogesh Maitreya

The Birth of Mother

The mother

Whose son participated in massacre

Should not have been born

The mother

whose son made the atomic bomb

Should not have been born

The mother

whose son created difference among men

Should not have been born

The mother  of the Wright Brothers

Should be  born a thousand times

The mother  of the Marconi

Should be  born several times

Michael Faraday’s  mother   

Should take birth innumerable  times

Again and again

Should Edison’s mother  be born.

And make this beautiful world

A more beautiful place

For the next generation

Translated by Yogesh Maitreya

A dog is a dog

Dog is an animal tamed by man

Pet or stray

Man has to be inoculated

If he is bitten

By a Dog

If not,

Man barks, ejects saliva

And dies a gruesome death

Dog is an animal tamed by man

Translated By Yogesh Maitreya

Question

My boss abandoned his parents

He pets a dog at home

Takes good care of him

Even kisses him a lot

The dog is anxious though,

Why doesn’t my boss learn

Some honesty from me?

Translated by Yogesh Maitreya

Monologues of a ghost

I am dumb

I didn’t have a voice

I cannot speak

In any of the glib tongues

Of the world

Compassion drains

Through my eyes

But you selfish folks

Cannot see that

Cannot read

My sympathetic face

I do not have hands

To resist

I cannot even bark

But does that mean

You write 786 on my back

Before butchering me?

Translated by Yogesh Maitreya

Something like this

How beautiful it is

To imagine, superfluously

About the beautiful world

To drift into one’s imagination

Like a drunkard.

Walking up in the morning

In a state of hallucination

Wishing the welfare of all

Praying everyday

Praying over and over again

For the wretched

How easy it is

To refuse water from a well

To a human being

Translated by Yogesh Maitreya

Personal Interview

To  secure  some warmth,

You immolated Dalits.

To obtain some melted ghee

Bastis were burnt to ashes

How could you do this?

You left them run-down and deprived.

The new generation of victims

In questioning you

How could you commit such heinous acts

In the name of religion?

Who gives you a certificate of superiority?

You fled to England and America

Before you could be interrogated.

Translated by Yogesh Maitreya

Idiopathic

People are very stupid

They pluck beautiful flowers

Early in the morning

From trees and shrubs

As offerings to statues

Made of rock

Translated by Yogesh Maitreya

Personal Interview

Religion and Caste

Become the prime concern

In one’s personal interview

After I passed the written examination

My caliber and competence

Melted like a candle

Became thinner than water

A single wave

Turned the rock-solid fort

Into sand

Caste is like the flow of electricity

The wires are visible

But not the current

Translated by Yogesh Maitreya

A Worker at the Farm

I have one roof

A few necessary  things to live off

Children who are brilliant at studies

And a diligent wife.

In the morning

I go to the farm to work

By dusk, I return

Tired by the laborious work,

I sleep audaciously on the Godhadi

I see beautiful dreams

Of the world

I love this life so much

I’ve just got one

I live by the definition

Of a maverick dreamer

I do not commit suicide

Like a farmer.

Translated by Yogesh Maitreya

Life is Beautiful

Grandamma  Vasanti died

Amidst the chaos of the wedding

All the people

Helping out there

Came together

And said in a furtive voice

“For now, quietly cover her up

And keep her in the storeroom.

Well look into it

Once the wedding is done.”

Translated by Yogesh Maitreya

Chairman

Having listened to the routine appearing

Happy, exceedingly exciting speech

A broken brother

Posed a cactus-like question:

“Why are we so doomed?

Why the movement has suffered a setback?”

The moment I got to the answer

I pulled the pistol’s trigger.

And the mirror in front smashed to the ground

Making a shattering noise.

Translated by Yogesh Maitreya

Vippasana: There is Nothing To Be Ashamed of

You do vippashana.
There is nothing to be ashamed of, in it.
This was bound to happen!

Due to movement of Babasaheb
You got the degree, and hooked a descent job.
Getting grossly overpaid salaries,
You collected fat on your body.

You could not sit among higher ups,
Still you mix with lowers?
Mornings and evenings, you led a luscious life,
Never bothering about your brothers
Toiling in anguish and distress.

You bought a car, just for enjoyment,
But the thief lurking in your brain
Was nibbling your mind
And you talked to ignoble audience
Pretending backache, all in vain.

Your brothers in penury took out rallies of protests
And you saw those and felt guilty.
You had authority to do a lot for them
But you did nothing for their cause.

(See are there any unemployed among 'them'?
See how they protect their own.)
But all the land under your feet
Was slipping away, for you!

Children are well off, the elder engineer
Brought in a 'Kokanastha' bride in home,
And our poor girl kept on chewing crumbs.
Younger one left for foreign
To learn Software engineering.
Cought a doctor for the daughter
All is wholesome well and pretty.

You got your belly protruding, recently
Sometimes there is high blood pressure
Diabetes was there since beginning
In the mean time had pain in chest

And you collapsed with the fear of Heart attack
Like the twin towers of World trade centre.
You are doing well, and
Your brothers are still same.

When people see you organized well and tidy
They feel the whole of society progressed.
And is well fed.
Your model is ideal.
For your brothers in villages and in slums
Even an electric lamp is a luxury to be dreamt of.

The thief in your mind
Very very crafty and clever
Does not spare you.
Constaly it is digging like a rodent
That is why, you have no alternative,
Except Vippashana!
There is nothing to be ashamed of.

You retired from service
And your world has finished.
That was good! At least,
The expections of oppressed brethren ended.

The wretched people were hoping
From the compassion of Buddha
From your position of power
And you proved real bogus.

Baba gave us dreams
Whole society started to dream
You rode the vehicle of dreams
And disappeared.
That is what time is.

Everything of you went on smoothly
Now with the flesh on your body
And the fat on your tummy,
You and your wife
Do Vippashyana!
That is good.
There is nothing to be ashamed of.

The vultures all arround,
Watching the so called progressed society
Of Babasaheb,
Are waiting on the top of dried up pipal tree
To bite and gnaw.

Globalization, Privatization
Ending of Reservations,
The dice are already thrown,
In the garb of caliber, deceptive and bogus
They are dragging away the life lines of oxygen.
The helpless society is in
Last dying turmoil!

All was well for you
You had no time even then,
And even now,
No time to look back.
Carry on your Vippashana well and regular
Like a cat drinking milk with closed eyes.
Do not be ashamed at all,
There is nothing to be ashamed of!

Carry on your Vippashyana without any regrets
When the death comes near
The inactive person, in any case,
Always becomes religious.

During the days of dreaming
You were not with the society
Now is the time
For the dreams to get blasted.

Carry on Vippahyana!
There is nothing to be ashamed of!

Leprosy

The fingers of hand

Got putrid and

Dropped off.

Then I realized

A lot many letters,

The important ones,

Remained unwritten.

The gods of stones,

And the temples of the stones,

All inside the town,

You and I,

All flesh and blood,

Both outside the town,

How?

Nobody knows where these paths lead,

That way,

We have no permission to enter

Any town.

Towns were never ours, anyway.

Only the streets are our friends,

Could take a nap anywhere.

How late I realized,

The movements in mind

Are not to be disclosed,

To anyone.

Coming to the edge of town,

Have to talk to the blowing wind,

It carries our movements to the town,

Definitely,

Some day or the other,

And the screams would explode,

No harm in waiting

For that day.

Some friends remained behind,

We, along with the street,

Marching ahead,

How?

Let me tell you the truth,

Some amorous letters to my beloved,

Remained still to be written.

Assadulla Khan Alias Mirza Ghalib

Listen to this,Ghalib

Since I started the study of your Ghazals

Beautiful damsels from the city

Turned around and around

To look at me.

***

Coming back from my beloved

Or from bar

Your verses linger on my lips

Ghalib,

What the matter is?

***

After a stomachful,

I am still in senses

Today’s drinks,Ghalib,

Have no effect on me

In your goblet, Ghalib,

Is there a  drop for me?

What a funny thing

Since I explained your ghazal to her

My beloved keeps on

Gazing at my beard

***

How is this love of you ghazals,Ghalib,

My beloved is in no mood

To listen to my poems

***

My beloved, these days,keeps on

Asking about your life

As if I am nobody.

***

The other day,

On visiting Taj Mahal

I remembered you again and again

Formerly, there

Was there an inn or a pub or a bar?

***

Did Shahjahan make a mistake?

You tell me Ghalib

One is always in pensive and dejected

In vicinity of the Taj

***in memory of our beloved

We also

Did build many palaces

Palaces unequaled,Ghalib

Never became the Wonders of the World

Don’t you feel that strange?

***

The hands those built the Taj

Are bleeding

I see them in my dreams

Crying

Ghalib, is there a ghazal of yours

Composed by you on the subject of

social inequality?

***

Who was that lucky guy

Who asked Your own address

To you alone,

I wish to salute him once.

***

While one walks

Even on the princely streets here

Thoughts of discontent

Thoughts of inequality

Are haunting my brain,Ghalib.

You traded the paths on foot here

Humming your ghazals

With a unshaken mind.

Will you show me , please

Those paths?

***

Your words, you know

Tortured and tortured us,

 Tortured us mentally, Ghalib

And now

The

You are presenting yourself

Even through

The bleeding voice of Begum Akhtar.

Ghalib,

Do you or don’t you wish us

To live

Note:

Ghalib was one of the greatest Urdu poets of medieval India. All Muslim countries love his touching poetry.

Begum Akhtar was a singer who used to sing his ghazals with great devotion

Something about us

Mother nature   gifted  has come out

As willed-

Ever since our birth-

Neither region, nor castes nor genealogy.

We’re unhappy… any trifle vexes us of late.

Take every care as to using

Balanced , well formulated language

When you communicate with us.

It’s hard to predict

When these hands will rise in striking posture.

Silt-walled houses have come down on us

As our legacy.

Our children live in houses roofed by playing cards

(and in these days,they’re inclined to have their terraces

Constructed in cement)

Of late, we’ve given up hurling abuses at others

And started laying blame on us day in and day out

And also abandoned speaking in frank

In outspoken terms….

9so that your regional feelings aren’t hurt.)

Now we move all alone by ourselves,

Flourishing thin, sharp..dong swords.

Poem of Bhimrao Meshram

Bhimrao Meshram liked Sandhya Deshpande

Very fond of her he is

So he said

While going to Kashi, for an interview,

He met her,and he says

She pressed my hand affectionately

***

Then he wandered on the banks

Of holy Ganges

Through the convention of

Vishwa Hindu Parishad

And together we were in a choultry

After stroll through the temples of Kashi

Sandhya used to talk, very confidently

In very clear language

In no uncertain terms

About Hindu Gods and their stories

Stupid and misciveous

And in the late hours of night

When the darkness prevailed

She used to slide and come closer to me

Her hot lips, delicate and sexy

Were on my neck

And a peculiar pungent odour of

Her body

Odour of pure ghee

***

And Bhima Meshram went on telling us

Very confidently:

Even now I go to her house

When her father and brother

Go out wearing loose khakhi trunks

And when Sandhya starts worship of the Linga

Or pindi of Lord Shankara

***

She smiles on seeing me

A smile that of Shobha Joshi

After we chat a little

She kisses me on my lips

A kiss, long and sloppy

Those very lips which have shouted

Slogans of renaming

Marathawada University

After Dr.Babasaheb Ambedkar

***

When I get ready to depart

Sandhya is always moving her tounge

On her lips

The enigma of that glass tumbler

Kept for washing

And of that tounge of hers

Moving on her lips

Still remains unsolved for me

***

But let it be as it may

While on my way back home from her

There is always a hammering on my brain

A continuous persistent ringing

A warning sound of Dr.Babasaheb Ambedkar