Wednesday, 10 November 2010

Nostalgic Memory


The heart of the capital city

Blossoms in December days

The fire in the torch at India Gate

Hesitates to burn brightly

The city that spits smoke

Moves on mechanically as usual

When the ‘Paanwala’ in Parliament street

Enquires about my well being

My lips utter ‘fine’ artificially

Malayalam ‘fine’ and Hindi ‘fine’ are different

My language changes

In front of the journalist in Rafi Marg

There, it is the usual ‘what is news’

When I meet the Malayali in Mayur Vihar

My language becomes more artificial

And more that that, dispassionate

There, the Malabarian and Travancorean

Show off their ego in newspaper language

When the Tamilian in Ramakrishnapuram

Calls me ‘Sir’ my answer becomes heavy

In Karol Bagh I have one language

And in Africa Avenue, another

In the posh Safdarjung Enclave

I have ‘apartment style’ language

When I return to my dwelling place

At the end of the day

And when I dream of loneliness

A small parrot chirps inside

The nest of my heart

I held my ears close

It was uttering something

In a feeble voice

Yes, I have heard this voice somewhere

It was the language of my village, of my household

Of my village people, and of my family

But, it is still not coming out through my lips

It has not been coming out for long

Even when I spend my time ‘freely’ with my friends.

By Ismail Meladi

Facial contradiction


(i)

I,

A faceless person,

Who hid my body

Somewhere in the depth

Of this big city,

I am the undisclosed offspring

Of an unknown weak woman,

Who came to this big city

Once upon a time

At some cross roads of history

From a poverty-stricken village

Of Bihar or Orissa,

She had crushed her bones,

Shrunken her skin,

Became herself a worm

And slowly perished

While labouring for palaces

I don’t know her

Nobody knows her

Because, like thousands,

She also had no face

She had pushed her life

With her body only

Yes, body had a value

In any street

Where face had no value

Due to this,

There is no meaning

In searching a face for me

That is why

I don’t have a name

So, you can call me

Any name, as you wish

Thief, robber, killer, scoundrel,

Anything

Because,

I don’t have a face of my own

Whenever chances came up

I pasted on my face

The undisclosed faces

Of the politician here,

Of the social reformist

Or of any VIP

My most important peculiarity is

That I am not written anywhere

My name cannot be found

In the birth and death register

In the local authority

Because, nobody knows

Where I was born,

When I was born

And to whom I was born

My name cannot be found

In the marriage register too

Because, I don’t need a marriage

To fulfil my sexual urge

Even the police clerk

Writes nothing about me

As he doesn’t know

Who are my parents,

As I have no permanent house,

Or a permanent name

I can speak anything to anybody

Call any names

I can beat anybody

I can kill anybody

Nobody will ask me anything

I can use the road as a toilet

Nobody will protest against it

I can scream loudly in the day time

Nobody will say anything

I don’t have anything of my own

So what?

But, I have the freedom to do anything

I am beyond the time and ages

I am behind the curtain of all images

That is why, I don’t need any protection

Because of all these,

Nothing will happen even if I die

Because,

I was not written anywhere.

(ii)

I,

A person,

Who lives in the biggest

And highest echelons

Of this big city

I get five-digit salary

I move only in cars

I am an executive

With an identity card

Hanging from my neck

When I come back from work

Thinking of the world’s issues

So seriously, heating my brain

I have the comfort of air-conditioning

Clubs, discussions, parties and get-togethers

Are my inevitable routines

I have to keep a lot of manners

And take care of many social values

Hence, I have a lot of facilities

My parents gave me education

In posh English-medium schools

Mother tongue is a shame for me

I, who have all the comforts in life,

Had a revelation one day

Since that day

This thought started haunting me

Though I have everything

I don’t have anything

When I screamed loudly for two days

My freedom took me to hospital

When I used the road for toilet

They chained me

Because,

Everything about me

Was written

Up-to-date.

By Ismail Meladi

Vote Shanties


In the city

Shanties emerge

And disappear

Without any shape

Like cut pieces of clothes

Political lords

Stitch votes

On these cut pieces

They burn

Old pieces

And dish out

New pieces

As the number of

Cut pieces increase

The lords gain

New and new attires.

By Ismail Meladi

The dog in Renigunta


The dog in Renigunta railway station

Runs through the mob

That is making noise

Comes to the platform

And lies down so close to earth

But dispassionate, closing its eyes

The common man in the capital city

Walks with his eyes wide open

As if he has closed his eyes

In the midst of political brouhaha

By Ismail Meladi

The Yield


We put the manure of jealousy

For the best yield

To harvest hundred percent

We plant hatred

To bring out the best bunch

We pluck out the unwanted growth of love

To increase the production capacity

We use hybrid politics

For the yellowness of grains

We mix the ashes of religion

For the fertility of the earth

We import foreign monopoly

For extra high profit

We include anger

For short term gains

We will sacrifice anything

Including us, our generation,

Even the liveliness of this land.

By Ismail Meladi

Global Philosophy


This world is blind

This world is endless

This world is a nonsense

That is danced and revelled

Is this world a pretty poem

Without even a proper

Deployment of meanings

And depth of connotations?

This world is a stupidity of life

Of burdened mind and head

This world is a place

Where the churning out of mind

And the memories become dead

In the spirit poured by over ambitions.

By Ismail Meladi

The Ire


You raped my innocent language cruelly

You battered my sacrosanct culture

You burned my children to death mercilessly

You poisoned my life-saving air

You polluted my mirror-like water

You converted my green into black.

By Ismail Meladi