Kamala Das (1934 - 2009)
Kamala Das, Malayalam pen name Madhavikutty, Muslim name Kamala Surayya, is an Indian author who wrote openly and frankly about female sexual desire and the experience of being an Indian woman. Click here to read more.
Kamala Das - An Introduction
I don't know politics but I know the names
Of those in power, and can repeat them like
Days of the week, or names of months, beginning with Nehru.
I am Indian, very brown, born in Malabar,
I speak three languages, write in
Two, dream in one.
Don't write in English, they said, English is
Not your mother tongue. Why not leave
Me alone, critics, friends, visiting cousins,
Every one of you? Why not let me speak in
Any language I like? The language I speak,
Becomes mine, its distortions, its queernesses
All mine, mine alone.
It is half English, half Indian, funny perhaps, but it is honest,
It is as human as I am human, don't
You see? It voices my joys, my longings, my
Hopes, and it is useful to me as cawing
Is to crows or roaring to the lions, it
Is human speech, the speech of the mind that is
Here and not there, a mind that sees and hears and
Is aware. Not the deaf, blind speech
Of trees in storm or of monsoon clouds or of rain or the
Incoherent mutterings of the blazing
Funeral pyre. I was a child, and later they
Told me I grew, for I became tall, my limbs
Swelled and one or two places sprouted hair.
When I asked for love, not knowing what else to ask
For, he drew a youth of sixteen into the
Bedroom and closed the door, He did not beat me
But my sad woman body felt so beaten.
The weight of my breasts and womb crushed me.
I shrank Pitifully.
Then … I wore a shirt and my
Brother's trousers, cut my hair short and ignored
My womanliness. Dress in sarees, be girl
Be wife, they said. Be embroiderer, be cook,
Be a quarreller with servants. Fit in. Oh,
Belong, cried the categorizers. Don't sit
On walls or peep in through our lace-draped windows.
Be Amy, or be Kamala. Or, better
Still, be Madhavikutty. It is time to
Choose a name, a role. Don't play pretending games.
Don't play at schizophrenia or be a
Nympho. Don't cry embarrassingly loud when
Jilted in love … I met a man, loved him. Call
Him not by any name, he is every man
Who wants. a woman, just as I am every
Woman who seeks love. In him . . . the hungry haste
Of rivers, in me . . . the oceans' tireless
Waiting. Who are you, I ask each and everyone,
The answer is, it is I. Anywhere and,
Everywhere, I see the one who calls himself I
In this world, he is tightly packed like the
Sword in its sheath. It is I who drink lonely
Drinks at twelve, midnight, in hotels of strange towns,
It is I who laugh, it is I who make love
And then, feel shame, it is I who lie dying
With a rattle in my throat. I am sinner,
I am saint. I am the beloved and the
Betrayed. I have no joys that are not yours, no
Aches which are not yours. I too call myself I.
Meena Kandasamy (1984)
Meena Kandasamy is an anti-caste activist, poet, novelist and translator. She aims to deconstruct trauma and violence while spotlighting the militant resistance against caste, gender and ethnic oppressions. Click here to read more about it.
Poems by Meena Kandasamy
1.) Eklavyam - Meena Kandasamy
This note comes as a consolation:
You can do a lot of things
With your left hand.
Besides, fascist Dronacharyas warrant
Left-handed treatment.
Also,
You don’t need your right thumb,
To pull a trigger or hurl a bomb.
2.) One Eyed - Meena Kandasamy
The pot sees just another noisy child
the glass sees an eager and clumsy hand
the water sees a parched throat slaking thirst
but the teacher sees a girl breaking the rule
the doctor sees a case of a medical emergency
the school sees a potential embarrassment
the press sees a headline and a photo feature
dhanam sees a world torn in half.
her left eye, lid open but light slapped away,
the price for a taste of that touchable water.
Click here to read the analysis.
Rachana Joshi - Leaving India
Why did I leave India
And came to North America.
I was very young and full of
naive ideas about studying
poetry, travelling and finding
true love.
North America was clean, sanitised
almost sterile. Everything
swept orderly and shining.
The crowds smaller, more manageable.
In Syracuse N.A , the skies were blue
The autumnal tress red and orange
And the light golden and white.
I saw
Beautiful pictures.
Everything smelt of plastic and perfume.
India is stark, ancient and ugly,
Magnificent, uplifting or degrading.
In North America, there were
No ruins, No myths, no ghosts.
This really seems brave new
Naked world.
In India, all meaning comes from
Sacramental link with the Past
We may deny history, family and tradition
But somewhere
Five thousand years of continuous civilisation
Lie in wait like a doting grand parent
Click here to read the analysis.
Nizzim Ezikeil (1924-2004)
Nissim Ezekiel was an Indian-born poet of Jewish descent and has been described as the “father of post-independence Indian verse in English”. Click here to read more.
The Patriot - Nissim Ezikeil
I am standing for peace and non-violence.
Why world is fighting fighting
Why all people of world
Are not following Mahatma Gandhi,
I am simply not understanding.
Ancient Indian Wisdom is 100% correct,
I should say even 200% correct,
But modern generation is neglecting -
Too much going for fashion and foreign thing.
Other day I'm reading newspaper
(Every day I'm reading Times of India
To improve my English Language)
How one goonda fellow
Threw stone at Indirabehn.
Must be student unrest fellow, I am thinking.
Friends, Romans, Countrymen, I am saying (to myself)
Lend me the ears.
Everything is coming -
Regeneration, Remuneration, Contraception.
Be patiently, brothers and sisters.
You want one glass lassi?
Very good for digestion.
With little salt, lovely drink,
Better than wine;
Not that I am ever tasting the wine.
I'm the total teetotaller, completely total,
But I say
Wine is for the drunkards only.
What you think of prospects of world peace?
Pakistan behaving like this,
China behaving like that,
It is making me really sad, I am telling you.
Really, most harassing me.
All men are brothers, no?
In India also
Gujaratis, Maharashtrians, Hindiwallahs
All brothers –
Though some are having funny habits.
Still, you tolerate me,
I tolerate you,
One day Ram Rajya is surely coming.
You are going?
But you will visit again
Any time, any day,
I am not believing in ceremony
Always I am enjoying your company
Praveen Gadhavi
Laughing Buddha - Buddha Purnima
(Full Moon day of Buddha's birthday)
There was an
Underground atomic blast on
Buddha's birthday-a day of
Full Moon
Buddha laughed!
What a proper time!
What an auspicious day!
Buddha laughed!
At whom ?
There was a laughter on his
Lips and tears in his
Eyes
He was dumb that day.
See,
Buddha laughed!
Reference
On May 18th
1974, India etched its name indelibly into global nuclear energy. A momentous
event unfolded in the desert sands of Rajasthan, at the Indian Army's Pokhran Test
Range. It was there that India conducted its first successful nuclear bomb
test, codenamed "Smiling Buddha". The date was May 18, 1974: Buddha
Purnima, the date when Siddhartha Gautama was born 2530 years ago. Buddha known as the symbol of Peace and on the other hand nuclear weapons which are destructive in nature. For the progress of the country and for the safety of motherland it is necessary to have a nuclear weapon as a measure of safety. Especially after the incident at Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
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