Write me down I am an Indian

Write me down
I am an Indian
Write it down
My name is Ajmal
I am a Muslim
and Indian citizen
We are seven at home
all are Indian by birth
Do you want documents?

Write me down
that I am an Indian
I am a Moplah
My ancestors were untouchables
Hindus in your language
Slapped on the face of Manu
they changed their names
when they were given dignity
centuries ago
before forefathers of your ideologues were born
Are you suspicious?

Write me down
I am an Indian
My ancestors tilled the soil here
They lived here
and died
Their roots are deeper than the roots of these Banyan and Coconut trees
Though they weren’t land lords
but only peasants
this land is their root
The scent of their root is the scent of this land
The colour of their skin
is the colour of this land
Do you want documents?

Write me down
I am an Indian
Do you still need documents?
Then I will dig the graves in Malabar
and many others
I want to show you the boot and bullets on their chests
when they fell down with the British bullets
Do you still need documents?
I know
What documents you have
The copy of a confession at Cellular Jail
And
The blood stains of Gandhi on your hand
Do you want me to remind you more those ?
I say
Shut the fuck up
If you ask me for documents.

Write me down
I am an Indian
Remember
I have not forgotten
that you sent people to demolish Masjid
But now
you have demolished the constituion
the soul of this land
I am angry
How dare you?
How dare you?

Write me down
I am Indian
This is my land
If I have born here
I will die here
There for
Write it down
Clearly
In bold and capital letters
On the top of your NRC
that I am an Indian.

***

Ajmal Khan is a poet and researcher. He teaches at Ashoka University and Ambedkar University.
Source: https://www.groundxero.in/2019/12/15/write-me-down-i-am-an-indian/

The Night of the Scorpion

I remember the night my mother
was stung by a scorpion. Ten hours
of steady rain had driven him
to crawl beneath a sack of rice.

Parting with his poison - flash
of diabolic tail in the dark room -
he risked the rain again.

The peasants came like swarms of flies
and buzzed the name of God a hundred times
to paralyse the Evil One.

With candles and with lanterns
throwing giant scorpion shadows
on the mud-baked walls
they searched for him: he was not found.
They clicked their tongues.
With every movement that the scorpion made his poison moved in Mother's blood, they said.

May he sit still, they said
May the sins of your previous birth
be burned away tonight, they said.
May your suffering decrease
the misfortunes of your next birth, they said.
May the sum of all evil
balanced in this unreal world

against the sum of good
become diminished by your pain.
May the poison purify your flesh

of desire, and your spirit of ambition,
they said, and they sat around
on the floor with my mother in the centre,
the peace of understanding on each face.
More candles, more lanterns, more neighbours,
more insects, and the endless rain.
My mother twisted through and through,
groaning on a mat.
My father, sceptic, rationalist,
trying every curse and blessing,
powder, mixture, herb and hybrid.
He even poured a little paraffin
upon the bitten toe and put a match to it.
I watched the flame feeding on my mother.
I watched the holy man perform his rites to tame the poison with an incantation.
After twenty hours
it lost its sting.

My mother only said
Thank God the scorpion picked on me
And spared my children.

--- Nissim Ezekiel

Nostalgia

When I was a boy
Nostalgia was a tiny stamp
I was at this end
My mother at that

When I grew up
Nostalgia was a slim steamer ticket
I was at this end
My bride at that


Years later
Nostalgia was a squatty tomb
I was out
My mother was in


But now
Nostalgia is a shallow strait
I am at this shore
The mainland is at that

--- Yu Guangzhong

गामा और लामा

गामा आए गाम पर !

जन-गण जय-जयकार मचाते
भारत-भाग्य-विधाता गाते
पत्रकारगण धाते आते
फोकस देते चाम पर !

लामा उतरे लाम पर !

हन-हन-हन हथियार चलाते
विरोधियों के किले ढहाते
ह्त्या करते, खून बहाते
धरम-करम के नाम पर !

लहू दामनेदाम पर !
लहू दामनेबाम पर !
कवि-कोकिल-कुल चाय चुसकते
कविता करते शाम पर !

--- राकेश रंजन

जब मैं ज़िंदा हूँ

मरने को चे ग्वेरा भी मर गए,
और चंद्रशेखर भी,
लेकिन वास्तव में कोई नहीं मरा है।
सब ज़िंदा हैं,
जब मैं ज़िंदा हूँ,
इस अकाल में।
मुझे क्या कम मारा गया है
इस कलिकाल में।
अनेकों बार मुझे मारा गया है,
अनेकों बार घोषित किया गया है
राष्ट्रीय अख़बारों में, पत्रिकाओं में,
कथाओं में, कहानियों में
कि विद्रोही मर गया।
तो क्या मैं सचमुच मर गया!
नहीं, मैं ज़िंदा हूँ,
और गा रहा हूं!

--- रमाशंकर यादव ‘विद्रोही’

नयी-नयी आँखें हों

नयी-नयी आँखें हों तो हर मंज़र अच्छा लगता है
कुछ दिन शहर में घूमे लेकिन, अब घर अच्छा लगता है ।

मिलने-जुलनेवालों में तो सारे अपने जैसे हैं
जिससे अब तक मिले नहीं वो अक्सर अच्छा लगता है ।

मेरे आँगन में आये या तेरे सर पर चोट लगे
सन्नाटों में बोलनेवाला पत्थर अच्छा लगता है ।

चाहत हो या पूजा सबके अपने-अपने साँचे हैं
जो मूरत में ढल जाये वो पैकर अच्छा लगता है ।

हमने भी सोकर देखा है नये-पुराने शहरों में
जैसा भी है अपने घर का बिस्तर अच्छा लगता है ।

--- निदा फ़ाज़ली

नयी हँसी

महासंघ का मोटा अध्यक्ष
धरा हुआ गद्दी पर खुजलाता है उपस्थ
सर नहीं,
हर सवाल का उत्तर देने से पेश्तर

बीस बड़े अख़बारों के प्रतिनिधि पूछें पचीस बार
क्या हुआ समाजवाद
कहे महासंघपति पचीस बार हम करेंगे विचार
आँख मारकर पचीस बार वह, हँसे वह पचीस बार
हँसे बीस अख़बार
एक नयी ही तरह की हँसी यह है

पहले भारत में सामूहिक हास परिहास तो नहीं ही था
लोग आँख से आँख मिला हँस लेते थे
इसमें सब लोग दायें-बायें झाँकते हैं
और यह मुँह फाड़कर हँसी जाती है।
राष्ट्र को महासंघ का यह सन्देश है
जब मिलो तिवारी से-हँसो-क्योंकि तुम भी तिवारी हो
जब मिलो शर्मा से-हँसो-क्योंकि वह भी तिवारी हो
जब मिलो शर्मा से- हँसो- क्योंकि वह भी तिवारी है

जब मिलो मुसद्दी से
खिसियाओ
जातपाँत से परे
रिश्ता अटूट है
राष्ट्रीय झेंप का।
---रघुवीर सहाय