By Bijay Kant Dubey
It is a fact that one cannot discern and dislodge the cultural stuff, so is the case, as because even if we want to be impersonal, it is bound to reflect the racial, archetypal and territorial stuffs. Myths and motifs are a part of our life. One cannot so easily the legacy of thought and idea, the historical past and the hinge of the cultural heritage. The psyche is composed of the consciousness layers. Time, Western and Eastern, mechanical and cosmic, how to put in? How to tell about samay, kaal, bela, prahar and danda, which is what? How the vidhan, code of danda? The jurisprudence of punishment? Here time has been deliberated upon mythically and archetypally. Cutting the space of Indian manna, I am trying to take it out what it our psyche, manna.
Main samay hun,/ Akshay samay hun,/ Akshay aur amar samay,/ Samay, kaal, gati/ Jiski koi sima nahi hoti hain,/ Main samay hun,/ Samay ka chakka/ Jo ghumata rahata hun,/ Sab kucch mere under .( I am Time,/ Indestructible Time,/Indestructible and immortal,/Time, tense, movement which have no limit,/ I am Time,/ The Wheel of Time/ Which keeps it rotating,/ Everything but under me.)
Samay Ki Mutthi Mei, Everything But Under The Clutch of Time can be a subordinate title. If you want to title the poem simply, you may call it, Mai Samay Hun, I Am Time. The other option for it may be Akshay Samay, Indestructible time which is but a suggestion. Mai Akashay, Akshay Samay Hun, I Am Indestructible, Indestructible Time may add to rhyming it more as a title suggested again.
To see the flower and to imagine romantically is but the European way of deliberation which but the romantics can think of taking the flight of imagination, gliding in their way. Here the picture of a dream girl conjures upon, a romantic girl standing with a bouquet of flowers. A flower princess she herself presents it the bouquet. Can the lady love be as such? Here Rajanaigandha has been personified. Sometimes a beautiful girl, strangely fair and white stands before you unawares and you on looking her seek to scribble and jot down spontaneously.
Rajanigandha mere ghar ki dahaliz ke paas/ Phulon ka guccha liyei huyi khadi dene ke liye/ Kucch khamosh, kucch sahami huyi/ Apnei aanshuyon ko poncchatin huyi/ Oshabhari raat kahi jaati huyi,/ Kya yahi pyaar hai? (Rajanigandha at my doorstep/ Standing with a bouquet of flowers to gift/Somewhat silent, somewhat stricken/ Wiping the tears of hers/ Leaving under the misty night for somewhere,/ Is this love?)
Wei pucchatei hain,/ Kavita kya hoti hain?,/ Kaisei batayun,/ Kavita kya cheez hoti hain?,/ Kavita kavita ke liyei. (They ask it, / What is poetry?,/ But how to say,/ What is it poetry?,/ Poetry is for poetry.)
What is poetry? It is really very difficult to define it. Poetry is poetry, as take you, take I. Poetry is a flow of emotions and feelings. Sometimes one feels it within to express the inexpressible, the unputdownable on paper.
Poetry writing is an art and the poetry-writer as an artist tries to convert his experiences and memories into that art, transfusing it all. A poem is but an idea, a reflection, a symbol, a motif, a myth, a dream, and an imagination. A poem is but a photograph hanging on the wall. When we were children, we used to see the photograph of Abraham Lincoln. Bapu’s smile, have you forgotten it? How sweet is it even now! The old man smiling sweetly and innocently.
To be a poet is to be a man of emotion and feeling, to be sentimental and sensitive. To be a poet is to be sensuous, a lover of beauty, truth and goodness, always in search of beauty.
The sentimental heart is the origin of poetry and here from poetry originates it, as the mind perceives, observes and restores the images.
Chandni raaton mei/ Mei tumhei khojata hun,/ Meri ruha tumhari ruha se/Baatei karti hai,/ Tum kahan ho,/ Tum kahan ho? (In the moonlit nights/ I search you,/ My soul with your soul/ Holds the talks,/ Where are you,/ Where are you?) (Title: Pyaar Ka Geet, The Song of Love)
Pyaar ka geet eisa hi hota. (The song of love is as such.) The other thing, Bhagwan ka ghar kahan, hriday hi hota hai, where the house of God, it is but human heart.
Mandir kahan hain?,/ Wah to manna mei hai,/ Mann ko cchodkar,/Tum khoj rahe ho unko kahan? (Where is the temple?,/That is in the manna,/ Leaving you manna,/ Where do you keep searching Him?) (Title: Manna Mandir, The Temple of Heart)
Akeli ladaki,/ Jaayegi kahan,/ Jivan ke shua path par? (All alone girl,/ Where will she go,/ On the lonely path of life?)
Shuna Jeevan-path, Lonely Life-path may be a title suggested for it. The poems could have been titled right from the start, but these have been at last and the titles too have been coming to rhythmically.
Seva se badhakar,/ Koi dharma nahi,/ Lekin koi jo karte nahi/ Ab. (There is nothing as greater,/ Religion than service,/But nobody does it/ Now-a-days.)
Seva, Service is the title that I cannot suggest it here. Mera Dharam-karam, My Religion-duty can be another option for it.
Kaisa jo wah hoga,/ Ram ka geet ga raha,/ Krishan ka geet ga raha,/ Kaisa jo wah Rama-bhakta,/ Krishna-bhakta? ( How will he be,/ Singing the song of Rama,/ Singing the song of Krishna,/ How that Ram-bhakta,/ Krishna-bhakta?)
Apnei aanshuyon ko ponnccha,/ Rama ka geet ga raha,/ Krishna ka geet ga raha. (Wiping tears of his eyes,/ Singing the song of Rama,/ Singing the song of Krishna.)
Waha kahi dur khada,/ Dur khada,/ Dur desh ka yaatri. (He standing somewhere far,/ Standing far,/ The traveller from far off land.)
How to title it? What should it be? The matter is one from Strange Singer of Rama. A poem of three stanzas here we want to title it, Kaisa Jo Wah Ram Ka Bhakta, Krishna Ka Bhakta? (How That Rama’s Bhakta, Krishna’s Bhakta?) And in addition to the title, we seem to be questioning even that additionally, Kaisi Jo Usaki Bhakti? (How Is That His Devotion?).
Jab apanei log parayei ho jatei hain/ To usase badhakar/ Dukha hi kya? (When the own people turn they into others/ Then what it is bigger than/ That of sorrow and suffering?) Title: Kaisa Lagaa, Boliyei?, How Did You Feel That, Speak You?
‘Kaisa Lagaa, Boliyei?, How Did You Feel That, Speak You?’ is but a life-experience, what this life has given to me and what have I got from it. As these are bilingual poems, so the tiles and their versions exist side by side. Try to choose one.
Devadasi, kya yogan bana,/ Gujar jaayengi,/Tumhari raatei? (Devadasi, will becoming a yogan,/ Pass it on/Your nights?)
Yaha kiski sajish,/ Ab to bata,/ O, Devadasi,/ Rahana nahi mandiron mei? (Whose is this conspiracy,/ Now say you,/ O, Devadasi,/ Need not live in temples?)
Devadasi or Kiski Saajish may be the title of the poem. One may also title it, Devadasi, Yah Kiski Sajish? (Devadasi, Whose Is This Conspiracy?). Generally, oracle-makers, soothsayers, astrologers, palmists, florists and other middle men would have brought her here. The first late child may have been coaxed to be here. The astrologers and fortune-tellers would have persuaded the parents to gift the first new-born to be consecrated to Divine services rendered in the form of temple-serving maids which but I resisted it on seeing them for the first time in rock-built temples. Now say you, how will she live in the company of stone gods and goddesses? How will she pass her nights? It is definitely good to serve the gods and goddesses, but not to be by being there. The temples may be classical, the priests may be too, but their hearts not reasonable and logical at all. The whispering villagers and conspiring Brahmins have I never admired them in life.
Vishwanath ke mandir mei,/ Mera manna,/ Shahanai bajata huya. (In the temple of Vishwanath,/ My manna/ Playing the shehnoi.)
Main nahi janata,/ Wah raag-bhairavi yaa kaushiki? (I do not know,/ If that raag-bhairavi or kaushiki?)
Dhanyavad, dhanyavad/ Shir jhukakar thoda, haath uthakar abhivadan mei.(Thank you, thank you,/ Bowing the head a bit, raising the hand in greeting.)
A poem of three small stanzas, Baba Ke Mandir Mei Ek Shehnoi-vadak, A Shehnoi-player In The Temple of Baba is the title I seem to be suggesting to you. One line which came to me later on is ‘Shuniyei’ (Listen you) from, but I did not like it to be included in as one more stanza interrupting the design of the poem. Baba Ke Mandir Mei here indicates Vishwanath Ke Sang, In The Company of Vishwanath. It may be the main pagoda or the courtyard, be it anywhere.
Mere manna mandir mei,/ Wah kaun shi pujaran/ Phul chadhanei aatin hain? (In my temple of manna,/ Who is the worshipper/ Coming with flowers to offer?)
Should I title it, Prem-pratigya, Love-oath or Prem-pujaran, A Love-worshipper, now say you to me?
Sometimes sadness overtakes us and we seem to be possessed of, grappling to come out emotionally. The repentance, struggle and suffering of life, how to put in? How have sorrows raked us? How have we mourned and wept inconsolably? God even did not come in to wipe them out, the tears trickling down the cheeks.
Kitanei badal jo gayei,/ Log jo yahan/ Jo panei thei! (How have they changed,/ The people/ Who were so much own!) Ttile: Badalatei Log, Badaletei Samay, Changing Men, Changing Times
Badalatei Log, Badaletei Samay, Changing Men, Changing Times hints towards a change in our attitude and thinking. Things do not remain the same. Everything changes with time.
Teri aankhon se bahatei,/ Aanshuyon ko/Ponccha jo/Shaka nahi,/ Mera dard, mera dukha!(The tears/ Flowing from your eyes/ Could not/Wipe them,/ My pain, my sorrow!)
Sometimes one fails to render into line by line, just the meaning is converted into so is the case with the poem written in the memory of my youngest brother. Mera Dard, My Pain I would like to title it. There are two titles, one for the Hindi version another for the English version.
Shraddha ke phul jo bikhar gayei,/ Kaisei karu jo puja-upashana? (Scattered it the flowers of reverence,/ How to worship with the sacred heart?)
Here there is a variation from in the second English line of the poem. It should have been, how to do worship, prayer?, but here the other thing has been attached to instead of. How to title it? If you do not, let me, Shraddha Ke Suman, Flowers of Reverence and this is but faith and its flickering.
Roshani chali gayi,/ Andhera hain,/ Ghup andhera. (Light has gone out,/ There is darkness,/ Deep darkness.)
Kshin Hota Prakash, Diminishing Light may be the title suggested here in an experimental way.
Ek madhyaraatri/ Jab mainei apna darwaza khola/ Bahar baansa ke pole se jhulata/Mitti ke asthi-kalasha ko dekha/ Maan nahi/ Uski naabhi aur bhashma mitti ke paatra mei. (One midnight/ When opened I the door/ Outside by the bamboo pole found I hanging/ An earthen small asthi-kalasha/ Mother not/ But her navel and ashes in a clay pot.) Title: Asthi-kalasha
Asthi-kalasha, I want to keep it in Hindi and English as well and I think the meaning is quite clear as for the images, thoughts and ideas it carries with along.
Pinda-dana,/ Bhuta ke liye,/ Diwnagagata atma ki/ Shanti ke liyei. (Pinda-dana,/ For the spirit,/ The dead soul/ The peace of it.) Title: Pinda-dana
Pinda-dana is actually a journey of the soul, from earth to earth, wind to wind, spirit to spirit, water to water and fire to fire. The soul has merged into the Supreme Soul and what more to say to? The path of life is almost the same. Everyone has to go bare-footed, empty-handed. Let Buddha be our guide. Om shantih shantih shantih.
Mera kucch bhi nahi yahan,/ Khali haath yaya hun,/ Khali haath chala jaayunga/ Yahan se.(I have nothing my own here,/ I have come empty-handed,/ Empty-handed shall I go away/ From here.) Title: Khali Haath, Empty-handed
Pehle bhi akela thaa,/ Abhi bhi hun/ Akelapan cchodata jo nahi. (In the beginning had been all alone,/ Even now am alone,/ Loneliness leaves me it not.) Title: Main Aur Mera Sathi, I And My Companion
Khali Haath, Empty-handed, Main Aur Mera Sathi, I And My Companion, are the poems which I do not want to say it about. Now it is your turn to say.