"Don't Call me Indo-Anglian" by Syed Amanuddin

No i don't want to be
a hotchpotch of culture
a confusion of language
a nullity of imagination
an abortive affair between an indo and an anglo
I hate hyphens
the artificial bridges
between artificial values
in the name of race religion n language
i damn all hyphenated minds
prejudiced offsprings of unenlightened souls
i denounce all labels and labelmakers
i refuse to be a moonrock specimen
to be analyzed labelled n stored
for a curious gloomy fellow to
reanalyze reclassify me
for shelving me again

They call me indo-anglian
I don't now what they mean
Cauvery flows in my veins
Chamundi hills rise in my mind with stars afloat
eyes of the goddess smiling on the slain demon
Brindavan fountains sing in my soul

But, I am not tied down to my childhood scene.
I have led languages by their ears
I have twisted creeds to force the truth out
I have burned candles in the caves of prejudice
I have surged in the oceans of being
I have flown across the universe on the wings of my thought

 

They call me indo-anglian
The mistaken misinformed folk
In class me with a small group of writers
Cloistering me
Crippling me
I would rather roam with Kalidasa n Kabir
or go on a spiritual journey with Dante|
meditate with khayyam on the mathematics of existence
or sing with ghalib the anguish of love
or drown with li po kissing the moon's reflection in the river

They call me indo-anglian
It's true I write in English
Dream in the language of Shakespeare n Keats
But I am not an anglo my friend
I am a POET
I have lived forty centuries under various names
I am now amanuddin 

 ‘Don’t call me indo-anglian’ as a poem tells of what it should be called, Indo-English, Indo-Anglican, Indo-Anglian, Anglo-Indian, Indian poetry in English or Indian English poetry in the absence of a feeder dialect of its own and a linguistic environment not suitable to it as English exists it as a library-consulting communicative language in a written form rather than in a spoken form. But a language flourishes it if the spoken base nourishes it which Indian English lacks in miserably. Whatever be that, K.R.Srinivasa Iyengar has given an impetus to it by terming it Indo-Anglian. V.K.Gokak’s anthology too has been The Golden Treasure of Indo-Anglian Poetry which we like to study it most. P.Lal’s Modern Indian Poetry in English: An Anthology  & A Credo will explain it best as the amateur ones just with one book or the poems to be published too have been called in as poets. But let us listen to him, what he says and what he feels with regard to quest for identity. Is there anything of identity crisis? It is also a fact that the small band of Indian writers in English struggled too much for their survival and it too took time in evolving as good writers. What it troubled Shaun Maundy was the volume of bad verses written by the Indians in English. On the one hand, he says it, don’t call him Indo-Anglian while on the other he is in the States enjoying the nuances and idiosyncrasies of the American English. We do not understand the linguistic play.

Without following the punctuation marks, he starts the poem as E.E.Cummings writes and forbids calling him an Indo-Anglian writer as he does not like to be a hotchpotch of culture. The poet means to say that it is a mismatch for to identity him as a writer of Indian English verse in such a way and that too under a misnomer. It will be a confusion of language, a nullity of imagination and an abortive affair in between an Indian and an English fellow. He hates the hyphens, the hyphenated connections, extensions. The artificial bridges in the name of religion, race and language he admires them not personally. He damns all the hyphenated minds the prejudiced offsprings of unenlightened souls. He denounces all the labels and label makers. He refuses to be a moon rock specimen.

They call him Indo-Anglian, but he is not as they think it, he is Syed Amanuddin, one from Mysore, the Cauvery flows into the veins of his, the Chamundi hills rise above with the goddess looking down on the slain demon under the starlit skies and the fountains of Brindavan sing in his soul. Here the lines are extremely beautiful as they capture the music and rhythm and the devotional fervor can be marked in.

He is not tied down to his childhood scene. He has led languages by their ears and has twisted creeds to force the truth out. He has burnt candles in the caves of prejudice and has surged in the  oceans of being. But his group is not a small group of writers to be counted on fingers or difficult to be traced out. It is also a fact the Indian English verse has remained in circulation as cyclostyled, lithographed, typed and photo stated small booklets of poesy which the classic-read teachers of English used to frown upon and see with disdain as most of the verses were below the standard, poor, weaker in construction and meaningless and the practitioners of such a sort were but the minor writers of Indian verse in English. When they started to write they in a short time  turned into the poets of India and their first poems made entries into the anthologies as the ones  from established poets. It will be better to roam with Kalidasa and Kabir, go on a spiritual journey with Dante rather than to be a poet of a small group of writers and poets. It is better to meditate with Khyyam or sing with Ghalib or drown with Li Po kissing of the moon’s reflection in the river.

They call him Indo-Anglian, it is true that he writes in English, dreaming in the language of Shakespeare and Keats, but he is not an Anglo-Indian. He is a poet and he has been here for many centuries under names registered or unregistered. He is but Syed Amanuddin, accept you it or not.

While reading the poet we get reminded of many a thing. As per the legend, asura Mahishasura, the king of the city of Mysore was killed by goddess Chamundeshwari in a fierce battle. So she is called Mahishasura Mardini. The Chamundeswari Temple is atop the Chamundi Hills and has been named after goddess Chamundi. The word Mysuru comes from the Kannada word  Mahishooru. Li Po’s kissing of the reflection of the moon in the river adds another mystery to the poem. When he refers to the heritage of Kalidasa, his works flash over the mind’s eye, specially The Cloud Messenger and so on. Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat opens up new vistas of thought and reflection when he talks of his trend and tradition which Edward Fitzgerald has translated into English. The couplets of Ghalib add a new dimension to our thought and idea. The river Cauvery tells of the South Indian heritage and culture as well as river valley civilizations. It has been used as a demarcation well as a symbol. The Cauvery is also called Dakshina Ganga, the Ganges of the South. Fountains and water cascades add beauty to Brindavan gardens or it may refer to the river banks too. When he talks of the language used by Shakespeare and Keats, the whole corpus conjures up in its fresh imagery, reflection, colour, dream, fancy and imagination.