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.
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