For a fistful of self-respect

I don’t know when I was born but

I was killed on this very land thousands of years ago

punarapi jananam punarapi maranam

I don’t know the karma theory but

I am taking birth, again and again, in the same place where I had died

My body dissolved in this land

And became the Ganga Sindh plain

When my eyeballs melted as tears

Perennial rivers flowed across this country

When my veins spurted minerals

This land became green and showered wealth

I was Shambhuka in the Treta Yuga

Twenty two years ago, my name was Kanchikacherla Kotesu

My place of birth is Kilvenmani, Karamchedu, Neerukonda

Now Chunduru is the name that cold-blooded feudal brutality

Has tattooed on my heart with ploughshares

From now on, Chunduru is not a noun but a pronoun

Now every heart is a Chunduru, a burning tumour

I am the wound of multitudes, the multitude of wounds

For generations, an unfree individual in a free country

Having been the target

Of humiliations, atrocities, rapes and torture

I am someone raising his head for a fistful of self-respect

In this nation of casteist bigots blinded by wealth

I am someone who lives to register life itself as a protest

I am someone who dies repeatedly to live

Don’t call me a victim

I am an immortal, I am an immortal, I am an immortal

I am the poison throated one

Who swallowed the famine so that the world may have wealth

I am the sunrise standing on its head

It was I who kicked the Sun on the head

To make him stand erect

I am the one stoking slogans in my flaming heart’s furnace

I don’t need words of sympathy or tears of pity

I’m not a victim, I’m an immortal

I am the fluttering flag of defiance

Don’t shed tears for me

If you can

Bury me in the middle of the city

I’ll bloom as the bamboo grove that sings the melody of life

Print my corpse as this nation’s cover

I’ll spread as a beautiful future into the pages of history

Invite me into your hearts

I’ll become a tussle of conflagrations

And rise again and again in this land.

Kalekuri Prasad‘s Telugu poem ‘piDikeDu aatmagauravam kOsam‘ (from the collection of poetry ‘daLita kavitvam- 2‘ ; originally published in another collection ‘manDutunna chunDuuru‘). Translated by Naren Bedide.

From The Shared Mirror

modern?

 

temporality is a petty tool. don’t carbon date me with my own words

my ancestors chiseled words into couplets that cusp universal ethics.

another, oiled tanned and unstitched brittle form into free flowing humanity

light a torch and shine it on your kind, look under the morass of hypocrisy

our words, thoughts, gods, you burgle. what webs woven to keep the loot

go untangle that if you dare. it would leave your descendants bare

so instead you continue weaving that ancient web of thievery

your greed is a calendar

our humaneness has no chronology

 

karaikkal pey

Punitavati traded her beautiful young body for one that repelled and terrified humans and became Karaikkal Ammaiyar. she then refers to herself as a pey (a ghoul). it is so fascinatingly terrifying that some women poets had to so violently reject their bodies to pursue their spiritual goals.

Sagging breasts and swollen veins

protruding eyes, bare white teeth.

Skeletal legs and knobbly knees

has this female pey.

She lingers, weeps and wails

and wanders aimless in the forest–

There, holding fire but cool of limbs

Siva dances his cosmic dance-

this forest

this sacred Alankatu

is the home of our supreme lord.

—-

she composed some of her poems at the scared banyan forest, thirualankatu, in them, she has created stunning imagery of the destruction of the human body meshing with the cosmic forces. these poems hold a spell binding effect on the tamils but were never sung as devotional songs. these prayers are too scary for ordinary folks.

The ground is damp with liquid marrow

Skeletal ghouls with sunken eyes jostle and elbow

looking furtively around them

Extinguishing the fires

they eat half burnt corpses

There in that menacing forest

holding fire in his hands

dances our beautiful lord

—-

Source: Women in Early Indian Societies.

bas relief of akka

A bas relief of Akkamahadevi, the renowned 12th century saint-poet has been found at Gunjiganur in Holalkere taluk of Chitradurga district. Dr S Y Somashekhar, the Head of Department of Ancient History and Archaeology, Hampi  Kannada University, told Deccan Herald that the bas relief was found on a pillar in Lokeshwara temple at Gunjiganuru, during a field work.

The art depicts Akkamahadevi, with her tresses a ‘Ishtalinga’ in her left hand and a ‘Rudrakshimala’ in her right hand heading for ‘dhyana.’ It also shows Kadalivana (banana plantation) and a deer following her, while a sleeping lion is before Akkamahadevi.

Speaking to Deccan Herald, retired VC of Kannada University, Dr M M Kalburgi said the Lokeshwara temple was constructed by Kumbara Bammanna during the rule of Vikramaditya VI, the Chalukya king. The temple dates back to 1076-1127 AD.

Women scholars grappling with the enigma called Akkamahadevi:

—

I have been working on the translation of some of her vacanas, hope to have them up soon.

—

ODE ON THE DEATH OF A STONE

by Johanna Deeksha

Ages ago, when time was slow
And life was golden;
When stories were real; and bore
A sign of goodwill laden.

Then lived I, in the days of the sun
Among others like me
I was no pretty flower, no charming tree
No poet’s pleasure.

And then came the day,
That day; five thousand years ago
When they moved me
And for the first time I felt life…

Malikas

I have been reading the History of Oriya Literature by Mayadhar Mansingh (Chief Compiler, Oriya encyclopedia). Published by Sahitya Akademi, year 1962.

Fascinating book: a good resource to gather anti-caste thoughts in Oriya literature. Here I am posting an excerpt of a passage that describes the author’s puzzlement as he analyzes and summarizes for us, his understanding of  Malikas written by Achyutananda Dasa:

Critically considered most of these are just muddle-headed imagination or apocryphal stuff fathered by unscrupulous followers. One wonders what good all this has done to the people. But a general note which runs through all these  Malikas appears to be rather striking, it is this, that in the times to come: (i) the brahmins will deteriorate to the level of shudras; (ii) there shall be no sub castes, all being equal in status; and (iii) after many catastrophies there shall be a revival of spirituality under the guidance of a new prophet.

I understand the author’s puzzlement that such verses must cause, I see the same bewilderment in well-meaning upper caste (diku) friends who try to engage with dalits about the  ’dalit angst’ – they sound exactly like this. “One wonders what good will all this do to the people” when dalits grit it out through clenched teeth that this society is unequal -we think, dream of and demand an egalitarian society. They don’t get it. Like the above the author, who was an extremely sensitive poet, researcher and human being.

I suppose one will never get it when one is sitting on the favorable end of an unjust society.

Image: Saura painting

courtesy: Internet.

echoes

my heart

steps with him

and strides with hers

this world is

a woman

Awwal Kalima

You won’t believe us

but no one’s talking about our problems

now, again, it’s the tenth or eleventh generation scions

of those who lost glories

who are speaking for all of us.

Is this what they call the  loot of experience?!

In reality, Nawab, Muslim, Saaheb, Turk-

whoever’s called by those names belongs to those classes-

those who lost power, jagirs, nawabi and patel splendours

they have retained, at least, traces of those honours

while our lives have always been caged between our limbs and our bellies.

We never had anything to save.

What would we have to recount….?

We who called our mothers ‘amma’

never knew she was to be called ‘Ammijaan’.

Burn and same-same

found this video on 3Quarksdaily and loved it. totally! with the white stuff  all around, karachi and jaipur sound like heaven. dear sun, please come to my part of the world, i am ready to burn.

—

We had the half yearly parent-teacher meeting yesterday. The report card is sent a day earlier and the next day the parents, child and teacher sit together for 30 minutes, going over what has been learnt, what are the goals for 3^rd grade, where we have got so far and how we go on with learning new lessons and revising old ones.

All this is still very novel to me, I am used to getting the report card home, depending on the number of red marks or rank, one had to bear with a cold glare from my mother, some teasing from siblings, my father only looked to see how we did in math. He was very busy when we were young and felt he was not able to give attention to us with our studies. He was, I think of the opinion that the teacher had nothing much to tell him about his children in report cards, that he had not already assessed about us. He would look at the report card, as I’d nervously shuffle around, with my eyes intently watching his face for any minute change, but mostly recall him saying ‘do better next time’ and that was it. 

Here, I cannot get over the fact that for two days the school closes early and parents troop in, one by one to sit with teachers going over the progress of their children. I always come away feeling more in awe of these creatures called teachers. With just one kid, I am always on edge, 15 kids and being responsible for their learning, manners, their safety AND their never ending questions all day long, all week long, I would most definitely fall over the cliff. Teachers are truly awesome! (I am sure they are less patient with their own kids).

Anyway, the teacher let my son initiate the discussion by asking him to describe his science activity and as they chatted, here are the concepts I got to revisit or rather learn for the first time: 1) respectful listening 2) careful listening during group discussions. She says to him “I can control the first one, but you are in charge of the second one!” right there, she made an 8 year old feel important about how he learns, and that he is in control of it. She also put him on equal footing, ‘I do my bit, you do your bit’ kind of thing.

Then we parents got to review his writing, math, science and AND his poetry notebook. I desperately want his notebook, but have to wait until the end of the year, then, with his permission, I’ll reproduce some of his poems. I only got to read the one the teacher wanted to discuss, it was about a cactus and it was lovely. They went over what was learnt about poetry writing (I only had to learn by-heart and recite poems in school, never did any writing). So I listened to them very carefully. They spoke about what poets do with poems a) poets describe, b) poets use different voices, c) they sometimes talk to the objects they describe, sometimes they tell a story, d) punctuations are optional and dwelt a little longer on what is that poets always do: use precise words. They took a poem he had written and discussed why he had used the word ‘glimmer’ when he could have used the word shiny. And lastly, e) poets compare (the word metaphor was not used, thank god, I hate metaphors and would hate it even more if a kid said ‘metaphorically’ instead of same-same)

Motives, thoughts and feelings

Watts

Must I shoot the

white man dead

to free the nigger

in his head?  

by Conrad Kent Rogers. 

+++++

if you have any patience left, we know what to do.

if you love sleep, we’ll tear you away.

if you change into a mountain, we’ll melt you.

if you become an ocean, we’ll drain you.

by Rumi

+++++++++

The Self Affirms Herself

Neither stars nor gods can guide me

A law unto myself

And a self apart

I move in the shadow of the great guillotine

That rhythmically does its work

On heads remaining unbowed.

by Rita Mae Brown.

+++++++++++++

Motives and thoughts

Rotating bodies, confusion of sound 
Negative imagery, holding us down 
Social delusion, clearly constructed 
Human condition, morals corrupted 
Trapped in reaction, lawlessness war 
Dissatisfaction from bowels to core 
Devil’s technology, strategy for 
Human mythologies, urban folklore 
Sick of psychology, counterfeit cure 
Wicked theology, robbing the poor 
Scheme demonology mislead the pure 
Strictly strategically studying war 
Light shown in darkness, image exposed 
Few can see through the new emperor’s clothes 
Lustful this hustle turn humans to hoes 
When the blind lead the blind 
Just more trouble and woes 
It’s the mind that they chose 
Its designed to stay closed 
Standard of jokers, court just a logic 
Sick looking cosmics, from schoolyards to college 
Primitive man with civilized knowledge 
Systems collapse and he still won’t acknowledge 
God is the saviour, studies behavior 
Trying to fix the mix mind that he gave ya 
Stiff-necked scholars on prescription meds 
Wishing their problems were all in their heads 
Morale dilemma, pride is the root 
Misguided from youth, heart divided from truth 
Egyptians and Grecians, spiritually dead 
Imperially led, by the gods in their heads 
Motives and thoughts 
Industrial wealth 
Global economy, in it for self 
Heart full of madness, covered with kind 
Pleasure designed to take over your mind 
Furnished in godliness, painted in good 
This tainted priesthood got real saints misunderstood 
While classes in government, set up the veil 
And cultivate minds for more mythical tales 
Typical Hollywood follies good girl 
While vice and corruption take over the world 
Motives and thoughts 
Check your motives and thoughts 
Blind with the wickedness, deep in your heart 
Modern day wickedness is all you’ve been taught 
Lied to your neighbors, so you get ahead 
Modern day trickery is all you’ve been fed 
Motives and thoughts 
Check your motives and thoughts. 

by Lauren Hill