Showing posts with label Santosh Alex. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Santosh Alex. Show all posts

Fiction: Half Burnt Cigarette Butts

Hindi Original: Hansa Deep
English Translation: Santosh Alex



Hansa Deep рд╣ंрд╕ा рджीрдк
Today was the second day of his work. I had called him to clean the dry leaves and over grown grass in the backyard. I was getting ready to sit out and enjoy the summer. A change in the complete eight months of chilled cold winter was also changing the mind too. To sit out most of the time and enjoy the summer, cleaning was necessary. After checking with many of my friends, I selected him, his name was- Livi.
He was very punctual. Like yesterday, today too his vehicle hit the drive way at nine o clock. He came to the backyard through the side gate. While coming in he picked up the newspaper lying on the drive way. On the front page was the headline "I am not able to breathe" and there was a big picture alongside, in which the police were pressing the black man’s body and he was pinioned under his feet. The newspaper was filled the news of agitation regarding racism globally.
"You see, bad people in this world!"
I nodded in agreement "There's no lack of bad people in this world", I say this sentence always. If I want, I could have a said a few words of solace. I was aware of his mental state; however, I was much concerned about getting my work done. To divert his attention, I took the newspaper from him. What is the use of this unnecessary conversation and I started giving him instructions, about today’s work.
He was listening to me and crushing the remaining cigarette butt under his feet. He was clenching his teeth. The anger that arose because of the picture in the newspaper had travelled to his legs. That butt must have become ash long ago and have mixed with the mud but Livi was still not calm. To crush the cigarette butt with his feet was not to put off the slow spark but it gave a sense of relief, to crush the world under his feet. 
Yesterday when I met Livi for the first time I kept on staring at him. While speaking over phone I could not understand as to whom I was talking to. The speaker had a bold voice and spoke decently. The vehicle reached exactly at 9 O clock. Over the phone I told him to reach the backyard. I was comfortable with people not entering my house. Nobody should know that a lady was living here alone. If small things were to be done, while working, observing, people would know many things about the house. That’s the reason I was more cautious. 
I saw him coming. He was black. From his body I understood how much more black colour could be blacker. He was tall and stout. One would fear looking at him for the first time. He understood it. Maybe he was used to this kind of response. 
He said “Don’t look at me. Look at my work.” He was true. He had to say like this because one would get a sense of unbelief seeing his face. Man starts identifying himself. Tries to assess himself. He knows that no one wants to see his face. He had black skin and long nose with a nose pin. He was bald headed, with shabby gloves in his hands and heavy sneakers on his legs. 
In front of his well-built body, stood a short me, like an ant looking up and speaking to the elephant. Any moment the elephant can crush the ant with his hand and the ant wouldn’t get a chance to even scream and say good bye to this world. 
It took few minutes for me to come out of his personality. Don’t know to which country his roots belonged to, but his attitude was clearly visible. The attitude of a skilled worker. It was not the sweetness of cheating, but the bitterness of honesty was evident. 
“Just look at my work once, you will not like anybody else’s’ work.” What he said was true. Looking at the work he completed in a day there was no doubt that nothing could be better than this. He made his work his strength. He did not get this skill from birth, but he earned it, this is what he wanted to convey. It was not in his hands to decide the colour of the skin. He could not give shape to his fat and puffed nose. To the things which he could not do anything, how could he be the parameter of its merits and demerits. His appearance and colour could not deny his goodness.
He takes money for the work he does. There was no compromise. As he begins to speak his white teeth are seen with a smile. Looks like someone had fixed a garland of white beads. Listening to him I get immersed in the glow of his teeth and my eyes can’t find a better place that way. I cannot resist. But what do I do? Who doesn’t like fairness. Or maybe it would be proper to say that eyes like fairness, whether it’s of paper or of the skin. 
I am not very fair, but believe me I was bathed in milk by my mother. She used to rub my body with milk. During my childhood when mother used to bathe me in milk she used to look at me with love until the milk stayed on my body. She used to bless me to bathe with milk every day and be fair like milk. I went on bathing with milk. I was just the way I used to be. But mom thought that the dark colour had gone and I became brownish. That colour which made me more secure in the foreign land. I was called brown. I need not bear the oppression of the black colour and be criticized of the dictatorship of the white colour and not be blamed of bringing corona from china. 
I also knew that when people talk to me nobody would look at my teeth because they were not as white as Livi’s teeth. Consuming tea, coffee regularly made my teeth gel with my brown colour. If I could measure it with any standard I was ten percent better than Livi. Even I have experienced the dominance of white people over me many times. I had felt compunction. Then my attitude was due to the loyalty of my work. I had retired recently. But like Livi I too was humiliated. Not once but many times. Me who lived among crows and buffaloes was a part of the conspiracy of colours, white, black and brown. White, black and brown! giving testimony the history of my country flashes in my subconscious mind, while our own people were suppressed in our country. The destruction of white legs in black shoes. Its bitterness still lingers somewhere in my mind. 
Livi used to get angry with those who were fairer than him. I had no enmity with him, used to speak frankly with him. Maybe he had found some similarities between us. Hence he vents his anger unflinchingly. 
I started liking his work. He finished the outside work within two days, I thought, its two years since the inside part of the house was not painted. The wall has decoloured and lost its sheen. At some places the plaster and strands of colour have fallen down and the nakedness inside peeps out. Why not get this work done simultaneously? When he was about to leave I paid him for the day’s work and spoke to him about painting the inside portion of the house. He glanced at the house, guessed and made it sure that it was a three bed room house. Looking at the outside shape of the house he had an idea about the length and breadth of the inside portion.
He agreed. Next day morning I gave him five hundred dollars to buy almost ten boxes of paint, brush, roller etc. As he took the money and kept in his pocket I thought he would not come again. It’s a nice opportunity for him to loot the lady who was all alone. Even after believing Livi and his work I was surprised to doubt him. The entire world would doubt such faces and after all I was also a part of the world. I was consoling myself that even if he doesn’t come, its ok. At least I would learn a lesson because of the five hundred dollars. 
Next morning when I woke up I was expecting him. It was already 8 O clock. I began to panic. I thought to pacify myself by walking up to the corner of the street. I could while away my time and change my concentration. While strolling I found that everything was not clean like it used to be daily. There were pieces of paper, leaves and eatables spread over the place. Few coffee mugs of Tim Hortons too lay there. The garbage box was full up to the brim. The lid could not be closed and the foul smell spread all over. Cigarette butts which were not trampled were thrown there. Seeing this I stopped. In those butts sometimes I saw myself and sometimes Livi. One was black and the other was brown. The trampling legs would not know whether they are trampling the person or the cigarette butt. 
I strolled for half an hour and came back home. I had my breakfast and was about to look at the clock by then the vehicle of Livi came. He parked the vehicle. Along with him there were three more people who looked like him and they were approaching the door. Until now I feared only Livi, now there were three more! He rang the bell and told that he would finish his work in two days. So the entire team would work.
They entered the home quickly one after the another and my breath was fast like the blower. They were four and I was one. Now I was not even an ant. Four of them could blow me in a go. They began the work from the living room. I was doing something meaningless in the kitchen. I would peep at them in between to see their work. One of them was rubbing the wall, another spread the cloth and another took out the paint from the boxes. They did not call me to push something, nor took my help. The boxes of paint were being emptied and they were moving from one room to another. 
I was surprised. Such good work was being carried out in a pace. The rooms were shining in the new colors. They were placing the things in its original positions. In between I asked them to have coke, tea or coffee. They were happy. They were talking and also were laughing loudly. They included me also in their conversations. There way of talking made me laugh. During lunch time they went outside. When they came back they bought a slice of pizza for me too. 
“Why for me?”  I asked 
“Because you are very nice.” Livi said.
 I giggled. I could not hide the truth inside me that “I don’t believe you.”
I like pizza. But I don’t know why that slice of pizza they bought could not attract me. Considering Livi’s affection, I kept it in the fridge, thinking of throwing it later. 
The work was progressing very fast. In between he asked me money to buy more colours. Every time I gave him the money, it terrified me. I thought that he would not come back. When he went out his friend would take rest on the grass outside. He would come back after sometime smiling. I began to like Livi’s whitish laugh, it enhanced my belief. 
It was seven O clock by the time they finished their work. They had finished two day’s work in one day and were ready to leave. They were washing their hands after painting the walls. I paid him the money, gave him tip too so that they could have a nice dinner. The relation of the owner and the worker became natural now. During the entire day the house was filled with their laughter. They made me laugh a lot. Livi and others saw my entire house. But now I was not afraid. I don’t know I was thinking why did I not meet Livi before. I had difficulty in getting small things done. 
As he was leaving he smoked a cigarette. I had a curiosity to see whether he would crush the cigarette. He held the cigarette till it was put off. Then he threw it into the nearby garbage box, started the vehicle and left. 
I took a deep sigh of happiness that he was not angry with me. I kept the feeling about him within myself. I took out the pizza from the fridge, heated it and started eating it. As if Livi was somewhere in the room and was watching that I respected his treat. It was not his white teeth alone, but his personality too was before me, whiter than the beam of light. 
***

Hindi Poetry by Subash Rai

Subash Rai
Original Hindi: Subash Rai 
Translation: Santhosh Alex
Subhash Rai: Born in Badagaon. Took part in the strikes during the emergency period and was jailed. Published one poetry collection “Saleeb par sach.” and one essay collection “Jag machande jag.” Edited the hindi journal “Samakaleen Sarokar” for an year. Currently working as the Chief Editor of Jansandesh Times published from Lucknow. Awarded the Nayi Dhara Rachna Samman and Mati Ratan Samman.

Way

Sometimes one needs
to go backwards
to move forward.

In the blind run towards progress
crushing the flowers and the butterflies
trampling the opportunities of life
they reached far ahead.

They were so fast that 
they did not understand
that they had left behind
the way in which they had to move head.
***


Who’s the hunter?
They were hungry 
They only wanted to be alive
The wish to be alive is not an offence
When they did not have 
anything left to eat
they headed towards the village. 

They were killed on the way
They were not killed, 
They were the victims of some insanity
Their kids, many generations
and a little of the county 
too became victim. 

Everybody one knows
about the hunter 
usually, the hunger gets away.
***


On the road
All of a sudden
They locked the city
Thousands of people came on to the road
They were stopped again and again 
They more they were stopped
The more number came on the roads.
The world was amazed 
Seeing the innumerable legs marching 
on to the same direction. 
 
Few were killed on the way
The bread scattered on the railway line
Like Shattered dreams
The more number of deaths 
The obstinacy to live gathered momentum. 

Those who are on the road
One day they would realise 
that road is a possibility 
they would understand that 
the road reaches the village
facing all obstacles.
Similarly the road can reach to the parliament.


Translation: Hindi Poety Translated by Santosh Alex

Santosh Alex
- Santosh Alex

Author of 29 books, Santosh Alex is a bilingual poet, translator and a poetry curator. He is the founder Rithupoetry -  ejournal devoted to poetry.

He has two poetry collection Dooram (2008) and Njan ninakku oru ghazal (2013 )in Malayalam and one poetry collection Panv Tale ki mitti (2013) in Hindi. His translations and a book on translation have been included in the syllabus of Calicut University and University of Sanskrit, Kerala.


Pratap Rao Kadam

Born in 1961. Published 4 poetry collection and one Essay Collection. Works as a Professor in Makhan Lal Chaturvedi College. Awarded Sharad Joshi Puraskar, Sharad Billauri Puraskaar, Ahalya Samman and Sutra Samman. Can be contacted at pratapraokadam@yahoo.com

Unemployed

A cow died
Its skin will be used
for making shoes
for sure.

Every year thousands
roam with flags
Yell zindabad, murdabad
and pass out from the college.
Not sure what their future will be.

Specs

They were keeping
the dead body on the pyre
somebody shouted
bring his specs
Specs was a part of his personality

Through out his life
he saw through the specs
After his death
This is the only thing people remembered.

I like

I like
to return home in the evening
after a tired and weary day.

I would like to
stand at the dead end of
the street,
watch the yellow maize
undress into white
and see the lobes of the maize
burst in the firepot.

But I like
Those lobes of maize
which don’t burst
I think With all “yes sir”
There still exist who say “no”




Niranjan Shotriya

Born in Ujjain in 1960. Ph.D in botany. Published two collections of poetry. One short story collection. Edits the popular Hindi Journal titled Samavarthan. Works as a professor in Guna. Awarded the Shabd Shilpi Samman. Can be contacted at niranjanshotriya@gmail.com

Beauty

Today I saw the ugly legs
of peacock and was happy
Rain starts with the
movement of their legs.
Today I saw the rough hands
of the worker and was happy
These hands would make
the buildings.
Today I saw the blisters
on mothers legs
and was happy
that we would be safe
with her

Today I saw the kids
fighting for toys and was happy
The world is proper.
Today I saw the beauty
of the world and became happy.


Darkness: Few situations

One
When it gets dark
in the palace
Light the lamp
not the torch
The king fears the torch

Two
When its gets dark
in the hut
light the lantern
not the lamp
The hut fears the lamp

Three
When it gets dark
in the country
Don’t light anything
the citizens are used to darkness.

Four
Hey king don’t’ fear
the bonfire lit
during a December night
People are warming themselves
chasing the winter
not the darkness.

Five
The poet
Isn’t watching the
calmness of the night
he is piercing it




Arunab Saurabh

Writes in Hindi and Maithili. Published two poetry collections and One book on Criticism. He has been awarded 'Young Writer Award' by Bhartiya Jnanpith,

A letter to the father

Dad,
I had no other option
I couldn’t call from the mobile
balance was only forty paise
and hence SMS facility could not be used
I could not talk to you through internet
moreover I had to pay
fifteen rupees per hour for the internet usage.

I had seven rupees fifty paise left with me
Spent five rupees for this envelope
and I saved two rupees fifty paise
I want to smoke a cigarette
The throat is itching
bought three beedis for fifty paise
and am writing this letter to you
like the way Muktibodh used to write poems

Dad
This useless son of yours
have spoiled your reputation
I am sorry for that.
Now I feel like
coming back to the village
so that I can have delicious food from mom
use the pickaxe and hand trowel
would go to the fields, take care of the mango cultivations
and go for fishing

Its difficult to
make ends meet
moreover, I am in Delhi
Its difficult to survive in Delhi.

Mother, Prayer House and Life

Mother moves in an unique world
She is a collage of
doubt, fear ,terror
she knows that Kalki
would come out of
the prayer house and incarnate.

Mother is seated
in the utopian vaikunt
When you disturb her
she comes back
and speaks about Dashavtaar.
I am thousand kilometres away from my mother
But at my place
i get the fragrance
of agarbathi lit by my mother.
The smell of camphor, mustard oil
and the smell of cotton
comes from my mom’s new saree

If I were a child
would go back to the yester
years in time
and I would play hide and seek with mom.


Between you and me

Between you and me
there’s Patna and Allahabad
village and rural places
fields and thrashing floor
blockades of bamboo and tree top hunting place

There are trains between
you and me

Between you and me
there’s Shahrukh Khan
Tom cruise and Amir Khan
Angelina , Katrina, Deepika
Gulzar, Sameer
and A.R. Rahman

Between you and me
There’s International Airport
Visa and pass port
Many languages and dialect
Many countries and foreign countries
Many likes and dislikes

Yet I keep quiet
and you don’t speak at all
Because when you speak
Howrah bridge shivers
When you smile
The marble of Taj Mahal shines
When you see
The tower of pisa leans

Between you and me
There’s a cup of poison
consumed by Socrates.
Theres a poem of a poet
who had a bad end
There’s fortune and misfortune



Nityanand Gayen

Born in 1981 in West Bengal. Young Hindi poet. M.A. in Human Rights. Published one poetry collection. Worked as Deputy editor in Daily Hindi Milap, Swatanta Vartha, Milap Rajbhasha Patrika. Currently working as Deputy Editor in Delhi Selfie. Email: nityanand.gayem@gmail.com

Goat
Why is it that goats
are sacrificed
They don’t have sharp claws
or sharp teeth.
Its sure that the one who slains it
Doesn’t know the language of eyes
and the goat speaks with its eyes
before being slained.

In my courtyard

Birds don’t come to
my courtyard any more
to peck grain.
Perhaps they understood
my situation and the price rise.

The neem tree
in my courtyard
has lost its leaves for ever.
My courtyard has become dry

The streams don’t sing any more
they have stopped falling from the mountain
and now man has occupied the mountain

The frogs in the ponds
Have got visa of another country
Now they are called non migrant


In this era of change

With time
everything changes
man and the society too.

In the increasing concrete jungle
In the attractive lights
The moonlight is lost
It is struggling to reach the earth

The government has issued
a notice to the industrialist
for special economic zone
Since then the fire flies have left the jungle

In this era of change
engaged in child labour
somewhere the childhood is lost.




Jyotikrishan Verma

Born in 1964 in Himachal Pradesh. M.A. in English Literature. Published one poetry collection. Working as Joint Editor in Sahitya Akademi, New Delhi. Email: jkverma2@hotmail.com

Conversation

There is neither script for that language
nor dictionary in any market
Yet in silence
many things could be said.

Confusion

They say
his picture in the mirror
is fading day by day.
What could the poor mirror do ?
It does not know as to how to project
two faces at a time.

Hope

Who said that
The broken heart is of no use
We have seen
broken hearts turning
into vibgyor in the sky.

Intention

He searched the pages
of history
So as to know
who made the weapons first
The one who wanted the war
or the one who wanted peace
at any cost.



Lalitya Lalit

Lalit is a well known Hindi author. He has published 26 books of poetry and two books on satire in Hindi. He is currently working as Editor with National Book Trust, New Delhi.

Today’s World

How many times would you die
In life
Once,
No, many a times
With the comments of
Teacher, Lover, Father and wife
You die,
With the neighbour’s behavior
The harassment of boss
you die
You can’t ignore them
so die by yourself
One day they will realize the truth.
he died on such and such date
he was a nice person, friendly, Helpful,
Who can stop the destiny
many participated in his cremation
They cried, sobbed and left
some paid their respect and feedback
posted the photograph
They said his ghazals were awesome
Then it was a flood of
likes and comments.

Life’s Journey Without Love

Because of misery
A father sells his daughter
for few rupees
Nobody knows
from one customer to customer
how long she moves on

She is a child
It’s the age for how to play and study
But the barbarians
spoiled her life, her dreams.
There is a mirror
in front of her
There are many kinds of lipsticks
deodorants and colourful bangles
It’s a small room with a Squeaky bed
where she has to lie and sell herself

She was sold for seven times
with people elder to her in ager
Gulaboo would be in pain and agony
and think whether her father had sold her
The policeman too is involved
for the sake of money
Is there life beyond this
she remembers her brothers and sisters
If she tried to flee
she would be beaten
she had experienced all these
at this young age
nothing could be done
but then how long
one day she was released
from the Red Street
by an NGO
25 girls and she was the youngest of them
Now she is in a relief centre
learning to make envelopes
even now she wakes up at night

She decides to move on in life
and want to ensure that
no other girl would have the same fate as of hers
she bought her younger brother and sister with her.

Today she has crossed seventy years
She has her own NGO which works
for the helpless girls.
Now she doesn’t remember her father
she is engrossed in her work
as if it’s a mission.

Life: Few Snippets

1:
There’s a poor girl
in the street
People don’t care for her
and move on

2:
The rich are
least bothered by summer
The poor bear the brunt
The water in the jar made of mud
is tasty.
Even if there’s no electricity
the taste remains

3:
Even If you don’t change the channel
at least change your thoughts
all the mountains are alike
There’s no better heaven
than the house
where ever you go you come back

4:
No woman is bad
they are not lazy either
try to step into their shoes one day
you will sweat out for sure

5:
Nothing would change
whatever was
would continue to be the same
The face would change
but the situation continuous to be the same.