By Saswat Pattanayak

As India (and the world) goes to vote for Taj Mahal tomorrow, an ugly form of patriotism and appreciation has surfaced utilizing a monument declared to be most beautiful by some.

The claim for “seven wonders” (and one wonders why they need to have it to be only seven, and not thirteen, or a hundred) has been reduced to a competitive exercise where people representing their countries exhibit some version of solidarity to showcase monuments that have absolutely nothing in relevance to either the present, or the future.

Moreover, the past--related to sites like the Taj Mahal--also needs to be investigated further before the glorifications continue in a world where human beings have less worth than marble stones.



In our world where visual appeal and exhibitionism is so rampant as to have become a required criterion for assessment of objects, events and people, it is no wonder that huge architectures are recalled with how they merely have been standardized to generate individualist awe, and not with any form of collective remorse.

To mark this day with regret, therefore, I have translated one song which was written more than four decades ago by the great progressive Urdu poet Sahir Ludhianvi. The original poem follows the translated version:

Taj Mahal

For you, Taj Mahal is no less a splendor of love
Amidst the eldritch, obsessed are you with its trove

My beloved! Discover for me yet another place where we can meet!

Grandeur of royal palace is deliberately contrasted
For the commoners; it’s a sordid message so crafted
We mortals have no permit to tread the paths so strewn
With baits to allure us into that maze, to dream to its tune!

Before being inveigled into the royal sparks, my beloved!
You should have descried the mammoth trickery and fraud!
You could have felt the roars of your insignificant abode!

Countless peoples in our world have showered love in abundance
Who can claim their heartfelt love ever lacked sincere affections
But they lacked the means of advertisement, of crude exhibitions
After all, they were like you and I: submitted by birth to cruel situations

This monument, this mausoleum, this unmitigated embankment
These are apparition of regal wealth and unmerited enchantment
For the records of the wretched, these disdainfully antique afflictions
Were erected upon the toil, labor and sweat of many a poor generations

O my beloved! They must indeed have been in love forever
Those that could shape such magnificence by their love’s labor
Yet not a candle is lighted in memory of those that were enslaved
Nor a lamp they could plant to cherish the love of their beloved
This opulent yard, this palatial lap of luxury that marks the ruler
Bedizened with gaudy presence of stately, colossal architecture
It’s merely an act of mockery on part of an autocratic monarch
Who usurping wealth, has smudged the poor, with this indelible mark!

My beloved! Discover for me yet another place where we can meet!

(Trans. by: Saswat Pattanayak, The Peoples' Poet)
----


The original poetry by Sahir Ludhianvi follows:

Taja tere lie eka mazahara-e-ulafata hi sahi
tujha ko isa vadi-e-rangina se aqidata hi sahi
mere mehabuba kahim aura mila kara mujha se

bazama-e-sahi mein gharibom ka guzara kiya maini
sabta jisa raha mein hom satuta sahi ke nisana
usa pe ulafata bhari rahazana ka safara kiya maini
meri mehabuba pase parde tasahira vafa

tune satuta ke nisanom ko to dekha hota
murda sahom ke maqabira se behalane vali
apane tarika makanom ko to dekha hota
anaginata laugom ne duniya mem mauhabbata ki hai
kauna kahata hai ke sadiqa na tha una ke jazabe
lekina una ke liye tasahira ka samana nahim
kyonke vaha lauga bhi apani hi tarah mufalisa the

yaha imarata-va-maqabira ye fasilem ye hisara
matalaqa-ula-hukma sahanasahom ki azamata ke sutum
sina-e-dahara ke nasura haim kahate nasura
jajbe hem una mem tere mere ijadada ka khuna

meri mehabuba, inhem bhi to mauhabbata hogi
jina ki sanai ne bakhasi hai use sakla-e-jamila
una ke piyarom ke maqabira rahe be nama namuda
aja taka ina para jalai na kisi ne qandila
ye chamana zara ye jamana ka kinara, ye mahala
ye munakqasa dara-o-divara ye maharaba ye taqa
ika sahanasaha ne daulata ka sahara le kara
hama gharibom ki mauhabbata ka udaya hai mazaqa

mere mehabuba kahim aura mila kara mujha se

Tags: Saswat, Poem, Media, India, Urdu, Capitalism

By Saswat Pattanayak

My father calls this, not the Independence day, but the Victory Day.

For, on August 14-15, 1947, peoples of the brave revolutionary land of India finally won the long war against British Imperialism. The war, spanning more than 200 years was fought with occasional non-violent demonstrations of millions of people, and more importantly, was fought with organized revolutionary peasants and workers movements which finally forced the Empire to concede defeat. It was perhaps the largest victory of the landless peoples over the landlords and invaders in the history of world. In doing so, peoples from the Indian subcontinent regions demonstrated that they would not concede a wee bit either to accommodate the foreign imperialists nor allow any rule by the homegrown royal families. The “purna swaraj” declaration by the radical left freedom fighters, although facing strong opposition from religious chauvinists who were in cohort with British colonialists, finally forced the expulsion of the rulers and silenced the communal politicians.

However, religions as addictively dangerous they are by nature, spread the poison of hatred incited by the British in their centuries old misrules. The ‘divide-and-rule’ tactics of old guard imperialists continued to show colors in the divided land of India. Not only were they successful in dividing the country into India and Pakistan, two regions who shared the same history of struggles, they also left behind a legacy that continued to help their former informers—the right wing Hindu fanatics who were backed by the British authorities to disrupt the harmonious ways of living, that were characteristic of the people of the land.

Today, sixty years hence, we still feel the uprising of the right wing colonial assistors. These are the same religious elements who stop at nothing in order to create environment of suspicion and foster an insecure climate for the religious and atheistic minorities. These are still hands-in-gloves with the oppressor classes worldwide who comfortably rule in various names, but propagate hatred, war, and feelings of hostilities which help them in targeting countries that practice different religions. In the name of religion alone, they have fought all the wars of the world so far. And they believe they will continue to kill people without even facing opposition, since they have already created the notions of God, cultures of religion, and politics of intolerance.

Today they are targeting Lebanon. Yesterday they targeted Mumbai. Day before that, they targeted working people of London. All in the name of a philosophy they created to sustain their ruling class status. The philosophy is called Religion.

Sixty years have passed since the day became sacred to Pakistan and India, for their peoples’ revolutionary overthrow of the imperialists. Yet it seems the enemy grows stronger. The religious fanatics in the name of their various Gods have been ruining the peace we deserve to have in this planet.

So I thought it will be worthwhile to reflect and tell to each of us and to each of our children, that enough has been lost. Now is the time for social justice. Now is the time to regain our lost causes. Not another life in the name of religion. Not another child to be declared religious. Not another war in name of religions, nationalities and moral standards. No more Christians and Sikhs. No more Muslims and Hindus. Just human beings who respect the roots of our shared history as peaceful, cooperative peoples. Just radical human beings.

I have translated Sahir Ludhianvi’s poem “Tu Hindu Banega Na Mussalman Banega” for this occasion. The poem was addressed to a child who did not know of his parents. Naturally enough, the child had no surname yet, no religion yet and no nationality yet! And such a joy was this child to the poet!

Full of hope and twinkles of determination. Sahir was not just the voice of the landless and oppressed, orphans and women, he was also the voice of the future, of a future that belongs to all of us, without private properties, mindless competition, needless nationalities and fanatic religions. Here it is:

Happy Victory Day!

My Child, A Radical Human Being

Neither you will be a Hindu nor a Muslim will you be
A gift of this new era, a radical human being you will be

A bundle of joy you are, sans a given name
Disconnected from religions, that’s your gain

Religious texts have only divided humanity
My child! So far they couldn’t attack your sanity

Hence the clarion call for the revolution, will you be
A gift of this new era, a radical human being you will be

Mother Nature warmly nurtured us as human beings
Alas! we forced our children into Hindus and Muslims

One small world was all that we were bestowed
Bigots among us created India and Iran instead

Destroyer of barriers, of this unjust world order, will you be
A gift of this new era, a radical human being you will be

Religions preach hate--they are not designed for you
And they practice hostilities--not even an option for you

No good is this Quran since it excludes the Hindu temples
You disown the Geeta that mentions not the Islam shrines

Symbol of world peace, fighter for social justice you will be
A gift of this new era, a radical human being you will be

In garb of patriotism, these nationalists are daylight killers
Even they trade coffins meant for their warring soldiers

These rich capitalists adorned in power and fame
They barter the peoples’ peace for communal shame

Shudder them with deaths, a revolutionary you will be
A gift of this new era, a radical human being you will be

(Trans. By Saswat Pattanayak, Peoples’ Poet)

The original poem by Sahir:

Tu Hindu banega na Mussalman banega
Insaan ki aulad hai insaan banega

Accha hai abhi tak tera kuchh naam nahni hai
Tujh ko kisi mazhab se koi kaam nahni hai

Jis ilm ne insaan ko taqseem kiya hai
Is ilm ka tujh par koi ilzam nahni hai

Tu badle huye waqt ki pehchaan banega
Insaan ki aulad hai insaan banega

Malik ne har insaan ko insaan banaya
Humne use Hindoo ya Mussalman banaya

Kudrat ne to bakshi thi hamein ek hi dharti
Hum ne kahni Bharat kahni Iran banaya

Jo tod de har bandh woh toofan banega
Insaan ki aulad hai insaan banega

Nafrat jo sikhaye woh dharm tera nahni hai
Insaan ko jo rounde woh kadm tera nahni hai

Quran na ho jis mein woh Mandir nahni tera
Geeta na ho jis mein woh Haram tera nahni hai

Tu amn aur sulha ka armaan banega
Insaan ki aulad hai insaan banega

Yeh din ke taajir, yeh watan bechne wale
Insaanoen ki laashoen ke kafn bechne wale

Yeh mehloen mein baithe huye qaatil ye lootere
Kantoen ke awaj roohe-chaman bechne wale

Tu inke liye maut ka elaan banega
Insaan ki aulad hai insaan banega

Tags: Saswat, India, Orissa, Urdu, Poem, Literature, Atheism, Hinduism, Islam

By Saswat Pattanayak

As Nepal is declared normal, I find something is clearly missing...and I thought....


People of Nepal have finally “gained victory”
Although why the Crown relented appears a mystery
After weeks of active resistance; in face of military excesses
Took 14 deaths for the King to grant freedom to his subjects

Just when I thought, a specter was almost haunting Nepal
A specter of hope, and struggle to erase writings off the wall
The Monarchy has now heeded to its Big Brothers in crime
And the world media are already replacing remnants of grime

For the comrades: before the battle is won, the war has been lost!
Powers have hijacked the purpose of resistance at every single cost!
For I believe, freedom is ours to possess; not for the Royals to offer
Even as they recreate their myths, and even as we continue to suffer…!

Tags: Saswat, Nepal, News, Poem, Activism, Third World

By Saswat Pattanayak

Sahir Ludhianvi (1922-1980) is the poet who was neither afraid of authority, nor afraid to be outspoken. Neither afraid of going to jail nor to voice against the prison system. Neither afraid of the momentary life, nor of the eternal death. His involvement in the Left politics in the pre-and post-independent India, in organizing the peoples’ theatres, in writing for the peasants, farmers and the factory workers should serve a reminder to the wordsmiths of the present day that there is indeed a tool to choose a side with. But that’s a side between the material and the mystical; between the working class and the owning class; to side with the profit-hungry or the wage-hungry.

To Sahir, just like to Robeson , and to Neruda there was nothing to debate about which side an artist must choose. The question is redundant. The artist cannot afford to establish bonds with the heaven and the promises of spiritualism. The artist must cry with the beloved oppressed peoples all over the world. The choice is clear, as Robeson said: “Every artist, every scientist must decide, now, where he stands. He has no alternative. There are no impartial observers. Through the destruction, in certain countries, of man's literary heritage, through the propagation of false ideas of national and racial superiority, the artist, the scientist, the writer is challenged. This struggle invades the former cloistered halls of our universities and all her seats of learning. The battlefront is everywhere. There is no sheltered rear. The artist elects to fight for freedom or slavery. I have made my choice! I had no alternative!”

In the following attempt to translate a poem by Sahir, I have tried to remind ourselves of our desirable commitments, and a sheer lack of choice. We are not free to make a choice anymore in regards to who we need to lend our support to. As the world is increasingly growing individualistic in the euphoria around capitalistic utopia, we need to recollect our personal experiences in the shared human history of our age, that is stifled with pain, remorse and tears of the majority.


Rajaata pasanda hum, ke tarakqi pasanda hum maim
Isa bahasa ko fizula-o-abasa janata hum maim

Aina-e-havadisa-e-hasti haim mere saira
Jo dekhata raha hum voha kahata raha hum maim

Tarom ki anjumana se mujhe vasata nahim
Insaniyata pe aska bahata raha hum maim

Duniya ne tajurbata-o-havadisa ki sakala mem
Jo kucha mujhe diya hai voha lautata raha hum maim
(by Sahir Ludhianvi)


Am I conservative by outlook, or progressive by orientation
A non-issue this is, its redundancy to me is well known

My words like mirror, the reflections of myriad nature
What I witness is what I recite: sans color nor alter

I do not heed to the conscience of stars and the heaven
On my land of humanity, I have enough to shed tears on

All that I have to return to you, to give back in word
Is what I have gained from my experiences in this world..
(Trans. by Saswat Pattanayak)

Tags: Saswat, Poem, History, India, Urdu, Philosophy, Literature

I call myself a Peoples Poet. Representing the peoples. Our aspirations and despairs. Which are mine, too. Our anguish and anger. Again shared. Our loves and sorrows. It’s all here in my poems. The words are mine. But the feelings are shared. I owe it to all of us and all those who cant understand this language. Because the feelings are shared, anyway.

I write because I have to write. I give back what the world has given me. I share with you what I have experienced being myself. Because I am our product. Of our world. Hence the words are mine, but the work is ours. It’s a collective product. Use without searching for copyrights. I am not copyrighted. There is no privacy law. No secret code to the feelings. No passwords to hide. No exclusivity in feelings. We are not sailing in different boats.

Tags: Saswat, Poem, Activism

As I await in an empty Summer at a blank apartment......

without you
feelings are nothingness
differences are in the sublime change of weather
days and nights are synonymous
life is a plain glass of water
and i quench the tastelessness
without you

Tags: Poem, Saswat