Wednesday, September 20, 2017

HUNDRED YEARS OF LULL

Labours from Bengal and its adjoining states of Bihar and UP in India were coaxed and duped by middlemen ( locally called aarkatis) or even forced to act as bonded labours  on the other side of the globe ( at West indies, French Guyana, etc) more than one hundred and fifty years back. To keep the mills running, they were treated inhumanly.
This poem tries to catch the by-gone era.

 HUNDRED YEARS OF LULL

They landed in Demerara or French Guiana-
We know not, with little hopes in their eyes
As en-route, they saw their dead mate
Being thrown in the turbulent seas .

On a contract, their left thumb impressions
Had Indelible ink, that changed their fate-
And that of their children and later generations
As the contents they knew not – they were not adept.

On board MV Whitby* or some other ship unknown
 As sugarcane plantation labours they went
And landed in the barbed open prison
Into a glorified concentration camp they were sent.

They were brown slaves, somewhat better than cattle
Who squeezed juice from canes to fill the coffers-
of “White men”, who tortured and fed them forbidden meat ,
and lodged them in jails for some minor blunders.

Five years of contract, they toiled in bondage
The child of disgruntled fate rotted in loogy**
Those that were vacated by the African counterparts,
-who were set free from the clutches of slavery.

  
They survived the torture by the skin of their teeth
Sugar’s bitterness made them strong,
Masochism seeped in their nerves, they could breathe-
when their resistance was whipped as wrongs.

They took the “ white – whips” in their stride,
Their beloved Indian culture almost gone-
They stayed back after years of torment
 That robbed their language and their religion.

But their resolve sustained, their children thrived,
Their progeny after hundred years of lull
Gave Nobel Laureates, Cricketers or Businessmen-
Who, today gracefully employ the needy White men.

*Its probably the first ship that took the Indentured labours to South America from Port of Calcutta.
**loogies are the quarters of the African slaves that were later used by the Indian counterparts, post abolition of Slavery act in 1834 in British Guiana and British west Indies. New form of slavery was introduced by the authorities by taking hapless Indian labourers from the opposite side of the globe.


























Monday, October 5, 2015

You My Lord




You have torn me up to set me free
From beloved’s embrace, to Eternity.
You have filled the void that she had left
With pouring of nectar, that slowly crept -
And filled my heart, which I see inside
Has been lit by some magical Light
The serpent ego that entwines me
Must wriggle out and make me free
So I pray to You in reverence
As tears flow down in obeisance.

Slowly the pain of pathos has lost its way
And engulfed my heart in melodious sway;
In leaves, in stream, in stones I see -
Your form; Your presence surrounds me.
My being melts and mixes in the mist
Till I feel nothing save You amidst;
Each spore upon my tender skin
Erupts a bizarre tinge within,
Whence all at once I see You gone
And my journey has now begun.

(Published in Phoenix New Life Poetry by David Allen Stringer, UK)

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

My “Me”





I died a hundred deaths
My ‘me’ wrapped in a sheet
My body limped back, and
The ‘me’ lay in Park Street.

Tyrants brewed out from
The ghastly kitchen of woes,
Where savages donned partydom
Raping friends and foes



Then my bleeding started
The rookies groped their hand
Now the mute law enforcers
Saving their skin - stand.

The randomness in the chair
Followed typical old methods
It fanned the savages’ lust
it enthused the virile studs.

Emboldened by the silence
Or the gimmicks of the chair
The animals ruled the roost
Just changing the party attire.

I died in the green fields
Was gagged for thirty years,
And still today I bleed
Still today my ‘me’ is shared.

(Published in "The Enchanted World", Fest Anthology of JKC College, Guntur, AP )


Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Futile Felicity




Teeming millions, half naked souls
Unshaven faces clad in half burnt skins-
They toil in the unforgiving city.

They dropped in the city, uninvited
as from the womb a seventh one-
forsaken amid the squalid swarm.

They slog under the sultry sun
And kicks the hot asphalt with plastic
chappals, smears it with spit of pan.

The evening breeze of river carries
dreams of home, far off- not here-
 in the dingy outskirts of smokestacks.

Their daughters there now fructify,
here their eyes search buxom dames
of the same age, breaking sacrilege.

They toil, they sweat, they sell
from aphrodisiac to incense sticks
to book their beds in cheap brothel.


The never ending burning piece char
their vitals, every passing day, their sins
keep the purgatory’s door ajar.

One day their tired eyes lids,
smeared in futile felicity drop,
dissolving the heartless city in darkness.  

Amitava Chakrabarty


Thursday, March 28, 2013

Death













Death Oh! Death, come not as a horrid dream
From infinite alley of ether's blackest hole
And drag me off my bony fleshy bowl
And slightly throw this pittance in endless stream.

The natural course to merge with unknown Universe
Should never strangle forcefully with a shock
Nor you show your rugged face and mock
As the last precious moment descend harsh.

The benign transcendental rendezvous
Oh! Be some moments of serene divine bliss,
Let your lips suck my life in gentle kiss
As if a lover to his maiden woo.

Oh! Teach me death in this boisterous youth-
To adore you and embrace the ultimate truth.


Friday, December 28, 2012

Time has Come




Something within all of us went still-
Our pride, our ego, our will,
She took away from all of us
Our own faith- Atmavishwas;
We- the Mango people- left to ‘men
Of straw’- remember Churchill’s omen!
Straw that sucks blood and soul out
From Mother India, with nefarious clout,
Her rape and death has made us learn
Its time to let those suave straw burn.

( On the death of the 23 year old para medic from Delhi)

Friday, November 23, 2012

NEVER
















You dragged me in, you dragged me in,
Into the vacuum of a hollow tin,
You embraced me, you doused me,
With warm, squashy paraffin,  
Soothing my desires, nay! Me.


The flicker of joy mingled with
The flicker of ecstatic pain,
Like droplets of dust dispersed in rain
Upon the turbid street side water
After the evening shower


Inside you, you let me loose
My turbulence of hope, despair
The nerves of my inner self
My heart, my blood, my every cell
Inside you lay bare.


Ah! You, the fragrant you
The rosy you, the tulip you
The scented you, the unscented you,
That encircled me like incense smoke
Intoxicating me although.


Oh! The short lived, elusive joy
Short-lived? No! No! No!
Elusive? I spat upon the word,
I struck it off from the dictionary
I differed to differ with you.


I tried to defer the hemlock
That was to burn my throat
And burn my heart or block my brain
With pathos; nay! With pain
Ah! You leave me not.



But that was not to be
It was your time to haul out
Into the greenish infinite sea,
And you hove your anchor
From my battered, isolated, harbour.


My love dissolved into the horizon,
And hours after the waves returned
Kissing my beloved’s soul
It brought some words untold
“Adieu! My love, forever”.... “Never!”!






 ( From my book "So I Used Gray And Other Poems ". The poem was written in 2009)