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It is not necessary that poetry has to be always spontaneous; a lot of tweaking must go into it to endow it with readability and poetic essence. At least that is my experience. But there are occasions when it comes just like that. One such occasion I have earlier narrated about in my blog is under caption “Poem by Fluke”, recapitulating how I was able to scribble something as I was being video graphed for a programme on the local television. But then again, what I wrote there in my first attempt had to undergo a lot of polishing before I could bring it on my blog. And yet I can’t say it ultimately turned out to be a wholesome poetic recipe.

Yesterday something as serendipitous as that happened just in front of me. On this occasion, though, the poet imbued with rhapsodic surge was not me.

Bharatiya Yuva Sahityakar Parishad, a literary society in Patna invited me as the chief guest for their function. I was to release the annual issue of their magazine, “Avakash”. In time I released the magazine, addressed the gathering of writers as one among the speakers in the dais, and then sat there listening to the recital of poems by the poets themselves. All of them were in Hindi and they were poignant from the very outset, riveting my attention to the fullest extent all through. Themes were varied but there were quite a few dealing with social evils like corruption and female foeticide. One of the memorable poems, the one composed and read out by one Shri Ram Yatan Yadav, intensified the tone of poignancy to its height as he worded the cry of a female foetus in her mother’s womb appealing her father not to make her die there. I was moved by this.

I was just guessing if the impact of that poem was same upon all listening to that. Yes, maybe, if the silence of the audience was to be taken as their compelling attention...no, it may not be, for by this time I had gathered that all present there were poets, patiently waiting for their turns to recite. And in the mean time the recital reached its concluding moment. At that very spur, as the presiding person at the dais invited if anyone else was still left to recite, I saw a young man, Zishan by name, came with his poem. From his introductory brief it became clear that the poem he was going to recite was freshly written, right on the spot, inspired by the same poem that deeply affected me a little while ago. And what was more, it happened to be the maiden attempt of Zishan in trying something poetic.

Let me reproduce it:

§ÉÚhÉ ½þiªÉÉ ( By VÉÒ¶ÉÉxÉ +½þºÉxÉ)

बेटी, करके मैं तेरी ह्त्या, तुझपे कर रहा हूँ उपकार

बरना ये दुनिया, रस्मों रिवाज से जकड कर, कर देता तेरा जीना दुश्वार

बेटी, मैं भी करता हूँ तुझसे बहुत प्रेम और तुझसे भी है ममता

पर क्या करून इस दुमुहें समाज से बचाने की नहीं है क्षमता ।

Now, I’m going to translate it for those readers who would have difficulty in reading Hindi. It goes something like this:

Foeticide

Daughter, the apple of my eye

I’m only doing you a favour killing you

The world is full of deadly rituals

They would make your life only abysmal.

Daughter, the apple of my eye

I still love you despite this

Undone, I’m trapped in the realm of sham

Incapable of saving your life, at last.

The idea behind the poem may or may not be great. Like one may decry it saying that the poem does not speak of love, nor does it articulate a father’s helplessness; it is only an attempt to justify the heinous crime called female foeticide. Some may say that the poem depicts the virulence of a society where future of human race is sacrificed for the safety of a lethal present. But despite everything, there is a good dose of poetic prowess in Zishan’s instant verse. It has a perfect rhyme and it has a feeling integrated in expression. It has emotions intensified. Top of all it is instantaneous, a poem by fluke.

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By

A. N. Nanda

Muzaffarpur

02-03-2009

Photo credit: Puja Nanda: visit link here

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