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A.J. Thomas
I (1995-2005)
T
he first time I saw you
In November ’95, shrouded in prickly mist–
The street-lamps’ veiled glow of a demon’s eyes
His horrid whiskers the darkened trees
The bone-chilling blast his hellish breath
Spewing carbon monoxide, soot and SPM
Poisoning my prana–I said:
I’ll never come to you if I can help it.
And I boasted so to my friends.
Still you claimed me as your own.
Karmas dragging me here to expiate
Crimes of past jenmas;
Yet I learned to love you.
And I put up with your vagaries
Your culture as fickle as your weather–
The daily influx of impoverished
Hordes from all directions churning it.
The hourly shifting cold, depending on
The snowfall in Himachal,
The arid winds driving in the dust-clouds
From Rajputana for the aandhi.
Now you suck me dry
And wax in your glory, proud of your
Metrolines, high-rises, shopping malls
World-class housing complexes
And hosting international events….
Yet I don’t forget you are
The battle-field where parricides
And fratricides thrived, and still thrive….
City of tombs and graveyards!
Are the budding flowers in your sprawling gardens
Allurements to unsuspecting children?
Do I hear the crunching of bones*
As you relish your gory repast?
Or, has Mahakala chosen you as
His instrument of dissolution?
Here I am! Perpetually in your ensnaring
Embrace. Even when your auto-rickshaw drivers
Grab and pillage and revile me
I am eternally patient. I know
I have to live out my karmas
Without rancour. Impeccably.
II (2005-2008)
I recited the first part of this poem
To an audience of elderly Delhi authors.
Many of them expatriates from different corners of India.
All of them, down to the last one
Admonished me, pleaded with me, pitied me
Saying that I missed out on the great raajasik city
That Delhi is; that one can accomplish anything here;
That the Mahabharata War was possible
Only here; that the zest for life here is so vibrant;
That once you get settled here, you cannot feel happy
Anywhere else; that this is a great taapasabhoomi
Where over thousands of years rishis and yogis exist
In ethereal form and in body as well, and where great saints like
Nizamuddin Aulia are lying entombed; that
One has to have accumulated many lives of punya
To be able to live in Delhi; that houses here
Need not observe the laws of vaastu
As every inch of the earth in Delhi is auspicious.
The truth may lie somewhere in between;
Indeed Delhi, to me, is a place where one could do anything.
But it’s not anyone’s; one doesn’t belong here.
It’s at once like an ocean that throws up
Everything it takes in, and like a volcano
That consumes anything thrown in.
III (2008-2010)**
Away from Delhi, seven seasons now
She grows in me as a haunting presence; the glimpses
I have of her in films like Delhi-6 and the occasional
News-clips; the frequent talks with my wife and daughter
About the city’s almost palpable daily transformation
Put me in a state of yearning! Strange indeed!
I find that I have been loving Delhi all along
And now I have finally recognised my love!
Author Notes *I wrote this part in 2005. Nithari (in NOIDA within the National Territory) where over 30 children were kidnapped, killed and eaten by a man!) happened years later! **I wrote that last part while I was in Libya.
A.J. Thomas is an English-language poet, fiction writer, translator and editor. He translates poetry, fiction, drama and non-fiction prose from Malayalam to English, and has more than 20 titles to his credit. Hee has M.Phil, and Ph.D. degrees in English Literature (Translation Studies) from the School of Letters, Mahatma Gandhi University, Kottayam.. As a poet and translator his works include Germination (Poetry, 1989), Aagaami Pal Ka Nirman (his poetry in Hindi translation-2010), Bhaskara Pattelar and Other Stories, (Manas, 1993), Reflections of a Hen in Her Last Hour and Other Stories (Penguin India), both Paul Zacharia's story-cllections in translation, Keshavan’s Lamentations (Keshavante Vilaapangal, renowned novelist M.Mukundan’s premier work), ONV Kurup’s verse-novel Ujjayini, (Rupa) among others. He has been on the editorial team of Indian Literature, Sahitya Akademi’s literary journal, for more than 20 years as its Assistant Editor, Editor and now as its Guest Editor. He lives in New Delhi
Also by A.J. Thomas in The Beacon
Visions of a Journey: “Bengal in My Blood”
There is a dimension to Delhi that my late
elder brother shared with me when I was moving to the city in 1998.
He observed that it is perhaps the only place in India that affords a person anonymity, like no other.
And he offered a piece of advice… just be yourself, enjoy your privacy and maintain your equanimity…always.
He added…. Remember, whatever you achieve and become, as it is the land of opportunities, no one can be more important than the President of India, who resides there!
His words stay with me, fresh.
On a lighter note:
I decided to opt out of competing with the First Citizen and moved to Gurgaon, soon enough!
Though less anonymous, I happily reside there having created my own little fiefdom.
And in jest I always add…Delhi? Oh yes, that suburb of Gurgaon, you mean?
This is the second poem by A J Thomas I have read since he has started forwarding to me his contributions to The Beacon. AJT is a fine Indian poet writing in English. I think he is already at work on a series of travel poems in amazing free verse which when published will read like a docufiction etched in superb poetic images. In this Delhi poem the poet has used many Sanskrit words to make emends for their English equivalents on the one hand and to make his work sound very Indian on the other. As we all know English is another Indian language and any Indian now writing in English does so with the awareness that his work has many borders to cross within the country itself.
Delhi unveils with all its multifarious paradoxes – the dark and the bright, the horrid and the elegant, the magnificent and the malign. Stunningly apt imageries create an awesome air in the reader’s mind .
The poem is an excellent read.