XPost: soc.culture.indian, alt.fan.jai-maharaj, soc.culture.india

On Sun, 9 Apr 2017, in soc.culture.indian, in article <efd559b2-d96e-4373-92e8-eda6c4132044@googlegroups.com>,
Arindam Banerjee <banerjee...@gmail.com> posted:

On Tuesday, January 24, 1995 at 4:13:05 PM UTC+11,

Arindam Banerjee wrote:

I am happy to present my poem on a city some of us will know well.
I am also sure that I could not present it to a more discerning
audience.

With regards to all,

Arindam

Koli-kata

by Arindam Banerjee

January 1995, Melbourne
(All rights reserved. This work does not involve my employer
in any way, and all opinions are strictly mine.)

City of joy, city of pain,
Where politicians toy, atop skulls of slain:
Should I salute you
Or spit at you?

City of contradictions -
With strange predilections!
Are you stubborn or foolish,
Or simply devilish?
If I cannot love you,
Should I hate you?

City of kind hearts and cruel knives;
City of foolish men and faithful wives;
City of Tagore and communists;
City of straight roads and vicious twists....

Know that you are unknown.
Yes, you have no renown.
Save for slogans and slums,
And rubbish and bums,
And overpopulation....
And pollution.....

Your roads are narrow;
They chill the marrow
Under political terror
Creating mindless horror....

A curse on the groaning buses!
And on the peeling houses!
And the stinking gutters
Below the crowded shutters!

Thus one may think.....
Before it begins to sink,
Through strange process,
From obscure recess
Of forgotten memory,
This strange story...

Of triumphant femineity,
Represented by divinity
Of Great Mother Kali:
City-goddess most ugly
To thieving imperialists
And tiresome materialists.

Kali coal-black, naked, female
Met one unseen idol: white, male.
This all-conquering god quailed;
His minions failed!
The result? No more the dread -
Today a black boy lifts his head!

Thus, rising from lies and conceit,
And most organised deceit,
We may still present,
This city, most significant
For human affairs -
Let's not split hairs!
I am not talking
Of concrete and cars,
Nor hustlers stalking
In casinos and bars -

Those slaves to a system, meretricious and garish,
Whose chief and abiding product is rubbish;
Marionettes to interest rates;
Jerking in spasmodic states,
To calls of still-remaining humanity,
Buried in mechanical insanity...

Where you beyond being human,
But not yet completely inhuman -
Just an organisation,
In subtle fashion,
Of mechanical bits and numbers,
Conferring technological favours
Of comfort and convenience
For your fleshly parts...
Still, some remains of conscience,
Blurry though they be,
May make you see,
The blood of an Iraqi
When petrol gushes down your throat.

No! No! Not for tomorrow,
The pain of dumb sorrow,
Distilled from drinking death
Of nature's bounty,
And life's beauty.

For me, at least, this city most noble
In qualities of heart;
Where teeming millions are able
To live as one great part,
That knows, that cares, that feels
The glory of being human!
The curse of being human!
The pride of being human!
The shame of being human!

To absorb from around the waves of sorrow,
From wretched humanity without tomorrow,
In so natural a way,
It takes your breath away -
When elsewhere you hear so much wrangling
Over money matters niggling...

And yet, and yet, the misery,
And the acceptance of the misery,
Beside the railway tracks,
Or on the pavements' cracks,
Before the single water pump,
Near the smelly rubbish dump.
Your grimy fingers wet eyes poke,
As coughing past choky smoke,
Pouring out of open chullas,
You walk past dirty nullas,
Fighting with millions for air...
Only in that, you get your equal share.

Why go on?
Why go on?
Which morrow will bring,
News of some wonderful thing?
To what end,
This contrary trend?

It is here, it is here...
For ever, and ever, it is here...
As water vaporises,
This murmuring rises
From voices audible,
And voices inaudible...
From the stray cow's bold look;
Over the intellectual's dusty book;
From the twining plant's tenacious hold;
From the caring mother's scold;
From your million relatives all around -
Slightly crazed - but mostly sound.

It is here, it is here,
That you are not just tolerated,
Nor just accepted,
But liked and understood,
Known and found good,
For whatever you are,
Whoever you are.
Regardless of race
You have your place.
Away though wealth drains,
What is richest still remains.
The wise are honoured by many;
The poor have much merry company!

City unique, city unclean
You have no ugliness that is unseen.

Hmm, I wrote this some 22 years ago. As I remember,
it aroused some hatred.
Cheers,
Arindam Banerjee

Have you written more stuff during the 22 years?

Jai Maharaj, Jyotishi
Om Shanti

http://bit.do/jaimaharaj

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