I am Proud By Neena Dighe Translated by Sushama Karnik

I Am Proud

Neena Dighe

Translated by Sushama Karnik

I am proud of you, my Motherland,

There is none who can compare with you on this earth.

For abundance of colors, go to Rajasthan;

And if you go to Rajputana you have the abundance of the grandeur of honor.

Manipur and Assam will send you into ecstasy with the magic of their dance.

A single tap on the dholak in hand will fill your steps with the beat of the dance.

Punjab is altogether a different story.

When they greet you with their ‘balle balle’, you will take on their lust for life,

And you will sing,’Gorgeous and plentiful is the soil of Punjab.’

Maharashtra will make you wonder at the at the naughtiness they hide

Behind the bashfulness of the lavani:

Which is a marvelous blend of drama and the teasing stance of veiled love.

The art of the tribals has no rival in the entire world.

The lilt and the melody of the classical music surprises us with the maturity and the depth,

Without which the ancient dance-forms are incomplete—

Be they the Katthak of the North or the Bharat Natyam of the South,

Or the Odissi and Mohini Attam divine.

The entire world can step up to the rhythm of the Indian beat of the dance.

We who are born and brought up by the land and the aroma of the rain-soaked soil—

We sing the praises of our Motherland

In our many different tongues, but bound by the single strand of love!

We are forever in the debt of gratitude to you O Motherland,

And this debt can never be redeemed.

The cool winds from your plains

Bring to us the breath of life.

O my beloved Motherland, may you live for millions of years

And may you inspire the world forever

With the message of Karma embedded in the Geeta and the lesson of non-violent pursuit of action in Bapu’s life.

Take the world along on the path of Peace and Love.

I am proud of you, O my Motherland!

A Song of Love By Neena Dighe Translated by Sushama Karnik

A Song of Love

By Neena Dighe

Translated by Sushama Karnik

I hear your call for a song of love.

But tell me how I can write a song when it is raining terror all around.

Can you not hear how they are singing of love

And secretly igniting the sparks of strife

And yet calling it life?

They are holding the fate of the land at stake,

And are pleased at the skill with which they change the dice in their favor.

Oh what a way to win a game!

And to think that this is the land and this is the soil

Nurtured by sweat and blood

Of those who staked their life for its love.

Tell me how I can write a song when it is raining terror all around.

This land saw once her lovers die in battles and bring the drifting anchor back.

Death held no fear, for in their hearts they saw

The future of their children’s fate.

The certainty of fulfillment set their hearts at rest.

Who has a memory of their dreams today? Letheward they have flown.

There were those who laid down their life in love and those who fight for the throne today.

Oh what a way to go!

Tell me how I can write of love when it is raining terror all around?

The time has come to rise again and think.

It’s time to wake up, think and act.

It’s time to live not die in vain.

It’s time to live in the faith

That this land which minted gold will not sink in the hell of our own making

If only we will realize.

That will be the day I shall write and sing of songs of love.  

Adrift

Adrift

Every day that could have brought you truth
you called it a lie
and with every brand that you named a lie, you bought one more nail to seal your coffin.

You did not die.

You went straight from one hell to another, in quest of truth and in the  doom of a search of hell.

There was no truth for that would have been illusion.

There was no light for light would have brought a shadow

and you hated shadows for fear that they might call themselves your self.

Your search was true but the markets did not have  a shelf for truth

Sushama Karnik

A Door Seen

A Door Seen

To a Solitary House

Someone is standing at the door
the scent of a lost home calling.
Someone is holding back the knock,
too proud, or too bashful to come in,
unless let in by the owner of the house.
The house is in fragments,
Someone wants to know but has not the heart to know
if there is a surly owner guarding his solitude .
Someone has a memory,
the kind of memory that wounds leave.
Someone hears the sound of a river flowing in the deep grooves,
Its sound is calling, and someone is listening,
if the holy waters can wash and heal the wound and the scars they leave behind.

Someone remembers a house seen

After climbing a hill

And the feet tired but walking still.

Someone has no memory yet a clear remembrance

That there was a house seen once,

Perhaps a life-time ago

And the house stood on the top of a hill facing a deep blue sea.

Someone reached and found a little board covered in the overgrowth of shrubs.

Someone recalls stopping in surprise because the board carried the name of the house;

It was called ‘AT LAST’.

The church nearby was not very close;

Not very far and yet not too close to take away from the house its peace and solitude.

One remembers walking there in times of need,

Though one never walked in

For fear that one may commit trespassing, though in need.

One never saw the owner and always returned without even a knock,

But never empty,

Because the sight of the house was full of a blessing.

Ride on the Crest of a Tide

                                                                           Ride on the Crest of the Tide        

By Neena Dighe:  Translated by Sushama Karnik

When I read on your face the pages of our life

I read in them an endless story of drunken glory.

We had, as if, set out riding on a tidal wave.

You and I, we were both lost ourselves.

It was only when we were rudely brought back to our senses,

We realized where we were heading for.

It was a frantic race all these years,

Without a memory of how many destinations we bypassed in this blind race.

What massive changes took place while we were busy running,

Busy reaching somewhere, and the goal was nowhere.

Our outlook changed; our values changed;

The language of our life changed, while we kept running.

And we never took note of the change.

Who are you, who am I?

Our identity changed; we are no longer the same.

There is still time to wake up and evaluate.

We were torn apart somewhere along the way.

Our tracks changed, our goalposts shifted.

We changed; our nation changed; its destiny no longer promised the land we had set out to search,  where we wanted to build a world of justice and sanity and equality for all.

And yet in this diversity, somewhere we were the same; we were one;

Unity in diversity: that is our identity.

Let us stop the forces that cleave us apart;

Let us say no to anarchy.

Let us stop looking to others for help;

Let us stop complaining and whining in vain;

Let us stop this backward rush into abyss.

Hatred has become a way of life;

Not a way of life, but a way to death;

Let’s say no to it.

Barbarity was not the badge we wanted to wear;

But we are wearing it proudly and openly as if that is our face and we are proud of our openness.

Once again, it’s time to stop and see where we are going.

It’s time to see the path we have travelled blindly;

It’s time to change the course.

Let us conquer the forces of regression and march ahead with no regret.

Let our children dive for pearls and throw them away lavishly

like wealth not to be owned by one, but  shared by all.

This earth is a dwelling–place of godly swans

Whose wings are for the heaven and the feet are for the treading of this earth.

Let us be one with tide and move with the world.