Pratishtha Pandya

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Mother places a tiny lamp next to the tulsi in the balcony.  She has been doing it every evening from the time I can remember. Now past 70, feet and hands unsteady with Parkinson’s, mind hallucinated, she thinks her lamp looks dark. Other balconies in the apartment seem all lit up for Diwali. Is it Diwali today? She wonders. Her memory is no longer to be trusted. But now it is all dark again, darker than before. She hears chants that seem familiar; some sound like the Gayatri Mantra. Or was that the Hanuman Chalisa? Did someone just say ‘Pakistan Murdabad’? She looks at the starless sky and shudders. Suddenly, she hears voices in her head, and they are driving her insane. Voices warning her about Muslim bakers selling contaminated bread. Voices asking her to boycott Muslim vegetable vendors spitting to spread disease.  Voices asking her to light lamps of unity. Voices of hungry stomachs growling on the roads to nowhere. Faint voices of scriptures of love and kindness. Voices of dark winds blowing away her lamp. She feels dizzy, wants to go back to her bed, but it is too dark to walk back. She struggles to light her lamp with her unsteady fingers, one more time...

A dark lamp  I only lit a tiny little lamp and it got pitch-dark! How come? How quietly it was hiding till now in that little corner of the house and now this tandava dance in front of my eyes and all around! I had confined it  to the basement all the way down with threats and warnings. Had placed weights of cast iron shame on its head to stop it from conspiring. had gagged its mouth Had even remembered to latch the door on its face. How did it break loose? What about the barriers? How does this darkness roam  shameless and naked? Infiltrating tiny, hazy love flames it turns all light  dark, black, poisonous red, vicious, and bloody. Light that once was  warm, yellow, and bright. Who moved the weights from its head? Who opened the latch? Who pulled the gag out to unleash its tongue? Who would have known lighting a lamp would be unleashing  the dark? Translated by the author from her original poem in Gujarati. Audio: Sudhanva Deshpande is an actor and director with Jana Natya Manch, and an editor with LeftWord Books.  Photos: Rahul M.

Rahul M.

The lady and the lamp – a poem for April 5

اندھیری روشنی کا چراغ جلتا ہے

ಅಮ್ಮ ಹಾಗೂ ದೀಪ – ಏಪ್ರಿಲ್‌ 5ಕ್ಕಾಗಿ ಒಂದು ಕವನ

വിളക്ക് കൊളുത്തുന്ന വനിത - ഏപ്രില്‍ 5-ന്‍റെ ഓര്‍മ്മയില്‍ ഒരു കവിത

अंधेरी रोशनी का दिया जलता है

যতনে পিদিমখানি জ্বেলে – কবিতায় নিভে যায় এপ্রিল ৫

ஒரு பெண்ணும் ஒரு விளக்கும் – ஏப்ரல் 5க்காக ஒரு கவிதை

आई आणि दिवा - एक कविता ५ एप्रिलसाठी

ମହିଳା ଓ ଦୀପ – ଏପ୍ରିଲ୍‌ ୫ ପାଇଁ ଏକ କବିତା

મા અને દીવો -- 5મી એપ્રિલની કવિતા

চাকিগছিৰ সৈতে সেই মহিলাগৰাকী- ৫ এপ্ৰিল বুলি এটা কবিতা

Ahmedabad

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ہمارے بارے میں جانیں

پاری میں آپ کا خیرمقدم ہے

گے۔ اگر آپ کو ہمارا کام پسند ہے، تو آپ ہمارے رضاکار بن کر ہمارا تعاون کر سکتے ہیں یا ہماری مالی مدد کر سکتے ہیں، تاکہ ہم اپنا کام جاری رکھ سکیں۔

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The lady and the lamp – a poem for April 5

The nine-minute lights-off, lamps-on event of April 5 impacted different people in diverse ways. This was how one poet in Ahmedabad responded to it…

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