Is this what they call the loot of experience?!
In reality, Nawab, Muslim,
Sahib, Turk –
whoever’s called by those names
belongs to those classes –
those who lost power, jagirs,
nawabi and patel splendours
they have retained, at least,
traces of those honours
while our lives have always
been caged between our limbs and our bellies.
We never had anything to save.
What would we have to recount…?
We who called our mothers
‘amma’
never knew she was to be called
‘Ammijaan’.
Abba, Abbajaan, Papa
– that’s how fathers are to be called, we’re told
How would we know – our
ayyas never taught us that.
Haveli, chaardiwar,
khilwat, purdah –
how could we of the thatched
palaces know about them?
To perform Namaaz is to bow and
rise, my grandfather said!
The language of Bismillah
ar-Rahman ar-Rahim, Allah-o-Akbar, Roza –
we never learnt all that.
A festival meant rice and
pickle for us
Biryanis, fried meats, pilaus
and sheer-kormas for you
You in Sherwanis, Rumi topis,
Salim Shahi shoes
and dresses soaked in itr
We, resplendent in our old
rags.
You won’t believe us if we tell
you
and we might end up only
embarrassing ourselves.
Scentusaabu, Uddandu, Dastagiri,
Naagulu, China Adaam,
Laaloo, Pedamaula, Chinamaula,
Sheik Srinivasu,
Bethamcharla Moinu, Paatikatta
Malsooru – aren’t these our names.
Sheikh, Syed, Pathan –
flaunting the glories of your khandaans
did you ever let us come closer
to you!
Laddaf, Dudekula, Kasab,
Pinjari…
we remained relics of the time
when our work bit us as caste.
We became ‘Binishtis’ carrying
water to your homes
and ‘Dhobis’ and ‘Dhobans’ who
washed your clothes,
‘Hajaams’ when we cut your hair
and ‘Mehtars, Mehtaranis’ when
we cleaned your toilets
as relics of the age when our
work bit us as caste
we remained.
As you say, we’re all ‘Mussalmans’!
We don’t disagree – but what
about this discrimination?
We like it too – if these
excavations will unearth those accounts
which had remained buried for
long, why would we object!
What more do we need to know
about the common enemy,
we need to discover the secret
of this common friendship now!
We agree: all those who are
oppressed are Dalits,
but we need to define what’s
oppression now!
Surprise – the language we know
isn’t ours, we’re told!
We don’t know the language you
call ours
We’ve ended up as a people
without a mother tongue.
Cast out for speaking Telugu.
‘You speak good Telugu despite
being a Mussalman’
Should I laugh or cry!
All our dreams are Telugu, our
tears are Telugu too
when we cry out in hunger, or
in pain
all our expression is Telugu!
We stood clueless when asked to
perform Namaaz
jumped up in surprise when we
heard the Azaans.
We searched for only ragas in
the Surahs.
When told to worship in a
language we didn’t know
we lost the right to the bliss
of worship.
You won’t believe us,
no one’s talking about our
problems.
Self-respect is a ‘dastarkhan’
spread before everyone.
It isn’t a privilege that
belongs only to the high-born.
No matter who belittles a
fellow man’s honour, betrayal’s betrayal
the loot of experience is a bigger betrayal.