I have an intense interest in poetry in almost any language. I tend to enjoy reading them in English translation the most! Though, I know that the translation cannot full capture from source original language to destination language with same impact, but still, it stirs up some emotions while reading them.
Recently, one of the poems that went viral and has been running around in the net unbridled until the faithful followers of the poet condemned it as a fake one proves that anything can be faked. But when you fake it remember to keep the poet’s true style too!
To fake a poet’s style means that the author’s work is much appreciated and they should feel pride in their work and its influence on their readers and the people who fake their work.
When I read it, I was not aware that the poem was fake, but for me the words moved the mountain of emotions within me. Hardly a day passed and I wrote the Annexure to the will written more as an answer to my inner calling and resonance with the poem.
Amrita Pritam’s Will by Baabusha Kohli
When I read this poem translated in English which was titled My Will by Amrita Pritam I was fascinated to my poetic core! At the end of the day, I also read an article in the online news channel ‘Hindustan Times’ explaining factually that the verses on the net were faked merely to create a sensational viral post. The poet Amrita’s writing style was missing. The poem obviously missed out the emotion of love which is part and parcel of all her poems.
It moved me a lot and I felt my thoughts were reciprocated in those verses that I encountered in as I read them. Visit the YouTube channel of Dr. Supriya Dhongde’s reading of Vasiyat by बाबुषा कोहली | by Baabusha Kohli in Hindi or Punjabi.
I understand Hindi when it is spoken, of course only the words that I recognise rest is just making guesses. I am still trying to understand poetry in Hindi in slow progress and enjoying the process too!
For the benefit of my English-speaking readers who are not aware of the language, I here share the viral English version of the poem.
My Will by Baabusha Kohli (often attributed to Amrita Pritam)
After my death
Ransack my room.
Search each item
That is scattered
Unlocked
Everywhere in my house.
Donate my dreams
To all those women
Who between the confines of
The kitchen and the bedroom
Have lost their world
Have forgotten years ago
What it is to dream.
Scatter my laughter
Among the inmates of old-age homes
Whose children
Are lost
To the glittering cities of America.
There are some colours
Lying on my table
With them dye the sari of the girl
Whose border is edged
With the blood of her man
Who wrapped in the tricolor
Was laid to rest last evening.
Give my tears
To all the poets
Every drop
Will birth a poem
I promise.
My honour and my reputation
Are for the woman
Who prostitutes her body
So her daughter can get an education.
Make sure you catch the youth
Of the country, everyone
And inject them
With my indignation
They will need it
Come the revolution.
My ecstasy
Belongs to
That Sufi
Who
Abandoning everything
Has set off in search of God.
Finally,
What’s left
My envy
My greed
My anger
My lies
My selfishness
These
simply
Cremate with me…
- by Baabusha Kohli
I was so moved by the verses that I felt that I needed to add some more to it and following was the Annexure to the main will.
My Annexure to the fake poem titled My Will By Amrita Pritam written by Baabusha Kohli
Annexure to Amrita’s Will
Mourn not my passing
Send the emotion tossing
Out on the salty sea
While with joy facing
Let joy be the wine’s lacing!
On the day of my demise
Set out, so as to not miss
The party on my behalf
Ordering our common food
When I leave mid-way, a half
Let it be known, that I had loved
And never ever lost, a given
Phenomena of my life,
Which cooked up the conundrum
Of unanswered queries of living.
Yet in joy cried and laughed
Living the best years of my life
With you and others fought
For what I believed in the most;
Maybe that was, what it was!
On my first and other anniversaries
Celebrate the passing with joy
Don’t let sad thoughts annoy
Those moments of adversity
Think of the happiness in our past.
Party heartily on my passing
Move on with life just tossing
What is truly in the past!
– Srividya Suryanarayanan
(Chennai Feb 2024)
Originally Written for LinkedIn Post
I wrote this for the LinkedIn social media space. By the time, I converted into a blog post further changes came about, as all my poems are work-in-progress, until I stop editing further.
I hope to be able to read poetry from various parts and hear them in original language while I keep the light of curiosity alive with me. The fact that I found another poem by Jimmy Osborne, an online Facebook poster who expressed a thought that resonated with my mother’s after-life wish that she once mentioned to me in a conversation.
My mother and I had different opinions but we could still connect and converse. We would converse about different things with some exception to taboo topics. Once the conversation went into darker topics of death and Hindu belief in rebirth, our conversation would usually be interesting. So, it was my mother’s desire to be born as a tree in Tirupathi close to the temple where she would be giving shade to the innumerable visiting devotee. I found it so fascinating that it stopped all other thoughts. Of course, after that our conversation moved on to other topics.
Now that I think about it, I am moved my mother’s magnanimous desire to be a tree so her next life would be spent in silence and being a “Thondanuku Thondaradiyan, in Tamizhu it is தொண்டனுக்கு தொண்டரடியான்.” It meant that she wished to be a volunteer for charity for the devout devotees. While browsing through the social media pages in Facebook, I found the poem below that spoke of a similar wish as my mother’s wish to be a shade giving tree.
Source of Poem: Facebook | Poetry for Soul
When death comes for me
Dress me elegantly —
With a crown made of leaves
From green elephant trees.
O’ plant me a seed,
Sown so delicately,
That it grows up to be
An umbrella for thee.
And when you are grieved,
Come sit under my leaves;
Let them speak memories,
On the eloquent breeze.
Leave me your sorrow,
Sing me sweet elegies;
Let me borrow your fear
By the birds’ melodies.
So, swallow your tears—
Please don’t mourn much for me,
For I’ll always be here
In the form of a tree!
~ Jimmy Osborne
Jimmy Osborne is a writer, visual artist, and nature enthusiast from a small town in rural Mississippi.
This elegy brought out the compassion and wellness of emotional quotient in human being so beautifully. I wish there were more people who are compassionate and willing to give their emotional all to the various causes in a relationship that even death could not take it away.
Article Source: YouTube Channel, Facebook, and Internet group.
Itinerant Storyteller 