Concomitantly: December 6

Only one who claims to be of the majority can become a dictator/ And at that point the human species begins to degrade

6 Dec Amb 6

This 6 December, let us remember B.R. Ambedkar with the words of Namdeo Dhasal from his 1995 volume, Ya Sattet Jeev Ramat Nahi (The Soul Doesn’t Find Peace in this Regime), translated from the Marathi by the late Dilip Chitre. Ambedkar, Dhasal and Chitre are all dead. They have left behind a legacy to fight for; words and ideas to build again what was razed. Let us remember not by mourning, for as Dhasal says in this poem: Perhaps these usurpers’ heads can be brought back to sense/ If they are hit hard/ Death is a better alternative to fear/ Rather than get buggered, butcher them back.

Concomitantly: December 6

Now
This city is no longer mine
It was only yesterday that you told us
That this country belonged to us
Tell us now, is this country really ours?
The walls of my own house charge upon me
They want to assassinate me
Digging up dead bodies from the past the enemies are busy
Playing the politics of chastisement
How can I tell these people
That the past is like a gecko’s tail
Shed and wriggling by it?
Who are these people—my own, my countrymen?
Usurpers of yore who seized my country
These are their rites, their ritual chants
God or religion?
Yesterday they murdered Gandhi
Now they want to put the whole nation to death
How many stories of alien invaders shall I tell them?
My original ancestors were dark Dravidian non-Aryans
Followed by Scythians, Huns, Kushans, Turks, Iranians, and Afghans
Then white soldiers in uniform and the Firangs
Mixtures of races and castes
The soil of this country never practised untouchability
Today in Iran
Not even a diseased dog would care to piss
On the cadavers of their forebears
Yet in their blue eyes burns the fire of vengeance
With the blade of terror they have slit
The throats of babies and young ones
They have butchered people as though they were goats
Hiding behind the genital they are searching for their religion
The soil of Ayodhya the footsteps of Valmiki and Rama made sacred—in the Uttara Kanda
These people made that soil blind
That very soil has entered their eyes
Transformed into the profane

It was only yesterday that you told us
Anybody can overturn
A Hitler
But
Only one who claims to be of the majority can become a dictator
And at that point the human species begins to degrade

Tell me, have we really reached
The point of decline?

Today is the day of your remembrance
Whether you like it or not
Let me too raise my hand to commit violence
Perhaps these usurpers’ heads can be brought back to sense
If they are hit hard

Death is a better alternative to fear
Rather than get buggered, butcher them back
Then bring them back to life, and then kill them again
I too would like to be martyred
For my people’s sake.

Read more by Dhasal in A Current of Blood.

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