September 2012

poems by : ( FIRESTONE FEINBERG )

Ancient ruined cities of Punjab Klanaur , witnessed of many ages     ( Jatinder Singh Aulakh)

AGRARIAN CRISIS AND FARMER SUICIDES : Edited by R. S . Deshpande and Saroj Arora

Stuck On 1 / Forty : Book of tweet - sized poems launched

A riparian saga by Reena Prasad

It ’ s all about getting poetic

Haiku ( 4 ) by Virginie Colline

Impact of climate Change ( kabir Arora )

Kashmir first Rock band has Sufi poetry on Blues

Poems : dr . Jasbir Kaur

Five poems by : Loveen Kaur Gill

poems by: (FIRESTONE FEINBERG)

THERE MUST HAVE BEEN A TIME BEFORE

There must have been a time before

You came into my life —

But seems as if you’ve always been

My dear — my darling — wife.

Tho’ years there were before we met,

And so before we kissed —

Those empty days in mem’ry fade

Like shadows in the mist.

Without guidance

Without guidance

I walk the hills —

I know not where

I travel to —

But I arrive —

And speculate:

Perhaps Someone

Gave direction.

WE STRUGGLE WITH THE SEARCHING EYE

We struggle with the searching eye —

Complain that there’s no light —

Yet never do we recognize

The landscape of our fright.

There’s much to see in darkness — though —

Do not be scared of night —

But turn your vision toward yourself:

Insight!

AGRARIAN CRISIS AND FARMER SUICIDES: Edited by R.S. Deshpande and Saroj Arora

Sage Publications India Pvt. Ltd., B 1/I, Mohan Cooperative Industrial Area, Mathura Road, New Delhi-110044. Rs. 895.

Indian agriculture has been going through a serious crisis since 1990s, driving farmers to the point of ending their lives — the number of such cases is disturbingly high. What could be the factors responsible for it — poor returns, indebtedness, increased cultivation cost, inadequate institutional credit, imperfect market condition, or any other? This volume discusses these issues comprehensively.

Burning issues

There are, in all, 19 articles, including the ‘introduction' and the one where the editors spell out the ‘way forward', as they see it. Apart from providing a synoptic account of the essays that follow, the introductory piece sharply brings out the burning issues affecting Indian agriculture. While some of the essays are State-specific, some others analyse the agrarian structures, globalisation-linked issues, and agricultural indebtedness. The behavioural and other dimensions of the crisis are also examined.

There are three essays dealing with the changing agrarian structures and their impact on agrarian crisis. In his essay on “contextualizing the agrarian suicides”, A.R. Vasavi blames the crisis on the green revolution, a line of argument that seems to be far off the mark. Modern farm practices have been in vogue for over four decades now, but there have been no cases of farmer suicides until early 1990s.

Agrarian crisis showed up in mid-1990s, closely following the introduction of economic reforms. Deshpande and Shah, who have clearly brought out the various issues that arose from globalisation, do not take a definitive stand on the role of globalisation in triggering the agrarian crisis. In Sidhu's opinion, the root cause for the crisis lay within the economy, not in any external factor. This seems to be the correct assessment, given that crop cultivation yielded low financial returns even in the pre-globalisation period.

While the agrarian crisis has been fairly widespread in the country, the phenomenon of ‘farmer suicide' figured mostly in Punjab, Maharashtra, Andhra Pradesh, and Karnataka. Essays based on the situation in Andhra Pradesh identified increasing dependence on commercial crops, reliance on cost-intensive groundwater irrigation and informal credit, and price volatility as the major causes for the farmers' distress.

There is a general perception that farmers in Punjab are affluent. Statistics given in the three Punjab-specific papers hardly support it. They essentially argue that the increase in cultivation cost and the decline in net income are the main causes for the farming community's distress. The story of Karnataka farmers seems to be no different. The plight of cotton cultivators in the Vidarbha region in Maharashtra — the State where the incidence of farmer suicides has been rather high — is highlighted in another essay.

A section of the policymakers seem to believe that farmer suicides can be averted by stepping up the supply of institutional credit. Some of the essays in this volume also reflect this line of thinking. There is no denying that adequate supply of institutional credit is necessary for sustainable farming. But that in itself is not sufficient for resolving the present crisis. In the absence of effective measures to make farming a profitable enterprise, any increase in the flow of credit will only plunge the farmers deeper into indebtedness and heighten their misery.

Options

Increased indebtedness is a consequence of the agrarian crisis, which is attributable mainly to the sharp decline in the profitability of farming. It follows, therefore, that no effort that seeks to address the question of indebtedness without tackling the crucial issue of profitability will yield the desired result of giving a boost to the farm sector.

In their paper on “way forward”, Deshpande and Saroj Arora, editors of the volume, discuss the pros and cons of various options and suggest what needs to be done for ending the present agrarian crisis. Overall, this well-edited and well-organised volume has plenty of material relating to agriculture in general and the agrarian crisis in particular. Researchers and policymakers are sure to find it immensely useful.

Stuck On 1/Forty: Book of tweet-sized poems launched

ritish Nandy has returned to poetry. One hundred and forty words at a time. On Saturday, Nandy, a journalist, filmmaker, painter and poet, launched his new book of poetry "Stuck On 1/Forty" at Crossword Bookstore at Kemp's Corner - with tweet-sized poems in the tradition of 140-character long 

Twitter utterances.

This is Nandy's second book of poetry since his return from a two-decade long hiatus from the form. He had released a book of poems in 2010.

"…I gave up the starkness of poetry, the frugality, the battle with words and images and switched to journalism," writes Nandy in the introduction.

Saturday's launch, with actor Ranbir Kapoor, combined moments of poetry along with hysteria in a packed room. Kapoor and Nandy read out poems from the book and later spoke about them.

"One of the great disciplines of poetry has been how to structure it," said Nandy as part of the discussion on how he wrote. "I went with the simplest possible structure of today. That was the discipline of the poetry... It's not just the words said here but what remains unsaid. That is the magic of poetry."

In a rapid fire round with Kapoor, Nandy once again said about the 140-character paradigm, that it was "liberating" and not limiting, since "brevity is always liberating."

The poems in the new collection cover a spectrum of thoughts and emotions from love and mortality to loneliness and truth.

"I try to use the simplest words," said Nandy, in response to Kapoor's question on how he moulded his thoughts into words. "The most important part of language is touching people."

And part of that endeavour is unleashing poetry from its image as being inaccessible. "The problem with literature is it is treated as something academic... something that lies in a dusty library... Poems are about reaching out, touching lives."

A riparian saga by Reena Prasad

Stamped on pages of time-gnawed manuscripts,


an ancient tale is written in stone
a hidden saga with un-deciphered scripts
Skeletons of engineering marvels
Totter in modern cities
Filth and foul waters flow over human feet
Retribution for lessons unlearnt, forgotten.


Abstract musings or clear portraits?
On verge of usurping the throne of creation
yet undecided, unwilling to decode the past.
Saraswati sentenced to an underground dungeon.
Vitasta blackened by the sins of misguided generations.
Wayward thirst of parched clay, tears apart Satadru today.


Divine peaks flag off a heavenly flow,
Sindhu sashays gracefully down the glaciers
A blue symphony, once holding six sisterly hands
Her blessings replaced by barbed wires and territorial threats
Fertile basins spout blood over fragile eco systems while
Saptha Sindu oozes hate upon its conspiring playgrounds.


Seismic wisdom shakes gravestones of a golden past
We still carry hymns hidden under reverberating gun shots.
Green shadows of Mother Earth, do cool the smoldering suns here.
Let tectonic plates unite hearts into sharing a fragrant rice bowl
Pray our clay pots retain the earthy fragrance of inner knowledge
and lessons from history, replace cloudy miasmas of smoking egos.

It’s all about getting poetic

If you are fond of writing poems or listening to others’ verses, why not join one of these city-based poetry groups? Started in October last year by Nihaal Parashar, 24, theatre activist, the group is meant to bring poetry lovers together. “Since poetry is born out of meeting new people
and experiences, we decided to name our group ‘Mulaqaat’,” says Parashar. Attended by about 40-50 people, a usual Mulaqaat session goes on for four to five hours but can also stretch up to seven hours. The members can only share original poems written by them in any language, as long as they can explain it to others. Lots of members also sing their poems to the tunes of a guitar. By the end of the session, the members often start talking in rhymes or tukbandi to each other.

Moonweavers- Chand Ke Julaahe
This bilingual poetry group takes inspiration from the importance of the Moon in poetry. It was started by Rati Agnihotri, a television script writer, last year. The group meets for an informal poetic discourse between eight to 10 members every fortnight. The members are free to share verses written by them or other poets they like and discuss the writing styles. At the end of the month, there is an open night where members read their original works.
When: Every alternate
Sunday; 5.30pm to 7.30pm
Where: India Coffee House,
Regal Building, Connaught
Place
Next poetic discourse: May 20
Group: Moonweavers-Chand ke Julaahe on Facebook

Caferati
It started its open mic sessions for people to share their poetry in Delhi last year. The group now holds a meeting in Delhi and Gurgaon every month. Anybody interested in performing on stage can come 15 minutes prior to the session and write their names on a white board. There is no prior registration required. Each person gets two to three minutes to share their poetry or prose.
When and where: 7pm, last Friday of the month at India Habitat Centre; 6.30pm, second Saturday of the month at Epicentre, Sector 44, Gurgaon
Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/caferati.habitat/

Lump in the throat
This group has been inspired by American poet Robert Frost’s famous couplet — ‘A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a home-sickness, a love sickness.’ The members meet every fortnight and start with creating collaborative poems and then move on to using an object or emotion to prompt a poetry writing session. “The exercise of passing the notebook as everyone writes a line to create a joint poem is fun,” says Prachi Gangwani, 25, who started the group last year. Members read their poems at the end of the session.
When: Every fortnight
Next: 5pm onwards on May 19
Where: Deer Park, Hauz Khas Village, Delhi
Group: www.facebook.com/pages/Lump-In-The-Throat-LITTs

Delhi Poetree
Started by poet laureate Amit Dahiyabadshah in 2004, Delhi Poetree honours young contemporary poets. The group holds approximately 30 sessions a month around Delhi and NCR. It is open to poets who care share up to three poems written by them at a particular session. Poetry enthusiasts can also observe a poetry session free of cost. A game where poets have to create a poem on a topic given by the audience is a hit with the members.
When: 4pm onwards on last Sunday of the month
Where: Hauz Khas Village
Group: swww.facebook.com/Mulaqaat

Haiku (4) by Virginie Colline

the sun plays
on the hubcap
ephemeral mandala

**
rotten dungaree
the scarecrow scares everyone
but the garden birds

**
a white jasmine rain
on the lap of her sari
virginal monsoon

**
golden turban
upon the Sacré-Cœur
the same sun lits the Taj Mahal

Impact of climate Change (kabir Arora)

A letter by one of my young friend from east coast of India in Tamilnadu, who wants to remain anonymous.....

The word "mango", is almost synonymous with "summer" for the inhabitants of the coast of Tamilnadu. The scorching hot sun above, and a spoonful of fresh mango pulp in the mouth are typical to a Tamilnadu summer. This year though is a very different story, a sudden downpour ruined the mango harvest and practically no mangoes were seen in the generally overflowing "bazaars". The air was full of of strange surprise, because all the hopes of mango eaters were about to be shattered. Eventually the situation became clear, there would be no mangoes! Unfortunately the tragedy was not over, since not only were mango enthusiasts affected, but the whole of the farming community. A horrifying 500 acres of crops were destroyed, leaving the locals farmers devastated. Now the whole mango issue seems so trivial! Does this seemingly unimportant event hint at a far greater catastrophe?

The coming of the monsoon characterizes the end of the month of October. Torrential rains and frequent thunder storms are the heralds for the wet month of November, when the fields are sown and the the saplings planted. Rains at the right time are crucial to agriculture and farming, and are therefore anxiously awaited. They are fundamental elements in the sustenance of the bio-diversity that is abundant on the coasts of Tamilnadu. The whole ecosystem needs to be replenished by the water from the north-eastern monsoon. For humans, the dependence to a timely monsoon is evident. It marks an important phase in the everyday life of all farmers. The rains are an indication to start the sowing of crops that demand great quantities of water. In general, the monsoon is the best time to go outdoors and do some planting. Whether it is planting a lime tree in your backyard, or sowing your 100 acre field, the monsoon is the key to having a fruitful result and a bountiful harvest. We are now half way through November, and it doesn't seem likely that there will be a monsoon. Time only shall reveal the gravity of the climatic disorder.

-- 
If the stars fade out of the sky
and from the forest birds fly off
if dreams do not return to the field of sleep
who would understand your naturalness
and see through your painted mask
You are poet
So all your sins be forgiven.

Hunger you may not overcome
but surely you can touch a heart
even pierce it 
You may make a crowned heads shiver
you can play with words
rub them and make them glitter
like a seasoned goldsmith
sick of your poems
you may well burn them 
and conceal your failures
You are a poet 
So all your sins will be forgiven.

Kashmir first Rock band has Sufi poetry on Blues

Born and brought up in difficult and violent years of the past two decades, four boys have come together in Kashmir for first Rock band to sing philosophical Sufi poetry and hum people's day to day sufferings. Named ‘Dying Breed’, the valley-based band had people on toes on Sunday evening 

at Srinagar’s Sangarmaal shopping complex. The band sung from famous poetic verses of Sheikh-ul- Aalam on Blues with on-stage improvisation.

“It was not easy to form a band in place like Kashmir. From social to economic pressures, we braved it all,” said 23-year-old guitarist Muiz.

Though the final shape of the band took place in the middle of 2011, it was during schooldays of 2005-2006 that three friends Muiz, Zohaib and Maajid would hum and jig secretly in their rooms and dreamt of making it big in music.

“I used to play guitar and sing psychedelic music all day long in my room. My parents sent me to an engineering college outside the state,” said Muiz.

The three friends, however, met again in Srinagar after pursuing different courses for three years only to come up with the valley’s first Rock compact disc album with four songs, which was released on Sunday evening. John Khankashi, a drummer, joined the trio last year to complete the band to produce new music.

‘Dying Breed’ is passionate about Psychedelic, Blues and Rock. “The band believes in experimentation which may or may not fall into a specific genre,” said Maajid.

Influenced by bands like Led Zeppelin, The Beatles, The Velvet Underground, Pink Floyd, Jefferson Airplane and Nirvana, the lead vocalist said Maajid he wants sing about everyday life of the valley.

“Our music will have nature and love in it. From traffic jams to day to day issues to Sufi poetry, we will sing for people’s hearts,” said Maajid.

The band is aiming at connecting youth with their roots. “This kind of Sufi music will help new generation to identity with the past and its literature,” said Kashmir’s known playwright Aarshad Mushtaq, who is among rare supporters to the initiative.

 All early twenties, the band members are deeply influenced by verses of spirituality-driven poetry of Wahab Khar, Sheikh-ul-Alam and Lal Ded.

Maajid said he will not run away from here just because there is bedlam or the opportunities are fewer. “We may not have had a political stance but we were always clear that our first album will come out from here. We have done our work. Now, we are waiting,” said Maajid.

The band has decided not to preach any ideology. “We are not missionaries. We want to feel normal. We should not be expected to be a political band because we are from Kashmir,” they said.

Poems : dr. Jasbir Kaur

MY DEAR

My dear!
king is not to be blamed
The King is astute
and you are aware that
the meaning of justice...
is neither your truth
nor mine
It's the baton of the King
and the right to use it.

My dear!
Queen is not to be blamed
The queen is blindfolded
with a scale in hand
An object for the King
but... Queen for the public.
a statue of the soil
you can well understand
how far she can go...
tied to support system
Yes... her fingers can exert
to wield a baton...
at any time...
on the wish of the King...

My dear!
Qaazi is not to be blamed
Qaazi is a cross...
clearly a bridge between the world and the ward
you must be aware
that double character...
always
has dual religion...
and also the family obligations...
Qaazi is a pawn on the chequer
and the hand playing the game too...
On his moves you will
not only get agitated
will become pray as well.

My dear !
Time is not to be blamed
time is like a snake
it scares when it arrives
and while leaving...
leaves only a trail
you must be feeling
snake and the trail- are inerasable 
from the map of our minds
and we are drained again
from the their body like sand
claiming to have the nerves of steel...


My dear !
Society is not to be blamed
Society is a custom
and custom is a blind faith
you must have known by now
the dilemma of the herd
while in the herd
it's in the quest of breaking free from it
and the herd, travels unto the butchery
under the eye of the butcher
from fodder to honour...
from honour with fodder...

My dear!
Land is not to be blamed
she is selfless
habitual of being trampled
habitual of rearing and sharing
her own self...
You must have seen
her voyage...
with her conclusion
the voyage of the land…
can start from anywhere
to mould it in any shape
and can end anywhere
for someone's need…

My dear !
Ranjha is to be blamed
Ranjha is crazy
he forgot, perhaps…
that to wed the Heer
fortune is needed, not love
status in the clan is important…
Heer is insignificant 
she would have loved 
any Ranjha-'the spouse'
she was only trapped-
in Kheras and patriarchy-
had Ranjha, the shepherd, not existed 
Heer would have cherished
living in the palace of kheras…
peacefully chained to opulent bed.

My Dear !
Heer is responsible
Heer can't be fun
but only pride and vanity…
Tell her –
not to fall for a shepherd
and not to bestow alms & charms
'Honourable' girls do not fall in love…
and then courting this game…
they are better…
chained like an elephant
on the doors of the kin( ? ? ?)
a mark of their pride…
Tell her -
not to jump from walls of castle
boundary of castle expands
and the one 
who dare to fall from the lofty walls
is not brave
At first- he becomes rebel
a hero...
and then a handicapped 
Who doesn't have poison
and not even the grave…
But only a hospital ward
a cell in the jail…
Company of the parasites…
sinking in the well of loneliness…

My dear !
Don't blame anyone 
No one will heed-
to the echoes of your logic
before the ire …
and for the echoes of ire
they'll, prove you an idiot…

My Dear !
blame it on your own
to save you from numbness…
Blame it on me
to keep me awake as well…

Five poems by : Loveen Kaur Gill

1.      I am your voice!

You constructed my silhouette,

acquainted me to the world,

I am the “society” that you constructed,

I am your face, and your height.

It matters not that our house is in the West,

the new tongue is not of your mother’s,

you enunciate the words imperfectly,

I am your perfection, to speak it right.

Unlike those who died in the womb,

You brought me proudly to the globe,

The rituals you conducted as I born,

I am your pride that stands bright.

You, then showed me the way,

Paved my paths,

And now that your eyes have blurred,

Mom, I am your eyes and your sight!

I am the value that you valued,

Mother’s day for me is every day,

I am your reflection,

And I hold it tight!

Mom, I am your ears and your sight!

                                      

2- I am not grass,

To get pulled off like weed,

To be used for luxury,

To be crushed and bleed,

To decorate your lawn,

To feed your greed.

I am a river,

I flow with grace,

I carry your seed,

to hill’s face.

My lover is the sea,

 Mountain is my birthplace.

I water you,

Even your surroundings,

I cling to your life tirelessly.

Yet you abuse me mercilessly!

I am not grass,

I am your creator,

Your maker,

You are because I am.

I am not grass,

I am a woman!

A creator!

3. The foot 

The foot,

That walked from land now named Pakistan.

At tender age of 3,

When masses had to flee,

in human history of some millions.

Raised himself motherless,

Schooled himself aidless,

Worked almost every job of possibility,

 Married his love of life on own amiability.

 Had children,

Offered which was not in his attainability.

The foot is of a self-contained,

Not a minister’s, nor of a famed,

But of my creator.

Inspiring me to rise every time I fall,

Against the Influence peddling brick wall.

Hence, I pave my own way,

Like a queen of the may,

 Without the inherited crutch,

That of the royals,

And logrolling loyals!

4. Strength

Your strength is inherited,

Mine is earned,

You walk with crutches,

I fly with my own wings!

Your walk is directed,

My flights are challenged,

Your roads are plotted

I map my trails,

The triumph may run to you first,

Just because it knows your fathers,

it comes to you,

But, I come to it...

I eventually possess it,

Because I am determined to hold it-

Loveen Kaur Gill

5. The Me

I am a self-crowned queen,

Weaver of my own nest,

Administrator of home,

Janitor of my courtyard,

Lover of the moon,

Daughter of the sea,

Humble to the humble,

Rebel to the unjust,

Disciple of the oneness,

Dynamic like a river,

Proud like a flying bird,

Intriguing like jelly-fish,

Inquisitive like a squirrel,

Strong like “a woman”

Stubborn like a child,

Mischievous like “human”,

Learner of the universe,

On a journey to self-curiosity,

In search of myself,

Miles to go…….

Loveen Kaur Gill