Karm
by Max Babi

Karm ( in Gujarati)

Satark ajgar ni jem gunchlu valine
Betha chhe mara manas maan
Tara daskao purana shabdo

Chet-to pharun chhun, phunki phunkine
Pagla bharun chhun –oongh maan-y ek aankh
Bidati nathi

Tara shabdo vali pachhaa
Kagalni thelimaan santadel visphotak jeva
Kaink evo salvalaat karya kare chhe
Ke
Kalpanashakti and aa maya jene
Aapne badha satya manie chie,
Banne vachcheni rekha bhunsaya kare chhe.

Narya jherni kothli jevun
Kashoonk atki padyu chhe mara gala maan
Dunia laakh goda maare,
Gad-dapaatu no maar chakhade
Varamvar mane undho pade

Mara shabdo and laganiona najook phoolon
Maan,
Haji kadvash ke turaash aavi nathi.

(c) Max Babi

What's important to understand is the southwestern corner of India has an area called Gujarat. It's a coastal region on the Arabian Sea and quite large. It stretches from the border of Pakistan to just before Mumbai, old Bombay. There is a cultural struggle going on there that has sparked some extraordinary violence in recent years. Max wrote this poem to alert the unaware of its importance to India and the world. It has been reported that a genocide of sorts is being perpetrated by Hindus against the mostly Islamic population in that region. The emotion of the times is felt in Max's words expressed in the Gujarati language. I thought it would be of interest to our readers to experience this depth in the power of words. If you are curious to find out more about this topic, it is best experienced by watching the amazing video journalism found on YouTube concerning the Gujarati people. Search on "Genocide of Gujrat." [note the misspelling is actually in the title] There are other videos in that area that broaden the story - J. Wolf

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Transcribed into English

Karma

Your decades old words,
like an alert python,
lie coiled within my psyche.

Highly tensed I move around, placing my steps
gingerly, even one eye refuses to close
when I fall asleep.

Your words, again,
like paper bombs,
keep fidgeting in such a way,
that the line between
imagination and what we call reality,
keeps obliterating.

A tissue-bag full of pure poison,
I can feel inside my throat,
no matter how the world shoves
and pummels me,
or throws me down.

In my words or emotions as yet,
there is not a trace of bitterness
nor blandness.

(c) Max Babi

Max Babi

Max is from an ex-royal family of Gujarat, where his ancestors ruled the Junagadh state for 600 years before independence. He loves jazz/blues and Indian classical music. Max writes for an international jazz portal [www.allaboutjazz.com]. He has written a book of verse in English, published by the Writers Workshop of Calcutta and has completed two novels. He is working on a third novel, inspired by the tormented lifetimes of Parveen Babi, a cousin who passed away recently. Please check his blog: http://maxinchennai.blogspot.com

Thanks Max for the insightful poem and making us aware... John Wolf 

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