Bhitar se utpanna huyin.
Maya meri ladki
Jisko mein bahut pyar karta hun,
Apne se bhi besi.
Maya my daughter,
Maya, Illusion,
Illusion born from within.
Maya my daughter
Whom love I very much,
Leaving me and myself behind.
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The fanatic’s daughter, have I chosen for myself,
Her dad may be conservative,But she is not at all.
Indian English,
Indian pidgin-English,A foolish man’s English,A rustic’s English,Hindustani English,Hey, come here!What is your name?What is your father’s name?Give me sherbet,If not, lassi.Bring in a glass of water,Paani lao yahan.I know here milk is foundBut Indian milkmen mix too much waterIn the milk and that too pond waterWhile going by way to bazaar.
Had not been modern,
I mean the appliances, utensils and comforts,The cycle, the motorcycle, the radio and the paper,The ship, the aeroplane and the telegramTurned him into a modern manWith the conquering of time and distanceAnd after this started they dancing,Doing the disco dance,Taking drugs,A club man, a party manPicnicking, drinking, dancing and touringAnd smiling,Posing to be a modern…
Where is the missing man of Indian English poetry,
I mean Adil Jussawalla,Resurfacing after a thirty-five year break?
The flowers will bloom,
You will smile to see themIn your strange amazement and astonishmentBut I shall not be there to see.Bye-bye.
The fanatics and conservatives
And conservatism,Bigotry and orthodoxyWill finishWhatever good it isIn American culture,Its thought and tradition.