Me Chu H'ond ti Musulman beyi Insan Banavun (The Work Of Kashmiri poetry)

(Title, courtesy Dina Nath Nadim, (b1916)).
For more info, see the pages maintained by Prof. Braj Kachru, http://www.koausa.org/Poets/Nadim/article2.html

Here, I essay attempts to ferry across some poetry in Kashmiri, attempt to allow a glimpse into the act of poetic making. (We are, said Vico, capable of knowing that which we make. If you want to strengthen the 'we', which stands as a promissory note, one has to take stock of the most central 'makings' (poesis) of others). No Kashmiri poem is included in the Oxford Book of Indian Verse. This has less to do with Kashmiri, and more to do with our translations. They do not, it must be admitted, scan as poems in English. I hope, sometime in the future, to produce a small volume of poems in Kashmiri, for an English reading public. Here, I give you some chips from a workshop, to borrow a marvellous image.


Zuun Khats Tsot His,

The moon is unleavened bread rising
behind a hill in thread-bare Pampur-tweed.
Scars stain a silver neck beneath
the fraying unhitched collar.

She is a counterfeit coin,
a pallid disc slipped in with
wages due a naive peasant-girl.

The moon, unleavened bread, and the mountains hunger.
Clouds again put out kitchen fire.


(circa 1950s?) Zuun Khats Tsot His, the Moon rose like tsot, that is, an unleavened bread, tough, often in the shape of a circle. The color is important, a discolored image. In translation, most attempts achieve what literary critic Hugh Kenner once described as a semantic map. A way of getting around the original, if you are lucky enough to have it on the facing page. But a translation must attempt to stand on its own, and impress you with the fact of there being poetry in the original. This can often mean, reconstructing a building that will not look out of place next to the original, but one in which you would not mind staying a while either. Prof Braj Kachru's semantic map may be found on the website I listed above, or on page 70 of his rewarding "Kashmiri Literature," Vol 8. Fascicle 4 in the "A History of Indian Literature" series, Otto Harrassowitz, Wiesbaden, 1981. I have provided only a portion of the original, in something that is half-way between a map and a translation.

Abdul Rahman Rahi (b1925), began writing in Kashmiri in the 1950s.


Baas
A Mood

And outside, fog
And silence,
And cold.
Not a rag to shade naked trees.
Mud walls beg, surround me.

I have seen grey-ashes in the oven
And standing without a Kangri
by the window, shadow-spurred
to ask the lengthening road

"Hatay, Where are you going?
Won't you take me with you?"

--There was fog. And
Silence. Cold.

I sat back down in a corner of the granary


For Rahi's complex voicing, see the discussion in Kachru (1981), p74-75. His recent offerings have annoyed critics, its epigrammatic style laced with foreign images.

Fled
patience a cup, spills over.
They hid
in a cave.
One hundred years asleep
Sleep, dream-fathomed.
Those that sleep light?
The dog
unblinking
Time
Overtook Decius
and the cave, wasted
Of Dreams
Of Dark
Dragons hoard the cob-webbed cave.

Or,

The cob-webbed cave is dragon hoard.

A more muscular Old English finish, ala Hopkins, "The cob-webbed cave is dragon-hoard." I am unhappy at the close, and have made cosmetic changes to Raina's translation in the last three lines only, without offering something of my own. I have to think through the Kashmiri syntax longer than I have done. The translation is indebted to Jawahar Raina, in Ali Mohammad Lone's "Kashmir Poetry," in "Indian Poetry today, III, New Delhi, Indian Council for Cultural Relations, 1977.

Why Gaius Messius Quintus Decius (ca. 201- June 251) Emperor of Rome from 249 to 251, is here, I do not know. Except his attempt at enforcing Pax Romana, in January, 250, one year before his death:

"All the inhabitants of the empire were required to sacrifice before the magistrates of their community 'for the safety of the empire' by a certain day (the date would vary from place to place and the order may have been that the sacrifice had to be completed within a specified period after a community received the edict). When they sacrificed they would obtain a certificate (libellus) recording the fact that they had complied with the order."

It is a Christian memory that remembers him a tyrant. The Roman would no doubt have recalled that he was the first to flee barbarians in war.

Of course this is not it. Shakespeare, you will recall, mistakenly refers to Decimus Brutus, as Decius. And a look to Shakespeare's tragedy will probably help us with the image of patience. And dragons, ah well. Old English meets Nagas, presumably. But our Nagas do not hoard, nor do they lurk in caves. I am mesmerized by this, but confess defeat as of now.


Here is a more contemporary piece, by Gash:

Who cast
the stinking carcass
of a putrid wretch
in the middle of our town
where it lay
under a blistering sun
--grief's bloated body--
home to uncounted worms?

Men, they say, divorced of sensibility.
Pariahs know better and will shun all food.

The carcass
worried officials to death.
In tight with madness they dumped it
into the Vitasta.

And we drank of it,
the stained Vitasta,
and as we drank, so we feared.
Hydrophobic we--

You can still smell it.


I have, perhaps unforgivably, changed the third person pronouns to first person plurals at the end. The Vitastaa, an old name for the Jhelum; and that distancing in language might indicate that it is a third person pronoun you want at the end. I am not sure, and think that it scans better like this, at least in English. But as I say, this is work in progress, and a translation must stake something with respect to the original.

Quickening

To study the Rig, one must accustom ourselves to turn to sound, rather than letting the visual play bait to our attention. The material for poems are meter-made arguments, to borrow Emerson's phrase, and the objects of criticism, well-fashioned song. But a few visuals do not hurt, and here is a charming set, the history of which, at present, eludes me.




prá bāhū́ asrāk savitā́ sávīmani
niveśáyan prasuvánn aktúbhir jágat (4.53.3c-d)


In seeding life, Savitar (The Quickener),
stretched forth his arms: Bringing to rest,
letting flow forth, with twilight rays
the slipping world.

This is certainly not the place to indulge in poetics, but one cannot help but note the quickening series, pra, s sounds, and v: pra asrāk savitā́ sávīmani / niveśáyan prasuvánn

There is the agreeable root, srj, which in the aorist gives: "he emits, gives forth" (with the prefix 'pra'). Note the 'pra' picked up in the participle, prasuvann, impelling, rousing. The latter participle, is the correct root for the name Savitr, the impeller, but the word Savitr is contextualized by the poet by saviimani, 'giving life', of which impelling is one part, and bringing into rest, another. To catch a little of the anagramatic style in the distribution of syllables, I indulge in "seeding forth".

How much more can we do, for each of the icnonic gods? Here are just a few images. Spot them if you can:

Pleasure in a time of leaves

Gathering images for a talk is a curious business. I continue at it, with small success. Here are some images I consider worth showcasing, as I speak: perhaps they shall perform the same function in the context of a talk on literary texture of depictions of pleasure, as yaskhis on the jambs of viharas. These are not all the images that I shall include, but they are a few nice ones here all the same. The first one is "Girl with Mirror," by White, Clarence. Symbolism of Light: The Photographs of Clarence H. White.-- Wilmington, DE: Delaware Art Museum, 1977. pl. 95. (1898, varnished platinum print 25.0 x 19.7 cm).


Contrast this with an older symbolism of mirror in hand.

This is an Agate scarab. 11x8.5. Published: RA 1971, 210, fig. 24.
A woman, with stippled dress around her legs, looks in a mirror with her other hand behind her head. Hatched border. Perhaps Italic. 4th/3rd cent. BC.

The solitary beauty with a mirror, almost the mark of the Kaaminii, is common enough, especially on etchings on mirror handles, or in the corners, on door jambs, when an individual figure is formally required.

(Khajuraho, tenth century CE, 901 CE - 1000 CE ).

But here as in India, there can be something else at stake in the depiction of a mirror, which was a bridal gift. (For more on the work of mirrors in art, in the European scene, see http://www.pep-web.org/document.php?id=pi.005.0283a; (Schneider, L. (1985). Mirrors in Art. Psychoanal. Inq., 5:283-324.)


The domestic context (as seen here, in a depiction of Sivali at her toilet) is important in Indian depictions, adding along with reflexivity and sensual ephemera, a different note, difficult to limn entirely. Even better for this, are images which show a couple, the wife holding a mirror in hand. (These images not on the web). But note here the depiction of Nanda, turning back around for a last glimpse at his wife, who is seen, still with mirror:





Below are some assorted images, to be included in the talk.













I have included here some images of apsaras that can meaningfully complement a discussion of the depiction of pleasure as an evironment in the Saundarananda. Yes, it does help that they are tittilating, but it is important I think to try to tap into the Buddhist imaginaire, if only to follow in Nanda's footsteps.






One image here in particular has caused the Khmer cultural community some distress. Signed by an American born Khmer Arist, "Rheau," the work has inspired debate concerning its fidelity to the Ankor depiction of Apsaras, and what continuity of representation might mean in this context. See "Controversial Arist fights back," in the Phnom Penh Post, 26, December 2008; article by Sam Rim and Cornelius Rahn. One concern that I find especially intriguing is whether or not a woman can look over a ledge in a classical way or not. It is a question of where rock bottom is.

Kill The Wabbit

Here are some materials found trawling on the web that are useful for a small project I have been working on. Might be useful in full view to others. From A Study by Karl Heckel (Bayreuther Blätter, 1896, pages 5-19)
---------------------------

Prose Sketch for Die Sieger


Note
his drama, which never seems to have progressed beyond this short sketch (if Wagner wrote a prose draft, then it has not survived) was to be based on an avadana (a tale of heroic and miraculous acts performed by the Buddha in any of his incarnations) from the collection Divya avadâna, called Sârdûla karnavadana. [Editor's note]
Persons of the Drama
Shakyamuni [the future Buddha]
Ananda [his disciple]
Prakriti [an outcast or Chandala girl]
Her Mother
Brahmins
Disciples
Folk


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Introduction
In the autumn of 1854 Wagner had been introduced by Georg Herwegh to Schopenhauer's Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung (The World as Will and Representation). Thus stimulated, and parallel to this important new influence, he began to occupy himself intensively with India, especially with the teaching and legends of the Buddha. On 30 April 1855, he wrote from London to Mathilde Wesendonk, describing his reading of Adolf Holtzmann's Indische Sagen [Stuttgart, 1854] as his only joy here ... What a shameful place our entire learning takes, confronted with these purest revelations of noblest humanity in the ancient Orient. In the following winter, he studied Eugène Burnouf's monumental Introduction à l'Histoire du Buddhisme Indien (Paris, 1844). Both works can still be seen today in Wagner's library in the Villa Wahnfried in Bayreuth. Burnouf provided Wagner with the legends which formed the basis of The Victors. As late as 1868 he lent the book to King Ludwig II as an elucidation of the plan for the drama, which he had obviously described verbally to the king a short time before. We possess a short sketch of the project, which Wagner put on paper in Zürich on 16 May 1856, at a point between the composition of The Valkyrie and Siegfried:
[Richard Wagners Buddha-Projekt "Die Sieger": Seine ideellen und strukturellen Spuren in "Ring" und "Parsifal", Wolfgang Osthoff, Arkiv für Musikwissenschaft 40:3, 1983, p 189-211.]

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Synopsis
he Buddha on his last journey. Ananda given water from the well by Prakriti, the Chandala maiden. Her tumult of love for Ananda; his consternation. --


rakriti in love's agony: her mother brings Ananda to her: love's battle royal: Ananda, distressed and moved to tears, released by Shakya' [the Buddha]. --


rakriti goes to Buddha, under the tree at the city's gate, to plead for union with Ananda. He asks if she is willing to fulfil the stipulations of such a union? Dialogue with twofold meaning, interpreted by Prakriti in the sense of her passion; she sinks horrified and sobbing to the ground, when she hears at length that she must share Ananda's vow of chastity.

nanda persecuted by the Brahmins. Reproofs against Buddha's commerce with a Chandala girl. Buddha's attack on the spirit of caste. He tells of Prakriti's previous incarnation; she then was the daughter of a haughty Brahmin; the Chandala King, remembering a former existence as Brahmin, had craved the Brahmin's daughter for his son, who had conceived a violent passion for her; in pride and arrogance the daughter had refused return of love, and mocked at the unfortunate. This she had now to expiate, reborn as Chandala to feel the torments of a hopeless love; yet to renounce withal, and be led to full redemption by acceptance into Buddha's flock.--

rakriti answers Buddha's final question with a joyful Yea. Ananda welcomes her as sister. Buddha's last teachings. All are converted by him. He departs to the place of his redemption.

Zurich. May 16, 1856. [tr. William Ashton Ellis]

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Burnouf's summary of the story, which was obviously the basis of Wagner's sketch above, is this:

Çâkyamuni se présente en effet, et il apprend de la bouche de la jeune fille l'amour qu'elle ressent pour Ânanda et la détermination où elle est de le suivre. Profitant de cette passion pour convertir Prakriti, le Buddha, par une suite de questions que Prakriti peut prendre dans le sens de son amour, mais qu'il fait sciemment dans un sens tout religieux, finit par ouvrir à la lumière les yeux de la jeune fille et par lui inspirer le désir d'embrasser la vie ascétique. C'est ainsi qu'il lui demande si elle consent à suivre Ânanda, c'est à-dire à l'imiter dans ca conduite; si elle veut porter les mêmes vêtements que lui, c'est-à-dire le vêtements des personnes religieuses; si elle est autorisée par ses parents: questions que la loi de la Discipline exige qu'on adresse à ceux qui veulent se faire mendiants buddhistes.
Eugène Burnouf, Introduction à l'Histoire du Buddhisme Indien, Paris, 1844.

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Prakriti, Ananda and the Buddha
ess than a year later, Wagner had changed the name of the Chandala girl from Prakriti to Savitri:

... in the Victors what will happen is as follows: the girl (presumably Savitri) who, while waiting for Ananda in the second act, rolls in the flowers in utter ecstacy, absorbing the sun, the woods, the birds and the water -- everything -- the whole of nature in her wanton pleasure, is challenged by Shakya, after she has taken her fateful vow [in the third act], to look around her and above her, and is then asked what she thinks of it all? -- Not very beautiful -- she then says gravely and sadly, for she now sees the other side of the world.
[Letter from R. Wagner to Marie Sayn-Wittgenstein, 4 March 1857, tr. Spencer and Millington]
The plan underwent some modifications and additions in the following years. No doubt the most important was Wagner's entry in the Venetian Diary for Mathilde Wesendonk on 5 October 1858; this agrees with the sentences quoted [as the last item below], written just before his death:
[Osthoff, ibid]
Shakyamuni was initially opposed to the idea of admitting women into the community of saints. He repeatedly expressed the view of them that, by nature, women are far too subject to their sexual identity, and hence to whim and caprice, and far too attached to worldly existence to be able to achieve the composure and deep contemplativeness necessary for the individual to renounce his natural inclinations and achieve redemption [Erlösung]. It was his favourite pupil, Ananda, -- that same Ananda to whom I have already allotted a part in my The Victors -- who was finally able to persuade the master to relent and open up the community to women.
Without any sense of unnaturalness, my plan has been vastly and hugely expanded. The difficulty here was to make the Buddha himself - a figure totally liberated and above all passion - suitable for dramatic and, more especially, musical treatment. But I have now solved the problem by having him reach one last remaining stage in his development whereby he is seen to acquire a new insight, which - like every insight - is conveyed not by abstract associations of ideas but by intuitive emotional experience, in other words, by a process of shock and agitation suffered by his inner self; as a result, this insight reveals him in his final progress towards a state of supreme enlightenment. Ananda, who is closer to life and directly affected by the love of the Chandala girl, becomes the agent of his ultimate enlightenment.
[Letter from R. Wagner to Mathilde Wesendonk, 5 October 1858, Wesendonck-Briefe 108-10, tr. Spencer and Millington]
During the years that followed, the project appeared continually in letters and reports. The Munich Festival programme prepared for Ludwig II in 1865 included The Victors in firm plans for August 1870, August 1871 and August 1873, alongside Parsifal, which was at that stage similarly without libretto or music, and the still incomplete Ring and Mastersingers. In the above-mentioned letter to the king in 1868, Wagner was aware that his source -- Burnouf's book -- contained only a very short extract of the real legend [which Burnouf had translated from Sanskrit but not published in full] -- and to what extent his own fantasy had already been used to fill out thin material. Sometimes Wagner expressed a wish to write The Victors as a drama without music and to have his son Siegfried then set it to music. We have a remark of Cosima's, a few months before his death, that he would not compose on the subject of the Buddha, for the reason that the images -- mango-tree, lotus-flower, etc. -- were not ones familiar to him, so that the poetry inevitably would turn out artificial. He had already foreseen similar difficulties in 1881 ... That completing Parsifal blocked a realization of The Victors can be inferred from the denial that Wagner felt he needed to make on 10 July 1882:
[Osthoff, ibid]
Dear friend, it amuses me to put your Berlin journal [Allgemeine Musik-Zeitung] in order on certain matters. Here is another report, not a word of which is true -- which looks particularly impertinent given the tone of great assurance, as though the report were that of a close friend. More than 25 years ago I sketched out a scenario on a single side of paper and gave it the name: the Victors. Since conceiving Parsifal, I have altogether abandoned this Buddhist project -- which is related to the former only in a weaker sense -- and since that time have given no further thought to elaborating the sketch, still less of reading it aloud.
[Letter from R. Wagner to Otto Lessmann, editor, 10 July 1882, tr. Spencer and Millington]
It is a beautiful feature in the legend, that shows the Victoriously Perfect [der Siegreich Vollendete] at last determined to admit the woman. [In the margin:] Love -- Tragedy.
[R. Wagner, On the Womanly in the Human, February 1883. The very last words that Wagner wrote.]

A Picture Holds us Captive

In Vogue, August, this year:

An old woman missing her upper front teeth holds a child in rumpled clothes — who is wearing a Fendi bib (retail price, about $100).

A family of three squeezes onto a motorbike for their daily commute, the mother riding without a helmet and sidesaddle in the traditional Indian way — except that she has a Hermès Birkin bag (usually more than $10,000, if you can find one) prominently displayed on her wrist.

A toothless barefoot man holds a Burberry umbrella (about $200).

To all of you who are about to pick up pens and write the manager (Sorry--Editor), here she is, Vogue India editor Priya Tanna, with a message to critics of the August shoot:

"Lighten up," she said in a telephone interview. Vogue is about realizing the "power of fashion" she said, and the shoot was saying that "fashion is no longer a rich man's privilege. Anyone can carry it off and make it look beautiful," she said.

She said, she said.

Got that? That is the Vogue India editor. Priya. And she is, in her own way, a visionary. "Anyone can carry it off and look beautiful." Anyone. That is why the persons photographed do not have names. They are 'old man', 'a woman', 'the urchin' (oh why didn't they have the guts to say it?).

Actually, Oracular Priya says: "Anyone can carry it off and make it look beautiful."

"It"???

'This is a question of conceptual grammar," says Alex Kimbel, a local Wittgenstein impersonator who cuts a profile eerily reminiscent of the popular philosopher; he does a good bit of business attending Wittgenstein workshops on the philosopher's birthday at Tier One U. S. Universities. We caught up with him by a coffee shop in Hyde Park under the tracks, and asked for his comments. He turned his chair around, sat side-straddle and intoned, with his back to us:

"Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever withfresh life."

The oracle added, on hearing Priya's comments: 'One wants to say: 'Have you no Decency, at long last, you Silly Cow, Have you no Decency?' But here, our menchlichkeit leads us astray. And we must reach for the flypaper thin enough to fit the fly-bottle, and help put the proverbially refreshing metaphor out of its cynicism."

"A picture has held us captive...," he said, before asking us to buy him a second espresso.

Thank you Priya, and A. Kimbel (also Tagore, in a guest role), on behalf of all the farmers who committed suicide earlier this decade. If only they had known you were thinking of them. That, if not the good life ala Martha Nussbaum, then at least high fashion is not a rich man's privilege. And see, we could have shown them, the urchins and old women without teeth and old man laughing. A picture. Farmers in India do not laugh enough, experts say.

Announcing: "So Long and Thanks for all the Fish"

The University of Chicago Press is pleased to announce the forthcoming book by J.F.A. Flodigarry, Senior Junior Lecturer at The Center for Horticulture, Hatcheries, and Agro-Business at the University of Hull: "So Long and Thanks for all the Fish," finally, a book without a subtitle, because printing costs are being diverted to imminent lawsuits for copyright infringement.

Contents

Introduction:

The Obligatory Historiography Section: From Lord Macaulay’s Note to the £5.99 Curry Lunch Special.

Chapter 1:

The Obligatory Theory Chapter: The Slippery Slope from Metrapole to Province.

Chapter 2:

Natives and the Datives: the Public Sphere and Dialogues in the Songs of the Mechuya.

Chapter 3:

Habitat, Habitus, Halibut: Reconstructing the urban landscape of Imperial fisheries.

Chapter 4:

Fried Print: The Reading Habits of Fish Consumers, Humble Functionaries in Her Majesties Services, and Post Property Zamindaris and Memsahibs (Not in that Order).

Chapter 5:

Provincials Educating the Natives: The Transliteration of Irish Sea Shanties and the Formation of the Indian National Congress.

Chapter 6:

Fisherman’s Wife, Fisherman’s God: Re-Enscribing the Matsya Avatar.

Post Script:

Edo Ergo Sum: of the Migration of Indian Taste and Manners to post Imperium London (No Empire, No Longer).

Appendices Include Recipes. (Its a Surprise).

Initial Reviews:

“The greatest Subaltern Studies book written since ‘Provincializing Europe,’ a must read for all serious South Asian Scholars. It shows us a way beyond nationalism and Imperialism in modern Colonial History.” – The Journal of Social Theory.

“The most important work of Imperial historiography to be written in the past twenty years. A souring peace of theoretical rhetoric, which thoroughly historicizes the object of its inquiry. –The Journal of Subaltern Studies.

“I Don’t Speak Indian, Eat Spicy Food or Like Fish. Never before has a book been so clearly focused on theory and lacking in historical facts. It would have been better had it remained trees.” J.V. Nybster, University of Texas, Austin.

“I Don’t Speak British, Read Imperial Historians or Like Fish. Never before has a book been so devoid of theory and overburdened with facts.” –B.S. Debjoti, University of Chicago.

“A Wonderful First Blush at the topic. One misses the omission of the representation of Bombay Duck in orientalist narratives of the period and the glossing over of theatrical tradition of seafaring heros in Lollywood epics.” R.M. Huna, Memsahib and Cook-Book Writer.

Dedicated, naturally, to the coldest fish of them all...

Someone is Listening to my Prayers, says Boy

On being informed of a news item entitled "Rare India documents 'go missing',"
By Subir Bhaumik for BBC News, Calcutta, a still youthful A. B. C. E Appuradai, (to your right, not left), a young IAS officer stationed in the state formerly known as Madhya Pradesh, heaved a sigh of relief, sipped his tea, and said: "Someone is Listening to my Prayers."

"Astonishing as I am an atheist, a thousand times over (in India, you see, you have to be very insistent). But that is a small price to pay."

The young man had a Penguin copy of Marcus Aurellius in his pocket.

The article by Bhaumik is reproduced here in summary below:

"Tagore composed the Indian and Bangladeshi national anthems. India's national audit agency says many rare manuscripts and documents have gone missing from the National Library in the eastern city of Calcutta. A senior official with the Comptroller and Auditor General's (CAG) office said that the early works of renowned writer Rabindranath Tagore were missing. So too were letters and paperwork of independence heroes Subhas Chandra Bose and Sarojini Naidu.

The library has denied the charges and said the allegations are untrue.
"We have found readers complaining that they cannot get most of the rare books and manuscripts they like to read for research purposes," a CAG official - who did not wish to be named - told the BBC. "Almost 40% of the rare books and manuscripts are not available. Even inventories have been lost." "We have an inventory for rare books and it is surely not true that Tagore's early works have gone missing," he said. The worst such case was in 2004, when Rabindranath Tagore's original Nobel medallion of 1913 was stolen from a museum in West Bengal's western town of Shanti Niketan.

Tagore, often referred to as Bengal's Shakespeare, is the first and only Indian to win the literature prize.

He wrote poems and short stories and composed both the Indian and Bangladeshi national anthems. He died in 1941."

Mistaking the boy's sense of relief after we finished reading the article to him, we wondered if he meant that now he could actually access the rare works of Tagore, India's Shakespeare (Robindronoth having stolen that mantle, hotly coveted, from Kalidasa, who could not be reached for comment at this time. Bangla, in some circles, being India, especially where literature is concerned, allows us to say that Indian is Bengali, and Bengali Indian, so the 'Shakespeare of Bengal is the Shakespeare of India. Appadurai thought this a good enthymeme, one all too true to conventions of writing about Indian Literature. The two represented languages being Bengali and English. We do not, of course, agree with this enthymeme, nor the facts behind it. There are several Indian languages, if not on your bookshelves, or the local Borders. Urdu, Marathi, Tamil, Telegu, for example, have some fine pieces. Modern. Very Modern. Good luck with those languages then...)

The youthful official shook his head vehemently.

"No. Now We can destroy them. I could have been a great scholar. Perhaps a writer myself, you know. I have been studying Haikus. But I was ruined by Tagore. And Naidu," he shuddered, "the nightingale. But Tagore was the worst. It dripped piety. Like Tolstoy. But in verse. Imagine if Tolstoy preached at you without the epic backdrop of early modern warfare.

First the National Anthem. They made us sing it, day in and day out, and I did not understand a word of it. It felt like a warm-up to our Geography class, right before Calculus. You know, all this 'Sindh and Himachal and Yamuna..., Dravida something something. A very confused Geography class. Echoes of Italian Nationalism, where the land is a perfect unity and such. List its attributes, and the unity shows itself. Where were the people I thought? You see" he said apologetically, "I do not speak Bangla. Nobody does. Outside Western Academe and Bengal and Bangladesh, you see. But still we sang for India. Day in and Day out. in Bangla. There are still parts I do not understand. Let us misunderstand each other in several languages I say. Or in English. A language no one can claim anymore. But not like this."

He poured himself another measure of sickly, sweet tea.

"And there was that terrible Tennysonian poetry. How many bright minds we lost this way. How many undiscovered poets, and artists, who will never write in English now? The boy stood up and began intoning:

"Oh Lord, when thou didst commandest me'est to sing, I felt my heart would burst for pride, and I didst spreadest my wings of song, about yea wide, and how I didst fear the rustle and bustle of the feathered sonority would displease thee, in whose presence I had flown...a silence rimmed in light, at no extra price...

and it went on and on like this. Terrible. We could have read In Memorium and been done with this sort of thing. But no. We had to go on to read everything by Tagore. Anything. No Whitman. No Crane. No Larkin. I am only now getting over the mental cramp I used to feel on encountering iambic or free verse. I cannot see indents in a page and not squirm. All because of the Indian Shakespeare."

He sipped his cup of tea, and smiled a toothy smile...

"Maybe they will get his prose poetry next."

On being informed that the likes of Wittgenstein were known to read from Tagore to their students, the youthful official shrugged.

"Wittgenstein, correct me if I am wrong, was also known to prefer detective novels over Joyce. And he had a habit of keeping a few less chairs so that his students had to stand, or leave. It could have been another way for him to skimp on teaching and vacation by the fjords, where I am told he liked to be. In the dark. Alone. This is what I felt like as well on reading of the holy rustle and bustle of wings. It takes the wind right out of you. Trust a philosopher to pick it right up"

Shocked, we asked him whether he thought there was a Shakespeare of India.

"Yes," said Appadurai. "William. That was good enough for the World. I think it is quite good enough for us. Have you read Julius Ceasar? Friends, Romans, and the like, no bloody wings. Not even a single "burstet"; healthy pre-Victorian participles. Now thats the stuff. And haikus. Here, I can try one:

Tagore

Amid stacks of paper, a few less.
A fan shudders
alone

He smiled a little sheepishly.

"Perhaps now they can write a history of modernity in Indian literature without having to scamper over to half-digested letters written by Tagore to Mr and Mrs. Mahatma."

When we asked him what in today's literature he liked, he stood on the chair.

"It was the choice he forced on us: either simper, in sentences even American high school children can understand, or write weighty magisterial blither in mock Tennysonian idioms or in tone-deaf Bombaya. Why not serious and demotic? In Several languages? Not stupid. Not artificial half remembered mannerisms of a city now lost, confected for auditory tourists. But demotic. One's time in thought, and the like. We have given up seriousness, because of what it looks like. Big beard. No shoes. And dozens of students dressing like you. And what it sounds like. Oh God. Sonorous aviaries....wings spread yea wide. But now we write novels about arranged marriages in English. Any old fanny can get a Pulitzer. Throw in a green card, a samosa and a dowry, and wring your hands. Wear a sari on weekends. Talk about gods under stairs, a cow, a little cricket, or a bloody trip back home in the boonies. And caste. Mention caste. Or Hindus and Muslims falling in love, falling out of love. Why can't they fall out of autorickshaws? Joyce could have done it. It is the hand-wringing in second rate forms that is our Shakespeare's real legacy. Either Tennyson or daft Suburban American, mangled in translation. He left us in the swill: our best minds for generations becoming chartered accountants, software engineers, businessmen, doctors, because they can't put up with the drivel of serious, the sheer bloody mindless tedium of the humani....

We left him, standing on the chair, gesticulating at the ceiling fan, with his tie tied securely around his head, no longer smiling. We did not think appropriate to ask him about the prospects for an Indian Nobel. Or whether Bangla looses something in translation, or whether it was true, as famous Chicago based humanists have claimed, that Tagore's poetry contains the seeds for the regeneration of the liberal democratic tradition in India.