Colors of Fashion

Hi all, here are 4 poems translated in English, originally written in Hindi by my late father Mr. BP Tiwari :

Colors of Fashion

Scores of thanks, the world of fashioned,
You have left even Gandhi and Kabir stunned,
Draped in a coffin of ever new designs,
The traditional ensemble, what? No signs.

Oh! God what outfits were those,
Such smug shows,
You could tell a Brahmin from distance,
A robe less drown trodden without pence,
A Kshatriya, a Trader no pretence,
A Scavenger or a Community comrade hence.

Each stank of caste and fragmentation,
All that drowns now in the colors of fashion,
What Gandhi and Kabir could not solve,
Here in the magic of fashion they dissolve.

But hold on; don’t let fashion overwhelm you,
Good till complements, the time and situation cue.


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So Desire Your Fellow Country Men

It is not the unknown scary black night,
Nor is it the grim grey rainy day sight.

Instead it is the dreaded face of caste inequity,
Count blessings if you can spot it in a jiffy,
Thank stars that you have not lost your path,
And you are on the right side of time’s wrath.

Light the torch of eradicating untouchability,
And grow nation’s glory with all alacrity.

They watch you with a gaze never seen before,
High hopes burning bright and lips singing lore,
Other societies look at you with admiration,
They think a lot about you with interest and elation.

Simple solutions, easy ways, some plain thinking to do,
Huge expectations are from you the big buddy Hindu,
Pull down now every wall of caste inequity,
Every horizon will burn a new light of vivacity.

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You still need to clear you tenth class!

Don’t talk like a Phd. pass,
You still need to clear your tenth class!

Then there is senior school and college,
You desire straight for Vedas-Shastras knowledge.

Forgetting even the basic of conversations,
Plagued by short-cut of mere translations,
Poisoned by the quick and dirty descriptions,
The venom of half truths has spread across each vein,
And polluted your pitiable brain.

First put some life learning Sanskrit the mother language,
With in-depth study; gain wisdom and its leverage,
Bring it home right into your surroundings,
Learn its behavior, disciplines and nuances.

Next snap the towering bars of untouchability,
Only then could you sing the shlokas with clarity,
With just empty chants of ‘Entire Universe My Family’,
Who on earth will hug your exclusion guilty body warmly?

Don’t talk like a Phd. pass,
You still need to clear your tenth class!

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Thus the spring in my gait

Many thanks, Shyam Shoe Store!
Within seconds, you made my IQ sore,
Nothing sells here for less than four hundred rupees,
Do not have it in you, cant’ buy, so leave please.

Head bowed and tight lipped, slipped out,
Thought, buy here if you wallet is mighty stout,
For me it is only shoeless feet,
And the store manager’s scornful bleat.

Burning road and naked soles,
Hurt and pain from flaming coals,
Whom does one call and plead?
Which courts would pay heed?

Heart torn, ambled into a temple,
My whole on God’s feet, emotions ample,
A prayer on the lips, an appeal for a good pair,
Everything else Lord I get under your care.

“So be it”, echoed in my entire within,
In God’s boon I flowed to the brim,
And there on the temple doorsteps lay a pair, unwanted, carefree,
He only willed a praying devotee to remove them for me.

My feet consumed them to their full length,
My gait got its spring, joy and strength.