Posted on by Sonia Dogra

After Nissim Ezekiel

Dear Readers,

Can we ever even get close to the masters? I read Nissim Ezekiel in college and remember how postcolonial literature was a favourite of the entire batch. Our teacher had a huge role to play in it. But more than that, I think it was the relatability factor, the vision of a modern India that appealed to many of us.

Well, years later, I am reading The Night of the Scorpion as Namratha leads us into the ninth week of Poetic Adventures. Nine weeks of writing a poem every week. I have loved every bit of it.

This week I am dropping the poem a day in advance. My WIP tired me out and I needed a break for a day or two. As I always say, go the poetry way.

This week’s adventure/challenge is:

Write a humorous or satirical poem. Write it in the form of a monologue. The poem could reflect the current society or world in 2025 like Ezekiel does for the 70s in ‘The Patriot’ or ‘Soap’. Or you could do a different way like in ‘Goodbye Party for Miss Pushpa TS’ and keep it light-hearted.

Incorporate colloquial terms. Though the world is going global now and we are heading towards being clones of each other, people of each region or community still retain some language that is their own, terms which they would relate with immediately. This week, try to incorporate some level of localness in your language. Introduce ‘way of usage of language’ or ‘phrases’ that is associated with your country or area.

If you wish to read Nissim Ezekiel’s poems mentioned above, head over to Namratha’s Substack where she also shares her very interesting take titled ‘The Beauty parlour Lady Who Comes Home’. (Click here).

My poem is based on an article I wrote many years ago. I’ve tried to infuse some common North Indian colloquialisms/ Hindi-influenced expressions and as they are rightly called ‘Indianisms’ (twisted English, starting with the title) in this poem, and I hope it entertains you.

What is Your Height?

Me? No, no.

I’m not five-feet tall, if,

that is tall, at all.

I came with genes

hard-to-pull

and a lineage that scaled

no ‘heights’. But

my determined mother

launched a fight

from the minute I was born

to pull me out of the clutches

of injustice, inch by inch.

So,

well-wishers sat on her head—

uncles and aunts, good neighbours

and bad— came with well-meaning

advice, ‘Try massage no’.

My father’s mother   

won hands down (no surprise there)

to work her magic with cow’s ghee

and nimble fingers.

She started

when I was twenty-one—

days, not years. Her massages

should have sufficed

but my mother’s sister

thought otherwise.

‘What re, how can

the maternal family

not contribute?’ So,

she brought mustard

and apricot,

right temperatures,

and right proportions. But

by five, panic was raised,

all oils had failed. Again,

they said, ‘Do one thing,

put Bournvita in milk.’ My mother

did likewise, but height  

refused to come, still,

she never aborted the mission.

Skipping ropes weren’t spared

neither was I.

Homeopathy pills,

yoga and basketball,

I did all. Rocketing heights

of friends and cousins

doubled my mother’s woes,

as did an ‘assumed’ paternal aunt

who ate her brain,

‘boy will be hard to find, no’.

By the time,

I was eighteen,

mother was defeated

by hard-coded genes.

But a woman’s resolve

never lets go.

Years later,

she was still trying

the blueprinted plan  

on my sibling. This time,

the god’s had mercy,

you see,

for the elusive

figure of five, no, no,

it’s not mine, but,

my sister’s real height.

Discover more from A Hundred Quills

Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.

20 Replies to “After Nissim Ezekiel”

  5. What a funny, energetic poem, Sonia. I know Nissam Ezekial’s daughter, she lives in the same city as I do here in Canada. It’s a small world.

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply

Leave a Reply