Tell Me, Please: Reflections in the Foreword — Sudhir K. Arora
poetry does not pay!
she offers a vision
and of hopes a ray
the future
of Indian poetry
in English
always remains
bright and worthwhile
as she has poets
with contents and style.”
This was what I stated in a seminar on “Indian Poetry in English: A Contemporary Scenario”, held at Kashi Vidyapeeth in the nagri of Lord Shiva on March 20, 2023. After my submission, Prof. Mrityunjay from Allahabad University, Prayagraj presented his submission on the poetic scenario and raised a question that made me think. His question was: “Everyone is writing poetry while the truth is that none wants to read. Why?” The question is right. Why do we not read others’ poems while we ourselves expect others to read our own poems? To think of one’s own pain greater and deeper than those of others has somewhere clues of this riddle. It is a natural habit of a human being that he never wishes to go through the pains and suffering of others either by reading or hearing them. He is interested in sharing his own pain and suffering expecting others to listen to him or read his poems in which he has poured his own soul or his own self that has gone through the life experiences. One cannot deny that most of the poets write for therapeutic purpose as writing the song of life offers them a release to their pain, love, loss, memory and sufferings. “Poetry does not pay” but it still pays without paying. The poet feels relaxed, and intense pleasure comes to him at the very moment when he delivers a baby poem.
Dr. Abnish Singh Chauhan gave me his 51 poems and asked me to write a foreword for his poetry collection Tell Me, Please…. Writing a foreword means going through the experiences of the poet and then offer the observations and feelings. Feeling the experiences of the poet does not create the same feelings and experiences. One who goes through them recreates his own feelings while mixing his own with the poet. This recreated version becomes a different version that may or may not be similar to the truth of the poet. One’s mindset makes the difference. Perspectives differ. I recall Nissim Ezekiel’s words: “The best poets wait for words.” The best poets also wait for the time. They release their poems at the right time with the right intention. The same applies to Dr. Chauhan who is a bilingual poet writing in Hindi and English.
Writing “Foreword” is just to forward the very first impressions of the reaction out of the first reading of the poems of the poet who has poured his soul in them. The poet is also curious to know whether the reader or the critic has understood the very depth of his soul pourings. This is what I felt when I thoroughly pursued the manuscript which also seemed to ask: “Tell me, please…” what you understood about the experiences which you experienced through going the experiences inscribed in the text. What surprised me in the manuscript was the naming of the poems. Titles of the poems seem to offer everything if one has the ability to decipher. The first title is “A Small Desire” and this small desire ends when the poet feels “Load” of life and begins to cry “Enough” that makes him recall “The Mother” who asks him to “Silence” the “Pain” and the moment he does so, “Peace Comes” removing all his doubts and making him move forward towards the “Progress” in his journey in achieving the final goal of spirituality making his heart Vrindavan. His request-cum-question in the form of “Tell me, please…” turns into the sweet melodies that begin to surge in his heart “like a river flowing in bliss / shattering all doubts” (Vrindavan).
The poet shares his small desire with Mother who may be Radha, Jagat Janani or a Devi. Everything exists in this divine Mother who believes in karma and stands “with those / who walk / the path of dharma” (A Small Desire). His small desire is “to sing for the suffering ones” and for this he asks Her to grace his “trembling voice” and “trembling words.” He knows the value of poetry and finds that everything, including the samskara of humanity exists in poetry, but he realizes that he is unskilled as he failed to create such a poem as would inspire the readers. Then he generalizes his condition with the common man. It is the selfishness of man that makes him carve path, sell guns, and silence the disagreeable voices. This selfishness takes the man so far away that he begins to make the world see what he wishes. But, at the next moment, he begins to doubt when he raises a question thus:
Does he truly know—
how to rise
above the hills
and shine
through the dark valleys?
Tell me, please… (Tell Me, Please…)
Here ‘hills’ and ‘valleys’ become quite significant. The main thing is not to achieve the height but to go beyond that height. The focal point is how he helps his fellow beings when he reaches the hills and how he shines through the dark valleys. Hills may reveal the pleasurable condition or richness of mind and matter while the valleys become the symbol of darkness, sorrows and disappointments. If the man in his high achievements thinks for himself, he is selfish. Most of the people when they achieve heights become selfish. The rarest of the rare are the people who achieve the sun to shine over the valleys to remove the darkness.
The poet is aware of the contemporary scenario which is coloured with the materialism. Those who are rich never look at the poor with respect and compassion. The world is progressing day by day and the capitalists are investing in energy and construction without investing anything for the upliftment of the poor. Prosperity, position and power are the ingredients for measuring the life status of a person. The poet finds that these rich people are engaged in generating energy from e-waste, in building bridges and in redirecting “the course of a river, / by constructing dams” (But Why, Then?), but they never think of giving due rights to the people “who wander / from street to street, / day and night.” He simply asks them to restore “the love and dignity / they deserve.” He also implores them to recognise these people’s identity and asks them not to judge these poor people with the parameters of “prosperity, position, and power.”
But why,
then, can you not restore
the love and dignity
they deserve,
the identity you deny them,
when you measure them
by the standards of
prosperity, position, and power? (But Why, Then?)
This reveals that the poet has the heart which feels for the poor and cries when it sees them being exploited by the rich.
From the public domain, he enters the private domain where he feels himself isolated and alienated when he muses over the fact that the beloved person claims that he cares the poet while the truth is that he never cares to listen to him whenever he speaks. But the poet is sure that one day he will hear “the silence of (his) defeated heart” only to confirm his death. The poem “Silence” goes deep down directly into the heart as it is not the case of the poet himself but of every one who also feels the same feelings. Here is the poem “Silence” which reveals the real feelings in an ironical manner.
He claims
to hear my silence—
the one
who never cared
to listen
when I spoke to him.
I am sure—
one day
he will hear
the silence
of my defeated heart,
pressing his ear
to my chest,
only to confirm
that I am dead. (Silence)
This dear person may be his beloved, or his friend or anyone including his creator.
The things that happen around him make him ponder over the predicament of life. Pain becomes the touchstone that sharpens his mind and heart to the extent that he begins to break from the chains of attractions that distract and unsettle his mind. He seems to voice his feelings thus:
And I—
make every effort
to stand and walk
the path of life,
fighting to break free
from the chains that bind me. (Pain)
Every person is running after peace but fails to find it. He is stunned when he thinks over a very absurd philosophy which believes in more power brings more peace. The poet becomes quite inquisitive to know the way the people think about this peace game. He asks:
Does peace arise
from the barrel of a gun,
or from calculative diplomacy
driven by personal gain? (Peace Comes?)
The poet negates such absurd logic and recommends that peace comes from within. It comes out of love and compassion. Absence of conflict results in peace. He becomes assertive, optimistic and didactic when he offers his submission related to peace.
Peace comes and stays—
where life is unburdened,
where love and compassion flourish,
where the air is pure,
and free from
the haze of conflict. (Peace Comes?)
As Abnish is a professor-poet, didactic and philosophical strains naturally enter his poems. He philosophizes overs time, universe, pain, karma, dharma and other related things. Time, for him, is not time in digital sense; it becomes “a gambler / playing a game” (Time) without stopping and without tiring. This gambler is doing his “eternal job” while remaining “steadfast” and “impassive.” On one side, time is a gambler, on the other side, it begins to move “like a river” that never comes back. He observes so minutely that he seems to see even a paper in pain when it twists. Here is the complete poem “A Paper” which runs thus:
A paper—
it is simply known.
Sometimes it rises,
falls now and then,
striving hard
to fly again
from beginning to end.
Sometimes it dances
like a spindle
and gets no rest, no peace,
feeling lonely in the crowd
on its tired heels.
Sometimes it twists
in pain
and expresses its agony
before the self-loving men,
living in their closed dens.
Sometimes it burns
like coal,
sparks and fades away,
going in the ground,
tilled for the new role. (A Paper)
The poem “A Paper” is not the simple journey of a paper which begins its life, twists in pain, burns like coal and, finally, fades away. It goes in the ground and then tilled for playing its new role. Is it not the journey of a human being? Is a human being not like a paper? A human being comes in this world with ‘birth’ and begins his journey from beginning to the end, i.e. ‘death.’ The beginning point is his birth and the end point is his death. Like a paper, he also dances like a spindle without taking rest. Peace is far away from him. A spindle dances in the crowd. Though there is crowd, the spindle is alone and moving on its heels. A human being, though lives in the crowd, remains alone and continues to dace like a spindle. It is not the paper alone but the man who also feels pain and expresses his agony. But the selfish men never care for the pain and agony of the crying man. It is not the paper that burns; it is the human being who burns like a coal. When he is alive, he burns like a coal. When he dies, his body burns and fades away. After death, he is reborn and becomes ready for the new role. The poem really touches the heart and the reader while going through the pain of the paper realises his own story of pain and agony. The poet uses similes and metaphors to reveal the cries of the grieved heart. He muses over pain and begins to philosophize saying that “Pain comes and goes, / like breath— / a whisper in, a sigh out, / lingering before it fades” (Pain).
The world is so worldly that it measures a relationship with its worldly parameters. The poet is fed up with such attitude of the people who are so worldly that they never think of anything except their selfish gain. The poet feels grieved so profoundly that his inner self wakes him up to the extent that it becomes vocal to state the word ‘enough.’ The poet realizes that:
Many times
his inner self becomes vocal,
chastising him,
‘This is enough’— (Enough)
“This is enough.” This very feeling inspires him to move from outside to within. Here begins a new journey which is different from the materialistic journey. Now material becomes immaterial. He recalls the Bhagvad Gita where Krishna says that He dwells within. The poet begins to search but fails to find Him. What he finds is the darkness everywhere. Very honestly, he admits:
You said
in the Bhagvad Gita —
“You also dwell within.”
I search for You there too,
day and night,
but only find
endless darkness. (On Holi)
The poet becomes so helpless that he asks for Giridhari’s help. He knows that he may be wise enough to decipher the world only if he becomes vijanatah. He may become so only by the divine grace of Giridhari. It is only He who may make him wise. The moment he becomes wise, he will know Him as well as the colour of his own soul. Here he cries for help from Giridhari.
O help me, Giridhari,
in becoming vijanatah —
one who knows You,
and the unique colours of
one’s own soul. (On Holi)
“Vrindavan is my beloved home, / where Yamuna flows majestically” (Vrindavan). As the poet belongs to Vrindavan, he associates himself with its dust and wishes to bear the dust of Braj upon his forehead. He wishes to chant “Radhe Krishna, Radhe Krishna.” While chanting this mantra, he feels that all the things of this world have joined in his sacred song. His heart feels “a river flowing in bliss.” At that moment of bliss, all his doubts of his mind are shattered. This is the moment when he surrenders himself “to the radiant glory / of the Divine.” He feels that he does not live in Vrindavan, but Vrindavan lives in his heart.
Questions are themselves answers. The poet is in the habit of asking questions, but these questions are not a kind of interrogation; they seem to reveal the unrevealed. In the very first poem, he seems to ask:
why do my words tumble
like the fragile leaves
falling from
an unsteady branch? (A Small Desire)
Not even this, he makes his poem ask the question. Here the poem is the creation and the poet is the creator. The poem asks his creator the reason of its creation. Here is an instance of conversational mode:
Hello, I am your poem,
and you are my poet!
May I ask you something,
my dear poet?
I know—
I am neither Nachiketa
nor Arjuna,
yet a question
stirs within me:
‘why did you create me?’ (May I Know?)
The poet also presents the dark side of those people who go to the foreign countries from the village and never return. When they are needed in the village, they fail to return while they promise to take care of everything before their departure. The poet ironically raises a question and in this question is hidden its response.
Is the path too long,
from America to the village,
or is the world itself
simply shifting this way
in the modern age? (A Journey)
The poet knows how to paint the picture in an ironical colour creating profound effect. He uses ‘figure’ like simile in order to bring the penetrating reality. Ramua, a hard-working man is doing work day and night like an ox. He does this simply to feed his loved ones. Such picture arises the feeling of pity and compassion in the heart for Ramua. His working day and night to take care of his loved ones is praiseworthy. This is not the case of one Ramua, but of many poor Ramuas who are working hard to earn livelihood without caring for their own lives. Here is a picture of Ramua who has been compared to an ox thus:
Ramua, like an ox,
carries the load,
day and night,
to keep his loved ones fed. (The Load)
Words move. The poet knows the value of words, but sometimes they do not reveal what one wishes. It also happens that people are not interested in saying things directly or naturally; they make the simple idea look like a complex one by weaving it with difficult words. The poet is interested in saying things naturally and directly. Here the poet presents a case of a person whose intricate words are beyond understanding as they create confusion and chaos. He reveals this idea through a simile thus:
Your words are
like winding roads
in the hills,
full of turns and twists,
trapping my innocent mind. (Your Words)
Even an abstract idea like pain becomes concrete when he presents it through a simile:
Pain comes and goes,
like breath—
a whisper in, a sigh out,
lingering before it fades. (Pain)
How beautifully he paints the picture of time that never returns!
Time moves like a river,
never coming back (When We Met)
Eliot’s quote: “It is impossible to say just what I mean” seems to reveal its mystery. How naturally the poet expresses the case of his ego through the use of a simile! He makes it possible just what he means through the use of a simile. Here lies his strength in making complicated things look like simple ones.
When you embrace me,
my stored ego melts,
like an iceberg
yielding
to the sun’s warm touch. (Gentle Touch)
Figures become the real weapons with which a poet tackles even abstract and invisible things. Poetry is not poetry but becomes “the drops of water / flowing / through the rivers / and streams” (Poetry). Besides similes and metaphors, he uses personifications. Here is a rich instance of the use of personification with various shades:
Clouds gathered,
clashed,
the storm came,
the tempest roared,
but the mountain remained silent. (The Mountain)
“Spring” paints the spring season which fills the poet’s “heart with hopes and joy.” He loves ‘the breeze’ which “carries / old songs, / half-remembered, / half-sung” (Spring).
Sometimes, the poet becomes ironical and satirical in his approach. Onion brings tears in the eyes when it is peeled. But here the price rising of onion can bring tears in the eyes. He paints the picture of price rise in the contemporary scenario thus:
The ever-rising
price of onion
often makes his eyes
flow with tears. (Blind)
His proper use of phrases like “a river of misery,” “a tide of pain,” (The Load) etc. gives a new dimension to his poems. He is simple and makes simplicity his great strength when he employs imagery. He successfully creates an image of love by creating shades of images like bee and nectar. For instance:
How does love
swell within,
as the bee hurries in,
drinking nectar,
dancing to its rhythm? (How?)
The poet never forgets his Indian culture, the pure water of which overflows in his poems. The use of Indian words like ‘Ganga,’ ‘ghats’ (A Journey), ‘hookah,’ ‘sarpanch,’ ‘rangoli,’ (The Sarpanch), ‘dal-bhat’ (Blind), ‘chulhas’ (The Burning), ‘Garuda,’ ‘Krishna,’ ‘Girdhari’ (Spring), ‘ghat,’ ‘Rishikesh’ (The Music), ‘Khajuraho,’ ‘Jagdambi,’ ‘Varun Dev’ (Khajuraho), ‘soorajmukhi’ (The Rising), ‘vaidya,’ ‘vata,’ ‘pitta’ and ‘kapha’ (A Timely Cure), ‘Krishna,’ ‘Holi,’ ‘Goloka Vrandavan,’ ‘Shriji,’ ‘Bankey Bihari’, ‘darshan,’ ‘pujaris’, ‘pandas,’ ‘the Bhagavad Gita,’ ‘Giridhari,’ ‘vijanatah’ (On Holi), ‘Braj,’ ‘Chandrayaan,’ ‘Mangalyaan,’ ‘Yamuna’, ‘Govardhan’, ‘parikrama,’ ‘Radha,’ ‘Krishna’ (The People of Braj) etc., make him a poet who is truly Indian in content and form.
What makes Abnish Singh Chauhan different from other poets is his use of simple words with profound effect. To be simple is to be beautiful. This is what is revealed meaningfully and beautifully in Tell Me, Please…. A poet cannot bring change. “Poetry makes nothing happen” is stated by W.H. Auden in “Memory of W.B. Yeats.” It may or may not be true. One thing is certain. The poet is courageous enough to say what he sees in the society. He paints life as he observes. To say or share or represent the society completes a poet’s task. It is true that a poet cannot raise a gun or cannot explode a bomb in order to create attention or make his wishes fulfilled. He has a pen which has enough power to make the people realize what they are. And here lies the victory of the poet. Abnish Singh Chauhan has attempted to move on this path revealing the fact that life is not just running after materialism; it is full of various possibilities of love, care, share and compassion. When he attempts to see life beyond this materialism, all his doubts are shattered. His heart becomes Vrindavan where he seems to be chanting sweet melodies which start coming out “like a river flowing in bliss / shattering all doubts of (my) minds” (Vrindavan).
New theories appear and disappear. Human feelings cannot be confined to mere theories. Universal human feelings remain the same in every age and so are beyond theories. What makes a society significant is its human values and culture. Abnish Singh Chauhan has touched the universal feelings along human and cultural values. What makes him innovative is the way he offers his genuine feelings and a balance attitude towards life. He reveals his feelings in a diction which is simple, natural and genuine. He seems to be communicative with the readers who also become one with him while going through the gallery of life.
It is simple to be difficult but very difficult to be simple. The poet in Abnish Singh Chauhan is simple and natural in his poetry collection Tell Me, Please… where he seems to be one with the reader who also possesses a desire ‘to share’ and ‘to be shared’ what he feels. That is why Chauhan’s poems go deep into the heart of the reader who do not need extra effort or gymnast of mind in order to understand life. Reading his poems is to understand life. Simplicity makes him different from the other contemporary Indian poets in English. If poetry inculcates life values, it should be read and shared. Chauhan’s poetry passes this litmus test successfully and with the passage of time it will become more mature and more fruitful.
Work Cited:
Chauhan, Abnish Singh. Tell Me, Please…. Authorspress, 2025.
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