What will he say to these judgeComments closed
in this land sown with hatred and lies?
Kabir will say: Free Umar Khalid!
Kabir will say: Open your eyes!
Poems about the dark times.
-Recalling Umar Khalid’s latest bail plea while reading Langston Hughes on Republic Day It might shrivel– or fester and run, stink, explode or crust over– but the taste of the air today tells me, for now, it’s likely to smoulder.Comments closed
The Delhi air turned cool, so we set out into the night; we argued about the future– you said, I was too optimistic. The G20-potted-plants were wilting or already dead; we cursed our leaders and wondered if curses were now illegal. We knew the answer was yes– and that bombs were falling in Gaza; at this moment, children were calling, Amma, when will this stop? When it rained, we ducked for cover, I thought of Umar Khalid– the wind smelled of woken soil– I prayed somehow he could smell it.Comments closed
Every morning last week, two butterflies appeared near the bush by our back window– they flickered there, like static from your mother’s old radio, or faraway lightning– or j0y. This week, they’re suddenly gone– like the tailorbirds’ storm-broken nest, or your mother– or Umar Khalid. How long has it been since they took him? you ask as we enter the park.Comments closed
A ten-rupee tarnished sun rains heat on Hauz Rani: the Afghan baker sweats over his hot stove; so far from home, this man– I think of Umar Khalid. Your shirt is robin blue– we buy a piece of bread.Comments closed
You say that if an AI ever copied me, there’d be a smoky sun, or a lonely, moonlit dog– or a lizard or a snake, or even Amit Shah; it’d close with Umar Khalid or Sharjeel Imam. Yes, I should try harder, to be original– (but also, friends, I confess, I don’t object to viral :-)Comments closed
Some mornings I stand in the metro, or sit in an auto or bus, and consider my breath or the wind– or the beautiful faces of strangers. Some days, I pray for my parents, some days for Umar Khalid– imprisoned because he refused to put profit before love and freedom. Did you hear about Junaid and Nasir? Residents of Ghatmeeka, found dead in their car last week– burned alive, burned alive, burned alive.Comments closed
-Republic Day, 2023 I asked the AI for a poem, in the style of Kolatkar, about justice and Umar Khalid– I said please, I asked three times, and each time the AI replied: ‘An error has occurred’.Comments closed
-for Umar Khalid I was holding you tight and praying as we weaved through autos and cars– you said we were already late for our train to the south– and the sea. At some point, moon swallowed sun, or was it the other way round? We told lies to strangers and laughed– we cursed the Delhi police. Before dawn, I woke and was struck by the sound of the call to prayer, I remembered Umar Khalid– I prayed for the souls of blind judges.Comments closed
Who authorises homes and rites in this city? Each one who lives here has a right to this city! Equality under the law is just fiction– bulldozers show their masters’ might in this city. Landlords and agents act like sponges and thugs– private property? A blight on this city. The cops say, ‘with you, for you, always’– but we know: they’ll come for us, morning or night, in this city. Who reads alone in Tihar Jail? Umar Khalid! Behind the smoke, the moon is bright in this city. You ask me what it cost to give up my name– Nothing, and now I’m free to write in this city.Comments closed
–While reading Ilya Kaminsky, I Think of Umar Khalid Just outside Qutub Minar there’s a line of buses and cars filled with all kinds of folks, looking for all kinds of things– some have come to lose themselves; some, just want to get home; walking back to the metro, we pass flocks of uneasy dogs. Later, I’m reading Ilya Kaminsky, under a spinning fan– we may not live in a mythical town, but they’ve jailed the best among us.Comments closed
-writing from Tihar Jail, Umar Khalid quotes Faiz Ahmad Faiz In the photos the young lovers post, they are smiling as they sip from the same bottle of cola, they are sharing a plate of chaat, they are sitting on a seesaw, under the bright, winter moon. Some nights he says, I’m cold, please warm my hands. Some nights she says, Let us pray now for Umar Khalid; I hear he is lonely inside.Comments closed
Last week I crossed a narrow bridge strung over a wide canyon, and as I crossed, I felt a hole open in my belly. Last night under a swollen moon, I dreamt of Umar Khalid; I heard him laughing in his cell: The farmers have prevailed!Comments closed
-September, 2021 Just before the downpour, I thought of Umar Khalid, and how many days he’s spent in Tihar jail. Later, the still sky clung to us like a soggy face mask, and we heard the hard, sharp shouts of thin, soaked men; we’re all just mud and water come alive, comrades— Come alive, we have so little time!Comments closed
-August 15, 2021 I spent hours last night trying to write a ghazal that included this line: unbroken, Umar Khalid’s still in jail, and also this one: they aim to break your soul and will in jail. ‘School teachers’ and ‘freedom fighters’ figured in it, but I gave up in the end because it really all came down to this: They aim to break your soul and will in jail; unbroken, Umar Khalid’s still in jail.Comments closed
Umar Khalid smiles and raises his fist on his way out of court, and an 83 year old priest is denied bail in the 'collective interest of the community'. Meanwhile in Myanmar, protesters disappear in the night, and a striking worker tells a reporter, 'They are the king now, but we are not their servants.'Comments closed
(i) You don’t know me, but in the summer of 2019, you met my friend— she couldn’t stop talking about you: a man who knew how to listen, a leader who spent more time working out of the spotlight than in it; a scholar who’d learned the art of switching autos mid-journey— They trail me everywhere, you told her, smiling, Why should I bring them to you? I was envious I hadn’t been there: for months, I kept hearing your name spoken alongside words like hero and hope. When they put you inside, those words were joined by rougher ones, but don’t worry; we have not forgotten. (ii) I thought of you yesterday morning as I passed by the PM’s residence on the way to CP. The wind was cool and smelled like a green living thing; the Delhi sky was more blue than gray, and clouds of bright yellow leaves rose from a sweeper’s broom. I thought: it’s springtime today, but how long will it last? My phone said Tihar Jail was just 12 kms away; at that moment I prayed that you were near an open window. (iii) Alone at night, or on Delhi’s borders we say your name when we pray or shout; we have not forgotten you or the others, we’ll welcome you all, when you come out. I wish we could talk, under a tree, I’d ask what you’d read, how did you cope? I’d buy you a cup of special hot tea, I’d ask what you think of heroes and hope.Comments closed
You’ll Join Us, I Know, My Friend -for Umar Khalid It was late in a South Delhi warehouse, it was cold, but I didn’t feel cold; Umar Khalid was swaying to jazz, or was it hip hop? I looked over his shoulder to see the Ska Vengers laying it down, I said, Sir, we’re so glad you’re here, how did I miss the news? He said, don’t call me Sir, I’m your friend, yes, this beats Tihar Jail— he said, soon we’ll be back in the streets; we’re winning, we have to win.Comments closed
-Delhi 2020 Would you still love me, my friends, if I lost my sense of smell? Could we still touch from a distance? What if I had a dry cough? If I lost my sense of smell, would I still crave idli-sambar? What if I get a dry cough? I don’t go outside; I’m afraid. Would I still crave idli-sambar? Would they put a big sign on my door? I don’t go outside, I’m afraid I might spread this virus to others. Would they put a big sign on my door? Would they jail me like Umar Khalid? Could I spread this virus to others like they spread hatred and lies? If they jailed me like Umar Khalid, could we still touch from a distance? In spite of their hatred and lies, would you still love me, my friends?Comments closed
When I hear the gentle cooing of pigeons outside my window, I think of Umar Khalid, and when I see crows massing against an approaching bird of prey, I think of Umar Khalid. I think of Umar Khalid when I see an autowala shaking his head as he reads the morning news and when word comes that farmers and workers are marching again after so many months of silence. Just before dawn in Lutyens’ Delhi, Amit Shah thinks of Umar Khalid; he fears this time he’s gone too far.Comments closed