A Tribute to Laishram Samarendra (20 July 1925–2 June 2016)
Imphal, June 2016: In the last couple of weeks, Manipur has been burning inside out, suffering from a chronic illness of which nobody knows the cure. Amidst the madness, this time around, there have been protests and counter-protests for enforcing the Inner Line Permit System.
In the cacophony, one man, an irreplaceable litterateur—who wrote in the Manipuri vernacular Meiteilon—passed away, silently and gracefully. If we do away with all the shitty sentimentality, Laishram Samarendra left this world for all the good reasons. No more would he have to be a witness to the insanity in this part of the world. Significantly, he has left behind a substantial legacy for us and posterity.
Kiganu!Lin natteEigi kabitaniNgeihakta thanamge nangondaNahakki nanakta.
In a writing career that spanned more than five decades, the acclaimed writer had published seven books: six poetry collections and a compilation of non-fictional essays.
1. Waa Amata Haige Telangga (Poetry; 1962, reprinted in 1996)
2. Mamang Leikai Thambal Shatle (Poetry; 1974, reprinted in 1991)
3. Khul Amagi Wari (Poetry; 1985)
4. Kabi Samarendragi Khomjinba Lairik (Poetry; 1997)
5. Sana Kiethelgi Laiphaddabi by Tonu Devi (Poetry; 1999)
6. Wakching-gi Kabita (Poetry; 1999)
7. Swargada Awaba Amasoong Nungaiba (Prose; 1999)
Update: Laishram Samarendragi Apunba Lairik (A collection of poems and essays plus Samarendra's artworks was published in 2012). This makes eight books in total. Read: A Compilation of Works by Laishram Samarendra Released on His 87th Birthday
The following pieces are a translation of Laishram Samarendra’s poems that I have been posting on this blog. These have been translated with a consciousness that if you want to read on a certain topic and cannot find it, then you write on it. If you cannot find the translation of quality Manipuri works then you do it. Simple as that...and add in it the joy of re-writing one’s favourite poems despite the linguistic and poetic challenges faced by an amateur like me.
📚 Contents
• Multiplication Suplak
• Yes, Sir! Yes Sir!
• The Story of Poverty Lairabagi Waa
• Babyland Babyland
• Of Man and War Mi Amasoong Laan
• Li Hao Chu Li Hao Chu
• Kerosene Tersing
• No Time Matam Leite
• On the Last Day of the Earth in Imphal Imphalda Prithivigi Aroiba Numitta
• Water Ising
• Everybody’s Crazy in My Family Ngaodaba Yaode Kanamatasu Eikhoigi Eemungda
📚 Contents
• Multiplication Suplak
• Yes, Sir! Yes Sir!
• The Story of Poverty Lairabagi Waa
• Babyland Babyland
• Of Man and War Mi Amasoong Laan
• Li Hao Chu Li Hao Chu
• Kerosene Tersing
• No Time Matam Leite
• On the Last Day of the Earth in Imphal Imphalda Prithivigi Aroiba Numitta
• Water Ising
• Everybody’s Crazy in My Family Ngaodaba Yaode Kanamatasu Eikhoigi Eemungda
• After MA MA Pass Touraga
MULTIPLICATION
MULTIPLICATION
Suplak
(Khul Amagi Wari, 1985)In each locality there is a liar;
And four liars are one dealer,
And four dealers or 16 liars are one leader,
And four leaders are one member,
And six members are one minister.
YES SIR!
Yes Sir!
(Mamang Leikai Thambal Satle, 1974)See,
Yes, sir!
If they come and admit it;
Yes, sir!
It must be right on the mark.
Yes, sir!
So,
Yes, sir!
If they come by themselves
Yes, sir!
Sort them out first
Yes, sir!
Those who do not do
Yes, sir!
Those are off the mark
Yes, sir!
THE STORY OF POVERTY
Once Poverty visits the Family of the forlorn
Poverty perches and sits by its side
Poverty hands a big stone
‘Hit yourself on your forehead with this stone,’ Poverty utters.
The story of Poverty is murky to me
In the still of the night
I go alone
What is to become of the poor family?
Lairabagi Waa
(Waa Amata Haige Telanga, 1974)Once Poverty visits the Family of the forlorn
Poverty perches and sits by its side
Poverty hands a big stone
‘Hit yourself on your forehead with this stone,’ Poverty utters.
The story of Poverty is murky to me
In the still of the night
I go alone
What is to become of the poor family?
BABYLAND
In the land of the baby
Everybody is a baby
All babies—emotionally and psychologically.
The wooden water tap in the land of baby
It has no water
The wooden power grid in the land of the baby
It has no electricity.
An old man was hit on the head with a slingshot
Babyland
(Khul Amagi Wari 1985)In the land of the baby
Everybody is a baby
All babies—emotionally and psychologically.
The wooden water tap in the land of baby
It has no water
The wooden power grid in the land of the baby
It has no electricity.
An old man was hit on the head with a slingshot
He had laughed at the babies
He had bothered the babies
The babies were told the truth.
He had bothered the babies
The babies were told the truth.
OF MAN AND WAR
People have gathered and buried all the gods
God is always behind wars, they say,
In Egypt and Israel and Africa and Bosnia
Gods and wars always go together
The Britons chant the name of Jesus Christ
And they fight against the Germans
In the name of Jesus Christ
The Germans fight against the Britons
With Ram on their lips the Hindus clash with the Muslims
With Muhammad on their lips the Muslims fight with the Hindus
Gods have been useless, it is now accepted
Gods be damned; and gods be dead for good
And Deng Xiaoping and Mao Tse-tung and Ayatollah Khomeini
Everybody’s agreed:
God is the cause of all the wars and we want no war.
Shortly as it turns out
A wise person turns up
And soon he becomes a God,
Another wiser person comes out
And soon he also becomes a God
Again the wisest of them comes up
And no wonder he becomes a God as well
Ah! Humans cannot live without gods
And worse, humans cannot live without wars
And the wars resume
In the name of the new gods.
Mi Amasoong Laan
(Wakchinggi Kabita, 1999)People have gathered and buried all the gods
God is always behind wars, they say,
In Egypt and Israel and Africa and Bosnia
Gods and wars always go together
The Britons chant the name of Jesus Christ
And they fight against the Germans
In the name of Jesus Christ
The Germans fight against the Britons
With Ram on their lips the Hindus clash with the Muslims
With Muhammad on their lips the Muslims fight with the Hindus
Gods have been useless, it is now accepted
Gods be damned; and gods be dead for good
And Deng Xiaoping and Mao Tse-tung and Ayatollah Khomeini
Everybody’s agreed:
God is the cause of all the wars and we want no war.
Shortly as it turns out
A wise person turns up
And soon he becomes a God,
Another wiser person comes out
And soon he also becomes a God
Again the wisest of them comes up
And no wonder he becomes a God as well
Ah! Humans cannot live without gods
And worse, humans cannot live without wars
And the wars resume
In the name of the new gods.
LI HAO CHU
Li Hao Chu
(Waa Amata Haige Telanga, 1962)Li Hao Chu!
Li Hao Chu!
Are you a ruler or a farmer?
Li Hao Chu!
Li Hao Chu!
I’m no ruler and I’m no farmer
Li Hao Chu
I am Li Hao Chu.
KEROSENE
Tersing
(Wakchinggi Kabita, 1999)My dear brother
I’ve been coming here from the other day
I’ve been running hither and thither
Just for kerosene—just for two litres!
And I got no firewood
And I got no money to buy the firewood
For two litres of kerosene
Our local dealer says
We have to register our names on Saturday
And we can get the kerosene on Monday
If it runs out of stock Monday
We have to come back on the 5th, next month, Saturday
And we have to register again
And we can get it on 7th, Monday, before 7 o’clock
I wonder if I should forget about this deal
But I heard Goura Singh sells it at R8 a litre in his shop.
PS: The government of India has a grand scheme of food security system called the Public Distribution System, or simply the PDS for the poor and the marginalised. The Union Ministry of Consumer Affairs, Food and Public Distribution (www.fcamin.nic.in) and the state (provincial) governments handle the management of subsidised food and non-food items that mostly include wheat, rice, sugar and kerosene. The government-owned Food Corporation of India maintains the PDS while local dealers, through public distribution shops or ration shops, deal in the direct distribution of these items. The entire system offers so many examples of case study for corruption.
NO TIME
Matam Leite
(Wakchinggi Kabita, 1999)i got to make haste
i got no time to waste
i had left home in a hurry
now i got to return quickly
my home might disappear before i reach there
my wife, my children—my family might disappear
my whole village might disappear,
. . . become just like an unclaimed incinerated corpse
they might as well be there
my folks &
my family
this little amount of rice am i carrying
i want to feed my children
and am i making haste
i got to rush & race against myself
i got to reach home soon
but did you hear any gunshots?
did you hear any wailing?
did you see any lifeless body—taken away?
i got no time & i’m leaving for the day
i got no time at all
ON THE LAST DAY OF THE EARTH IN IMPHAL
Just as we have expected
This time it is 100%ly sure
It is the end of the world.
The Earth will be gone before long.
Will all be lost, all the truth
And all the beauty and all the reality
—Will all be truly gone
—Will all be lost:
All the man-made marvels and all the natural wonders,
All the beautiful brooks and rivers and woods and lakes and lilies
All the beautiful cities and buildings and the Taj Mahal
All the awesomesauce verses of Shakespeare and Kalidas;
Oh, this Earth is condemned, the places pointless
Wisdom, worthless; and religions and truth and nonviolence all useless
Worthless and useless knowledge and science and thoughts of Buddha,
The line between truth and falsehood will disappear.
Truth–untruth and real–unreal; in any case
The world will be gone tomorrow.
My house, my drawing room
My sofa, my dining table
My terrace, my corridor, my garden
My lockers, refrigerators, stainless steel utensils
My bronze items from Tanjore;
My Japanese camera, my bank balance
My wife, my kid, my son Tomba, though he did nothing
My wife, my kid, my money, my bank balance.
Just as in the Japanese bombing of Imphal
The fire engulfs Imphal
Some people are fleeing and others staying back
The convicts are pulling down the prison
The Khwairamband Market is damaged and the strong steal,
Death is just a destiny and I need not be frightened.
In hazy black the smoke swirls above government offices
In the fire are the piles of cash books and registers and ledgers
The cashiers and the clerks have had a happy life
Only the ignorant are naïve and the poor only poorer
And some people they flee the city while the engulfing smoke further spreads
And others they are plundering, robbing and never getting enough.
Some people did not flee in the Seven Years’ Devastation,
Some people did not flee in the Japan War,
And some people are not fleeing on this last day on Earth!
The timid shut their doors and hide
The courageous scuttle helter-skelter
Everyone's in a whirlpool of motion
And the elected representatives appropriate the land and shops,
And the election losers run around and borrow from other people
And grants are taken, the loans as well;
And scholars have shown up with big bags of books,
The deprived snatch and seize and steal,
Hither and thither the people are running
Conscious of nothing, and unconscious of their bare bodies
And they do not see each other, one does not know the other;
Meanwhile an old man, wobbly and running, he has been run over by a car
Shopkeepers are gazing and laughing
And four men are assaulting a girl
And the girl has been humiliated in the open
And there is no one is to help;
And people are still running for their lives in all directions
And the sun is waiting to set—and all we have is this one day
Imphalda Prithivigi Aroiba Numitta
(Khul Amagi Wari, 1985)Just as we have expected
This time it is 100%ly sure
It is the end of the world.
To the Mother Divine who abides in all beings as peace
Salutations to Thee, Mother Divine
To the Mother Divine who abides in all beings as contentment
Salutations to Thee, Mother Divine
The Earth will be gone before long.
Will all be lost, all the truth
And all the beauty and all the reality
—Will all be truly gone
—Will all be lost:
All the man-made marvels and all the natural wonders,
All the beautiful brooks and rivers and woods and lakes and lilies
All the beautiful cities and buildings and the Taj Mahal
All the awesomesauce verses of Shakespeare and Kalidas;
Oh, this Earth is condemned, the places pointless
Wisdom, worthless; and religions and truth and nonviolence all useless
Worthless and useless knowledge and science and thoughts of Buddha,
The line between truth and falsehood will disappear.
Truth–untruth and real–unreal; in any case
The world will be gone tomorrow.
My house, my drawing room
My sofa, my dining table
My terrace, my corridor, my garden
My lockers, refrigerators, stainless steel utensils
My bronze items from Tanjore;
My Japanese camera, my bank balance
My wife, my kid, my son Tomba, though he did nothing
My wife, my kid, my money, my bank balance.
Just as in the Japanese bombing of Imphal
The fire engulfs Imphal
Some people are fleeing and others staying back
The convicts are pulling down the prison
The Khwairamband Market is damaged and the strong steal,
Death is just a destiny and I need not be frightened.
In hazy black the smoke swirls above government offices
In the fire are the piles of cash books and registers and ledgers
The cashiers and the clerks have had a happy life
Only the ignorant are naïve and the poor only poorer
And some people they flee the city while the engulfing smoke further spreads
And others they are plundering, robbing and never getting enough.
Some people did not flee in the Seven Years’ Devastation,
Some people did not flee in the Japan War,
And some people are not fleeing on this last day on Earth!
The timid shut their doors and hide
The courageous scuttle helter-skelter
Everyone's in a whirlpool of motion
And the elected representatives appropriate the land and shops,
And the election losers run around and borrow from other people
And grants are taken, the loans as well;
And scholars have shown up with big bags of books,
The deprived snatch and seize and steal,
Hither and thither the people are running
Conscious of nothing, and unconscious of their bare bodies
And they do not see each other, one does not know the other;
Meanwhile an old man, wobbly and running, he has been run over by a car
Shopkeepers are gazing and laughing
And four men are assaulting a girl
And the girl has been humiliated in the open
And there is no one is to help;
And people are still running for their lives in all directions
And the sun is waiting to set—and all we have is this one day
To the Mother Divine who abides in all beings as destruction
Salutations to Thee, Mother Divine
To the Mother Divine who abides in all beings as horror
Salutations to Thee, Mother Divine
WATER
Ising
(Wakching-gi Kabita, 1999)all the experts gathered
all the mighty and all the masters
but from the tap the water never flowed
one expert to the other exchanged
one master and another murmured,
come what may, man, was there no water
then in a flash a lady appeared
she looked like the missus of a master
‘why should the water flow not!’
she had screeched it oughta flow
she had added it should never cease
she was ballsy and she scooted;
then bubblin’-a’-babblin’, gushed out the water
EVERYBODY’S CRAZY IN MY FAMILY
Everybody’s crazy in my family
Crazy about tea, my younger uncle is crazy about tea
The morning tea, afternoon tea and evening tea
About cigarettes my aunt
“My boy, my cigarettes, get my cigarettes. Before my eyes
The thirty-three crores of gods present themselves,”
My aunt says, “When I take one hard drag.”
Bollywood songs are one thing my elder brother’s crazy about
There is no song he knows not, no tune he hums not
No matter if it is morning, afternoon or evening
No summer, no winter
No rainy days have passed sans his songs
My elder uncle is lost in chanting the verses from the Gita:
Whenever, O descendant of Bharata, Dharma is declining...
Seldom does he stop but carries on yabbering
About Gandhi’s work, Bhave’s thoughts and Tilak...
Gibber-yabber, yada yada, yackety-yak
If it is in Sanskrit it is always the truth
Stooping shoulder, furrowing his brows
He is always listening to incantations
My brother-in-law Kulachandra is mad about elections
The general elections, the assembly elections
The municipality elections
He is always checking who has received the PDS items
He is always checking who has not received kerosene and sugar
Yaima, my saner brother-in-law is crazy about money
Sleepless nights he spends counting his money
Keeping accounts of his daily supplies
Keeping accounts of his trade
Never he stops tittle-tattling about selling plots and fields
About any dealing and mortgages and paying off
About cash handling and saving, and borrowing and lending
In Krishna my grandfather Krishnadas is committed full-time
Always he throws himself down at the god’s feet
Cry, in some epiphany; pray, on every opportunity
Everything’s in the name of the lord for him
And the most interesting amongst all of us:
Is my younger brother, who hears not,
The mortal saying or the divine talking
But only in the wisdom of science and history is he occupied with
He is guiltless and sings pop songs
It is him and I,
They say we are the craziest.
Ngaodaba Yaode Kanamatasu Eikhoigi Eemungda
(Wakching-gi Kabita, 1999)Everybody’s crazy in my family
Crazy about tea, my younger uncle is crazy about tea
The morning tea, afternoon tea and evening tea
About cigarettes my aunt
“My boy, my cigarettes, get my cigarettes. Before my eyes
The thirty-three crores of gods present themselves,”
My aunt says, “When I take one hard drag.”
Bollywood songs are one thing my elder brother’s crazy about
There is no song he knows not, no tune he hums not
No matter if it is morning, afternoon or evening
No summer, no winter
No rainy days have passed sans his songs
My elder uncle is lost in chanting the verses from the Gita:
Whenever, O descendant of Bharata, Dharma is declining...
Seldom does he stop but carries on yabbering
About Gandhi’s work, Bhave’s thoughts and Tilak...
Gibber-yabber, yada yada, yackety-yak
If it is in Sanskrit it is always the truth
Stooping shoulder, furrowing his brows
He is always listening to incantations
My brother-in-law Kulachandra is mad about elections
The general elections, the assembly elections
The municipality elections
He is always checking who has received the PDS items
He is always checking who has not received kerosene and sugar
Yaima, my saner brother-in-law is crazy about money
Sleepless nights he spends counting his money
Keeping accounts of his daily supplies
Keeping accounts of his trade
Never he stops tittle-tattling about selling plots and fields
About any dealing and mortgages and paying off
About cash handling and saving, and borrowing and lending
In Krishna my grandfather Krishnadas is committed full-time
Always he throws himself down at the god’s feet
Cry, in some epiphany; pray, on every opportunity
Everything’s in the name of the lord for him
And the most interesting amongst all of us:
Is my younger brother, who hears not,
The mortal saying or the divine talking
But only in the wisdom of science and history is he occupied with
He is guiltless and sings pop songs
It is him and I,
They say we are the craziest.
AFTER MA
MA Pass Touraga
(Mamang Leikai Thambal Satle, 1974)After MA
I’d be a college professor
Let me wear a black tie
Think of the big things
Let me be neat and let me live tidy.
After BA
I’d be the SDC
Let me marry the SDO’s daughter,
Whether she is unattractive or has curly hairs
Nothing matters to me but love.
In the morning, on its own, love blooms
When you have cakes and biscuits together
Indeed, everything is beautiful
When we travel in a car together.
After matriculation
I’d be a UDC clerk—the FK’s clerk;
Let me handle the housing loan
I’d hand out the scooters
Let me discuss them with the SDC
Tell me which SDC does not follow me.
I’d rather not pass the matriculation
I’d rather not make haste for work in the morning
I’d rather not take up those occupations
But you multiply your salary by ten
That is what I get in one hour.
I’m the contractor who your CD gives salutes to
I’m Meino, who all the PTO bows to,
The peon says people don’t give a hoot,
But the DOO pays me by the back door
When a message needs to be sent to the KO
Whenever the LLO is on leave
When the PP needs to be signed and approved,
For everything it is me, Meino Sing!
I’d be a college professor
Let me wear a black tie
Think of the big things
Let me be neat and let me live tidy.
After BA
I’d be the SDC
Let me marry the SDO’s daughter,
Whether she is unattractive or has curly hairs
Nothing matters to me but love.
In the morning, on its own, love blooms
When you have cakes and biscuits together
Indeed, everything is beautiful
When we travel in a car together.
After matriculation
I’d be a UDC clerk—the FK’s clerk;
Let me handle the housing loan
I’d hand out the scooters
Let me discuss them with the SDC
Tell me which SDC does not follow me.
I’d rather not pass the matriculation
I’d rather not make haste for work in the morning
I’d rather not take up those occupations
But you multiply your salary by ten
That is what I get in one hour.
I’m the contractor who your CD gives salutes to
I’m Meino, who all the PTO bows to,
The peon says people don’t give a hoot,
But the DOO pays me by the back door
When a message needs to be sent to the KO
Whenever the LLO is on leave
When the PP needs to be signed and approved,
For everything it is me, Meino Sing!
PS: A sigh of relief. Today (3 June 2016) is the 90th birth anniversary of Allen Ginsberg.
The Last Day on Earth in Imphal
Download and read one complete dozen of Laishram Samarendra’s poems that have been translated and compiled in a booklet (PDF)! Check the link/article with the option to download the PDF, which is stored on my personal Google Drive. This means it’s completely safe to save it on your device.
Related Post:
A Compilation of Works by Laishram Samarendra Released on His 87th Birthday
Kudos! Keep up the good work .
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