I’ve a strange problem these days—
my ability to hate with passion
is failing me day by day.
I want to hate the English
(who ruled us for two centuries)
but Shakespeare gets in the way
He’s done so much for me!
I try to hate the Muslims
but Ghalib intervenes
You tell me—can anyone
disregard him?
I want to hate the Sikhs
but Guru Nanak appears
and my head bows of its own accord.
And these Kamban, Tyagaraja, Muttusvami . . .
I keep telling myself—
They are not mine,
they are of the far South
But my heart doesn’t listen
and makes them its own.
And that woman I once loved
who deceived me . . .
I could kill her if I met her!
We do meet, but then
the friend in her,
or the mother, or the sister
nourishes me with love.
All the time
I wander like a madman
looking for someone
I could hate to my heart’s content
and feel light!
But the opposite happens
sometime, somewhere
I always meet someone
Whom I cannot but love!
Day by day this love sickness is growing
And suspicion has gripped me
That one day this love
Will send me to heaven . . .
Translated from the Hindi by Lucy Rosenstein