Pinch of the toes-a conversation with my Jeje that could have been…
By Biswajit Mishra

Bade miyan, just want to check how you are doing;

heard you have a new game to play, like all those ideas―

sometimes, actually many times now that I look back,

lofty, good in the head like you wanted to farm my lands—

as a new game to play like all those ideas, that I had leased

to sharecroppers because no one chose to look after― dream

lofty, good in the head, you wanted to farm my lands,

you had never even been to our village then, and

because no one chose to look after them, your dream was:

my book of poems published―I wonder where are those now;

you had never been a writer yourself then, and of course

you were only a kid but we were both excited about

my book of poems published― I wonder where are those now.

Now I see you are looking for Elliott, but do you recall, how excited

you were, though you were a kid and now  you are looking out.

Do you recall how I used to  pinch you with my toes.

Now I see you are looking for Elliott, but do you recall, how agitated

you were as I woke you in the Bramha muhurta, made you chant shloka.

Do you recall how I used to pinch you with my toes when

I knew you hated that because you wanted to sleep, yet you loved

when I woke you up in the Bramha muhurta  and made you chant

and you listened to the shloka that you did not understand but

I knew you hated that, still  you always listened with interest when

I explained them. I know you forgot them as soon as I left you.

You listened to the shloka that you did not understand but

I knew those thumbed your strings-why else would you think,

though you forgot them as soon as I left, you have lofty ideas?

I am back now with my big toes to tell you Elliot can’t be found,

in spite of your thumbed strings, though you may not think so,

nor he is made; he just happens as does Thoreau and  thus

I am back now with my big toes to pinch you again to ask

If you would think my unpublished poems are any less real.

They just happened as did Elliot’s and Thoreau’s  like those

shloka you sang with me. Have you found songs in words yet,

not thinking the unpublished ones are any less real and

can you sing those with mine to the pond, the trees, the birds?

Recall how you sang the shloka with me and go find your song

letting them mingle with the soil, the air and blend with mine

and sing those to the pond, the trees, the birds, the sun and all

then, Bade miyan, you will know neither yours nor mine are vain.

(A poem in Pantoum)

Notes: Jeje: pronounced “J””J” means dad’s dad in Odia; Bade miyan- a Hindi and Urdu term meaning the eldest or a senior gentleman. My grandfather used to call all his grandchildren by different names, shloka- Sanskrit hymns or spiritual, religious stanzas; Bramha muhurta- is wee hours of the morning just before the sun rise