Poems by Kalpna Singh-Chitnis

The Best Kept Secret
​
When I first learned the phrase "dirt poor,"
I regarded it as just another expression 
to call someone impoverished.
Much later I realized — its meaning had more to it,
beyond the imaginations of many
who study humanities in elite schools.
I discovered the true definition of the term
while eating my toast, sitting at the dining table
at my home, in the most affluent country of the world, 
watching T.V., planning my next meal of the day.
I watch a mother make mud cakes for her family
in a remote village in Africa. 
She molds the mud little by little with water
like my mother kneaded the flour dough
to make breakfast for our family every morning.
Her children eating the cake have rainbows in their eyes
without rain. Is this what being dirt poor means?
A sudden, I'm enlightened!
These children perhaps will never go to school. 
They will never taste a glass of freshly pressed orange juice
or eat a boiled egg in their breakfast. There is no water in their village. 
They walk miles to fetch drinking water home every day.
Eating my toast treated with imported butter, 
I wondered about the taste of a mud cake,
how it is baked to perfection in the sun,
what elements of earth go into making a perfect mud cake,
what aroma releases when it melts in the mouth.
The recipe for a mud cake is nowhere to be found. 
It's a delicacy, but no chef is trained to make mud cakes 
in culinary schools. 
No restaurant on the globe has it on its menu. 
The mud cake recipe is the best-kept secret on earth,
under lock and key of the world united and defeated.

Dharavi

Suddenly, something beings to smolder,
the dirty, rusty drains open their mouths,
and the stench rising from a distant slum begins to fill our nostrils.
The sun that was shining just now
on the high rise of Air India,
on the dish antennas of a five-star hotel
and our cocktail glasses
was now stuck in the wheels of a vending cart
upside down for seven days in Dharavi.
The hawker, who has just returned home from a blood bank 
with a wad of rupees in his hands, smiles, and tells us,
he will have his cart rolling again from tomorrow.
But the sun, that has lost direction,
and all seven horses of its chariot,
where would it go from here now?
Would it keep moving from one cart to another?
Would it ever find its lost chariot?
In the distance, someone lights clusters of coal,
filling our eyes with thick smoke.
The coal isn't burning,
it is ripening.
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("Dharavi" is known as Asia's largest slum. "Dharavi" poem first appeared as "Swaroopantran," in the poetry collection, "Tafteesh Jari Hai" (The Investigation Continues), written by Kalpna Singh-Chitnis, published in 1993. The poem originally written in Hindi has been translated into English by the poet herself.)

Kalpna Singh-Chitnis is a Pushcart Prize nominated author of four poetry books. She is the Editor-in-Chief of Life and Legends and Translation Editor of IHRAF Literary. Her works have been published in notable journals worldwide and translated into many languages. Poems from her award-winning book "Bare Soul" and her poetry film "River of Songs" included in "The Polaris Collection" will head to the moon in 2023, with a payload associated with an Astrobotic Griffin/NASA VIPER Mission landing on the Lunar South Pole. A former lecturer of Political Science and advocacy member of the UNA-USA, Kalpna Singh-Chitnis holds a degree in Film Directing from the NYFA and works as an independent filmmaker in Hollywood. Website: www.kalpnasinghchitnis.com

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