The Refugee's Roots

If you ask me
How many houses I have changed till now,
I would not reply.
But I can tell you
About the comforts and discomforts
I felt in each of those houses.
About a day of loose motion
In a house with no toilet;
Or a cool summer night's story on a rooftop,
Counting the stars before a cozy sleep;
The terror of snakes in a house near fields;
The tastes of guavas and the stick of a
merciless landlady;
And the voices of grief for an unseen person's
death:
My grandfather, when I busied myself making
clay toys
To avoid those cries.
If you ask me,
Why I have been
So alien in all my jobs,
My mouth will remain shut.
But I would definitely open it wide
To share the successes and failures I had in
those jobs.
How the very first day as a washer
I cut my hand in a milk bottling factory;
Or about comments on my young age and short
height,
Instead of on my teaching capabilities in my
short career;
Or how I sold things at a loss
In an uncle's shop;
About my tactfulness in selling cheap-quality
watches
To a Kashmiri, who even doubted
That those watches would continue to tell the
time in Jammu
Before he reached his destination, Srinagar;
Or a depressing story in a ready-to-wear clothes
shop,
And how theoretically I excelled,
And practically failed, in a life insurance
company office.
If you ask me,
To which city I actually belong,
I want to reply,
But what should my answer be?
The city somewhere in Chitral
Where my grandfather arrived
As an economic refugee,
Or the city of his political refuge in India,
Jalandhar?
The city of my father's memories,
Jamshedpur,
Which he craves to visit again and again?
The city of my birth, Delhi, from
Where we were thrown out as
An unwanted minority?
Or the city where I live now,
Or any of those cities I visited?
I know of no mathematical formula,
Or any law of gravity,
That could solve
The question of a refugee’s roots.
But let me add before I subtract
My feelings:
I fell in love equally with
The comforts and discomforts of all my houses
As equally as I loved my failures and successes
in all my jobs.
And do you know
Why I love the cities of my grandfather and my
father,
The cities where I was born,
I lived or visited,
Or the cities I wish to visit?
Who knows which of these cities has in its soil,
My roots,
The roots of a refugee?

Reviews

[B]

When i was reading your words i started thinking
maybe we are all refugees
coming from all locations around the world
and our roots are written on paper
maybe our real roots are the sense of connection we feel towards one another
that is what makes us alive

i love your work here

[hardeep sabharwal]

Thanks a lot Nisreen

[Julie McCarthy (juliesp..]

wow mind blowing, deep and powerful yet again.
Love this how you reference you first day as a washer cutting your hand on a bottle.
just love thispoem, thanks for entering this into my competition, good luck

[Bushra Naqshbandi]

Outstanding! A greatly touching piece. God be with you and all other people like you who were treated unjustly.

[hardeep sabharwal]

Thank you so much

[Dhaye]

This is superb, sir! It not just moving but, I have learned a lesson here. How blessed are we of what we have today- food. clothing, shelter - our basic needs. But oftentimes we complain of what we don't have at hand.
Your poem is amazing. You told us here different stories within a story of a refugee.
Keep up the good work!

[hardeep sabharwal]

Thank you so much

[Amaranta]

The ending was so heavy-hitting!!! Great poem :)

[hardeep sabharwal]

Thank you so much Amaranta

[SSAgnihotri]

Perfect topic chosen.
Love the way of writing.
A catchy starting to a nice end.

Regards,
SSA

[hardeep sabharwal]

Thank you so much

[SSAgnihotri]

Your welcome :)

Review my writings tooo.

[Emily]

I loved it!
I really liked the beginning!
Keep it up!

[hardeep sabharwal]

Thank you Emily

[Avinash]

Pain can be clearly seen in your words but they are laced with wisdom. Loss on hand gives you grief and on another helps you to appreciate little things of life. Probably we all are refugees in someway when we try to find solace and love in different place. Your poem has got many layers and every scene creates another world of itself. I am glad that I read it today.

[hardeep sabharwal]

Thank you so much Avinash

your words matter a lot

[Basmakyah Borz]

I loved this more than words can say.

[hardeep sabharwal]

Thank you so much

[Solar]

Uprooted, remaining whole despite the brutal partitions - this poem conveys a resilience that bears sweet not bitter fruits.

[hardeep sabharwal]

Thank you so much

[Solar]

You are welcome