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Memoirs of an old behari refugee |
THE OLD BIHARI TANVIR MOKAMMEL (Translated by Dr.SKSAHA) (On the 60th anniversary of division of India) Write down, Journalist Maestra, I am Bihari We had farm lands in the district of Patna My father was a Railway shed Guard My husband too worked in the Rail- as a line man Burning our skin- a new flag is born When first arrived at Pakistan, we lived in goods train Shunting of engines still rings in my ears Today this colony, tomorrow that colony Passed away the days of my life. Then what nonsense happened in this Bengali native-land That time burnt my house, this time burnt my fate My husband was murdered in Shantahar,Son-in-law in Mymensingh My son was called to attend a meeting in Dinajpur 36 years passed, that meeting did not end even today! Write down NGO sister, I am a Bihari.. My second son after much hardship fled away to Pakistan Another daughter also lives in Karachi in Ourongi town I don’t see their countenance for the last 22 years. And the youngest son , Gullu Now waiting for visa Abuses alcohol, and also something else taken by young guys As we have no sky here in this camp, Farishtas don’t see Write down foreigner sir, I am a Bihari.. So many generals have come and gone But I’m waiting till this day When I will go to Pakistan or My tomb-stan I have developed cataract in my eyes, don’t see properly Only remember, our farm-lands of Patna And I like drizzles of Bengali rainy season As if it is equivalent to my weeping. And Dream Hills of Pakistan at night. But alas, in such a big earth I don’t have an address in no land; Write down Journalist sir, NGO sister, foreigner sir Sisters, only ask Mr. Jinnah Where is my motherland? Yes, write down…I am a Bihari! |