Today Indian Muslims are falling like autumn leaves, Hot election days or calm winter nights Spread the same aroma of blood and deaths, Alien even to age old ‘good’ neighbours, Barred to beautiful blocks they live and die in ghettos, Naked, they are lynched even in resorts, A poor race known only for wrong reasons, Used, abused, exploited, killed by better brothers. A few, however, wear mask of bhadralok, They have painstakingly mastered the art To be quiet in crushing quakes, floods or fires. The rest, only wagons, carrying filth of masters’ fiefdom. Who have betrayed the sinless country lovers?
Na kisee kee aankh ka noor hoon Na kisee key dil ka quaraar hoon Jo kisee key kaam na aa sakey Main v eek musht-e-ghubaar hoon -Bahadur Shah Zafar (1775-1862) Introduction Of every four persons in West Bengal, roughly speak ing one is a Bengali Muslim. Despite their numerical density and participation in different socio-economic activities their identity is basically singular, based only on their religious affiliation. They are solely “Muslims”. All other identities (Bengali, professional, educational, economic, residential etc.) are never acknowledged and often suppressed by popular lazy media, and concocted, unscrupulous power-hungry religious and political leaders and even
A gifted versetile writer who writes excellent stories and poems on the invisibles, pariahs, margins, aged, weaklings of our society. A rising star on the literary firmament.
“Your story Undersell left me with a lump in my throat, so did your poem, He also lights candles.”
"A finely honed observational piece recording the minutiae of everyday life. Rendered with the author’s customary poetic aplomb suffused with a Borges like quality of the mythic."