Bijay Kant Dubey
My Life And Times - Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey
I was born at Lohardih, Post Sarwan, Sub-division Baidyanath Deoghar
Of Dumka Distt. under Bihar on 11.10.1965
But as the father had been posted at Dumka
So we used to be 70 kms. away from the village
But was struggled, suffered and sacrificed utmost.
Instead of father’s service, a dairy farm with so many jersy cows and buffaloes
Used to keep us so much so engaged,
The sweets shops and the customers used to take milk
But the money for pure milk had been a little bit
And less than
And some used to pass away without giving in full.
The tiled house had been in a dilapidated state
Without repair and renovation
As it was a rented, but tiled house
And wooden ripe fruits of the bel tree hanging over used
To fall on the tiles and break one by one
And the father had as such mad that he would let cut off
The branch of the fruit tree,
As for charity sake
And the bel tree Shiva’s tree
And day it fell upon the head of the mother
But she did lose her consciousness,
A little of blood came it out.
So, sometimes in the absence of the lowly servants
I had to graze the cows and buffaloes,
Had to peg them from one place to another
And in the thatched cottage
I used to sleep and read
And that was my study room.
Sometimes during the rains, I used to stand up
When the cottage used to be in a bad state
As for the old straw thatch
As it used to leak badly
And the raindrops used to fall over
While sleeping in the cottage
And at that time, I used to stand up with my all beddings
By the mid bamboo pole to save myself
While the cattle used in the rest
Of the longer hutment,
Straw-thatched, but bamboo-pillared,
Open from all sides.
From the cottage, I used to see the fair and shining moon,
The stars twinkling up above
And their distances so far away immeasurable,
Furlongs and furlongs away
Where man cannot reach,
Just can watch the glitter, the glimmer
As do shine the fireflies.
The servants used to behave as masters of the dairy farm
And the mangers of farmlands too in the likewise manner
And administration was a failure at every point,
Pushing us into debt, loan and compound interest
Due to madness and misgovernance,
Mania and Brahminism, poetry and philosophy.
Priestliness, piety’s sake, religion and philosophy,
Virtue and charity, hospitality and liberalism,
We had been after,
Full of respect and simplicity for all
Those whoever came to our house.
I used to milk my buffaloes yielding almost 14 litres of milk a day
And the cows too in the same range,
Going up to 40 litres of milk daily
With my hands
Taking a rope to bind the legs
And a little bit of mustard oil to slip.
The father had been an oldie, an old-timer, a maniac one too,
Strict, disciplined and silly too,
Keeping money in the tin box, showing it not,
Asking for the expenses of the money given,
Showing not the pass-book
And the bundle of salary, that time low salary,
Hard-earned white money.
Asking us not to sit with him on the same cot,
Smile not, talk not too loudly,
Keep not the clothes on the same hanger of his
And go on reading for three times
Without any teaching aid.
What it pains me is this that in support of life, I went
To missionary schools,
But they did not in that district but tribal town,
Even I was not allowed to teach in a college after my Ph.D.
Just like a non-paid part-timer,
Just with the conveyance and tea allowance.
Once while moving to the university being at Bhagalpur,
120 kms. away from,
The bus I was travelling in turned over
And I came by the open window pane
Of the sideway mud-swerved bus.
After my M.A. in 1988 and my Ph.D. in 1994,
I did my M.A. in Pol.Sc. and Hist.,
But had been sitting unemployed and jobless,
With nothing to support myself,
Even the private tuitions too had not been
And even after, they used to pay not properly.
After a great trouble, I faced the interview board
Of the West Bengal College Service Commission, Calcutta
And in 1996 after being selected and intimated through a letter
I moved away to my college,
Some 300 kms. from my home state,
The place where I am now.
Comments about My Life And Times by Bijay Kant Dubey
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe