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- ????? ?????

On an evening stroll down my street,
the azan echoes, stops my feet,
reminds me it is time to pray,
but I start musing on that day:
Bhai, what kind of Muslim am I?
Am I Sunni or I’m Shia
Am I Khoja or I’m Bohri?
From the village or the city?
Am I rebel or a mystic?
Am I devout or sophistic?

Bhai, what kind of Muslim am I?

Do I prostrate in submission
Or am headed to perdition,
Is my cap my identity,
Or the beard shaved off completely,
Recite Quranic verse, I could,
or hum the songs of Bollywood?
Do I chant Allah everyday,
or fight the Sheiks in every way?
What kind of Muslim am I, bhai?

I know I’m an Indian Muslim.

I’m from the Deccan, and UP,
I’m from Bhopal, and from Delhi,
I’m Gujrati, and Bengali,
I’m from the high castes and lower,
I’m the weaver and the cobbler,
I’m the doctor, and tailor.
The holy Gita speaks in me,
An Urdu newsprint thrives in me,
Divine is Ramadan in me,
The Ganges washes sins in me.
live by my rules, not for you,
I’ve smoked a cigarette or two.
No politician rules my veins,
No party has me in their chains

For I am an Indian Muslim.

I’m in Old Delhi’s Bloody Gate,
I’m in Lucknow’s magical maze,
I’m in Babri’s demolished dome,
I’m in the blurred borders of home,
in poverty of slum dwellings,
the Madrasa’s shattered ceilings,
the embers flaming a riot,
I’m in the garment stained with blood

I’m Hindustani Musalman.

The Hindu temple’s door is mine,
as are the Mosque’s minarets mine,
the Sikh Gurudwara’s hall is mine,
The church’s pews are also mine,
I am fourteen in one hundred,
But in these fourteen not othered,
I am within all of hundred,
and hundred is the sum of me.

Don’t view me any differently,
I have a hundred ways to be
I’m hundred nuanced characters,
from hundreds of storytellers.

Brother, as Muslim as I am,
I’m that much also Indian.

?I’m Hindustani Musalman,
I’m Hindustani Musalman.

—Translated from Urdu by Dipika Mukherjee and Udit Mehrotra

Hussain Haidry, Madhya Pradesh

(Hussain Haidry is a screenwriter and lyricist. He was head of finance at a healthcare company in Kolkata until he left his job and moved to Mumbai to become a full-time writer. He has written lyrics for several Hindi films and series.)

Hum Sab Katuwe Hain (We Are All?Cutuas?Now)

We are all?Cutuas
????????????????????? O Minister!
With our cut off heads
Cut off hands
Cut off legs
???????? And holding our mutilated souls
We wander
We, the fearful headless bodies
We are all?Cutuas
?????????????????Our Royal Highness!
We are the severed head of that mother
Which that sanctified axe chopped off
??????????????? In an intoxication
??????????????? Of sacredly sinful patriliny
??????????????? With our broken bodies
??????????????? We plant that decapitated head
?? In this soil…
We are all?Cutuas
????????????????? Your Majesty!
?
We are the fallen heads of that illustrious youth
Which that sword
Pulled out of the scabbard of hollow honour
And dipped in the poison of caste pride
Had hacked off...
And that no one heard
The laughter that echoes in the dank cave of our culture
We are the howls of that severed head...
We are all?Cutuas
????????????????? Your Honour!
?
We, who for aeons
Are the bleeding nose of that girl
Which the man’s ego
Which the royal pride had hacked off
Our noseless civilization bathes
Dipping in the blood of that girl
And looks for its Gods
We are all?Cutuas
????????????????????? Dear Emperor of the World!
?
We are the severed thumb of that warrior
Sliced off by that crafty Guru
The thumbs continued to get sawed off
Arms got sawed
Fingers got sliced
Look, there are severed thumbs scattered across the sky
Look, the Council of Ministers is taking
The thumb impressions from those severed thumbs.
Look, the premier is wearing
A garland of those bleeding thumbs.
We are all?Cutuas
?????????????????????? O Noblemen!
?
We are all?Cutuas?and we are the majority
We stand
????????????? On the highways of history
Adorned with our sundered identities
Better you leave this country, Emperor!
?????????????????? With your butter soft visage and perfectly unblemished body
This country is ours
This Aryavarta belongs to us, the?Cutuas

—Translated from Hindi by Tarun Bhartiya

Anshu Malviya, Uttar Pradesh

(Anshu Malviya is a popular Hindi poet and a social and cultural activist who works with the urban poor and informal sector workers.)