Friday, June 30, 2017


Professor Pushpita Awasthi was awarded Padmabhushan Moturi Satyanarayan Award for the  promotion of Hindi and writing abroad by the President of India, Mr. Pranab Mukherjee on 30 May 2017. This distinguished award was announced by the Central Hindi Institute, an International level organization within the ambit of Department of Higher Education, Ministry of Human Resource Development, India. The award carried Rs. Five Lacs, a citation and a shawl. 

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

|| toys ||


Children grow
toys become small
the mother stores
the toys to touch
their leftover childhood.

As soon as the
children know the lie
of life hidden in toys
they leave home
in search of the
truth of life.

The mother looks
for their fingers
hidden in their toys
to forget the pain
of the separation
from the child
gone abroad she
kisses the toys
her children kissed.

Touching the memories
of her children left in
the toys she eases the
pain of her memories.

In her memories she
keeps her children's toys
and in toys her hungry
motherly touch thinking
the toys too miss her children.

Sometimes she puts
the old tricycle in
the forlorn garden and
remembers her children's
feet now in military boots
or trudging alien paths.

With her old eyes
the mother blesses the
dreamy new world of
her children's eyes
that is untouched by
tears of slavery even
now she e-mails to
them the magic messages
from childhood scriptures
and life-" a slave is happy
not even in his dreams"
" love truly and thou shall be united
with thy love."


As soon as the
children know the lie
of life hidden in toys
they leave home
in search of the
truth of life.

Leaving the toy animals
children set out to win
the war against the animal
hidden within men.

Abandoning toy planes
and cars children leave
in search of a new life
better than their parents'
they had heard in their father's
heartbeat seen swinging
in their mother's eye.

Monday, April 17, 2017

|| shreenivasi ||

The poet Shreenivasi has
sown in his native land
word seeds.

In his poems he
has revived Suriname
feeding it
his heart's blood.

Suriname is growing
older in the land
of Suriname
In his poem Shreenivasi
is young at eighty five
like a tiller with
his plough on  his shoulder.

At the river-bank in New Amsterdam
the poet stands holding
the aakaashdeep of poem
the compassionate eye
of his picture has ink
for his new poem.

Like the trees at
the turning into jungle
New Amsterdam bank
that have known and lived
pain for ages his poem
stands tall.

Like his poems the
birds have created on branches
new plants…new creepers….new roots
and new nests.

In days past canons
that fought like mothers
on the side of the motherland
on this same beach
now lie quiet resting
their heads on their
children's shoulders.

Like the sentry at
the police- post at the
beach stands Shreenivasi's poem
a weapon drawn for the motherland.

Poetry is the monument
of New Amsterdam
the logo of Suriname
along the flag of the
police-post waves
the banner of poetry.

Friday, April 14, 2017

|| remembering native desires ||

Amidst alien heat and frost
The deck of the heart
lies abandoned like
the wet mark of
a memory-wound.

From the boat-house of desire
ancient eyes scan
a luminous past.

Absorbed in the
memory of the beloved
face resting between palms
holding native desires
my palms become
her palms.

Like shamed seasons
dreams lie in a corner
of the eye.

In the sun's heat
dreams smolder
and still life makes
new dreams like
foreign friends.

Alone in alien land
tiptoe timid memories
darkness rains even
on full- moon nights
like the intense meaning
of -sad.

Desires demand
new leaves so
they may breathe
and new desires spring.

When desires set
in the mould of desire
life comes closer to life
as held in the arms of
the paper the pen is
eager to speak.

Monday, April 10, 2017

two poems

|| the earth ||

The earth bears
the pain of
being alive like
a lonely woman.

Folks scratch her innards
trample on her for
their crazy pleasure
some decorate and preserve her
as they do a lonely woman

All watch the destruction
the earth too sees
her slow destruction
and still, through
her own powers-
creates balance
against destructive forces.

Like the lonely woman
the lonely earth saves-
her verdure
her rain
her coolness
her fertility
her purity
her identity.

|| seeds ||

The woman bears
with and keeps quiet
like night.

The woman burns
and remains contained
like the spark.

The woman moves on
living within limits
like the river.

The woman blossoms
and flourishes and is
ever hungry
like the tree.

The woman drizzles
and rains and is
ever thirsty
like clouds.
The woman makes
a home and always
remains homeless
like the birds.

The woman is
a resounding voice
but is silent
like the word.

The woman births
man and remains a slave
like the seed.

Saturday, April 8, 2017

|| peter brands ||

Peter, you have words
cordial and trustful
In adverse times
folks sleep in peace
and dream of
good times to come
While you keep awake
devising ways to
protect the honest
and the simple
from adversity

Your searching eyes
seek the mute
human civilization
and the pain
of wars entombed
in memorials
and museums

In times when
man is out to
gobble everything
in sight you eat
little and drink

Untouched by greed
rich in sensitivity
you stand with
friends often
against yourself

Opening bottles of
wine with enviable
expertise your joy
is in watching others

Familiar with
the crookedness of
the genteel you
hold on to
a moral code
of your very own

Peter Brawns
you are a friend
of the soul in
a world where
friends become strangers
at the drop of a hat.

Friday, April 7, 2017

|| hanneke ||

An European woman
with an Indian heart
and soul-Hanneke

With open eyes
she hears and sees
all in silence
like a still river

In her eyes
all see their reflection
amidst movement
she sits unmoving

Seeing everything her
ears hear-everything
the way her eyes
watch-day and night

Often she thinks
eyes are helpless-
they see whether they want or not
ears have no option
but to hear
what if the lips
too spoke the words
of the soul-incessantly
then the world would
have been different
and so would have been man

The world would not
have been so frightening
then and men would
not have been insecure

Power and fear
would not have
turned into guns

Freedom would not
be known as terror

Locks and patrol
would not have been
synonyms of security

Man and woman
would have procreated
generations of faith

In her silence Hanneke
speaks volumes
engaged in dialogue
her liquid eyes unveil
answers to questions unasked

Hanneke creates novel
modes of dialogue
gives new meanings
to words.