1. Twenty-Four Years of Heartbeat
Pondicherry dust knows my black footsteps,
how far they walked to see your brown face.
Pondy flowers know how many roses
my black hand carried to give to your brown hands.
Pondi buildings know how long
my black body leaned on their walls
to see your brown beauty.
Your cycle basket knows
how many flowers my black hand carried.
The Bay of Bengal knows
how deeply my Dalit heart loved you.
Dimapur roads know
how much you humiliated me.
But your Naga skin knows
How much it hates my Pariah skin.
2. The Distance I Crossed
I wanted to see you,
So I packed my Oxford Press books
Into my bag
And set out for Dimapur.
I wanted to see you.
I thought of coming by road,
But it would take 38 hours and 35 minutes
To reach you.
I couldn’t wait.
I thought of taking the train,
But it would take 31 hours and 10 minutes
To reach you.
I couldn’t wait.
So I finally came by air,
In just 2 hours and 40 minutes.
But you said,
“You Dalit bastard,
How dare you love my Naga skin?”
And in that moment,
Something within me shattered
Not my black skin,
But everything beneath it.
3. Humiliation
I was born into it
When the caste system was born.
I was raised in it
In my Yadav village.
I faced it
With every breath I took.
I lived in it
The moment I realised my Madiga caste.
I felt it
When the mainland and the hills
United against my skin.
I died in it
When you humiliated me.
It became my birthright
The day I was born, a Pariah.
I faced it
When I loved the plains.
I faced it
When I loved you.
What difference is there
Between you and the mainland
When it comes to humiliating
My Dalit skin?
4. Sewn Beyond Flesh
I wanted to stitch your name into my skin,
But I feared it would decay
When my body lay buried in the Christian grave.
So I stitched your Naga name into my bones,
So you would remain within me
For a million years.
Even archaeologists, one day,
Will find your name
Etched into my Dalit bones.
5. The Shame You Named, The Love I Kept
You felt humiliated
To be loved by a Pariah.
You were ashamed
To be loved by black skin.
You felt degraded
To be loved by a proletarian.
But I was honoured
That I met you twenty-four years ago,
That this feeling: so fierce, so beautiful
Has been my heartbeat ever since.
From the moment I saw you in Pondicherry,
Your name became my every breath.
And then you said,
“You Dalit bastard,
How dare you love my Naga skin?”
Twenty-four years of feeling
Have never vanished,
Even as my Dalit skin
Crossed a minefield of humiliation
In your Dimapur.
6. Forbidden Fruit
I was forbidden when I was born, untouchable.
forbidden the day I was born, untouchable.
I was forbidden when I was born Black.
Forbidden the day I was born Black.
I was forbidden when I was born, a dailywage worker.
Forbidden as a child of dailywage workers.
I was forbidden when I was born, lean and bony.
Forbidden in this thin, lean, bony body.
My life was forbidden.
My love was forbidden.
My liberty was forbidden.
My light was forbidden.
My thoughts were forbidden.
My skin and my soul were forbidden.
My whole being was forbidden.
I was forbidden even in “casteless” spaces.
The mainland forbade me.
The hill-land forbade me.
India forbade me.
Nagalim forbade me.
Europe forbade me,
just as they forbade the Jews.
I was forbidden, from birth to death,
in the name of caste,
in the name of colour,
in the name of class,
in the name of purity and impurity.