I paint you with my dreams

Mother-

Stop a moment

stand still

I want to paint

you on my green canvas

I want to see

Deep into the crystal

Tear droplets

That were frozen

In your eyes-

Mother, 

let me paint

The agony of clasping

Dried rivers, burnt forests-

What color do I need

To paint the grief you carry

Under your eyes

In losing a thousand

Five hundred budding flowers-

What brush stroke could draw

The wrinkles on your face,

your quest for freedom-

Mother,

how can I picture

Your vigor

in graphic movement

Your struggle

for self respect

Pouring into a frozen frame!

Yet your gaze mother,

Sprouts like branches of hope

Exceeding boundaries!

Mother, will my blue strokes

Make you forget your pains

All these years!?

Mother,

I dip my brush

In red

To mark a brilliant victorious smile

On your face

Today

Mother, I paint you

With my dreams....

(Dawn of Telangana)

-Vimala.K

Telangana

The Bronze Poet in the million march

 “Hussain sagar loo teelutunna shavaalu maavi,Tankbund miida vigrahaalu miivi” said one Telangana poet long back. I felt it more than ever before when I went to Million March to connect myself with the many spirited individuals who are struggling for justice. I saw every woman activist from Telangana walking with self esteem. Spontaneous slogans were echoing like rhythmic drum beat.  I started giving slogans along with my friends in full voice. I joined with people who were marching from this end to that end of the Tank Bond with great confidence. Their cheering smiles were glowing like green blades of grass. I melted in their collective gaze for a better society. I sang in a roaring tone. I anticipated this day of collective action. I was intoxicated with the beautiful spirit of my friends.  Suddenly, empty bottles and cutting-edged rocks were hitting like hail at the iron block that was molded into a human shape.  I shot through the frenzied crowd to the bronze poet.  People were shouting, screaming ‘hey-ammaa, go away, go away……stones…stones”.  I struggled to grab the rod from his hands. He asked me ‘who are you to stop me?”
 I said ‘I am your sister, don’t you recognize me!? I am with you all these years, didn’t I?”
As he continued his work, he said from under the mask, “I don’t know you, how can you call me your brother…. you did not come to rescue me when they were stumping me? When they were crushing my expression…Tell me sister… am  I not worth enough of this Iron block which you try to rescue??”…..
I was startled by his question. I looked up into the frozen iron face of my beloved poet.  His eyes were static. His gaze was at the sinking sun behind Buddha. I wanted the bronze poet to say to me that he needs me, I wanted him to say ‘protect me my reader’. But he was quite and  peaceful as if he liked being hit.   I remembered his words “die…..you worthless beings of rotten bones…..” I saw the iron face that started glowing in patches. The crashing sound of the rod reminded me of the stone crushing sound near our village mango grove, next to the forest.  How much I cried when I saw our village rock hill was blasted!  How much it pained me to see our forest being destroyed!  How cruel was the sound of those giant machines that deafened my ears!  When I cried out for my hills, birds, trees, lakes, land, my people…….no one listens to me…..how much destruction………. 
“But sister……I listened to you” said the man in the mask, as if he is reading my thoughts.
 “What did you say?” I said surprisingly.
 “I said I listened you, that is why I am here”…….But…
I struggled to say something.
 ”but you don’t like what I am doing” he said coolly as he broke the bronze statue hand with the book.
“Yes…..I don’t like this, I insist you… stop this”….I said with fury.
 ”why?” he asked without turning his eyes….
 ”because……he is our pride”….
 “To see in death a dream, in the sunset
    A golden sadness-such is the poetry,
    Humble and immortal, poetry,
    Returning like dawn and the sunset”
Don’t you know sister; there are some great personalities in each generation in every place who lived their lives up to their values!  They are not just ornamental symbols of pride. Don’t you know this poet whom you respect so much does not want give up his self respect until his last breath? Don’t you know he would not agree to kill his true spirit in the name of “pride”…..
” he is our dear poet”   I corrected. 
 “So?”….
”I don’t want to see him dying”…
Man in the mask laughed
 “My dear sister….I wish the same…don’t you see….that is what I am doing”…….
”what……dismantling him!?”
“no ….I am liberating this poet from his frozen moment……I am doing what he wanted, he wants to join us…” he said as he pluck out the pen out of his hand and threw it to the crying crowd  ”be brave…..Return to life …oh poet”… Like the hand cuffs released from his hands, poet started moving & rolled down with a thud.  Man in the mask turned to me and insisted,
“sister…..take this rod……..liberate the poets……they are helpless….they want to get back their souls out from these fake prides ….I know you are worried that this act might damage our peaceful movement, but sister to stop the destruction we need to create new things… rewrite the history, sister’……
An ambulance rushed in with an alarming sound and went away with the same speed.  A mother in her rush who stepped on an empty pesticide bottle fell down and with a fury picked the bottle and threw it at the Bronze poet.  The bronze poet on the Tank bund road started moving and joined in the million march with the people.

By
Vimala.K
10th March

Mukta Introduction

Mukta A TelanganaWomen's Collective Introduction

Report Submitted to Sri Krishna Committee on " Small Industries in Telangana" by Vimala

Friends,

Report  Submitted to Sri Krishna Committee on " Small Industries in Telangana" by Vimala.  

You can see the number of Industries which have been in existence before the formation of Andhra Pradesh and their status today. Few interesting points to look for in this report are the

    * Diversity of Small Scale Industries in Telangana and their Employment Generation capability

    * Integration of these industries into Telangana Geography and Culture

    * Farmanas issued by The Nizam about Hyderabad State's contribution towards Industrial Research in IISc, Bangalore

After formation of Telangana State highest priority should be given for revampification of these industries.

Batukamma Panduga

[An excerpt from “The girl in the rock-A Telangana tale”]

An annual ritual in Telangana—Batukamma pandaga—is entirely devoted to wild flowers, which the villagers pick in the forest and then use to build a high, circular mound, the "Life Goddess," Batukamma, an embodiment of life-force, batuku, itself. Each household builds its own Batukamma and brings it into the open village space. Women take the leading role in this festival, although men may help in building up the mound. Dozens of songs and stories accompany the ritual, which also includes a dance, by women, known as boddemma aaDaDam. At the festival's end—after a week—the Batukamma flower-mounds are cast into the river. Warangal city is especially known for its magnificent Batukamma celebrations. Interestingly, this ritual lacks any deity—apart from the wild flowers themselves, which pass from the forest into the village and thence into the flowing water. It is as if human, social life takes place in a space between these two domains of forest and stream, a space that has to be ritually and repeatedly opened up to the life that naturally flows in the wilderness.

The flowers embody the Telangana life-force and serve as a key to the future.

Death of the waters

                      Vimala.K

Beyond my imagination,

A thin silver line agony

Shines

With

Crispy bitterness.

heavy movement

Seeps in

harsh stillness.

unbearable beauty

murmurs

into reflection.

Unmixing agonies

Draws water color

With oil mixtures-

Dip your body

&rinse it with rich gray sorrow

Beyond the imagination-

Nothing touches you,

As if you are not a living being

Like a being in dead sea.

Dead waters speak to you

‘I reflect you oh golden mountain

But don’t mistake me as your other,

I am the dead self, am here just to remind you

Life is eternal’

One has to cross the vaitarini

That’s all.

death is eternal

In dead waters.

[visiting the dead sea in 2009;Palastine]

Introduction

Mukta [the collective voices] was formed a couple of months back by some Telangana women with varied backgrounds. It was more than necessary because there was no single place exists for Telangana women where they can interact with their fellow people, where they can express their feelings, where they can sharpen their intellectual abilities, simply where they can speak out loud freely in their own tongues.”Mukta”-a Telangana women’s collective for culture studies has formed out of such socio historical context. First and foremost this collective strives to create a space where women from all corners of Telangana can meet and interact with each other. A well equipped library and some intellectual support for the researchers, organic scholars [both women and men] who are interested in issues relating women and adivasi studies can be facilitated through this collective. Publishing every year at least one work from Telangana region relating literature, art, nature, women & adivasi studies is one of the main agendas of Mukta. Organizing  a little theatre group for women, conducting monthly lecture lunch-ons by well known scholars, poets, writers from all across the country is another task to which mukta committed to do. Mukta wants to create a space where art& literature, humanities& humane experiences, Life& drama complement each other in order to bring self esteem to our identities, self sufficiency in our lives. Simply for us “the movement, the rhythm is everything, the goal is nothing”. Mukta is a registered group   [jayasree foundation for culture studies] run by individuals & by families personal level support. Our monthly activities include the monthly lecture on a selective topic & a discussion on a book selected for reading by members themselves. Discussions with the author, literary scholars ‘inputs, poetry recital& gazal singing are also scheduled as part of our   regular monthly meetings.