Gita Chattopadhyay – Puja & Politics – Poems translated from Bengali by Paramita Banerjee & Carolyne Wright

Bannerjee Wright LE P&W SEPTEMBER 2025

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Live Encounters Poetry & Writing September 2025

Pujas and Politics: the Poetry of Gita Chattopadhyay,
poems translated from Bengali
by Paramita Banerjee and Carolyne Wright.


I’m Going to My Mother

In the blue balloon’s bubble, childhood’s spherical sky,
A holiday pūjā morning in the dance of the magpie;
In winter’s floor painting:  unhusked rice, cowrie shells,
a painted Lakshmi plate and holy grasses;
The wind enjoying breakfast in the scent of date molasses.
With his shepherd’s songs, Mahajan Das made the finger-cymbals weep;
The widowed bride Uttara painted on the scripture’s flyleaf.
The Mahābhārata verses flow by like the River Gharghara,
lapping at our sleep–
Mother alliterates with her vermilion marriage mark, vermilion lips.
So now I’ve touched my mother, in her arms a child always,
With foolish lips whining and smiling, quite meaningless–
Lying on her breast, listening to the eternal sound of fountains.
I’ll be only at your side, Mother, I won’t go away again;
Casting off one by one all our vain dreams
From the shore, we’ll all be purified, dipping in your heart’s stream.
If the sound of your conch shell brings tears to the eyes, let it;
Twilight’s lady, your oil lamp moves back and forth at the edges of our sight!
If I become a bee in a blue lotus in sunset’s deepening glade,
I’ll say, “I’m going to my mother,” to live in her blue cloth’s shade.

 

 

Notes: 

The items named in the first stanza form part of the offerings made to the goddess Lakshmi
at the time of Lakshmī Pūjā (held every year during the first full moon of autumn), and arranged
on a decorated plate called the Lakshmi (Lakshmī) or wealth plate, which is set in the middle
of an elaborate ālpanā, or floor painting.
Mahajan Das is a generic name for a traditional Hindu devotional singer, hired to recite
and sing verses from sacred texts at weddings, festivals, and other ceremonial occasions.
Uttara was a young widow in the Mahābhārata, whose picture appeared on the cover of
old editions of this work.  It is still customary in rural areas of Bengal to read aloud from
the epic after the mid-day meal.
Published in Bengali in Gourīchãpā Nadī, Chandarā (Gourichapa River, Tribal Girl).
Kolkata:  Kabi O Kabita, 1973.  Copyright by Gita Chattopadhyay.


In a Field Already Harvested 

Giving my ripened grain into others’ hands, I sailed away–
Thus the shore was emptied on our darkened day.
Spreading the approaching evening’s shadow,
the lark flew away,
The starved pigeon lay dead on the porch
in her nest of hay.
Thousands of starving boars and sows gave off a smell;
Deaf and dumb, I sat beside the winter fire.
Hidden behind the burning ground, twelve temples by the river—
A famished eventide goes down into the tall-grass tangle.
All the starving, frightened faces reddened by the fire
Raise their fists to the stars and cry out in their ire:
Grind to death the star-seeds in the sky’s space-garden!
Murder the worthless amulets fastened on your arm.
The cunning, seeming-lovely hare
Destroys our deep-rooted grain, our secret gardens.
Gradually froth collects on the lips,
the hard knot in the blood opens—
Dust clawed up by sharp, harsh nails, feet
wiped on the doormats!
Ruthless daggers pointed at each other’s hearts,
By now they’ve filled their bowls up with the ashes

of the Buddhist nun.

 

Notes:

The twelve temples are the twelve shrines dedicated to Shiva (the Lord of Destruction in the Hindu pantheon) at the great Dakshineswar Temple beside the Hooghly River just north of Kolkata. The last line refers to the story of King Ajatosatru, a staunch Hindu Brahmin revivalist in the aftermath of the spread of Buddhism in ancient India, who banned Buddhism among his subjects.  Only his mother’s maid continued to practice her faith, and was killed by Ajatosatru’s guards when she went to light lamps at a memorial stone for Lord Buddha.  The poem was written in 1965, when Buddhist monks and nuns were immolating themselves in Vietnam to protest foreign occupation. Published in Bengali in Gourīchãpā Nadī, Chandarā (Gourichapa River, Tribal Girl).   Kolkata: Kabi O Kabita, 1973.  Copyright by Gita Chattopadhyay.

 


What Is There to Be Sorry About?

Our days have gone with the evening light, Malati Basak!
Life’s meaning has to change when your liver breaks down;
If your heart is damaged somewhere, somewhere else again
Clichés would tame the docile Cadillac.
But this is no heart, this is a strange lilac
That has bloomed in a maroon forest at the onset of winter.
The church’s comely bell will toll in death’s honor,
A shadow cast in the alcohol–we’re not Laura and Petrarch.
Mid-day descends in Mobil Oil, evening comes bikini-clad;
I watch bemused the yearly soiree at the Eiffel Tower
And summer ends in Brighton—an exquisite deer.
A priest from Florence asked, “But, how much longer?”
As if he’d seen the inevitable hara-kiri in the cherry bower.
I read out the Gītā as Huxley bade:
“The wise mourn neither for the living nor for the dead.”
I pour this theory into the decanter
with other injudicious cards.
Que será, será. . .”  Foxtrots. . .  Frenzied mandolins.
Against the backdrop of a monsoon night we’re broken violins!

 

Note:  
Line 15 (“The wise mourn . . . “) is a quotation from Chapter 2, Sloka 11 of the Bhagavad Gītā.
The translation is that of Mahatma Gandhi.
Published in Bengali in Gourīchãpā Nadī, Chandarā (Gourichapa River, Tribal Girl).
Kolkata: Kabi O Kabita, 1973.  Copyright by Gita Chattopadhyay.


Truce

Remove this metal armor, it hurts.

Let the breeze play on my bare body now,
undo the ancient brass lock from my heart.
Won’t your hand be a prisoner in mine?

Let the sky, the earth and the fourteen worlds know
the war is over now, Commander;
throw down your shield and sword, wash off

your scars and arrogance in water, remove the armor.

Remove the armor, the flowers will all be trampled;
their days won’t be numbered by raising victory pillars!
Time robs them of so much anyway,
at least let them be spared by your hand.

The day wears on, Commander; say how long twilight
can linger still on the battlefield with the close
of Raga Bhupali at sunset. Knowing shoreless

evening will descend, make peace, in a duet join hands.

 

Note:

Raga Bhupali (Rāga Bhūpāli) is a rāga to be played just at the hour of sunset.

Published in Bengali in Sapta Dibāniţi Kalkātā (Kolkata: Seven Days and Nights).
Kolkata: Kabi O Kabita, 1973. Copyright by Gita Chattopadhyay.


© Paramita Banerjee and Carolyne Wright

Gita Chattopadhyay was born in 1941 into a traditional zamindāri (large landholding) family in North Kolkata, in the family’s l75-year-old ancestral home, where she still lives with her widowed mother, a brother and two sisters, all unmarried.  She was educated at the Baptist Mission School, then at Lady Brabourne College, University of Calcutta.  After that she devoted herself to her writing—mainly of poetry and literary criticism—and to extensive reading in Bengali, Sanskrit, and English. Although she gave a few readings on All-India Radio, she lived essentially in seclusion, and remained an elusive and highly respected figure in contemporary Bengali letters until her passing in 2019. For all her privileged background and Dickensonian lifestyle, her work is among the most powerful and politically committed written in Bengali in her generation. Although she was wary of the commercialization of literature, her poems appeared in the magazines Kabi o Kabitā and Samved; and she published several volumes of poetry, essays, and verse drama, including a Collected Poems (কবিতা সংগ্রহ) from Aadam Publishers. In English translation by Carolyne Wright and Paramita Banerjee, her work has appeared in Artful Dodge, Calyx, Chicago Review, Crab Orchard Review, Field, International Quarterly, Poetry Review (U.K.), Primavera, and in the anthologies In Their Own Voice: The Penguin India Anthology of Contemporary Women’s Poetry, ed. Arlene R. K. Zide (Penguin India, 1993), Penguin New Writing in India, ed. Aditya Behl and David Nicholls (Penguin India, 1994), and Majestic Nights: Love Poems of Bengali Women (White Pine Press, 2008), ed. and trans. Carolyne Wright.

Paramita Banerjee was born in Kolkata in 1958, the daughter of two university professors.  She received a B.A. with Honours in Philosophy at Presidency College, and an M.A. in Mental and Moral Philosophy from Calcutta University in 1981; and is currently completing her Ph.D. in Social Philosophy on a research fellowship from Jadavpur University.  As a child, she wrote for several Bengali children’s magazines, and won prizes for her stories and poems.  During her college years, she was involved in student politics, especially as an election organizer and observer in the frequently violent polling stations in rural West Bengal; at one point, she was beaten up by political party thugs and hospitalized for these endeavors.  As an adult, she has been active in local political theatre groups and alternative bookstores, and has published articles on theatre and on women’s issues, as well as poetry, in a number of small literary magazines.  She has written feature articles for the Calcutta English daily The Telegraph, published poems in Desh, and translated two novels of the late Samaresh Bose from Bengali into English for Penguin India.  After a few years of editorial work at the publisher, Orient Longman, and teaching of Philosophy at Muralidhar Girl’s College in South Calcutta, she now directs Diksha, a non-governmental organization to provide social services and education to the children of prostitutes and other residents of the urban slums.  She has three daughters, and lives with her family in Lake City, a suburb of Kolkata.

Carolyne Wright spent four years on Indo-U.S. Subcommission and Fulbright Senior Research fellowships in Kolkata and Dhaka, Bangladesh, collecting and translating the work of Bengali women poets and writers for a major anthology in progress.  For these translations, she has received a Translation Fellowship from the Santa Fe Arts Institute, a Witter Bynner Foundation Grant, a National Endowment for the Arts Grant in Translation, a Fellowship from the Bunting Institute of Radcliffe College; and she has been a research associate at Harvard University (Department of Sanskrit and Indian Studies), Wellesley College (Center for Research on Women), and Emory University (Asian Studies Program), where she also taught courses on South Asian Women’s Literature which were cross-listed with English and Women’s Studies.   Volumes in Wright’s translation from Bengali published so far include Another Spring, Darkness: Selected Poems of Anuradha Mahapatra (Calyx Books), a renowned West Bengali poet about whom Adrienne Rich has written, “across culture and language we are encountering a great world poet.”  Another published collection is The Game in Reverse: Poems of Taslima Nasrin (George Braziller), the dissident Bangladeshi writer living in exile with a price on her head. Most recently published is the anthology, Majestic Nights: Love Poems of Bengali Women (White Pine Press, 2008). Wright has published eleven award-winning books and chapbooks of her own poetry, and three other volumes of translation from Bengali and Spanish. Since moving back to her native Seattle in mid-2005, she has taught at the community literary center, Richard Hugo House; and was on the faculty for the Northwest Institute of Literary Arts / Whidbey Writers Workshop MFA Program until its closure in 2016

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