A spoken word performer born to an Irish-Canadian father and a Dalit Maharashtrian mother starts an online project to translate poems of a Bhakti saint whose thoughts are more relevant now than ever
Every year, warkaris, devotees of Lord Vithoba, carry the palanquin procession of Sant Tukaram from Dehu to Pandharpur. Pic/Nimesh Dave
Born and raised in Jejuri, a city in Pune district known for the temple of Lord Khandoba, Chandrakant Redican was introduced to the genius of Sant Tukaram early in life. His Irish-Canadian father practices Sahaja Yoga, a meditation technique, and had moved to India to stay in Jejuri and start a school for the local children. "My mother is a Dalit Maharashtrian. My father placed great emphasis on meditation and spirituality. I have been given an extremely positive outlook towards Hinduism through my upbringing which I carry with me," says 33-year-old Redican, former guest faculty at the Symbiosis School for Liberal Arts. It was when Redican turned 10 that he read Says Tuka, a book by Dilip Chitre, one of India-s most prominent bilingual poets. "My interest in Sant Tukaram was born when I first read him. The disadvantage of being in an English medium school was that I did not take Marathi seriously until much later in life. My father warned me that I will regret it," he adds.
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In 2014, Redican began taking spoken word poetry seriously. "For me, Sant Tukaram is a performance poet. While there are several other poets of the Bhakti tradition who are equally important and prolific, what drew me to Tukaram was that he was full of doubt and embraced that doubt. And his faith was a result of this constant doubt."
The relevance of his poetry isn-t lost on Redican, who feels his words resonate with the plight of India-s migrants. "Tukaram questioned everything. Tukaram, Kabir and the other poets ripped apart the traditional superstitious society they lived in, and they did it through poems of devotion. They showed that superstition and social inequality are wrong. If these saints had not questioned the caste system, we probably would have been several years behind in the equality struggle. If the women poets of the Bhakti tradition had not questioned gender norms and patriarchy, we, as a country would have been more regressive than we are."
Chandrakant Redican
About a month ago, Redican started The Tukaram Project on social media. "After grappling with doubt and feelings of sadness since I was alone in Bengaluru while my friends and family are in Pune, I decided I needed to begin a project that explored Tukaram-s poetry and the relevance of his work. I began with a series of translations. I reference his original poetry and find poems that appeal to me. I translate one every day."
The idea is to finish translating 50 poems. The last one will be on the day the Palkhi palanquin of Sant Tukaram leaves Dehu, his hometown, travelling through Maharashtra 21 days to reach Pandharpur. "The Tukaram Project in the near future will feature collaborations with academics, dancers and musicians and few poets to interpret the poetry of Tukaram and other poets in the Bhakti tradition. I am also working on a book of translations that I hope to publish within the year," he says.
Carry me, my mother
My feet cannot go any further
Panduranga, pray, embrace me
Engulf me with your mercy
Protect me from all starvation
And distresses of this life
Tuka says, she never calls me-
My lord who is my mother
Please satisfy my hunger
And put me to your breast
Redican decided to translate this poem when he came across a photo of a child sleeping on a suitcase dragged by his migrant mother
My body feels like a corpse
Searching for rest in cemeteries
They wail night and day
My lust, anger and compassion
The God of death cries out
Reflecting my sorrow, despair
My body smeared
With the dung of detachment
I immolate myself
On the pyre of knowledge
To be one with Brahma, the creator
This earthen pot
With water leaking out
I whirl it around your form
Smashing it at your feet
The cries come out
The shriek of the great word
"Aham Brahmasmi"
I offered a handful
Of soaked sesame seeds
In the names of the dead
Bearing my family name
My body surrendered
To its rightful owner
Says Tuka: Thus I have become ash
Spontaneously, the lamp
Of my Guru-s compassion
Is kindled
— Saint Tukaram
Instagram: @poetryisprotest
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