From the deep eternal slumber
Wake up once and come, my dear friend!
Your toothpaste, brush, and soap
are peeping from the bathroom
Steaming black Chikmagalur coffee, the plate of Upma
are on the table, waiting for you.
G.N. Saibaba’s wheelchair remains in his house. Photo: Vasantha Kumari
Your round comb whispers to me
To straighten out those curly locks
“Don’t forget me,” says your pen,
tugging at your shirt pocket
“It’s nearly time for physiotherapy,”
your wheelchair urges impatiently.
Like a free bird,
blowing plumes of smoke by the doorway
Wake up once and come, my dear friend!
The chalk trembles in anticipation,
yearning to follow those elegant letters,
Flowing from your long fingers
on the blackboard once again.
Numerous students coming from distant shores
are waiting with a new enthusiasm,
To listen to the lessons brought alive.
Step into the classroom, full of life
Wake up once and come, my dear teacher!
An image of G.N. Saibaba’s study table. Photo: Vasantha Kumari
The millets you bought for the new diet
Watch dumbly, still in jars
Your favourites, fish stew and fried prawns
Competing with each other to be relished by you.
I have bought white brinjals from the market
Washed and dried them
Mustard, sesame, chilli powder, salt and oil
All laid out for you, to transform into pickle
Wake up once and come, my dear partner!
The bay leaf plant you brought from Brazil,
Nurtured with care, grew tall and strong
Yet, before you could see it, withered away,
Never to sprout those leaves again
I was helpless, how should I tell you?
How deeply I grieved its silent demise.
After you came back from jail,
The seedlings we planted
together in the backyard,
Have shrivelled away without you.
You wanted to plant roses, marigolds, chrysanthemums,
Let’s go to the market then, buy the new pots
Wake up once and come, my dear gardener!
G.N. Saibaba died on October 12 in Hyderabad’s Nizam’s Institute of Medical Sciences Hospital. In this image, his wheelchair is seen in front of his house’s front door. Photo: Vasantha Kumari
Your inspiration captured by the student’s pencil strokes,
Our Tofu looks at your portrait,
And circles your wheelchair every day
Searching for you, meowing in vain.
The tiny birds huddling on the railing,
Chattering in endless dispute—
Let’s settle their quarrels…
Wake up once and come, my nature lover!
Countless people inheriting your spirit and practice
Flooding the doorstep of our home
To hold and fill you in their eyes
Share with them your final message, your last handshake
Wake up once and come, my much loved universal friend!
Our boundless love and practice
Reflected as a mirror –
In our Manjeera, hovering outside the ICU door
with fistfuls of matters to discuss with you
Let’s make those future plans with your dearest daughter
Wake up once and come, beloved father!
Beneath the golden rays
Piercing through the coconut fronds,
Where the fragrance of the Neem flowers lingers,
You stroked my hair effortlessly
Without my friendship and love, you said
Life had no meaning
We are each other’s companion, each other’s shadow
Fulfil your childhood promises to your Amani*
Wake up once and come, my dearest life mate!
A book, a comb, pens, notebooks and other things remain on G.N. Saibaba’s desk. Photo: Vasantha Kumari
After ten long years apart,
immersed in the joy of your return
Your sudden departure has wrenched my heart
Made fragilewith the endless pain,
And my eyes, brimming with frozen tears
Yearn for the touch of your love-filled lips.
Hold me in one last embrace,
Strong enough to carry me through
On the journey of my life ahead
Wake up once and come, Sai, my darling!
*Since childhood, Sai called Vasantha his Amani, his everlasting spring, invoking this name in their letters to each other.
Vasantha Kumari is the wife of the late activist, writer, and professor G.N. Saibaba.
This poem is originally written in Telugu and is translated into English by Lotika and K.S.R. Prasadh.
