खुशबू रचते हैं हाथ

It was one of those rare days when I went out for a casual walk with my mother in the evening. We saw a small shop selling some irresistibly pretty flowers. It was Friday the next day, my grandma always insists on stringing flowers across the photos/potraits/idols of Gods/Godesses. I took this as an excuse to ask my mother to buy some flowers. My mother gave me the green signal after some amount of persuasion. She was fiddling with her purse to find some change to give that little girl selling the flowers. She asked me to give the girl that money and added, " Don't touch that girl while giving her the money. God knows when she takes bath." Perhaps it was the fact that she didn't know English that she didn't feel bad... Or was it the darkness around me that I couldn't see her pain... Or was it the mist inside me that hid her sadness from me...??? You may understand what I mean by saying mist- pity, anger, embarrasment... everything was woven into a solid confusion... thick mist...

This has happened many times to me, but this one was special. The next day, we had one poem in our Hindi lesson- खुशबू रचते हैं हाथ। I am going to put it in here. Sorry if you can't read Hindi, I shall put down the meaning I derived from it...


कई गलियों के बीच
कई नालों के पार
कूड़े-करकट
के ढ़ेरों के बाद
बदबू से फटते जाते इस
टोले के अन्दर
खुशबू रचते हैं हाथ
खुशबू रचते हैं हाथ ।

उभरी नसोंवाले हाथ
घिसे नाखूनोंवाले हाथ
पीपल के पत्ते से नए नए हाथ
जूही की डालसे खुशबूदार हाथ

गंदे किटे-पिटे हाथ
ज़ख्म से फटे हुए हाथ
खुशबू रचते हैं हाथ
खुशबू रचते हैं हाथ ।

यहीं इस गली में बनती हैं
मुल्क की मशहूर अगरबत्तियाँ
इन्ही गंदे मुहल्लों के गंदे लोग
बनाते हैं केवड़ा गुलाब खस और रातरानी अगरबत्तियाँ
दुनिया की साड़ी गन्दगी के बीच दुनिया की सारी खुशबू
रचते हैं हाथ

खुशबू रचते हैं हाथ
खुशबू रचते हैं हाथ।

-- Shri Arun Kamal.

It tells us about the inequality our Indian society (Right to equality, huh?) . We use agarbattis, I think they are called incense sticks... We use agarbattis which spread a good aroma around our house. But the ones who give us this aroma around us, this comfort... They live in utter poverty. They make aroma for us and have pungent odour surrounding them... They give us our daily comforts but are deprived of the basic necessities of life- 2 square meals, a decent house to live in and proper wearable clothes...

I am happy that people like Shri Arun Kamal are around there somewhere... who write about these disturbing everyday things. They make us aware. They shout- "Yes, this is true. It's happening. Look around you." I don't know how many people out there have read poems of the likes of this. I thank you for writing this poem... For telling me about those poor hands which make my Pooja room smell good...

Thank you!