The Challenge called Dilip Chitre

This morning I received the sad news from Hemant that Dilip Dada is no more. With passing away of Dilip Chitre (1938-2009), an era of  Marathi poetry and literature comes to an end. He was one of the greatest poets in Marathi and one of the best Indian poets. He was a fantastic translator, critic and fiction writer. He was always a brave rebel, an immensely creative personality and uncompromising critical intelligence. He kickstarted the `Little Magazine Movement' in Maharashtra with his little magazine`Shabda' in the mid fifties. He remained a great influence and inspiration for hundreds of younger poets like me. He did so many blurbs for young unknown poets like me in Marathi. He was always `dada' an elder brother, and never a father figure. He never imposed himself or his ideas on people. His greatness lay in his attitude in treating everyone as equal. It was this spirit that permeates and pervades his work as an artist.

My encounters with Dilip Chitre have always been exciting and provocative. It was always an illuminating experience to listen to his long speeches full of very original insights. I met him for the first time during  Abhidhanantar's decennial celebration where he read his poetry. I consulted him for his advice on publication of my first Marathi collection. He recommended the name of  Hemant Divate.  I met Chitre again in May 2003 and had a long session on Marathi historiography with him. His critical inputs while making of the Live Update Anthology were precious. He liked my selection of poems and was critical about many things.

One day in 2004,  he called me up and had a long telephonic conversation with me.I remember his remarks about his possible death during that conversation. I said we need people like you to be with us. He said, and very typically, that we need Shakespeare and Tukaram too but then it is not in our hands. He liked my translations and poetry, he said and I should not harbour self doubts. He said, with his tongue very much in his cheek, that we, Maharashtrians in general and particularly me should remember Shivaji and shed feelings of  inferiority. He remarked that my strength was that I worked with four languages: Marathi, English, Hindi and Gujarati. He also said that Ashwini's poems are better than mine. In one of my later visits, he gave me a profound insight regarding poetry and modernity: modernity and creativity lies in the spaces between words of your phrase. It is in this turn of phrase, he said, that contemporary creativity lies.

I also had the honour of working with him on New Quest and it was again a very interesting phase. We had our differences and he probably saw me as an obstinate animal  with inferiority complex, but he was always sympathetic and warm and treated me at par with himself. He loved Amogh and thought may be Amogh would be able to show way to his poor wayward father.

When the fatal cancer was detected some time back, Chitre fought back bravely and we thought for the moment that he would survive it as he has survived some of the most difficult times. We knew he was a fierce fighter. He was forever young in spirit. The way he took to the latest technology is simply amazing. When people of his age, felt that cellphone was a gadget from a different planet, used only by aliens, he networked energetically on the social networking sites like Orkut and Facebook. He had 1118 friends on Facebook at the age of 71, which would give a 17 year old net newbie all sorts of complexes.

The most difficult period for me, was when he lost his son and I did not know what to say and how to speak to him. It was one of the most shocking things for us and I felt me and Ashwini were too young to `console' someone like Chitre's who were not only very elder to us but also were people we looked up to.His wife, Viju tai is, for me an equally admirable woman; very warm and loving and very supportive.She stood by Dilip in most difficult of times and he always treated her as his equal.  I pray to god to give her strength to bear this great loss.

He once compared death with sharpshooter who claimed his close friend Arun Kolatkar, his son and people close to him in quick succession. The Sharpshooter has claimed Chitre too. His poetry in English and Marathi since its very beginning, reflect an obsessive preoccupation with images death and self-mutilation, making it dark and disturbing. The Sharp Shooter has put an end to this agony at last.

I think Dilip dada's one of the most important contribution to Marathi poetry and even the Indian poetry is his remarkable invention of `indigenous modernity' , which is simultaneously cosmopolitan and rooted, profoundly democratic and uncompromisingly artistic, deeply influenced by greatest international poetry and singularly situated in the democratic and pluralistic indigenous tradition of bhasha poetry. He saw that what unites powerful poetry of the post-Eliotian American poetry like the Beat Generation and Confessional poets with the extremely different , but equally powerful tradition of the Bhakti poetry as exemplified in Tukaram, was a certain existential -spiritual self-awareness, which is neither completely western nor completely peculiar to Marathi. What he says about ` Sahitya ani Atmabhaan', or ` Literature and Self Awareness' in the book by the same name in Marathi is perhaps best guide to his practice. His critical outlook, likewise, embodied these values.He could perceive the seamless interconnection between the deeply progressive and pluralist dimension of his tradition with the universal human dimension of the international and western modernity. Hence his poetry will be something of an outsider to people brought up only on the westernized aesthetics or only on the native ones.

Like Tukaram and probably Ginsberg , he made no distinction between living and writing. When we enter his poetry, we have to pick up the challenge of facing the man, his life and his agonies. We who cant even face our own darkness will find it difficult to face the looming personality of the man himself staring at you from his words. His poetry, hence, will never be populist or popular as it offers no false respite and reassurances. His poetry is not peppered with humour to people who want to have a bit of fun. His poetry is dark, serious and unbearable and in order to read Chitre, you have to read him on his own terms and not according to your demands. He is not a `demand-supply' man. It is this challenging non-conformity which makes his poetry not becoming people's favourite.

Chitre was never a conformist in life. He never gave into the Brahminical middle class mindset that pervaded Marathi poetry and certain right-winged attitudes to Indian culture. His earliest short story, ` Kesaal KaleBhore Pillu' ( A Dark Hairy Pup) dealing with clandestine sexual relation between a servant and his mistress,  enraged the well-known Marathi writer Atre so much that he publicly declared his desire to flog Chitre. When  the American scholar James Laine acknowledged him in his controversial book on Shivaji, the Government decided much to Chitre's anger to offer him `police protection'. He vocally protested against the vandalization of the Bhandarkar Institute, communal riots in Gujarat and all forms of  bigotry everywhere. His vision of culture admitted no such narrow and intolerant actions.

They don't make people like him these days. Dilip Chitre is no more physically with us and to say that he will be with us in form of his ` akshar deha'- `the body of letters', would be a cliche. However, Dilip Dada will live  not in the books but in the words and in the language of later poets. His presence will be felt even more acutely now. He was a challenge when he was alive, he now becomes an unsurmountable challenge. I will always miss his deep voice, typical Puneri cap,his cigar, his pungent sarcasm, and razor sharp critical vision. I will miss his warmth and love. As Harold Bloom points out that the poet becomes all the more alive once he dies. Once he dies it is impossible to kill him. Now they wont be able to kill him. Now nothing can kill him.

Four Generations of Chitres: Dilip's father PA Chitre, a noted Marathi editor, Aashay Chitre, Dilip's son with his son Yogul and Dilip Chitre.

Baba Amte, Forest of Joy and Me

When the news of Baba Amte's demise reached me yesterday morning, I was brushing my teeth and was in a usual hurry to reach college. I didn’t know how to react. I hadn’t met Baba in decades. My father who worked as a personal assistant in Cynamide India, now something called Wythe-Lederly, took what is these days known as 'voluntary retirement' to join Anandwan, the great institution for leprosy patients and other physically challenged people, started by Baba Amte to render his honorary social service. My father was a pen friend of Dr.Vikas Amte, Baba's son who was chiefly in charge of the institution. My father assisted Dr Amte with institution's correspondence and also used his knowledge of homeopathy in service of the leprously patients. He stayed there from almost five years.

I distinctly recall that it was during our first visit to Anandwan in 1984 that we heard the news of the assassination of Mrs. Gandhi. I also recall that it was during this visit that I developed what my parents termed euphemistically as 'breathing problem'. I was twelve, on the threshold of teens. The stress of the disturbed family environment and the onset of puberty was probably the reason why my chronic cough and cold degenerated into asthma. Another significant reason for its deterioration was very high temperature in the Vidarbha region of Maharashtra. It used to be close to 45 degrees centigrade. Thanks to my asthma and my mother’s dislike of my father’s decision, I returned to Valsad with my mother. I stayed with my mother in Valsad for around five years. Along with the agony of asthma, this was the period of great insecurity and loneliness for me. Dad returned in the early nineties after Baba Amte left for Narmada to start anti-dam movement.

I stayed for only around a year in Anandwan, the forest of joy and the memories of my stay there are very vivid and alive in my mind. As there was no school which had English as a medium of instruction close by, I had to travel for around twenty kilometers. I got admission in the Kendriya Vidyalaya, ordnance factory, Chandrapur. Mr. Patwardhan was a government engineer and a friend of Dr Vikas Amte. His daughter Ashwini Patwardhan was also going to the same school, and I went in their jeep to a petrol pump near Warora, from where I used to get the Western Coalfields school bus for the school. I remember my first crush on a girl who used to go by the same bus. I remember that I made friendship with co-students like Santosh Srivastava and others. I also remember being bullied and ridiculed by some of the students. I also remember failing in my Hindi tests. I also remember loathing this thing called ' SUPW’, an abbreviation of Socially Useful and Productive Work. I discovered that I could never be socially useful and productive work and so I turned to poetry in this period. Baba Amte read one of my early poems on 'nature’ and remarked prophetically to my dad that I would never be a doctor or engineer. I, however, did manage to become a doctor, not of medicine, but of poetry. I recall that Dad used to accompany me as I cycled down to the gates of Anandwan to get Patwardhan’s jeep. The gate was a couple of kilometers from the office and the quarters where we stayed. People laughed at the sight because I was so pampered and protected by Dad.

Most of my time in Anandwan was spent among dogs of various breeds, and I have reasons to suspect that my caninophilia was in some ways responsible for aggravation of allergy. I loved to play with dogs there. I could play with a Lhasa Apso terrier, a Great Dane named Rani, and many Spitz among other breeds. I would play for hours with them, much to amusement of the inhabitants of Anandwan.

Baba Amte was a legend in his own times. We endlessly heard stories of a man named Murlidhar Devidas Amte, born with a proverbial 'silver spoon’, fond of poaching, sports cars and correspondence with Hollywood actresses, suddenly transforming into a committed social worker after renouncing his life of luxury after his encounter with a leper. Baba and his wife Sadhanatai were a source of inspiration for thousands, and he changed the life of thousands who came to him for help. Anandwan, or the forest of joy, was a huge institution working with the motto that 'charity destroys’. The aim of Baba’s work was to make the weakest and the lowest of the low in our society self-reliant and self-sufficient. He treated thousands of leprosy patients, and the physically challenged people and made them capable of earning their own living instead of begging. Anandwan is a place everyone has to see to believe. Baba’s larger institutional network was the Maharogi Sewa Samiti with its branches in interior forest areas of Hemalkasa and Nagapalli and Somnath. Baba’s son Dr Prakash Amte and his wife Dr Mandakini Amte worked with equal passion and zeal for tribal population in Gadchiroli district of Vidarbha. My visit to Hemalkasa then is equally memorable. I saw Dr. Prakash among panthers, bears, branded kraits and other wild animals given as gift by poor tribal people in exchange for the treatment given by the Amte’s. I also remember a tiger attacking me from his cage when I went too close to the cage to see how he ate. Tigers, as I learnt after being scratched on shoulders, don’t like people watch them while eating. I also recall my experience of the annual get-together of people at Somnath and my hunting of chameleons there.

My life in Anandwan comprised of playing cricket near what was called 'Muktangan’ open air auditorium built from the donation given by the well-known Marathi humorist Pu La Deshpande with Dr Vikas’s son Pilu Amte, now Dr. Pilu Amte, and Munna. Sheetal, Pilu’s sister, now Dr. Sheetal, was a very naughty creature around. She used to tease Baba by calling him Gadge Baba! We used to have meals in a common mess, and we had to wash our own plates.

This was also the period of rise of terrorism in Punjab and Baba very prophetically felt that the country is going to pieces. A great freedom fighter that he was, he was disturbed by the state of affairs, and he started what was called  'Bharat Jodo Abhiyan’- Link India movement. There was a cycle rally from Kashmir to Kanyakumari. Nanda, my sister who was older to me by eight years was involved in making posters for the Cycle rally. There she met Shirish Kathale, an artist and schoolteacher in the blind school, fell in love and they were subsequently married. My mom disliked the idea of coming to Anandwan and the idea of her daughter’s marriage. This added to the family disturbance that we already had. My memories of the marriage ceremony are that I preferred to keep away from the whole celebrations, chiefly out of shyness and also due to strange complexes which I haven’t been able to understand myself. Did I disapprove of the marriage? I don’t think so because I liked Shirish myself and we always were on my dad’s side. It is something of a mystery for me even today.

As time passed, Nanda and Shirish found out that they were unable to work there for longer time due to some differences with the authorities. My dad invested whatever money he had from his premature retirement to support Shirish and Nanda’s business venture. The business venture was a proposal from an acquaintance to illustrate for children’s books for the well-known company called Navneet. The acquaintance took the money and vanished and the proposal sank. This added fuel to fire in our disturbed family. It was a great blow for us all.

Dad, Nanda and Shirish left Anandwan after that. They still have good relations with Amtes and have a great respect for the colossal work that they are doing. Passing away of Baba Amte, the great freedom fighter, social activist, inspired writer and inspiration for millions has brought end to an era. The vacuum created by his demise will never be filled. My heart goes out to the great family called Anandwan and the Amtes