Punjabi
poetry has a rich tradition. For this reason it is quite easy to turn out
mediocre poems but rather difficult to create first rate ones. In early sixties
many new poets emerged on the horizon of Punjabi poetry but only a few have been
able to sustain their flight. S. S. Misha is foremost among them. The main
reason for this achievement is his sincerity of purpose. He writes a poem not
when he has to say something but when he has something to say. And he says it in
his own inimitable manner.In the words of Sant Singh Sekhon, he is a poet of understatement. He never says anything with a flourish. In a familiar style he conveys unfamiliar ideas but they do not startle the reader, rather he nods knowingly. The confidence which the reader willingly reposes in the poet at the very start of the poem is never betrayed.
He is always ironical, never satirical. He knows that all is not well with the world but he never betrays restlessness and impatience. His voice always remains at a low key but there is a steady development of thought in his poems. In his poem -Dushmani di Dastan (A Tale of Enmity), he says :
It's only a small matter
But I have become rather sentimental.
Grapes from Kabul
Have crossed the Wagha border,
You had crossed it over when you departed from me.
Realising this, I am in delirium
My eyes are filled with tears
I feel the taste of honey in my mouth
Of course, it's only a small matter.
The start of the poem is dramatic beeause it arouses the curiosity of the reader who proceeds efforlessly from one line to another till he reaches the last stanza-It's only a small matter
But who is to make the politician understand ?
How will my child understand all this ?
When will it end after all ?
Strange is this tangle of enmity.
The poet has been able to make his point quite successfully without creating any jarring note. The reason for this is not that he is too cautious to say anything unpalatable but that he is essentially an artist and never abandons the realm of art. Even in the case of personal relations, he creates the same pattern. In Ghar Vaster (Home Dress), he lodges a protest with his wife for being too meticulous in everyday life. He feels suffocated in that artificial atmosphere and longs for a life of careless abandon-In fact
You have got these clothes made for my use
What if these clothes start using me instead ?
And I am told to keep my body fit enough
for these ready-made garments,
In that case
What can I do
except showing reluctance in wearing these ? Misha was born on 30th August, 1934 at village Bhet in Kapurthala. He was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth and he was proud of it. He received his education at Randhir College, Kapurthala and then at Punjab University College, Hoshiarpur, from where he passed his M.A. English in 1957. He worked as lecturer at National College Sathiala for about a decade. In 1967 he joined All India Radio, Jalandhar as producer (Punjabi Section), the post which he held till his death. He had four collections of poems to his credit, namely Chaurasta (Crossroads), Dustak (A Knock), Dheeme Bole (Undertones) and Kach de Vastar (The Robes of Glass). The latest collection Kach de Vastar had been adjudged the best collection of poems for the year 1975 by the Languages Department, Punjab. Later it earned him Sahitya Akademi Award also.
In his early poems Misha expresses, in all its purity, the sex urge. He conveys beautifully his pagan delight in matters sensual in his poem Wafa (Fidelity)-
Today
My arms are entwining you
And the couch of love is warm
Let us be true to ourselves.
The Contours of Punjabi Poetry 53
Why talk in high-sounding terms ?
Why bother about life-long companionship ?
This moment
I am the Lord of the universe
Could we not make this moment eternal ? Misha is a poet of modern consciousness. He is steeped deep in his environments but has not as yet become a part of it. Like Hamlet, he knows at least one thing for certain that 'the state of Denmark is rotten.' He is convinced that the sorry scheme of things must be changed-nay scrapped, as destruction is a prelude to construction. He has conveyed this idea in his poem Ghar (Home)-
O' my mind !
If never more on this door
The wreaths of mango-leaves are to be tied
If in this courtyard
No one is to trace colourful designs in chalk
If this threshold is now only for the white-ants
And no one is to trickle Sarson oil on its ends
Let it then crumble down, the sooner, the better. At times he is reluctant to face the stern realities of life. He considers himself a tiny lamp, placed on the crossroad of life. Will the winds of the time extinguish the flame or will it be fanned into an ablaze ? His consciousness is knocking at the door of the cage he has built around himself. Who will open the door since it has been bolted by the poet from within ? Will he wait till the door is broken open by a force more powerful than him ? In his notable poem Dastak (A Knock) he says-
The wily mind wallows in sin
The slothful body
Trickles through the chinks of time
The door bolted from within
Is knocked at from outside
What is it that you do here ?
Do you dread the open light of the sun
Or the inner silence ?
You are shivering in the chilly fear of your ownself.
Unbolt the door
And come out in the open air
Else it will be crashed through.
He has presented a novel idea in one of his poems 'Prism'. He means that the great men are great not because they are really great but because greatness chose them as its vehicle. A prism is only a piece of glass and has no colours of its own. It is the interplay of sunrays on its surface that forms a spectrum of colours init-
Without desire
And without hope
A sharp cornered piece of glass am I
A guileless beam of pure light
Touched my body
I played with seven colours.
The lovers of fun gathered around me
To witness the show.
It was not a manifestation of myself
It was a miracle of pure light
None of the seven colours was mine.