The following poem by Biju Reddy won the second prize of Fifty Thousand Rupees in Wingword Poetry Competition 2019
In this poem, Biju has highlighted the rat race of human life. Everything adds up to nothing for him. The rent, electricity and water bills make no sense to him. The shared toilets of the tenants meanwhile the landlady snores in her sleep, Biju talks about how tight his budget is. The unending desire to earn more money leads him to often changing jobs. The chasing of big dreams of a middle class child turns out futile. The interview lists, the five year plan, the mutual funds and the unwanted college degree, everything seems useless to him. He compares the leftovers that turned into trash with his life which he thinks is being wasted. By the end of the poem he accepts the situation and makes peace with it by saying that ugly things have their beauty too. He tries to stay positive and still get through life. The poem has beautiful metaphors explaining the mundanity of life. The language is colloquial and there’s less of twisted words. It’s easy to understand that the poet is talking about his tired life and race of life to achieve his big dreams which is usually difficult for a middle class person. However the end of the poem is on a positive note that ugly things have their beauty too.
I do the math,
it all adds upto nothing.
Rent, electricity and water.
For what?
The shared toilet has its waiting list-
tenants in their pyjamas
tightly pressed bladders
while the landlady snores upstairs.
I’m strapped on cash, changing jobs
like dull channels on a television remote.
Head to toe, I rebel against
the destiny of
being born the second child
to middle class parents.
I go to interviews,
make lists and a five year plan,
save, buy a mutual fund,
everything that’s strictly legal.
I regret and
even write down my regrets.
Like my suffocating choice of college
and course.
I peel the potatoes
and envy software developers
with their fancy EMIs on home loans.
How many years spent scurrying
behind the dream?
How much futile searching
for a buried treasure?
No prophecy is required, palms sweaty
with the anticipation of future,
I give in.
Poverty shines.
The smell of Delhi rains
mixed with fresh mold,
dripping ceiling, clogged drains,
nylon nets keeping out the mosquito
and his distant two-winged relatives.
No privacy here, a neighbour peeps
in through the doorframe.
Last night’s leftovers turns into today’s trash
steadily turns into a wasted life.
It’s okay, I say.
Such ugly things have their beauty too.
About the poet:
Biju is an engineer by profession and poet by passion. He writes about the things he observes around him. Normal things are the subject of his writing because that is what he relates to the most. He has been published in several magazines and he is an active member of the Poetry Society. He is thankful to have won a prize for his writing and hopes to continue improving his art.