I don't know politics but I know the names Of those in power, and can repeat them like Days of week, or names of months, beginning with Nehru. I amIndian, very brown, born inMalabar, I speak three languages, write in Two, dream in one. Don't write in English, they said, English is Not your mother-tongue. Why not leave Me alone, critics, friends, visiting cousins, Every one of you? Why not let me speak in Any language I like? The language I speak, Becomes mine, its distortions, its queernesses All mine, mine alone. It is half English, halfIndian, funny perhaps, but it is honest, It is as human as I am human, don't You see? It voices my joys, my longings, my Hopes, and it is useful to me as cawing Is to crows or roaring to the lions, it Is human speech, the speech of the mind that is Here and not there, a mind that sees and hears and Is aware. Not the deaf, blind speech Of trees in storm or of monsoon clouds or of rain or the Incoherent mutterings of the blazing Funeral pyre. I was child, and later they Told me I grew, for I became tall, my limbs Swelled and one or two places sprouted hair. WhenI asked for love, not knowing what else to ask For, he drew a youth of sixteen into the Bedroom and closed the door, He did not beat me But my sad woman-body felt so beaten. The weight of my breasts and womb crushed me. I shrank Pitifully. Then … I wore a shirt and my Brother's trousers, cut my hair short and ignored My womanliness. Dress in sarees, be girl Be wife, they said. Be embroiderer, be cook, Be a quarreller with servants. Fit in. Oh, Belong, cried the categorizers. Don't sit On walls or peep in through our lace-draped windows. Be Amy, or be Kamala. Or, better Still, be Madhavikutty. It is time to Choose a name, a role. Don't play pretending games. Don't play at schizophrenia or be a Nympho. Don't cry embarrassingly loud when Jilted in love … I met a man, loved him. Call Him not by any name, he is every man Who wants. a woman, just as I am every Woman who seeks love. In him... the hungry haste Of rivers, in me... the oceans' tireless Waiting. Who are you, I ask each and everyone, The answer is, it is I. Anywhere and, Everywhere, I see the one who calls himself I In this world, he is tightly packed like the Sword in its sheath. It is I who drink lonely Drinks at twelve, midnight, in hotels of strange towns, It is I who laugh, it is I who make love And then, feel shame, it is I who lie dying With a rattle in my throat. I am sinner, I am saint. I am the beloved and the Betrayed. I have no joys that are not yours, no Aches which are not yours. I too call myself I.
Thank you sir ato valo vabe line by line bojhanor jonno 😊
I'm skb University's student , at last thank you so much dear sir 🙏
Thank you sir very much❤❤❤
Beautifully explained with poper details with very unique explanations thank you for the details which is provide by you. sir thanks❤
Well explained sir
Thanks 😊
Most welcome
Thank you sir❤
Thank you sir, aii video r jono wait korchillam
Thank you so much sir 🙏
Excellent explanation ❤
Thumbnail editing 👌👌
Thank you so much sir ❤❤
Thank you sir
Oshaadharon ❤️
Sir, a lot of thanks for helping me because your teaching style is very unique that is very helpful to me to clear my concept 🥰
thank you my brother
thank you sir for this video
Thanks 🙏
Great elaboration sir..
Thanks for your great work sir ❤
Thank you sir 😊
Thank you sir.... 😊🤗
Thank you so much sir......🥰
Thank you so much sir..♥️ I have been waiting for it🙂
❤❤❤
Khub sundor hoyeche
Thank you.
Thank you sir😊😊😊
So nice of you
Thank you sir 🙏🏻🙏🏻Hayavadana er ekta video chai plz sir
Sir , Shall I compare thee to a summer day? Niye video din
of course my dear.
@@RuleStory Thank you
Sir , apni ki tution koran???🤔 Ami vorti hote chai😔
Sir, অনেক অনেক ধন্যবাদ, ❤❤ কিন্তু একটা অনুরোধ রইলো sir, please 🥺 " Hunger" টা, যদি একটু line by line explain করতেন, তবে একটু ভালো হতো।
Already uploaded my dear...
Sir apni j tar 6otobelar kotha ta bollen seta te amar ektu problem hoch6e amar mathai uth6ena😢sir
Jodi koran tahole, plz bolun🙏🙃
Sir , 'Hunger' ta line by line explain korun na🙂
dont worry.
I don't know politics but I know the names
Of those in power, and can repeat them like
Days of week, or names of months, beginning with Nehru.
I amIndian, very brown, born inMalabar,
I speak three languages, write in
Two, dream in one.
Don't write in English, they said, English is
Not your mother-tongue. Why not leave
Me alone, critics, friends, visiting cousins,
Every one of you? Why not let me speak in
Any language I like? The language I speak,
Becomes mine, its distortions, its queernesses
All mine, mine alone.
It is half English, halfIndian, funny perhaps, but it is honest,
It is as human as I am human, don't
You see? It voices my joys, my longings, my
Hopes, and it is useful to me as cawing
Is to crows or roaring to the lions, it
Is human speech, the speech of the mind that is
Here and not there, a mind that sees and hears and
Is aware. Not the deaf, blind speech
Of trees in storm or of monsoon clouds or of rain or the
Incoherent mutterings of the blazing
Funeral pyre. I was child, and later they
Told me I grew, for I became tall, my limbs
Swelled and one or two places sprouted hair.
WhenI asked for love, not knowing what else to ask
For, he drew a youth of sixteen into the
Bedroom and closed the door, He did not beat me
But my sad woman-body felt so beaten.
The weight of my breasts and womb crushed me.
I shrank Pitifully.
Then … I wore a shirt and my
Brother's trousers, cut my hair short and ignored
My womanliness. Dress in sarees, be girl
Be wife, they said. Be embroiderer, be cook,
Be a quarreller with servants. Fit in. Oh,
Belong, cried the categorizers. Don't sit
On walls or peep in through our lace-draped windows.
Be Amy, or be Kamala. Or, better
Still, be Madhavikutty. It is time to
Choose a name, a role. Don't play pretending games.
Don't play at schizophrenia or be a
Nympho. Don't cry embarrassingly loud when
Jilted in love … I met a man, loved him. Call
Him not by any name, he is every man
Who wants. a woman, just as I am every
Woman who seeks love. In him... the hungry haste
Of rivers, in me... the oceans' tireless
Waiting. Who are you, I ask each and everyone,
The answer is, it is I. Anywhere and,
Everywhere, I see the one who calls himself I
In this world, he is tightly packed like the
Sword in its sheath. It is I who drink lonely
Drinks at twelve, midnight, in hotels of strange towns,
It is I who laugh, it is I who make love
And then, feel shame, it is I who lie dying
With a rattle in my throat. I am sinner,
I am saint. I am the beloved and the
Betrayed. I have no joys that are not yours, no
Aches which are not yours. I too call myself I.
Sir apni Purulia thako??
Sir আমি পুরুলিয়া থাকি.... তো পুরুলিয়া কোথায় থাকো স্যার??
Raghunathpur, purulia
Sir apnari vorsatei aachi..
Sir congratulations for 50k
Thank you ...... I love Purulia.
Thank you sir ❤
Most welcome