chip jadughar

just contains

in its body desire

literally a couple

of tamil alphabets

in unicode just like this

in its tongdrils

so it’s no cause

for any alarm

oye and yes

just like this and like this

யாரிவர்கள் நம்மைக் கேட்பதற்கு

உனக்குமெனக்கும் ஒத்துப்போகையில்

வேறென்ன வேண்டிக்கிடக்கிறது

இவர்களும் இவர்களின் எளிதாக தகர்த்தெரியத்தக்கக் கேள்விகளும்

உனக்கு வேலையில்லை எனக்கும் வேலையில்லை

நாமிருவரும் இணைந்து வாழ்வதற்கு

வேறென்னத் தகுதி வேண்டிக்கிடக்கிறது

பில்குல் இவர்களுக்குத்தான் வேறு வேலையில்லை

in some ways

meaning exactly this

who the heck they think they are

to surveil us! what else do they think

it takes when all that it takes

is you & i consenting. to hell with these creeps

and their vacuous queries! you & I

we’ve got nothing else to do and so what else

does it take for us to live and be together.

it’s bilkul they that haven’t got

anything better to do!

as you may already be aware my gulkand

your cicinam isn’t really a key

that unlocks my algul. get out

of the positivist perspective and see

at best your cicinam & my algul

are keys that unlock each other.

the jadughar that i seek isn’t your cicinam

and bilkul my algul isn’t the jadughar

that you seek. our jadughar shall rather be a formless

shapeless place that we form with time

by the synthesis of our love and lust within

and without intercourse. we bilkul possess

some keys that shall unlock our jadughar

and there are keys in your tongue

and in my tongue as well. as you my gulkand

may bilkul be aware tongues

are really visible passwords.

உனக்கு ஒருக்கால் தெரிந்திருக்கும் கல்கண்டு

உன் சிசினம் என் அல்குல்லை திறக்கும் திறவுகோலல்ல

நேர்க்காட்சிவாதத்தைக் கடாசிவிட்டால் மிஞ்சிப்போனால்

என் அல்குல்லும் உன் சிசினமும்

ஒன்றையொன்று திறந்துகொள்ளும் திறவுகோல்கள்

நான் தேடும் ஜாதுகர் உன் சிசினமுமல்ல

பில்குல் என் அல்குல் நீ தேடும் ஜாதுகருமல்ல

நமது கலவியிலும் கலவிலியிலும் காதலின் காமத்தின் கலவையில்

நாம் கட்டியெழுப்பும் அரூவடிவிலி மனையாயிருக்கும் நம் ஜாதுகர்

நமது ஜாதுகருக்கு சிற்சில திறவுகோல்கள் பில்குல் நம்மிடமுண்டு

உன் நாவிலும் என் நாவிலும் திறவுகோல்களுண்டு

உனக்கு பில்குல் தெரிந்திருக்கும் கல்கண்டு

நாவுகள் கட்புலனாகும் கடவுச்சொற்கள்

chip jadughar that’s illegible

to the body brahminical,

as it so happens

to also be a body sanscritic

that would if it could


the cherry-picked

scattered urdu for

hand-picked hindi,

slowly dissolves and flows

into a desiring-machine

that’s latched onto

a body without organs

the repressive brahminical

that used to ride on the backs

of despotic kshatriyas

now rides on the backs

of monopolistic vaishyas

and hand-picked

white-clad sat-shudras

oppressing as always

the dalit bahujan

adivasi folks


it’s when i turn back,

from my former form

humming vaa rayil vida polaama

half- transforming

and half-grinning,

that i see the govigama buddha,

at once staring at me and toying

with his machine of misery

which in colombo

manufactures fascist

caste-buddhists to collude

with the fascist

caste-hindus which

delhi manufactures,

cueing that he isn’t really

the one and a half human

that he always claims

himself to be

a murder of jet-black crows

interrupting the flow of

a blood-red dancing fountain

cue me to be gone

before the oppressor

begins to feign being

oppressed as he always does

so as to evade any inquiry

into his vicious crimes

why is it that typically

west often oppresses

from without and east

from within

and isn’t one capable

of doing

what the other does

shifting territories

constantly deterritorializing

with one hand

and reterritorializing

with the other

each being the same

same not the same

violent machines

zoning to release

capital so as to ensure

the flow of cash

fills the coffers of banks

all the while ruining

irreplaceable nature

and massacring countless

precious animal

and human lives


what worth is a deity

or a religion

what’s the point

of a way of life

or a school of thought

that cannot rescue itself

from a repressive

social machine

it isn’t my task to rescue

this or any other buddha

be it a crying buddha or

one that’s laughing and

i do not feel a pinch of pity

or an iota of empathy

for the oppressive puppet

and the puppeteer

instead wondering why even

a fraction of human thought

that critiques the jesus-abuse

at the hands of catholicism

and western imperialism

hasn’t thought about

critiquing this buddhism

that’s out and out

an aryan lackey

near the base below,

that’s based on

the system of castes

where laborers toil,

the tongues of fire

that once burned down

gandhava forest

still persists to lick

most of us clean

out of existence

it’s a matter

of being scorched

or becoming the water

that puts out this

eternal horror

now wholly a teardrop

or a droplet made of sweat beads

bittersweet and piquant

deflecting gloom

deflecting self-loathing

modern/post-modern machines

deflecting the machines that

deflect blame by scape-goating

deflecting everything

that’s life-denying

reflecting everything

except the repressive

i dive from near the top

of this vertical labyrinth

from its superstructure

into the pool

of my genesis

the space-black

dravidian ocean

that’s occupied by an


imperialist nexus

my eyes fixed on

the gray clouds

where i’ll soon belong

whence we shall

pour down

once again

and then

again and again

until the big crunch

yes oh yess

or in other words

until such time as

there shall remain

an uncreated

self-creating creation

this or any other




Ahimaz Rajessh (@ahimaaz) has been published recently with Big Echo: Critical SF, Burning House Press, Paint Bucket, Speculative 66, formercactus, Dream Pop Press and MoonPark Review. He lives in the Union of India.

The photograph is from Swedish artist Leif Holmstrand’s series “Asami Kannon / Whore” (2017, performed at Uppsala Art Museum). Photo: Grzegorz Fitał.

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