SIMILES A page out of the life of humour poet, satirist and author, Ashok Chakradhar and what makes him laugh

This, as my mother said, was the first poem I recited. She tells me that I started talking in riddles and rhymes when I was a toddler. It would not be erroneous to assume that even as a kid, I wanted to be a poet. I was deeply influenced by my father who was one. People tell me that I was precocious—I do not need them to remind me of that. I recall jumping onto the stage to start recitals at the drop of a hat at most family events. Having said that, I never pursued poetry. It was more of a dream which developed while I grew up surrounded by poets. My parents, like any others, wished to see me as a successful engineer or doctor. On my father’s behest, I sought admission into the BSc programme. I did not have an aptitude for either mathematics or science. I knew that I would fail, sooner than later. To save myself the humiliation, I decided to skip tests. There was a water tank near my place. I sat in it for nearly 20 hours, hoping to catch a cold. I fell ill! I sent a victorious telegram to my father informing him of my condition. By the time he arrived, I was bedridden. I not only managed to skip tests, but got to take the year off. The next academic season, when my father mentioned re-admission, I implored him to let me do a BA instead. To my utter surprise, he agreed. Which is how my journey with literature began. As a science student, I was mediocre. In my BA programme, I began topping the class. I did a Master’s and a PhD in Hindi literature to finally take up teaching at Delhi University. That was then— today I am told that there are six to seven PhD dissertations based on my work. Before we jump ahead, let us get back to my so-called glory days— 1970s. Those were exciting times to be a struggling writer. I had moved to New Delhi in 1972 to get my work published. Like several others of my ilk, I began with children’s fiction. The first children’s short story to get published was called Heeron Ki Chori. My next offering was a long poem based on a medieval manuscript. It was called Suno Kahani Krishna Ki. However, it was not my longer works getting recognised—my short stories were. The breakthrough came with my first, full-fledged book of literary criticism of Gajanan Madhav Muktibodh’s work—Muktibodh Ki Kavya Prakriya. The book received tremendous response—at least I believed it did—and it gave me a “Writer of the Year Award” an encouraging pat on the back for an upcoming writer. A lot of time has passed since then and like every other thing, literature, too, has changed its course. Personally, it seems that literature has become more raw, pedestrian and realistic. I realise that a lot of purists do not approve of this change—what do they know? People who speak of the golden times are holding on to a mirage. They argue that literature has become ‘impure’ because it speaks in mixed tongues. My message to these ‘guardians of purity’ is that, it does not matter if the written word is a hybrid. What really counts is the motive behind a tale. And as Ludwig Wittgenstein had said, “A new word is like a fresh seed sown on the ground of a discussion.” We need fresh seeds to be sown, we need newer forms of writing and novel dialogues to begin with—that is the only way for literature to evolve. Having said that, if there is impurity in the hearts of writers, then their language, words and expressions become inconsequential. One must want (sincerely with his or her’s mind body and soul) to be a writer. No one becomes a writer just by aspiring to be one. Unfortunately, the art of writing can not be taught. I consider myself fortunate. Fate, circumstances and persistence has allowed me to get to the place I am today. And in this journey I have been touched and inspired by many. My father-in-law Shri Kaka Hathrasi was one of India’s greatest humorist poets. His life’s aim was to put a smile on people’s face. Though no more, Kaka Hathrasi’s poems linger in our collective minds. The purpose behind my writing is different—my poems may seem funny, but I intend to leave my readers with a sense of reality and, dare I say, sadness. The three people who inspired me the most were my father, Gajanan Madhav Mukhtibodh and Charlie Chaplin. I cannot get enough of Chaplin’s satirical eye of the world. He especially manifested it in the Great Dictator. I admire the way he used humour as a tool to narrate some of the most heart-rending incidents of the human history. That is the power of words—wars can be fought and won through them.

Looking Back

When she was six, one day I overheard my daughter boasting that, “Had my father been a cobbler, he would have made the world’s best shoes.” Who knows, had I not been a poet, I would have probably been a cobbler—as my daughter pointed out. No matter what, I would have put my whole heart in it.