Thartharahat (Hindi Edition)

Poetry is a time that history may witness but cannot repeat. These words, from a poem by the new poet Aastik Vajpayee, evoke a time that remains in the poets voice amidst the tumultuous chaos, a time imbued with the memories of ancient times and ancestors. Reading this poem, one senses a time that doesnt pass quickly, that lingers alongside as memory, and that remains steadfast in the trembling present, like the poets patience, with which poet Aastik, at the threshold of his poetic debut, recognizes that he is made of the same thing that crumbles. Aastiks poem reminds us again that defeat, not victory, saves us at the very edge of existence. This is a questioning poem, asking us again: who knows the secrets of this world, and whose world is this? This poem confronts the question: why do we have so many desires and so little skill? Immersed in this new poetic anguish, the world is confronted as if the tears of rain have dried up, no longer wetting the earth. As if anger, arrogance, and stubbornness are shining like the moons reflection on the pond. As if the air of effort, courage, and simplicity has vanished into the sky. Poet Aastik, in the mirror of his poetrys time, reveals to us the face of a world engulfed by the new market, telling us that in the garden of others imaginations, the weeds of their desires are being uprooted and the trees of our own desires are being planted. Poet Aastik wants to speak to others, but with an understanding of who these others are. This new poet is once again alerting us that we are tired of advocating for ourselves and wandering alone in the crowd of language. Meanings have fled, and only words can create new things. In Aastiks poetry, the pain of loss without finding takes repeated turns. Reading these poems, one feels that this new poet, using the warmth of his own feelings, so polishes the wrinkles on words caused by the weight of grief that they seem new. In one of his poems, Aastik declares that death is the greatest achievement of the last century. Reading these poems, readers will realize that death can only be avoided by renewing words. Dhruv Shukla.