Poet and editor Manglesh Dabral passed away at the age of 72 at AIIMS Delhi due to Covid related complications.

In Hindi literature Manglesh Dabral is widely known as a poet of great sensitivity who gave voice to the main marginalized sections of society. He is also known for his well-written prose, his journalism, his invaluable work as an editor and editorial consultant.

He could never forget his roots in his native village of Kafalpani, in Tehri Garhwal district of Himalayan region. Some of his most memorable poems are about these roots. As someone who grew up in beautiful hill villages, in his poetry he wonders how anyone can leave this to come to the big city, and then wonders even more why he himself never went back! He was the village boy who won success in city ( he got the Sahitya Academy award for his poetry anthology titled Ham Jo Dekhte Hain) but wasn’t celebratory about this at all, getting lost in the memories of his earlier village life.

While any other poet may have liked to write about a celebrated singer giving a greater performance, Manglesh would instead look carefully at the neglected musician standing at the margins in the accompanying orchestra and write a poem about him!

Other collections of his poems include Pahar Par Lalten (Lantern in the Hills), Ghar ka Raasta (The Way Back Home), Awaaz Bhi Ek Jagah Hai (A Space for Voice ) and Naye Yug Ke Shatru (Enemies of a New Era). All are widely cherished, much acclaimed books.

In Hindi you cannot earn a livelihood by writing poems, and Manglesh worked in various editorial positions in newspapers and journals for his livelihood. This included his earlier work in Hindi Patriot and his work as an editorial consultant in National Book Trust.

However he really came into his own in senior editorial positions in Jansatta. He had responsibility for Ravivari, the Sunday Magazine section, and later for the editorial page. He and his team encouraged a lot of creativity and young new writers as well experienced veterans took pride in contributing articles, short stories and poems to Jansatta in those days.

Manglesh Dabral had very deep commitment to a society based on equality and justice and to communal harmony. In particular he was very firmly committed to fighting communal and divisive forces. Amidst many difficulties he remained true to his convictions.

He was a simple man and a good friend, keen to encourage creativity and commitment. There are many young writers who owe a lot to his encouragement. He was also known for his great editing skills. His cabin in the Indian Express Building was a very friendly place where many writers (including this one) would be sure of finding a pleasant welcome and the offer of a cup of tea.

I first came in touch with him as a contributor to Jansatta but over the years we also became good friends. In the course of several long years of writing for him, I do not remember a single occasion of any tension between us. Sometime when some controversial article could not be decided on for a long time, he would handle this too in a friendly tone. Let us look at what new article you have brought, while we deliberate about the earlier one a little longer, he would say with a disarming smile. When I started writing short stories and poems in Hindi, I got my first encouragement and acceptances from him.

When he was no longer in this editorial position, I rang him one day and we spoke for a long time . At the end of this conversation I said, I really miss you as an editor Manglesh Ji.

I will now miss you all my remaining life, Manglesh Ji.

(Bharat Dogra is a freelance journalist and author.)

Two Poems by Mangesh Dabral

• My Heart

One day when I became convinced

that my heart was at the root of all my woes

to the point that it had become a woe unto itself

I took it to a doctor

and said helplessly, Doctor this is my heart

but it’s not the heart

I used to be so proud of

The doctor was quite experienced

He’d repaired so many hearts

that this repairman of hearts almost seemed an invalid himself

He said you must have read Mirza Ghalib thoroughly

I know this is an old heart

At first it was transparent, but it has slowly grown opaque

and now nothing can be seen inside it

It keeps soaking up emotions but revealing nothing

just as a black hole soaks up all the light

But tell me your history

I said, Doc, you may be right.

I often feel like my heart’s not in the right place

and it’s hard to figure out just where it is

Sometimes it feels like it’s slid into my belly or traveled to my hands

Quite often I’m under the delusion it’s camped out in my feet

and it’s my heart, not my feet

that’s traversing this vexed world

The doctor abandoned his professional tone and waxed philosophical

Yes, yes, he said, I knew the moment I saw you

that there was no cure for a heart like yours

Best I can do is some patching up – darning and so forth

This type of heart can only be mended

when another heart opens up to it

and surely you know how things are these days

no one speaks from the heart anymore

Everyone hides their hearts

Such a big country, but no souls anywhere

That’s why your heart has abandoned its home

and keeps fleeing from place to place –

stopping sometimes in your hands, sometimes in your feet

• A Manifesto for Murderers

Yes, we know

how sly and wily we are

We know

how many lies we’ve told

We know

how many people we’ve killed

how many beaten

how many bullied without reason

And no,

we haven’t spared the women or children

When people weep and whine

we rob their homes

Our hustle goes on in plain sight

and out of sight

No one knows better than us

the gory details of our deeds

That’s why we don’t worry

about those who know the truth

about us

We know

our strategy depends on the many

who know very little about us

or have no idea at all

And the many who do know

agree that what we do is for the best

And wish that they themselves

could do the same.

(Translation by Daisy Rockwell, a writer, translator and painter living in the US. Poems courtesy: Scroll.in.)