I smile on seeing the Indian professors
Teaching English
As like I not them
And their native teaching,
Speaking English like a Indian vernacular
With the stress and accent of the native speaker
And its nuances and idiosyncrasies.
The Indian professor of English keeps chewing paan,
The mouth fresher
Or tobacco put into the mouth
And speaking in English somehow
While the others trying to teach in the vernacular version,
An Indian professor in Indian English.
The Indian professor of English is himself not an Englishman,
But an Indian teaching English,
Trying to speak in English in the classroom itself,
His wife too is foolish and illiterate,
A rustic lady from the country
And both of them speaking in the vernacular at home.
It is but his shirt and pants, scooter and tie
Which but give him the look of a professor
As because there is nothing in him
As that to show of England and Englishness,
Everything is but Indian in him
And his wife.
An English girl's, a White European girl's credentials,
What to say about,
An English or American girl,
Nasal, stylistic,
Golden and glistening,
Lovely and roseate,
Blood seems to be dripping from her cheeks.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem