A song of drunkards whose throats will be cut in a moment

(Translation of Sri Balachandran Cullikkad's jottings in Face Book as reported by Malayala Manorama on 26^th October 2010. The jotting was a sequel to and in response to the controversy in regard to the funeral of the deceased poet Ayyappan)

Dear Friends,

When I die, immediately give my corpse to the Medical College.

do not place my corpse for public viewing

nor display it on the Channels.

Don't disgrace flowers by placing any on my corpse,

nor ever permit State honours or a ceremonial gun salute,

please don't condole nor praise me.

Don't utter a blatant lie like my death is an irreplaceable loss

and sully memories of me,

thousands of new poets write much better than I did.

Let nobody share the grief of my wife,

that is my Holy relic for her alone.

Don't institute any award in my name,

nor hang my photo on the Academy wall

or build any memorial.

If my poems cannot sustain memories of me,

I prefer to be forgotten

by everyone…. forever.

 

There is an advantage in dying in comparative anonymity. You do not have to worry about the possible inconvenience and nuisance you may cause to others even in death. Balachandran Chullikkad is an icon and has to take precautions while still alive. Most newspapers must be ready with obituary material on him to be given to the printing section at a moment's notice and this must be constantly being updated. Only the 'shocks' 'memories' 'reactions' of the netas, cultural leaders, film and serial artists have to be collected. Balachandran meanwhile appears to be determined to spoil the show. He seems to be unaware of the extra number of copies of newspapers that can be sold and the greater number of eyeballs that can be attracted. Some people are contrary all the time.

I respect his sentiments. I commend the following lines from Czeslaw Milosz' titled "Dedication" to Chullikkad

 

They used to pour millet on graves or poppy seed

To feed the dead who would come disguised as birds

I put this book here for you, who once lived

So that you should visit us no more.

 

This is the only poem of Milosz which I have read.