‘Jahaz’ is the Punjabi word for a ship.
On the 23rd of May, 1914, Nanak’s Ship, also known as Komagata Maru made it all the way to Canada.
In Japanese (a friend told me)
Koma Gata stands for ‘horse-shaped’
and Maru
means a ‘circle’
From left to right
from top to bottom
a sketch done in red ink.
Hoon tah
memorial wee
bun gaya
(my aunt tells me)
A wee memorial
exists now un-
oblivioning the past wrong.
Unsteadily
I walk
towards Vancouver’s Coal Harbor
My feet disturb
deep wounds of an archive
Paper cuttings wake up
Needle like whispers
and screams of sepia—
Over 350 were denied
entry (The passengers
merely wanted
to expand the world)
Today
at that precise spot
Sea Princess
is anchored. And
the Memorial Maker
(happy and satisfied)
plays bare-feet
(on lemony pearl-grey beach)
with his children
and their children.
Do the little ones know?
About the fate
of those sent back?
The kids glitter as they make sand-
castles and give names to long
shifting clouds
Once in a while tiny-
squinty-sad-and-happy eyes
do wander towards big words
inscribed on a Georgian steel
panel
next to the rusty cast-iron slab
with
over
350
loonie-sized holes. At times
dogs urinate there.
Even children notice—
no grownups read the thing
other than a few
tourists out of an Alaska-bound
cruise ship.
The writing on the wall
is not about righting
the wrong. But
wronging it further. Often
power is
euphemized. Or it lies
through its teeth
Like that limpid
polite white-wash
of a catalyst—
The “incident was a
catalyst
for change to…
citizenship
and immigration laws.”
And not a single word
mentions the popular 1914
song (or was it a jingle?)—
White Canada Forever
Weather-permitting
one may stand in front
of this 21st century Forget-orial
or Proud-orial forever.
The corridor
after-all is officialdom’s right
to free speech, a Venn-diagram
of positive spins.
By the Coal Harbor
I found a few ghat-like steps
sat down and wept.
The Sea Princess
wobbled
in fading light. And
soon grit and smell
took over
as if the ocean
was baring its bottom. A thick hydro-
carbon breeze emanated from Chevron’s
shadow in throaty
Pacific. In my be-cupped
ears rang the Japanese
translation
horse-shaped circle
horse-shaped skull-cle
HORSE’S SKULL
And I near enough
lost my mind
