Flowers

Together We Enjoy Enjaami

Prose Poem

Kindly listen to the track before you start reading.

*

Unabashedly bold and free, vivacious and ebullient, adamant like the silent stone, transforming every micro-second, Nature rules… and the ones living close to it celebrate and sing, enjaaee enjaami

Flowers shining bright, the rich yellow, orange, mahogany, red and white, the bugs, caterpillars and flies, the upside-down dancing struggling beetles, the sun-soaked green leaves, together – even when captured in a glorious painting – sing enjaaee enjaami…

*

Rich yellow… shining bright.
[Image by AdelinaZw from Pixabay]

Whose is this land, this divided piece, this circled boundary, that 12 acres, that mango orchid, that dry-wet soil, that cool-cool well, that fragrance casting spell… certainly it doesn’t belong to the ones who toil round-the-clock and sing, enjaaee enjaami…

Festivities when unearthed by bare hands, the swaying harvest and booming lives of the lords, shacky mud-roofed huts full of laughs and cries… all sing enjaaee enjaami…

Grandmas and old voices together have knitted the folktales, passing it with pickles and homemade sweets, carrying it closer than a life lesson, breathing it day and night, walking and singing enjaaee enjaami…

Like a tree, like a giant tree, full of flowers, then fruits and seeds, then sweat and blood, patiently bowing, accepting it all… walks an old bent figure, bare feet, singing enjaaee enjaami…

*

Turn around, don’t flee…
[Image by Couleur from Pixabay]

Jackals, parrots, elephants, reptiles, dogs, cats, butterflies… give their share back, turn around, don’t flee… those sitting on margins know Noah and the King, then who will ultimately sink? I sing enjaaee enjaami…

The fiery soul that burns itself, weeding the flower bed and burning the dead, it runs the life, it spins the earth, decorating the darkness, breathing lightly it sings enjaaee enjaami…

So how can you forget, threaten, betray, walk astray…? Come, not in repentance but acceptance for then your blinded eyes will see the majestic drama, lament if you must, cry and shed it before you sing enjaaee enjaamee…

So listen, listen to the storyteller, the old voice-heart beats well, this beat matches your beat and look, your mind watches you sing enjaaee enjaami…


Enjoy/ Enjaaee (my dear mother/ dear lady) Enjaami (my feudal lord, master) Vango Vango Onnagi (come together to reap the bounty of nature).

This wonderfully powerful Tamil song is sung by Dhee and rapper Arivu (who has also written it); the song revolves around Tamil migrants (and labourers and all our ancestors) who toiled on lands but always remained landless and suffered due to poverty; the song emphasises on how the earth, the nature is for all living beings and not for the wealthy class/ caste.

This thought-provoking, globally popular number, asks us blatantly to check if we are hurrying in the right direction.


Decode Enjoy Enjaami, read these articles –

What Arivu’s Enjoy Enjaami Tells Us About the Cultural Resistance to Caste

Enjoy Enjaami a tribute to Tamil plantation labour

Enjoy Enjaami – A welcome start, say Sri Lanka’s Malaiyaha Tamils

Enjoy Enjaami: Deconstructing the Politics Behind Arivu and Dhee’s Latest


Weekly Newsletter

A weekly dose of stories! Get the posts from the Chiming Stories in your inbox and read it when you can. Subscribe now, it is free!


Recent Posts


Carved and Alive

Meditating in permanence.
Image by Jagriti Rumi.

Centuries have passed and I have witnessed it elegantly, quietly.

Countless diyas have washed my feet and brightened my space. The lanterns took my shadow along and I crossed the steps to reach the temple.

I have enjoyed my permanence. I have blessed them all.  

The sound stays forever and if you try to hear honestly, I have so many stories to tell. The echoes are playful and I vouch for this fact.  

But there is nothing like the music of the bells. The small bells try, always, to tune with the bigger ones. Every time the result is harmonious.  

I like flowers, both fresh and old. The fresh ones are fragrant and the old ones make a wonderful husky sound. And I collect sound.

All kinds of prayers, musical, non-musical, the chants, the whispered wishes and loud blessings are there in my collection.  

I am different from the ones who come to see me here. They are opposite to what I am. I stay still and collect sound. I was made to meditate. While they can move all around and express. It must be their way of meditating.    

She comes here a lot. Somehow, I can see a resemblance between this lady and me. She is mostly as quiet as I am, she reads a lot, maybe she collects through her eyes.

She is the one here who can listen to my collection, my stories. But maybe not now, she is busy collecting.

I’ll wait, nevertheless, and collect the sound of ruffles when she turns the paper.

The rock-cut cave temple, Pataleshwar, in Pune.
Image by Jagriti Rumi.

Weekly Newspaper

A weekly dose of stories! Get the posts from the Chiming Stories in your inbox and read it when you can. Subscribe now, it is free!


Recent Posts