Translated from the Hindi by Kalpana
A Character Imagined by the Lamas
From East to West, prayers hang in silent plea
The same hush echoes from North to South
The grass in my yard has turned pale and dry
Do the trees by your window still wear parrot green?
Each milestone feels like an old friend
Train coaches are carrying refugees to lands that promise shelter
I come from an island in the eastern sky
Does your city’s road still pass that door
The kind you find in an Imtiaz Ali film
How many monasteries and lamas lie on the way to your city?
A Sufi saint once spoke:
If true love ever finds you,
it will be on the land of five rivers
That land now stands torn in two
To spare me the crossing of borders,
may my love belong to this side of Punjab
But if her home lies on the other side
Will the harvest be reaped as before
By a sickle no flag has ever owned
Even the fields of sugar yield blood today
The knees and elbows are scraped bare
This is not the time to face the mirror
Baoshan Road is My Address
My eyes are not small
There’s no scent of pork or seafood in my sweat
My children do not cling to the warmth of a brisk woman’s embrace
My hair hasn’t known the grace of a Taiwanese trim in ages
I never fed the flames with fake currency at local feast
I’ve only befriended acupuncturists and nurses
Only once did my heart drift to a Taiwanese girl
I never got to thank the guardian gods of the fishermen
I never got to ride the Alishan Forest Rail
I saw fewer sunsets melting into the sea
Had I been Taiwanese, perhaps
I would have been like, Jackie, the jolly cabby
But I am merely an immigrant
I can mimic Jackie, just a little
Like calling ‘juice’ as ‘juicie’,
Or asking, “How are you, my friendi?” in his distinct accent
But my wife doesn’t own a juice shop
My son isn’t training to be a police officer
The Taiwanese ministry
Has now denied me any further work
What will I do with the visa still in hand?
This land costs twice or more than my ‘own’
Living here without income
Is like sipping comfort from a cup that’s nearly dry
So now, I put an end to it
The weight of being an immigrant,
With a heavy heart I board the plane,
After years estranged,
I return to the unfamiliar land of India
Though I’ve never quite bonded
With Taiwan’s gods of wind and rain,
My sweat still weeps Taiwan’s salt,
My blood bears Taiwan’s iron,
My heart beats to the rhythm of its folk tunes,
Baoshan Road is still my address.
Devesh Path Sariya (born 1986) is a Hindi poet-prose writer and translator. His published works include the poetry collection Nooh ki Naav (2022); story collection Stinky Tofu (2025); non-fiction prose Chhoti Ankho ki Putliyon Mein (Taiwan Diary, 2022); and translations Haqeeqat Ke Beech Daraar (2021) and Yatna Shivir Mein Sathinein (2023). He has been awarded the Bharatbhushan Agarwal Award (2023). Devesh’s literary work has been translated into English, Mandarin, Spanish and some Indian languages. Devesh is the editor of Hindi literary website Gol Chakkar.
Kalpana is a journalist, working in an English daily as a sub-editor. She has a keen interest in art and literature, and likes discovering new perspectives through them.