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Behind The Curtain

Behind The Curtain Ankit Gupta ‘Aseer’






Behind the Curtain





Behind the Curtain

Poem’s by
Ankit Gupta ‘Aseer’

Translated by
Ashiya Ansari






Copyright © 2016 Ankit Gupta

All Rights Reserved

Ankit Gupta asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or any means, including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.


“Behind the curtain” is not an ordinary collection of poems. Each and every poem of this book speaks out a heart wrenching tale in a poignant and sensitive manner which will certainly touch the chords of the reader.

“There is more to than meets the eye.” We have heard this adage many times, but when you would go through the verses of this book, you would understand how true it is. We read about many social evils in the newspapers and the internet everyday but we hardly delve deep into them and ponder on the anguish of the victims.

Ankit Gupta ‘Aseer’ has thrown light on those social dogmas and social evils operating in our country. He has painted a beautiful picture of suffering and pain through his ink-soaked words.

This book is the need of the hour and the poet has worked on it, keeping that need in mind. I went through the verses and found that he has literally inhaled the pain of the victims and exhaled poetry.

I wish great success to the poet and I hope that the readers would have a wonderful time soaking in the poetries of this collection.

Purba Chakraborty

Purba Chakraborty is the author of “Walking in the streets of love and destiny”, “The Hidden Letters” and “The Heart Listens to No One”. She is also a web content developer, an enthusiastic blogger and a singer in leisure. Many of her short stories, articles and poetries have been published in several anthologies and magazines.

**][About The Book

This book is about the problems prevailing in our society. As our society is progressing, the morals of the people have taken a back step, with each forwarding materialistic development the spirituality and humanity in people is buried deep down somewhere, which has led to shameful crimes. Sometimes girls feel afraid of stepping out of their houses, with the fear of losing their chastity; somewhere the innocence of children is lost and their hands smell of grease and petrol. They work in factories in the age of playing with toys. While in other situations, marriage of daughters is a reason of father’s stress instead of happiness because of the demands of dowry. And in other cases, the women who gave birth to mankind are killed in the womb.


I would like to take this opportunity to say thank you to all the people who have been a part of my life and helped me in many ways so far.

I express my gratitude to Dr. Sasiprabha and Namrata for motivating me every moment. You both are beautiful souls. Thanks for each and everything you did for me. You both never say you are busy, no matter how occupied both of you may be.

Thank you Neha Gupta, Sunidhi Jain, Shubham Jaiswal, Pamela Bose, Nidhi, Bhagyashree Patel for being with me always.

Saobiya Khan and Prashant Raghuwanshi; thank you for your unconditional support.

Thank you Divya Chauhan for always discovering the positive side of mine.

Last but not the least I would like to thank all the people around us for their thoughts about me, no matter if they are good or bad, as they always have helped me to write more and more.

Translator’s Pen]

Mere having a good command on languages doesn’t make one a literary translator; you’ve got to twig the language of hearts also. I felt elated when I was chosen to translate this sterling work unimpeachably penned by Ankit Gupta ‘Aseer’. Though I was absolutely inept at translation when I was asked to handle this project yet I found it hard to say no after flipping through the pages I was given. Every single word penned there struck the right chord of my heart. Every single verse evoked me to that extent where I had to say to myself if I am chosen to make these undeniable stories reachable to the maximum people then I must not let the chance slip by. What ‘Aseer’ tried to portray through these verses is indispensable to our society to ponder over. Heart wrenching stories, from innocent childhood to excruciating pang of womanhood. From the onset of senility to the sacred nonentity. All will make your head bow down in shame.

-Ashiya Ansari

(Writer & Translator)

I would like to thank Ashiya Ansari for translating my poems, keeping its essence and feelings alive. She is really a gifted soul blessed with immense writing skills.


**][* Hi Anshuma *Waves* *]

Rashmi Gitanjali, A girl who always stood by everyone’s side who felt lost.

Atul Raghuwanshi, who won every battle of a reckless life.

Sana, I Love you the most.

And all those people who are behind the curtain.









Some smothered it, some trampled and some has concealed,

Borrow me some humanity Oh, Lord! The humans are in need.


When emotions from the heart,
become the homeless.
Our own begin to taunt,
and add up in our unknowns,
when relations tied to the heart,
behave like the foes to us,
then tell us, oh, Life!!
Why to smuggle you?
Tell us how to keep you embraced?
Why to pray for you?
What to crave for, huh?
That home, whose threshold,
keeps my existence behold.
When even that too look at me,
with the eyes of enmity,
then tell us, Oh, life!!
How to follow you,
and till when?










A picture on the threshold,
half broken,
In the corner of the house,
a person,
sitting glum.
Crust falling off the wall,
bed, heavy hearted
bed-sheet, waiting,
to be creased.
A platter full of meal
keep changing every day,
yes, perhaps, a posterity
has considered his pops,
a living Corpse.












Be it the pricking sunlight,
the bitterly cold night.
On his body,
there is found nothing except
some ragged cloths.
A sack on the shoulder,
hand, holding an iron rode,
and he leaves,
in search of two times of meal.
When eyes fall on the heap of garbage,
smiles rush to his face.
He doesn’t like the clean quarter,
dirty stuffs kill his hunger.
Some day, peep out of your palatial castle,
you’ll meet a childhood of this country.
Who, every moment of his life,
with a face full of smiles,
toils from mornings to nights,
to change the excruciating pain into a future bright.








I’m a daughter of that country where,
I’m worshiped in the mythologies,
written in the Vedas and,
my stories are recited,
head is bowed down before me in the temple,
when in my existence,
I incline,
put my steps out of the house,
then all those,
Vedas, mythologies and stories get scattered.
Eyesight of those bowed heads in the temple
rip me up to that extent,
where me,
In my own, feel ashamed from myself.
I don’t say that,
showcase me in the temples,
write me down in the Vedas,
recite my stories all day all night long,
I just,
want this that,
When I go out of my house,
I smile, I laugh loud.
Savor my life aloud.
And when I reach back at home,
mother doesn’t get forced to ask me,
If I met any bad sight on the way.

when you twist the wrist,
forcefully, of my mother,
with your hands
you hurt her,
you pull her hair,
you injure,
the whole body of her,
then too mother keeps the mum.
I do cry,
I get concealed,
I scare,
I get flabbergasted,
tears roll down my eyes,
that moment,
I start to detest you.
I want to adore you,
to sit beside you,
I want to talk to you,
I want to smile,
I want to laugh,
by snuggling down in your lap,
I want to sleep, O, Dad!!
But again,
I get remembered that face of you,

I get scared again,
I start to cry again.
give a chance to me too,
So that I could say to you,
that my father is the best father,
In the whole world.
Perhaps not this time,
but next time, on this day,
could wish you,
Happy Father’s Day!!














Body, tucked in the hessian
wounds, being canker,
In the hands of ten year old,
a three years old innocent.
Sometimes, at the curbstone
and sometimes,
In front of a house,
with stretched hands,
perhaps, pleading to compensate,
the damage of his childhood.

In those supple hands,
the weight of the axe
staring at the ground,
trying to dig a pit in it,
wet in the sweat,
perhaps, in that pit,
he searches for his Childhood.

Singed body, inside the coal-mine
went dark due to smudge.
He doesn’t wash off his innocence buried under that darkness
perhaps because he wants to hide his childhood.

He goes at home, falls asleep,
doesn’t even look at the meal,
gets board of the tiredness of all day long,
doesn’t swallow even a single mouthful at all,
perhaps because he doesn’t want to wake up the next morning,
to see the ‘childhood of my country’.



**]Reason of this punishment, now tell me,
what’s my fault actually, now tell me,
what are my sins, first count them to me,
then how much oppression you want to do, do on me.
Why you
killed me in your ovary,
In the kitchen, you singed my body completely,
why just for some amount of money,
you sold me,
why you,
scraped my body insensately,
why you,
made me dishonored openly,
do trust me too, Oh Comrades!!
Do love me too now, Oh Comrades!!
If you let me to bloom,
I’ll never let you to droop,
by beating, burning and sometimes by scraping,
you yourself made your mother notorious,
you say that my clothes,
make your culture to riot,
I accepted your culture and stopped,
but tell me one thing for once,
what was that three year old wearing?
Whose childhood you snatched from her.
Listen to me now carefully!
I don’t have any intention to rise upper than you in fact,
no one granted you the right to keep me suppressed.

**]Some sacks, carried on the shoulder,
an iron rode, held tightly in the hand,
he keeps moving, place to place,
in search of some pieces of meal to survive,
Soothed face,
Blistered hands,
Bare feet,
with scanty cloths on body,
he keeps wandering, door to door,
in the hope of getting meal, street to street,
he walks with friskiness,
defeating hunger with patience,
with no sadness on face, gracefully,
that innocent is not less than any Almighty.[






**]15 AUGUST

The happiness of having the Freedom,
I too have, too much
I know that,
by staying far away from the home,
they entrusted us the existence of India,
I do have the realization that,
they bled,
to wave the flag,
the day when,
an innocent won’t be holding the flag,
in the hand to sell, on the curbstone,
that day, I’ll celebrate,
the happiness of my Freedom.









The supple body is being cankered,
palms are being blistered
shattered body laying on the curbstone,
food full of dirt, soil, pebbles and stones,
buried under a tremendous building,
covered with the blackness of coal,
with the sack crammed with the crap
carried on the shoulder,
serving the tea in the hotels,
staring at the sweets,
own age is to play around,
but selling the toys to play
Instead of holding a pen in the palm,
swabbing the floor of the school,
come! Let me show you
my country losing its childhood.









**]A shop, on the curb,
an innocent in that shop,
was shouting out loud,
‘Happy Eid’, Sahib (Boss),
take some toys for the children,
despite of cloths on the body,
he was wrapped in the newspaper
to see the newspaper,
all hit by the water,
It seemed as if,
the poverty,
has decayed his childhood too, like this only,
I went closer to him,
hugged him,
said, ‘Happy Eid to you too’,
his eyes,
started gazing at me
tears started rolling down his cheeks,
suddenly, my eyes too filled with tears,
that innocent shook my heart,
despite being a poor,
he said the words of Nobles,
‘Boss! Buy some toys;
I need to earn some money.
So that could keep them in the packet of my mother,
then will ask her to have my Eidi.’

In front of the cupboard
widely opened,
standing skeptical,
what to wear,
under which one dress,
my respect will be concealed?
In which dress,
the society would not call me
Wearing which one dress,
the profane eyes of the males
would not fall on me.
Complication, complication, complication.
Eyes, damped,
cupboard, closed,
door, slammed,
window, closed,
house turned into
A condemned cell,
my dignity,
went safe
but tell me,
If the life is still left,
within me.

**]Poverty [
**]Sometimes at the tree, then at the stems
for once at the flowers, then at the ground
and at the doors and at the walls
he keeps staring at from one to all.
From the damp eyes, with fast heartbeats,
gloominess, dipping down the face
In wait for someone to arrive,
the story of his life,
being portrayed by his eyes,
to the people passing through,
he stops and asks,
Why so much pain is hidden,
here in the core of my heart?
Why the poverty has a friendship with me?
Why in my garden
any flower doesn’t blossom?
Why in the plant of Rose
just lies the abode of spines?
Why the pain and sadness
are so much in love with me?
If the life has so much animosity
with me,
then why the letter of death,
has not arrived yet to me.


**]I WISH [
Eyes have become a burden
now on the eyelids,
no more guts to formalize any dream.
That person
to whom I liked more than my life,
fostered him,
every lesson of the life,
I taught him leaving my stomach to starve.
By seeing the streaks on my bed-sheet,
he asks,
why the house is so untidy?
I think with the damp eyes,
I wish, he would have asked
Maa? Haven’t you slept properly last night?










I was sitting shrunken in her ovary,
was weaving so many dreams,
happiness of arriving in the new world
was blooming on my lips in the form of a smile.
Just few more moments, afterwards,
my existence too was going to be
the part of this world.
All of a sudden
I shrieked with pain,
the smile changed into
the tears of the eyes,
don’t know how I bade this world adieu.
Without having a single glance at it.
An unborn corpse, pushed in the corner,
was still alive in this thought that,
why the people standing in a corner,
who have their no relations with me
are crying for me?
And why are they smiling
whose blood I’m sharing with in me?

Shattered Within

They pushed me out of their life,
in such way,
“My breaths buried in the burden of debt”
I say.
Those relations,
which were the base of,
the first steps of life
strike like an arrow in the heart.
Which zeal for incising the dreams,
had been with me since beginning
shattered within a trice,
perhaps because
of my mistakes,
I made, I realize. It has been a long age
since I’m trying to persuade.
My life! Displeased with me.
Don’t smile now, don’t smile my dear,
my eyes now have got used to tears.
If you want me tomorrow,
to close my eyes forever,
I won’t complain you my life,
perhaps Never!!


On my every single step, Oh, Life!
A shadow of sadness you did provide,
some relations broke down,
displeased they are who were our own.
Look into the mirror, look! I’m being ignored.
The blessings of beloved,
now seem to be blurred.
Slowly, slowly,
I just crossed the age of twenty
and life affected me with the impact of poverty.
Which dream I had been knitting
Since ages,
has been shattered into myriad pieces.
Taunts are pricking my body
blood relations have lost their meaning.
On very new turn, I lost one new relation.
moving on with my seclusion,
with a hope or in an illusion,
perhaps, I’ll meet some person,
I’ll ask them to hold my hand,
And pull me out of this swamp.

**]My child, my friend,
don’t run after your dreams.
The feminine is prohibited in this city,
to spread their wings.
Don’t even give it a try
or else,
the slur of immorality,
will be stamped on your dignity.


She became the respecter of my silence, that day
When I heard about her miserable oppression, one day.

The moment you smothered a soul in your ovary
Your home turned into a dreaded Mortuary.

Prices of the stones and sands have reached at that stage
In need of money, even the parents are being slaughtered to compensate.

The place where wounds are forced to bleed in plight
How to call that country my pride?

One churl snipped the humanity openly within a trice
And made her whole family notorious, forever writhing in cries.


Father didn’t let the tears to roll down from the painful eyes
And politics too kept our childhood devoid of the smiles.

Children’s body is smoldering in the tunnels down there
Where embers in the blazing fire never let their complexion to be fair.

Their innocence has been disappeared in the maze of machinery
Screwdrivers became their permanent toys given by the Factory.

Who will tomorrow afford that food, high rated
If you didn’t let your child today to be educated.

The post of those parents is not less than any bloodthirsty
Who never let their child to meet their glee.

‘Aseer’ how to find the innocence in the darkness
This world didn’t let the childhood to meet the brightness.

What have you done, once again, Oh, Humanity!
Once again you have cast a slur on this world’s dignity.

She put her steps in open to breath
And you trampled her smiles under your wrath.

Everyone seems to be a sinner now here
Brutal backlash around, trust has lost somewhere.

You robbed her fief to that extent
Where her dignity got scattered and made her to repent.

She was sacred, she still is and might be in future that glorious
But these political sights have turned the nugget, notorious.


When the childhood of children would get a shield of safety
When this government would fall in love with this infancy.

When the children wouldn’t be pining for their spree
When the innocents would be bailed out of the factory.

Where predators would be hanged and blistered hands would be healed and kissed
Don’t know when the world would get a court like this.

“Don’t let a child to prepare your food, better sleep hungry.”
Don’t know when the Nobles would be bestowed with this nobility.

They say, “God exists in the heart of innocence.”
Then why this heart is so deserted, keeping the silence?


Fathers’ watered eyes went dried and calm
When his child came back at home with some money on his palm.

He went out of the house to play around
Factory pounced him and fear pushed him down.

Here was the toy to play with and there the empty stomach to feed
Rather than the spree, childhood inclined towards the need.

“Laborer too will sleep with peace at nights.”
What happened with that promise which government made with them in plights?

Everyone began to treat a daughter with honor
For a dying father made her, his mansion’s owner.


The day when you will bring a smile on his face
God, sitting inside him will shower you with his grace.

What would you get by begging before a human?
Solely God will give you that, whatever is to be given.

Don’t make a mention of distances to him, not at all.
His story might make you cry like never before.

Though snatch it or give it to him more than the need
Child will consume everything while growing, indeed.

‘What’s the happiness?’, if you will ask a father
He will smile and show you the picture of his daughter.

Which hand is pining to cut a head down
Hold a pen in that hand, a bowed head you will found.

You arrogate the mouthful of a poor, if you wish, Oh, Master!
‘Aseer’ would like to die hungry but not as a sinner.


Far from the body but still in the sight,
Not in human colony, in the heart you abide.

Left in the search of Love someday
That bird is still on the way.

When spoke the truth, they demolished my existence
Told a lie for once and newspapers yet hail my presence.

I never ever made any bargain with my honesty
Enough meal doesn’t linger in my home but dignity.

‘Aseer’ years ago, she put her hand on the head and blessed with a boon
Impact of that mother’s devotion is still in the full bloom.


Childishness has been uncaged from the childhood’s cage
Innocence has been unchained from the innocents’ age.

Children work as labors in high society
We have assumed an atheist, the Almighty.

He doesn’t need the money for his treatment
Poor has made his mothers’ tears, his medicament.

He never speaks about the state of his heart to anyone
Compulsion has blown his sadness away from everyone.

Slaughtered a daughter in the womb and laughing loud
Smothered the smiles of two homes, what you found?


Look at the childhood buried under the works various
Look at this India, being notorious.

Child is selling the tea in front of the parliament
Look at the mayhem of this helpless government.

You have stabbed in the back umpteen times and made us glum
Now come for a frontal attack and meet the outcome.

Dignity was being robbed and they left for their place
Look at the living corpse, roaming around, Oh, Comrades!!

Who worship a rock equal to the Gold, you Oh, Master!
Look at the poverty sitting on the steps of a temple.

[About The Author

Ankit Gupta “Aseer”, is a Indian writer. His poems and verses are as beautiful as the historic city Bhopal. His pen name “ASEER” was awarded by Kaviyatri Vishakha “Vidhu”. Aseer enjoys romancing Hindi and Urdu words and has written many beautiful Hindi verses and Urdu Shayaris.

His first book “Numaishen” was published in September 2012, and second book “Zindagi Ki Kalam Se”. He is also guest author of an anthology “Diary Of Unknown Winter”, published in 2016.

[Aseer is President of Madhya Pradesh for the “World Union OF Poets”. He is also co-founder of EARTICULATE, a web magazine for writers and readers.

Contact :-

p<>{color:#000;}. Facebook :- https://www.facebook.com/ak047gupta

p<>{color:#000;}. Twitter :- https://twitter.com/Shayar_Aseer

p<>{color:#000;}. Instagram :- https://www.instagram.com/shayar_aseer/

p<>{color:#000;}. Blog :- www.samvednaayen.wordpress.com

p<>{color:#373E4D;}. [* Email :- [email protected] *]


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Behind The Curtain

This poetry book is about the problems prevailing in our society. As our society is progressing, the morals of the people have taken a back step, with each forwarding materialistic development the spirituality and humanity in people is buried deep down somewhere, which has led to shameful crimes. Sometimes girls feel afraid of stepping out of their houses, with the fear of losing their chastity; somewhere the innocence of children is lost and their hands smell of grease and petrol. They work in factories in the age of playing with toys. While in other situations, marriage of daughters is a reason of father's stress instead of happiness because of the demands of dowry. And in other cases, the women who gave birth to mankind are killed in the womb.

  • ISBN: 9781311344328
  • Author: Ankit Gupta
  • Published: 2016-04-13 09:05:10
  • Words: 3701
Behind The Curtain Behind The Curtain