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Ganga by Nissim Ezekiel

Ganga as a poem deals with the poor and pathetic life of the maid servants whose work we rate it not in a good way and take it fror underrated menials who have but to keep working.

Ganga by Nissim Ezekiel Points: A portrait of a poor Indian maid servant named Ganga A picture of poverty, her miserable life and living How difficult is it to get bread and butter? Our peculiar mentality How our philanthropy? Righteousness in question Charity begins at home How long the poor will remain poor? Since when have the maids been serving as underpaid menials? How long will they keep working after going half-fed, half-clothed? They too are men, they too are human beings They too have hearts in them, souls in them Keeping humanity hungry and thirsty, we can never be godly and religious No poem has moved us so much as this poem titled Ganga which is not Shiva’s Ganga loosened from the matted hair of the Lord, but is about a maid servant named Ganga whose life is but a study in sorrow since the ages and ages and the pain is in it to feel how we have exploited the slaves and servants and taken their services and the case is more worse in the case of the maid servants. What is in her poor lot? How her destiny? What has she come with and how have we treated her for long, since ages and ages? Is it a curse? Is life a burden for her? Will she in poverty too? In poverty she was born. Poor she has remained all through and in poverty she will die it too. The poor dilapidating hut is her house. Old and torn clothes her clothes. Leaving her all, she comes to work in other men’s houses, her life. She has no time to look after her own child too. Without cooking food, she comes to attend to at morn. Have we ever tried to look into her? At noonday she leaves for her hut to rejoin at twilight. Have we ever tried to know her life, to feel her sorrow, the sorrow of her heart? How do her days pass it? How does it her life? The poem is very pathetic indeed. It pains to hear her story. How pitiful and miserable is her life? How the sorrows of hers? How has she been exploited for years and years? How her daily life? She keeps working and working, washing and washing utensils. Stale loaves of bread she gets it to take late in the morning. Tea is not for her and even if it is, it is but the left out and kept on cold tea. Where will she get warm tea for her? Is she a sahib? She is a worker, that too a poor Indian worker. What a lot has she! How has it been given to her? How has God made it for her? Whom to blame? The heart of a poor working maid we have not felt, the soul of a working maid we have not tried to soothe. What sort of men were we? What sort of men are we? Do we have not any compassion in us for others? Man is very cruel. Man is very selfish, is the truth. Are we good and virtuous? We were never. Who says that we were? We do not have the heart to feel. We do not have the soul to take into. We have grown heartless; we have soulless. Just like the rocks we appear to be, but the rocks too keep with the currents of water. We are almost tearless. We have turned into the things of stone. Tears are not in our eyes. Sympathy too is not is us. We try to look it all unsympathetically. How is our mentality, Indian mentality? Externally, from our exterior we appear to be religious, holy, good and righteous, but are we really? We are not good; we are not virtuous and chaste. We are but pavitra papis, chaste sinners, wrong-doers. God is in service. God is in service to others. God is not in the excesses of rites and rituals. Where are you searching Him, where are you praying to Him? He is in confession. Confess you your sins. One who loves a man is a man. One who loves God, but not man is not. God does not ask us to be extra holy. We do not have a high impression of her. We do not see her in a good way. We see her as a menial one. We try to look down upon her. She is but a maid, a poor maid, a worker. Her clothes are clumsy; her hands handle with dirt. Nissim likes to say that these people will never try to learn, take a lesson in humanity and humanism. They can never change themselves. They are what they were in the past and they will remain even in future as they are also in the present. Our old morality will not change. Our old mentality will not go it. We can never be progressive, good and modern. We are what we were. This is as because our mind-set is old. But Ganga is Ganga, Ganga-like? She is pure and chaste. This is the quality of her name. How can Ganga be dirty? She is after all a woman filled with the same milk of kindness. Every year as for once she gets it an old sari and a blouse, the used clothes as for to wear and hide herself. This is enough for her. Where will she get new clothes from? We do not see her rightly. We always suspect her and smell a rat. We take her for given extra marital relationships. What will she do with the meagre amount she earns from her work? She is not able to take food for two times too. How will she maintain her family? She borrows small coins as for taking paan and buying lozenges for her child. We pride ourselves on generosity to servants. The woman who washes up, suspected of prostitution, is not dismissed. She always gets a cup of tea preserved for her from the previous evening, and a chapati, stale but in good condition. Once a year, an old Sari, and a blouse for which we could easily exchange a plate or a cup and saucer. Besides, she borrows small coins for paan or a sweet for her child, she brings a smell with her and leaves it behind her, but we are used to it. These people never learn. Ganga is a portrait of an Indian maid servant, how she has been bearing the brunt of and how have we kept her exploiting? Still now we do not see her with good looks. We take up as a servant. We do not consider her as a human being. We take her as a menial, a worker, but she too is a human being. She too has a heart and a soul in her. She is as pure as the Ganga and how can Ganga be dirty? They are dirty who think her dirty. Our Indian mentality will never go. How good and virtuous are we in essence? It is a matter of question. In making her work, we forget it often that she too has a family; she too has a personal life.