From the powerful and adamant first lines and introductory poem, the reader becomes well aware that Kalpna Singh-Chitnis’ Trespassing My Ancestral Lands will transport them through an expedition of upheaval and discovery. The speaker declares that “He altered my bio. / I refused to accept. / He took me down. / That’s how our history was written.” Throughout her life, the speaker has experienced people’s sense of entitlement to tell her who she is or is able to become. These external labels and blockades have served to strengthen the speaker’s resolve to advance through them and rebuild herself on her own terms. In this volume, Singh-Chitnis uses the symbolism of trees and imagery related to them to great effect, as the speaker quite aptly transforms from a “stump of a tree” into a being that can never be uprooted or felled.
While trees often live in one place for their lifespan, there are also moments when they are carefully transplanted, if the current location isn’t quite suited for its growing needs. Singh-Chitnis posits the same can be true for humans, as well. In the poem, “Do You Know,” the speaker asks and implores: “Do you know what it means for a tree / to be rooted again in a sanctuary? / Ask me.” The poet-speaker refuses to accept injustice and mistreatment, and embarks on a quest for a place to call home, where she is approved and welcomed. However, in the beginning of this book, the speaker is quieter, yet steadfast in her mission. This is exemplified in the poem, “The Pending Introduction of KSC,” when the speaker shares: “I must keep waiting until / someone introduces me.” She feels like an invisible background character in her own life, but not because she relegated herself to the background. This silence was an act of defiance, a form of civil disobedience. This rebellion continues in the following poem, “The Language We Speak,” as the speaker remembers: “And one day, I emptied all the letters of my tongue / into a chest, locked them, and went silent.” While the speaker has found refuge and a fresh start, she has a long road to go before she feels that she can freely express herself and fight against the racial discrimination she is facing. The question becomes how does one learn to thrive in a safe, yet vastly foreign place, let alone call it home?
A first glimmer of hope is contained in the poem, “America Held My Hand,” which also ends with this same statement. This move allowed the speaker to begin a journey of self-discovery, while she pondered the lives of her ancestors. Where did they live; what kind of jobs did they hold; what did they believe? As an Indian-American, Singh-Chitnis is likewise disclosing more about her own identity and place in this world, via her genealogical investigation. “Did they speak Sanskrit, Prakrit, Khadi, Farsi, or Pashto?” This one question contains a multitude of wonderings, all linked to Singh-Chitnis’ rich lineage of her civilizational tree. The languages mentioned here capture the literary, colloquial, dialectical, and vernacular traditions of her people. However, it is also important to recognize all of the means by which certain people are excluded from historical records and narratives. The speaker shares that a world inclusive of all cultures “…can never be a part of history —you will ever like to write.” This puts high stakes on Singh-Chitnis’ writing because if she doesn’t record the history of her people and civilization, then who will deem it valuable enough to be remembered, let alone retold? As a result, she carefully chooses descriptions and diction that relate back to the language of her ancestors, whether it’s the “linens of eras,” “unfurled divine clouds,” “azure skies,” or the “sacred hymns of the Vedas.” Singh-Chitnis wholeheartedly embodies the mantra expressed in “The Land of My Birth: The Light of Asia”: “I’m made of your dust. / You are me. I’m you!” She is a part of her ancestors and moreover, she is linked to all humans.
While there is overlap between the connectedness between the speaker and her relatives, this likewise exists in the structure of this collection. The themes and settings of these poems often blend into others, sometimes to spark contrast, other times to spotlight a convergence. In the poem, “Calling the Buddhas of Bamyan,” the line “Whose blessings still guard the mountains of the Hindu Kush?” leads in directly to the next poem titled, “The Daughters of the Hindu Kush.” The second poem reads like an answer to the first, but a deeper analysis reveals the contrasts posed between the speaker’s homeland and present home. Early in the poem the speaker shares that “We no longer want to talk about Afghanistan. / We are out.” Their homeland is pushed to memory. However, later on she makes references to The New York Times and The Washington Post, along with Jeff Bezos, and the concept arises again regarding who is immortalized and why. “Facebook, allow some space for / women without faces, disappeared without a trace in time.” Are these technology platforms and social media our modern idols? The speaker reflects and concludes that while there are many differences between her home of origin and her home of now, there are even vaster similarities, though now represented in varied forms. They may be eager to keep the past behind them, but there will always be something else as a replacement. This knowledge forges a path towards the speaker’s personal freedom, branching off in many directions.
Even though the speaker is now living in America, her very essence contains DNA linking her to her ancestors, regardless of where she resides. This unbreakable connection, “the grand design of our DNA,” “ancient streams running through our blood vessels,” “…all that is hidden in us,” is “…waiting to be decoded” (“Inheritance isn’t a Matter of Choice”). While the speaker has inherited certain traits and conventions, she is the one who needs to unlock and decipher this ancestral knowledge. The repeated imagery here is reminiscent of the branches and roots of trees. How can these ancient practices be applied in a modern setting and then passed along to future generations? What traditions and stories, in fact, should be saved and nurtured, and which ones should be discarded or severed? This pruning and shaping of the tree of culture is no easy task to undertake, but perhaps the inextricable linkage between trees and oxygen can serve as a starting point. Readers may consider mentally and meditatively linking themselves in a global sense by acting like the speaker in the poem, “O Captain!”: “I shall breathe for you with my lungs expanded to the continents.” By sharing in this reciprocal breath, we will all work to embody the ideal that “Hope isn’t a luxury. It is a necessity.” Without this essential emotion and communal bond, what else will drive us to continue forward together?
1. reliant on others to bring her to the foreground*
What I wanted to convey here is that waiting for 25 years, sitting in the same class to be introduced, was “an act of defiance” rather than being reliant on others to bring her to the foreground. It’s somewhat like Gandhi’s Civil Disobedience to bring about change in the heart of the antagonist (which, in his time, was the British regime). Gandhi’s Civil Disobedience inspired Martin Luther King, and he adopted it as an instrument to fight racial discrimination in the USA, which unfortunately continues to persist, as experienced by the poet in her new homeland.
2. rich family tree lineage**
In Indian religions and philosophies, we believe that our ancestors are not only our blood relatives but also our spiritual ancestors (such as Rama, Krishna, Jesus, and Muhammad), and our environmental ancestors (as we are made of earth elements and sustained by environmental factors). This notion makes the whole world a family. Therefore, it would be more suitable to say “rich lineages of her civilizational tree” (a civilization which once spanned the areas of modern-day India, Pakistan, Afghanistan, parts of Nepal, and along the Silk Routes. That’s why India was also called a subcontinent).
that her people, in particular***
Here, rather than “her people, in particular,” what I meant to say is “a world inclusive of all cultures (nations without borders and demarcations).” The poet thinks that this grand vision can never be part of a history the world would ever like to write.
personal history****
Instead of “personal history,” “the history of her people and civilization” is closer to what I meant to convey.
family tree*****
In a broader sense, I meant the “tree of culture” that has emerged from our civilizational history. To give a visual—the trunk of the tree is India, which holds the branches of its diverse demographics, values, languages, traditions, stories, legends, and so on, where the poet strives to discover her ancestral history.