In her
evocative collection of Hindi poetry, Ehsaas Jazbati, Babita Rani invites
readers into a sanctuary of raw emotion and quiet resilience. The title, which
translates to "Emotional Feelings," perfectly encapsulates the spirit
of the work—a deep, rhythmic exploration of the human heart’s capacity to
endure untimely loss while still yearning for the "chirpiness" that
once defined its landscape.
Rani’s work operates on a striking dual plane. On one
side, the technical craftsmanship of her poetry—the choice of words and the
melodic rhyming—acts as a soothing balm. There is a gentleness in her cadence
that draws the reader in, making the heavy themes of the book feel accessible
and intimate.
However, once the reader is nestled within her verses, the second side of the work reveals itself: a stark, melancholic realism. Rani does not shy away from the fragility of existence. She explores the "untimely loss" not as a dramatic event, but as a persistent, atmospheric weight that reshapes the survivor's world.
One of the most poignant themes in the collection is the
social performance of grief. In a standout poem, Rani describes an internal
conflict where the poet silently urges the memories of her loved ones not to
resurface in their most "vivid and lively" forms.
The logic is heartbreakingly realistic: when she appears happy or "lively" by reliving these memories, the outside world—unaware of the depth of her internal mourning—inquires about the reason for her smile. To avoid the exhaustion of explanation and the intrusion of the public into her private grief, she prefers to keep her loved ones behind "silent doors of memories." It is a powerful commentary on how loss forces one into a life of quiet, guarded solitude.
The collection also takes a "terrific dig" at the concept of survival. Rani posits that love is not something that ends when the person is gone; rather, it is a "vestige" that must be kept alive even if the survivor feels completely devastated. This isn't a romanticized view of love, but a gritty, realistic one. It suggests that keeping the trace of a loved one alive is both a duty and a source of continued, albeit painful, identity.
Perhaps the most profound takeaway from Ehsaas Jazbati is the evolution of grief. Rani illustrates a shift from the loud, chaotic wailing of immediate loss to a state where pain "ossifies."
The book suggests that over time, the agony of separation
becomes a solid part of one's architecture—hard, silent, and immovable. There
is no longer a need for "commotion" or outward displays of sorrow;
the pain has simply become a permanent feature of the soul’s landscape. Ehsaas
Jazbati is a must-read for anyone who has ever felt the sharp sting of loss or
the slow ache of longing. Babita Rani has managed to capture a very specific type
of grief—one that is "sad yet realistic"—and rendered it into a form
that is both beautiful and deeply moving. It is a testament to the fact that
even when life is fragile, the words we use to describe that fragility can be
incredibly strong.
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