Poem: We Are All Cutuas

Cutua, a pejorative term used by Hindu communalists for Muslims, was used in the Indian Parliament recently by Ramesh Bidhuri while addressing Danish Ali. This poem has been written in response to Bidhuri speech.

Anshu Malviya

Updated on: 4 November 2023 9:20 am

It was waiting to happen. Cutua, a pejorative term used by Hindu communalists for Muslims, was used in the Indian Parliament recently by Ramesh Bidhuri while addressing Danish Ali. Cutua—which literally translates as the cut one or the circumcised one—has been a communal street slang and a part of the arsenal of communal mobs who commonly chant—Jab Cutue Kaate Jayenge, Ram-Ram Chillayenge (when Cutuas will get cut they scream Ram’s name). Malviya’s poem was written in response to Bidhuri’s hate speech and uses references to Hindu mythology, Parshuram’s mother, Shoorpanakha, Shambuk and Eklavya to reconfigure the violence. Like what American army officer Roddie Edmonds told POW German officers after the Second World War—we are all Jews now—Malviya takes a particular term of abuse and turns it into a word of resistance and liberation for the oppressed. We are all Cutuas now.

We are all Cutuas
                      O Minister!
With our cut off heads
Cut off hands
Cut off legs
         And holding our mutilated souls
We wander
We, the fearful headless bodies
We are all Cutuas
                       Our Royal Highness!
We are the severed head of that mother
Which that sanctified axe chopped off
                In an intoxication
                Of sacredly sinful patriliny
                With our broken bodies
                We plant that decapitated head
In this soil…
We are all Cutuas
                  Your Majesty!

We are the fallen heads of that illustrious youth
Which that sword
Pulled out of the scabbard of hollow honour
And dipped in the poison of caste pride
Had hacked off...
And that no one heard
The laughter that echoes in the dank cave of our culture
We are the howls of that severed head...
We are all Cutuas
                  Your Honour!

We, who for aeons
Are the bleeding nose of that girl
Which the man’s ego
Which the royal pride had hacked off
Our noseless civilization bathes
Dipping in the blood of that girl
And looks for its Gods
We are all Cutuas
                      Dear Emperor of the World!

We are the severed thumb of that warrior
Sliced off by that crafty Guru
The thumbs continued to get sawed off
Arms got sawed
Fingers got sliced
Look, there are severed thumbs scattered across the sky
Look, the Council of Ministers is taking
The thumb impressions from those severed thumbs.
Look, Prime Minister is wearing
A garland of those bleeding thumbs.
We are all Cutuas
                       O Noblemen!

We are all Cutuas and we are the majority
We stand
              On the highways of history
Adorned with our sundered identities
Better you leave this country, Emperor!
                   With your butter soft visage and perfectly unblemished body
This country is ours
This Aryavarta belongs to us, the Cutuas