‘Brown God’s Child’: Sadness and rebirth, darkness and light, come together in Smitha Sehgal’s poems

Some books look like they are written from the head, while others seem like they are grown from the dirt. There is no doubt that Smitha Sehgal’s poetry collection God’s Brown Child belongs to the latter; it comes right from the ground, with roots, dirt, and memories all jumbled up in it. The earth speaks to you. You can smell the monsoon, taste the ocean, and feel the knowledge of the past. Sehgal’s poems are from a tropical environment, but anyone may understand them.

Her poetry is full of vitality and rawness, but it is also gentle and wild. You should trust your body, the ground beneath you, and how they work together.

She begins with a feeling, a sense of home and faith that is almost real:

“My Gods are forest dwellers,
their skin marked in burnt caramel
of the tropical sun.
On Amavasya nights
they feast on flame-torched cassava
and salted mackerel.”

Human gods

Her gods eat mackerel that has been burned and salted, as well as cassava, on Amavasya nights. You don’t hear a voice that makes the sacred appear so close very often. Sehgal’s gods aren’t simply ideas; they’re real humans who are hot, hungry, and sweating.

The divine is in the purity of life itself. It’s about sharing food and enjoying what the land has to...

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