“War does not determine who is right—only who is left.” Bertrand Russell’s words echo hauntingly in our times, and few contemporary Hindi poets embody this truth as profoundly as Babusha Kohli. Emerging from Jabalpur, Madhya Pradesh, Kohli has carved a unique space in literature by weaving together tenderness, protest, and philosophy across poetry, prose, and cinema. Her work is not merely artistic expression—it is resistance, refuge, and a call for peace.
Kohli’s debut poetry collection “Prem Gilahri Dil Akhrot” (2014), awarded by Bharatiya Jnanpith, introduced her distinctive imagery and fresh language. She blurred the line between prose and poetry in “Bawan Chiththiyan” (2018), earning the Vagishwari Award. Her prose works like “Bhaap Ke Ghar Mein Sheeshe Ki Ladki” and later collections such as “Tat Se Nahin … Paani Se Bandhati Hai Naav” and “Us Ladki Ka Naam Brahmalata Hai” expanded her emotional range. Her 2023 diary “Mizraab” revealed the solitude and music at the heart of her creativity.
Her first novel “Lau” (2025), which won the Shabd Shilpi Puraskar, established her as a formidable storyteller. Translations of her works into Indian and international languages underscore her global resonance. Parallelly, Kohli ventured into cinema, producing short films like “Jantar” and “Uski Chiththiyan,” and inspiring adaptations such as “Hamin Asto.” She emerges as a complete artist, advocating love, dignity, and peace across mediums.
Poetry as Refugee Camp
In her thirteen anti-war poems published in Koushiki magazine, Kohli articulates a piercing metaphor: “Poetry is a refugee camp in a war that goes on for life.” Just as displaced people seek shelter in fragile tents, poetry becomes a sanctuary for sensibilities amid destruction. Her verse insists that war is not confined to borders—it infiltrates consciousness, economies, and everyday peace:
“When two countries are fighting
the whole world is at war
When they are not fighting
even then…”
This vision resonates in an era where conflicts in Israel, America, and Iran threaten global stability. Kohli’s poetry insists that no one remains untouched by war’s fire.
Flowers, Soldiers, and Poetry Schools
Kohli identifies those most susceptible to war: people untouched by love or beauty.
“They do not know how to handle flowers
They cannot bear the sharpness of poetry…
They are vulnerable, suitable, available.”
Her critique is sharp—hatred, weaponized by politics, finds easy recruits among those deprived of tenderness. Against the glorification of soldiers, she contrasts the absence of poetry in their lives, suggesting that sensibility itself is the antidote to violence.
She juxtaposes the abundance of military academies with the scarcity of “poetry schools.” She dreams of a school without teachers or students, only flowers, tears, rivers, and “a moon dissolving in water.” This vision challenges a world that equates destruction with security. For her, sensibility is not weakness but strength, capable of resisting war’s machinery.
Death, Prayer, and Hope
Her poems dismantle the illusion of triumph:
“Is it so difficult to understand
that no one wins in war?
They simply cannot win!”
She reimagines death not as annihilation but transformation: “Those killed in war return as flowers on the earth.” This radical vision challenges the mechanical death of drone strikes and precision warfare. For her, death in love becomes poetry, immortalizing memory rather than erasing it.
Her poems function as prayers—not religious invocations for victory, but inclusive laments for humanity. “Let us raise our poems like prayers,” she writes, rebelling against war’s cruel logic. This prayer bridges regret and hope, seeking survival for the entire earth.
Amid despair, Kohli insists on hope:
“In the days of war, send me a flower
I will make poetry bloom on the branch of time.”
Her optimism is not naïve but defiant, challenging the destructive mentality of superpowers. She rejects traditional notions of victory, echoing Neville Chamberlain’s words: “In war, whichever side may call itself the victor, there are no winners, but all are losers.” For Kohli, true victory lies in growing “new love letters” and preserving compassion.
Feminine Consciousness and Minimalism
Kohli’s imagery—flowers, squirrels, walnuts, rivers—anchors her philosophy in everyday tenderness. Her minimalism creates universes with few words, balancing Hindi’s sweetness with Urdu and Sanskrit’s dignity. She writes “pausing again and again,” allowing silence to speak as much as words. Her feminine consciousness, embodied in figures like “Brahmalata,” resists not through slogans but through quiet strength.
Placed alongside contemporary poet Anamika, Kohli’s craft reveals complementary sensibilities. Anamika grounds women’s struggles in domestic imagery—utensils, cupboards, mats—while Kohli extends domestic fragility into philosophical universality. Where Anamika weaves resistance through sewing and memory, Kohli raises poetry as prayer and silence. Together, they represent two axes of contemporary Hindi poetry: one rooted in domestic rubble, the other transforming it into global refuge.
Conclusion
Babusha Kohli’s anti-war poetics remind us that war is not armies’ triumph but humanity’s defeat. Her metaphor of poetry as a refugee camp captures the psychological displacement of our times. By turning flowers, tears, and rivers into weapons of resistance, she insists that sensibility is the only antidote to militarism. Her minimalist craft, feminine consciousness, and global vision make her one of the most distinctive voices in contemporary Hindi literature.
In a world where hatred is sanctified and destruction normalized, Kohli’s poetry offers pause, peace, and prayer. It is a reminder that as long as there are people who love flowers and poems, the flame of hope can never be extinguished.
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*Professor & former Head (Retd.), Department of Hindi, School of Humaniteis, University of Hyderabad. This is the abridged version of the author's original paper
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