Rajendra Prasad Singh (1930–2007) holds an important place in Hindi poetry as one of the early pioneers of the Navgeet (New Song) movement. Yet, his intellectual interests extended far beyond the lyricism of the new song; he thought seriously about the relationship between literature, society, and the wider cultural environment. Through his poetry and criticism, Singh confronted the deeper contradictions of modernity, asking what our relentless pursuit of material comfort has done to human sensitivity, freedom, and our understanding of what makes life worth living.
We usually associate the progress of civilisation with scientific discoveries, technological advances, and the growing availability of material comforts. These achievements have undoubtedly made many aspects of human life easier. Today, the rapid development of artificial intelligence and digital connectivity has only accelerated this trend, offering unprecedented convenience while simultaneously introducing new risks of emotional dependence and social isolation. Yet, we cannot judge the progress of a civilisation simply by counting the machines it has invented or measuring its industrial output. A more pressing question lies at the heart of the sociological criticism of modern civilisation: Have modern conveniences genuinely increased our freedom, or have we gradually become dependent on the very things we created to improve our lives?
One striking feature of modernity is its obsession with efficiency, speed, and calculation. We originally developed tools and technologies to meet human needs, but these same tools increasingly influence how we organise our lives. Gradually, we begin to measure progress through productivity and material accumulation rather than human well-being. This shift leads to a profound crisis of reification. We not only turn the natural world into commodities to be bought and sold, but we also begin to treat human lives, relationships, and identities as objects whose value can be measured by external achievements and purchasing power.
Singh’s poem Ādmī Dhuẽ ke Haĩ (‘Men Made of Smoke’) offers a sharp, ironic, and deeply unsettling criticism of a civilisation in which artificial substitutes have begun to take the place of living things. The poem does not merely draw attention to the problems of industrial development; it questions a way of thinking that has become so accustomed to artificial surroundings that it finds satisfaction in imitations rather than in life itself.
Singh constructs a world where almost every natural element has become an industrial product. He writes of a "copper sky" and "stars of tin," where "poor birds made of bell metal fly" through "gaseous darkness." He describes an "iron earth" carrying a "stream of silver," and a "brass sun" shining above an "innocent, charming moon made of tin." These images immediately bring to mind a film set or an elaborately decorated drawing room filled with plastic flowers and artificial birds. The audience knows these are not genuine, yet we willingly accept the illusion. Singh suggests that this temporary acceptance has become a habit of modern life. Instead of seeking direct contact with nature, people increasingly satisfy themselves with its decorative substitutes.
The tragedy of this artificial world is that it demands the appearance of nature while entirely avoiding the processes of life. A plastic flower never withers, but it has never blossomed; it requires no soil, sunlight, or water. The person who surrounds themselves with such objects wants the beauty of the flower without the reality of the earth. They enjoy the image of nature while avoiding its unpredictability. In this environment, human beings themselves undergo a similar change. As Singh writes, "Men are made of smoke, held back by shadows." People who inhabit a world of manufactured appearances gradually lose touch with their own identities, defining themselves through outward signs of success and prestige rather than through genuine experience or labour. Smoke has no stable shape; it changes form and eventually disappears. A social identity built entirely on appearances shares this same insubstantiality.
Yet, the poem’s deepest social meaning emerges in its closing lines, where the illusion is shattered by the voice of the "dust." Dust belongs to the earth; it is part of the world in which farmers, labourers, and gardeners work. For them, nature is not an attractive addition to a drawing room; it forms part of their livelihood and daily experience. Singh writes: "Dust is ‘uncultured’, and so it speaks out: This is not life. It is a deception, a deception."
Here, Singh exposes a profound class-based judgement. Affluent society often regards the working class as "uncultured" because their clothes carry dust and their language lacks urban polish. However, Singh reverses this judgement. It is precisely the "uncultured" dust that possesses the ability to recognise reality. Those who work closely with the material conditions of existence understand the difference between living reality and its manufactured imitation. The privileged, meanwhile, are trapped in a spectacle of their own making, mistaking glittering possessions for civilisation. The repetition of "dhokhā hai, dhokhā hai" (it is a deception) is the spontaneous, unpolished response of ordinary reality breaking through the artificial spectacle of elite consumer culture.
To fully grasp Singh's critique, it is illuminating to compare his poem with William Wordsworth’s famous sonnet, *The World Is Too Much with Us*. Both poets question a civilisation in which the growing attraction of material prosperity has weakened our relationship with the world. Wordsworth laments that "getting and spending, we lay waste our powers," mourning the emotional distance that modern commerce has placed between human beings and nature. For Wordsworth, the sea, the moon, and the wind continue to exist in their living vitality, but we have become "out of tune" with them.
Singh, writing much later in a highly industrialised and consumer-driven era, confronts a world that has moved a stage further. In Singh’s poem, nature has not simply been ignored; its place has been taken by manufactured substitutes. The sky is made of copper, the earth of iron. Wordsworth mourns the loss of a living relationship with nature; Singh exposes a civilisation that attempts to overcome that distance by manufacturing an imitation of nature, and then uses these glittering imitations to claim cultural superiority. Wordsworth’s crisis is one of emotional impoverishment; Singh’s crisis is one of reification, class inequality, and the triumph of the spectacle over living reality.
Furthermore, Singh’s poem anticipates later sociological theories of consumer culture. Thinkers like Karl Marx, Guy Debord, and Jean Baudrillard have examined how commodities cease to be mere objects of utility and instead become signs of social identity and prestige. In modern capitalist society, we consume not just products, but the images and meanings associated with them. Singh’s "men made of smoke" are the ultimate consumers, their very identities reduced to the accumulation and display of signs—golden dreams, diamonds, and glass pretending to be radium.
Ultimately, ‘Men Made of Smoke’ is not a simple rejection of modernity, nor is it a nostalgic plea to return to a pre-industrial past. Singh does not ask us to abandon technology or material progress. Rather, he asks us to preserve reality, sensitivity, and human dignity within the modern world. He challenges the arrogant assumption that culture is the exclusive domain of the wealthy, whose refined tastes are often nothing more than a detachment from the living world.
By giving the final, authoritative voice to the "uncultured" dust, Singh reminds us that civilisation cannot be judged simply by the abundance of its possessions or the sophistication of its manufactured surroundings. True civilisation must be measured through the quality of human relationships, the dignity of labour, and our ability to remain responsive to the living world. In an age increasingly dominated by digital spectacles, artificial intelligence, and hyper-consumerism, Singh’s warning remains as urgent as ever: possessing more things does not necessarily mean living more fully, and a life built on illusions is nothing but a deception.
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*Professor and former Head (Retd.), Department of Hindi, University of Hyderabad. This is the abridged version of the author's original paper
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