FIFTH WALL - Tea and a tale of ethnic resurgence : Uddipana Goswami

The history of colonial expansion in India has been one of forced migration of labour populations to and from various parts of the British Empire. Of these migrant populations, many have now established themselves as integral parts of the host community. Some, like the Indian migrants to Mauritius and Trinidad and Tobago, have even risen above their traumatic histories of death, displacement and dehumanisation, and gained prominence socially and politically in the host countries. A similar traumatic story of bonded labour, enforced slavery, death and deprivation brought the ‘tea tribals’ of Assam into the region from various places in British India. Unfortunately however, the socio-economic plight of a majority of the people within the community has not changed much since the days that they worked in the tea gardens owned by European planters.

After the Europeans withdrew, the plantations changed hands; even the reins of the country ostensibly returned to the people of the nation. But till today, there are reports of starvation deaths in the tea gardens of Assam and a large chunk of the population is still deprived of basic human rights. Over the last few decades, with the spread of education and the growth of a conscious middle class, however, awareness about various issues has been on the rise among the people of the community. Where political mobilisation and activism has increased on the one hand, on the other, a reshaping of identity, a quiet resurgence of ethnic pride and a search for indigenous roots has also been taking place simultaneously. Shedding the earlier derogatory nomenclatures – like ‘coolies’, ‘tea tribals’ and so on – imposed upon it, the community now defines itself as ‘Adivasi’. It is turning more and more to its roots in mainland India and trying to reclaim its lost ties. 

There is a long way to go of course, and problems persist within the community itself. For one, it is not a homogenous mass of people but a conglomerate of various small and big tribes. Ethnic hierarchies exist and may be exploited in the future. As it is, the fate of the entire community rests in a handful of ethnic elites. As poet Sameer Tanti points out in Point Blank, the entire establishment has to shoulder the blame for the deplorable conditions of his people. The angst that comes with belonging to this group of people often reflects in the literature being produced by members of the community. Tanti’s voice is only one of the most well-recognised of these. Younger, more politically aware, voices have also emerged in recent years, reflecting a new self-definition, a new ethnic pride. Kamal Kumar Tanti is the foremost among them. We carry some of his poems in translation in our Inkpot section. 

But, established or new, the writers of the community all write in the Assamese language – the language they adopted wholeheartedly after centuries of living in this land. In turn, those whose native language is Assamese have also written about the community in their own language. Acclaimed writer Nirode Choudhury, for instance, wrote the short story, ‘Chameli Memsaab’, which was later made into a motion picture. We carry a short excerpt from the story in translation in this issue of NELit review.

FIFTH WALL - Making the translator visible : Uddipana Goswami

The translator almost always remains invisible. In the entire process of making an original text available to a wider audience through translation, the original author and the text itself attracts enough attention. The person responsible for making it thus available, however– and the hours of labour she puts into the process – often gets overlooked. This blatant disregard of the translator’s art and craft has been the subject of much scholarly research in recent decades. Our Looking Glass section in this issue of NELit review attempts, in some small way, to reclaim the primacy of the translator when it comes to the translated text.

The translator’s role has also been scrutinised closely in the context of postcolonial enquiry. In the process, the very politics behind the process of translating the colonial subject has been questioned. As a region which ‘challenges the separation of the colonial from the national’ (as one scholar from the region puts it) the politics of translating the Northeast is a rich arena for further study from this perspective as well. Ranjita Biswas – who has translated prolifically, making Assamese texts accessible to an international English-reading audience – touches on some difficulties inherent in translating the region’s ethos and idioms in our Frontispiece.

The region’s ethos is overwhelmingly one of orality. In reproducing the oral traditions in a written form, the authors of the region are constantly engaging in the task of translation. Sometimes, this task is more difficult than the task of translating the written word from one language to the other. The latter task requires the translator to make some tough choices – as both Deepika Phukan and Ranjita Biswas point out. But the task of translating the spoken word into the written entails making more complex choices as the oral text is a fluid text and given to multiple interpretations. The region’s authors, who engage in writing and translating its vibrant oral traditions, therefore, need to be celebrated and that is what this issue of NELit review is all about.

Translating tradition and culture is in any case a complicated task, and many translators have grappled with the complexities involved in numerous ways. In Nitoo Das, whose poetry we focus on in our Inkpot section, it finds a poetic expression. Despite the inherent dilemmas, however, translating between cultures is a pressing necessity, especially in a region as prone to ethnic conflicts as the Northeast. Gitanjali Das, in Take Two, then questions why this has not happened in any significant measure.

There are not many answers to the questions we pose in this issue. These questions are, however, inherent in the process and politics of translation. We would encourage further discussion on them.

FIFTH WALL - Endangered ethos : Uddipana Goswami

Uddipana Goswami, Literary Editor

The Bishnupriya Manipuris are a community spread over a large area geographically. One would, for instance, encounter people from the community in Bangladesh and Burma, besides the northeastern region of India. Manipur, Tripura and Assam house a considerable population of Bishnupriya Manipuris. In Assam alone, they number nearly two lakhs. Most of them have assimilated with the local population and despite a rich tradition and culture, this has led to a loss of much of their original traits. In fact, the language of the community has been listed as endangered by the UNSESCO. This, despite the fact that the language has two dialects – Rajar Gang (King’s Village) and Madai Gang (Queen’s Village) – and the community as a whole has a rich repository of oral literature.

In an effort to save their mother tongue from extinction, a few dedicated individuals from this community have been engaged in producing literature in Bishnupriya Manipuri language. They have also formed some organisations for the preservation of their language and culture, the Bishnupriya Manipuri Writers’ Forum (BMWF) among them. This organisation is holding an international literary and cultural festival to promote the community’s identity and traditions. This issue of NELit review was planned to coincide with the said festival which is slotted to be held on 18 and 19 February. 

The president of the BMFW, Dils Lakshmindra Sinha, speaks to us in this issue about his reading habits and puts forward his own recommendations for our readers. Ramlal Sinha reviews his book of Bishnupriya Manipuri folktales and finds that it reflects the ethos of the community. Ramlal Sinha also brings us in translation a couple of thought-provoking short stories by Smriti Kumar Sinha. Another poet from the community, Champalal Sinha, takes us on a journey into his childhood memories, tracing the compulsions behind his poetic creations.

In Other Words this week, we have the review of a book on ethnic conflicts in Assam. In the burgeoning market for academic studies on the issue, where does this book stand?

FIFTH WALL - Echoing hills : Uddipana Goswami

Uddipana Goswami, Literary Editor

Meghalaya – the abode of clouds. A Sanskritised name for a state overwhelmingly populated by peoples of Austric and Mongoloid origins – Khasis, Garos, Jaintias. After the hill regions populated by these communities became a part of the Indian Union, they remained administratively yoked to Assam where the Hindu middle class dominated. When the states were reorganised and administrative boundaries redrawn to confer statehood on these hills, the Sanskritised name remained as a reminder of this erstwhile political association while at the same time  reinforcing its changed relation with the Indian ‘mainland’.

The indigenous, non-Aryan elements of the culture and literature of Meghalaya however, have continued to flourish. This issue of NELit review is an effort to explore the richness of these elements as reflected in literature. Translations – into English and other languages – of the indigenous writings and oral lore have ensured that now, people from outside the state also have access to these. At the same time, the writers and litterateurs of Meghalaya have continued their dialogue with texts from outside the state by encouraging translations into their own languages. Urmimala Bhattacharjee explores such literary give-and-take.

Khasi poet, Desmond L Kharmawphlang, also translates into poetry his personal experiences. Though written in English, his poetry is typically soaked in Khasi folklore and set amidst the landscape of the hills he belongs to. The political unrest in these hills has not escaped the poet’s notice. Much of this unrest has been in reaction to the political and social marginalisation that the people of Meghalaya have faced since joining the Indian Union. However, within these margins, newer margins have been created since the state was first formed. At NELit review, our effort has always been to search out the voices from the peripheries. We therefore revisit an A.chik (Garo) classic as well, and explore briefly the literary traditions of this other hill region that is such an integral part of the state of Meghalaya.

FIFTH WALL - The ambiguity of belonging : Uddipana Goswami

Geo-politics has played many nasty tricks on the region we now pride ourselves on belonging to – the Northeast of India. Within this region, there are places that have been subjected to the administrative vagaries of the colonisers with utmost disregard for history and community. Arbitrary borders created with little knowledge of – and even lesser respect for – the boundaries between languages and cultures have led to a sense of hostility between many communities of the region. In several cases, this hostility has translated into violent conflicts – the kind that has characterised most of the ‘post’-colonial history of the region. Barak Valley is one such place in the Northeast which amply illustrates the after-effects of capricious imperial administration. Imprudent policies – including those formulated in the ‘post’-colonial period – of land settlement, population movement, linguistic and cultural homogenisation, have shaped the valley as an ambiguous zone of belonging and not-belonging.

Uddipana Goswami, Literary Editor

On the one hand, although Barak Valley has remained a part of Assam, it has felt an equal, if not stronger, affinity to the whole of Surma Valley, and beyond – its sentiments being tied to ‘greater Bengal’, with Calcutta as the centre of their universe. On the other hand, what has added to this ambiguity of affinity is another redoubtable fact of history – the long cultural and communal association of the valley with Assam and the rest of the Northeast. The most outstanding instance of such association of course, is the pre-colonial presence of non-Aryan Dimasa and Kachari kings who ruled over much of the area.

In this issue of NELit review, we visit this area of overlapping influences of cultures and commonalities. Amitabha Dev Choudhury traces for us the fallout of this overlap upon the literature emanating from the region. He explores the angst of writers who are the progeny of a history laden with inherent dichotomies. He does this however, in relation to writers belonging to the dominant community of the valley. We, on the other hand, take our own exploration of equivocal identities a step further. In translation, we bring our readers the picture of one particular community from this valley which is far removed from the ‘mainstream’ – the story of their lives flows upstream and downstream with the river, they live and die on the river; and like the river, their belongingness is also on the flux. They are the marginalised among the marginalised, and Basanta Das’s evocative prose brings their story alive in his novel, Meleng.

And to end, our occasional section, Other Words, evaluates the Bengali poet, Joy Goswami, who recently visited Assam. He came here with very little knowledge of the people of the region and returned knowing that the people here already knew his poetry.

FIFTH WALL - Meitei might : Uddipana Goswami

Manipur – where the mortars and guns boom loud, but the peoples’ voices of protest are louder still. Manipur, the erstwhile princely state that resisted British colonialism, is now resisting the Indian State’s policy of militarisation, its spirit of freedom intact. Why should one’s own State treat its citizens as security threats, it questions, and unlike many of the other aggrieved voices in the Northeast, Manipur remains largely vocal and free from co-option. It is true that there is a proliferation of insurgent factions – making the formation of rebel groups seem almost like a cottage industry there. It is also true that the political establishment no longer reflects the mandate of the people. And yes, it is also true that ethnic conflicts and economic blockades are so routine there that the people have started devising alternative strategies to live with, rather than to confront, them. But it is also true that only Manipur has an Irom Sharmila, who continues to challenge the State from her hospital bed. And only in Manipur can a group of unarmed, undressed women force the State’s armed forces to retreat in the face of their anger.

This issue of NELit review tries to capture a little of this indomitable spirit of Manipur through a close look at some contemporary Meitei poets. Preetika Venkatakrishnan takes our readers through the verses of some of these poets and finds what makes their ‘poetry of survival’ so different. Images of violence and conflict can be found in much of the poetry from the Northeast, but it is only a Meitei poet who could so poignantly pen a line that says: ‘I want to be killed by an Indian bullet.’ The younger, upcoming lot of poets is also today following in the footsteps of their predecessors, critically capturing their lived experiences in verse. Our book review section, Close Reading, takes a critical look at the poetry of three such women who recently anthologised their gendered politics of protest and finds what would raise their voices above the ordinary.

Finally, through our Inkpot section, we have tried to go beyond the conflicts of a violent and political nature. A forbidden love and the conflict it creates within a woman who tries – but perhaps fails – to go against the sexual mores of society is the subject matter of the translated short story included in this section.

FIFTH WALL - Beyond boundaries : Uddipana Goswami

Uddipana Goswami, Literary Editor

The seven northeastern states comprise a region closely knit in terms of geo-political history, culture and community. Under the ‘post’-colonial dispensation however, it has become a boiling pot of conflicts and political conundrums. Ethnic conflicts are just one aspect of it – the other is the frequently reported inter-state border skirmishes which also sometimes transmute into full-blown ethnic conflicts. The seriousness of the boundary disputes is apparent from recent reports that a new border guarding force is being contemplated to address the issue in the Northeast.

The region was brought under the directional category of the ‘Northeast’ by the British administrators. In ‘post’-colonial times, successive reorganisations of administrative boundaries have created the seven states, now known by the legend of the seven sisters. Despite the breaking up of the region and the formation of smaller states – Tripura and Manipur were of course independent princely states in the colonial times – the entire northeastern region seems to share a common political destiny. This commonality of political experience has often been reinforced by the geographic isolation of the region from what is sometimes fashionably called ‘mainland India’.

This issue of NELit review has been put together to underline the inter-connectedness of the seven sisters. Despite political conflicts, the literature of the region particularly has been able to transcend differences. There are writers who have written about neighbouring states, setting their plot and choosing their characters from various communities. There are others, thinking people and intellectuals, who have been vocal about the need for the people of the region coming closer and have in fact, brought them together through various events. We take a look at some of them. We also bring our readers a selection of poetry from Barak Valley of Assam. These poems touch on different aspects of the Northeast.

The ‘Other Words’ column in this issue is by Amit R Baishya who wrote to us in response to an earlier take on Parag Das’s Sanglot Fenla by Aruni Kashyap. We are glad that our pages have started generating debates and responses of this sort. We hope to inspire more such participation from our readers and contributors.

FIFTH WALL - Some nostalgia and a little fun : Uddipana Goswami

Uddipana Goswami, Literary Editor

There are many who are saying enough of violence, insurgency, blood and gore already. I agree. There should be an end to conflicts, we should find peace. But in a land where the ethnic cauldron boileth over, where vendors of peace shake hands with mercenaries of war, where every aspect of our life is somehow touched by the spectres of bloodshed and brutality, we are often forced to dwell on the issue. But as we start a new year, we can perhaps laugh off some of these concerns. For a while at least, maybe we can concentrate on the pure delight literature sometimes gives us. This issue therefore is dedicated to exploring the humour literature of Assam.

Assam’s tradition of humour in writing is as old as written literature. Occasional hilarity and a few witticisms were to be found even in the 14th and 15th century Vaishanvite literature. Oral tradition and folk literature however, has always abounded with humour. We have grown up listening to many ribald tales (upakatha) from the Ramayan and Mahabharat which are perhaps not found anywhere in a written form till today. While my father was researching on the Ojapali art form of Assam, he also recounted many instances of comic interludes in the performances and witty repartees between the performers. At a time when there seems to be very little to delight in, I think we need to sometimes go back to these oral traditions that have survived since yore and forget the turmoil of contemporary times.

This issue brings you an overview of humorous literature in Assam and traces its development in the modern period. One of the foremost humorists of Assam, Bhadra Bora, takes you on this journey. And in an effort to rediscover some unadulterated humour in our day-to-day lives, Gitanjali Das revisits Bhabendra Nath Saikia’s classic, Mohadustor Dustobuddhi.

From this issue we are starting a new section, ‘Other Words’, which will place fresh perspectives before the readers of NELit review through essays, reviews, thought pieces and what have you. Not necessarily connected with the dominant theme of the particular issue, ‘Other Words’ will also occasionally take our readers beyond Northeast literature. This week, on the 103rd birth anniversary of Bengali author, Ashapurna Debi, Aruni Kashyap revisits her oeuvre and speaks of the extraordinary power of her pen.

FIFTH WALL : Looking back, moving on - Uddipana Goswami

Uddipana Goswami, Literary Editor

One year ends, another begins. For those given to sentimentalism, it is a big event – one that calls for retrospection, self-recrimination, rehaul. For those who go with the flow of time though, the more things change the more they remain the same. And so life goes on. We are trying here however, to claim for ourselves some space for negotiating between the two positions, an in-between stance that balances nostalgia with an enthusiasm for novelty, and sentimentalism with a forward-looking optimism. We approached a number of people to tell us about what books and authors influenced them, entertained them and/or enlightened them in the year that was. We also asked them to look ahead into the year that will be and tell us what book or author they are looking forward to reading in 2012. Through their eyes, this issue looks back in order to move forward.

In 2011, we have mourned the passing of two of the greatest icons the Northeast has produced in the last so many decades – Bhupen Hazarika and Mamoni Raisom Goswami. But we shall also continue our search for newer voices from the region that show the promise of literary genius. We cannot comment here on iconic potential, of course, because icons are, after all, made by the people and the institutions that people endorse. The aim of the literary endeavour undertaken by the Seven Sisters Post remains the discovery of newer or previously unheard voices from the region and their unfolding before a discerning audience. At the same time, the literary greats who have already made a mark for themselves and continue to inspire their readers shall also continue to grace our pages.

2012 will be a great year!

Gods in Guwahati : Poems by Pranab Kumar Barman

Translator- Upasana Goswami

When you come to Jalukbari

Whenever you come to Jalukbari,

Do see me.

Knock on the closed doors of

RCC or AT houses, and ask

‘Does the lover bird stay here?’

My drunken friends will come out

And say ‘not here, not here

He lies in the midst of smoke and high,

The one reciting spring’s poems,

The one shouting slogans –

What are you scared of?

Who are you scared of?

If bordoisila wants to come

She surely will come;

It is in him there.

Whenever you come to Jalukbari,

Do see me.

I may recognise you, I may not.

Still we shall laugh

I shall ask how you are.

I will be glad if you are well

If not, I will share your grief.

Then we can talk about country,

King and sovereignty.

When the subject becomes toxic

We can come back to love.

If you don’t mind, we will drink

And blow out cigarette smoke,

Recite poems about light or life.

I will admit to you that

In this self-inflicted city exile

I am a totally unhappy man.

Whenever you come to Jalukbari

Do see me.

Do not go knocking for me

On the doors of RCC or AT houses.

The one whose looks burn

All Krishnasura trees,

The one who is lost in the

Evening market of girlie giggles,

The one who stands in the desolate bus stop –

Waiting for a dream to come by;

Ask him, ‘Are you the lover bird’?

Hazarat Mohammad

How he reached Lakhtokia from the Middle East,

I have no idea.

How did he undertake such a long journey?

Both his arms amputated at the elbows,

Leprosy-eaten toes on both his feet.

His eyes do not reflect the noon sun.

How did he come?

As he rolls over the filthy roads,

A TV shop flashes a birth-control ad.

Crowds throng the pharmacies

Looking for the string of life.

Caged chicken flutter in broad daylight.

He is the Hazarat of my dreams –

Born in Medina.

He covers one road after another,

A citizen doing the myriad tasks of life.

His Allah resides in his guts;

Under a moustache, the smiles build

The foundation of a famine-hit empire.

He cannot shun his empire –

He is both ruler and ancient citizen.

Lice roam his stench-filled body

Betelnut juice and sputum create

A multi-coloured masterpiece on it –

Pining to adorn some corner

Of a tasteful housewife’s drawing room.

Why does he roll on like this –

The world philosopher?

On Friday afternoons, when he sang ‘Allah, Allah’

It sounded like ‘hunger, hunger’.

As though he would run out to lay

Prostrate before the god of famine.

On his bare skin is etched

The long picture from Mecca to the dargah.

He crosses over the pitch-black tar and

Breaks the crowds with philosophical moves,

To rest like an eunuch by the shadow

Of a billboard, where a prostitute’s

Hair blows unfettered in the winds.

God hung himself from the sky;

Still Hazarat does not die.

Hunger increases his longing for life.

He traverses all those busy streets in Lakhtokia

‘Hindu or Muslim; the same Allah gives him!’

If you feel some pity,

Throw a coin at him.

He is the Hazarat of my dreams –

Born in Medina.

Sankardeb

Let us assume he is Sankardeb –

Writing time’s Kirtan Ghoxa on xasipat.

The footpath is his xatra.

He is meditating,

Let us assume he is planning

To draw the heavens on a hoarding

Over a bus-stop in Panbazar.

You might ask, ‘How can that be?

That sunburnt body, the tattered coat,

Listless look, long hair and loin-cloth –

I do not believe you!

His swollen abdomen, tar-black body

His clothes made of gunny bags

His knotted hair and beard,

The stench from his body; his sunken eyes –

He cannot be, he cannot be… thoo!’

Imagine Sankardeb is six hundred years old.

While coming upstream from Kochbehar,

He saw victory and defeat in wars

He saw the fugitive king, the treaty of Yandaboo;

He saw Patharighat and Kushal Konwar’s hanging,

He saw the struggle for independence

And proliferation of opium.

He saw both the death of language and the birth of Jonaki;

Slavery of the poets and the language movement, the great depression

He saw rape, lathi-charge, gunshots and partition riots,

He saw corruption and the buying and selling of jobs.

The changing face of law in courts;

The ones without flesh, the ones without roots,

He even saw fashion shows and blue films.

Experienced hunger in Dhokuakhana

Saw long lists of martyrs’ names

And false reports of journalists.

Seeing these he went insane, dumb, deaf and blind.

He exiled himself to the footpath of Ashwakranta

Here he is Krishna, resting.

He became hungerless, above cold and numbness,

He became sleepless, derelict, beyond pain.

The history of six hundred years

Made him a god –

A wealthless god, a eunuch god.

You cannot say he is not Sankardeb,

It was he who gave you a lifetime’s beliefs.

You cannot despise his despicable living

As it was he who said, ‘Dog, fox, donkey,

All are manifestations of Ram’.

Let us assume he is Sankardeb –

Nobody stands to gain or lose.