Literary festivities - Uddipana Goswami

 Uddipana Goswami, Literary Editor

Literary festivals seem to have a way of inciting strong reactions from people, for various political or ideological reasons. In 2011 itself, the debates surrounding the Harud Literary Festival, for instance, or the one at Galle, have been much too publicised to require revisiting here. The respective political climates of the proposed venues were such that extreme points of view were bound to surface. But even independent of the backdrop of State politics and its various manifestations, literary festivals have often been criticised as a means of consolidating corporate agendas, nursing the not-so-insignificant writerly egos and what have you. Similar allegations have also been levelled against literary workshops which have been mushrooming at a very fast pace indeed.

Those who do raise such allegations may choose to refrain from having anything to do with these events. At the other extreme are those who would give an arm and a leg to be invited to these festivals or to take part in these workshops. Anecdotes about such wannabes who shamelessly hound publishers or prostrate themselves at the feet of literary celebrities abound in the festival circuits. And then there are the ‘celebrities’ themselves who use these platforms for self-aggrandizement and as a means to reinforce their literary greatness.

The literary festivals that have been proliferating internationally in the past few decades in keeping with the rising culture of urban festivals, has brought the writer out of her isolation and shaped her into a public figure. The workshops have also evolved from closed groups, locally organised, to internationally publicised competitive forums. These are the side effects of globalisation. In the glitz and glamour of these events, however, what gets lost is the essence of writing and literature.

After all, literary festivals and workshops are not a modern-day innovation suddenly thought up by a bunch of festival organisers with either an evil corporate agenda to serve or a noble calling to cater to the greater good, the holy word. Literature has been celebrated and festivities arranged around its narration and performance since the first storyteller collected a bunch of avid listeners by the bonfire. The first workshops were the family gatherings where oral literature was handed down from one generation to the next. Their forms have changed through the centuries and they have evolved into the much-maligned or much-celebrated events that they are today while their true intent has got lost somewhere along the way.

The literary world and the writer have always been celebrated in many different ways – why should we stop now? In fact, if these events give the writer more visibility – even a celebrity status – why complain? The problem, however, is that there is a fine line between celebrating literature and sensationalising the writer, between what is commercially and aesthetically beneficial for all those involved in the trade and craft of writing and what serves particular corporate and/or political interests. It is not easy to determine that line or walk on one or the other side of it.

For instance, the spring Bihu of Assam is really a grand celebration of youth, life and love. It is a symbol of our ethnic unity, a festival that originated from primal fertility rites practised by the many tribes of Assam. Today however, it has lost its true essence and remains a much more sanitised version of its original form. From the open fields, it moved to the stage, from the stage, it has now moved to the visual and virtual media. Earlier observed exclusively through community participation, it now invites corporate sponsorship. But for all this, we do still celebrate Bihu because somewhere it does still exult us; the sound of a mohor xingor pepa, the strains of a Bihu song, or the swaying bodies of the Bihu dancers do still set our hearts racing. Bihu, despite the cosmetic changes it has undergone over the centuries, retains its ethos.

Similarly, literature that gives us joy, writers who enrich our minds, in any case, inspire celebration, no matter in what form or forum. If the blatant commercialisation and politicisation of this celebration hurts our sensibilities, we may choose to stay away. If we wish instead to ignore the external manifestations and embrace the essence, we may instead make our way to Jaipur, or Galle, or Kathmandu, or Guwahati. The choice is ours.