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 - No mad women in the attic : Uddipana Goswami

It has been a while since Virginia Woolf had to exhort women writers to "kill the aesthetic ideal through which they themselves have been 'killed' into art": in other words, to challenge the ‘good’ woman-‘bad’ woman, monster-angel dichotomy which characterises so much of the literature about and by women. Most women writers of the Northeast have been challenging patriarchal presumptions and literary stereotypes. They have been consciously or unconsciously trying to find a rightful place for themselves and their kind in the region’s narratives as ‘real’ subjects.

Often, breaking the stereotype has involved challenging the legend of women’s emancipation in the region – the myth perpetuated by those who point towards the many matrilineal traditions here, or the engagement of women in commercial activities, or their vocal participation in political protests. Sure, their lot has been much better than that of their sisters in ‘mainland’ India who were forced into purdah. But they do often question the loopholes in the traditional systems which uphold the superiority of their men in indirect ways, and often by proxy. There are many all-women marketplaces all over the Northeast, where one can see the woman as the family bread-earner, often the only one in the household. How many of them however, go back home after a grueling day at the market, selling their wares, to find their husbands drunk and children unfed? And if our women were indeed so politically empowered, why do we not find more of them representing us in legislative and parliamentary bodies?

8 March is International Women’s Day. This issue of NELit review is therefore dedicated to the women writers of the Northeast. We review a novel that exposes women’s empowerment in the Northeast as a myth while celebrating the courage of those who have challenged repressive traditions. Our Frontispiece takes a close look at the women who are writing the Northeast today and creating a niche for themselves in the publishing world. They are writing from their real, felt experiences while at the same time, drawing from their roots in the region. This is what gives their voices the power.

This is the power that should also enable them to resist being typecast as the ‘wild tribals’ or the ‘drug abusers and easy lays’. Aruni Kashyap – in Other Words – finds that this is how the women of the region are perceived on the ‘mainland’. Just as African women writers like Chimamanda Adichie are engaged in countering their ‘black’ image, our women writers should also be able to break free. There should be no madwomen in our attics, locked away and monsterised.

FIFTH WALL - Before the pale horse : Uddipana Goswami

The Mizo hills are lovely and they are peaceful. For nearly 25 years now since the formation of the state of Mizoram, the guns have been more or less silent in the hills – the same hills that once resonated with the outcry of violent insurgency against the State. This peace was however, bought at a very high price. Many of course know the history of how the mautam or bamboo flowering led to famine, and how political apathy towards the famine-afflicted hill people led to their rising up in insurrection. The process by which the Mizo people emerged from the shadow of the gun holds up a few lessons for the other nationalities in the region that are warring against the State. Ideally, it should also have given the State some valuable insights into conflict resolution here.

As it happens, the war-torn years have left their mark on the psyche of the people and on their way of life. The civilian bombings and village regrouping exercises for instance, have changed the traditional way of life – our guest for the Page Turners section this week, JV Lhuna, has written about those years of terror and strife.

A generation after, many young poets and writers from Mizoram are today trying to reclaim their lost heritage and tribal ethos, travelling back through their writings to the pre-Christian era even. They are the voices that are often heard in the various forums celebrating literature from the Northeast nowadays. This tendency, and the nostalgia for a past that can only be recreated in fictional narratives, is however not something entirely new to Mizo literature. We revisit a Mizo classic, the first ever novel written in the language, to see how history and folk tradition have always allured the creative mind.

Mizo literature has come a long way since the missionaries first gave the language a script. There are many problems however, and Padma Shri Laltluangliana Khiangte who has been active in the fields of literature and education in Mizoram for the past so many decades, speaks of a few in this issue of NELit review. The hope remains though, that the language should be included in the Eighth Schedule of the Indian Constitution. 

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.