Showing posts with label Peer Point. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Peer Point. Show all posts

PEER POINT - Colours of commonality : Uddipana Goswami on Jiban Narah



Poetry holds out hope for unity among communities in conflict in Assam, says Uddipana Goswami

Halodhiya Upama
Jiban Narah
Aank-Baak, 2011
`
150,255 pages
Hardback/Poetry
"The yellow of his poems have always reflected for me the yellow of the landscape of the Assam countryside, resplendent with mustard flowers and laburnum blossoms"
I have always loved Jiban Narah’s poetry for its beautiful use of colours. In fact, in one of my short stories entitled ‘Colours’, I had used two lines from his poem ‘Anjal’:
Tumi muk bhal pale
Sarimuthi halodhia xuta kini dim
(If you love me, I will buy you four lengths of yellow thread)
The yellow of his poems have always reflected for me the yellow of the landscape of the Assam countryside, resplendent with mustard flowers and laburnum blossoms. The same yellow reminds me of the yellow in the eye-catching ethnic dresses of the various communities — Bodo, Dimasa, Mising… It is the yellow that always carried me back home when I was living away for so long. His poem ‘Rong’ lucidly brings out his fascination with colours and beautifully reflects my own. It charts his life’s journey through the green, the yellow, the dappled; the black, the blue, and the red that finally consumes him. The deep sorrow with which he self-confessedly started his poetic journey also finds expression for him and his readers through these colours. Therefore, when he handed me a copy of his collection Halodhiya Upama (Yellow Metaphor) some days back, I was thrilled. It contains three of his poetry collections within a single cover – Tumi Poka Dhanor Dore Gondhaisa, Dhow Khela Loralir Sa and Tari-ri.
The rich use of metaphors in his poetry has been a subject of much critical discussion. For me, his metaphors are as real and tangible as that which they represent. If the feeling or object they represent takes me into the heart of the poet, the metaphor itself transports me into the world Narah must have grown up in. A world which is sometimes essentialised, often idealised, but one which, nonetheless, is a lived experience for the poet. After all, poetry may at times wish to report reality in all its starkness but, ultimately, it has to be filtered through each poet’s unique and distinctive sensibility.
The poetic world that informs Jiban Narah’s creations is the colourful, picturesque Mising life. His metaphors and the magic of his language derive overwhelmingly from the rich culture and variegated habitat of the ethnic community he belongs to. He even attributes the lilt of his poetic expression to the folk music and poetry of his community. But he also claims that he is a bi-lingual poet who believes in multiculturalism. After all, he writes in the Axamiya language, but his poetic consciousness reflects his Mising heritage. As he said in an interview, for him, ‘Axamiya ethnic groups’ refers to the ethnic communities that live in Assam. Herein perhaps lies the scope of looking at Narah’s poetry from a fresh sociological perspective.
My training as a sociologist and before that, as a student of literature, has often prompted me to look at poetry also through an interdisciplinary lens. Whenever I have done that to the creations of those poets from the indigenous communities of Assam who write in the Axamiya language, it has led me to rethink what really constitutes ‘Axamiya’. Would we have a language or culture called ‘Axamiya’ if it had only comprised of all that is Hindu and Sanskritised? How would we have a Bihu so uniquely Axamiya if not for the Bodo Baisagu? Who could have sung Bihu songs if the Mising oinitam had not stirred their souls? Who would have taught us to sway to the Bihu dance if we hadn’t seen the many ethnic dances of Assam?
And the language that has been described as honey-dripping, inspiring the mute to speech? Anil Raichoudhury, in outlining his philosophy of the Axamiya language, has demonstrated how our vocabulary and grammar owes much to the languages of the indigenous communities. The lilt of our language also definitely owes immensely to the euphonious tongues spoken by the ethnic communities. Then there are the poets and writers like Jiban Narah who add to the richness of our language – as well as literature – by embedding in it the folk and lived elements of their indigenous worlds. They constantly modify the idiom of our language and enrich the body and burden of our literature through their works. It is owing to them that we continue to evolve and flourish – as a linguistic community, as a culture and as a people.
My only regret is that hardly any Axamiya-speaking non-indigenous writer has ever written in the language of the ethnic communities. That has proved to be a major impediment in creating a sense of parity between the various groups of people. Despite such an obvious imbalance, writers like Jiban Narah, Samir Tanti, Bhaben Narzy and Rong Bong Terang have contributed to our ethnic unity. Jiban Narah’s poetry therefore appeals not just to the poet in me, but to the quintessential Axamiya consciousness I profess and propagate. His poetry gives me hope that despite all the conflicts we live with, we can still have amity. He, and those like him, have held our community together.



Funny way to find your soulmate : Siddhartha Sarma on Kenny Deori Basumatary




Chocolate_Guitar_Momos
Kenny Deori Basumatary
Tranquebar, 2011
`200, 243 pages
Paperback/Fiction
THERE are writers and then there are writers. Some focus on detail, others on language. And then there are the storytellers, who focus on the plot, colourful characters and dialogues that the reader remembers long afterwards. If a humour writer belongs to this third category, you can bet he will craft a heart-warming tale. Kenny Basumatary is such a storyteller.

I have known Kenny for quite a while, since our college days. One of the first things I noticed when I met him back then was his irrepressible sense of humour and absurdity in the face of the hard stone wall that passes for life. He hasn’t changed since then.

Today he is a multi-faceted person. Former TV news channel anchor, lyricist, composer, guitarist and actor (he stars in the upcoming Shanghai by Dibakar Banerjee), Chocolate_Guitar_Momos is his debut novel.


Joseph is your very friendly neighbourhood fellow trying to make a name as a musician in Guwahati. After a haymaker of a breakup with his girlfriend in Delhi, during which he loses his beloved bike for a song, he decides to take charge. Now, his idea of taking charge is to go looking for a girl who had smiled across the road at a bus stop on Zoo-Narengi Road eight years earlier. Good idea, says the reader, except our poor Joe does not know her name or address. Or even her face. The only thing he does recall is she was wearing a grey skirt.

But our Joe is not one to back down, so, backed by his reluctant sidekick Utpal (who would probably take umbrage if you called him a sidekick) he goes around systematically tracking down all the girls of approximately his age who went to junior colleges in grey skirts then. After one ROFL moment and another, the duo inch their way to the girl.
Reboti Chat House, Pan Bazar

Chocolate_Guitar_Momos contains not just a purely hilarious plot, but also very witty dialogues. To call it within the tradition of Wodehousian dialogues would be a trifle unjust, because they carry Kenny’s unique trademark. But there is a subtle nod to Plum when, in a discussion about likes and dislikes, our Joe discovers that a girl (I won’t tell you if she was the one) is “skilled with words, no matter in which language.” Through Joe, Kenny calls such girls “this increasingly endangered species” and we could not but agree.

And then there is the backdrop. Guwahati and, in a cameo Shillong, are never obtrusive to the plot, but there are enough word pictures for us to agree the plot could never have been set in any other part of the world. Zoo-Narengi Tiniali plays the initial unsuspecting cupid, of course, but there are also the extras, such as Chandmari, Geetanagar and Paltan Bazar police stations, where, as Utpal reminds Joseph, they would land up if they went looking for grey-skirted girls at Vidya Mandir, Maria’s and Faculty, and Swadeshi. A sort of list of places with grey skirt uniforms and also a reminder of the pitfalls.

There is a record-breaking binge by a girl at Momo Ghar, the repeated mentions of Daaju’s lusi-bhaaji which could pass for any of the numerous roadside food stalls in the city and reminded me, at least, of good old Reboti at Naag Kota Pukhuri, the different residential areas like Ambari and Chandmari that flit by as the plot progresses. It is a very clever element of grounding, of rootedness.
Where else would the mention of a traffic snarl involving an MLA’s car and an army truck – the two vehicle breeds which always have the right of way in Guwahati – invoke understanding nods from the characters? Where else would a bunch of student activists, trying to enforce a bandh of some kind, run into a group of ITBP taekwondo champs in civvies? Where else but Shillong would the characters bond even more over momos and iromba?

Alcheringa at IIT Guwahati plays an uncredited role too, in a montage of competing bands, music and hecklers. The inner workings of a band of friends, split by internal hassles, also figure here, something anyone from this neck of the woods would instantly grasp. So does mokkel, that umbrella phrase so beloved of our younger years.

Various Indian writers have made disparate attempts at humour writer, and then there is the new breed of what is called ‘IIT fiction’, about young men and women, sometimes students, about town. Most of it is so shockingly insipid that the faint of heart are well-advised to stay away from the genre. Kenny, as he would be the first to admit, is voluntarily non-IITed and Chocolate_Guitar_Momos is a class apart.

A review a few years ago by a leading national magazine of an English novel by an Assam writer had given it the thumbs down, saying it reinforced stereotypes of “‘chinks’on bikes in search of beer and beef.” A chronicler of Guwahati’s young and somewhat clueless might run into the same pitfall. Kenny, instead, by joining the tradition of those ancient men and women who told stories around tribal campfires thousands of years ago, chooses the simple, geographically rooted and humour-filled way to tell a story. And makes Chocolate_Guitar_Momos a novel to remember fondly.

Land of Jade : Journey Through Uncharted Lands - Subir Bhaumik





Land of Jade
Bertil Linter
Spectrum, 2011
`1100, 440 pages
Hardcover/Non-fiction
An Indian edition of Land of Jade, Bertil Lintner’s classic, was long overdue. The fact that it took such a long time to arrive testifies to the mainland obsession of the Indian publishing industry. It is a mindset where an author can sell a title on Norway more easily than one of Myanmar (Burma), because the average in-the-street Indian reader is often expected to confuse Burma with the great Vermajis of Delhi or Punjab. That only a Guwahati-based publisher, Spectrum, should take the initiative to publish an Indian edition of Land of Jade proves the point that the appeal of Lintner’s epic journey and the book based on it has been largely restricted to the Northeast. It is through this region that Lintner entered Myanmar in 1985 with a wife who had just delivered a baby girl. For the next 18 months, the small family of three traversed this difficult region on foot, donkey, elephant, boat and what have you. Hopping from one rebel base to another, Lintner covered a huge tract where civil war had ravaged the land and dispossessed the people for close to four decades. This was the first real, on-ground insight into one of the world’s longest running civil wars. 


 A journey like this is
rare even for the most
intrepid journalist
– Bertil Lintner
Scattered accounts of this epic journey by Lintner through one of the world’s most merciless jungle-mountain terrains were carried in the Far Eastern Economic Review, of which I was a regular reader since my days as a university student of Southeast Asian studies. These accounts inspired the young journalist in me to do what no Indian journalist had done before – to reach the bases of the Northeast Indian rebel groups in Upper Burma which, until then, had only been accessed by Bertil Lintner.  A year later, and after some difficult negotiations with the National Socialist Council of Nagaland (NSCN), I was on my way to the elusive Oking – the mobile headquarters of the Naga underground based at Challam or Kesar Changlam. This same camp was called Challam Basti by the Assamese fighters of the United Liberation Front of Asom (ULFA). I did not go beyond the NSCN headquarters where I also met ULFA and Manipuri rebel leaders, and my journey led to a cover story in the Calcutta-based Sunday magazine titled “Brothers in Arms”.  Bertil had gone much further. But his accounts of his journey were my inspiration. They led me to seek out why scores of my countrymen, unhappy with India’s grandiose nation-building project, were suffering in the mosquito-ridden jungles of Myanmar to fight a long protracted war against the State. 

The book is a must-read
for those interested in
India’s far frontier zone
– Subir Bhaumik
In recent years, the Indian State seems to have realised that a solution to its Northeastern insurgency problem lies as much in Myanmar or Bangladesh as in the region itself. As Delhi starts pressurising the Myanmarese government to act decisively against the ULFA, the NSCN and the Meitei rebel groups, Bertil Lintner’s Land of Jade emerges as a must-read for all those interested in India’s far frontier zone. It is great journalism because it takes the reader to a zone without motorable roads, where only a bold and courageous reporter can take his audience through the sheer power of limbs and great determination of mind.  

Bertil nearly lost one foot to the leeches near the swamps of Taga. He got caught in fighting at Challam and Kachin. Yet, he lived to tell the tale. The penning of Land of Jade has given us the legend that is Bertil Lintner.  It is by far his greatest book, greater than his other excellent books on Myanmar.