POSTscriptSEVEN SISTERS

3

Professor of History at Assam Cen-tral University, Silchar, Sajal Naghas authored a number of books like Roots of Ethnic Conflict andIndia and North East India. He feelsthat literature from the Northeastwill soon dominate the Indian literary scene

uWhat does literature mean to you?Do you think it has any relevance inour day-to-day lives? According toyou, does it have anything to do withall that is happening around us?tLiterature to me is therepresentation of life, butrepresentation cannot be ordinarydepiction. It has to be such that itattains a higher form and becomes anart. Since literature is about life it hascertainly relevance to everyday life. Itemerges out of life and enrichesculture. It makes civilization. In fact,the government should provide freecopies of some important poetry,fiction and essays to every family forreading. Literature informs, it makesyou aware and makes life meaningful.It makes people strong and sensitive.People must know their daily life, theirtears, their laughter are allmeaningful. These havereverberations somewhere else.Literature is the mirror of what ishappening around us.

uHow close is your relation with literature in general, and with literature of the Northeast in particular?t I am very close to literature. Icannot sleep unless certain books offiction and poetry are beside my bed. Imay not read them all the time, butthe thought that they are there and Ican read them whenever I want makesme comfortable. It makes me sleeppeacefully. For me, literature has no region.

Hence I read anything, be it from theNorth east, from Bengal, or elsewherein the world.

uWhat future do you see forliterature from the Northeast?t I am aware of Assamese vernacularprose and poetry. Assamese poetry, Ithink, has made tremendousheadway. It has moved ahead withsuch force that it is difficult to ignore itanymore. I am sad that some of theprominent young Assamese poets arenot writing anymore. English prose and poetry, I feel,

comes naturally to the people of theNortheast. Suddenly there is a flood ofbooks from the region, each of themfabulous and remarkable. I do notwant to name them, but I think thepoets and novelists from the Northeatare soon going to dominate the Indianliterary scene.

uName one book that had a lastingimpact on you. In what way?t I have just read Temsula Ao’s TheseHills Called Home and EasterineKire’s Mari. These had a tremendousimpact on me as I was working on theSecond World War and the impact ofcounter insurgency operations by thearmy on the Nagas. I feel the officialinformation that I had on them hadcome alive and become moremeaningful with these accounts.

uWhat book would yourecommend for our readers and why? t I would recommend KynphamSing Nongkynrih’s poetry collection.I always have a fascination forpolitical poetry which is very rare anddifficult to write. I think Kynpham’spoetry is extremely political. Mixedwith aesthetics, it makes forwonderful reading.

PAGETURNERSSAJAL NAG

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F E B R U A R Y 0 5 , 2 0 1 2NELit review

NOTED Bengali poet-critic,Joy Goswami, visited Di-brugarh recently and in-teracted with poets in Tin-

sukia, Duliajan and Dibrugarh. Thepoet was overwhelmed to see thathis poems were read and admiredin Upper Assam where he knew noone or had no acquaintance. The dis-covery of his literary friendship withpeople about whom he knew noth-ing greatly inspired him. He waspleasantly surprised to see that inthe poetry reading sessions at Gui-jan, Satyajit Gogoi’s house, Duliajanand Dibrugarh University GuestHouse, the readers were carryingwith them collections of theirfavourite poems.A man reveals himself while talk-

ing about others and Goswami doesexactly that. He has written two vol-umes of poetry criticism titled Gno-saibagan. It started as a Sunday col-umn in a newspaper and the titlecame from a ghost story that hadgained popularity at that time. Justas a ghost is never clearly seen, po-etry is also never fully understood.The same great poem may have sev-eral independent interpretations.Joy Goswami began a series of crit-

ical essays with diffidence becausehe did not have college or universi-ty education. He felt that he did nothave the knowledge or training need-ed for poetry criticism. But the Gno-saibagan volumes have turned outto be very useful essays on literarycriticism. Goswami’s policy of in-clusion and exclusion is a strikingfeature of his essays. He selects apoem or a passage from a poem andmediates between the poet and thereaders as an explicator. This role ofthe critic is very much needed in viewof the ever-increasing volumes ofpoetry. Nobody has time enough toread all those poems and someonehas to make a selection of the verybest for the lovers of poetry.Goswami takes up a poem or a few

passages from poems and revealsthe most striking feature of the poet.This feature is invariably a celebra-tion of life and the world. His per-sonal observations often come closeto theoretical points in literary crit-icism. A keen awareness of humansuffering and a positive assertion ofhuman values have been central tothe essays of Gnosaibagan. The po-ets are of different ages, the poems

depict different situations andevents, and the invariant core of theessays is a keen human concern ofthe critic.As a critic, Joy Goswami is not

guided by names. He concentrateson the poem and not on the statureof the poet. One brilliant exampleis the discussion on Basanti, a poemauthored by young poet ChandranilBhattacharyya, which is pretty long.The comment that precedes thequotation reads: “We may not beused to the thoughts and ideas ofthe new writers. But I can under-stand that the words are utteredfrom the centre or the core of life”.The poem, as Goswami observes,captures the essence of society. Itdeals with the middle class, espe-cially lower-middle-class Bengaligirls. Literary critics in general area bit more rigorous in indulgingyoung writers, but Goswami judgesa work on its merit.In the mid 1970s, the editor of a lit-

tle magazine that published somepoems of Goswami, had asked himto consciously launch a poetic move-ment against the style of Shakti-Sunilthat started in the 1950s. Goswami’sreaction to the proposal – recordedlong afterwards in Gnosaibagan –

addresses serious issues relating toliterary creations. His arguments canbe summed up thus: Shakti and Sunilare not writing in one style. Shaktihimself has written poems that arequite different from one another instyle. He also wonders whether thepoems of Alok Sarkar, Utpal Kumar,Alokranjan Dasgupta, Binoy Mazum-dar, Tarapada, Pronobendu orShankha Ghosh can be put in thesame category – as poems written inthe same style. In this context Goswa-mi raises a fundamental question re-garding the creative urge of a per-son. Why does a person write? Doeshe or she write to get rid of a turmoilor fire burning within or to escapefrom a sense of impotence whilewatching men killing men? The writ-ing may not alter the real situationbut the writer feels relieved of his orher suffering. WH Auden had said,in his poem written in memory ofWB Yeats, that poetry makes noth-ing happen.Joy Goswami knows that those

who launch a new poetic movementmust break with the poetic pre-conceptions of their predecessors.He also raises questions about thefreedom of those poets who maynot share the manifesto of thosewho consciously launch a newmovement. This notion of the free-dom of the writer comes very closeto what George Orwell says aboutthe freedom of a writer in Inside theWhale. Henry Miller’s Tropic of Can-cer did not refer to the big interna-tional events of the time but the nov-el created its own environment. Thenovelist enjoyed full freedom ofstaying comfortably inside thewhale. To quote Orwell, “Thewhale’s belly is simply a womb bigenough for an adult. There you are,in the dark, cushioned space thatexactly fits you, with yards of blub-ber between yourself and reality,able to keep up an attitude of thecomplete indifference, no matterwhat happens”.In discussing a few passages from

Mallika Sengupta and ManibhusanBhattacharyya, Joy Goswami draws

a very significant conclusion: “With-in the commonplaceness of our dai-ly life, it is possible to be blessed byan unusual touch of heavenly hap-piness”. He has assigned to poetrythe task of healing the wounds ofthe suffering hearts. Poetry can verywell be a nurse.While discussing a poem of

Alokranjan Dasgupta, Goswami saysthat poetry often tells us white lies.This is another way of saying thatpoetry need not deal with histori-cal truth. The law of profitability isall that matters. Goswami revealshis own poetic beliefs through acomment on Alokranjan Dasgup-ta’s poetry: “His poetry transformsdistrust and disbelief into trust andbelief”. This is perhaps the task ofall great literature.Joy Goswami is respectful to his

readers and seriously thinks of theproblem of communication withthem. He wonders how he can knowwhat his readers want, and it is justan accident if a poet can expresswhat is on a reader’s mind. Aboutthe actual creative process, he sayssomething very interesting. A spir-it called ‘Karnapishas’ talks to theear of a poet and the poet notesdown what the spirit dictates. Thisidea about the creative process re-sembles the idea of automatic writ-ing that many modern writers talkabout. Joy Goswami approximatespoetry to incantation by talkingabout ‘Karnapishas’. To him, poet-ry cannot be consciously and de-liberately constructed. It comes likea dream. However, regular exercisehas an advantage. If someone sitsregularly to write poetry, the per-son can produce lines generally ac-cepted as poetry. If the person is anestablished poet, the lines get print-ed. Regular practice gives technicalperfection to a poet.In an essay, Goswami says that his

pain as a poet is his inability to findthe exact word for an emotion. It isunjust to call ten different emotionsby one name. It is an insult to themall. This shows how careful JoyGoswami himself is in his search ofverbal equivalents for emotionalstates in him. To solve such a prob-lem of verbal equivalents, poets likeMallarme, Baudelaire and Navakan-ta Barua were assiduous readers ofdictionaries. Goswami may also beone such. �

NOTPeer Ghat, morelike heaven’s banks,”Meher Ali murmuredlooking at the soi

made with jengou paat, “Sincethe meleng will be anchoredthere, I will have to decorate it.”The Longai’s water was still

rising. The sandbank was un-der knee-deep water now. De-spite the discomfort, everybodywas making melengs. Meher Alihad decorated the soiwith dex-terity. Meher called Irshaad andpointing at the soi, asked, “Oi.How does it look?”“Wow! Amazing,” he went in-

side the soi and checked it. Hecame out and said, “Is thekundhi broader compared tolast time?”“It has to be.” Meher said in

a teasing tone, “Will the me-lengial alone go inside the soi?Many dreams will also sail.”Comprehending the implied

meaning of the words, Irshaad laughed.“My work is done! Now you

can set sail in the meleng,”Meher said.“We will sail at such an hour,”

Irshaad said, “so that we reachPeer Ghaat late at night.”“Eh! Don’t boast so much,”

Meher Ali chided, “I have ex-perienced much to reach thisage. Get me some tobacco in a silim.”“There you are!” Irshaad

thought looking at his chacha-jaan’s face, “Chachajaanmakeshim run on such errands tak-ing advantage of his weakness.”The hookah was already inchachajaan’s hand. Hesnatched the silim from thehookah and went inside the soi.No fire burnt in the kundhi’skitchen yet. He took a tikirafrom a container, prepared the silim and attached it to Meher’s hookah.At that moment they heard

Nimai Das’ voice from the edgeof the river bank. He carefullyclimbed down the bank.“So why are you so late?”

Meher said, “I was waiting foryou at the bus-stop.”“I am late because of prob-

lems at home.” Nimai said,“You already know, bhaijaan.We are a joint family. My wifeand sister-in-law are alwaysfighting with each other. Nowmy wife won’t take it anymore.

Now our family has brokeninto two.”“Eh! That is too bad.” Meher

said, “Nimai, there is neverany happiness in a family thatis in debt, in ill health andquarrelling. Sort out the prob-lems with your brother andbring him back home.” After amoment of silence, Meherasked, “When will the melengset sail?”“I have sent the helpers day

before yesterday. They have al-ready built the bamboo pola.Once the melengs are tied, wecan go upstream.” Nimai asked,“Are you leaving right now?”“We were thinking about it.”“All right. Go. We will follow.”

Seeing the swollen river, Nimaisaid, “Pray for us, bhaijaan. Seehow the river is in spate.”Meher looked towards the

river! Huge currents wereforming in the frothing waterof the river that had turned saf-fron from eroding the red soilfrom the mountains. The dam-aged trees were signs of the

devastation caused by lastnight’s storm. Meher smiled. He looked

skywards and said, “The bad-shah of the world exists. If Kr-ishna wishes to save who cankill, if Krishna wishes to killwho can save?”Irshaad rolled with laughter

like an imbecile. Meher lookedat him askance and asked,“What has gotten into you thatyou are laughing like that?”“Krishna’s name on a miya’s

lips”, he kept on laughing.“Bopai o. He who knows only

one religion,” Meher said, “doesnot know any religion.”“You have spoken the

truth, bhaijaan.”

Meher burped all of a sudden.He took out a container fromwhere his lungi was knottedaround his waist and poppeda pinch of soda into his mouth.“Bhaijaan!” A shocked Nimai

looked at Meher’s hands andasked, “Didn’t the three dos-es of medicine work?”“It did.” He said sheepishly,

“But then you asked me toavoid eating two things, no?”“Yes. Bengena and xukan

maas.”“And?” Irshaad added, “And

what about xukan jolokia?”Nimai said, “Iss iss, you made

a big mistake bhaijaan.”Nimai’s eyes had fallen

on the soi on the melengand he observed, “The soilooks different.”“Is it nice?” Seeing the silim

dying out, Meher took a fewquick puffs till it started glow-ing again and extended it to-wards Nimai.“Will you smoke?”Nimai took the silim and

after a couple of puffs said, “The meleng looks like a zamidar’s pansoi.”Meher laughed raucously.

“The flame of gunaah willburn inside the soi.”Irshaad was tying knots in the

meleng. Provoked by what hischachajaan said, he retorted,“Nimai chacha. Our chacha-jaan always keeps talkingabout gunaah. Tell me who

does not have a fault? Only thedead and the babies do not.Are we dead or babies?”“Era! Irshaad has learnt how

to speak!” “Nimai,” Meher said, “I am

talking to you. Why should thislittle boy interrupt the con-versation between two old peo-ple? Insolent boy!”“It’s ok bhaijaan. He is

young.” Nimai said, “I forgotto tell you the main thing. It’smy daughter’s wedding. The17th day of ahin.”“That is very good news.”

Meher said. “Where are youmarrying her off?”Nimai said sadly, “What do I

say, bhaijaan. Foreign land, in Jagiroad.”“Jagiroad! Are you still a frog

in the well?” Meher Ali saidlaughing, “Are we not peopleof Axom?”“We are.”“Then how can Jagiroad be

foreign land?”“Meher bhai, do you know

why I called it foreign land?”“Why?”“Isn’t the language different

there?”“It’s different, yet the same.”

Meher said, “When we say‘kita’, ‘kita’, do you think it isBangla? It’s a branch of Ax-omiya. The tree has grownstrong with all these branch-es. We are Axomiya becausewe are all part of this tree.”“I did not understand you.”“You did not understand?”

Meher closed his eyes for sometime and searched in his mind.Finding his expression, he saidsuddenly, “From Sadia toBaxirhaat, Jonai-Darranga toour own Hailakandi, the sameAxom has many different di-alects. Does that mean that thepeople from one place will callanother place a foreign land?”“Ok, I undertand.” Nimai

said, “That means the girl willnot go far from home.”“What does the boy do?”“He is a trader in xukaan

maas.”“That is good. She will live

happily.” Meher said, “Inviteme, alright?”“Why won’t I, bhaijaan?” Ni-

mai bid farewell and wadednoisily through the water to-wards his melengs.Meanwhile, Irshaad split the

two ends of the logi and thenflattened them a bit, so that itwould be easier to row throughthe water in the middle of the river.Meher looked at the melengs

one last time and set sail. Themelengs floated away with thecurrent of the water. �

Poetry tells white lies: Joy Goswami

MELENGBasanta DasAnGik Prakashan, 2005`50, 148 pagesHardcover/ Novel

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TO him, poetry cannot be consciously anddeliberately constructed.It comes like a dream

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Ananda Bormudoi explores the many facets of Joy Goswami, the poetwho turned critic with Gnosaibagan

OTHERWORDS

iNKPOTMELENGPp: 79-82

Translator- Gitanjali Das

LIFE ON THE LONGAI

Illustration: Amrith Basumatary