LAFFAIR literary

POST script 3
NOVEMBER 20, 2011

SEVEN SISTERS

iNKPOT
EXTRACT
Ch 9, pp 205-212

NON- STOP INDIA

Mark Tully Allen Lane/Penguin, 2011 `499, 257 pages Hardcover/Non-Fiction

HE day after the inauguration of the Buddhist Pagoda we set off for Mamangs home town of Pasighat, travelling along the beginnings of a new WestEast Highway that was being constructed to run across Arunachal. Much of the rough track had been cut through thick forest, and the charred earth and foliage along it showed that the roadbuilders had resorted to slash and burn to force their way through. Wild banana plantains, gigantic bamboos and dense undergrowth were already beginning to reclaim the road. Orchids and creepers embraced trees forty metres high. The SUV slithered and slid along the mud track, made precarious by recent rain. It was tempting to stop and examine the jungle more closely, but the dark clouds were getting lower and Mamang was anxious that we at least reached the halfway point in our journey before the rain came. The car didnt have four-wheel drive, there was no mobile phone connectivity, and there would be no one in this remote area to help us if we got stuck. So I sat back and enjoyed the wind whipping through the windows, and the intense green of the forest. I wondered how long it could survive. The Indian government has drawn up ambitious plans for a network of roads to make Arunachals border with China easier to defend. Then there are the roads being built to construct hundreds of dams to generate power. Roads in India, on the whole, spell disaster for forests. They open the way for corrupt contractors in collusion with corrupt officials to reap a rich harvest of timber. I remembered one Chief Minister of the Western Himalayan state of Himachal Pradesh who was known by the sobriquet of Lakri ChorWood Thief . Roads also encourage settlements, with the new residents using local timber to build their homes and fuel their fires. And yet, I told myself, without roads people say there can be no development. One answer to this dilemma is to combine community participation with law enforcement by the government that will prevent roads causing the destruction of forests. The Arunachal Pradesh government has started a movement called Apna Van, which means Your Forest, to encourage communities to protect the forests around them. But if the example of the rest of India is anything to go by, there will also need to be effective law enforcement as villagers on

Rape of the Virgin Land

Subhamoy Bhattacharjee

RRRRRRT G

It was quite clear that mafias were at work and that no effort was being made to check them. Pristine Arunachal Pradesh was being raped
their own cannot be a match for the timber mafia, as they are known. For part of our journey there was no visible road, not even a track that I could see. We bumped along the dry beds of rivers that only filled with water during the monsoon. When I asked the driver whether this really was a road, he said, Oh yes. Its national highway number fifty-two. In the riverbeds I saw activity that didnt give me much room for optimism about the law enforcement machinery in Arunachal Pradesh. Truck after truck was filling up with stones. In some places the riverbed had already been denuded. There were no stones, just grit and mud. It was quite clear that one or perhaps several stone mafias were at work and that no effort was being made to check them. The pristine Arunachal Pradesh was being raped. By the time we reached the halfway point of Roing, one of the longest established settlements in Arunachal, what Mamang feared had come to pass. It was now raining torrents and we got drenched just trying to get from the car to the dining room of the rest house where we stopped for lunch. As we sat making polite conversation with an official from the Idu tribe about his home deep in the Mishmi Hills beyond Roing, a long lost

brother of Mamang appeared. How wonderful to see you. I totally forgot you were here or I would have told you we were coming, she greeted him. For all her convent education and sophistication, tribal traditions remain very important to Mamang. She is a member of the Pasi clan of the Adi tribe and we found that wherever we went we ran into people she introduced as brothers and sisters who turned out to be more distant relatives known as clan brothers and sisters. This gentleman was one of them. He and Mamang went into detailed discussions about the journey. His brow furrowed and he was clearly worried by our plans. I will get my vehicle, he told Mamang. Better to have two, and I dont think I could relax if I didnt know for sure you had arrived. This rain will make it very difficult. After lunch, he climbed into the front seat of our SUV beside the young driver, who we now discovered was new to his job and had never attempted a journey remotely on this scale, and began to give him encouragement and advice. His own Jeep followed behind as we set off down a straight but more or less underwater track through ramrod straight trees. With his guidance we managed to reach the banks of one

of the perennial rivers of Arunachal, the Dibang, down whose valley the Chinese had advanced in their 1962 invasion. There was a small queue of cars standing on the bank in the cold wind waiting for the ferry. Dark clouds glowered over the hills upstream where it was obviously raining hard. The river seemed to swell as we watched. I was alarmed to see that the ferry carrying two cars consisted of a pair of traditional wooden boats lashed together to form a makeshift catamaran that required constant bailing to keep it afloat. It was being propelled by six men with bamboo poles. I couldnt see how the crew would control their vessel and prevent it being swept away downstream. But no. Just before the ferry reached midstream, where the river was flowing very rapidly, the crew hurriedly exchanged their poles for oars, rowed for all they were worth and managed to edge the ferry into the far bank. Then they struggled to tow it up to the landing point, which was just two planks. When it came to our turn I noticed with trepidation that all three waiting cars were being loaded, not just two. The crew obviously doubted whether the rising river would make it possible for them to make any more crossings and they didnt want to leave anyone stranded. We all decided we felt safer outside rather than inside the SUV, so we stood in the rain. Approaching midstream I looked down anxiously at the dark foaming water I could see through the gaps in the planks beneath my feet. The ferry started to roll and veer round in the current but once again the crews drill was immaculate. They were at the oars in no time, rowed feverishly, controlled the ferry, and brought it safely to the other bank. The only casualty was one passengers hat that flew into the river. Even that a crew member rescued by fishing it out with his punting pole. Once away from the river we were back in the jungle, with the car skidding along the uneven muddy track until we reached the hills that Mamang said were the prettiest section of our journey. Although she was anxious to get as near as possible to Pasighat before dark, we stopped to look down on the thatched houses-on-stilts of an Adi village still famous for taking up arms against the might of the British Raj. Soon we were in complete darkness pierced only by our headlights. Eventually we made out the scattered lights of Pasighat ahead of us and crossed a new concrete bridge over the Siang river, as the Brahmaputra is called in its upper reaches. The Pasighat bridge is one obvious sign of the development of infrastructure now beginning in Arunachal. But past lack of development isnt the only reason that Arunachal Pradesh has conserved more of its natural richness than other parts of India. The state is more sparsely populated than any other in India. The density of population in Arunachal, when the 2001 census was conducted, was thirteen inhabitants to every square kilometre. In neighbouring Assam the figure was three hundred and forty people per square kilometre. T

PAGE

TURNERS
M S PRABHAKARA RECOMMENDS

Rituraj Konwar

Writer and journalist, M S Prabhakara, started his career as a teacher of English literature before turning to journalism. He is one of the most incisive observers of contemporary history today. Literature, he tells Uddipana Goswami, is what liberates us.
u What does literature mean to you? Do you think it has any relevance in our day-to-day lives? According to you, does it have anything to do with all that is happening around us? t Yes, literature certainly has all the relevance in our day-to-day lives. It means everything to me. So long as you are alive, you use words, and literature is the most sophisticated way of using words. It enriches and liberates us every time. It gives us relief in crisis and joy in life.

BOOK ABLE
Announcement: International Conference Narrativizing the Margins: Northeast India and Beyond
Organizer: Department of English, Assam University: Diphu Campus Place: Department of English, Assam University: Diphu Campus Date: 4 - 6 January 2012 Contact: Co-ordinator +919207055919, +919859985809, +919435540414, +918876909239 Email: narrativizingmargins@gmail.com , sivasishbiswas@gmail.com Website: www.audcenglish.blogspot.com Deadline for registration: 30 November 2011

ipen

The forgotten language

You and I have a different lexicon of our own Those who can understand our language Are not many these days From time to time, like a feather touch The words that play Amidst the pauses in our conversation In your eyes, in my shyness In the letters that I wrote And could not send And the communication Which could not connect you to me Those words of our symbolic language Which are trapped Their implication and their intent Have survived nevertheless, Flowing through many centuries In the boundless oceans, through unfamiliar wastelands Hidden in the parchments of our furtive affair Are like intermittent memories of those times You alone can remember The remote paradise of our rendezvous And you alone can instinctively know When my heart is about to break And all I desire is To become The memory of our ethereal love Those words Which, once upon a time Had reverberated In the depths of a civilization Long gone There, our lost words Stand as sentinels of those intense moments. One day you will be shorn of your gift To read that classified lexicon of our intimacy The lexicon so special to us That day you will cease to understand My beloved The secret curse of loneliness Might burn you for eons And will bow your imperial pride In the dust of the royal road, Will lie your imperial staff, powerless Recall, Recall, my beloved! Recall our forgotten language And reverse the 'descent' of our union!

u What future do you see for literature from the Northeast? t Northeastern literature has a bright future. The only problem I foresee is the limited readership. For instance, the percentage of people reading literature in English is limited. How many people do you think even know English? Then there is also the problem of readership for the writings in the diverse languages of the region. Despite these pitfalls however, the literature coming out of the region has a fine sensibility. I believe it can compare with any other literature of the world.

u How close is your relation with literature in general, and with literature of the Northeast in particular? t I have a very close relationship with literature. In fact, I used to be a teacher of literature for many years. I enjoy reading old literature, especially old books. Shakespeare, Jonathan Swift, Eric Ambler, Dashiell Hammett are some of my long time favorites. I can never tire of reading Vladimir Nabokovs Pale Fire. Among the Northeastern writers, I enjoyed reading Jahnavi Baruas Rebirth, Dhruba Hazarikas A Bow String Winter, Mitra Phukans A Monson of Music. I also like the works of Temsula Ao and Easterine Iralu. However, I am not quite up to date with the latest trends and publications. I live in Karnataka now and the distance affects my knowledge.

u Name one book that had a lasting impact on you. In what way? t Shakespeare has always been my favourite. His language, diction, sensibility, everything is excellent and I never get bored of reading his works. Troilus and Cressida is a play I return to over and over again. I love the play of emotions in it. u What book would you recommend for our readers and why? t There are hundreds and thousands of books in the world which beg to be read. I cannot just recommend one particular book. But I do want that people should keep alive their habit of reading books.

Invitation: Release of report on IDPs in Northeast India

Place: Chatham House, London Participants: Jacob Rothing, Head of Department (Asia, Europe, Caucasus and Middle East), Internal Displacement Monitoring Centre, Norwegian Refugee Council, Geneva (IDMC/NRC), AnneKathrin Glatz, Country Analyst, IDMC/NRC, Gareth Price, Senior Research Fellow, Asia Programme, Chatham House Programme: Presentation of findings of new IDMC/NRC report on inter-ethnic violence and internal displacement in Northeast India Date: 28 November 2011 Contact: +44 (0)20 7957 5700 Email: asia@chathamhouse.org

A Northeasterner in Bangalore
Ching chong choo Thats his name maam. The students laugh not at odds. The teacher writes his name, The real one, in the register. She is afraid she will spell it wrong Or that their relaxed laughter has split something In someones heart. The boy jokes, maybe aware That identity can provide humour That differences strengthen character, Chisel edges, sharpen dreams, Create resolve. And yet, He thinks, she spelt my name wrong, And yet when I am late, they see me tread From another land with a great wall And I am wronged everyday. Then humour is ugliness disguised, Then laughter is the sound of disgust.

I cannot say
The battle-field, The dense forests, The Bay of Bengal, the Brahmaputra. I had asked everywhere What is the rule for breaking a rule? Can the nuptial bed be spread out A sacred 'Janemaz' (prayer mat)? Does not irresponsible love-making Pretend to be crucified? Before a ruined shrine We were kneeling together one morning And had chanted together The thousand names of God; On the golden wings of the morning bird The weak bough of the Seuli tree shook And on my face it left the last of the dew drops Suddenly, like an intoxicated storm His kiss came Unexpectedly. He said, this muchWhat is so beautiful, and so faultless Why should it die from poison? He adorned me With the bondage of modesty He spoke eloquently of love, endlessly But I cannot utter A single word

TUG-OF-WORD
I Khasi poet U Soso Tham wants which of the following people outlawed in towns and cities? A. Foreign going Khasis B. Insurgent Khasis C. Non-Khasi outsiders I Which of these books tells the story of a girl from the Northeast who goes to Delhi, magnetized by the love of a married man, and opens a guest house for couples and loners to earn a living? A. Under a Cloud B. The Hotel at the End of the World C. Stupid Cupid I Which of these poets translated Albert Camus' play The Plague from French to Assamese?? A. Ajit Barua B. Hem Barua C. Nilamani Phukan

CFP: International Conference ASA12

Organiser: Association of Social Anthropologists of the UK and Commonwealth Panel theme: Weddings, arts and aesthetics in a globalising world Venue: Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi Date: 3-6 April 2012 What to submit: Abstracts Deadline: 7 December 2011 Contact: Prof Tiplut Nongbri tiplutnongbri81@hotmail.com

NEELIMA VINOD
BANGALORE

Ans 1.A

2. C

3. A

We invite readers to contribute creative fiction, non-fiction and poetry pieces for this section. Submissions should be sent to northeastliterature@gmail.com

MONA LISA JENA

KHURDA