Instyle, in Bengaluru
WUnlike poets of other languages, Indian poets working in English are in the unenviable situation of sharing a language but little else. Consequently, our concerns, memories, influences and even the use of English vary considerably, even wildly
hen it was finally my turn to read a few of my poems at the Bengaluru Poetry Festival last weekend, I was pleasantly surprised to find the venue at the hotel, The Leela Palace, still full of people. It was nearly 5 pm on a Sunday evening. The large audience — a rarity by any measure — was satisfying, but also a bit unnerving. Perhaps, they had lingered after the exciting session of Usha Uthup before us. Perhaps they were waiting for Vishal Bharadwaj’s session, scheduled for later in the evening. In any case, there was enthusiastic clapping after every poem was read by the four poets on the panel. Perhaps they were here to listen to us after all.
A festival such as this provides a rare opportunity for English poets from different parts of the country to meet. Unlike poets of other languages, Indian poets working in English are in the unenviable situation of sharing a language but little else. Consequently, our concerns, memories, influences and even the use of English vary considerably, even wildly.
In an interview I conducted, along with Medha Singh, with senior poet Jayanta Mahapatra — another guest at the Bengaluru Poetry Festival — earlier this year, he said, “I’m an Odia-English poet; you are a Bengali-English poet. The landscapes of our poetry are different from each other.” Even though some of us live in the same places — usually the metropolises where job and publication opportunities are more easily available — we hardly meet each other. We are usually acquainted with each other through our writing or on social media. A festival like this, and I don’t know of any other that brings together so many English-language poets, provides us with the space to meet the persons behind the poems we have admired. Some of the younger poets at the festival were Manjiri Indurkar, author of the acclaimed chapbook Dental Health is Very Important; Urvashi Bahuguna, winner of the The (Great) Indian Poetry Collective Emerging Poets Prize, 2017 and author of her soon to be published debut collection, Mudscope; Sohini Basak, whose debut collection, we live in the newness of small difference; Rahul Soni, wellknown translator; Michael Creighton, writer of New Delhi Love Songs; novelist Nandita Bose, whose debut book Dewed was released at the festival; Biswamit Dwibedy, author of Ancient Guest; Rohinton Daruwala, writer of The Sand Libraries of Timbuktu; and Anupama Raju, poet and translator, and author of Nine.
There was also quite a celebrity presence at the festival. Shabana Azmi spoke about her father, Kaifi Azmi, on the first day of the festival (August 4). Uthup and Bharadwaj had the audience eating out of their hands. Did you know that Bharadwaj, the director of Maqbool, Omkara, and Haider, wrote poetry? He was promoting his new book, Nude, which has been published with the blessings of his mentor, Gulzar. The presence of film personalities is not a rarity, of course. They also help bring in the crowds, which thin once their sessions are over. But many linger on, to listen to the not-yetfamous poets and writers, whose sessions might be devoid of an audience otherwise.
The festival also had a very important session featuring three publishers of English poetry in India — Ananda Lal of Writers Workshop, Dibyajyoti Sarma of Red River (full disclosure: my publisher) and Buchung Sonam, publisher of Tibetan English poetry. Both Sarma and Sonam are also acclaimed poets in their own right. The conventional wisdom of most mainstream publishers is that poetry does not sell, so new poets need such independent or small presses to provide them with an opportunity to put their books out in the world. The publishers discussed the challenges they faced, such as distribution and promotion of the books they publish.
Before the festival began, there was some chatter, especially by some well-known selfproclaimed liberal online trolls, about the ethics of hosting a poetry festival at a five-star venue. One may keep arguing about it till the cows come home, but to argue that only the poetry performed on the streets is of any value is surely out of fashion now — and also without much merit. The romanticising of poverty by some entitled folks is at least as problematic. Poverty is a privilege, sure, but one that we do not have the privilege of discarding.
The writer’s book of poems, Visceral Metropolis, was published last year, and his novel, Ritual, is forthcoming next year