APPETITE FOR ARTS IN THE TIME OF TURMOIL

"In Italy, for thirty years they had warfare, terror, murder, bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonard da Vinci and the Renaissance. In Switzerland they had brotherly love, they had some 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did they produce? The cuckoo clock!" - Harry Lime played by Orson Welles in the film The Third Man.

It was during one of those emotive and highly tensed months this year. The news of children allegedly kidnapped by militant outfits for using them in armed conflict gripped the attention of people not only in Manipur but also the international community. While everyone was concerned about what was happening to Manipur and a sense of despair hung like a gigantic cobweb over our heads, I got a call from one of my friends, an alumnus of the National School of Drama, New Delhi. She asked me when I would be able to come and be part of a continuing workshop she was organising on the theatrical form and content of Manipuri Gostha and Goura Lila in July.

Some months back, I had requested her to invite me for the workshop and the final production. She did not forget my request and here I was trying to dish out an alibi for not making it to the workshop. Besides the telephonic invitation, she also told me about innumerable hardship she had to endure for mounting theatre productions in rural areas, how she would drop young members of her repertory home late in the night after rehearsals and how she encountered inquisitive patrolling armed security forces on her way back home. Deep within, I longed to be part of the experience and recover childhood memories of attending numerous Shumang Lilas, Ras Lilas and intermittent Goura Lila performances. Days passed by and I kept asking myself, what is that makes an average Manipuri so passionate about their performing arts, literature and sports.

I recall a senior colleague of mine telling me that he was once asked by a top Delhi based political psychologist and cultural theorist a similar question. Just as my senior colleague was sharing his views, the political psychologist interrupted and said that in a civilisation order, it is quite common to have a genius every one or two generation, but Manipur has two geniuses in one generation. He was primarily referring to Ratan Thiyam and Heisnam Kanhailal and their brilliant approaches to Experimental Theatre. Having seen and scrutinised the two great theatre personalities' work and leaving little space for conjecture, this cultural theorist concluded that this phenomenon can only occur in a social set-up that has experienced a high, dynamic yet stable and complex civilisational arrangement.

When we talk of a stable and complex civilisational order, it is easier for us to mentally construct a socio-political structure which was/is conducive to the birth of creative ideas that reflected the same. This does not mean that the best of art productions are incubated and hatched only in times of political peace and stability. For the last few decades, political analysts have rather been intimidated if not intrigued by Manipur's socio-political fate. The everydayness of violence and bloodshed has left its indentation on the individual mind and soul. But this has not been able to stop us from executing our creative endeavour.

The quote in the beginning of this write-up is from the lines spoken by the character Harry Lime ably enacted by Orson Welles in the film The Third Man. Welles interpolated these lines into the screenplay originally crafted by Graham Greene in 1949. These lines from the film was effectively used by Roy Shaw, a former British Secretary-General of the Arts Council in his book The Arts and the People (1987) while sharing his thoughts on democracy and excellence in arts. In the same book Shaw argues that the glories of the Renaissance were "produced not because of, but in spite of" bloodshed, social and political turmoil. He goes on to put forth his view that art can flourish and made widely accessible to people in a working modern democracy supported by institutions. Taking the example of Britain, Shaw also argues that there are state policies which threaten the quality of our "cultural life" I do not think any perspicacious citizen would disagree with Shaw's contention notwithstanding his another believe that there are aspects to intellectual climate, quite distinct from "state policies" that may be hostile to producing excellence in arts and culture.

Now, how do we make sense of the passion and appetite for arts in Manipur? Is there any other way of understanding the phenomenon? Do our great writers, playwrights, directors, theatre personalities and dancers possess common latent elements which are capable of leading into the production of a distinctive unified artistic civilization? Taking a cursory look at the qualitative contents of works of performing arts in Manipur, I would choose to contend with the perspective that most literary and cultural products are churned out of the lived-world experience of the people. Moreover, there definitely is a latent connection that links the works of our great theatre personalities like the late G C Tongbra, Ratan Thiyam and Heisnam Kanhailal whose seminal works I am familiar with. Whether or not, the great creative minds have survived due to the benign patronage of the central or state governments, is a question that needs to be analysed and answered.

However, one has to understand that it is not just the quintessential spirit of the individual which is manifest in their works but also the fount of all their creative expressions which is deeply rooted in the same social, economic and political conditions in a given locale. In an amorphous socio-political structure, can their sensibilities outgrow the decadent politics so widely prevalent? Well, beyond the functional role of artistic compendia or creative cultural products, we are still trying to find an answer. In a peaceful stable modern democratic set up, the state may aid in the production of art works and fulfil the appetite for creative individuals. Nevertheless, this contention does not erase the historicity of hundreds of other artistes who possess the appetite for arts and also draw their sustenance from popular support least caring whether or not they have institutional support. And also like Bertrand Russell, it is all the more better if one argues that a stable social system is necessary but every social system devised had at some point of time impeded the growth of "exceptional artistic or intellectual merit".

Published in HUEIYEN LANPAO, English Daily, Dated 21 September, 2008, Page 4.

COURSING THROUGH RIVERSIDE TALES**

Review of Parismita Singh’s comic book ‘The Adventures of Tejimola and Sati Beula”

Published by Parismita Singh, Guwahati, February, 2008, 32 pp.
Price Not Mentioned

There are numerous ways of telling stories with sophisticated use of imagery, text, sound and consistent application of space and time. When one wants to re-tell or give a modern spin to memorable stories, he or she is often caught in a peculiar predicament – of choosing the best available medium to communicate. The massive strides that have taken place in the development of communication media over the years have thrown up immense possibilities of adding visual adjectives to enhance the power of the oral or the textual churned out everyday by the ‘visual society’. And now comic books/graphic novels have become a searing medium not so ‘new’ yet ‘new’ for all kinds of stories that have images and words to tell everything from folktales to epics and from intricate personal stories to narratives of the modern day folks. It is indeed a form that is as limitless as anyone’s fantasy.

When I procured a personal copy of the comic book by Parismita Singh, numerous thoughts crossed my minds. I was told that the story is based on some of the most popular folktales from Assam. Despite the quick verbal introductions given to me by colleagues, I expected much variegated twirls. And for a ‘re-initiated’ comic book enthusiast like me, the little book ‘The Adventure of Tejimola and Sati Beula’ (TATSB) was indeed a gratifying read because of at least four reasons. First, I happened to chance read and saw some of Parismita Singh’s works. One called ‘Like Cleopatra’ and the other an extract from ‘The Floating Island’ one of the five stories in her forthcoming graphic novel tentatively titled ‘The Hotel at the End of the World” by Penguin Books India, New Delhi . And I was expecting a similar kind of work – the sequentiality of distinct yet simple visual narrative that has a beginning and a climax. And TATSB was different. Second, I reaffirmed my conviction about the power of visuals and their limitless possibilities. Third, comic books made for minors or adults can indeed be work of valued literature. Fourth, the possibility of independent comic book production by the comic book artists or the graphic novelists themselves despite financial insecurities of being a comic book artist or a graphic novelist. By the way, TATSB was developed as part of an international artists residency organized by Desire Machine Collective at Khoj, Guwahati and published by the artist herself.

There is however a condition set, not imposed, for a nuanced reading of TATSB . Parismita Singh says anyone who wants to probe the depth of this comic book has to go through the two extra unattached pages that accompany the work. And unlike the introduction or preview to the forthcoming ‘The Hotel at the End of the World’ , this work is not strictly confined to the loosely defined features of current graphic novels. Whether anyone calls it a comic book or a graphic novel, the work is indeed tinged and nuanced. Unlike the great upsurge in children’s comic book production in India in the mid 1970s and 1980s and their ‘unintended’ functional role of substituting grand-parents from their roles as storytellers in urban nuclear families, this comic book is an adult read not by virtue of its explicitness but implicit social and political subtexts. The genre of this work is more akin to literary fiction and not definitely kitsch.

Distinct from Singh’s earlier work ‘Like Cleopatra’, the story of ‘frequent yet hidden’ campus narrative of the youth, TATSB disengages itself from the ‘familiar terrain’. It is a modern spin on the encounter between two Assamese female folktale characters Tejimola and Sati Beula interspersed with significant incidents before Parismita Singh conceptualized the plots. The original Tejimola’s is a tragic tale of how she was murdered by her wicked (step)-mother in the absence of her father. There are variations of the same folktale in other parts of the Northeast as well. Tejimola was ground up in a large wooden mortar using a heavy wooden pestle. Her remains turned into gourd tree when thrown out into the backyard and when the mother realized this, she cut down the plant. It only grew up as the lemon tree. The mother uprooted the lemon tree and threw it into the river but it sprouted into a lotus flower/water lily and later transformed into a sparrow. When her father realized that the bird was her daughter, it finally transformed back into Tejimola. Sati Beula was a widow who set sail down river Brahmaputra with the dead body of her husband. While on sail, she saw a washerwoman on the river bank who takes her own child’s life because it was troubling her and brought it back to life once her work was over. Beula reposed faith in the washerwoman’s power and hoped to bring back her husband back from the dead. It is no surprise that these definitely were not the tales Parismita Singh set out to tell in her comic book.

The comic book begins from where Sati Beula saw the antics of the washerwoman. A mourning Sati Beula finds no luck as she was told that there had been three people killed in an ‘internal’ military operation but the security forces could not establish the identities of the deceased. She loses hope of bringing her husband back to life. And somewhere over the swelling Brahmaputra, a person on a boat sees Tejimola become the prey to a huge crow flying over towards the bank where many other crows were feasting over the garbage dumped down by the very very important unscrupulous residents of the river bank. The crow carrying Tejimola stops mid-air when a group of video artists and photographers asked “Are you from North Guwahati?”, “Are you from Bangladesh?”, “Do you like your mother?”, “Where does this river come from?” When the crow opens its beak and bends its tongue to speak, Tejimola’s body hurls down towards the river. Then, an armed man shoots down Tejimola saying “First Air, now river terrorists, must be Deccan .” Tejimola falls right onto a shipyard where workmen were busy constructing, repairing inland water ships and recycling metal scraps. As Tejimola lands there, she is pounded by the hammers of the workers along with the metals. She now turns to sparks of oil and fire, flying out of the shipyard that fall into the river. The sparks finally settle inside a floating empty packet of chips. Now enters someone who recognizes that these sparks were Tejimola’s battered soul and limbs. Unlike the folktale, it is her mother not father, who recognizes Tejimola while standing on the river bank. She instructs Sati Beula, still sailing at a distance with her dead husband, to pick up the floating chips packet.

Make no mistake! The comic book narrative was not as simple as mentioned above. With liberal splash of contemporary issues that have besieged Assam and multi layered symbolic insertions of the same to familiar folktales, the ingenuity of Parismita Singh lies not only on her ability to sketch but also a seemingly effortless yet sophisticated empathy to these very issues. Once the reader auto-establishes the context, it might seem easier to guess the intention of the work’s creator. This very intent gives her the leverage to even say more in between the texts and the images. Yes, empty spaces do tell stories too in most creative visual arts. Attempting to make a scrutiny of the visual and textual metaphors in TATSB is fraud with the dangers of unraveling an unintended scathing indictment of the state’s response to the turmoil in Assam. Yet, one can still point fingers to the directness of what certain symbols represent in the creator’s mindscape. Take for instance, the mourning Sati Beula, taking her husband’s dead body searching for a secret to revive her husband is, on the one hand, an unmistakable representation of wailing widows whose husbands, sons and fathers and brothers are killed in the state versus non-state political violence. The ever sad and miserable Tejimola, on the other hand, is the metaphor for the unceasing hopes of the common people in Assam. Make any attempt to annihilate her, she will find a way out to sprout back to life and continue living. The sequence of the video artists and the photographers questioning the crow brings out restrained manifestations of identity politics. Mark the texts that include words like ‘North Guwahati’, ‘Bangaldesh’, ‘mother’ and ‘river’. What do they signify? It would be of not much an uphill task for a reader to immediately associate the crow and the crows as the metaphorical ‘signifiers’ of the transnational/cross border migrant population or the political parasites that feed on the produce and the leftovers of the circumscribed natives. Or is one reading too much over just a comic book?

In between the texts and images of the comic book lie numerous real and imaginary human activities along the river Brahmaputra. Just like the river, the narrative of TATSB has its own course. What is apparently disjointed is connected by the very rationale of finding a destination beyond the borders. While acknowledging the contemporary norms of critiquing that a work can be interpreted in multiple ways, Parismita Singh’s 32 page (including cover), TATSB owes its strength only to her dexterous handling of the theme and the unity of her presentation. One will not be disappointed to see multi-hued twists and turns in the multilineal black and white dots and lines and follow Sati Beula and Tejimola’s adventures as they explore the river and the riverside world. Keep sailing Sati Beula and take care of the immortal Tejimola inside the empty chips packet!

**Khorjei Laang wrote a similar review for Biblio: A Review of Books, May-June 2008 Issue
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WHAT'S 'FOOD' GOT TO DO WITH IT? OF DELICACY, POLITICS AND IDENTITY

This is a story I have read and been told more than once by friends from the Northeast bracketed within the so called ‘politically informed’. When the Simon Commission headed by John Simon was assessing the political situation in 1929 in the wake of intensified ‘freedom struggle’ by the people of the Indian sub-continent, the Naga leadership too submitted a memorandum to the commission. The memorandum, besides giving the raison d'être for an “independist” aspiration of the Nagas also had this to say, “(we are)…quite different from those of the plains… and had no social affinities with the Hindus or Muslims…we are looked upon by one for our beef and the other for our pork.” And over seven decades later, and in July 2007, it was the Delhi Police which inadvertently made an attempt to revive the memories of the memorandum to the Simon Commission albeit in a different context. In a booklet titled Security Tips for North East Students, the Delhi Police put a stricture on the food habits of students from the Northeast. Sample the wordings of the so called codes: “bamboo shoot, Akhuni and other smelly dishes should be prepared without creating ruckus in neighbourhood”.

From the doubt of being ‘disliked’ or ‘differentiated’ by the mainstream Indian Hindus and Muslims over Nagas eating ‘beef’ and ‘pork’ in the 1920s, the focus was shifted to the Delhi Police instructing the entire student community from the Northeast residing in the capital city to virtually refrain from the delicacies they love. Bamboo-shoots find special place in most cuisines of the Northeastern states while Akhuni is a mouth-watering Naga delicacy made from fermented soya beans. And honestly, these two are some of my favourites too. Before we embark on what has ‘food’ got to do with identity, let me also bring in one more experience or story that was written by a very senior journalist some years back on a reputed newspaper published from New Delhi. The abridged story goes like this. The journalist and a photographer went to Nagaland on an assignment during the height of armed insurrection circa 1974. The journalist admitted that the two were carrying too much “mental baggage” like that the Nagas were “naked” and they ate “dog meat”. But as the two went even to the interiors they saw no “naked” Nagas or were NOT offered “dog meat” to eat. Instead they had to eat their own words which were “burdened with preconceptions and prejudices”. He said the Nagas were not “hostiles” as claimed by many outsiders. The journalist even wrote that even the so called “Underground” members were far from being hostile. What they encountered in the villages was warm hospitality. The village chiefs would ceremoniously offer them delicious rice beer and “Chunks of pork fat”. But the most interesting was yet to come. While in Mokokchung, the sub-divisional officer offered him an “elephant trunk” delicacy! He tried the “elephant” dish too and all along, the journalist seemed to have enjoyed his “professional” sojourn far from the suffocating metro milieu.

The stories mentioned above are not available accounts recorded by anthropologists and social scientists in the course of their research. What was interesting to me was how these stories are related to ‘food habits’ of the people of the Northeast. One is not required to be a trained social scientist to be able to grasp these stories and read the “subtext”. Though these narratives are obvious research materials to a discerning scholar, each one of these stories will be meaningful to one and all in more than a singular sense. For the time being, let us forget the plethora of “hard boiled” political news, analysis and academic books. The first story on the Naga leadership’s representation to the Simon Commission is not only a story about “beef” and “pork”. It a story about how most of us from various ethnic backgrounds construct the primordial “WE” to make the first point entry to the idea and praxis of a ‘modern nation state’. A conscious recognition of WHAT we eat and DRINK is one way of exhibiting the collective identity. Some political theorists and activists have even recognized and eulogized this form of “social construct” as one of the many valid “qualifiers” of a community or a nation – however modern or primitive depending on the way one defines them. And what does it mean for us? It means that the subjective “taste and delicacy” acquired over centuries of interacting with the natural environment in some ways also define and construct “our collective SELF” just as we construct the idea of what constitute “food” in our own setting.

In the process of defining “our collective SELF”, we will keep encountering groups in the guise of people representing a supposedly modern institution like the “police”. And since when have “police” donned the role of advising people what to eat and what not to eat? That too based on the “much overrated notion” that smelly Northeast food stuff like Akhuni “creating ruckus in neighbourhood”. Here, what looks like an interference in one’s choice can be read as a way of “controlling” how we define ourselves in spaces on this earth we do not own (read inhabit). The Delhi Police advisory was a perfect case of “how WE/US have been defined as the OTHER through the prism of layered prejudices”. The worst part is that these very people create the idea of “difference” not via “self-definition” but through “the power to define others.” My idea of delineating “SELF”, “US” and the “OTHER” is not to essentialize IDENTITY and make it a static category bereft of other dynamics in operation. But at certain level, the necessity to do the same arises when one is confronted with constant “repression” of our own efforts to construct the SELF”. The third story about the senior journalist’s experience narrated above illustrates “momentary liberation” from the acquired identity based on prejudices and premeditated thoughts to dominate and define. This momentary liberation is one of the many things required for negotiating oneself with the idea of US and THEM. It is quite akin to taking a position of “unconditionality” in the conflict resolution parlance.

Well, from “pork”, “beef” and “identity” to conflict resolution!! The following is a legend associated with a very popular Khasi dish called Doh Khleh (Thyllied Masi). During the reign of U Niang Raja, the king of Ummulong, the Khasis spread over the entire region were not united. Most of them fought bitter wars against each other. To unite all the warring Khasi kingdoms, U Niang Raja called a great durbar of the Khasi kings. For three months the kings discussed federation, equality of states, politics and trade matters. On the last day of the durbar, U Niang hosted a great feast. Hundreds of bulls and cows were slaughtered for the feast. It was the convention then that the brains of the animals slaughtered must be given to the person with the highest status and the tongue to the ones considered lower. Now, all the kings who attended the durbar have sealed a deal on equal treatment. U Niang could not offend them by offering the tongues to the rest of the royal participants. He wanted to avoid confrontation and war and called up his wisest minister named Monkut. The wise Monkut, went to the U Niang’s kitchen and ordered the royal cooks to boil the tongues along with the brains. After boiling, the cooks mixed the meat with chillies, onions, ginger and Khar (diluted bamboo ash). The never-tasted-before dish (now called Doh Khleh) was offered to all the royal participants from each of the kingdoms and they reluctantly tasted it. To their utter surprise, they really found Doh Khleh was delicious and also understood what U Niang had on his mind. They praised him for having such a wise minister and even asked for the recipe of the dish. The rest of the kings began cooking the same dish whenever they wanted to resolve warring feuds between clans in their respective kingdoms. This is a story of how a new dish called Doh Khleh helped in preventing hostility between warring principalities and clans and in the process creating a unified identity of all the Khasis. I guess, there is no one in the entire Ri Khasi-Jaintia (all the Khasi and Jaintia hills of Meghalaya) who does not love the dish. That the Ri Khasi-Jaintia had another turbulent history after the fall and death of U Niang is a different matter all together.

There are times when the “food” that humankind consume can be the rallying point for identity formations and political assertions. This does not mean we should lose track of the assumed truth of all liberal political discourse that have hinged on the idea of “equality and emancipation”. Given the frenzied and bloodied multifarious movements for identity and political assertions around the world and some caught in such situations, I think, it will be wise a decision for a person to not only appreciate the different food cultures of the world but also respect them for their uniqueness. Is this the key to the mystery doors to world peace? I am not sure. And now, why further complicate the story. Honestly, Doh Khleh is another favourite dish of mine from Meghalaya. Why has it become so difficult to say, “Well, you can have your Dal Makhani with Parathan while I enjoy my Doh Khleh”. Anyone can ask, “Can we have Doh Khleh with Parathan? Certainly Yes!! But when you try the combination, you might acquire a completely different taste. I may like it and you may not.

Khorjei Laang wrote this for
www.northeasterner.in

SOUNDS FROM THE UNQUIET HILLS: REWBEN AND THE FOLK BLUES

In the east there now is a faint luminescence,
A hint of pearly tones etch the edges of the tree crowned hills;
Strong and tall they await the coming,
Of a new day, filled with promise.
---From Cherokee Dawn, a poem by an unknown Native American

If the peak of Shirui Kashung is the home to one and only exquisite Shirui Lily or Lilium Mackleanae Sealy, the picturesque Ukhrul District inhabited by the Tangkhul tribe has also given the world a new age wandering minstrel whose works epitomize freedom, bravery, honesty and age-old wisdom of the people that inhabit the breathtaking hills and dales. It is not so much the ‘travelling’ that this minstrel is known for but his soul searching music. Ask any discerning music aficionado of the Northeast - Who is the father of modern Naga Folk-Blues? They will not take time to give you the answer.

Rewben Mashangva can be a son, husband, father, brother and uncle to many depending on how one reads the idea of ‘kinship’. Beyond the given kinship structure, he is a musician, composer, researcher and a leading torchbearer of preservation and development of tribal folk music for many years now. Rewben was born to Shangphai Mashangva (father) and Lasengla Mashangva (mother) in a quaint small village called Choithar in the Ukhrul district of Manipur. He did not enjoy a “musical environment” in his childhood as is understood in contemporary times, save for the sound of bamboo instrument called “Talla” that his father occasionally played. Rewben dropped out of school after his tenth class (matriculation) and decided to venture into adulthood trying his hands on ordinary jobs around his ancestral abode. Years later, he found his soulmate Happy Mashangva and married her. Her moral support had been unwavering and encouraged Rewben in all his endeavors. They have raised three daughters and a son and are now settled at Nagaram, Imphal.

It is said that Rewben was influenced by the great American balladeer, Bob Dylan and the inimitable Rastafarian and reggae icon Bob Marley. In an article published by The New York Times in June 2008, Rewbwn recalled how he was initiated into music and songs of Dylan when a friend came over to his place with an album of the singer/songwriter. He thought most Dylan songs were “so relevant” to the landscape he grew up with. Rewben remembered how he painstakingly acquired his first guitar at the age of fifteen. The teak wood guitar was brought to him by a trader from across the border in Burma (Myanmar). He grew up listening to western music and learning about the same through the only link – the communication medium of the poor in many developing countries, the transistor radio. Then came a phase in his life when he would simply croon in English and in his own Tangkhul dialect. A closer scrutiny of the man and his craft tells you that the socio-cultural and political milieu he grew up with, had given him a unique place in the world of music. And the so called ‘influences’ do not matter much now. Rewben says, “I began singing inside the church but no one taught me music. I am a self-taught musician. I attended no music classes.” And in a characteristic style befitting a true musician of the soil, he auto identifies “himself” in a song called My Land and People (Lyric by Ahao Horam featuring Baby Alvina Gonson) from one of his music albums called Tantivy (1999), “Oh! I was born and brought up here I am, Here I am, here I am Oh! The son of this land….” If you have not had a chance to see Mashangva in flesh and blood, just construct a mental canvass large enough to accommodate the imagery of the man and his times. Here is someone who is ever enthusiastic and committed to efforts in researching and discovering indigenous musical instruments, promoting them and drawing the attention of the new generation to their roots in the backdrop of other popular musical forms.

A TALE OF CREATIVE ROOTS

Rewben is the principal exponent of “HAO MUSIC”. He has not only rediscovered and reinvented the variegated rich folk traditions of the Tangkhuls but also refashioned tribal musical instruments to suit the Western tonal scale. Rewben is also credited for the amplification and customizing of the Tingtelia, a fiddle like traditional stringed instrument. Rewben experimented for almost a decade with the original Tingtelia so as to enable him to create a distinct sound that goes harmoniously smooth with the modern acoustic and electric guitar and harmonica. The other instruments which accompany his “Hao Music” include Yankahui, a long bamboo flute, and a yak horn played with a mallet apart from an assortment of modern and traditional percussions. “Whenever I travel for performance, my Tingtelia and bamboo flute always accompany me. Even when I get a chance to tour the world, it will be with this bamboo instrument and I am sure my audience and fans will love it” says Mashangva picking up his bamboo flute. Rewben has released two seminal music albums called “Naga Folk Blues” and “Creation”. And one can expect a man who has been so much in love with the rich folk traditions also sing songs celebrating life and beauty. Beauty of the feminine body and grace compared with the nature’s abundant bounty. The most prominent of his compositions and the most popular choice of people who do not even understand the language of the lyric have found something so enchanting and bewitching in his song Chonkhom Philava. The dexterous effort in the total composition is befittingly matched by a numinous lyric. Some parts of the lyric translated into English goes like this…The freshness of youth like the black thorn flower blooms...Lady Chonkhom is the princess of the mountains…She looks like a fairy, an angel…Her dress – like the tail of a wild peahen…When one sings of the feminine beauty, he or she simply cannot be oblivious of the fading green hills: “I walk along this red country road…And those deep green vales just yonder me…When the deep red sun just hit the ground…I stood there like a child…Watching the birds heading home…Under this deep red burning sky.”(From the song Deep Red Burning Sky, Tantivy, 1999).

This Tangkhul folk and blues balladeer might not have wandered or rather ‘toured’ the world as the word is understood in current music ‘industry’ idiom. But Rewben’s assumed apostolic mission of popularizing his brand of music, singing of joy and travails and also reviving age-old traditional folk culture will not just evaporate without a trace. It will definitely have a cyclic impact on many generations to come. Rewben says, “Current crop of young musicians in our region think that to be a successful musician, modern western music is the only option. I choose to differ with this view. Our talented youth can become complete musicians only when they learn about their roots. Just as you can not ignore your parents even if they are blind or maimed, you can not ignore our age-old folk roots. The youth can not treat folk music as outdated.” The idea becomes reassuring whenever one sees his little son Saka Mashangva accompanying him on numerous performances as a regular percussionist and ad hoc backing vocalist. In many concerts, the father and son duo not only sounds harmonious but also looks breathtakingly adorable with their traditional attire and donning a hairdo folks in the land called Haokuirat.

Commenting on his experimental music, Rewben says that once anyone masters the given traditional folk musical roots, it is easy to fit in the elements into western music or add western elements to the folk. Most music compositions of Rewben have the guitar sounds replaced by sound of folk instruments or folk instruments’ sound supporting and supplementing other sounds produced by modern instruments. It is a creative fusion of sounds deeply rooted in the many folk traditions of his tribe. Rewben has been sharing experiences with great musicians of the Northeast like Rudy Wallang of Soulmate, Meghalaya, Momocha Laishram, the master percussionist and Mangang, the famous Pena (indigenous folk fiddle) artist of Manipur. Rewben had also participated in several music fusion projects. Through platforms like the annual “Roots Festival”, he had shared music space and performed and interacted with international artists too. He is part of the Folk Art and Cultural Guild (FACG), Manipur and has taken part in many kaleidoscopic cultural shows and festivals in the state. When the Naga Folk Blues exponent was asked what his most memorable experience was after setting on the musical journey, he said that it was the composition and the recording of the song called Isholla (Yaho). “I spoke to many elders and tried finding out what is the actual meaning of Isholla (Yaho). Some of them said that the word/phrase did not exist while others said that there definitely is a meaning but beyond description in words. I think it is something that can not be described in words but can be felt from within. I understood the essence of Isholla when I felt like crying my heart out when we recorded the song. I had hardly felt this kind of experience earlier”, Rewben said. What made the man cry? Nobody knows for sure but Rewben conjectures that it could be the extreme longing for freedom that every human being seeks based on individual struggles and set backs quite distinct from the politicized notion of the same.

KNOWING MUSIC, KNOWING NATURE

As Rewben erects milestones with his experimental music, he can not forget the umpteen visits made to Ukhrul district and how he burrowed through the hills and dales looking for enlightening interactions with the gradually vanishing traditional folk crooners of his tribe. Each of these interactions had given him immense folk wisdom which would have otherwise been hidden or extinct. He embarked on several fact-seeking trips to the interiors where he learned about these folk arts and instruments. Rewben remembers folk experts Shamphang of Nungshang Village, Akhothing of Phungyar, Shimeingam Shinglei and Stephen Angkang who had all imparted rich insights on different folk art forms and the use of indigenous musical instruments to him. While researching for over a decade on the traditional folk instruments he uses now, he had also inadvertently re-discovered the delicate relation between the people and bamboo which is called the green gold for the Northeast region. With all seriousness he says, “The livelihood of most communities in the region entirely depend on the rich varieties of bamboo grown here. The plant provides not only construction materials for human shelter and other handicraft products but also food and musical instruments.”

Perhaps, it is Rewben’s uncanny knack of understanding the relation between music and nature that has made his mission so vibrant and arresting. He has gained copious amount of knowledge on human being’s harmonious as well as destructive relations with the land, forests and animals and the associative values attached to these very relations. Right from his first music album produced by the Naga Cultural Development Society in 1999, his passion and love for “ecology” has been unmistakably evident. While longing for a “Green Green Home”, he is also disturbed by the wanton destruction of the forest land and calls for an awakening “To save our land from vanishing”. Rewben sings, “Like a romantic man I just stood there…Smelling the mild sweet fragrance…Dying to hold the flirting wind…If I should die may it be here…Under this deep red burning sky…I don’t want to lay my head…under some strange foreign sky…Set me free, set me free…Where I belong…Under this deep red burning sky…May be I’m just a real great fool…Or may be I’m a real dreamer…Just beholding the empty sky…When you’re busy loading your guns…Slaughtering the wild beasts that you make…I need a land of love and peace…Under this deep red burning sky.” It is indeed a feeling so deep that no critics can do justice just by inking a rhetorical piece. One is free to make an attempt at portraying the “man” but the risks involved are enormous too. For instance, while just enjoying Rewben’s kind of music, no one can do away with the intrinsic politics of poetics ubiquitous in all his songs, lyrics and the sound.

Unlike many who believe in just showcasing talents without even enabling themselves and others to know that there is a “twine” that binds all forms of sounds with nature, Rewben has gone ahead to give an unequivocal statement that human-made or even the “amplified sound” can harmoniously exist with nature and also cement peace between human beings. Through his interactions with the aged and experienced great folk artists, Rewben has not only revived passion and interest in the age-old tradition but also created an innovative space for himself. It was not just a sense of joy and relief he experienced while commencing a musical voyage. If Rewben has received high accolades for his experimental folk music from the critics, he should also be credited for showing the way and inspiring many young artists towards innovative ways to preserve and develop folk music.

Khorjei Laang and E-Pao.net Team originally written for
http://e-pao.net/yellout/