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Thunderbolt from the Dark Clouds

Short Fiction by Satyabati Ningombam from the Subversion issue

Sanahanbi’s husband Raghu works as a peon. They lead a cosy life with three lovely children. Neighbours are envious of Sanahanbi. They consider her fortunate for having a husband who isn’t a spendthrift. But ever since an officer who loves to drink and gamble got transferred at Raghu’s workplace, his house has become a party den. It has been a daily affair. Quite unexpectedly Raghu has started drinking regularly. Day by day he has become more violent and abusive. Sanahanbi often pleads, “This is home not a workplace. Neither am I an employee under your officer. Rather one honour-bound by marriage. Attending to the care of husband and children, maintaining a home needs all the time in hand. It is below your dignity to entertain their biddings in this way. It would affect the children. Don’t make a devil out of me, please have some sense.”

Melting Heart

Short Fiction by Juri Baruah from the Subversion issue

Rahmat Ali offered me a plateful of sweets –muri laddoos (balls of puffed rice stuck together with sticky jaggery). As I leaned forward to pick up the cup of tea from the table, my eyes strayed to land on a few old issues of the Assamese magazine, Prantik, lying underneath, along with a bunch of letters bearing the letterhead of the local branch of the Asom Sahitya Sabha (A literary body of Assam). Those letters too seemed dated and quite old. The wall in front was held together by wooden battens and a number of pictures were seen hanging on it. There was an old black and white photograph of the iconic Assamese singer Bhupen Hazarika, singing with his hands on a harmonium, a nicely framed map of Assam, chain-stitched on a piece of cloth and close to that was a framed photograph of Mecca. A plastic flower vase, lustreless with age, was standing on a table in the corner. The glass panes on the book case were broken and one could see through them a collection of books – Malik’s novels, the complete works of Borgohain, a couple of booklets on Assamese spelling and so on.

Mini India

Poetry by Ibopishak Thangjam from the Subversion issue

Have you heard a parrot speak Urdu?
I have, in my friend Zahiruddin’s house.
A mynah talking in Hindi?
Even that, in my friend Nimai Singh’s house.
What about an ass reciting Sanskrit slokas?
Yes, very often in Agya Gokul Shashtri’s garden.
A cat speaking Bangla, meow meow, ki bolo ki bolo
A dog mouthing English
A goat conversing in Meiteilon?

Gunhill

Poetry by Ibopishak Thangjam from the Subversion issue

Like the waiting to meet
The woman you’ve been burning for
Who had messaged saying she’ll come on her own
I also waited for many days
For those unknown gentlemen
Who told me they would come to shoot me.
They arrived one afternoon and
We met at last, face to face.

Ukepenuopfü II

Poetry by Theyiesinuo Keditsu from the Subversion issue

After having endured it all,
The heartbreak of parting
Chasing after one son in your dreams
Raising the other on your own

middle

Poetry by Amorette Grace Lyngwa from the Subversion issue

our kitchen taps are broken
and our dirt hides thick on tile lines and
unscrubbed bathroom walls
the laundry bag is full and if you peeped into
our sixteen year old washing machine
you’ll find clothes there
bleeding colour
from the laundry attempt made by
my sister
eleven years old

Subversion / Sub-version

Editor's Note by Soibam Haripriya from the Subversion issue

This monsoon issue of Yendai examines ways of imagining contestations. The idea of taking up subversion as the theme of Yendai had come up on earlier occasions and unfortunately addressing it seems to be topical given the circumstances we currently find ourselves in. Even as we agree on the theme, our approach and ways of understanding subversion differ. We approach it through two ways. First, we see sub-version as acts and practices that challenge the status quo. Second, related to the former, are the ways in which such practices become productive of new manifestations and cultures that may ironically become hegemonic in themselves and invite subversion. Acts of subversions calls for imagining new aesthetics and sensibilities through the questioning of hierarchical practices of hegemonic cultural domination. The present issue is devoted to the possibility of capturing resisting narratives that emerge in such contested fault lines. Subversions are attempts to check the deliberate acts of forgetting put in place through singular meta-narratives and violent repressions of truth. The metaphor of a palimpsest encapsulates the idea of subversion/sub-versions with the hope of reading meaning in acts of over writing and re-writing in the scrolls of time. It is used to explore the many layered existence of a cultural form and not solely the act of writing. In this edition of Yendai, we bring four poems, two visual works, two short stories and four essays on this theme.

Imagining the Other

Editor's Note by Akoijam Sunita from the Imagining the Other issue

Who is the ‘self’ and who is the ‘other’? To imagine the other, one starts by imagining the self. Likewise, the self needs the other to define itself. It becomes a chicken-and-egg question. This imagination of the self and the other can be formed based on various aspects. It can begin from the most striking physical attributes, it can be built on culture, food or even smell. Who is this self and who is the other? Can the self be imagined without the other? In a world that’s marked by rapid mingling as well as violent segregation, what is the relevance of the imagination of the self and the other?

Forehead

Poetry by Shalim M Hussain from the Imagining the Other issue

Things being as they are
I carry my forehead in my pocket
If I leave it home some jerk might break in
And fuck with my forehead
So phone in one pocket, forehead in the other
My pants remain balanced
My forehead remains safe.

Our Ngari and their Masala

Poetry by Md Ziaur Rahman from the Imagining the Other issue

Tired was I because of the hectic college schedule.
Hadn’t had breakfast because the class test was too important to be missed.
Exhausted and burned out, I returned back to my room.
Pondering whether I still have enough energy to cook some food.
Also wondering whether it would be good to have some snacks at the nearby tea stall.

Barbed Men

Poetry by Ashokan Nambiar from the Imagining the Other issue

They appeared one fine day
These young men
And occupied every corner
Of our street.

They wear khaki of various shades
Some with stripes
And black boots.

Pobitora

Poetry by Dr Rimi Nath from the Imagining the Other issue

The winding trail that makes a road
Follows me with its ghostly tremor
Of wintry dryness
Of fallen papery leaves
As the naked trees lift their arms
Up to the sky
A rapture of Indian classical dancers
Embracing their bare beauty

An analysis of Jahera: The problematic representation of Pangal in mainstream arts and literature

Essay by Kumam Davidson and Mohd Himat Ali Tampakmayum from the Imagining the Other issue

Hijam Anganghal’s Jahera eponymously titled after its heroine Jahera became one of the most popular novels of the time followed by AIR Manipur’s adaptation of the same into the famous radio leela Jahera and film-maker Chandam Shyamacharan’s subsequent adaptation of the same into the feature film- Zehra (1999). Jahera/Zehra became a household name in mainstream art and literature of its time. The story revolves around a conflicted love story of a Pangal woman whose excessive acceptance of orthodox Meitei culture in pursuit of a love relationship with a Meitei man ends tragically. This eponymous heroine and the cross-religious love story of yesteryears somewhere left problematic cultural and religious dominance of Meitei over Pangal and also marked a certain type of representation of Pangal in mainstream art and literature till date.

Stories of/from Kashmir

Essay by Somjyoti Mridha from the Imagining the Other issue

Stories! There are no good stories in Kashmir. There are only difficult, ambiguous, and unresolved stories. (166).
—– Basharat Peer.

Kashmiri nationalist author, Basharat Peer comments on the existential challenges faced by the Kashmiris as well the complexities of narrativising the conflict situation and its human dimension in his memoir, Curfewed Night (2008). Kashmir valley regarded as paradise on earth has been in a state of armed rebellion against the Indian state since the 1990’s. Some of the primary causes of discontent among Kashmiri populace is gradual erosion of political autonomy guaranteed by the constitution of India through article 370, political interference in Kashmir valley by successive governments in New Delhi, and all pervasive otherization of the Kashmiris as Muslims due to gradual rise of Hindutva politics in northern India.

Patriarch(s) and Nation(s): Wilful Erasures of Female Selves

Essay by Dr Yamini from the Imagining the Other issue

“Tu hi meri manzil hai, pehchan tujhi se/ Pohonchun main jahan bhi, meri buniyaad rahe tu” (You’re my destination, you give me my identity/ Wherever I go, you remain my foundation). Meghna Gulzar’s Raazi, the story of a female spy, presents Alia Bhatt’s character as “A Daughter. A Wife. A Spy”. The director has managed to make an excitingly paced spy thriller with the necessary dose of drama yet she chooses to highlight her protagonist’s roles as daughter and wife, first and foremost. Along with representing the human tragedy of war, Raazi also reveals the patriarchal nature of nationalism that expects its women to submerge themselves under domestic roles even when they are working as soldiers of the nation.

On Belonging and Home

Essay by Homen Thangjam from the Roots issue

Towards the closing scene of Fiddler on the Roof, as Tevye, Golde and their two daughters were preparing to leave, evicted from Anatevka, Golde is seen sweeping their house. When Tevye asked her what she’s doing his sharp tongued wife, Golde, replied, agitated, “I don’t want to leave a dirty house!”

Directed by Norman Jewison, the 1971 musical is the story of a Jew peasant in the pre-revolutionary Russia. The story centers on Tevye, the father of five daughters, and his attempts to uphold his Jewish religious and traditions as outside influences encroach upon the family’s lives. He must cope with the strong-willed actions of his three older daughters, who wish to marry for love.

Mapoksida II

Photography / Poetry / Visual by Tingthounu from the Roots issue

Even this birth reveals my weakness
Rainfalls reminiscent of monsoons of my previous birth
The wet earth lingers to seize my footprints
Footprints intend to take my stead
Even in this new birth, I am still myself
Recollecting river’s flow

Our Yumjao

Essay by Bobo Khuraijam from the Roots issue

Known for his sauciness in the locality, Modhumangol one day turned up and asked for Baba. I called out Baba. He came out of the Yumjao in his typical slow paced stride. “Taada”, addressed Baba to Modhumangol, as the latter was slightly older than him. “Get your Yumjao cleaned up. This afternoon some people from the television are coming for video recording”, said Modhumangol. He continued, “They are not able to find any Yumjao, leave aside a proper one, in Imphal.” Baba nodded, but without a word. Modhumangol soon left. Later I protested that Baba shouldn’t pay heed to the decree of the cocky man.

3 am

Poetry by Sukla Singha from the Roots issue

we like waking up at strange places
that smell of burnt rice and yongchaak

we don’t find stars in our skies
and crawl our ways in loose stockings
in supermarkets where men-women-men hold hands
to pretend they’re not lonely
as if trying to learn to walk away from
the shadows of long days that we’d tucked into our sleeves

Home is No Place

Poetry by Amrapali Basumatary from the Roots issue

O land, my land!
Our first home, my first breath
Our first step, my first love
Our beginning…
This day I am merely a seasonal visitor,
Though change in each air
Brings feelings of you in my skeletal bosom,
Today the winter fades
And I chronically sneeze into the next season,

Untitled

Poetry by Debanjali Biswas from the Roots issue

the autumn breeze
came crawling into the valley,
writhing in music
that is haunting to some ears,
passed through every pore of the shekpin
stored in corners from past festivities,
darting from alley to alley
mangol to mangol
often bowing in front of the holy basil
often ignoring the pleas of the living
and non-living spirits.
but it said, light one more for mera
because the stars have vanished
above my brothers’ roofs,
choked by smoke from the new cities
and old mistakes made in rage.
it said, light one more for mera,
for when the fervent footsteps of chali
will rise with the hunter’s moon,
their tremors will reach the hills
taut at mid-day, blue at dusk,
promising the birth
of another star.

F**k NO! I don’t belong

Poetry by Banamallika Choudhury from the Roots issue

The blurred image on my phone (of my name on the NRC website)
Confirms I belong
To a state I have mostly only disliked
For its filth, cunning and cruelty
It has told me in ways
The slant of my eyes and the size of my body
And the way I roll my R, are all wrong
So are the smells that I carry in my bag back from home

The Burden of Names

Essay by Aribam Uttam Sharma from the Roots issue

Story of a Name

As part of the requirements for a course that I service, I once assigned my students to write essays on their names. I got more than what I bargained for. The breadth of the names and what they mean; the depth of descriptions of varied naming privileges and ceremonies gave me a window to the richness of differences and the strength of togetherness in this part of the world. My students taught me, nudged me into looking again at my own name, through their personal stories – that range from the funny through the mundane to those with palpable pathos – behind their names.

The Emas, the Reader and the Prelude

Review by Soibam Haripriya from the Roots issue

Teresa Rehman, The Mothers of Manipur, Zubaan, 2017, Rs 325, pp. 153

The cover of the book depicting the naked emas, is quite illustrative of what it will discuss. The nude protest as the critical event marked as an exemplary moment is so familiar a reading. What lies behind that image are human lives. The book is premised on the many different aspects of discussions, negotiations and the differences vís-a-vís the mode of protest that the women’s collectives decide to take up. The book unsettles the belief of some, that feminism is a linear trajectory of one brave / radical moment to the other – one nupilan (which means women’s war in Manipuri) to the other as if a linear trajectory, but rather it is accumulative of a series of anxieties, insomnias, and negotiations. The preface sets out the premise of the book.

Imphal Express Bus

Short Fiction by Kumam Davidson from the Roots issue

I feel the coldness on my back. I shudder a little. As the chill of the rainy morning seeps into my skin I automatically move closer to him. My body touches his backside in perfect alignment from head to toe. There is barely any part of my body which doesn’t touch his. My left hand lies across his soft and warm belly. I always crave for this part of his body; soft, smooth and somehow always inviting. I might have gotten used to putting my hand there, for some time now, when we sleep together. But I seem to be pressing into him slightly tighter than usual today. It makes me conscious also, so I check if he is still asleep, unaware of my stubborn hands on his body. At the same time, I can feel warm sensations triggering inside my body; a stronger urge than usual. This spurge of feeling, something like an adrenaline rush taking the shape of a desire inside my body, seems to thrust me closer to him. I hold him tighter and my hands automatically start rubbing his soft belly in circles. All the while I’m also scared that I might wake him up. But the sensations and urge are powerful to the point of overwhelming. Even as I try very hard to stop myself from doing whatever is about to happen, the sensations take the better of me. My hand slowly touches his nipples, groping his breast and squeezing it a bit and rubbing it softly. Then after a while I find my hand touring down slowly and slowly, rubbing his skin as it goes down, towards the lower abdomen now and I perfectly know my hand is not going to stop just right there.

Roots

Editor's Note by Loiya Leima Oinam from the Roots issue

Root and being are inextricably linked. What are roots but another name for home, for the ultimate destination that one leaves only to return? And what is rootlessness but another state of homelessness, exile and prolonged yearning? These coterminous conditions can also spawn zealous, self-proclaimed protectors and a corresponding number of homeless ‘strangers’. Cultural movement is to roots what migration is to rootlessness. Or is it that simple? If we consider roots as also having to do with (shared) values, how do we draw the line between claims for indigenous rights and the ethical necessity of acknowledging contemporary tragedies surrounding the gentrification of spaces and identity?