Identity and other poems - Malsawmi Jacob

Identity

My voice may sound a bit strange

seem to be singing off-key

as I go for minor modes,

not being majoritarian

My tribe you dub “subaltern” –

we call ourselves highlanders –

live on sharp rugged hills

Our voice buried many years

is now beginning to rise

We’re rich in tales and legends

stored in our collective-conscious

but have little written history

since the only manuscript we had

on leather scroll, was kept unguarded

and stolen away.

Nevertheless, we are part of

universal brotherhood;

the sky and earth are ours

as well as yours. 

                       ~~~~

Pi Hmuaki*

They couldn’t stand your prophetic voice

that spoke against their misdeeds

as night after night you sang your songs

in your lonely hut

Your gong music enchanted them

melody drove them wild

but the lyrics did the mischief –

the lyrics pierced their hearts.

The heroes loved their exploits

heads and loots won in raids

killing was the way to live

to attain the honoured place in pialral [1]

You derided their philosophy

wouldn’t sing their eulogy

after a successful raid,

tried to stop them dating lasi [2]

told them to choose tlangsam [3] over kangthai [4]

Their annoyance grew day by day,

decided to silence you altogether

Shut you out from golden sunlight

wind and call of chuk-chu-ri-kur [5].

Your gong still rings under the earth

Bong! Bong!

A disturbance in tyrants’ ears.

* The first known Mizo poet. She was buried alive supposedly for going on composing songs.

[1] The place where the spirits of dead people were believed to go. ‘Heroes’ who had slain many enemies and animals were supposed to receive a special treatment there.

[2] Wood nymphs who helped men they fell in love with to shoot many animals.

[3] A plant used for healing wounds.

[4] Nettle

[5] Spotted dove

                        ~~~

The Songster’s Lament

On blue mountain the songster sits

guitar strings all broken

the song becomes a tuneless chant:

“When guns sounded in our land

bombs shouted

fire screamed

cicadas stopped singing

homes went up in flame

hearths were razed

the sacred profaned

music fell silent

laughter turned to shrieks

dreams to nightmare

wild wolves prowled 

fear stalked every street

songs curdled

frozen by night.

I’m waiting, waiting.

Will the great bear turn around*

over our bamboo hills?"

* signifies the coming of dawn

                                ~~~

Malsawmi Jacob is among our foremost Mizo writers in English and her work has been featured on the blog a number of times over the years.  These poems are from her recently published book of poetry titled Four Gardens and Other Poems available on amazon.com. The collection is divided into seven thematic sections and the three pieces selected here are from the section entitled Roots, dealing with her ethnic identity and cultural origins.

National Anthem - Lalsangliani Ralte

I don’t remember the first time 
I heard the national anthem
nor the first time I learnt to sing
“Jana Gana Mana”at the top of my voice.
It must have been in one of the schools I went to
for my formal education, for mark sheets, for certificates,
for documents I have now learnt to laminate
(to avoid tear and wear)
because I know they are as important, if not more,
as the beat of my heart during job interviews.


“…. Adhināyaka jaya hē, Bhārata-Bhāgya-Vidhātā
Pañjāba Sindha Gujarāta Marāṭhā, Drāviḍa Utkala Baṅga
Vindhya Himācala Yamunā Gaṅgā, Ucchala Jaladhi Taraṅga
Tava śubha nāmē jāgē, Tava śubha āśiṣa māgē,
Gāhē tava jayagāthā….”

I don’t keep count
of the number of times I have sung the national anthem
duly standing in attention
but it can’t be less than the number of anniversaries
India has celebrated its Independence day.
Yet my tongue refuses to caress the words of the anthem
with ease and eloquence
and fumbles, instead, through the lines
like my fingers did
the first time they learnt to type on a computer keyboard.

You see, every word in the national anthem
is a challenge to my tribal tongue
that is more used to a slightly altered version
of the English alphabet than it is
to the Devanagari script.
It must be of no surprise to you then
that the meanings of the words, and the lines
are as evasive to me,
as the colours of the rainbow are
to my colour blind eyes.

So when you get confused about my identity
and where I am from, the God I worship,
the way I dress, the way I look and behave,
and the lores that lure me,
remember that I am just as confused
for I am alleging my loyalty to a country
through an anthem
that has to be explained to me
for me to understand
what it means.


“….Jana-Gaṇa-Maṅgala-Dāyaka jaya hē, Bhārata-Bhāgya-Vidhātā,
Jaya hē, jaya hē, jaya hē, jaya jaya jaya jaya hē.”




Lalsangliani Ralte speaks for every Mizo, and possibly every Northeast Indian, in this poem about linguistic and socio-cultural differences, while at the same time affirming allegiance and loyalty to the mother country.  I have deliberately chosen to post this on the 71st anniversary of India's Independence Day.


Thank you, Sangliani, for being our voice.