Dr. Sarita Sharma is an Indian academician, author, poet, translator and keynote speaker. She is editor-in-chief of TAFFD’s- The Magazine of the Future (USA). She has nine books to her credit including edited and translated books. Her most acclaimed works include Days V, a collection of poems and Myriad Voices, a collection of stories. She lives in small town Tezpur, Assam in India. She is passionate about gender issues and puts in every bit towards making this world an equal place for everyone. Uday Adhikari of the Gorkha Times has a detailed talk with Dr. Sarita. The talk is presented herewith for our esteemed readers.
Your mother tongue is Nepali, but you were brought up amidst Assamese, Hindi and Khasi speaking people. It is interesting to know that you write in English. How did you come to English for outpouring your literary expression?
Honestly, I feel a little strange admitting that English is the only language that I can really imagine in, think well in and express myself clearly in. Although we never speak English at home it is the only language that I am comfortable reading, writing and communicating in. I had a cosmopolitan upbringing in the sense that i grew up amidst people who were culturally and linguistically different from us. I was born and brought up in Mokokchung (Nagaland) where other languages, apart from English, were neither valued nor encouraged. I was educated in an English medium school. Also both my parents were avid readers and they have inculcated the habit in us. Our father used to bring us books from the library and we used to devour them. The books, needless to say, were English books because we didn’t have access to Nepali or Assamese books. I am a voracious reader and I had finished reading Austen, Bronte, Dickens and the likes even before I finished school. This may be the reason why English is the language I turn to for catharsis. Later we shifted to our original home in Tinsukia (Assam) which broadened my purview of interaction with Assamese, Bengali, Bihari, Marwari people as well. Although my parents made sure that we spoke in our mother tongue at home and that we also learnt to read and write in Nepali as well as the local language Assamese but the love for English remains unadulterated.
You have emerged as a good translator. In this world with ‘global village’ concept, translation is a must. We all know it is not an easy task. What is your experience of it? How do you pick books that desperately need translation? Sometimes translation can be a source of regular income too. When we consider this, we have to compromise in many steps like good books are brushed aside and bad books and thick purse come together. Have you ever come across such situation?
Actually, I stumbled upon translation. It was never a conscious decision. Sahitya Akademi winning author, critic and academician Gyan Bahadur Chetri initiated me into this. It was he who insisted that I took up Rumi Laskar Bora’s Assamese novel Damphu for translation into English. I was highly apprehensive. But as I read the book I felt that it had to have a wider readership and that the responsibility of doing so rested on me. Damphu is an important book for the Nepali speaking community as it documents the journey of a British soldier from Daman in Nepal to Burma for the world war and eventually to Assam where he settles down. Moreover, it is the first novel in Assamese which has a Nepali speaking person as the main protagonist. After Damphu, I immediately took up Sahitya Akademi award winning novel Janmabhumi Mero Swades by Gita Upadhyay. It is a biographical account of Chabilal Upadhyay, a veteran but little known freedom fighter of Assam. This book again is a very important document for the Indian Nepalese because it details the contributions and sacrifices of the Nepali populace to the social and political rubric of Assam. Translation, as you have mentioned, is a difficult task especially when you are translating from and to totally different language groups. For instance, the sentence structure in Nepali or Assamese or Hindi is subject-object-verb (SOV), e.g. Ma bhaat khanchu (Nepali), Moi bhaat kham (Assamese), Mai bhaat khaungi (Hindi) whereas in English the sentence structure is subject-verb-object (SVO)-I will eat rice (English). The difficulty in translating from SOV languages to SVO starts when we try to make a literal translation of the text. Moreover, we cannot also forget the cultural differences that SOV and SVO language groups have. It is not just the physical structure but also the cultural constructs associated with the language groups that make translation a highly challenging and arduous task.
We haven’t even started scratching the surface when it comes to translating from Nepali to English. There is so much that needs to be done that I panic sometimes when I think of all the great work that may remain limited to just the Nepali readers for want of good translators. But I must mention here that translation is a thankless job. I really do not know if it fetches money. I haven’t thought on those lines and I haven’t asked nor accepted any kind of payment for the work that I have done. Recently though I learnt of all the big money involved and a section of the community which translates for the sake of it and doesn’t care what is being translated and how it is being done so far as the monetary goals are met. I must confess that this came across as a huge surprise and utter disappointment to me. And I am immensely glad to inform you that till date I haven’t been approached for translation in lieu of money. I am a free willed translator. I will translate only if something deeply impresses upon me. I have translated some poems without even knowing the names of the poets. I don’t care if the writer is a big name or a novice, so far as the work appeals to me nothing else matters. I have refused to translate some big names only because the books did not allure me. I shall rest a happy woman if more of our literature gets global recognition and readership.
When we chatted you said Brahmaputra, the only male river in mythology is just about a kilometer away from your home. I was excited to read something from you as I believed you must have written something about the river. You kept me waiting for some time and then sent a poem. I enjoyed as I often do when I hear Bhupen Hazarika’s songs. If I tell you the truth, I was expecting a longer piece though it was only a kind of personal wish. Assam is known as a land of green. What was your childhood child?
I grew up in Nagaland and Tinsukia. Both of these places occupy a special and large chunk in my heart. My childhood in Nagaland was very idyllic. We led a disciplined happy and carefree life. We had a fascinating motley of friends and we would often play till late in the evening. Nagaland is a safe place. We didn’t have to worry about child abusers lurking around. The people there were simple and kind. We are five siblings-four girls and one boy. My parents never differentiated between us. All five of us were given the best of education and facilities. Every evening after we finished our studies, my mother would read excerpts from Bhanu Bhakta’s Ramayana and teach us to recite the shlokas. Father told folk and mythological stories. They also spoke about their own childhood. We would tell how school was. We are a close knit family because as children we were encouraged to speak about ourselves. We are a communicating, discussing, arguing family. I don’t remember keeping any secrets from my siblings. Everything was openly discussed including boys and love proposals.
The milieu in Tinsukia though was not as liberal as the one we were accustomed to in Nagaland. It was parochial and patriarchal too. I was quite a tom boy in my growing up years and people would be aghast seeing me in shorts and trousers, prancing around like a boy. But my parents were strong people. They did not let the prevalent mindset affect us in any way. When relatives and friends pestered them to get the girls married off early, they insisted that everything else would come later. We had to finish education, at least till we attained a post-graduate degree in our chosen disciplines. That was quite a huge challenge for them but they stood their ground and here we are today-independent and empowered.
Now to talk of Brahmaputra, it is just a kilometer away from where I live. In fact, we are surrounded by the Barluit. I love visiting it and drowning my senses in its vast expanse. I haven’t yet used it as a motif in my writings though. I might in the days to come.
I met you at Sauraha in Chitwan during the Nepal-India Literary Festival 2021, organized by Kavi Danda Literary Society. I listened to you in a panel discussion speaking about translation and globalization of Nepali literature. At the end of the program we had poetry recital. I listened to you and coincidentally your anthology Days V was in my hand too. Later when I spoke to you, you happily conceded that you were more poetry material than other genres. Why so?
My first published work is a collection of short stories titled Of Myriad Voices. During that period, I was so invested in writing short stories that I used to think that short story is my only genre and that I cannot write anything else. Then I ventured into translation. In 2021 I came up with my debut poetry collection Days V. This is my poetry phase and I do think that I am more poetry material than anything else. But then these are just temporal phases. I am working on some prose pieces at this moment and I hope to come up with something interesting by the year end. Honestly speaking though, my productivity has declined tremendously in the past few months what with the onset of the three deadly C’s- Covid, Cold, and Children at home.
In our personal chat you said that you have an unfinished novel. Novel writing is the demand of time too and it helps a writer to get a quick recognition and some financial assurance. What led you towards fiction writing? I wonder what caused you to abandon this lucky child on the mid way.
Till a long time, I was a closet writer. I didn’t write much too. It was only in the year 2017 that I came out public with my writings. I am yet to think of making money and earning recognition as a writer. Writing is a passion for me, never a calculated decision. I took up fiction last year because I felt that I was ready to handle a complex genre like it. Unfortunately, I am stuck after writing hundred pages. I haven’t abandoned it. I hope to finish it as early as possible but there is something which is stopping me from visiting the script at this moment. I need to come out of my unproductive shell and fix it up. I am hopeful that once I tackle the demons within I shall have a table full of manuscript.
“i gifted him my fresh virgin body
i didn’t ask if he had ever seen
felt a vagina…”
I have taken these lines from your poem. This poem explains the relationship between husband and wife. And the domination of a man is clearly smelt. But the writer is vocal through the speaker. Is the scenario changing now? Is a new bride bound ask such a question?
Doesn’t look like the situation has changed, especially in small towns. Sex is still a taboo. The children are never told about it. It is kept under such tight wraps that they get half-baked and misleading information from spurious sources. It would help tremendously if the adults spoke to young people openly, discussed consent and consequences. In fact, we should make this a part of the curriculum. Some schools here have tried to inculcate sex education in the curriculum but it is not done in the proper way. If at all it just works as a kind of titillation on the young minds. Boys need to be taught consent and respect. They cannot just be let to grow up, make mistakes and get away with it. As parents we have a huge responsibility. Moreover, we have handed them smart phones without teaching them the proper use of it, the pros and cons of having the world at their fingertips. We are not doing it right as parents or educators. I have always been vocal about things which matter to us. I am raising two boys. We speak about everything. I am glad that my teenaged son tells me about the bodily changes that he is going through. We discuss everything openly, girls and sex included. I have spoken to him about how he needs to respect the female body. He knows all about consent and I am sure he will abide by it when the time comes.
You first wrote poem when you were in the tenth grade and it was the concern of ecology. Now you are a poet for everything from woman’s identity to war. Can poetry be a vehicle for ideology?
Whether consciously or unconsciously we do write within the purviews of our personal ideologies and ideas and constructs. Any person who can think has an ideology. It could be based on anything. I may not be blatantly pushing my ideologies through my poems but I am sure it is there for the discerning eye to see. Literature has always been a vehicle of supporting or denouncing ideologies, sometimes glaringly sometimes subtly.
For me, to be able to write on anything I have to be deeply moved by it. I have to be able to relate to the cause in a personal way. I cannot just sit and try to write on something that I cannot identify with. This may be a lack in me, a disadvantage but this is how it is. I cannot show pseudo concern by penning lines on issues which do not mean anything to me.
In the poem “Kabul”, you wrote “Your blue sky to have turned murderous.” It is a good political poem and the poet fiercely criticizes what happened in Kabul. Your poem reminds me of Assam or Meghalaya in the eighties and Bhutan in the nineties from where thousands of people of Nepali origin were chased and the sky turned as murderous as it was in Kabul. You belong to a Nepali family and I imagine your family suffered too. Can you explain how it affected the Nepalis around there?
Actually I was in Nagaland during that time and so I do not have a direct memory of the same. A part of my family-my grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins were in Assam but thankfully they did not suffer at all. This could be because in Tinsukia the Nepali population was very less. We were just a handful of Nepali people there during that time. Moreover, the Nepalese there have mingled so well with the local populace that they were/are not seen as a threat. The fiction that I am trying to write is based on the Assam Movement and during my research I learnt about the atrocities that Nepalese had to face in places like Sonitpur and Darrang. Many families left Assam for good. Although in Assam, the Nepali people were not directly targeted but they did come in the line of fire. The Assam Movement was a mass movement which demanded for the detection, disenfranchisement and deportation of illegal migrants from Assam. Assam shares a porous border with Bangladesh and it has been hugely affected because of the illegal immigration from across the border that happens almost every day. This hasn’t stopped till date too and is the reason why the NRC (National Register of Citizenship) had to be brought in. What happened in Meghalaya and Bhutan is tragic to read and hear of, the aftermath of which is still being borne by families but in Assam the situation of Nepalese was never as precarious. We may have experienced a few slights and hammers here and there but as a whole we lead a good life here. In recent times the situation seems to be getting better what with the government trying to right the wrongs of the previous eras. The Nepalese here are a peace loving and trusting community. We have never tried to assert ourselves unnecessarily. Of course we have hold on to our language, culture, traditions and practices but we have embraced the Assamese culture as our own too. In fact, the Nepalese have always been supportive of the Assamese causes. Over all there is camaraderie and bonhomie. We have proudly amalgamated both the cultures in our personality and happily identify ourselves as Assamese Nepali.
I have read your poem “Kathmandu Night” in two parts. You describe everything intimately. Will you tell our readers about your Nepal connection?
I visited Nepal for the first time in the year 2020 as a guest at the International Mother Language Day event organized by Pragya Pratisthan. We also launched the English translation of Damphu in Kathmandu in the presence of stalwarts like Prof Govind Raj Bhattarai, Prof Usha Thakuri and others. The schedule was tight so I didn’t get to see much of the city. But it allured me greatly. It looks like any other Indian town and yet it has its own charm and eccentricities. Apart from this I have heard my father talk of his relatives in Nepal but I am yet to visit them. I do not even know where they live. My forefathers are supposed to have belonged to Gulmi. Last year I was in Chitwan, again for a brief stint of time. I would love to explore the country better. The people there are warm and friendly. The love and hospitality bestowed on us is commendable. So although I do not have a Nepal connection as such it is a country which holds a special place in my heart.
‘They said you are a distinguished woman and still laugh like a teenager.’ This line offers an answer to what a modern man thinks of an educated woman and is in the mood of teaching a lesson to her. Here patriarchy is at work. You sound very good here and I feel nice when you let a reader like me to know your feministic approach that is definitely humanistic. To remind people of such things anybody needn’t be an extra feminist. How do you evaluate the feminist movement?
I see feminism as an awareness, a fight against social bias and gender constructs and I shall strive every moment for a society which is inclusive and equal for all. I am appalled by how easily we judge a woman her life, her lifestyle, her preferences and her decisions. To take a small example of how our biases work- a man may wear the same pair of shirt and trousers to office to a wedding to a religious ceremony or to a funeral but women do not have such luxury. They have to keep the occasion in mind before choosing the dress. It starts here and doesn’t end anywhere. Women have to be vigilant, careful, and mindful every waking moment. They have to be a good cook, a good housekeeper, a good mother, a good wife, good daughter-in-law, good this good that-the list is just endless. On top of it all they even work and earn like the men do. The pressure to perform and perform everything like a pro is tremendous. I know of young mothers who do not sleep well preparing for competitive exams and job interviews at night after the children have slept. They are made to feel small and sorry just because they do not have a job. This is not equality. This is not what feminism should strive for. They are young mothers. They are raising children, preparing your food, cleaning up after you. You do not have the right to force them to take a competitive exam and get a job and thus help you augment the family’s financial health. This is not empowerment. This is modern slavery. If you really want them to be empowered kindly create equal opportunities for them. Help in household work, help in raising the kids. Only when you start sharing in these responsibilities can you encourage them to share your work. This is no rocket science. It is just simple logic. Let us live and let live.
Yesterday, you posted your photo in a bride’s dress with the words ‘The bride totally clueless yet completely trusting’. This photo can be a representative of thousand faces in a bride’s makeup. Is the scenario changing? Is the uncertainty of future brides losing its grip?
I was sorting my wardrobe the other day when I came across some pictures from the past.When I looked at the pictures I felt sorry for the young bride who was totally clueless yet completely trusting of the strangers who she was expected to love, respect and listen to throughout the remaining days of her life. Isn’t it strange how we give away our daughters to people we hardly know? Just think of an arranged marriage and the irony of it. The young girl who is supposed to preserve her virginity intact, come what may, is actually asked to comply with everything that a stranger, who has now become her husband and has every right over her, asks of her. You have rightly pointed out that the picture represents a common bride who has no idea of what she is being thrown into. Of course with more and more young people opting for love marriages the ‘uncertainty’ of an average bride may have lessened to a great deal, yet the expectations on the new wife are many. She has to prove herself at every step. There again we judge.
“The whole day I rehearse/ What I will tell you Tonight, and how/ Night turns to morning every day.” How do you preserve such a romantic speaker at such a complicated time? How do you maintain such versatility?
I am a die-hard and thorough romantic. I believe in love. In fact, I am always in love-with people or an idea or a place or a song. You cannot take love away from me. I may not have written as many romantic poems but the few that I have reveal the other side of my personality which otherwise may not come across as strongly. Well, I haven’t actually thought of ‘maintaining versatility’. I just write what I feel strongly about. Moods do shift and thus a myriad hued writer is created.
‘I am and I am happy that I am what I am, no presence…never ‘. Can a subcontinent woman live with such a statement in her life? I wonder if it is a Canadian gift.
I have no Canadian connection so it is a subcontinent, to be precise, an Indian Nepali woman’s claim and you have to accept it as it is. No presence again. I am happy and satisfied with what I have. I have always been vocal about issues which we have a tendency to brush down the carpet. I have a great family-my husband, my father, siblings, in laws, sons, house helps; wonderful friends who back me up; a dedicated readership and a growing career. There was a time when I was raising my kids and was just a home maker. I wanted to be more than that. I may have despaired too but I never rushed because I trusted my abilities. My upbringing has made me confident and strong but I must also credit my family’s support in helping me bounce back.
You said, ‘Feels good to be back here after a short hiatus’. You indicate social media, especially Facebook. I met you through Facebook. I think many readers across the globe read or know you through the social media. I think the social media has taken you out from your closet. Please tell our readers about the impact of your writerly life.
I had taken a short break from Facebook a couple of days ago because social media can sometimes overwhelm, especially an extremely private person and serious thinker like me. But during the hiatus I realized that I enjoyed being on Facebook more than on any other social media platform. It has of course given me a huge readership, some amazing friends and valuable life lessons too. You have correctly surmised that it has literally taken me out of my closet. It gave me confidence to see my poems posted there creating an impact. People started reaching out to me. My inbox is almost always flooded. People who are doing wonderful work across the globe wanted to connect beyond the social media platform. All this had a positive impact on my life as a writer. But as they say there are two sides to a coin so not everything that happens on or behind Facebook is bright and good. Social media should always be handled with care and caution. There are predators and cheats also out there. But as mentioned earlier, these too have life lessons to impart so happy and safe Facebooking to us all.
You mentioned a word ‘Closet’. That reminds me of Virginia Woolf and in her own room. How important is one’s own place for a writer?
A writer needs to have some peace and a little space to create or ponder uninterruptedly on her thoughts. The space that I mention also means an uncluttered mental space which is not always bogged down by deadlines to meet and chores to finish. But there are some writers who do not go by the rule book. You will understand what I am trying to say here in the answer to question number 17.
You divide your time here and abroad. I think it is challenging but you seem to be going smoothly. How do you balance?
My work entails some travelling. As mentioned earlier I have a strong family support. My husband is my rock; I call him the ‘wind beneath my wings’. My mother-in-law and the house helps are just incredible. Between us we have balanced my travel well. Also I schedule my work in such a way that I am not out of the house for more than a week at a stretch. And I do not travel for more than twice in a year. I mostly work from home.
What is your writing process? How do you conceive poetry? Do you need some sort of environment or any place works?
I do not have a set of rules which I follow when it comes to writing. I write as and when the spur is on. I do try to work sometimes at night when the whole house has gone to sleep but I haven’t been consistent with this routine.
I do not consciously conceive poetry. Poetry happens to me at the most awkward of moments and the oddest of hours. An insomniac that I am there are hundreds of lines which I have composed in my attempts at getting some shut eye. Also many lines have been lost in the same bargain. My thought process is erratic. Sometimes I write every day, at other times I can’t write anything for days on end.
I would like to think that I need a clam and cool place to write but I have always written in the midst of a lived and vibrant environment. My work station is the living room, the vantage place, from where I can monitor the entire house. That’s where I sit and write amidst all the flurry of activities that a busy house would see. I write as I live.
At the end of the program at Sauraha, we had a colorful retreat and we were talking what we felt good. I was listening to the talk of a group you and your sister were parts of. You both sisters were excitedly talking about the books that invoked you. From Arundhati Roy to Marquez dived into wine. I added something but I wanted to ask you more about books but the colorful evening diverted all of our minds and other topics overlapped. Your list of the books impressed me. Are there some writers or books that have left a great impact on you? (Please mention ten writers and ten books that left everlasting impression on you).
I have always been a voracious reader. My parents, as mentioned earlier, inculcated this habit in us. When I was young I used to read comic books like Amar Chitra Katha, Tinkle and Enid Blyton. Then I moved to Reader’s Digest, which I still read. Apart from these I read Dickens, Bronte sisters, Jane Austen, Thomas Hardy and the likes. Books are a constant companion. I may not be able to do justice to all the wonderful authors and their books by limiting to name just a few but if I had to mention a few names I would say-Paulo Coelho, Margaret Atwood, Alice Walker, Maya Angelou, JM Coetzee, RK Narayan, Arundhati Roy, Orhan Pamuk, Murakami, Doris Lessing, Nirad Chaudhuri-the list is endless. I like to read light fiction like Amish Tripathi’s or Chitra Devakurni when I am travelling. I read everything that I can lay my hands on. No writing is taboo for me. You will find books like Fifty Shades of Grey along with Salman Rushdie and Taslima Nasrin, Chimamanda Ngozie, Amitav Ghosh and the likes in my collection.
I saw some of your photographs with your friends from college days. All of you seem happy. Your achievement confirms your talent in the area you are heavily investing yourself. How were your college days? As jolly as seen in photographs?
I had a wonderful and fun filled college and university term. I have great friends from that time. We still catch up and create a mad riot. All of my close friends are as mad as I am. I studied in an all girl’s college. I remember an incident once when I bunked so many Political Science classes that my name appeared on the list of defaulters. I did not have the required seventy percent attendance and would now have to pay some fee to take the impending exams. I was at my wit’s end. I was scared and embarrassed. My mother would not be amused and I did not have the guts to face her with the news. But I was good in my studies and in extracurricular too. I was a well known and loved face in the college, thus very confident of the fact that my teacher’s would help me out. So stirring up all my courage and summoning up my most innocent avatar, i entered the head of department’s office and said in the sweetest manner, ‘ma’am I think there is some kind of misunderstanding somewhere, my name is on the defaulter’s list.’ She looked up at me and said, ‘Oh, Sarita!’ Because I was good in studies she assumed that I must have attended all my classes. Or maybe she knew and yet wanted to give me a chance. She said she would look into the matter. Her parting shot was, ‘now you can smile. That long face doesn’t look good on you.’ I took the exam and topped the University that year.
After college I moved to Tezpur University for my PG. Those two years can be termed the best of my student life. Hostel life taught many life lessons and skills. Right from school to college to university I have always been loved and pampered by the teachers. We had a small kitchen attached to the department. My teachers at the university knew that I couldn’t cook well, so just to rile me they would always make it a point to call me and say, ‘Sarita please go and prepare some tea for us. We would love to have tea as sweet as you are.’ I would literally panic because my kitchen skills were/are next to nil. I would then pester my friends to come along and prepare the tea. My friends were such great blessings. They would prepare the tea and I would take the pot and mugs to the teacher’s room. Of course the teachers knew that I hadn’t prepared the tea. Yet, the next day they would invariably call me again. But I never learnt to prepare tea. I was happy being just a carrier.
Any event in the University would see me with the mic as the emcee irrespective of whether I had a test to take the next day or had a sore throat. I remember the time when renowned flautist Hariprasad Chaurasia had visited the University for a Spic Macay Concert. Obviously I was the one chosen to anchor the show. Unfortunately, I was not only running fever but also had a bad throat. My friends fed me ginger and clove the whole night and made me gurgle alternately with hot and medicated water every half an hour. My throat did open up and I anchored the show much to everyone’s relief. The teachers at the University, friends and the environment that I found there have shaped me to a great extent. That is where and when I honed myself in several ways.
In a recent message you said, ‘This mad person called Sarita tried to send you the pdf yesterday but somehow it failed. The three words ‘This Mad Person’ amuse me and your jocular vein carries some truth too. Some madness is considered to be good for artists and writers as a mark of some bohemianness. How do you define madness? How mad are you?
Madness for me is the quality to be able to lose oneself in the moment. That moment could be anything-it could be playing with the kids or romancing your partner or reading a book or writing something or having a conversation. I am mad because of how I feel and perceive things. People do tell me that I think differently.
Actually, artists and writers have always been considered a little mad and bohemian. It may have something to do with the way the mind works for us. I did not realize my own madness or a bohemian thought process till friends and family started pointing out the same to me. I love fiercely and do not hate. I am loyal, helpful and honest. I am passionate about the causes I endorse. I keep an open mind and I don’t ever judge. These qualities seem a little outdated in today’s world and this may further my qualification to madness.
How mad I am? Now this is a question which I should be asking people who are close to me. Most of them rate me a nine or eight on a scale of ten. As an aside let me also add here that I am technologically challenged. I just about manage the rudiments. So it is very normal for me to click on the wrong email id and send a failed mail. These are signs of an eccentric personality I feel.
You were trained in the English literature. It was good. You have recently translated two books, one from Assamese and another from Nepali and both tell the stories of the Nepali society. When I asked you to translate Lil Bahadur Chhetri’s novel Bramahaputraka Chheuchhau or Around the Brahmaputra, you were amazed at my request. I felt you hadn’t ventured much into Nepali writing as you never got the chance to delve into it. I think you also realize you have to read more Nepali literature as it is your root. I am sure better knowledge of your society will strengthen your position as a writer. And I hope many classics from Nepali literature will see the light of the world through your hands. Then tell our dear writer, sitting on the edge of the Brahmaputra River, when Brahmaputrako Chheuchhau will get your touch?
I completely agree with you that I need to read more of Nepali literature. I hope to in the days to come. I don’t know whether the words ‘trained in the English literature’ are a right way of putting it. I was not trained as such but yes I do read a lot of English books. Talking about translation, at this moment I am looking at representative Indian Nepali short stories published after 2000. I have already short listed a few stories. I hope to start work by the beginning of April.
I remember the conversation that you and I had in Chitwan and how you had urged me to take up Brahmaputraka Cheuchau for translation. I feel honored to see your faith on my abilities. But time is a big constraint and concern for us all. There is so much work that needs to be done and I am just one person juggling a family, job, social obligations, poetry, novel, translation. I cannot say definitely if and when I shall take it up but I do hope, just like you do, that we would get to read the great book in English as well.
Your story, “The Yellow Umbrella”, reminds me of a famous story The girl with yellow umbrella by a renowned Hindi writer Uday Prakash but both of you have justified the title in your own way. Your narrator wants to live the life of a character and she says ‘let the lioness, which you have left slumbering within you for long, out ‘. She decides to live real life like common girls in Guwahati do. As a reader I am quite impressed by your portrayal of real life. Your another story ‘Widow’ starts with such lines ‘I look at his dead face. A small sigh of relief escapes unknowingly from my tired body’. A wife says that when her husband passed away. After reading such lines I stopped and thought how the story would go. And it went well and made the writer a pretty realistic one. Are you a realistic writer like Chekhov and Maupassant?
The story, The Yellow Umbrella, was conceived way back when I was a University student. I was in Guwahati for an assignment and it was the first time that I travelled on the infamous city buses. I could feel the pain and vulnerability of women amongst men who have never been taught to respect women. This is so shameful. At the same time, I also realized that women cannot live indoors for fear of men, we have to venture out and do our lives. This dichotomy, this struggle is what I have tried to portray in the story. Unfortunately, I haven’t heard of Uday Prakashji’s story. Now that I know I may read it someday.
‘The Widow’ is a story which focuses on the frustrations that the wife of a bed ridden husband may feel but cannot voice for fear of societal rebuttal and repercussions. I strongly feel about women who are forced to keep up appearances and do not have any means of outlet. Some deaths can be liberating. The woman here experiences a plethora of emotions, all humane, but we fail to see the human in her, we just see her as a widow. That’s the irony of our lives.
Chekov and Maupassant are big names. I do not see myself in the league of writers I have grown up reading. Also, I don’t want to categorize myself as a realistic or romantic or eco writer. As I have said earlier, I write what I feel strongly about. The impetus to create something in art has to come from inside. I am glad to know that my stories can stir readers and critics like you. I can just hope that, as humans, we become more accepting and tolerant of each other.
You have ventured many genres like story, novel, poem, translation and come far. You said in spite of many things you are poetry material but when I read your stories I thought you have had a lot of fiction material too. Why do you write? What is literature to you?
Literature is catharsis. The way to catharsis is different for different people. Some talk their hearts out, some paint, some dance, I write. Writing is the only recourse, the only escape that I know of. I do not have a set purpose in mind when I venture to write something. The purpose finds me as I move ahead. I am a very erratic writer. I do not have any agendas. I wouldn’t want to make tall claims and say that I want to change the world through my words. It doesn’t happen that way. But an awareness is and can always be created through words and words only. I would be happy if my readers were to take a moment after they finish reading my work and actually think about it, the themes, the angst, the pain, the vulnerability, the mind-sets and beliefs that cage us. There is much that will change once we begin to think.
Literature cannot but mirror life. What else will we talk about, what else we can talk about! It is our own lives, whether real or imagined or interpolated, that we put out there for the readers to read and enjoy and think. I do not believe in excess of anything, whether it is art for art’s sake or experimentation in art for the sake of experimentation. There has to be a fine blend, a proper merging point. Literature should not lose its primary purpose. Great literature is food for the soul, it cannot and should not be reduced to dry practicality.
I want to enjoy my writing process. I do not bind myself in any way. I let my thoughts free reign, let them wander and chose what they love best. If my thoughts are stirred by something, the words to talk about that follow suit. As a woman, I find more resonance in issues which women in our societies have to bear. The injustice and discrimination that women face on a day to day basis move me in an urgent way. I feel that there are so many wrongs we need to right at the earliest.
I love to listen to people talk. In any conversation I will be the person who speaks the least. I am more of a listener. Listening to people, their myriad thought processes and life experiences, is where my ideas get conceptualized. I am fascinated by the way the human mind works, its intricacies and complexities.
I believe in creating stories because at the end of the day a story told well is what we all crave for. Every line, every word that we craft should have the power in it to tell stories or germinate one. There are so many untold stories still. Let us start one today!
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Here are some poems by Sarita Sharma
1
father in his frayed bicycle
talks of transistors and worlds at war
he rushes with the food
sits for hours under the burning lamp
reading the papers
writing pages after pages
his thoughts full of countries he hasn’t seen
full of ideas no one would heed
day in and day out
he scratches his feverish nerves
arranges them to meet the demands of his fetishes
and pours out litanies
that would sit in untended corners for ages
housing moths
even as the rats shred them bit by bit
there is a disquiet now
the bicycle must have been handed down
lamps have served their term
the fevered litanies sell by kilos
as the uninterested scrap man thwacks them
every now and then
dispersing the moths all over!
***
2
like a story that unfolds in words
you unfold gradually
my discerning eye
touches every new fold
grazes playfully
at every nerve every pore
your sight just for me to behold
to cherish cry laugh
i reach out my hand
to caress your essence
the presence that envelopes me in fierce pain of longing
you who remain encompassed within your own boundaries
setbacks
of desires unfulfilled
you unfold everyday
in myriad hues of aspirations and anticipations
in wants and despairs
now fragile now rock solid like a mountain
that oceans rush to meet
you bind me into your own
even as you unfold
each day every day
become whole
shed the whole
break hide run
love in itself is not enough
it demands extracts paves ceases creates splinters
so unfold and grow in your own oeuvre
even as you become undecipherable
i’ll still graze the brown of your eyes
with the dark of my own
infuse your essence all around
for the winds to blow them far and wide
to announce your arrival
now whole now punctured!
***
3
my husband gifted me a green pote
and a hair parting full of red vermillion
on the day he wed
i gifted him my fresh virgin body
i didn’t ask if he had ever seen
felt a vagina
i dare not
don’t i have the red and green bounties
to hold my head high
he deserves my chastity
a pair of lips sealed
in lieu of the surname he would share
his body
a little pungent
of day old sweat
of raw onions
his fingers of cigarettes
a bitter mouth on my own
i forge the small moans
the giggles i don’t feel
just as instructed
this is how it is
you don’t have to like it all
says sister in law
i look at my brother and see him differently
something sour gags me
my mother’s multiple pregnancies
and the many lethal abortions
point tiny fingers at my father’s grave face
tiny invisible fingers
they have a right over their women
you owe them the red of the hair parting
the green on the neck
to walk safely in
an identity you always lacked
men will have their idiosyncrasies
their obsessions
feed them well
make yourselves available
ready
lest they wander
counsel the wise
even as i puke my lungs out
just a month after the first baby
pregnancy is proof that you love
what i do
slyly smiles he
pushing my garment up
freeing his pent up manhood
the ceiling has twelve beams
four rain patches
the cobwebs are reclaiming the corners
it takes him exactly a minute and some
to roll off from me and start snoring
***
4. phagun (harbinger of spring)
phagun is the ubiquitous crimson
amidst tall bare trees
phagun is the palash strewed arid ground
phagun is the gale that storms through
open windows and ajar doors
phagun is the harbinger of spring
of bordoichila
of love softly knocking at nubile hearts
phagun is hope
as trees readily bare
in assurance of the new buds
phagun is the unspoken pledge
the departing leaves make to one another
to bloom again
to flutter again
phagun is the riot of holi colors
smeared on the cheeks of loved ones
phagun is the madness of shiva
the perseverance of anticipation
phagun is the palmful of showers
that bring back heartful of lost moments
phagun is the tender memories
we keep hidden deep inside the closets
sprinkled in neptha and pot pourri
phagun is the never ending chasm
that barricades hearts from reaching out
just like it barricades the icy cold of winters
from stopping the spring blooms
phagun departs every year
for spring to set in
it prepares the ground
to sprout hope
for raw dreams
to take root and bloom
phagun is the span
crossing over
warming the cold of winters
ushering into the myriad hues of spring
the magic of nature
phagun is the touch
that touches just a graze
and leaves
unsatiated
march on phagun
you have to
you will
as we wait for you to come hurtling
next year around too
with the sights of palash
and the smells of river dust
shaking
infusing love and life into cold reveries
misting dreams for tomorrow!
***