I went into the workshop in the slightly paradoxical state of trying to communicate something that is at once very familiar and very alien. On the one hand, the concept of oral poetry is intrinsic to the Bengali language—from folk and fabulist roots to the articulation of various mystical schools, and even contemporary literary poetry, which, by and large, retains a recitative–performative element. Yet, spoken word as it exists—a primarily subaltern (in its broadest sense) form of articulation that integrates artifice and activism, performance and protest (or better still, artifice as activism, performance as protest) is largely unknown here. Add to this the problem of language—that my own writing is entirely in English—and we were on slightly tricky territory.

I wouldn’t say that these concerns magically melted away at the workshop. Judged on the yardstick of how successfully I was able to convey aspects of craft, technique, etc., I wouldn’t say the workshop accomplished much. Even by the end of the process, most participants remained within the particular mould of ‘kobita abritti’, poetry recitation, prevalent in the urban Bengali cultural space. Spoken word—the straight-from-the-heart, straight-from-the-breath, from-the-depths-of-the-body lyrical speech that reaches out to university campuses and prisons alike—was not really approached.

Yet, it was. For the true purpose of workshops such as this one—in fact, of all learning—is an inner evolution: a sense of harmony. This group, not many of whom had any experience of public performance, taught itself that it is possible, within the framework of a few minutes, to listen to yourself, and to speak out what you hear so that the rest of the world could share your voice. This workshop may not change anything in the world, but it created a space for itself to exist—and poetry, of course, makes nothing happen, it survives in a valley of its (own) making. So what really mattered, perhaps even more than the poetry that was created and performed, was the shared laughter, the effort to look at our bodies and the spaces, internal and external, that we inhabit and work around. Personally, it was a humbling experience because even though I was younger than almost everyone present in that space, the respect I was accorded—a respect entirely natural that had everything to do with graciousness and nothing at all with formality—stirred something nameless in me. I can only offer my wordless thanks to people who chose to share their stories, either in the group discussion or in private conversations, for trusting me with their memories.

The one dark spot in all of this, for me, was the open discussion that we had while trying to approach the core issue of communal violence. It was intended as an open forum where people could voice their opinions, positive or negative, frankly and without being judged, because I believe that expression and catharsis are the first steps towards healing. However, in the process, some very vicious anti-Muslim sentiments bordering almost on hate speech were unleashed, and the paucity of time notwithstanding, I feel that I failed in my role as facilitator to try and help the speakers achieve some kind of objective distance, to help them dissociate the facts from the emotions, and start the journey from vindictiveness towards healing. In the aftermath of the workshop, this has remained a disturbing thought in my mind, and I feel it is imperative that more work be done with the same group on respecting difference and tolerance for diversity.

—Arko Mukhopadhyay, workshop facilitator.

The Seagull Foundation for the Arts, in collaboration with Swayam, organized a two-day workshop on performing poetry on 4–5 December, 2010 at Swayam. Conducted by Arka Mukhopadhyay, poet and performer, the workshop intended to train and prepare 22 participants from Swayam for a public performance at the Hazra Road–S. P. Mukherjee Road crossing in South Calcutta on 6 December, 2010 to remember the day of the Babri Masjid demolition and mark the beginning of the International Fortnight protesting Violence Against Women—perhaps a significant coincidence.

The aim of the workshop was to bring out women’s experiences of communalism through a performative medium. The workshop had two distinct trajectories: First, to familiarize the participants with performance poetry—a medium virtually synonymous in the West with socially conscious protest literature but known or practised very little in India; Second, to prepare them for tolerant and insightful expressions of communal harmony. The second trajectory was undoubtedly more challenging for the scope of a two-day workshop, since all the participants were adults with their opinions firmly put in place by tradition and experience, in many cases personal experiences of communal intolerance. Although all the participants were in favour of peace and tolerance, in the course of the workshop many biases, discomforts, and anguished individual stories of non-cooperation and hostility from acquaintances of other communities spilled forth. The participants grew comfortable with the concept of performance poetry with relative ease, many of them being part of Swayam’s own theatre group and/or writers for its monthly publication Prayas.

On the first day of the workshop, facilitator Arka concentrated on the aspect of writing and performing without inhibition. He took the participants through a series of theatre games and breathing exercises, followed by an exercise of writing and reading out poetry on a theme—‘my body’. After lunch, the participants were shown videos of a few performers from the American performance poetry show Def Poetry, of the well-known British performance poet Benjamin Zephaniah, and performance clips from the ‘Poetry Slam’ recently held at the Seagull Arts and Media Resource Centre. Many of the participants, being familiar only with the Bengali language, did not immediately comprehend the poetry performed in highly accented English; but the form itself and Arka’s approximate translation of the subject matter of the poems inspired considerable interest. The first day ended with the participants being sent out to observe people in the streets (or, alternatively, from the second-floor window and the balcony of the workshop venue—Swayam’s ‘training hall’) and returning to turn what they observed into poems, which were eventually performed.

The second day began with discussions on communalism and ways of representing it. Arka followed up the first day’s breathing exercise—which had taken the form of the ‘Allah Hu’ cry of Sufi qawwali music, and caused minor discomfiture among a few participants—with exercises of chanting ‘Om’ and ‘Hallelujah’. This was followed by a discussion of the term ‘communalism’ and dividing the participants in groups of two to write personal experiences of communalism or opinions on it. The sharing of these pieces resulted in another opinionated as well as an insightful debate in which (it was interesting to observe) the participants engaged in a positive way with each other’s biases and inhibitions. The rest of the afternoon was dedicated to writing the final poems for the next day’s performance and working on recitation.

The final performance of ‘Voices Against Communalism’ took place on a small podium constructed at a corner of the Hazra crossing on the evening of 6 December, the excitement of the gathered audience palpable despite the chill and the accompanying drizzle. The location of the performance was significant—it is usually a space used for political gatherings and speeches, recalling propaganda and hollering of ‘convenient truths’. As Arka, coordinating the performance, repeatedly emphasized, ‘Voices Against Communalism’ was designed to be free of propaganda or the repression of reality. In accordance to this view the performance was followed by an open-mic session, at which members of the audience were given the opportunity, on stage, to express their opinions, read poetry as well as sing songs related to communal harmony.

—Monidipa Mondal (Student, Jadavpur University)