By Ananya S Guha
Having some pretensions to be a writer or for that matter a ‘poet’ I always marvel at the fact that this home-town of ours has bred such a cauldron of writers. Writers who have not only made their presence felt by their soul-stirring writing be it fiction or poetry, but who have preferred to remain largely ‘anonymous’ in their home-town or in the place where they were born, bred, where they studied and taught. Some of them of course still live here, not manacled by desires to catch the flight to the nearest Metro. Of course, if they chose to do so opportunities, if one may call this so awaited. But they preferred to remain and be assailed with what is called: the small town syndrome.
Way back in the late 1980s the Shillong Poetry Society was formed by some of these writer/poets alluded to above. Shying away from publicity all they did was to honour the call of poets and writing poetry which to many is a sacrilege. Publishing poetry is not a market attraction, reputed publishers say. But The Shillong Poetry Society went on undaunted for almost a decade, surviving on the intellectual patronage of a few. That it is now moribund needs no telling. It only died a ‘natural death’ and there were few to mourn for its untimely demise.
But who were the architects of such an unfettered move, the move to raise the echelons of poetry, to an unflagging quest for music, truth and all the ideals that true poetry represents.
And they also wrote, with gusto and ferocity if one may call it. The names of Desmond Kharmawphlang, Robin S Ngangnom, Kynpham Sing Nongkynrih are the ones that one recalls – prima donnas of poetry written in English in this part of our country. Very soon some more came into the limelight: Almond Syiem, Paul Lyngdoh, Gwenneth Mawlong, Indari Syiem and Aldous Mawlong to name a few. A critic once even wondered how a small place such as this could breed such a talented group at the same time… and if getting published was any criterion for recognition, very soon they were not for behind.
But that is not the point. The point is; that the fault dear friends is in poetry that it is an underling and does not belong to this brazen world of the glitterati and Reality!