By Janet Moore Hujon
Once upon a time in the hills distances were greater and almost unimaginable, telephone communications were prized because rare, television was heard of but not seen, urgent messages arrived on your doorstep in a telegram and the internet had yet to be dreamed of. This was the kind of world in which I grew up much to the disbelieving horror of my children whose lives appear to be dictated by the technological ‘advances’ of our age.
In those days Shillong was a sleepy little town where seemingly nothing much happened. To feel a buzz you had to visit the plains – Calcutta! Delhi! Bombay! As for South India it could well have been on another planet – it was that far away. The thrill of seeing and climbing into a double-decker bus one shivery morning in Calcutta was definitely a landmark experience for me. Saying goodbye to Shillong was taking a tentative step into the unknown – and this was the thrill. Every lucky traveller was our version of the explorer who went out into a great unknown space equipped simply with hope and fear – your own and that of your loved ones.
In that slow gentle past those fortunate enough to visit the Meccas of civilisation returned with tales of planes, trains and automobiles, of teeming life, of colourful shops overflowing onto pavements, of strange foods, strange tongues, strange habits. I remember being troubled by the uncomfortable sense that out there and not here was where real life and living happened. But the outcome of any journey is always predictable. Whether we return or not we all end up with a new way of seeing either ourselves, our hometown, or both. Whether we like it or not we are endowed with a dual vision that takes in our past and our present. Some of us are conscious of this, some are not and for others this consciousness emerges with time. This way of seeing becomes part of our identity, a process which defines who we are and even more significantly how we want to be perceived with all the uncertainty that this can involve.
It is this new way of seeing that we then try to preserve or re-create. Sadly though it is the failure to dissect and see this vision for what it is, that lies at the root of all the sins committed on the environment today. When once the odd concrete building raised its head as a symbol of commercial enterprise and success replicating what was perceived in the plains, Shillong is now becoming home to one concrete monstrosity after another. And when we have our own natural water features why do we need to install fountains as a beautifying measure? How do we reconcile the death of our rivers with the money spent on such unnecessary projects? Should the government not focus on preserving not destroying?
As for Foreign Direct Investment the thought of it makes my blood run cold. Once again our ministers seem to think that like magicians they can pluck words and acronyms out of thin air to dazzle the watching populace. Now why on earth would anyone wish to have Tesco or Walmart on their doorstep or even worse, on a site outside the city where of course, it will require the clearing of ancient forests which will then be replaced by ugly man-made structures to which everyone will then have to drive and thus pollute even more air. These giants are soulless clones of each other, huge warehouses lined with steel shelves filled with neatly packed, plastic wrapped produce, all laid out in strict regimental order: huge halls where in total silence customers file in, make their choices, pay and leave. The only talk comes from a PA system convincing you that you are in a shoppers’ paradise. When you stop to think about this experience you do end up feeling it is a bit creepy.
To hope for some colour and warmth in such places is absolutely futile. It is then that I recall the Iewduh of my childhood with its many lanes and stalls filled with local fruit and vegetables all arranged with individual, personal, meticulous care and pride. I remember the Jaintia women with their blazing piles of turmeric, the red hot chillies, the dark pyramids of neiiong, and best of all the jadoh stalls where food was served on green leaves – biodegradable leaving no ecological damage. And even if one complained about the flies in the meat stalls, one was won over by the banter of the smiling stall owner.
You do not and will not get this kind of experience in any Tesco. You will not leave Tesco with the feeling that you have been in touch with life. Iewduh and Sohra’s Iewbah are unique in the cultural history and experience of our people and should be treated with the dignity they deserve. They should not be killed off by the likes of projects that have not been carefully thought through. And do not be fooled by the advantage of preserving produce in cold storage. There is no comparison between fresh and refrigerated food. Over the years I have tried guavas from different supermarkets but till today I have not found one to rival the sweet and flavoursome fruit grown on my grandfather’s farm in Sumer fleshed out by rain and sweetened by the sun. Supermarkets do not always guarantee a super taste. Meghalaya’s ginger, chilli, garlic, mushrooms and pepper are but a few of the state’s unique products which demand a unique setting. Think of the French country markets and the Souks in the Middle East. Aren’t those the places foreign tourists flock to in order to discover real, local flavour? With these chain stores however, you visit, leave, shrug your shoulders, so what? – yes, ‘seen one, seen them all’.
So if the government is worth its salt, it will focus on what we have and not seek to impose nightmares of so-called development. What we need is an exchange similar to that seen recently in the Shillong Times where in a quiet and dignified response to the concern expressed in letters sent to the paper, Barkos Warjri carefully explained the detailed thinking behind the Sohra eco-project. He expressed hope but did not promise miracles and most tellingly he wrote: “This is a partnership between the people of Sohra, and the Government which they own”. Let the rest of us not forget this.
Now perhaps we can hope for the same kind of transparency with regard to the establishment of fish ‘sanctuaries’ where good intentions may have the most disastrous of consequences. Again it was K L Tariang’s letter to the paper (October 17th) which highlighted the difference between official government pronouncements and the sensitive observations of the individual attuned to the rhythms of nature. Tariang’s factual letter was a delightful insight into the miracles that yearly occur in our waterways where the fish respond to the particular rhythm and flow of the river and of light, so that the process of life, death and rebirth can continue. It is a relationship like all others in Nature – essential, delicately balanced, precarious – pleading to be treated with care.
Meghalaya’s resources are abundant and varied and our knowledge, both inherited and learnt, can and should make our state a leader in ecological harmony. The challenge is to believe we can do it. As Gerald Pde pointed out ours has always been a sustainable culture, but its longevity as a meaningful culture can only be ensured if we nurture a positive environment. In this regard there are cautionary lessons to be learnt from China. Lauded as this century’s economic miracle it is a country where millions are displaced to clear the way for impressive hydro-electric projects, where cancer villages proliferate because of industrial poisoning, where men and women are thrown into jail for speaking out against injustices committed in the name of progress, where artists are placed under house arrest. The list is endless constituting a dark, growing stain on human history. How low has such a great civilisation fallen in the pursuit of wealth and power both of which are concentrated in the hands of a few. Does the last fact, dear reader, remind you of anything? Let us therefore be grateful to have among us people like Carl Rangad, Phrang Roy, Mohrmen, Brian Kharpran to name but a few – individuals who have no profiteering agenda but are clearly moved by the plight of the land. Let not their expertise be like pearls thrown before swine. They deserve better, Meghalaya deserves better.
And so as we wait for Toshan Nongbet to once again sing with all the fervour and sincerity of his young heart, let us think about what this can tell us about the journey he has made into our hearts and into history. It is a story of self-belief, of the courage to dare, of innocence, of the profound importance of nurturing support and most importantly of the artist’s ability to reveal what is hidden from us but which he intuitively discovers. It is this which transcends all linguistic and emotional barriers and unites us as a species. Leave others to compete in the rat race, let Meghalaya concentrate on fighting the good fight.
(The writer in based at Cambridge, UK)