The Poetree stood at a corner, quiet and unassuming. It was green and leafy, blessed with nature’s munificence. On an ordinary day, it saw birds alighting, flowers blooming, and children playing around it. While the humdrum of everyday life was enough to sustain it, it lacked something essential. On this day, it had twine dangling from its branches, naked and lifeless. The Poetree needed something else to truly blossom.
Under the regime of this Poetree unfolded the events of the 2015 edition of The Hindu Lit for Life. “One can be a good dancer only if they can fully comprehend the poetry of their art,” said Alarmel Valli, a dancer whose every word and movement radiates poetry. This analogy can also be applied to the reader: he can “experience” a text better if there is context, which in turn lends empathy to his reading rigour. Lit for Life, with its meticulous curation, accomplished exactly this. It uses conversations and performance as a means of pulling out sub-texts that would otherwise be beyond the reach of the average reader.
For me, every session that I attended helped me uncover a new sub-text, irrespective of its form. Bahar Dutt, with her extraordinary tales of activism; Leila Seth, with her many years of wisdom enshrining her in a new kind of youth; Jung Chang whose grace and poignancy was as royal as the Dowager Princess Cixi of China that she writes about… all showed me that women hold tremendous power, even within the most repressive and conservative of societies. Dayanita Singh, while displaying her photographs, also produced a less obvious moment worthy of capture — the knowledge that creativity transcends all established rules of art. She convincingly proved the existence of a higher state of art that integrates words, paintings, and photographs. This form speaks out boldly while simultaneously creating changing winds of meaningful conversation.
Samanth Subramanian and Salil Tripathi exchanged thoughts at lightning speed in their discussion on our neighbouring countries. Their quick exchanges and the sharp turns in their conversation mirrored the speed at which international policies and relations change. In another session on the intersection between literature and journalism, the two continued to draw upon each other’s energy to pull up pertinent questions and answer them convincingly in the same breath. The way they supplemented each other’s ideas brought me to the realisation that perhaps literature and journalism will find a confluence in a similar way by drawing upon the other’s energy.
Sub-texts aren’t merely confined to books. They lurk within the lands that we inhabit, the cities that sustain us, and the villages that gave birth to our roots. The session, “Song and Dance of the City: My Village” culminated on an interesting note: one must neither deride the excesses of the city, nor romanticise the bucolic lifestyle. The “ideal village” is one that lies in the heart of a city. It is a place that has done away with casteism to embrace a cosmopolitan sense of equality. Meanwhile, it holds on to the healthier traditions and ancient gems of knowledge that would benefit the society. The next day, P. Sainath spoke about his extensive work on documenting rural India. He peppered his talk with inspirational examples of rural librarians, middle-school GMO analysts, and singing groups of children to support the notion that the village could very well be the intellectual, cultural, and green future of our country.
Lit for Life also abounded in free spaces. It provided a platform for the much-criticised Chetan Bhagat to redeem himself, much to the initial chagrin of “elite readers” of literature (including myself!)who considered his novels akin to trash. At the end of the session, Bhagat won me over with his honesty. He didn’t really need to redeem himself, all he needed was a space to explain. More importantly, I had a new-found sense of respect; not only for him, but also for his avid readers. This festival also provided a space to throw light and perspective onto recent issues such as the silencing of Perumal Murugan. The most sacred and memorable space for me, was being able to converse with my favourite writers and get their books personally signed by them.
One must not forget to hail the invigorating coffee sold at the venue. It was a remarkably effective reprieve from the inevitable afternoon stupor brought on by a good lunch. The warm, breezy The Hindu Pavillion was a favourite afternoon haunt. The openness of the courtyard translated into the broadening of the spaces of one’s mind to harbour the many ideas and stories unleashed by the speakers.
Lit for Life also imbued the outdoors with its own literary connotations. Which brings us back to our Poetree. During the festival, it was, in a sense, fertilized. People began penning down lyrics, haikus, and nuggets of spontaneous poetry onto bits of paper and tying them to the naked twines. Slowly, the twines became leafy with their inked thoughts. Before I left the venue on the last day, I glanced once more at the tree. It now sparkled in opulent might. It had imbibed the power of words, to blossom into an exalted and living poetree.
The writer is a III year B.Sc. student at St. Joseph’s College, Bangalore.
