‘Poetry is Dilemma and Didactics, the Art of Living Life’

Urna has a heart-to-heart talk with Ipsita Ganguli about her life and times. We also feature five poems by her. An exclusive for Different Truths.

“When I was much younger, I thought a veneer of surface hardness was more about strength. A tell-tale sign of inner tenacity. A quality to be applauded.

“But the older I grow, I understand real, enduring strength comes from a certain degree of softness. And that anything that is real, graceful, kind and honest will always lean more towards softness, than towards a brittle kind of hardness.”

This week, we bring you a poet who is a source of soft, sublime, resplendent light. As is her poetry. Join me dear friends, as I chat with the incredibly beautiful Ipsita Ganguli and get to pick her brains.

Urna: “…And all you touch and all you see, is all your life will ever be.…” These famous lyrics from the Pink Floyd song, ‘Breathe’ manage to sum it all up so succinctly, right?   We are nothing but an integration of the roles that we play and the experiences that we have had. A beautiful amalgamation of all that we have seen, felt, heard, tasted, touched. You have had a 20 year-long corporate career spanning telecom, logistics, and luxury hotels, Ipsita. Do tell us how your corporate life and the vast bouquet of your experiences have found their way into your stunning poetry.

Ipsita: Touch, feel, live, flow… into words, into phrases…into poetry.

Your poetry is different from mine maybe because I feel something in a different way from you, but we both pen our feelings down, don’t we?

And we feel differently because this beautiful chaos called life has touched us both in different ways…and I like to read life’s imprints on you and maybe you enjoy taking a peek into mine…or maybe your words touch my core and I cry or smile with you? 

How about that?

Poetry is all that and more. 

Experiences shape us, moulds our thinking…and then we fly with our imagination beyond our humble mundaneness into a zone of beautiful emotions, touching each other with our “minds”.

In the words of Cohen (one of my favourite poets/lyricists/singers)

“…And you want to travel with her, and you want to travel blind
And you know that she will trust you
For you’ve touched her perfect body with your mind…”

Urna: What was your childhood like? What kind of a child were you? Quiet and reticent, shy, and soft, or social and out-going? Who were your favourite authors? What role did books and reading play when you were growing up? Did you have a crush on any literary figure? If yes, who was it and why. 

Ipsita: If I look back at my childhood, I remember the music., Neil Diamond and Joan Baez, at our home. Pankaj Udhas and Jagjit Singh, at my grandfather’s home.

I remember cricket matches on the radio; I remember packing picnic hampers to the Eden Gardens for five-day matches. I remember Sunday “addas” and my grandmother feeding this small child, that is “me” while reading Tagore’s poems out loud. She would even write rhymes for my birthday.

I grew up on a heady mix of Thakurmar Jhuli, Hans Christian Anderson, Noddy, The Famous Five, Eliot, Jibanananda Das, Nazrul, Tagore, Agatha Christie, Byomkesh Bakshi, Feluda, Mills & Boons, chick flicks, classics…Anandamela, Desh…much like most people my age.

And yes, I did and continue to have a crush on Vikram Seth. My book of poems, Of Love, Longing and Random Pondering is dedicated to him.

Urna: We know you graduated from Presidency College (my alma mater, as well) with Political Science, and your post-graduation in international relations from Jadavpur University. Now, a lot of people harbour this notion that poetry comes easily to those who have majored in English Literature. Though I personally don’t subscribe to this insular notion, I think our readers might want to know where does the breath-taking eloquence of your poetry stem from? Do share your thoughts.

Ipsita: I have studied Political Science and International Relations and to me Political Science and a large part of what makes any discipline out of politics, is the philosophy behind it. Any philosophy is literary, melodious, thought provoking…just like poetry. But it isn’t really about literature or politics, is it?

Poetry is about sensitivity, it is about catharsis, it is a conviction, it is faith, and it is a dilemma and even didactics. Poetry is the art of living life.

Urna: Tell us a little bit about your compilation of poems, Of Love, Longing and Random Pondering, which was launched at the Kolkata Book Fair, 2017. Also, you have such beautiful, romantic, stirring eyes Ipsita. Tell us, if you had to choose one theme that you truly relish writing on, would that be “love and longing” or would that be “heritage”?

Ipsita: Of Love, Longing and Random Pondering was the culmination of a process which perhaps started from even before I remember. I cannot remember when I started writing poetry. I have scribbled my thoughts at the back of notebooks during classes, on restaurant tissue papers, between meetings.

It was an act of putting my scribbles together, compiling them into a manuscript at the behest of some very precious people who believed in my scribbles, and thought it was publish-worthy. Since I am a Calcutta-Kolkata girl, and the Kolkata Book Fair is an iconic event in this city for book lovers, it was incredibly special for me to have the book launched in the Kolkata Book Fair in 2017. Post the launch we have had several poetry reading sessions of this book, at the Calcutta Club, the Saturday Club, The Z’s Precinct and at many other poetry events.

As for “love and longing” or “heritage”, I am interested in both Poetry and Heritage. These are two different passions, just as much as I like travelling or enjoy being a foodie.

Anything can be a subject to write on if the subject is interesting. 

Urna: How many hours a day do you write? What is your writing process? Is there a favourite desk, a stylish mood-inducing divan, or a chair, perched next to an expansive French window? Please tell us about your writing space.

Ipsita: I wish I had the luxury of writing a few hours every day, but alas although I admire such discipline, it is not something I have been able to afford.

Like I mentioned before, I have written anywhere and everywhere, often between meetings or while waiting for clients. Sometimes I write late into the night after wrapping up the day’s work. Sometimes I write as a breather from some other work. Sometimes I write on my phone. Sometimes I write straight on Facebook. At other times I write on whatever paper is at hand.

I write whenever, wherever…perhaps poetry writes me!

***

Five Poems by Ipsita Ganguli

Yaman

Under the starlit sky
Amidst the august gathering
Raga Yaman in all its abhushan
Played to a glorious crescendo

Within me
Your memory played music
To my heart

It built up
The mesmerising music
On the mellifluous santoor
Of the maestro

And you
Behind my eyes shut
Your fragrance lingering

Under the night sky
No one and nothing existed
Only Raga Yaman played to its exaltation
And You, overwhelming each of my senses

And We
Existed
In an inverted parabola
From the skies to the earth

You and I
In a locked chamber
In the heart of the Universe
Unseen,
Unheard of,
Unfelt
To all
But the music of that
Tender night sky

Only, Yaman
played in all its abhushan,
Felt us
In every pore of the universe
As we unfolded together
Within its beautiful rhythm

The Tightrope

For a long time into adulthood
I insisted
that I didn’t belong to this city...
Bright lights,
Extra traffic,
Forever on the run...

Instead
I belonged to the shade of the neem tree
And that huge dusty, muddy field ahead of our garden
I belonged to the fish of the creek
Which surrounded that dusty field
I belonged to the water brimming over the creek
Once the rains began

Mostly
I belonged to the radiance of the red aalta which adorned my feet
I belonged to the orange sunset over the dighi
And the white lokkhi pecha that flew by once the sun went down.

I still remember the sweet fragrance of our desh
I remember the ancient terracotta temple
And the smiles of the children, as we distributed prasad

Land of my forefathers
I find myself within you.

And yet,
Elements of the hustle bustle
The pace
The chaos
Of this city
Finds itself within me

And I
Forever walk the tightrope
Between the rustic and my real.

Hello in Haikus

The minutes tick by
Days and months of endless wait
Craving your ‘Hello’

His booming ‘Hello’
Woke me up from my slumber,
It was, but a dream.

I try to forget
How the sound of his ‘hello’
Made my heart flutter

Amphan

That evening
Nature changed colours...
For a while before
She had been rumbling
And groaning
Turning the sky to a salty yellow...

As it often does
She then started going gray
Sheets of heavy gray
Pulled across the sky
In a sense of foreboding.

Till then
It was just like
Another heavy storm
Till
She
Suddenly

Unleashed her fury
In swirling sheets of rain
Whipping down
Howling winds
Rushing helter-skelter
Piercing the earth
Trembling in furious rage

And colours deepened
From stormy gray
To deepening blue
The sky inked
In a flash

The birds and trees
Braving it out there
And We the People
Huddled in fear
Watching helplessly
At this play
Of whiplash wind and rain...

Humbled
Reduced to nothingness
Against the might of Nature
That at one stroke
Can swallow all that Man holds precious

Resting

Shall I rest you then in poetry
The poetry of our longing
The poetry of the rain
Shall I rest you then?

Shall I rest you with the seasons,
The season's changing love
Shall I rest my head upon you?
Shall I rest you then?

Shall I rest within you,
The poetry of our lives
Shall our journeys have an ending?
We rest together, when?

Visuals by Different Truths and photos by Ipsita and Urna