Namrota Purakayastha
Aritra Basu’s debut collection of poem A Printed Mixtape is about a young man breaking even with life as he sees it, and how life comes to him against the backdrop of the infinitely complicated web of life. As we open the book, carelessly skipping through the carefully crafted preface, we are faced with the first poem, which almost bombards us with a raw, unapologetic card of confrontation: “Don’t you hate to look at me?” Angst and disgust of innumerable silent fights ooze out of this immensely powerful line. The poet has time and again fought with himself, negotiated, and questioned his very being which has resulted in this outcome. The opening lines of the first poem is a question he has always wanted to ask, not because he wants an answer but to make us ask ourselves how we actually see a person in the deepest recesses of our minds. Physical agreeability is often the first and last thing we consider in a person. In the poem “How to complain” Basu acknowledges the notions he thinks others have of him. This 'others' is not necessarily a set of people, but the eyes of society, the conventional lens that the society in which the author resides, has forged. The normalisation of associations of factors such as choice of clothes, address, or physical traits with tick boxes of one's personality is a very common and degrading notion that society has had since time immemorial. The poet establishes his stand against these fiercely and proudly. The poet also takes a firm political stand. The poem “Enemy of the people” resonates with the theme of the play, its namesake, by Henrik Ibsen, and Ray’s Ganashatru. The poet is not afraid to put down his political angst onto paper, protesting through the rawness of words and expressions — “I think the five acres allotted to them is enough to fit all/ of their followers I mean, how else would I define the/ word/ "Concentration…” Many poems pay tribute to great literary figures like Ray, Eliot, Sartre, Plath and Ishiguro. Another poem that takes a political stand is “Urdu words”. The poet emphasizes that Urdu words are so much part of the everyday lingo that we forget they are Urdu, and simultaneously shows why we forget that they are Urdu words. The poems in the collection play with form. The forms of the poems “Hollow”, “Flow”, and “Skin/Body”, resonate with the content of the poem — for example, “Flow” reflects the flow of time, through the poem’s hourglass form; “Hollow” being excavated in the centre; and, “Skin/Body” echoes emptiness shrouded by skin-like cover. Quite a few poems in the collection deal with longing, nostalgia and death. The reason I connect these three words is that somehow, they end up creating the feeling of ‘missing’, the presence of intangible yearning — “Homesickness”, “An old photograph”, “Mixtape”, “A call from an almost forgotten phone number”, “After all these years”, “Yesterday”, all reflect so. The book offers what Basu says, ‘breathing spaces’. These are intentionally left blank pages scattered throughout the book. They act as a relief from the thinking we go through, not just from the poems but from all the hefty monologues in our heads. Words are as important as solitary moments of deep breaths, quality rest and just letting go. The title A Printed Mixtape resonates with many poems included in the book — a longing for beautiful things of the past. A mixtape was once a symbol of love, something one makes for someone loved. What else can one do if one wants to make a mixtape today? Maybe collect some handwritten poems, print and bind them together, and offer them to the dear one who waits against the blush of the setting sun.
Namrota Purakayastha
Namrota Purakayastha has recently finished her Master’s in English Literature from the University of Calcutta. She is a poet, teacher, and content writer when she not attending her B.Ed. classes. Her favourite writers are Sylvia Plath, Donna Tartt, Albert Camus, and many more. She aspires to be a writer someday.