“When the student at Jamia Millia Islamia University first uttered ‘Dear Shahid’ right after the film's intertitle, I felt a tightening in my chest. It reminded me of my own days in Mumbai at Prithvi Theatre, where idealism was somehow removed from politics and the marginalization that was occurring. When I first saw the film, I felt like I knew this person.” | Live · INTERACTIVE Live · Los Angeles On “Letter from Your Far-Off Country” “When the student at Jamia Millia Islamia University first uttered ‘Dear Shahid’ right after the film's intertitle, I felt a tightening in my chest. It reminded me of my own days in Mumbai at Prithvi Theatre, where idealism was somehow removed from politics and the marginalization that was occurring. When I first saw the film, I felt like I knew this person.” Follow our YouTube channel for updates from past or future events. Letter from Your Far-Off Country , a short film by Suneil Sanzgiri, was shot on 16mm film stock that expired in 2002—the same year as Gujarat’s state-sponsored anti-Muslim genocide. The film weaves through forms and footage of a dizzying variety, from epistolary family stories, Agha Shahid Ali’s poetry, the theater of Safdar Hashmi, the Muslim women-led Shaheen Bagh movement, and more, creating a mosaic of temporalities that probe the personal and political together within the context of a fraught nation. As part of our event In Grief, In Solidarity we screened the film, which had been screened just prior at the Indian Film Festival of LA (IFFLA). Here, we show the post-screening Q&A that followed the screening, where xenior editor Vamika Sinha talked to Suneil Sanzgiri and Ritesh Mehta, senior programmer at IFFLA, about the film, how Sanzgiri pulled off his very experimental film, what motivated it, and his intellectual and aesthetic preoccupations. In particular, Sanzgiri talks at length about how the weaving of his personal history connected not just with the Shaheen Bagh movement and CAA protests broadly, but with the fact that protests in India included books by Ambedkar and Arundhati Roy alongside those of Angela Davis, while protests in the US played or sang music by Faiz, Agha Shahid Ali, Iqbal Bano at Black Lives Matter protests. These evocations of a global struggle were key to his approach to filmmaking. Mehta discusses his own emotional response to the film, which was deeply connected to his own experience in theatre in Bombay, and what it felt like to process much of what India had undergone recently, as refracted through Sanzgiri's prism. Letter From Your Far-Off Country is available through the Criterion Collection. In March 2024, Sanzgiri discussed his approach to form at our launch event, “Solidarity: Beyond the Disaster-Verse.” SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Live Los Angeles Indian Film Festival of LA Film Film-Making Gujarat Pogroms Letter From Your Far-Off Country Gujarat Riots Genocide Jamia Millia Islamia Epistolary Form Shaheen Bagh Movement CAA Protests Ambedkar Arundhati Roy Black Solidarities Internationalist Solidarity Global Agha Shahid Ali Safdar Hashmi Avant-Garde Form Avant-Garde Traditions Communist Tradition Faiz Ahmed Faiz Iqbal Bano Avant-Garde Aesthetics & Protest Farmers' Movement Diasporas Temporality Avant-Garde Film Short Film Personal History Directors Intertext Mikhail Bakhtin Black Lives Matter Prithvi Theatre Diasporic Distance Unspeakable Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. 5th Jun 2021 AUTHOR · AUTHOR Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

“When the student at Jamia Millia Islamia University first uttered ‘Dear Shahid’ right after the film's intertitle, I felt a tightening in my chest. It reminded me of my own days in Mumbai at Prithvi Theatre, where idealism was somehow removed from politics and the marginalization that was occurring. When I first saw the film, I felt like I knew this person.” INTERACTIVE On “Letter from Your Far-Off Country” Suneil Sanzgiri · Ritesh Mehta “When the student at Jamia Millia Islamia University first uttered ‘Dear Shahid’ right after the film's intertitle, I felt a tightening in my chest. It reminded me of my own days in Mumbai at Prithvi Theatre, where idealism was somehow removed from politics and the marginalization that was occurring. When I first saw the film, I felt like I knew this person.” Letter from Your Far-Off Country , a short film by Suneil Sanzgiri, was shot on 16mm film stock that expired in 2002—the same year as Gujarat’s state-sponsored anti-Muslim genocide. The film weaves through forms and footage of a dizzying variety, from epistolary family stories, Agha Shahid Ali’s poetry, the theater of Safdar Hashmi, the Muslim women-led Shaheen Bagh movement, and more, creating a mosaic of temporalities that probe the personal and political together within the context of a fraught nation. As part of our event In Grief, In Solidarity we screened the film, which had been screened just prior at the Indian Film Festival of LA (IFFLA). Here, we show the post-screening Q&A that followed the screening, where xenior editor Vamika Sinha talked to Suneil Sanzgiri and Ritesh Mehta, senior programmer at IFFLA, about the film, how Sanzgiri pulled off his very experimental film, what motivated it, and his intellectual and aesthetic preoccupations. In particular, Sanzgiri talks at length about how the weaving of his personal history connected not just with the Shaheen Bagh movement and CAA protests broadly, but with the fact that protests in India included books by Ambedkar and Arundhati Roy alongside those of Angela Davis, while protests in the US played or sang music by Faiz, Agha Shahid Ali, Iqbal Bano at Black Lives Matter protests. These evocations of a global struggle were key to his approach to filmmaking. Mehta discusses his own emotional response to the film, which was deeply connected to his own experience in theatre in Bombay, and what it felt like to process much of what India had undergone recently, as refracted through Sanzgiri's prism. Letter From Your Far-Off Country is available through the Criterion Collection. In March 2024, Sanzgiri discussed his approach to form at our launch event, “Solidarity: Beyond the Disaster-Verse.” ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: AUTHOR Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 AUTHOR Heading 5 Follow our YouTube channel for updates from past or future events. SHARE Facebook ↗ Twitter ↗ LinkedIn ↗ Live Los Angeles Indian Film Festival of LA Film Film-Making Gujarat Pogroms Letter From Your Far-Off Country Gujarat Riots Genocide Jamia Millia Islamia Epistolary Form Shaheen Bagh Movement CAA Protests Ambedkar Arundhati Roy Black Solidarities Internationalist Solidarity Global Agha Shahid Ali Safdar Hashmi Avant-Garde Form Avant-Garde Traditions Communist Tradition Faiz Ahmed Faiz Iqbal Bano Avant-Garde Aesthetics & Protest Farmers' Movement Diasporas Temporality Avant-Garde Film Short Film Personal History Directors Intertext Mikhail Bakhtin Black Lives Matter Prithvi Theatre Diasporic Distance Unspeakable SUNEIL SANZGIRI is an artist, researcher, and filmmaker. Spanning experimental video and film, animations, essays, and installations, his work contends with questions of identity, heritage, culture, and diaspora in relation to structural violence and anticolonial struggles across the Global South. His first institutional solo exhibition Here the Earth Grows Gold opened at the Brooklyn Museum in October 2023. His films have circulated at film festivals and institutions globally, including at the International Film Festival Rotterdam, New York Film Festival, Hong Kong International Film Festival, Criterion Collection, among others. RITESH MEHTA works in film/TV development as a story consultant for production companies and mentorship labs, and as a festival programmer. He was raised in Mumbai and is based in Los Angeles. Live Los Angeles 5th Jun 2021 PRITHI KHALIQUE is a visual designer and animator based in Dhaka and Providence. On That Note: Heading 5 23rd OCT Heading 5 23rd Oct Heading 5 23rd Oct

“When the student at Jamia Millia Islamia University first uttered ‘Dear Shahid’ right after the film's intertitle, I felt a tightening in my chest. It reminded me of my own days in Mumbai at Prithvi Theatre, where idealism was somehow removed from politics and the marginalization that was occurring. When I first saw the film, I felt like I knew this person.” INTERACTIVE On “Letter from Your Far-Off Country” “When the student at Jamia Millia Islamia University first uttered ‘Dear Shahid’ right after the film's intertitle, I felt a tightening in my chest. It reminded me of my own days in Mumbai at Prithvi Theatre, where idealism was somehow removed from politics and the marginalization that was occurring. When I first saw the film, I felt like I knew this person.” Suneil Sanzgiri · Ritesh Mehta Letter from Your Far-Off Country , a short film by Suneil Sanzgiri, was shot on 16mm film stock that expired in 2002—the same year as Gujarat’s state-sponsored anti-Muslim genocide. The film weaves through forms and footage of a dizzying variety, from epistolary family stories, Agha Shahid Ali’s poetry, the theater of Safdar Hashmi, the Muslim women-led Shaheen Bagh movement, and more, creating a mosaic of temporalities that probe the personal and political together within the context of a fraught nation. As part of our event In Grief, In Solidarity we screened the film, which had been screened just prior at the Indian Film Festival of LA (IFFLA). Here, we show the post-screening Q&A that followed the screening, where xenior editor Vamika Sinha talked to Suneil Sanzgiri and Ritesh Mehta, senior programmer at IFFLA, about the film, how Sanzgiri pulled off his very experimental film, what motivated it, and his intellectual and aesthetic preoccupations. In particular, Sanzgiri talks at length about how the weaving of his personal history connected not just with the Shaheen Bagh movement and CAA protests broadly, but with the fact that protests in India included books by Ambedkar and Arundhati Roy alongside those of Angela Davis, while protests in the US played or sang music by Faiz, Agha Shahid Ali, Iqbal Bano at Black Lives Matter protests. These evocations of a global struggle were key to his approach to filmmaking. Mehta discusses his own emotional response to the film, which was deeply connected to his own experience in theatre in Bombay, and what it felt like to process much of what India had undergone recently, as refracted through Sanzgiri's prism. Letter From Your Far-Off Country is available through the Criterion Collection. In March 2024, Sanzgiri discussed his approach to form at our launch event, “Solidarity: Beyond the Disaster-Verse.” Letter from Your Far-Off Country , a short film by Suneil Sanzgiri, was shot on 16mm film stock that expired in 2002—the same year as Gujarat’s state-sponsored anti-Muslim genocide. The film weaves through forms and footage of a dizzying variety, from epistolary family stories, Agha Shahid Ali’s poetry, the theater of Safdar Hashmi, the Muslim women-led Shaheen Bagh movement, and more, creating a mosaic of temporalities that probe the personal and political together within the context of a fraught nation. As part of our event In Grief, In Solidarity we screened the film, which had been screened just prior at the Indian Film Festival of LA (IFFLA). Here, we show the post-screening Q&A that followed the screening, where xenior editor Vamika Sinha talked to Suneil Sanzgiri and Ritesh Mehta, senior programmer at IFFLA, about the film, how Sanzgiri pulled off his very experimental film, what motivated it, and his intellectual and aesthetic preoccupations. In particular, Sanzgiri talks at length about how the weaving of his personal history connected not just with the Shaheen Bagh movement and CAA protests broadly, but with the fact that protests in India included books by Ambedkar and Arundhati Roy alongside those of Angela Davis, while protests in the US played or sang music by Faiz, Agha Shahid Ali, Iqbal Bano at Black Lives Matter protests. These evocations of a global struggle were key to his approach to filmmaking. Mehta discusses his own emotional response to the film, which was deeply connected to his own experience in theatre in Bombay, and what it felt like to process much of what India had undergone recently, as refracted through Sanzgiri's prism. Letter From Your Far-Off Country is available through the Criterion Collection. In March 2024, Sanzgiri discussed his approach to form at our launch event, “Solidarity: Beyond the Disaster-Verse.” SUB-HEAD ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: Clare Patrick (Our) Worlds and (Plant) Wisdoms Kareen Adam · Nazish Chunara A Dhivehi Artists Showcase Follow our YouTube channel for updates from past or future events. SHARE Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Live Los Angeles Indian Film Festival of LA Film Film-Making Gujarat Pogroms Letter From Your Far-Off Country Gujarat Riots Genocide Jamia Millia Islamia Epistolary Form Shaheen Bagh Movement CAA Protests Ambedkar Arundhati Roy Black Solidarities Internationalist Solidarity Global Agha Shahid Ali Safdar Hashmi Avant-Garde Form Avant-Garde Traditions Communist Tradition Faiz Ahmed Faiz Iqbal Bano Avant-Garde Aesthetics & Protest Farmers' Movement Diasporas Temporality Avant-Garde Film Short Film Personal History Directors Intertext Mikhail Bakhtin Black Lives Matter Prithvi Theatre Diasporic Distance Unspeakable SUNEIL SANZGIRI is an artist, researcher, and filmmaker. Spanning experimental video and film, animations, essays, and installations, his work contends with questions of identity, heritage, culture, and diaspora in relation to structural violence and anticolonial struggles across the Global South. His first institutional solo exhibition Here the Earth Grows Gold opened at the Brooklyn Museum in October 2023. His films have circulated at film festivals and institutions globally, including at the International Film Festival Rotterdam, New York Film Festival, Hong Kong International Film Festival, Criterion Collection, among others. RITESH MEHTA works in film/TV development as a story consultant for production companies and mentorship labs, and as a festival programmer. He was raised in Mumbai and is based in Los Angeles. 5 Jun 2021 Live Los Angeles 5th Jun 2021 PRITHI KHALIQUE is a visual designer and animator based in Dhaka and Providence. A Set by Discostan Arshia Fatima Haq · Prithi Khalique 5th Jun Chats Ep. 8 · On Migrations in Global History Neilesh Bose 4th May Chats Ep. 7 · Karti Dharti, Gender & India's Farmers Movement Sangeet Toor 29th Apr Nation-State Constraints on Identity & Intimacy Chaitali Sen 17th Dec FLUX · A Panel on SAAG, So Far Shreyas R Krishnan · Kartika Budhwar · Nur Nasreen Ibrahim · Aishwarya Kumar 5th Dec On That Note:

“When the student at Jamia Millia Islamia University first uttered ‘Dear Shahid’ right after the film's intertitle, I felt a tightening in my chest. It reminded me of my own days in Mumbai at Prithvi Theatre, where idealism was somehow removed from politics and the marginalization that was occurring. When I first saw the film, I felt like I knew this person.” INTERACTIVE On “Letter from Your Far-Off Country” “When the student at Jamia Millia Islamia University first uttered ‘Dear Shahid’ right after the film's intertitle, I felt a tightening in my chest. It reminded me of my own days in Mumbai at Prithvi Theatre, where idealism was somehow removed from politics and the marginalization that was occurring. When I first saw the film, I felt like I knew this person.” VOL. 1 LIVE AUTHOR AUTHOR AUTHOR Follow our YouTube channel for updates from past or future events. ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: AUTHOR Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 Heading 5 AUTHOR Heading 5 Follow our YouTube channel for updates from past or future events. SHARE Facebook ↗ Twitter ↗ LinkedIn ↗ Live Los Angeles 5th Jun 2021 Live Los Angeles Indian Film Festival of LA Film Film-Making Gujarat Pogroms Letter From Your Far-Off Country Gujarat Riots Genocide Jamia Millia Islamia Epistolary Form Shaheen Bagh Movement CAA Protests Ambedkar Arundhati Roy Black Solidarities Internationalist Solidarity Global Agha Shahid Ali Safdar Hashmi Avant-Garde Form Avant-Garde Traditions Communist Tradition Faiz Ahmed Faiz Iqbal Bano Avant-Garde Aesthetics & Protest Farmers' Movement Diasporas Temporality Avant-Garde Film Short Film Personal History Directors Intertext Mikhail Bakhtin Black Lives Matter Prithvi Theatre Diasporic Distance Unspeakable Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Letter from Your Far-Off Country , a short film by Suneil Sanzgiri, was shot on 16mm film stock that expired in 2002—the same year as Gujarat’s state-sponsored anti-Muslim genocide. The film weaves through forms and footage of a dizzying variety, from epistolary family stories, Agha Shahid Ali’s poetry, the theater of Safdar Hashmi, the Muslim women-led Shaheen Bagh movement, and more, creating a mosaic of temporalities that probe the personal and political together within the context of a fraught nation. As part of our event In Grief, In Solidarity we screened the film, which had been screened just prior at the Indian Film Festival of LA (IFFLA). Here, we show the post-screening Q&A that followed the screening, where xenior editor Vamika Sinha talked to Suneil Sanzgiri and Ritesh Mehta, senior programmer at IFFLA, about the film, how Sanzgiri pulled off his very experimental film, what motivated it, and his intellectual and aesthetic preoccupations. In particular, Sanzgiri talks at length about how the weaving of his personal history connected not just with the Shaheen Bagh movement and CAA protests broadly, but with the fact that protests in India included books by Ambedkar and Arundhati Roy alongside those of Angela Davis, while protests in the US played or sang music by Faiz, Agha Shahid Ali, Iqbal Bano at Black Lives Matter protests. These evocations of a global struggle were key to his approach to filmmaking. Mehta discusses his own emotional response to the film, which was deeply connected to his own experience in theatre in Bombay, and what it felt like to process much of what India had undergone recently, as refracted through Sanzgiri's prism. Letter From Your Far-Off Country is available through the Criterion Collection. In March 2024, Sanzgiri discussed his approach to form at our launch event, “Solidarity: Beyond the Disaster-Verse.” More Fiction & Poetry: Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5 Date Authors Heading 5

“Welcome! Models politicians auto drivers butchers bankers accountants actors liars cheat saints masters slaves herpes gonorrhea HIV syphilis tops bottoms bottoms who top tops who bottom preferably top miserably bottom white black pink yellow brown blue high caste low caste no caste...” | · FICTION & POETRY One-Act Play · Manipur Disappearing Act “Welcome! Models politicians auto drivers butchers bankers accountants actors liars cheat saints masters slaves herpes gonorrhea HIV syphilis tops bottoms bottoms who top tops who bottom preferably top miserably bottom white black pink yellow brown blue high caste low caste no caste...” Artwork contributed anonymously for SAAG. Editor’s note: The author of this play as well as the accompanying artist elected to publish this work anonymously. In the words of the author: “It is a matter of great shame for a democracy that its writers have to submit their work anonymously.” This piece was workshopped and honed over a period of six months with SAAG editors Hananah Zaheer, Neilesh Bose, Nazish Chunara, Kamil Ahsan, Aditya Desai, along with the playwright, a dramaturge, and the artist. The world has folded. A tree in Manipur now hangs upside down above the bed in KUNJA’s room in a city in India. The tree is a Panggong Tree (Butea monosperma) used in Manipur to make effigies of the dead when the body is not found. A bed is the focus of the room. Scene 1 Projection on a wall: June 5th, 2015. Rebels ambush an army convoy in Manipur killing 20 soldiers in the deadliest attack on Indian army since the Kargil war. GAURAV is tackling KUNJA who is hysterical. GAURAV Kunja, there is no one. You are high. KUNJA Hide me! Hide. GAURAV We are not in Manipur. KUNJA They’ll catch every young person they can find. This was a big attack. They will spare no one. GAURAV It’s the drugs. KUNJA I was here with you right? You’ll tell them I was here with you. Don’t let me disappear. GAURAV manages to pin KUNJA to the ground. GAURAV You are safe. KUNJA They eat our flesh. GAURAV You’re hallucinating. KUNJA Why aren’t you doing anything? GAURAV Remember— Remember what we said? GAURAV hugs KUNJA tightly. GAURAV There is no one outside. We are here, you and I. Here, where we go out holding hands and no one harms us. KUNJA stops struggling. GAURAV In this big big city, no one can find us. No one breaks house doors down. Guns don’t exist. Bombs are fire crackers. This city is a rainbow. They speak together. KUNJA Manipur is far far away. 3190 kms. 5 hours by plane. 70 hours on a train. GAURAV Manipur is far far away. 3190 kms. 5 hours by plane. 70 hours on a train. GAURAV They can’t just come here, right? KUNJA No. GAURAV In this city, there is only police. GAURAV releases KUNJA. Both sit up. GAURAV Only police. KUNJA Only police. GAURAV Cold water bath. Glucon-D. Fries. It will pass. GAURAV gets up. KUNJA (dazed) Are you with them? . . . Scene 2 GAURAV is asleep. KUNJA is sitting next to him on the bed staring at the tree above. KUNJA One day you’ll wake up and find me gone. No body, no trace. Will you look for me, Gaurav? What do y’all do when you find out that someone has disappeared? We make an effigy of the person from the branches of the Panggong tree. Will you make an effigy of me? Keep it with you? On this bed? Beat. KUNJA This bed has been my country for a long time. GAURAV doesn’t wake up. . . . Scene 3 KUNJA is painting GAURAV ’s back. There are paint bottles strewn around. GAURAV twitches every time KUNJA touches the paintbrush to his back. GAURAV It feels icky. KUNJA You want me to paint or not? GAURAV On paper. GAURAV It helps you, right? KUNJA It helps you . You like watching me paint. Mountains. Flowers. Dicks. You think I am recovering if I’m drawing mountains. GAURAV You relapse whenever you start painting flowers. KUNJA I relapse when I think you’re going to join the army. GAURAV takes a rag and starts wiping his back. KUNJA What if they find out you’re gay? GAURAV Do I look gay? KUNJA Won’t you get expelled? GAURAV I’m only gay for you! KUNJA I had a friend Faariz in Manipur. He wanted to join PREPAK. It’s a UG. GAURAV (sighs) Another terrorist story— KUNJA We call them freedom fighters. GAURAV Wrong history books. We’re already free. KUNJA He was also involved in some tax collection things for them in college. Very motivated. Then he realised he was queer. With that he knew he could never join PREPAK or any other movement in Manipur. Forget the army, if PREPAK found out they would kill him first. I remember telling him that we don’t have to join any movements that don’t have a place for us. And I am saying that to you now. GAURAV I was born to be in the army. KUNJA You think the army has a place for you? What are you going to do when other officers bring their wives and girlfriends to army parties? Take me along? GAURAV holds KUNJA ’s face. GAURAV The results will be out in a week and I’m getting in. KUNJA Don’t join the army. The army is sick. GAURAV You are sick. KUNJA What if I told you I wanted to join PREPAK? Fight the occupation. Kill soldiers. Would you still love me? GAURAV looks away. KUNJA (shouting as if he’s sloganeering at a protest) Then how do I love you if you join the army? Army rapes us. Takes our flesh! Beat. GAURAV They’re people, you know? With wives, mothers, sons, sisters. Lovers. Like you are mine. I wanted to cry. I couldn’t. I spent the night holding you down waiting for you to come back to your senses, you fucking druggie. . . . Scene 4 FAARIZ is hanging from the Panggong tree. KUNJA is making his bed. KUNJA If love keeps people together then what does ideology do? FAARIZ Can you separate the two? KUNJA What if my freedom lies in the struggle between the two? In the middle. Gaurav struggles to keep loving me. FAARIZ Occupation takes work. KUNJA That’s not how it is between us. FAARIZ Can love erase identity? KUNJA Sometimes after an orgy, we all sit around and discuss how we started slamming. I want to tell them that I was tired of identity. The first time I slammed was the first time I had sex without identity. It was the best thing in the world. FAARIZ And then you became a slammer. KUNJA But it’s an identity without history. It’s light. Has no weight. No matter who you are, where you are from, once you get inside that’s it! FAARIZ Do you become Indian after slamming? KUNJA Yes. Till I’m high I remain Indian. FAARIZ Feels good? KUNJA Feels like community. When I first came here, a boy I met on Grindr took me for a party. I was blown away the second I entered. It felt like another nation, one where I fit in. And then I started meeting people and realised this community I so terribly want to be a part of, that I feel I’m part of, doesn’t know anything about me. Where I come from, what I have lived, what I want. And they don’t want to know either. FAARIZ Ay chinki! KUNJA It’s not just about words, it's about the gaze. You know when you first look at someone how you imagine their history? You see them at their home. You see them growing up. Celebrating a festival. Eating at a restaurant. You imagine them having sex, shaving, crying. The way people look at us here, their gaze is empty. They’re not able to imagine our histories. That’s why they act the way they act. I tried to make this country my friend. I told them about my past and showed them how I eat. But I just couldn’t fill their gaze. And then I slammed, and for the first time I didn’t look into their eyes. All I could see was dick and ass and balls. And I knew that’s all they saw. Our vision was united. Years of abandonment vanished the second I injected. I found community. Something I never had. KUNJA gets up on the bed. He looks at the audience and mimes taking a slam. His eyes start to glow. A visual is projected on the wall: A very close shot of a hairy asshole opening into a universe. FAARIZ The freedom struggle ends at a slam? KUNJA Slamming is the celebration of freedom. And it's so intense, this party, that we forget we’re not actually free. FAARIZ We also take drugs to forget about the occupation for a while. KUNJA No matter what you do, the occupation finds a way to occupy you. I’d forgotten about Manipur. My bed had become my country. And then I met Gaurav. He told me the first time we met that he wanted to join the army. Later that night, when I was slammed, a soldier appeared outside the door. And then more and more. Gaurav stuck with me through all of it. Can you imagine staying up night after night trying to convince someone there is no one outside the door? FAARIZ What are you going to do if he gets posted to Manipur? KUNJA I will go visit him. FAARIZ He tortures us? Or disappears someone? KUNJA (stoically) The Supreme Court has declared that the army will be held accountable. FAARIZ Maybe as collateral damage then. In an attack. What are you going to do when he comes home after that? Beat. KUNJA Cook him a meal! Pork and bamboo shoots. Smoked. Exactly like Imaa makes it. A spicy beef salad on the side. FAARIZ He doesn’t eat those things. KUNJA I’ll make him. KUNJA starts searching for something under his bed. He messes up the bed he just made. He opens drawers and tries to empty out pockets of his clothes and trashing the room. KUNJA Why are you still here? Go home to AFSPA! FAARIZ Won’t you visit? KUNJA I don’t give a damn about that shithole. I hope they disappear the entire place. FAARIZ So many effigies you’ll have to make. Do you still do it? Make effigies? Paint on them? Give them names? KUNJA I never made an effigy of you. FAARIZ When you do, paint me with the memory of a fierce battle. Where I kill 100 Indian soldiers. Beat. KUNJA Got stuff? Just one more time. Or my veins are going to burst. . . . Scene 5 Several anxious guys enter and stand around KUNJA who takes his clothes off slowly as he speaks. In the end, he gets naked and positions himself on the edge of the bed on all fours. The men take off their clothes and slam each other. KUNJA (manic) Welcome! Everyone is welcome. Fat skinny sissy sluts down market on the market fake commercial prostitute destitute dudes studs uncles aunties boys guys hunks punks from this place that place small place no place come find a space sane sorted insane distorted models politicians auto drivers butchers bankers accountants actors liars cheat saints masters slaves herpes gonorrhea hiv syphilis tops bottoms bottoms who top tops who bottom preferably top miserably bottom white black pink yellow brown blue high caste low caste no caste hindu muslim, sikhs christians tribes even the denotified atheists monks fanatics junks english speaking and those who stopped speaking altogether 8 inch 10 inch 3 inch tight loose open close. GAURAV enters without KUNJA noticing. KUNJA From here, there, everywhere, everyone, everyone is welcome to the ocean. Come take a dip, it doesn’t matter if you can’t swim. Just get your own stuff and that will keep you afloat. Or find someone to pay for your ticket. Three thousand rupees to take so far you will forget where you are from. Bareback at your own risk. Break the needle after one use, sharing will give you things you don’t need. If you feel like you’re losing it just smoke some weed. That’s all. Now come on! The universe is begging to get fucked. KUNJA spots GAURAV. GAURAV walks to KUNJA and helps him stand on his feet. KUNJA You were supposed to be my de-addiction program. You give me time. But no energy. GAURAV picks up KUNJA ’s clothes. He makes KUNJA put them back on. GAURAV Let’s go home? Beat. KUNJA I like the sound of that. KUNJA and GAURAV walk away together. . . . Scene 6 Bottles of alcohol and half filled glasses on the floor. GAURAV and KUNJA are in bed. GAURAV is trying to penetrate KUNJA. He can’t get hard. KUNJA It’s not hard. GAURAV Blow me. KUNJA I did. GAURAV Do it again. KUNJA We don’t have to. GAURAV I need to. KUNJA Let me clean up. GAURAV Do you clean up in a slam orgy? KUNJA Can I top? GAURAV No. KUNJA You’re not getting hard. GAURAV Why can’t you blow me? KUNJA My back hurts. GAURAV My head hurts. I need to fuck. I’m begging you. KUNJA I’ll shower and I’ll make some food. We can eat. And then fuck. GAURAV You’re punishing me for getting in? KUNJA I have made peace with it. GAURAV I don’t care about your peace tonight. This is the greatest thing to happen to me and I’m not going to let you fuck this up. Even if you are unhappy, you will smile. Even if you feel like dying, you will act like you have never been more horny. You will give me the best orgasm of my life. KUNJA What should I do? GAURAV Tell me you’re afraid that I might fuck other boys in the academy. KUNJA It’s not porn. GAURAV A tall muscular guy blowing me in the night in the bathroom and drinking my cum. KUNJA I will be happy for you. GAURAV Will you also fuck while I am gone? KUNJA I don’t know. GAURAV How will I know? KUNJA What do you want me to do? GAURAV What if you fall in love with someone else? KUNJA tries to get up. GAURAV holds him down. GAURAV Will you cheat on me? KUNJA No! GAURAV What if you feel horny? KUNJA I will think about you. GAURAV What if I cheat on you? KUNJA Don’t tell me. GAURAV Don’t ask don’t tell. KUNJA Yes. GAURAV So is that your strategy? You won’t tell me? KUNJA (exhausted) Gaurav, I need to take a shit. GAURAV Shit here. Beat. KUNJA Fuck off. GAURAV I don’t care. GAURAV goes to finger KUNJA. KUNJA resists. GAURAV pulls his finger out. It has shit on it. He brings it close to KUNJA ’s face. GAURAV Smell it. KUNJA (voice cracks) I’ll hit you Gaurav. GAURAV I will make you eat your shit if you cheat on me. KUNJA I will cheat on you, you shithead. GAURAV I know. You can’t control it. It’s in your fucking DNA. Animals. . . . Scene 7 GAURAV is holding a big paintbrush in his hand. KUNJA is standing next to him. He is naked and has some paint on his arm. They are surrounded by tubs of paints. GAURAV I’m not a painter. KUNJA You are, my love. It’s amazing what you do when you paint. When my friend Faariz disappeared, I started making effigies of him with branches of the Panggong tree. I would paint those effigies in different colours imagining I was giving the effigy things to remember. Bring it to life. When other boys were playing sports outside, I would be in my room making effigies and painting. I painted a thousand effigies. I could only paint memories onto them, give them new thoughts, but I was never able to take away their pain. When you paint, you erase. It’s a gift you have. And there is so much I need to forget. Paint. GAURAV paints a stroke on KUNJA ’s other hand. GAURAV I don’t want to do this. KUNJA I give the memory of the khwairamband bazaar, running through its lanes as a kid, cruising through its alleys as a teenager eying men. GAURAV Tell me about cruising in that bazaar? KUNJA I don’t remember. Shoulder. KUNJA I give the memory of our school trip to the Kangla fort, and the one of walking through its corridors hand in hand when no one is watching with a boy I first barebacked. Back. KUNJA I give the memory of the first time I heard someone say I love you, and the memory of wanting to say the words but not being able to. Ass. KUNJA I give the memory of being beaten up by an Assam Rifles officer for breaking curfew. I give the memory of being beaten up by an AR officer for being drunk. The memory of my uncle being slapped by an officer for answering back. I give. GAURAV backs off. GAURAV I can’t do this. KUNJA Please let me. Feet. KUNJA I give the smell of Morok Mepta. GAURAV You can remember that at least. KUNJA No. KUNJA I give the sound of the Pung. I give my body memory that remembers thang-ta moves. Ankles. KUNJA I give up all that I have seen to have a new vision. Chest. KUNJA I give the trees. I will not remember their names anymore. Stomach. KUNJA The folklores, poubi lai, saroi ngaroi, the songs, I forget the lyrics to the lai haraoba ishei. Can I keep the tune? KUNJA tenses up. Beat. GAURAV Just let it go. Crotch. KUNJA I give the names of the deities. The rituals of sanamahism. GAURAV We have plenty. I’ll teach you. Thighs. KUNJA I give my father’s dreams. My mother’s voice that calls me home. GAURAV Don’t do this for me. KUNJA I am doing this for myself. GAURAV starts to paint faster. KUNJA The games we play. I give the names we call the army. GAURAV That’s good. KUNJA I give the views of the valley. The taste of our water. GAURAV Your water? KUNJA I give up. Waist. KUNJA I give up memories of driving on the highway that is still under repair after 5 years. I give up motorbike rides with friends, lovers, friends who became lovers, lovers who never became friends. GAURAV Slut. KUNJA I give up words from our language. I give up the cuss words we call Indians. GAURAV pauses, then starts to paint KUNJA faster, violently. KUNJA The dreams of freedom. I give up. KUNJA Wait—But can I keep the memory of Irom’s fast? I was a kid when she started fasting. I grew up with the fast. GAURAV Let it go. GAURAV goes to paint KUNJA ’s neck but KUNJA dodges GAURAV. KUNJA (quietly, desperately) No, please. Just that. It was a movement I felt I was a part of. I helped paint the banner for meira paibi. I was the only boy who knew about the protest. They chose me. GAURAV You can’t. KUNJA Stop. GAURAV grabs KUNJA by the neck and he paints it. KUNJA struggles to set himself free. GAURAV You have to forget. KUNJA Wait... No. GAURAV paints over KUNJA ’s neck. GAURAV Do you remember now? KUNJA Remember? GAURAV starts painting all over KUNJA. GAURAV Now forget about everything you saw while growing up. KUNJA Please— GAURAV Forget the skies. KUNJA Why? GAURAV The relationships you have to give up. KUNJA No— GAURAV The smells. KUNJA Stop. Stop . GAURAV Your history. You can’t have a history. Give up the festivals. Forget about the movies you saw. The songs you danced to. KUNJA breaks down in tears. KUNJA Why are you doing this? GAURAV You were never there. Give up the sounds. The touch you cannot remember. That disgusting food you have to give up. KUNJA I can't. GAURAV You have to now! Do you remember the birds you see there? KUNJA Nongin. Thembi marikpi. Langmeidong. GAURAV You can’t. GAURAV paints on KUNJA ’s face. GAURAV Give up the language, give up the bodies, give up the dreams. I fucking need you to give up the dreams. You cannot dream like a Manipuri anymore. You will not dream. I am taking away those mornings. From now on you must only remember the nights from here. The seasons here. You will only remember this rain. GAURAV finishes painting all of KUNJA. GAURAV stands up and takes a few steps back admiring his creation. GAURAV You are one of us now. Beat. KUNJA stands up. He looks at his hands and body. He opens his right palm which was clenched in a fist. KUNJA Wait— You forgot— KUNJA This part. GAURAV picks up the paintbrush. He dips it in black paint. He gently paints a stroke onto KUNJA ’s palm. KUNJA Thank you. GAURAV steps away. Lights dim slowly on GAURAV. Slowly, he disappears. Lights dim slowly on the bed. KUNJA turns and looks around the room. His eyes fall on the paintbrush that is lying on the floor. He picks it up. He looks up at the Panggong tree. Beat. KUNJA leaves the room. Blackout. ∎ SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. One-Act Play Manipur Indian Army Panggong Tree Effigy Queerness Love Story People's Revolutionary Party of Kangleipak PREPAK Painting Addiction Sex Playwriting Drama AFSPA Assam Rifles Northeast India Meitei Peoples Sanamahism UG Groups Insurgency Resistance Meira Paibi Sister States Meitei Mizoram Assam Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. 2nd Apr 2021 AUTHOR · AUTHOR Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

“Welcome! Models politicians auto drivers butchers bankers accountants actors liars cheat saints masters slaves herpes gonorrhea HIV syphilis tops bottoms bottoms who top tops who bottom preferably top miserably bottom white black pink yellow brown blue high caste low caste no caste...” FICTION & POETRY Disappearing Act “Welcome! Models politicians auto drivers butchers bankers accountants actors liars cheat saints masters slaves herpes gonorrhea HIV syphilis tops bottoms bottoms who top tops who bottom preferably top miserably bottom white black pink yellow brown blue high caste low caste no caste...” Anonymous Editor’s note: The author of this play as well as the accompanying artist elected to publish this work anonymously. In the words of the author: “It is a matter of great shame for a democracy that its writers have to submit their work anonymously.” This piece was workshopped and honed over a period of six months with SAAG editors Hananah Zaheer, Neilesh Bose, Nazish Chunara, Kamil Ahsan, Aditya Desai, along with the playwright, a dramaturge, and the artist. The world has folded. A tree in Manipur now hangs upside down above the bed in KUNJA’s room in a city in India. The tree is a Panggong Tree (Butea monosperma) used in Manipur to make effigies of the dead when the body is not found. A bed is the focus of the room. Scene 1 Projection on a wall: June 5th, 2015. Rebels ambush an army convoy in Manipur killing 20 soldiers in the deadliest attack on Indian army since the Kargil war. GAURAV is tackling KUNJA who is hysterical. GAURAV Kunja, there is no one. You are high. KUNJA Hide me! Hide. GAURAV We are not in Manipur. KUNJA They’ll catch every young person they can find. This was a big attack. They will spare no one. GAURAV It’s the drugs. KUNJA I was here with you right? You’ll tell them I was here with you. Don’t let me disappear. GAURAV manages to pin KUNJA to the ground. GAURAV You are safe. KUNJA They eat our flesh. GAURAV You’re hallucinating. KUNJA Why aren’t you doing anything? GAURAV Remember— Remember what we said? GAURAV hugs KUNJA tightly. GAURAV There is no one outside. We are here, you and I. Here, where we go out holding hands and no one harms us. KUNJA stops struggling. GAURAV In this big big city, no one can find us. No one breaks house doors down. Guns don’t exist. Bombs are fire crackers. This city is a rainbow. They speak together. KUNJA Manipur is far far away. 3190 kms. 5 hours by plane. 70 hours on a train. GAURAV Manipur is far far away. 3190 kms. 5 hours by plane. 70 hours on a train. GAURAV They can’t just come here, right? KUNJA No. GAURAV In this city, there is only police. GAURAV releases KUNJA. Both sit up. GAURAV Only police. KUNJA Only police. GAURAV Cold water bath. Glucon-D. Fries. It will pass. GAURAV gets up. KUNJA (dazed) Are you with them? . . . Scene 2 GAURAV is asleep. KUNJA is sitting next to him on the bed staring at the tree above. KUNJA One day you’ll wake up and find me gone. No body, no trace. Will you look for me, Gaurav? What do y’all do when you find out that someone has disappeared? We make an effigy of the person from the branches of the Panggong tree. Will you make an effigy of me? Keep it with you? On this bed? Beat. KUNJA This bed has been my country for a long time. GAURAV doesn’t wake up. . . . Scene 3 KUNJA is painting GAURAV ’s back. There are paint bottles strewn around. GAURAV twitches every time KUNJA touches the paintbrush to his back. GAURAV It feels icky. KUNJA You want me to paint or not? GAURAV On paper. GAURAV It helps you, right? KUNJA It helps you . You like watching me paint. Mountains. Flowers. Dicks. You think I am recovering if I’m drawing mountains. GAURAV You relapse whenever you start painting flowers. KUNJA I relapse when I think you’re going to join the army. GAURAV takes a rag and starts wiping his back. KUNJA What if they find out you’re gay? GAURAV Do I look gay? KUNJA Won’t you get expelled? GAURAV I’m only gay for you! KUNJA I had a friend Faariz in Manipur. He wanted to join PREPAK. It’s a UG. GAURAV (sighs) Another terrorist story— KUNJA We call them freedom fighters. GAURAV Wrong history books. We’re already free. KUNJA He was also involved in some tax collection things for them in college. Very motivated. Then he realised he was queer. With that he knew he could never join PREPAK or any other movement in Manipur. Forget the army, if PREPAK found out they would kill him first. I remember telling him that we don’t have to join any movements that don’t have a place for us. And I am saying that to you now. GAURAV I was born to be in the army. KUNJA You think the army has a place for you? What are you going to do when other officers bring their wives and girlfriends to army parties? Take me along? GAURAV holds KUNJA ’s face. GAURAV The results will be out in a week and I’m getting in. KUNJA Don’t join the army. The army is sick. GAURAV You are sick. KUNJA What if I told you I wanted to join PREPAK? Fight the occupation. Kill soldiers. Would you still love me? GAURAV looks away. KUNJA (shouting as if he’s sloganeering at a protest) Then how do I love you if you join the army? Army rapes us. Takes our flesh! Beat. GAURAV They’re people, you know? With wives, mothers, sons, sisters. Lovers. Like you are mine. I wanted to cry. I couldn’t. I spent the night holding you down waiting for you to come back to your senses, you fucking druggie. . . . Scene 4 FAARIZ is hanging from the Panggong tree. KUNJA is making his bed. KUNJA If love keeps people together then what does ideology do? FAARIZ Can you separate the two? KUNJA What if my freedom lies in the struggle between the two? In the middle. Gaurav struggles to keep loving me. FAARIZ Occupation takes work. KUNJA That’s not how it is between us. FAARIZ Can love erase identity? KUNJA Sometimes after an orgy, we all sit around and discuss how we started slamming. I want to tell them that I was tired of identity. The first time I slammed was the first time I had sex without identity. It was the best thing in the world. FAARIZ And then you became a slammer. KUNJA But it’s an identity without history. It’s light. Has no weight. No matter who you are, where you are from, once you get inside that’s it! FAARIZ Do you become Indian after slamming? KUNJA Yes. Till I’m high I remain Indian. FAARIZ Feels good? KUNJA Feels like community. When I first came here, a boy I met on Grindr took me for a party. I was blown away the second I entered. It felt like another nation, one where I fit in. And then I started meeting people and realised this community I so terribly want to be a part of, that I feel I’m part of, doesn’t know anything about me. Where I come from, what I have lived, what I want. And they don’t want to know either. FAARIZ Ay chinki! KUNJA It’s not just about words, it's about the gaze. You know when you first look at someone how you imagine their history? You see them at their home. You see them growing up. Celebrating a festival. Eating at a restaurant. You imagine them having sex, shaving, crying. The way people look at us here, their gaze is empty. They’re not able to imagine our histories. That’s why they act the way they act. I tried to make this country my friend. I told them about my past and showed them how I eat. But I just couldn’t fill their gaze. And then I slammed, and for the first time I didn’t look into their eyes. All I could see was dick and ass and balls. And I knew that’s all they saw. Our vision was united. Years of abandonment vanished the second I injected. I found community. Something I never had. KUNJA gets up on the bed. He looks at the audience and mimes taking a slam. His eyes start to glow. A visual is projected on the wall: A very close shot of a hairy asshole opening into a universe. FAARIZ The freedom struggle ends at a slam? KUNJA Slamming is the celebration of freedom. And it's so intense, this party, that we forget we’re not actually free. FAARIZ We also take drugs to forget about the occupation for a while. KUNJA No matter what you do, the occupation finds a way to occupy you. I’d forgotten about Manipur. My bed had become my country. And then I met Gaurav. He told me the first time we met that he wanted to join the army. Later that night, when I was slammed, a soldier appeared outside the door. And then more and more. Gaurav stuck with me through all of it. Can you imagine staying up night after night trying to convince someone there is no one outside the door? FAARIZ What are you going to do if he gets posted to Manipur? KUNJA I will go visit him. FAARIZ He tortures us? Or disappears someone? KUNJA (stoically) The Supreme Court has declared that the army will be held accountable. FAARIZ Maybe as collateral damage then. In an attack. What are you going to do when he comes home after that? Beat. KUNJA Cook him a meal! Pork and bamboo shoots. Smoked. Exactly like Imaa makes it. A spicy beef salad on the side. FAARIZ He doesn’t eat those things. KUNJA I’ll make him. KUNJA starts searching for something under his bed. He messes up the bed he just made. He opens drawers and tries to empty out pockets of his clothes and trashing the room. KUNJA Why are you still here? Go home to AFSPA! FAARIZ Won’t you visit? KUNJA I don’t give a damn about that shithole. I hope they disappear the entire place. FAARIZ So many effigies you’ll have to make. Do you still do it? Make effigies? Paint on them? Give them names? KUNJA I never made an effigy of you. FAARIZ When you do, paint me with the memory of a fierce battle. Where I kill 100 Indian soldiers. Beat. KUNJA Got stuff? Just one more time. Or my veins are going to burst. . . . Scene 5 Several anxious guys enter and stand around KUNJA who takes his clothes off slowly as he speaks. In the end, he gets naked and positions himself on the edge of the bed on all fours. The men take off their clothes and slam each other. KUNJA (manic) Welcome! Everyone is welcome. Fat skinny sissy sluts down market on the market fake commercial prostitute destitute dudes studs uncles aunties boys guys hunks punks from this place that place small place no place come find a space sane sorted insane distorted models politicians auto drivers butchers bankers accountants actors liars cheat saints masters slaves herpes gonorrhea hiv syphilis tops bottoms bottoms who top tops who bottom preferably top miserably bottom white black pink yellow brown blue high caste low caste no caste hindu muslim, sikhs christians tribes even the denotified atheists monks fanatics junks english speaking and those who stopped speaking altogether 8 inch 10 inch 3 inch tight loose open close. GAURAV enters without KUNJA noticing. KUNJA From here, there, everywhere, everyone, everyone is welcome to the ocean. Come take a dip, it doesn’t matter if you can’t swim. Just get your own stuff and that will keep you afloat. Or find someone to pay for your ticket. Three thousand rupees to take so far you will forget where you are from. Bareback at your own risk. Break the needle after one use, sharing will give you things you don’t need. If you feel like you’re losing it just smoke some weed. That’s all. Now come on! The universe is begging to get fucked. KUNJA spots GAURAV. GAURAV walks to KUNJA and helps him stand on his feet. KUNJA You were supposed to be my de-addiction program. You give me time. But no energy. GAURAV picks up KUNJA ’s clothes. He makes KUNJA put them back on. GAURAV Let’s go home? Beat. KUNJA I like the sound of that. KUNJA and GAURAV walk away together. . . . Scene 6 Bottles of alcohol and half filled glasses on the floor. GAURAV and KUNJA are in bed. GAURAV is trying to penetrate KUNJA. He can’t get hard. KUNJA It’s not hard. GAURAV Blow me. KUNJA I did. GAURAV Do it again. KUNJA We don’t have to. GAURAV I need to. KUNJA Let me clean up. GAURAV Do you clean up in a slam orgy? KUNJA Can I top? GAURAV No. KUNJA You’re not getting hard. GAURAV Why can’t you blow me? KUNJA My back hurts. GAURAV My head hurts. I need to fuck. I’m begging you. KUNJA I’ll shower and I’ll make some food. We can eat. And then fuck. GAURAV You’re punishing me for getting in? KUNJA I have made peace with it. GAURAV I don’t care about your peace tonight. This is the greatest thing to happen to me and I’m not going to let you fuck this up. Even if you are unhappy, you will smile. Even if you feel like dying, you will act like you have never been more horny. You will give me the best orgasm of my life. KUNJA What should I do? GAURAV Tell me you’re afraid that I might fuck other boys in the academy. KUNJA It’s not porn. GAURAV A tall muscular guy blowing me in the night in the bathroom and drinking my cum. KUNJA I will be happy for you. GAURAV Will you also fuck while I am gone? KUNJA I don’t know. GAURAV How will I know? KUNJA What do you want me to do? GAURAV What if you fall in love with someone else? KUNJA tries to get up. GAURAV holds him down. GAURAV Will you cheat on me? KUNJA No! GAURAV What if you feel horny? KUNJA I will think about you. GAURAV What if I cheat on you? KUNJA Don’t tell me. GAURAV Don’t ask don’t tell. KUNJA Yes. GAURAV So is that your strategy? You won’t tell me? KUNJA (exhausted) Gaurav, I need to take a shit. GAURAV Shit here. Beat. KUNJA Fuck off. GAURAV I don’t care. GAURAV goes to finger KUNJA. KUNJA resists. GAURAV pulls his finger out. It has shit on it. He brings it close to KUNJA ’s face. GAURAV Smell it. KUNJA (voice cracks) I’ll hit you Gaurav. GAURAV I will make you eat your shit if you cheat on me. KUNJA I will cheat on you, you shithead. GAURAV I know. You can’t control it. It’s in your fucking DNA. Animals. . . . Scene 7 GAURAV is holding a big paintbrush in his hand. KUNJA is standing next to him. He is naked and has some paint on his arm. They are surrounded by tubs of paints. GAURAV I’m not a painter. KUNJA You are, my love. It’s amazing what you do when you paint. When my friend Faariz disappeared, I started making effigies of him with branches of the Panggong tree. I would paint those effigies in different colours imagining I was giving the effigy things to remember. Bring it to life. When other boys were playing sports outside, I would be in my room making effigies and painting. I painted a thousand effigies. I could only paint memories onto them, give them new thoughts, but I was never able to take away their pain. When you paint, you erase. It’s a gift you have. And there is so much I need to forget. Paint. GAURAV paints a stroke on KUNJA ’s other hand. GAURAV I don’t want to do this. KUNJA I give the memory of the khwairamband bazaar, running through its lanes as a kid, cruising through its alleys as a teenager eying men. GAURAV Tell me about cruising in that bazaar? KUNJA I don’t remember. Shoulder. KUNJA I give the memory of our school trip to the Kangla fort, and the one of walking through its corridors hand in hand when no one is watching with a boy I first barebacked. Back. KUNJA I give the memory of the first time I heard someone say I love you, and the memory of wanting to say the words but not being able to. Ass. KUNJA I give the memory of being beaten up by an Assam Rifles officer for breaking curfew. I give the memory of being beaten up by an AR officer for being drunk. The memory of my uncle being slapped by an officer for answering back. I give. GAURAV backs off. GAURAV I can’t do this. KUNJA Please let me. Feet. KUNJA I give the smell of Morok Mepta. GAURAV You can remember that at least. KUNJA No. KUNJA I give the sound of the Pung. I give my body memory that remembers thang-ta moves. Ankles. KUNJA I give up all that I have seen to have a new vision. Chest. KUNJA I give the trees. I will not remember their names anymore. Stomach. KUNJA The folklores, poubi lai, saroi ngaroi, the songs, I forget the lyrics to the lai haraoba ishei. Can I keep the tune? KUNJA tenses up. Beat. GAURAV Just let it go. Crotch. KUNJA I give the names of the deities. The rituals of sanamahism. GAURAV We have plenty. I’ll teach you. Thighs. KUNJA I give my father’s dreams. My mother’s voice that calls me home. GAURAV Don’t do this for me. KUNJA I am doing this for myself. GAURAV starts to paint faster. KUNJA The games we play. I give the names we call the army. GAURAV That’s good. KUNJA I give the views of the valley. The taste of our water. GAURAV Your water? KUNJA I give up. Waist. KUNJA I give up memories of driving on the highway that is still under repair after 5 years. I give up motorbike rides with friends, lovers, friends who became lovers, lovers who never became friends. GAURAV Slut. KUNJA I give up words from our language. I give up the cuss words we call Indians. GAURAV pauses, then starts to paint KUNJA faster, violently. KUNJA The dreams of freedom. I give up. KUNJA Wait—But can I keep the memory of Irom’s fast? I was a kid when she started fasting. I grew up with the fast. GAURAV Let it go. GAURAV goes to paint KUNJA ’s neck but KUNJA dodges GAURAV. KUNJA (quietly, desperately) No, please. Just that. It was a movement I felt I was a part of. I helped paint the banner for meira paibi. I was the only boy who knew about the protest. They chose me. GAURAV You can’t. KUNJA Stop. GAURAV grabs KUNJA by the neck and he paints it. KUNJA struggles to set himself free. GAURAV You have to forget. KUNJA Wait... No. GAURAV paints over KUNJA ’s neck. GAURAV Do you remember now? KUNJA Remember? GAURAV starts painting all over KUNJA. GAURAV Now forget about everything you saw while growing up. KUNJA Please— GAURAV Forget the skies. KUNJA Why? GAURAV The relationships you have to give up. KUNJA No— GAURAV The smells. KUNJA Stop. Stop . GAURAV Your history. You can’t have a history. Give up the festivals. Forget about the movies you saw. The songs you danced to. KUNJA breaks down in tears. KUNJA Why are you doing this? GAURAV You were never there. Give up the sounds. The touch you cannot remember. That disgusting food you have to give up. KUNJA I can't. GAURAV You have to now! Do you remember the birds you see there? KUNJA Nongin. Thembi marikpi. Langmeidong. GAURAV You can’t. GAURAV paints on KUNJA ’s face. GAURAV Give up the language, give up the bodies, give up the dreams. I fucking need you to give up the dreams. You cannot dream like a Manipuri anymore. You will not dream. I am taking away those mornings. From now on you must only remember the nights from here. The seasons here. You will only remember this rain. GAURAV finishes painting all of KUNJA. GAURAV stands up and takes a few steps back admiring his creation. GAURAV You are one of us now. Beat. KUNJA stands up. He looks at his hands and body. He opens his right palm which was clenched in a fist. KUNJA Wait— You forgot— KUNJA This part. GAURAV picks up the paintbrush. He dips it in black paint. He gently paints a stroke onto KUNJA ’s palm. KUNJA Thank you. GAURAV steps away. Lights dim slowly on GAURAV. Slowly, he disappears. Lights dim slowly on the bed. KUNJA turns and looks around the room. His eyes fall on the paintbrush that is lying on the floor. He picks it up. He looks up at the Panggong tree. Beat. KUNJA leaves the room. Blackout. ∎ Editor’s note: The author of this play as well as the accompanying artist elected to publish this work anonymously. In the words of the author: “It is a matter of great shame for a democracy that its writers have to submit their work anonymously.” This piece was workshopped and honed over a period of six months with SAAG editors Hananah Zaheer, Neilesh Bose, Nazish Chunara, Kamil Ahsan, Aditya Desai, along with the playwright, a dramaturge, and the artist. The world has folded. A tree in Manipur now hangs upside down above the bed in KUNJA’s room in a city in India. The tree is a Panggong Tree (Butea monosperma) used in Manipur to make effigies of the dead when the body is not found. A bed is the focus of the room. Scene 1 Projection on a wall: June 5th, 2015. Rebels ambush an army convoy in Manipur killing 20 soldiers in the deadliest attack on Indian army since the Kargil war. GAURAV is tackling KUNJA who is hysterical. GAURAV Kunja, there is no one. You are high. KUNJA Hide me! Hide. GAURAV We are not in Manipur. KUNJA They’ll catch every young person they can find. This was a big attack. They will spare no one. GAURAV It’s the drugs. KUNJA I was here with you right? You’ll tell them I was here with you. Don’t let me disappear. GAURAV manages to pin KUNJA to the ground. GAURAV You are safe. KUNJA They eat our flesh. GAURAV You’re hallucinating. KUNJA Why aren’t you doing anything? GAURAV Remember— Remember what we said? GAURAV hugs KUNJA tightly. GAURAV There is no one outside. We are here, you and I. Here, where we go out holding hands and no one harms us. KUNJA stops struggling. GAURAV In this big big city, no one can find us. No one breaks house doors down. Guns don’t exist. Bombs are fire crackers. This city is a rainbow. They speak together. KUNJA Manipur is far far away. 3190 kms. 5 hours by plane. 70 hours on a train. GAURAV Manipur is far far away. 3190 kms. 5 hours by plane. 70 hours on a train. GAURAV They can’t just come here, right? KUNJA No. GAURAV In this city, there is only police. GAURAV releases KUNJA. Both sit up. GAURAV Only police. KUNJA Only police. GAURAV Cold water bath. Glucon-D. Fries. It will pass. GAURAV gets up. KUNJA (dazed) Are you with them? . . . Scene 2 GAURAV is asleep. KUNJA is sitting next to him on the bed staring at the tree above. KUNJA One day you’ll wake up and find me gone. No body, no trace. Will you look for me, Gaurav? What do y’all do when you find out that someone has disappeared? We make an effigy of the person from the branches of the Panggong tree. Will you make an effigy of me? Keep it with you? On this bed? Beat. KUNJA This bed has been my country for a long time. GAURAV doesn’t wake up. . . . Scene 3 KUNJA is painting GAURAV ’s back. There are paint bottles strewn around. GAURAV twitches every time KUNJA touches the paintbrush to his back. GAURAV It feels icky. KUNJA You want me to paint or not? GAURAV On paper. GAURAV It helps you, right? KUNJA It helps you . You like watching me paint. Mountains. Flowers. Dicks. You think I am recovering if I’m drawing mountains. GAURAV You relapse whenever you start painting flowers. KUNJA I relapse when I think you’re going to join the army. GAURAV takes a rag and starts wiping his back. KUNJA What if they find out you’re gay? GAURAV Do I look gay? KUNJA Won’t you get expelled? GAURAV I’m only gay for you! KUNJA I had a friend Faariz in Manipur. He wanted to join PREPAK. It’s a UG. GAURAV (sighs) Another terrorist story— KUNJA We call them freedom fighters. GAURAV Wrong history books. We’re already free. KUNJA He was also involved in some tax collection things for them in college. Very motivated. Then he realised he was queer. With that he knew he could never join PREPAK or any other movement in Manipur. Forget the army, if PREPAK found out they would kill him first. I remember telling him that we don’t have to join any movements that don’t have a place for us. And I am saying that to you now. GAURAV I was born to be in the army. KUNJA You think the army has a place for you? What are you going to do when other officers bring their wives and girlfriends to army parties? Take me along? GAURAV holds KUNJA ’s face. GAURAV The results will be out in a week and I’m getting in. KUNJA Don’t join the army. The army is sick. GAURAV You are sick. KUNJA What if I told you I wanted to join PREPAK? Fight the occupation. Kill soldiers. Would you still love me? GAURAV looks away. KUNJA (shouting as if he’s sloganeering at a protest) Then how do I love you if you join the army? Army rapes us. Takes our flesh! Beat. GAURAV They’re people, you know? With wives, mothers, sons, sisters. Lovers. Like you are mine. I wanted to cry. I couldn’t. I spent the night holding you down waiting for you to come back to your senses, you fucking druggie. . . . Scene 4 FAARIZ is hanging from the Panggong tree. KUNJA is making his bed. KUNJA If love keeps people together then what does ideology do? FAARIZ Can you separate the two? KUNJA What if my freedom lies in the struggle between the two? In the middle. Gaurav struggles to keep loving me. FAARIZ Occupation takes work. KUNJA That’s not how it is between us. FAARIZ Can love erase identity? KUNJA Sometimes after an orgy, we all sit around and discuss how we started slamming. I want to tell them that I was tired of identity. The first time I slammed was the first time I had sex without identity. It was the best thing in the world. FAARIZ And then you became a slammer. KUNJA But it’s an identity without history. It’s light. Has no weight. No matter who you are, where you are from, once you get inside that’s it! FAARIZ Do you become Indian after slamming? KUNJA Yes. Till I’m high I remain Indian. FAARIZ Feels good? KUNJA Feels like community. When I first came here, a boy I met on Grindr took me for a party. I was blown away the second I entered. It felt like another nation, one where I fit in. And then I started meeting people and realised this community I so terribly want to be a part of, that I feel I’m part of, doesn’t know anything about me. Where I come from, what I have lived, what I want. And they don’t want to know either. FAARIZ Ay chinki! KUNJA It’s not just about words, it's about the gaze. You know when you first look at someone how you imagine their history? You see them at their home. You see them growing up. Celebrating a festival. Eating at a restaurant. You imagine them having sex, shaving, crying. The way people look at us here, their gaze is empty. They’re not able to imagine our histories. That’s why they act the way they act. I tried to make this country my friend. I told them about my past and showed them how I eat. But I just couldn’t fill their gaze. And then I slammed, and for the first time I didn’t look into their eyes. All I could see was dick and ass and balls. And I knew that’s all they saw. Our vision was united. Years of abandonment vanished the second I injected. I found community. Something I never had. KUNJA gets up on the bed. He looks at the audience and mimes taking a slam. His eyes start to glow. A visual is projected on the wall: A very close shot of a hairy asshole opening into a universe. FAARIZ The freedom struggle ends at a slam? KUNJA Slamming is the celebration of freedom. And it's so intense, this party, that we forget we’re not actually free. FAARIZ We also take drugs to forget about the occupation for a while. KUNJA No matter what you do, the occupation finds a way to occupy you. I’d forgotten about Manipur. My bed had become my country. And then I met Gaurav. He told me the first time we met that he wanted to join the army. Later that night, when I was slammed, a soldier appeared outside the door. And then more and more. Gaurav stuck with me through all of it. Can you imagine staying up night after night trying to convince someone there is no one outside the door? FAARIZ What are you going to do if he gets posted to Manipur? KUNJA I will go visit him. FAARIZ He tortures us? Or disappears someone? KUNJA (stoically) The Supreme Court has declared that the army will be held accountable. FAARIZ Maybe as collateral damage then. In an attack. What are you going to do when he comes home after that? Beat. KUNJA Cook him a meal! Pork and bamboo shoots. Smoked. Exactly like Imaa makes it. A spicy beef salad on the side. FAARIZ He doesn’t eat those things. KUNJA I’ll make him. KUNJA starts searching for something under his bed. He messes up the bed he just made. He opens drawers and tries to empty out pockets of his clothes and trashing the room. KUNJA Why are you still here? Go home to AFSPA! FAARIZ Won’t you visit? KUNJA I don’t give a damn about that shithole. I hope they disappear the entire place. FAARIZ So many effigies you’ll have to make. Do you still do it? Make effigies? Paint on them? Give them names? KUNJA I never made an effigy of you. FAARIZ When you do, paint me with the memory of a fierce battle. Where I kill 100 Indian soldiers. Beat. KUNJA Got stuff? Just one more time. Or my veins are going to burst. . . . Scene 5 Several anxious guys enter and stand around KUNJA who takes his clothes off slowly as he speaks. In the end, he gets naked and positions himself on the edge of the bed on all fours. The men take off their clothes and slam each other. KUNJA (manic) Welcome! Everyone is welcome. Fat skinny sissy sluts down market on the market fake commercial prostitute destitute dudes studs uncles aunties boys guys hunks punks from this place that place small place no place come find a space sane sorted insane distorted models politicians auto drivers butchers bankers accountants actors liars cheat saints masters slaves herpes gonorrhea hiv syphilis tops bottoms bottoms who top tops who bottom preferably top miserably bottom white black pink yellow brown blue high caste low caste no caste hindu muslim, sikhs christians tribes even the denotified atheists monks fanatics junks english speaking and those who stopped speaking altogether 8 inch 10 inch 3 inch tight loose open close. GAURAV enters without KUNJA noticing. KUNJA From here, there, everywhere, everyone, everyone is welcome to the ocean. Come take a dip, it doesn’t matter if you can’t swim. Just get your own stuff and that will keep you afloat. Or find someone to pay for your ticket. Three thousand rupees to take so far you will forget where you are from. Bareback at your own risk. Break the needle after one use, sharing will give you things you don’t need. If you feel like you’re losing it just smoke some weed. That’s all. Now come on! The universe is begging to get fucked. KUNJA spots GAURAV. GAURAV walks to KUNJA and helps him stand on his feet. KUNJA You were supposed to be my de-addiction program. You give me time. But no energy. GAURAV picks up KUNJA ’s clothes. He makes KUNJA put them back on. GAURAV Let’s go home? Beat. KUNJA I like the sound of that. KUNJA and GAURAV walk away together. . . . Scene 6 Bottles of alcohol and half filled glasses on the floor. GAURAV and KUNJA are in bed. GAURAV is trying to penetrate KUNJA. He can’t get hard. KUNJA It’s not hard. GAURAV Blow me. KUNJA I did. GAURAV Do it again. KUNJA We don’t have to. GAURAV I need to. KUNJA Let me clean up. GAURAV Do you clean up in a slam orgy? KUNJA Can I top? GAURAV No. KUNJA You’re not getting hard. GAURAV Why can’t you blow me? KUNJA My back hurts. GAURAV My head hurts. I need to fuck. I’m begging you. KUNJA I’ll shower and I’ll make some food. We can eat. And then fuck. GAURAV You’re punishing me for getting in? KUNJA I have made peace with it. GAURAV I don’t care about your peace tonight. This is the greatest thing to happen to me and I’m not going to let you fuck this up. Even if you are unhappy, you will smile. Even if you feel like dying, you will act like you have never been more horny. You will give me the best orgasm of my life. KUNJA What should I do? GAURAV Tell me you’re afraid that I might fuck other boys in the academy. KUNJA It’s not porn. GAURAV A tall muscular guy blowing me in the night in the bathroom and drinking my cum. KUNJA I will be happy for you. GAURAV Will you also fuck while I am gone? KUNJA I don’t know. GAURAV How will I know? KUNJA What do you want me to do? GAURAV What if you fall in love with someone else? KUNJA tries to get up. GAURAV holds him down. GAURAV Will you cheat on me? KUNJA No! GAURAV What if you feel horny? KUNJA I will think about you. GAURAV What if I cheat on you? KUNJA Don’t tell me. GAURAV Don’t ask don’t tell. KUNJA Yes. GAURAV So is that your strategy? You won’t tell me? KUNJA (exhausted) Gaurav, I need to take a shit. GAURAV Shit here. Beat. KUNJA Fuck off. GAURAV I don’t care. GAURAV goes to finger KUNJA. KUNJA resists. GAURAV pulls his finger out. It has shit on it. He brings it close to KUNJA ’s face. GAURAV Smell it. KUNJA (voice cracks) I’ll hit you Gaurav. GAURAV I will make you eat your shit if you cheat on me. KUNJA I will cheat on you, you shithead. GAURAV I know. You can’t control it. It’s in your fucking DNA. Animals. . . . Scene 7 GAURAV is holding a big paintbrush in his hand. KUNJA is standing next to him. He is naked and has some paint on his arm. They are surrounded by tubs of paints. GAURAV I’m not a painter. KUNJA You are, my love. It’s amazing what you do when you paint. When my friend Faariz disappeared, I started making effigies of him with branches of the Panggong tree. I would paint those effigies in different colours imagining I was giving the effigy things to remember. Bring it to life. When other boys were playing sports outside, I would be in my room making effigies and painting. I painted a thousand effigies. I could only paint memories onto them, give them new thoughts, but I was never able to take away their pain. When you paint, you erase. It’s a gift you have. And there is so much I need to forget. Paint. GAURAV paints a stroke on KUNJA ’s other hand. GAURAV I don’t want to do this. KUNJA I give the memory of the khwairamband bazaar, running through its lanes as a kid, cruising through its alleys as a teenager eying men. GAURAV Tell me about cruising in that bazaar? KUNJA I don’t remember. Shoulder. KUNJA I give the memory of our school trip to the Kangla fort, and the one of walking through its corridors hand in hand when no one is watching with a boy I first barebacked. Back. KUNJA I give the memory of the first time I heard someone say I love you, and the memory of wanting to say the words but not being able to. Ass. KUNJA I give the memory of being beaten up by an Assam Rifles officer for breaking curfew. I give the memory of being beaten up by an AR officer for being drunk. The memory of my uncle being slapped by an officer for answering back. I give. GAURAV backs off. GAURAV I can’t do this. KUNJA Please let me. Feet. KUNJA I give the smell of Morok Mepta. GAURAV You can remember that at least. KUNJA No. KUNJA I give the sound of the Pung. I give my body memory that remembers thang-ta moves. Ankles. KUNJA I give up all that I have seen to have a new vision. Chest. KUNJA I give the trees. I will not remember their names anymore. Stomach. KUNJA The folklores, poubi lai, saroi ngaroi, the songs, I forget the lyrics to the lai haraoba ishei. Can I keep the tune? KUNJA tenses up. Beat. GAURAV Just let it go. Crotch. KUNJA I give the names of the deities. The rituals of sanamahism. GAURAV We have plenty. I’ll teach you. Thighs. KUNJA I give my father’s dreams. My mother’s voice that calls me home. GAURAV Don’t do this for me. KUNJA I am doing this for myself. GAURAV starts to paint faster. KUNJA The games we play. I give the names we call the army. GAURAV That’s good. KUNJA I give the views of the valley. The taste of our water. GAURAV Your water? KUNJA I give up. Waist. KUNJA I give up memories of driving on the highway that is still under repair after 5 years. I give up motorbike rides with friends, lovers, friends who became lovers, lovers who never became friends. GAURAV Slut. KUNJA I give up words from our language. I give up the cuss words we call Indians. GAURAV pauses, then starts to paint KUNJA faster, violently. KUNJA The dreams of freedom. I give up. KUNJA Wait—But can I keep the memory of Irom’s fast? I was a kid when she started fasting. I grew up with the fast. GAURAV Let it go. GAURAV goes to paint KUNJA ’s neck but KUNJA dodges GAURAV. KUNJA (quietly, desperately) No, please. Just that. It was a movement I felt I was a part of. I helped paint the banner for meira paibi. I was the only boy who knew about the protest. They chose me. GAURAV You can’t. KUNJA Stop. GAURAV grabs KUNJA by the neck and he paints it. KUNJA struggles to set himself free. GAURAV You have to forget. KUNJA Wait... No. GAURAV paints over KUNJA ’s neck. GAURAV Do you remember now? KUNJA Remember? GAURAV starts painting all over KUNJA. GAURAV Now forget about everything you saw while growing up. KUNJA Please— GAURAV Forget the skies. KUNJA Why? GAURAV The relationships you have to give up. KUNJA No— GAURAV The smells. KUNJA Stop. Stop . GAURAV Your history. You can’t have a history. Give up the festivals. Forget about the movies you saw. The songs you danced to. KUNJA breaks down in tears. KUNJA Why are you doing this? GAURAV You were never there. Give up the sounds. The touch you cannot remember. That disgusting food you have to give up. KUNJA I can't. GAURAV You have to now! Do you remember the birds you see there? KUNJA Nongin. Thembi marikpi. Langmeidong. GAURAV You can’t. GAURAV paints on KUNJA ’s face. GAURAV Give up the language, give up the bodies, give up the dreams. I fucking need you to give up the dreams. You cannot dream like a Manipuri anymore. You will not dream. I am taking away those mornings. From now on you must only remember the nights from here. The seasons here. You will only remember this rain. GAURAV finishes painting all of KUNJA. GAURAV stands up and takes a few steps back admiring his creation. GAURAV You are one of us now. Beat. KUNJA stands up. He looks at his hands and body. He opens his right palm which was clenched in a fist. KUNJA Wait— You forgot— KUNJA This part. GAURAV picks up the paintbrush. He dips it in black paint. He gently paints a stroke onto KUNJA ’s palm. KUNJA Thank you. GAURAV steps away. Lights dim slowly on GAURAV. Slowly, he disappears. Lights dim slowly on the bed. KUNJA turns and looks around the room. His eyes fall on the paintbrush that is lying on the floor. He picks it up. He looks up at the Panggong tree. Beat. KUNJA leaves the room. Blackout. ∎ SUB-HEAD ALSO IN THIS ISSUE: Clare Patrick (Our) Worlds and (Plant) Wisdoms Kareen Adam · Nazish Chunara A Dhivehi Artists Showcase Artwork contributed anonymously for SAAG. SHARE Facebook Twitter LinkedIn One-Act Play Manipur Indian Army Panggong Tree Effigy Queerness Love Story People's Revolutionary Party of Kangleipak PREPAK Painting Addiction Sex Playwriting Drama AFSPA Assam Rifles Northeast India Meitei Peoples Sanamahism UG Groups Insurgency Resistance Meira Paibi Sister States Meitei Mizoram Assam The creator(s) of this artwork chose to publish their work anonymously. 2 Apr 2021 One-Act Play Manipur 2nd Apr 2021 LIFE ON LINE Umar Altaf 27th Jul Crossing Lines of Connection Arshad Ahmed · Chanchinmawia 14th Oct Tawang's Blessing Pills Bikash K. Bhattacharya 7th Jun Chokepoint Manipur Makepeace Sitlhou 3rd Oct Assam, Mizoram, and the Construction of the "Other" Joyona Medhi · Abhishek Basu 25th Feb On That Note:

انداز الگ / 
تاریخ الگ
 / بھاؤ الگ
 / باریک الگ انداز الگ / 
تاریخ الگ
 / بھاؤ الگ
 / باریک الگ Jayeeta Chatterjee and Chemould CoLab Dreaming With Open Eyes (2023) Woodcut Print and Nakshi Kantha Stitch on Saris Artist · FICTION & POETRY REPORTAGE · LOCATION مادری زبانیں LOCATION Sabika Abbas . 18 Oct 2024 th . Letter from our columnist . SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 SABIKA ABBAS is an award-winning translator, most recently of Rohzin by Rahman Abbas, as well as a poet, feminist activist, campaign strategist, and alternative educator. She is based in Lucknow and New Delhi. JAYEETA CHATTERJEE completed her BFA in Printmaking from Kala Bhavana, Visva Bharati University, West Bengal. Through her practice, she highlights the issues within the domestic and monotonous lives of middle-class women, particularly from lower-income groups living in small towns. Poetry Lucknow Motherhood Femininity Labor Urdu Urdu Literature Mother Tongue Language Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

انداز الگ / 
تاریخ الگ
 / بھاؤ الگ
 / باریک الگ · FICTION & POETRY Poetry · Lucknow انداز الگ / 
تاریخ الگ
 / بھاؤ الگ
 / باریک الگ Jayeeta Chatterjee and Chemould CoLab Dreaming With Open Eyes (2023) Woodcut Print and Nakshi Kantha Stitch on Saris مادری زبانیں SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Poetry Lucknow Motherhood Femininity Labor Urdu Urdu Literature Mother Tongue Language Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. 18th Oct 2024 AUTHOR · AUTHOR Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

انداز الگ / 
تاریخ الگ
 / بھاؤ الگ
 / باریک الگ انداز الگ / 
تاریخ الگ
 / بھاؤ الگ
 / باریک الگ Jayeeta Chatterjee and Chemould CoLab Dreaming With Open Eyes (2023) Woodcut Print and Nakshi Kantha Stitch on Saris Artist Lucknow Sabika Abbas 18 Oct 2024 th · FICTION & POETRY REPORTAGE · LOCATION مادری زبانیں SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 SABIKA ABBAS is an award-winning translator, most recently of Rohzin by Rahman Abbas, as well as a poet, feminist activist, campaign strategist, and alternative educator. She is based in Lucknow and New Delhi. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Poetry Lucknow Motherhood Femininity Labor Urdu Urdu Literature Mother Tongue Language Ghostmother Aria Pahari 10th Apr The Craft of Writing in Occupied Kashmir Huzaifa Pandit 24th Jan Chats Ep. 5 · Tamil translation & Perumal Murugan's “Poonachi” N Kalyan Raman 7th Dec Chats Ep. 4 · On Qurratulain Hyder's sci-fi story “Roshni ki Raftaar” Zuneera Shah · Nur Nasreen Ibrahim 30th Nov Four Lives Aamer Hussein 25th Nov On That Note:

For Roma feminist scholar Nicoleta Bitu, Roma identity is intrinsically linked to intersectional feminism. Drawing on the familial lessons of her upbringing and her exposure to political activism as she came of age, Bitu introduces a new intellectual framework of gender equality and women’s liberation—one that not only benefits members of her ethnic community but also enriches broader discourse on feminist theory. · FEATURES Profile · Bucharest For Roma feminist scholar Nicoleta Bitu, Roma identity is intrinsically linked to intersectional feminism. Drawing on the familial lessons of her upbringing and her exposure to political activism as she came of age, Bitu introduces a new intellectual framework of gender equality and women’s liberation—one that not only benefits members of her ethnic community but also enriches broader discourse on feminist theory. Anna Rabko, Roma night (2024). Digital illustration. Theorizing the Romnie When asked how she became a Roma activist and built an entire career out of it, Nicoleta Bițu replied, with her childlike smile: “Well, it's a long story…” Bițu grew up in an exceptional Roma family where both parents proudly displayed their Roma identity during the communist era, a regime that spanned four decades and, like the rest of Eastern Europe, ended in 1989. While many “integrated” Roma hid their identity out of shame and fear of social repercussions, Bițu's parents lived their Roma identity publicly, almost like a manifesto. “My father was born and raised in a hut,” Bițu recalled. At 13, he ran away from home, went to Bucharest, and enrolled in an automotive school with a boarding facility. At that time, the left-wing Romanian state was strongly encouraging poor people to pursue an education, which allowed Bițu's father to stay in a boarding school. He was later recruited for the non-commissioned officers' school and continued with evening Law Faculty. Bițu emphasized how Romania’s left-wing government was crucial in giving her father the opportunity to become a general. “I wouldn't be here with you today if that socialist state hadn't given him that chance,” she stated. “Do you understand how important it is for a state to take responsibility for the education of poor children, creating human resources?” Bițu laments the loss of social democracy, which she saw as a benchmark in the 1990s. The communist regime in Romania lasted from 1947 to 1989 . A hopeful project which—according to historian Alexandru Groza—stopped the royalty from leeching off society and attempted to eliminate social inequalities in Romania, it transformed—during its implementation stage (before ‘64) and in its last two decades–into one of the cruelest dictatorships in 20th-century Europe. “My father was dedicated to Romania, loyal if you will,” Bițu said, “and he remained left-wing until he died.” Sometimes he was even “too nationalist” for her taste, which would cause disputes between them. “The entire police force knew him as Biță Țiganu ( Biță The Gypsy ),” she added, “because, no matter what, he never hid his identity.” Bițu comes from both a family of Roma aristocrats—from her mother’s side—and one of traditional coppersmiths dressed in skirts, vests, and headscarves, from a compact Roma community. She believes this background is why her family reacted seriously to every injustice. When racial discrimination was not even a topic of conversation in Romania, she grew up hearing the word “racism.” For Bițu, what she saw in her parents’ house was also a form of activism. In Roma culture, you have an obligation to help the extended family, and she remembers that the four-room apartment, in a neighborhood almost devoid of Roma, was always occupied. “Some came to attend school, some came to go to the doctor, some cousins ran away from home because her husbands beat her,” Bițu recalled. “We were somehow a family with resources—not necessarily material resources—we were never rich—but [in] resources of information, networks, space [instead].” In 1977, Nicolae Gheorghe , who would become the father of Romani civic activism in Romania and Nicoleta Bițu’s husband, entered Bițu Țiganu ’s family. In the Romania of the '90s, society was marked by riots between Romanians, Hungarians, and Roma, leading to the destruction of hundreds of houses, deaths, and the displacement of large groups of Roma population. Hatred against others boiled in the blood of post-communist Romanian society. Nicolae, who had brought the necessary funds for rebuilding houses burned during an interethnic conflict, took Bițu to work with the Roma. She was 21 and it was her first year being an activist. One year later, in 1992, she was admitted to the Faculty of Sociology and Social Work in Bucharest, among the first generation that occupied the special places reserved for Roma students. “I was fascinated by Nicolae Gheorghe's personality,” she reflected, “though I don't think there was anyone who wasn't. But Roma activism was our inspiration. We protested. We went out into the field. Somehow, it gave you a sense of purpose. It was hard not to fall in love with him; I don't think I was the only one. He had extraordinary courage to fight everyone for the Roma.” At the age of 40, in 2010, Bițu began her Ph.D. at the National School of Political Science and Public Administration in Bucharest. Her thesis, Roma Women and Feminism, was the first in Romania to address the subject of Roma feminism. In 1993, she became one of the founders of the Romani CRISS center , an NGO that provides legal assistance in cases of abuse, remaining with them until she left the country for the first time in 1999. Bițu lived with her husband and two daughters in Warsaw, Poland, for seven years. For Biţu, the anchor remained her proximity to her community and her responsiveness to their suffering. “It didn't matter to me what non-Roma people said about us,” she said. ”Perhaps it was due to the dignity with which I was raised, that I didn't require validation from non-Roma individuals to know who I am.” Although she was very proud of her father as a public figure, Nicoleta Bițu strongly disapproved of many of his behaviors within the family. She believes her becoming a feminist was no coincidence—that the violence she witnessed (her father's against her mother) played a decisive role. She raised her voice at every opportunity, claiming she didn't believe a father who beat his wife could truly love his children. “I was very young when I started asserting this in the family,” Bițu recalled. “I had no contact with feminist literature back then, I was just reacting to injustice the way I was taught to.” As a student in 1993, she wrote her first essay about Roma women in conflicts and how they ensure the continuity of everyday life, based on her fieldwork from conflict-affected communities. “Little did I know that it was feminism,” Bițu reflected. There were also moments when Bițu clashed with some of her male Roma colleagues over how they treated her. In the 1990s, the tendency to control women's sexuality was pronounced, especially among Roma women, who were severely punished for engaging in sexual relationships outside marriage. “I was the subject of such discussions where I was called a whore,” confessed Bițu, who then started reading everything she could find on the subject of women’s rights and female sexuality. In 1998, at a meeting of Roma women in Budapest she met the directors of the women’s program at the Soros Foundation in New York, who invited her overseas the following year. Bițu was 28 at the time but had over nine years of activism experience, with just two breaks, worth three months each, to breastfeed her children. It was only in New York that Bițu received her first real feminist books from one of the directors with whom she developed a deep friendship, including bell hooks, Simone de Beauvoir, Angela Davis, and Kimberlé Crenshaw. “My bible was Ain't I a Woman by bell hooks,” shared Bițu, for whom the book provided answers to many of her personal questions in the Roma movement. “I never let go of that book; I felt that woman was speaking to me.” In 1999, Bițu presented the first report to the Council of Europe on the situation of Roma women in Europe and has since continued tirelessly on the path of feminism. Her discourse has evolved over time, she said, from blaming Roma culture to focusing on racism and later on misogyny. “When I first heard the concept of intersectionality, the sky lit up for me,” Bițu reflected. “These were such moments of enlightenment that helped me reinterpret and reach a nuanced discourse, sufficient to do justice to my people, but also to help me understand myself, as a person and a woman, from a historical and intersectional perspective.’ When she began her Roma feminist trajectory, she was called a traitor to her people for “distracting attention from the racism against Roma” to address a portion of it towards Roma feminism. “Intersectionality somehow gives you the opportunity to analyze the problem as a whole,” Bițu shared. “It gives me the example of early marriages, which are not just about misogyny but also about historical racism.” Early and forced marriages are still a problem in Romania. The 2021 census revealed that 521 girls aged 11 to 14 were living in so-called “consensual unions.” Although this type of abuse is not unique to Roma communities, it is believed to be partly an inherited consequence of the so-called “right of the first night ” of Romanian landowners over their Roma slaves, during the centuries-long Roma slavery on Romanian territory. To prevent their masters from exercising this right , Roma families often preferred to marry their daughters at a very young age. For Bițu, feminism has brought to light a historical perspective that did not exist before. From the way she understood feminism and the responsibility she felt over reconstructing the suppressed identity of her people, she turned towards art, culture, and historical documentation. During the last decade and a half, Nicoleta Bițu’s life has been marked by the construction of spaces, identity, and culture, different from the traditional, oral ones, that are lived in communities. She contributed to the Roma digital archive, European Institute of Roma Art and Culture, and the Roma Museum. “Unfortunately, today there are [even] fewer women in the Roma movement than there were in my time,” Bițu claimed. “It's a very tough men's world,” she continues decisively, almost with anger. “It's very hard to stand upright. I'm talking about myself now. I can't speak for others. The thing is, they [men] won't accept you as an equal, and when you reach the same level as them, you become a danger, and they come after you.” Are there any Roma male feminists in Romania? “No,” she answered. “Nobody. In words only, yes. But not in their personal lives and inner beliefs.” In 2019, Bițu migrated to England without a concrete plan. Initially, Bițu worked at a product packaging warehouse, in her own words, “experiencing humility in a dignified manner.” However, her path took a significant turn when she attended a job fair organized by a foundation dedicated to aiding the homeless. There, she applied for a position as a social worker and secured an interview, eventually joining the team in central London devoted to assisting 120 Roma individuals experiencing homelessness. Bițu couldn't help but question the twists of fate that led her back to a similar situation, thousands of kilometers away from home. Her family teased her about the irony of her journey, yet she came to realize that she hadn't left behind her people, but rather expanded her engagement with the Roma movement beyond Romania. With newfound determination, she dedicated the next four years to establishing a comprehensive service focused on supporting Roma living on the streets of London, proudly securing its funding until March 2025. In 2023, a spate of assaults targeting women sleeping on London's streets within three months signaled societal shifts: Brexit, the ascent of the right-wing, and the passing of anti-migration legislation , akin to a tightening noose around Bițu’s neck. Last year, she returned home; after feeling she had been away from her daughters for too long and preferring to spend her remaining years with them. Bițu is presently on hiatus, yet she vows to remain steadfast in the Roma cause until her last breath. Her time in London taught her that regardless of her whereabouts or endeavors, she cannot escape herself or her work as a Roma activist. Numerous Roma feminists are marked by Nicoleta Bițu’s work and personality. One of them is Ionela Pădure. She met Bițu in 2005, at the age of 19, and described her as the first Romani feminist voice she remembers. “For me,” Pădure shared, “Nicoleta Bițu was, and still is, a complex Roma woman because she embodies all these roles: the mother of two beautiful daughters, the wife of Nicolae Gheorghe, an intellectual, and an activist–roles that, in Romania, were often seen as vulnerabilities. Yet, she knew how to juggle them, turn them into strengths, and carve out a space for herself in a male-dominated world, all while coming from a traditional community. To this day, she remains a dedicated mother, an activist working on the ground, and an intellectual who writes academic articles.” Pădure comes from a family of settled Roma, musicians, and blacksmiths. She holds a degree from the Institut National des Langues et Civilisations Orientales in Paris and has taught French at a college in France. However, she decided to return home to teach the Romani language in a village 40 km from the capital. Recently, she left formal education and, together with her husband, founded CPCD Vizurești, an NGO that organizes activities for village children, including Indian dance, drumming, Romani language lessons, boxing workshops, and more. Pădure described Bițu as a reference point for younger Romani women activists, who are just at the beginning of their careers—a mother they can talk to about anything. “Knowing she’s by my side gives me a sense of security,” Ionela said. She also credits role models like Bițu for helping her imagine herself and set new expectations. “I, too, married young and wanted to be a mother,” Pădure reflected. “Meeting Nicoleta and seeing her embodying all those roles made me realize that I could also make them all.” Oana Dorobanțu, similarly, is a queer feminist author, former journalist, human rights communication expert, and co-editor, together with Carmen Gheorghe, of one of the key books examining anti-roma racism in Romania. She doesn’t want to be called an activist or a feminist. “Shouldn’t we all be activists and feminists?” Dorobanțu asked, refusing to define herself. “I don’t know how words could ever do justice to all the admiration, respect, and love I have for this person,” she said, referring to Bițu. “I met Nico when I was 27, and she was by my side in the period after I decided to publicly acknowledge that I am of Romani ethnicity. The fact that she immediately accepted me as a Romnie (Roma woman in Romani language) was of great support for me.” For Dorobanțu, Bițu “embodies feminism.” She believes that all Romani feminists, not just in Romania, owe Bițu a great deal. "Many may see her as being in the shadow of her husband, Nicolae Gheorghe, who was also a major activist,” Dorobanțu noted, “but they were together because they were equals in every sense." One of the things Dorobanțu learned from Bițu is that there is no room for pride in activism, that you get involved in the movement for liberation, not for a résumé, ego, or reputation. She also learned that it’s important to know when to step back from the fight and when to return stronger, when to stay silent despite insults, and when to fight back. “Nicoleta was never didactic or pedantic,” Dorobanțu recalled, “but she influenced us indirectly through her nature, her charisma, and her way of being.”∎ SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Profile Bucharest Roma Romnie Feminism Activism Political Activism Liberation Gender Equality Politics of Ethnic Identity Feminist Theory Nicoleta Bitu Communist Era Eastern Europe History Leftism Democracy Romania 20th Century Europe Bita The Gypsy Aristocracy Community Injustice Nicolae Gheorghe Civic Activism Riots Civil Society Conflict Interethnic Conflict Political Science Roma Women and Feminism Romani CRISS Center NGO Violence Domestic violence Feminist Literature bell hooks Simone de Beauvoir Angela Davis Kimnerle Crenshaw Council of Europe Misogyny Racism Intersectional Forced Marriage Right of the first night Suppression Reconstruction Space Place Identity Tradition Oral History Archive European Institute of Roma Art and Culture Roma Museum Roma Movement Migration Homelessness St. Mungo's Anti-migration Legislation Academia Culture The Romanian Problem Hecate CPCD Vizurești Oana Dorobanțu Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. 3rd Feb 2025 AUTHOR · AUTHOR Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

For Roma feminist scholar Nicoleta Bitu, Roma identity is intrinsically linked to intersectional feminism. Drawing on the familial lessons of her upbringing and her exposure to political activism as she came of age, Bitu introduces a new intellectual framework of gender equality and women’s liberation—one that not only benefits members of her ethnic community but also enriches broader discourse on feminist theory. For Roma feminist scholar Nicoleta Bitu, Roma identity is intrinsically linked to intersectional feminism. Drawing on the familial lessons of her upbringing and her exposure to political activism as she came of age, Bitu introduces a new intellectual framework of gender equality and women’s liberation—one that not only benefits members of her ethnic community but also enriches broader discourse on feminist theory. Anna Rabko, Roma night (2024). Digital illustration. Artist · FEATURES REPORTAGE · LOCATION Theorizing the Romnie LOCATION Iulia Hau . 3 Feb 2025 rd . Letter from our columnist . When asked how she became a Roma activist and built an entire career out of it, Nicoleta Bițu replied, with her childlike smile: “Well, it's a long story…” Bițu grew up in an exceptional Roma family where both parents proudly displayed their Roma identity during the communist era, a regime that spanned four decades and, like the rest of Eastern Europe, ended in 1989. While many “integrated” Roma hid their identity out of shame and fear of social repercussions, Bițu's parents lived their Roma identity publicly, almost like a manifesto. “My father was born and raised in a hut,” Bițu recalled. At 13, he ran away from home, went to Bucharest, and enrolled in an automotive school with a boarding facility. At that time, the left-wing Romanian state was strongly encouraging poor people to pursue an education, which allowed Bițu's father to stay in a boarding school. He was later recruited for the non-commissioned officers' school and continued with evening Law Faculty. Bițu emphasized how Romania’s left-wing government was crucial in giving her father the opportunity to become a general. “I wouldn't be here with you today if that socialist state hadn't given him that chance,” she stated. “Do you understand how important it is for a state to take responsibility for the education of poor children, creating human resources?” Bițu laments the loss of social democracy, which she saw as a benchmark in the 1990s. The communist regime in Romania lasted from 1947 to 1989 . A hopeful project which—according to historian Alexandru Groza—stopped the royalty from leeching off society and attempted to eliminate social inequalities in Romania, it transformed—during its implementation stage (before ‘64) and in its last two decades–into one of the cruelest dictatorships in 20th-century Europe. “My father was dedicated to Romania, loyal if you will,” Bițu said, “and he remained left-wing until he died.” Sometimes he was even “too nationalist” for her taste, which would cause disputes between them. “The entire police force knew him as Biță Țiganu ( Biță The Gypsy ),” she added, “because, no matter what, he never hid his identity.” Bițu comes from both a family of Roma aristocrats—from her mother’s side—and one of traditional coppersmiths dressed in skirts, vests, and headscarves, from a compact Roma community. She believes this background is why her family reacted seriously to every injustice. When racial discrimination was not even a topic of conversation in Romania, she grew up hearing the word “racism.” For Bițu, what she saw in her parents’ house was also a form of activism. In Roma culture, you have an obligation to help the extended family, and she remembers that the four-room apartment, in a neighborhood almost devoid of Roma, was always occupied. “Some came to attend school, some came to go to the doctor, some cousins ran away from home because her husbands beat her,” Bițu recalled. “We were somehow a family with resources—not necessarily material resources—we were never rich—but [in] resources of information, networks, space [instead].” In 1977, Nicolae Gheorghe , who would become the father of Romani civic activism in Romania and Nicoleta Bițu’s husband, entered Bițu Țiganu ’s family. In the Romania of the '90s, society was marked by riots between Romanians, Hungarians, and Roma, leading to the destruction of hundreds of houses, deaths, and the displacement of large groups of Roma population. Hatred against others boiled in the blood of post-communist Romanian society. Nicolae, who had brought the necessary funds for rebuilding houses burned during an interethnic conflict, took Bițu to work with the Roma. She was 21 and it was her first year being an activist. One year later, in 1992, she was admitted to the Faculty of Sociology and Social Work in Bucharest, among the first generation that occupied the special places reserved for Roma students. “I was fascinated by Nicolae Gheorghe's personality,” she reflected, “though I don't think there was anyone who wasn't. But Roma activism was our inspiration. We protested. We went out into the field. Somehow, it gave you a sense of purpose. It was hard not to fall in love with him; I don't think I was the only one. He had extraordinary courage to fight everyone for the Roma.” At the age of 40, in 2010, Bițu began her Ph.D. at the National School of Political Science and Public Administration in Bucharest. Her thesis, Roma Women and Feminism, was the first in Romania to address the subject of Roma feminism. In 1993, she became one of the founders of the Romani CRISS center , an NGO that provides legal assistance in cases of abuse, remaining with them until she left the country for the first time in 1999. Bițu lived with her husband and two daughters in Warsaw, Poland, for seven years. For Biţu, the anchor remained her proximity to her community and her responsiveness to their suffering. “It didn't matter to me what non-Roma people said about us,” she said. ”Perhaps it was due to the dignity with which I was raised, that I didn't require validation from non-Roma individuals to know who I am.” Although she was very proud of her father as a public figure, Nicoleta Bițu strongly disapproved of many of his behaviors within the family. She believes her becoming a feminist was no coincidence—that the violence she witnessed (her father's against her mother) played a decisive role. She raised her voice at every opportunity, claiming she didn't believe a father who beat his wife could truly love his children. “I was very young when I started asserting this in the family,” Bițu recalled. “I had no contact with feminist literature back then, I was just reacting to injustice the way I was taught to.” As a student in 1993, she wrote her first essay about Roma women in conflicts and how they ensure the continuity of everyday life, based on her fieldwork from conflict-affected communities. “Little did I know that it was feminism,” Bițu reflected. There were also moments when Bițu clashed with some of her male Roma colleagues over how they treated her. In the 1990s, the tendency to control women's sexuality was pronounced, especially among Roma women, who were severely punished for engaging in sexual relationships outside marriage. “I was the subject of such discussions where I was called a whore,” confessed Bițu, who then started reading everything she could find on the subject of women’s rights and female sexuality. In 1998, at a meeting of Roma women in Budapest she met the directors of the women’s program at the Soros Foundation in New York, who invited her overseas the following year. Bițu was 28 at the time but had over nine years of activism experience, with just two breaks, worth three months each, to breastfeed her children. It was only in New York that Bițu received her first real feminist books from one of the directors with whom she developed a deep friendship, including bell hooks, Simone de Beauvoir, Angela Davis, and Kimberlé Crenshaw. “My bible was Ain't I a Woman by bell hooks,” shared Bițu, for whom the book provided answers to many of her personal questions in the Roma movement. “I never let go of that book; I felt that woman was speaking to me.” In 1999, Bițu presented the first report to the Council of Europe on the situation of Roma women in Europe and has since continued tirelessly on the path of feminism. Her discourse has evolved over time, she said, from blaming Roma culture to focusing on racism and later on misogyny. “When I first heard the concept of intersectionality, the sky lit up for me,” Bițu reflected. “These were such moments of enlightenment that helped me reinterpret and reach a nuanced discourse, sufficient to do justice to my people, but also to help me understand myself, as a person and a woman, from a historical and intersectional perspective.’ When she began her Roma feminist trajectory, she was called a traitor to her people for “distracting attention from the racism against Roma” to address a portion of it towards Roma feminism. “Intersectionality somehow gives you the opportunity to analyze the problem as a whole,” Bițu shared. “It gives me the example of early marriages, which are not just about misogyny but also about historical racism.” Early and forced marriages are still a problem in Romania. The 2021 census revealed that 521 girls aged 11 to 14 were living in so-called “consensual unions.” Although this type of abuse is not unique to Roma communities, it is believed to be partly an inherited consequence of the so-called “right of the first night ” of Romanian landowners over their Roma slaves, during the centuries-long Roma slavery on Romanian territory. To prevent their masters from exercising this right , Roma families often preferred to marry their daughters at a very young age. For Bițu, feminism has brought to light a historical perspective that did not exist before. From the way she understood feminism and the responsibility she felt over reconstructing the suppressed identity of her people, she turned towards art, culture, and historical documentation. During the last decade and a half, Nicoleta Bițu’s life has been marked by the construction of spaces, identity, and culture, different from the traditional, oral ones, that are lived in communities. She contributed to the Roma digital archive, European Institute of Roma Art and Culture, and the Roma Museum. “Unfortunately, today there are [even] fewer women in the Roma movement than there were in my time,” Bițu claimed. “It's a very tough men's world,” she continues decisively, almost with anger. “It's very hard to stand upright. I'm talking about myself now. I can't speak for others. The thing is, they [men] won't accept you as an equal, and when you reach the same level as them, you become a danger, and they come after you.” Are there any Roma male feminists in Romania? “No,” she answered. “Nobody. In words only, yes. But not in their personal lives and inner beliefs.” In 2019, Bițu migrated to England without a concrete plan. Initially, Bițu worked at a product packaging warehouse, in her own words, “experiencing humility in a dignified manner.” However, her path took a significant turn when she attended a job fair organized by a foundation dedicated to aiding the homeless. There, she applied for a position as a social worker and secured an interview, eventually joining the team in central London devoted to assisting 120 Roma individuals experiencing homelessness. Bițu couldn't help but question the twists of fate that led her back to a similar situation, thousands of kilometers away from home. Her family teased her about the irony of her journey, yet she came to realize that she hadn't left behind her people, but rather expanded her engagement with the Roma movement beyond Romania. With newfound determination, she dedicated the next four years to establishing a comprehensive service focused on supporting Roma living on the streets of London, proudly securing its funding until March 2025. In 2023, a spate of assaults targeting women sleeping on London's streets within three months signaled societal shifts: Brexit, the ascent of the right-wing, and the passing of anti-migration legislation , akin to a tightening noose around Bițu’s neck. Last year, she returned home; after feeling she had been away from her daughters for too long and preferring to spend her remaining years with them. Bițu is presently on hiatus, yet she vows to remain steadfast in the Roma cause until her last breath. Her time in London taught her that regardless of her whereabouts or endeavors, she cannot escape herself or her work as a Roma activist. Numerous Roma feminists are marked by Nicoleta Bițu’s work and personality. One of them is Ionela Pădure. She met Bițu in 2005, at the age of 19, and described her as the first Romani feminist voice she remembers. “For me,” Pădure shared, “Nicoleta Bițu was, and still is, a complex Roma woman because she embodies all these roles: the mother of two beautiful daughters, the wife of Nicolae Gheorghe, an intellectual, and an activist–roles that, in Romania, were often seen as vulnerabilities. Yet, she knew how to juggle them, turn them into strengths, and carve out a space for herself in a male-dominated world, all while coming from a traditional community. To this day, she remains a dedicated mother, an activist working on the ground, and an intellectual who writes academic articles.” Pădure comes from a family of settled Roma, musicians, and blacksmiths. She holds a degree from the Institut National des Langues et Civilisations Orientales in Paris and has taught French at a college in France. However, she decided to return home to teach the Romani language in a village 40 km from the capital. Recently, she left formal education and, together with her husband, founded CPCD Vizurești, an NGO that organizes activities for village children, including Indian dance, drumming, Romani language lessons, boxing workshops, and more. Pădure described Bițu as a reference point for younger Romani women activists, who are just at the beginning of their careers—a mother they can talk to about anything. “Knowing she’s by my side gives me a sense of security,” Ionela said. She also credits role models like Bițu for helping her imagine herself and set new expectations. “I, too, married young and wanted to be a mother,” Pădure reflected. “Meeting Nicoleta and seeing her embodying all those roles made me realize that I could also make them all.” Oana Dorobanțu, similarly, is a queer feminist author, former journalist, human rights communication expert, and co-editor, together with Carmen Gheorghe, of one of the key books examining anti-roma racism in Romania. She doesn’t want to be called an activist or a feminist. “Shouldn’t we all be activists and feminists?” Dorobanțu asked, refusing to define herself. “I don’t know how words could ever do justice to all the admiration, respect, and love I have for this person,” she said, referring to Bițu. “I met Nico when I was 27, and she was by my side in the period after I decided to publicly acknowledge that I am of Romani ethnicity. The fact that she immediately accepted me as a Romnie (Roma woman in Romani language) was of great support for me.” For Dorobanțu, Bițu “embodies feminism.” She believes that all Romani feminists, not just in Romania, owe Bițu a great deal. "Many may see her as being in the shadow of her husband, Nicolae Gheorghe, who was also a major activist,” Dorobanțu noted, “but they were together because they were equals in every sense." One of the things Dorobanțu learned from Bițu is that there is no room for pride in activism, that you get involved in the movement for liberation, not for a résumé, ego, or reputation. She also learned that it’s important to know when to step back from the fight and when to return stronger, when to stay silent despite insults, and when to fight back. “Nicoleta was never didactic or pedantic,” Dorobanțu recalled, “but she influenced us indirectly through her nature, her charisma, and her way of being.”∎ SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 IULIA HAU is a journalist based in Bucharest who investigates and writes stories about migration, inequality, discrimination and travel. Her work has been featured in Al Jazeera , Caracas Chronicles , Voxurop , The Republic , Global Voices National Geographic , and Vice , among others. ANNA RABKO is a graphic designer and illustrator who uses colours and surrealism as a universal language. Her education started at the Academy of Fine Arts in Cracow, Poland, creating a bond with Polish Poster design, and continued in Kathmandu, Nepal, where she learned traditional Thangka painting. She enjoys working with theatres and NGOs, and collaborating with other artists. Profile Bucharest Roma Romnie Feminism Activism Political Activism Liberation Gender Equality Politics of Ethnic Identity Feminist Theory Nicoleta Bitu Communist Era Eastern Europe History Leftism Democracy Romania 20th Century Europe Bita The Gypsy Aristocracy Community Injustice Nicolae Gheorghe Civic Activism Riots Civil Society Conflict Interethnic Conflict Political Science Roma Women and Feminism Romani CRISS Center NGO Violence Domestic violence Feminist Literature bell hooks Simone de Beauvoir Angela Davis Kimnerle Crenshaw Council of Europe Misogyny Racism Intersectional Forced Marriage Right of the first night Suppression Reconstruction Space Place Identity Tradition Oral History Archive European Institute of Roma Art and Culture Roma Museum Roma Movement Migration Homelessness St. Mungo's Anti-migration Legislation Academia Culture The Romanian Problem Hecate CPCD Vizurești Oana Dorobanțu Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note:

For Roma feminist scholar Nicoleta Bitu, Roma identity is intrinsically linked to intersectional feminism. Drawing on the familial lessons of her upbringing and her exposure to political activism as she came of age, Bitu introduces a new intellectual framework of gender equality and women’s liberation—one that not only benefits members of her ethnic community but also enriches broader discourse on feminist theory. For Roma feminist scholar Nicoleta Bitu, Roma identity is intrinsically linked to intersectional feminism. Drawing on the familial lessons of her upbringing and her exposure to political activism as she came of age, Bitu introduces a new intellectual framework of gender equality and women’s liberation—one that not only benefits members of her ethnic community but also enriches broader discourse on feminist theory. Anna Rabko, Roma night (2024). Digital illustration. Artist Bucharest Iulia Hau 3 Feb 2025 rd · FEATURES REPORTAGE · LOCATION Theorizing the Romnie When asked how she became a Roma activist and built an entire career out of it, Nicoleta Bițu replied, with her childlike smile: “Well, it's a long story…” Bițu grew up in an exceptional Roma family where both parents proudly displayed their Roma identity during the communist era, a regime that spanned four decades and, like the rest of Eastern Europe, ended in 1989. While many “integrated” Roma hid their identity out of shame and fear of social repercussions, Bițu's parents lived their Roma identity publicly, almost like a manifesto. “My father was born and raised in a hut,” Bițu recalled. At 13, he ran away from home, went to Bucharest, and enrolled in an automotive school with a boarding facility. At that time, the left-wing Romanian state was strongly encouraging poor people to pursue an education, which allowed Bițu's father to stay in a boarding school. He was later recruited for the non-commissioned officers' school and continued with evening Law Faculty. Bițu emphasized how Romania’s left-wing government was crucial in giving her father the opportunity to become a general. “I wouldn't be here with you today if that socialist state hadn't given him that chance,” she stated. “Do you understand how important it is for a state to take responsibility for the education of poor children, creating human resources?” Bițu laments the loss of social democracy, which she saw as a benchmark in the 1990s. The communist regime in Romania lasted from 1947 to 1989 . A hopeful project which—according to historian Alexandru Groza—stopped the royalty from leeching off society and attempted to eliminate social inequalities in Romania, it transformed—during its implementation stage (before ‘64) and in its last two decades–into one of the cruelest dictatorships in 20th-century Europe. “My father was dedicated to Romania, loyal if you will,” Bițu said, “and he remained left-wing until he died.” Sometimes he was even “too nationalist” for her taste, which would cause disputes between them. “The entire police force knew him as Biță Țiganu ( Biță The Gypsy ),” she added, “because, no matter what, he never hid his identity.” Bițu comes from both a family of Roma aristocrats—from her mother’s side—and one of traditional coppersmiths dressed in skirts, vests, and headscarves, from a compact Roma community. She believes this background is why her family reacted seriously to every injustice. When racial discrimination was not even a topic of conversation in Romania, she grew up hearing the word “racism.” For Bițu, what she saw in her parents’ house was also a form of activism. In Roma culture, you have an obligation to help the extended family, and she remembers that the four-room apartment, in a neighborhood almost devoid of Roma, was always occupied. “Some came to attend school, some came to go to the doctor, some cousins ran away from home because her husbands beat her,” Bițu recalled. “We were somehow a family with resources—not necessarily material resources—we were never rich—but [in] resources of information, networks, space [instead].” In 1977, Nicolae Gheorghe , who would become the father of Romani civic activism in Romania and Nicoleta Bițu’s husband, entered Bițu Țiganu ’s family. In the Romania of the '90s, society was marked by riots between Romanians, Hungarians, and Roma, leading to the destruction of hundreds of houses, deaths, and the displacement of large groups of Roma population. Hatred against others boiled in the blood of post-communist Romanian society. Nicolae, who had brought the necessary funds for rebuilding houses burned during an interethnic conflict, took Bițu to work with the Roma. She was 21 and it was her first year being an activist. One year later, in 1992, she was admitted to the Faculty of Sociology and Social Work in Bucharest, among the first generation that occupied the special places reserved for Roma students. “I was fascinated by Nicolae Gheorghe's personality,” she reflected, “though I don't think there was anyone who wasn't. But Roma activism was our inspiration. We protested. We went out into the field. Somehow, it gave you a sense of purpose. It was hard not to fall in love with him; I don't think I was the only one. He had extraordinary courage to fight everyone for the Roma.” At the age of 40, in 2010, Bițu began her Ph.D. at the National School of Political Science and Public Administration in Bucharest. Her thesis, Roma Women and Feminism, was the first in Romania to address the subject of Roma feminism. In 1993, she became one of the founders of the Romani CRISS center , an NGO that provides legal assistance in cases of abuse, remaining with them until she left the country for the first time in 1999. Bițu lived with her husband and two daughters in Warsaw, Poland, for seven years. For Biţu, the anchor remained her proximity to her community and her responsiveness to their suffering. “It didn't matter to me what non-Roma people said about us,” she said. ”Perhaps it was due to the dignity with which I was raised, that I didn't require validation from non-Roma individuals to know who I am.” Although she was very proud of her father as a public figure, Nicoleta Bițu strongly disapproved of many of his behaviors within the family. She believes her becoming a feminist was no coincidence—that the violence she witnessed (her father's against her mother) played a decisive role. She raised her voice at every opportunity, claiming she didn't believe a father who beat his wife could truly love his children. “I was very young when I started asserting this in the family,” Bițu recalled. “I had no contact with feminist literature back then, I was just reacting to injustice the way I was taught to.” As a student in 1993, she wrote her first essay about Roma women in conflicts and how they ensure the continuity of everyday life, based on her fieldwork from conflict-affected communities. “Little did I know that it was feminism,” Bițu reflected. There were also moments when Bițu clashed with some of her male Roma colleagues over how they treated her. In the 1990s, the tendency to control women's sexuality was pronounced, especially among Roma women, who were severely punished for engaging in sexual relationships outside marriage. “I was the subject of such discussions where I was called a whore,” confessed Bițu, who then started reading everything she could find on the subject of women’s rights and female sexuality. In 1998, at a meeting of Roma women in Budapest she met the directors of the women’s program at the Soros Foundation in New York, who invited her overseas the following year. Bițu was 28 at the time but had over nine years of activism experience, with just two breaks, worth three months each, to breastfeed her children. It was only in New York that Bițu received her first real feminist books from one of the directors with whom she developed a deep friendship, including bell hooks, Simone de Beauvoir, Angela Davis, and Kimberlé Crenshaw. “My bible was Ain't I a Woman by bell hooks,” shared Bițu, for whom the book provided answers to many of her personal questions in the Roma movement. “I never let go of that book; I felt that woman was speaking to me.” In 1999, Bițu presented the first report to the Council of Europe on the situation of Roma women in Europe and has since continued tirelessly on the path of feminism. Her discourse has evolved over time, she said, from blaming Roma culture to focusing on racism and later on misogyny. “When I first heard the concept of intersectionality, the sky lit up for me,” Bițu reflected. “These were such moments of enlightenment that helped me reinterpret and reach a nuanced discourse, sufficient to do justice to my people, but also to help me understand myself, as a person and a woman, from a historical and intersectional perspective.’ When she began her Roma feminist trajectory, she was called a traitor to her people for “distracting attention from the racism against Roma” to address a portion of it towards Roma feminism. “Intersectionality somehow gives you the opportunity to analyze the problem as a whole,” Bițu shared. “It gives me the example of early marriages, which are not just about misogyny but also about historical racism.” Early and forced marriages are still a problem in Romania. The 2021 census revealed that 521 girls aged 11 to 14 were living in so-called “consensual unions.” Although this type of abuse is not unique to Roma communities, it is believed to be partly an inherited consequence of the so-called “right of the first night ” of Romanian landowners over their Roma slaves, during the centuries-long Roma slavery on Romanian territory. To prevent their masters from exercising this right , Roma families often preferred to marry their daughters at a very young age. For Bițu, feminism has brought to light a historical perspective that did not exist before. From the way she understood feminism and the responsibility she felt over reconstructing the suppressed identity of her people, she turned towards art, culture, and historical documentation. During the last decade and a half, Nicoleta Bițu’s life has been marked by the construction of spaces, identity, and culture, different from the traditional, oral ones, that are lived in communities. She contributed to the Roma digital archive, European Institute of Roma Art and Culture, and the Roma Museum. “Unfortunately, today there are [even] fewer women in the Roma movement than there were in my time,” Bițu claimed. “It's a very tough men's world,” she continues decisively, almost with anger. “It's very hard to stand upright. I'm talking about myself now. I can't speak for others. The thing is, they [men] won't accept you as an equal, and when you reach the same level as them, you become a danger, and they come after you.” Are there any Roma male feminists in Romania? “No,” she answered. “Nobody. In words only, yes. But not in their personal lives and inner beliefs.” In 2019, Bițu migrated to England without a concrete plan. Initially, Bițu worked at a product packaging warehouse, in her own words, “experiencing humility in a dignified manner.” However, her path took a significant turn when she attended a job fair organized by a foundation dedicated to aiding the homeless. There, she applied for a position as a social worker and secured an interview, eventually joining the team in central London devoted to assisting 120 Roma individuals experiencing homelessness. Bițu couldn't help but question the twists of fate that led her back to a similar situation, thousands of kilometers away from home. Her family teased her about the irony of her journey, yet she came to realize that she hadn't left behind her people, but rather expanded her engagement with the Roma movement beyond Romania. With newfound determination, she dedicated the next four years to establishing a comprehensive service focused on supporting Roma living on the streets of London, proudly securing its funding until March 2025. In 2023, a spate of assaults targeting women sleeping on London's streets within three months signaled societal shifts: Brexit, the ascent of the right-wing, and the passing of anti-migration legislation , akin to a tightening noose around Bițu’s neck. Last year, she returned home; after feeling she had been away from her daughters for too long and preferring to spend her remaining years with them. Bițu is presently on hiatus, yet she vows to remain steadfast in the Roma cause until her last breath. Her time in London taught her that regardless of her whereabouts or endeavors, she cannot escape herself or her work as a Roma activist. Numerous Roma feminists are marked by Nicoleta Bițu’s work and personality. One of them is Ionela Pădure. She met Bițu in 2005, at the age of 19, and described her as the first Romani feminist voice she remembers. “For me,” Pădure shared, “Nicoleta Bițu was, and still is, a complex Roma woman because she embodies all these roles: the mother of two beautiful daughters, the wife of Nicolae Gheorghe, an intellectual, and an activist–roles that, in Romania, were often seen as vulnerabilities. Yet, she knew how to juggle them, turn them into strengths, and carve out a space for herself in a male-dominated world, all while coming from a traditional community. To this day, she remains a dedicated mother, an activist working on the ground, and an intellectual who writes academic articles.” Pădure comes from a family of settled Roma, musicians, and blacksmiths. She holds a degree from the Institut National des Langues et Civilisations Orientales in Paris and has taught French at a college in France. However, she decided to return home to teach the Romani language in a village 40 km from the capital. Recently, she left formal education and, together with her husband, founded CPCD Vizurești, an NGO that organizes activities for village children, including Indian dance, drumming, Romani language lessons, boxing workshops, and more. Pădure described Bițu as a reference point for younger Romani women activists, who are just at the beginning of their careers—a mother they can talk to about anything. “Knowing she’s by my side gives me a sense of security,” Ionela said. She also credits role models like Bițu for helping her imagine herself and set new expectations. “I, too, married young and wanted to be a mother,” Pădure reflected. “Meeting Nicoleta and seeing her embodying all those roles made me realize that I could also make them all.” Oana Dorobanțu, similarly, is a queer feminist author, former journalist, human rights communication expert, and co-editor, together with Carmen Gheorghe, of one of the key books examining anti-roma racism in Romania. She doesn’t want to be called an activist or a feminist. “Shouldn’t we all be activists and feminists?” Dorobanțu asked, refusing to define herself. “I don’t know how words could ever do justice to all the admiration, respect, and love I have for this person,” she said, referring to Bițu. “I met Nico when I was 27, and she was by my side in the period after I decided to publicly acknowledge that I am of Romani ethnicity. The fact that she immediately accepted me as a Romnie (Roma woman in Romani language) was of great support for me.” For Dorobanțu, Bițu “embodies feminism.” She believes that all Romani feminists, not just in Romania, owe Bițu a great deal. "Many may see her as being in the shadow of her husband, Nicolae Gheorghe, who was also a major activist,” Dorobanțu noted, “but they were together because they were equals in every sense." One of the things Dorobanțu learned from Bițu is that there is no room for pride in activism, that you get involved in the movement for liberation, not for a résumé, ego, or reputation. She also learned that it’s important to know when to step back from the fight and when to return stronger, when to stay silent despite insults, and when to fight back. “Nicoleta was never didactic or pedantic,” Dorobanțu recalled, “but she influenced us indirectly through her nature, her charisma, and her way of being.”∎ SUB-HEAD Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. You can update and reuse text themes. Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Add paragraph text. Click “Edit Text” to customize this theme across your site. 1 IULIA HAU is a journalist based in Bucharest who investigates and writes stories about migration, inequality, discrimination and travel. Her work has been featured in Al Jazeera , Caracas Chronicles , Voxurop , The Republic , Global Voices National Geographic , and Vice , among others. ANNA RABKO is a graphic designer and illustrator who uses colours and surrealism as a universal language. Her education started at the Academy of Fine Arts in Cracow, Poland, creating a bond with Polish Poster design, and continued in Kathmandu, Nepal, where she learned traditional Thangka painting. She enjoys working with theatres and NGOs, and collaborating with other artists. Profile Bucharest Roma Romnie Feminism Activism Political Activism Liberation Gender Equality Politics of Ethnic Identity Feminist Theory Nicoleta Bitu Communist Era Eastern Europe History Leftism Democracy Romania 20th Century Europe Bita The Gypsy Aristocracy Community Injustice Nicolae Gheorghe Civic Activism Riots Civil Society Conflict Interethnic Conflict Political Science Roma Women and Feminism Romani CRISS Center NGO Violence Domestic violence Feminist Literature bell hooks Simone de Beauvoir Angela Davis Kimnerle Crenshaw Council of Europe Misogyny Racism Intersectional Forced Marriage Right of the first night Suppression Reconstruction Space Place Identity Tradition Oral History Archive European Institute of Roma Art and Culture Roma Museum Roma Movement Migration Homelessness St. Mungo's Anti-migration Legislation Academia Culture The Romanian Problem Hecate CPCD Vizurești Oana Dorobanțu Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 5 Heading 6 Heading 6 Heading 6 On That Note: