Queer stories have remained suppressed for far too long. It바카라s only recently that they바카라ve started enjoying a place in the mainstream. But mainstreaming the marginalised comes at its own cost: cultural selection. It바카라s always one over the other. Who gets to choose what stories must be told? And by whom? Such are the questions facing an individual looking to tell LGBTQ-centric narratives.
Though in the first two chapters of his book Queering Tribal Folktales from East and Northeast India (Routledge, 2021), Kaustav Chakraborty addresses these questions, principally he studies tribal folktales 바카라mainly from the Toto, Rabha, Lepcha, and Limbu cultures바카라 to 바카라establish a counter-discourse of an indigenous queer바카라.
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An assistant professor in the Department of English, Southfield (formerly Loreto) College, Darjeeling, Chakraborty바카라s psychological reading of tribal folktales is a work of unparalleled scholarship. When we read these stories as is, his writing seems to serve what doesn바카라t meet the eye: his aim was to ensure that what remained amiss in the silences and subliminality of the text comes alive in his assessment.
Chakraborty argues that Indians accepted some social norms as acceptable (바카라mainstream바카라), ignoring their longstanding histories of queerness. He invokes Foucault to highlight that the 바카라normal바카라 came first and 바카라the norm바카라 was deduced from it. Propagation of compulsory heterosexuality, disgust towards same-sex and non-normative desires, and marriages as a legit social contract are but a few things that the colonisers considered 바카라normal바카라. And it is this inheritance that most of the mainland India continues to celebrate.
Through this book, Chakraborty attempts at reviving the 바카라oral performance of storytelling바카라 by creating a record of the 28 folktales that disappeared or were 바카라laid aside out of sight바카라. As a framework, he has considered 바카라the queernormative moments of the past that are relevant for my dialogic understanding of the modern self through an-other바카라. Countering the mainstream sexuality discourse that polices desires located outside the strict caste-hetero-patriarchal constructs, he interprets the bizarre, grotesque, flamboyant, and the erotic in these tales through a queer lens.
There are four Toto folktales in this book that discuss intimacy between a grandmother and grandson. The Orphan Boy, in particular, outshines others as it renders the 바카라orphan protagonist바카라s queer intimacy for heteronormative conjugality, similar to ensuing homoeroticity of a man바카라. In almost all the tales, the 바카라queer motif wins바카라.
In yet another story, there are 바카라hints at the togetherness of two males with two kids, which indeed for two tribal queers, as the story suggest, is a happy gay family for a peaceful life바카라. The tale Seven Brothers and One Sister explores incest. Chakraborty takes this as an opportunity to prophesise that in 바카라the hegemonic settler colonialism, incest had to be negated by regulating it as a taboo in order to counter tribal individuality바카라.
Limbu folktales especially challenge the 바카라ideal woman바카라 syndrome: Savitri-Draupadi-Sita-glorification. For example, in Four Brothers and a Sister, the sister바카라s 바카라incestuous desire is symbolically conveyed by the sister바카라s quest for her brothers and the consequential offering of garlands to them바카라.
Assessing these tales makes Chakraborty conclude that queerness in Indian history 바카라is the outcome of misrepresentations disseminated by colonialism바카라 and that the 바카라homophobic anxiety cannot be done without trying to excavate the alternative historical queernormative norms of the undocumented time when desires other than heterosexuality were not censored바카라.
Though the principal goal of the author to 바카라queer바카라 tribal tales is achieved in the book, two things are concerning. First, in the introductory chapters, the author renders several philosophical arguments to defend his position as a researcher and ethnographer. He isn바카라t a tribal person. This makes the reader question whether he accurately understood, translated, and interpreted these stories. But because he was armed with an array of resources and translators, we can be assured that this shouldn바카라t worry us.
However, the repetitive explanation that he is an 바카라outsider바카라 assessing the 바카라othering바카라 makes one question: Why indulge then? Sample the apologetic undertone of this sentence, for example: 바카라Authorship cannot be dictated by experience; rather outsiders can formulate theorisation by virtue of their distance from experience.바카라 While distance is required for any authorial exercise, the first-hand experience not only renders authenticity but also in the telling stories of the marginalised it바카라s quintessential.
This should make one sceptical to continue with this work, but it바카라s appreciable that Chakraborty clearly lays out his politics: who he is, where he바카라s coming from, and what he바카라s doing with the material. It바카라s also notable that he doesn바카라t claim a 바카라strict neutrality바카라 or 바카라uninvolved position바카라.
While all this isn바카라t problematic, suggesting that queer people could collectivise themselves as 바카라neo-Bahujans바카라 as a political category is troubling. Chakraborty writes, 바카라Reconsidering Dalit as not exclusively a birth-based natural identity, queer Indians should forge an intimate bond with the Dalit Bahujan tribals by politically positioning themselves as neo-Bahujan in order to fight against a common adversary.바카라
It seems that Chakraborty is forgetting that we bear and exercise multiple identities when faced with different situations. An oppressor-caste queer person like me definitely enjoys more privileges than a Dalit queer. Clubbing both as neo-Bahujans will not only overlook privileges of an upper-class and -caste person and create a fake equanimity but will also label the 바카라centre바카라 as the 바카라margin바카라, and that바카라s certainly not 바카라mainstreaming바카라 marginality. And it바카라s far from queering.
(Saurabh Sharma is a Delhi-based queer writer.Instagram/Twitter: @writerly_life.)
