from the archives 2021: Behind the scenes of making The Marichjhapi Paper
Marichjhapi is a small delta island in the mangroves of Sundarbans in West Bengal. I don’t know how many of you know where Sundarbans is or why am I talking about this secluded forgotten island all of a sudden. Or the fact that what has the title got to do this. Well this will clear up some confusions.
Marichjhapi is not the first paper I’ve written for a journal or university, it is in fact my 2nd, but my first being presented on a webinar at national level. Of course I did not have the courage to write such a responsibility on my own- Dayita and Aditi were my co authors for this paper, and as always Ankita ma’am was our mentor. We started researching on an issue that was very close to home, quite literally- its the recount of a political massacre that took place in the Sundarbans in 1979. We were not even born then, forget us, our mentor wasn’t on this earth either. But they were the one who suggested us to bring up the cause of Marichjhapi and eventually pitched in with the Abstract. A special mention to their persistence for insisting us to participate in this paper presentation competition organized as part of the Litluminous Fest of Kamala Nehru College, University of Delhi.
At first we weren’t the most convinced lot- we never heard or read about Marichjhapi or Hungry Tide or Blood Island for that matter. But eventually we had to write a 2000 word paper, and we did- so we read. And this is the process I enjoy the most, perhaps only coming second to actual task of writing it down. It ain’t easy, but definitely worth a lot of procrastination.
We are teens who are terrible at navigating our lives (me, Dayita) but expert procrastinators (all three). Thus reading and formulating an argument is the hardest part for us- once however that’s done, we simply need a deadline and we will deliver on time, never mind that being one minute before the deadline. Ankita Ma’am does that for us (she knows us well) to get our asses working. It’s quite contrary to how other students feel, which I admit, is actually the way it should be. but I guess if there’s one thing on earth that I feel the most confident about- its writing. Maybe because I cannot be afraid of something that will put food in my belly. But maybe that’s not the case. Maybe it’s the only thing which nourishes and never takes.
Writing is another adventure altogether. We usually sit 5–6 hours at a stretch, sometimes on consecutive days, to achieve the paper that we envisage in our heads. It’s a hectic snappy task (I’m the one snapping mostly). It’s a dangerous game when you are co-authoring, especially the Marichjhapi paper- it was a team of 3, with widely distinctive techniques and narratives converging on a commonality. Let me tell you, individually writing a paper is certainly intimidating and exhaustive but it lacks the principle of negotiation. Co-authoring is principally about writing, re writing, pitching sentences for others, demarcating sections for yourself and again coming together to maintain uniformity despite heterogeneity. And its impossible to sit with strangers and write- even if you are, at the end of it, you’ll come out much closer than you ever were previously. I really do not wish to suggest writing academic papers as a bonding activity for friends, but its certainly on the table.
Our discussion sessions were Buzzfeed unresolved trauma hours. And it’s kind of ritualistic to dump whatever’s plaguing your life in general on your co-authors (with their consent and willingness of course). You cannot write about a state sponsored killing if you had a panic attack in the morning or if your depression had relapsed. It’s a sort of cleansing the system? You get to know the person who formulates the next line of thought or reads what you are too lazy to. And its simply a poignant feeling of love that you might be mistaking for frustration at their slowness. After all probably, they’ll be the one to catch you when you fall. And trust me, you will stumble, if not fall. That doesn’t mean repressing your feelings, pushing aside your own inputs (which may differ) or that they are invalid. They are not, and its okay to express them, to share them with your partners. Handle it maturely. If you are writing a paper, I assume you are an adult. This is not high school. Don’t do drama. Share and resolve your difficulties and disagreements.
The next best thing is reading it out to our mentor. It’s the inexplicable thrill of reading aloud your arguments and holding a person’s attention till the very last word that makes the entire exercise a pure pleasure. The ‘thumbs up’ or the ‘this is good stuff, guys’ fills us with pride- something which was pretty elusive for the last 17 years. Pride at what we have achieved, that our hard work paid off or for simply having written a paper. It’s wonderful. It’s addictive. It makes you want to do it again and again. You know you will complain, fight and procrastinate again, but you want to write regardless. It’s a different type of drug. I am fortunate to have gotten hold of it.
Disappointment will always be waiting to strike. You cannot avoid it. Neither could we. Despite our best efforts and countless hours of practice, editing and a brilliant presentation, our paper didn’t make the cut as the winner. Each disappointment will bring a wave of doubt. This time the waves (yes, in my case its multiple waves) receded rather quickly. I guess I have finally gained what I lacked all this years.
Faith on myself.
Things will be fine, keep on writing, keep doing what you do the best.
