“Mixing Memory and Desire”:
Takes Upon Itself to Remember Loss
A
common sentiment in our data-driven, validation-
oriented, screen-first world is that we are untouched by
the barriers of language. The world is quickly moving
towards homogeneity, facilitated by a seemingly universal
desire for more likes, hearts, hashtags and acknowledgement.
As our loneliness becomes more emphatic and we
scream our collective isolation on Twitter, a band in
Tripura stokes a sense of community emerging from
simultaneous conflict and safety : memory.
When 33 year old Rumio Debbarma returned to Agartala, he
found himself staring into his own history. He discovered that
his mother wrote poems in Kokborok, their native tongue and
the language spoken by Tripura’s indigenous population.
Mother and son now collaborate, crafting words at the centre
of Koloma’s artistry. The five member group touches on folk,
rock, fusion and give life to tradition. “We want to preserve
our language and the way our folk artists sing,” says Rumio.
The band hails from the Borok people, and have named
themselves after the original script of Kokborok. No longer
in popular use, it has given way to Bengali or Roman scripts
which are the now-prevalent modes of writing Kokborok.
Despite being the language of the state’s native inhabitants,
not only is Kokborok the second official language of
the state (Bengali the first), but is quickly eroding into
extinction. Faced with this erasure, Debbarma and his
compatriots (all of whom share the same surname) try to
preserve the tongue that gave them their first words .
Rumio’s first composition was a 2012 adaptation of his mother’s
poem ‘Masing Jora’. Since then, the band had created songs
combining magnetic melody and unfamiliar words. Listening to
them is akin to deciphering a dream while awake. The sounds are
intimate; they have charmed you before. The instruments shimmer
in expected ways, hailing bliss inherent in well-worn wonders.
Expect the comfort of walking the path back to a happy home.
However, Koloma’s purpose is found in words. Listening to
Kokborok is not about comprehending meaning, but realising that
entire identities are built around language. If you feel alienated
by their lyricism, the point has been made. Splice that sense of
disconnect with the everyday experiences of people from Koloma’s
world. What must it feel like to wake up and remember that the
first words you ever spoke are being relegated to dusty history?
The very act of singing with words half-faded from
Tripura’s memory is a revolution. It is taking a stand for
one’s own relevance. Weaponizing the warmth borne of
self-expression, Koloma’s art is confessional at its core.
The songs explore romance, passing seasons, brotherhood,
unity, the state’s inaugural culture, folk tales, snippets
of tribal history. In their latest album “Kothoma”, they
primarily deliberate upon their own cultural matrix.
Naturally, Koloma’s music is not for mass consumption.
Sound, sentiment and word coalesce as an act of personal
rumination. Their bid to preserve Kokborok is equivalent
to preserving the identity of an entire people.
As easy as it is to qualify anything borderline decent as
“soulful”, you can actually hear soul quiver in Koloma.
Focus must stay unequivocally on language, and it is hard
to imagine that such volumes being communicated with
words that are, for most people outside Tripura, foreign.
Even though Tripura does not afford much opportunity for indie
music to thrive, Koloma’s music has come to be recognised
as unmatchable. How often does a band act as both artist and
chronicler? They seek to remind forthcoming generations of the
complex tapestry of Borok history - delight, trauma and wonder.
Taking a moment to listen to Koloma is worthwhile. Taking
many moments to listen is to know closeness and distance,
empathy and astonishment. Take many moments.
The
Score Magazine
highonscore.com
19