The problem

‘One of the functions of art is to give people the words to know their own experience… Storytelling is a tool for knowing who we are and what we want.’

– Ursula K. Le Guin

IT is a daunting task to pose the theme of the last edition of Seminar, referred to as ‘the problem’, when in the first issue in September 1959, Nirad C. Chaudhuri was one of the distinguished participants. Some stories have an ending, most are open ended and some pause to reboot. It is a coincidence therefore, that this issue of the historic journal’s 64 year journey should be a pean to the great tradition of storytelling.

In February 2020, we curated the fourth edition of ArtEast, at a time when the global Covid pandemic was at a striking distance in India. Very rapidly, then the world order changed, affecting almost every human life on the planet. In India the devastating visuals of ‘migrants’ walking through towns and cities trying to get home to their families back in the villages, evoked helplessness and a sense of anger. Lives and livelihood were upended. Death stalked our neighbourhoods. People were forced into virtual living. Art and artists were amongst the worst hit. However, in this difficult time, people found solace in their imagination, in art and visual narratives, in form and colour.

The virtual festival, Tell Me a Story, invoked Storytelling as art and showcased a slice of traditional craft and contemporary art. These were rituals with a visual and performative aspect that gradually became a practice. Many such practices today suffer from lack of patronage and have either succumbed to commercial pressures or have slowly faded away towards the margins. Some have disappeared. This festival was an effort to revive an interest in the reinterpretation of stories told to us and expressed through art in its many avatars. The tellers of these tales were not only artists but also communicators of knowledge. The pattachitra or narrative scroll painting of Bengal for example, describe stories from mythology, religion and folklore.

The geography of such practice extends from the patua painters and poet performers of Bengal, to the pattachitra art of Odisha, the bards of Rajasthan, the phad scroll, the garoda picture-tellers of Gujarat and the chitrakathis of Maharashtra. Perhaps the oldest tradition of storytelling, as old as the spinning wheel, was done using motifs on cloth as the markers. We tried to capture this from the evocative designs on the textiles of Nagaland.

Stories connect people and though these itinerant poets and performers have entertained Indians at melas and village squares, the archetypal landscape of storytelling remains in the kitchen where the family comes together every day to share their stories and experiences. I first encountered stories when I watched my mother listen to people narrate folktales they heard in their own families. She would document this oral literature and write serialised stories that were later published as books. I now understand the value of collating orality.

In this issue of Seminar we reproduce some of the expositions from the festival and have added more ‘stories’ that speak in sign language and through visuals and text, taken from the largest open air art gallery of Shekhawati wall painting, to the stories of the last booksellers of Daryaganj. We explore the contemporary modes of telling stories through graphic novels. This is a brief preview into exploring storytelling, in its myriad forms. This is not a compendium of all the practices. It is a celebration of the fabric that has connected us over millennia, the repository of social histories and more. The loss of storytelling, of conversations, is much like the death of a language, of a sensibility leading to the snapping of our civilisational thread. Storytelling keeps people engaged with each other, links diversity, keeps the spirit of community alive and defines shared values.

KISHALAY BHATTACHARJEE