The Letters
A letter about Bengal, in languages that are not Bengali.
In the 90s and early 2000s, while I was growing up, my mother wrote letters to my grandmother in Bengali—the only language my grandmother knew how to read or write fluently. I often wonder what they wrote about in these letters. What felt important to include on the tiny piece of paper? What did they inevitably exclude as a result?
Living in a time with seamless and constant communication, if I were to write a letter, what would I write in it? I wonder, what is important to me today?
I never learned how to write in Bengali because it didn’t seem necessary growing up in Delhi. Now in my 30s, it seems necessary.
Above: Left: 'The Letters’, Captured in Motion.
Writing and reading English material has become natural for me, given the circumstances I grew up in, the education I received and the socio-economic background I belong to. Before I knew it, I was thinking in English too. The more time I spend away from India and the languages I have left behind, the more unfamiliar and alien they seem on my tongue. The more faded my memories seem, the more distant Bengal feels.
In this work, I have written about Bengal in letters to the reader, telling them everything I can remember. I have written these on fragile Japanese paper with ink, in English on one side and in Hindi on the other. Due to the translucency of the paper, these scripts merge to appear like asemic writing. However, upon closer inspection, each side reveals vaguely remembered stories of and from Bengal. Through these letters, I pass on my memories to the reader, to safeguard against further erosion.
Size: Three ‘letters' stitched together, each 12.5 in x 35 in.
Above: Details from ’The Letters'.
Below: Experiments and Trials.
