Master summary of Thangjam Ibopishak Singh’s ‘Dali, Hussain, or Odour of Dream, Colour of Wind’

 Master summary of Thangjam Ibopishak Singh’s ‘Dali, Hussain, or Odour of Dream, Colour of Wind’

The poem operates as a bizarre, surreal dream sequence—reminiscent of the eccentric, disjointed art of Salvador Dali or M.F. Husain. Written in free verse using the stream-of-consciousness technique, it strings together seemingly unconnected, absurd images. However, this lack of logical coherence is intentional. It vividly captures the psychological restlessness, frustration, and delirium of the poet’s mind as he attempts to cope with the chaotic, violent socio-political reality of his homeland (Manipur and North-East India).

The poem opens with a stark juxtaposition: a farmer is asked about his paddy yield, while a poet is asked how many "kgs of poems" he has produced. This reduces art to a mere consumable commodity. The poet then visualizes an absurd scene of a cashier spending hours counting a rotten, moldy bundle of one-rupee notes, only to wash his hands with Dettol and eat the notes one by one. This powerful, grotesque imagery serves as a sharp critique of human greed and the all-consuming nature of capitalism and materialism.

The poet uses an epigram about leaves and wind to represent poetry and inspiration. He notes that if a tree is bare, the wind cannot move its leaves. Symbolically, the "bare tree" represents his society—stripped of life, hope, and inspiration due to ongoing political turmoil.

To survive in this intolerant, pragmatic society, the poet becomes a tight-lipped non-conformist. He metaphorically wears dark glasses and shuts his eyes to hide his true thoughts. In a stroke of dark, satirical humor, he notes that men with closed eyes are usually found either "inside a lockup" or "inside a sacred temple." This mocks religious hypocrisy and the hollow illusions of faith (like "fish flying in the sky"), declaring his firm refusal to conform to societal or religious expectations.

The poem directly confronts the trauma of his environment by asking which is more fragrant: "The report of guns or the scent of flowers." This highlights the tragic normalization of war and violence in his state, criticizing those who are blind to the beauty of peace and addicted to the bloodshed of insurgency.

The poet's mind then unravels into a chaotic cascade of disjointed, highly surreal images—a grandfather's horoscope, rum bottles flying, a grandmother's brassiere alongside sacred Shiva lingams, and Shakespearean sonnets. This chaotic list culminates in a highly disturbing image: an egg slowly sinking into the hairless head of his sleeping teenage daughter. This sequence brilliantly portrays a mind overwhelmed by anxiety, where the sacred, the mundane, and the horrific collide.

In the final, highly surreal sequence, the poet dreams of climbing into a rich man's bathroom in search of a sacred peepal tree. There, he finds his wife—half-naked, with the other half of her body transformed into a peepal tree (an allusion to Girish Karnad's film Chelluvi, about a girl who turns into a tree). Remarkably, the poet feels no shock or worry; instead, he feels utter detachment. Finding his metamorphosed wife in another man's bathroom, he coldly realizes he can no longer claim her, nor can he claim to like peepal trees anymore. This represents the ultimate alienation—the loss of personal connections and traditional values in a rapidly degrading society.

Ultimately, the poem is not just a meaningless string of absurdities; it is a profound political satire. Set against the backdrop of political unrest, insurgency, and ethnic violence in Manipur, the poem uses surrealism as a coping mechanism. The shifting, nightmarish images reflect the inner turmoil of a sensitive citizen and artist who is forced to live in a fractured society where peace, logic, and humanity have been entirely upended.