Cite this article Bhuyan, J. (2025), Dialectical Resistance: The Case of Miya Poetry. Himalayan Beacon Journal of Humanities and Social Sciences. https://himalayanbeacon.com/dialectical-resistance-the-case-of-miya-poetry/
Abstract
This paper examines Miya poetry as a critical site of resistance emerging from the Bengali-origin Muslim community of Assam. It explores how dialect itself serves as a mode of resistance, transforming linguistic marginality into cultural legitimacy and political agency. Through historical-thematic analysis, the study traces the evolution of Miya poetry across three distinct phases: the early articulations of belonging in the 1930s, post-Nellie trauma in the 1980s, and the digital assertion of identity since 2016. However, postcolonial and subaltern theories, especially those of Homi K. Bhabha, Barbara Harlow, and Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, were interpreted to bring up an effective and meaningful dimension. This interpretation refers to Miya poetry both as a cultural archive and a political praxis that challenges dominant nationalist discourses. Moreover, by writing in stigmatised Assamese-Bengali dialects and recontextualising the term Miya, often used as a slur, the poets reclaim voice, dignity, and belonging within a contested socio-political landscape. Thus, the study argues that Miya poetry constructs a ‘third space’ in which dialectal hybridity serves as an instrument of subaltern articulation and collective memory. As, for instance, most stanzas expose the intersections of migration, citizenship, and identity, while simultaneously contributing to the global canon of resistance literature.
Keywords: Miya poetry, dialectical resistance, subaltern voice, belonging, third space, identity assertion
Introduction
Miya poetry occupies a distinct and contested place in the field of resistance literature. The genre exemplifies the capacity of dialectal literature to transform subaltern voices into an instrument of resistance against discrimination and an assertion of identity. Its central themes, such as citizenship, belonging, identity erasure, discrimination, and migration, and the widely controversial reactions in the name of Assamese sub-nationalism, show how the contemporary debate and dialogue are being shaped with and without this division in Assam, socially, politically, and culturally. As Barbara Harlow reminded, resistance literature must be understood not as an isolated artistic pursuit but as a collective record of struggle which is inseparable from the historical and political conditions that produce it (Layoun, 1989). In this light, Miya poetry can be read alongside African, Palestinian, Dalit, and Tibetan narratives, in which poetry functions both as a weapon of critique and a medium of cultural survival.
For instance, while the Miya poets articulate their realities of the D-voter issue, identity erasure, discrimination, and exclusion through verse, critics such as Hiren Gohain, a prominent litterateur, educationist, and senior journalist, and Pranabjit Doloi have dismissed the genre as xenophobic or divisive within Assamese literature (Choudhury, 2019). This dual reception underscores the urgency of the research question: How do socio-political factors shape the Miya Poetry movement in contemporary debates and dialogues? This paper investigates Miya poetry as a dialect that has transformed into a form of resistance to domination and an assertion of identity, focusing on its thematic concerns of migration, identity, citizenship, belonging, and marginalisation.
Literature Review
The emergence of Miya poetry as a literary and political phenomenon has generated considerable scholarly debate within South Asian literature, identity studies, and postcolonial discourse. Early poems such as those by Azad and Hussain contextualise Miya’s poetic expression within the socio-economic history of Char-Chapori settlements, foregrounding how migration, land reclamation, and linguistic negotiation shaped identity formation among Assam’s Bengali-origin Muslim communities. More recent studies, including Yasmeen (2019) and Saikia’s (2021) analysis of belonging and exclusion of the Bengali-origin Muslim community or Miyas, have shown that this poetic genre evolved as a response to ethno-political tensions and citizenship questions in postcolonial Assam. Scholars such as Misra (2024) and Mehra (2021) focus on the thematic significance of citizenship, gender, linguistic identity, and cultural erasure within Miya poetry, identifying it as part of a larger body of South Asian subaltern literature. Laskar and Hazari (2020) further examine Miya poetry as a form of resistance literature in line with global movements such as Dalit poetry, Palestinian resistance writing, and Afro-American civil rights poetry. These works establish Miya poetry not merely as creative expression but as political discourse embedded in lived experience.
Despite its growing visibility, gaps remain. Recent scholarship treats Miya poetry either as a media controversy or as a cultural symptom of Assam’s identity tensions, rather than analysing it as a crafted literary tradition with evolving stylistic phases. Moreover, limited attention has been given to the role of dialectal hybridity, digital circulation, and transnational readership in shaping the form. This study addresses these gaps by situating Miya poetry within frameworks of resistance literature, hybridity, and subaltern articulation while tracing its development across distinct historical phases.
Methodology
This study employs a qualitative research framework grounded in textual and discourse analysis. Multiple poems representing three historical phases of Miya poetry (1939, 1983–2016, and 2016–present) were selected to ensure thematic, linguistic, and historical variation. Textual analysis examined metaphor, tone, linguistic hybridity, and narrative voice, while discourse analysis contextualised the poems within broader socio-political debates over citizenship, belonging, ethnicity, and state power in Assam.
Thus, the study draws on theoretical frameworks including postcolonial theories of Bhabha (1994), Fanon (1963), and Said (1994); the resistance literature of Harlow (1987); the linguistic capital of Bourdieu (1991); and the subaltern studies of Spivak (2010). These frameworks help interpret Miya poetry not only as an artistic form but also as an intervention in contested identity politics. The poems analysed are sourced from publicly available published collections, digital archives, and verified online circulation. Translations are included where necessary to ensure accessibility and transparency.
Miya Poetry refers to a body of literary expression produced predominantly by the Bengali-origin Muslim community in Assam, often in dialectal forms and inclined toward pro-Assamese writing, popularly called Miyas. The term Miya, initially deployed as a derogatory slur against this community, has been deliberately re-appropriated by poets as a marker of resistance and identity.
In Urdu, the term Miyah translates to “gentleman,” a polite and respectable form of address. However, within the socio-political landscape of Assam, the word has undergone a process of distortion, functioning as an ethnic slur directed at Bengal-origin Muslims, branding them as ‘Bangladeshis’, ‘foreigners’, ‘outsiders’, or even ‘infiltrators’ (Mehra, 2021, p. 78). This semantic shift mirrors the way marginalised groups in other contexts, such as Dalit, Afro-American and Palestinian activists, have reclaimed derogatory labels to subvert their stigma. Shalim Hussain, a scholar, poet, and translator closely associated with the Miya poetry movement, captures this strategy when he states: “by using it to refer to ourselves, we can divest it of its negative connotations” (Mehra, 2021, p. 78). Nonetheless, despite its political resonance, the Miya identity remains fluid, resisting fixed definition or rigid demarcation.
The roots of Miya poetry can be traced to the early twentieth century when Maulana Bande Ali Mia, a poet, writer, journalist, graphic artist, and designer from Assam, began articulating themes of marginalised identity and belonging in 1939 (Laskar & Hazari, 2020, p. 1173). “Neither Charvwa, nor pamua, I am an Asomiya // Of Assam’s earth and air, I am an equal claimant.” (Maulana Bande Ali 1939) (Sunflower Collective, 2016, see Appendix A). It is considered the first phase of Miya Poetry, but it was not labelled “Miya poetry” at that time. His works laid a foundation for literary expressions of exclusion and discrimination that would later crystallise as a movement. For example, the poem was known as the poem by a charuwa.
The second formative moment occurred in the wake of the 1983 Nellie massacre, where over two thousand Bengali Muslims were killed during the Assam Movement in a single night. The violence, justified in the name of combating “illegal migrants,” revealed the precarious position of the Miya community in Assam’s socio-political fabric. Though no consolidated poetry movement emerged at this stage, oral traditions and localised writings from the period reflect themes of trauma, mourning, and the quest for belonging. However, there are certain poems composed in the later period. In 1985, Khabir Ahmed’s poem “I Beg to State” voices the deep discrimination faced by Bengali-speaking Muslims in Assam through lines like “I beg to state that / I am a settler, a hated Miyah / Whatever be the case, my name is / Ismail Sheikh, Ramzan Ali or Majid Miyah / Subject- I am an Assamese Asomiya” (See Appendix B). Although the poem was preserved, it gradually became less accessible to readers as social media circulation increased (Laskar & Hazari, 2020, p. 1173).
The third, and most rigorous and structural, narration began in April 2016, when Dr Hafiz Ahmed, a prominent poet and president of the Bengali-origin Muslim Char Chapori Sahitya Parishad, first uploaded his poem “Write Down, I am a Miyah” on his Facebook page. On the very same day, Shalim M. Hussain responded with a poem in English, and shortly after, on 30 April, he produced another version in one of the Char-Chapori dialects. A few days later, Shahjahan Ali contributed his own poem. What began with a single poem and a reply quickly grew into a collective expression, eventually drawing contributions from fifteen poets across Assam.
Their poems engaged directly with the various anxieties of the time, including NRC exclusions, D-voter status, stigmatisation, migration histories, and the politics of citizenship and identity. By situating Miya poetry in these three phases: 1930s identity stirrings, 1980s trauma, and post-2016 assertion, the movement can be seen as evolving alongside the community’s socio-political struggles. Consequently, it affected contemporary social, political, and cultural debates and dialogues.
Language and Form
A defining feature of Miya poetry is its use of local dialects such as Mymensingha, Sylheti, and Goalparia in its compositions and narration. The deliberate adoption of these stigmatised dialects challenges both linguistic hierarchies and Assamese nationalist narratives. As Pierre Bourdieu argued, the authority of a language lies not in its grammar but in the power structures that authorise or delegitimise speech (Bourdieu, 1991, p. 55). By writing in Bengali dialects, the genre is considered “illegitimate” or “foreign,” Miya poets transform language itself into an act of resistance.
In addition, Miya poetry is not restricted to Bengali dialects; it is also widely written in Assamese. In an interview, Sanjib Pol Deka, the editor of the Assamese magazine Aalaap (Conversation), one of the first in Assam to publish a series of Miya poems, remarked that the timing of the controversy surrounding the genre is concerning. He stated, “We have always supported Miya poetry and will continue to do so as long as they write in standard Assamese format” (Laskar & Hazari, 2020, p. 1172). Such a position reveals the underlying bias against the Miya dialects and simultaneously creates structural barriers for poets seeking to articulate their identity in their native linguistic forms. The crisis of Miya literature, therefore, is far more complex than that of other regional dialect literatures in Assam. While some intellectuals align themselves with the ultra-nationalist Assamese standpoint, resolution can only emerge from a sustained, healthy debate between supporters and critics of Miya poetry. Amidst these ongoing contestations between Assamese nationalists and Miya poets, what remains crucial is that the essence of Miya poetry is not compromised. As a body of literature, it deserves equal recognition and legitimacy, irrespective of region, dialect, or shifting political circumstances.
Literary Trajectories and Themes
The development of Miya poetry may be traced across three distinct phases: 1939, 1983, and 2016 onwards, each reflecting an intensifying tone of anguish, resistance, and identity assertion (Yasmeen, 2019, p. 74). The first phase (1939), marked by Bande Ali’s writings, represented an early attempt to articulate the cultural presence of Bengali-origin Muslims in Assam. However, these voices remained largely unnoticed, receiving neither literary acknowledgement nor political recognition due to their limited circulation. The second phase (1983), shaped in the aftermath of the Nellie massacre, carried a more profound sense of trauma and resistance. However, once again, these poetic expressions failed to attract the attention of either literary critics or political organisations, primarily because they remained confined within community boundaries, without broader platforms for dissemination.
The third phase (2016 onwards) signalled a significant shift. Miya poetry, written in stigmatised dialects, achieved wider circulation through social media, which allowed it to reach national and international audiences. This phase drew unprecedented scrutiny: while Assamese nationalists and critics condemned it as divisive or xenophobic, it simultaneously garnered global recognition as a form of resistance literature. International scholars and media framed it as an empowering assertion of identity and rights, even as certain political parties in Assam dismissed it outright. Thus, this phase transformed Miya poetry from a marginalised expression into a globally recognised literary movement, sharply situated at the intersection of culture, politics, and identity.
The thematic concerns of Miya poetry are deeply rooted in anxieties about uncertain migration, crises of identity and citizenship, experiences of homelessness, struggles with Assamese adoption, questions of belonging, and the realities of marginalisation. Collectively, these motifs converge into an evolving trajectory of bold resistance and identity assertion. The following sub-sections examine these three phases in detail. Before diving into the thematic analysis, the discussion must focus on the migration of Bengali-origin Muslims and their settlement and resettlement in Assam.
In the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, British colonial authorities encouraged immigration to Assam primarily for economic reasons, including the establishment of tea plantations and the cultivation of wastelands. Initially welcomed by the Assamese middle class, the continuous influx of mainly Muslim migrants from Bengal’s Mymensingh district altered the demographic balance, raising concerns over land competition, cultural preservation, and rural economy. By 1920, the colonial administration introduced the Line System to demarcate settlement areas and limit immigrant encroachment on indigenous lands. While Assamese legislators persistently advocated restrictions, Muslim representatives and government officials opposed them, framing migration as a natural right under the Government of India Act, 1935. Colonisation schemes were implemented to regulate settlement, but the issue remained politically charged, influencing coalition governments and communal debates. By the late 1930s, Saadulla’s cabinet supported controlled settlement policies, which drew criticism from both Assamese Hindus and the Congress. At the same time, the immigration question increasingly shaped the socio-political discourse on identity, citizenship, and Assamese nationhood (Sattwakar, 2013, pp. 1-2).
The Emergent phase
In the first phase, themes revolved around yearning for recognition and integration within Assamese society. Maulana Bande Ali’s poem translated by Shalim M. Hussain: “Some say Bengal is my birthplace /And gloat in this bitter accusation / Well, before they came.” (Lines 1-3) (Sunflower Collective, 2016, See Appendix C).
This 1939 stanza reflects tensions around the 1920s–30s Bengali Muslim migration to Assam, when settlers were branded as outsiders. By rejecting the claim that Bengal is his “birthplace,” the poet critiques political scapegoating and the colonial land–settler debates. It highlights how migration was framed as a threat to Assamese identity, foreshadowing later citizenship crises and the persistent socio-political suspicion toward Miya communities. Further, he says: “My father and my mother and many others / Left their homes, became country-less / How many people belonged to countries then” (Lines 4-6) (Sunflower Collective, 2016, See Appendix D).
These lines capture the trauma of homelessness among Bengali Muslim migrants of the 1920s–30s, uprooted by colonial land policies and resettlement schemes. The poet universalises displacement, questioning rigid notions of nationhood and belonging. By portraying his parents as “country-less,” he critiques the arbitrariness of borders and exposes how marginalised groups are denied stable identities. It reflects the socio-political debates on migration, land, and the exclusionary basis of citizenship in Assam.
“This land that I live in / I will revel in this land’s well-being. / The land which my Aai, Abbajan / Left for the heavens / This land is my own, my golden Assam / This land is my holy sanctuary.” (Lines 12-17) (See Appendix E).
This stanza asserts a reclaimed identity and a sense of rooted belonging, challenging narratives that label Bengali-origin Muslims as outsiders. By celebrating Assam as “my golden” and “holy sanctuary,” the poet emphasises ancestral ties and moral attachment to the land, countering socio-political exclusion. It engages debates on citizenship, cultural recognition, and communal belonging, asserting that despite historical migration and marginalisation, the Miya community claims rightful space, identity, and agency within Assamese society.
“I am not a charuwa, not a pamua / We have also become Asomiya / of Assam’s land and air, of Assam’s language / We have become equal claimants. / If Assamese dies, so do we / But why will we let it happen? / For newer tribulations we will build new weapons / Let us sing in one tune- we are Asomiya” (Lines 26-33, Appendix A).
This stanza reflects the Miya community’s linguistic and cultural adoption of Assamese as an assertion of belonging. By rejecting derogatory labels and asserting an equal stake in the land, air, and language of Assam, the poet engages debates over assimilation, identity politics, and minority integration. It emphasises that preserving Assamese culture is intertwined with their own survival, framing language adoption as both a strategy of inclusion and a form of resistance against social and political marginalisation.
“We shall not be Mymensinghia / We will need no ‘borders’ / We will be brothers / And when outsiders come to loot us, / We will bar them with our bare chests” (Lines 34-38) (Sunflower Collective, 2016, Appendix F).
This stanza asserts a firm rejection of deportation and remigration, emphasising rootedness and collective defence. By refusing the label “Mymensinghia” and envisioning a borderless fraternity, the poet challenges state and societal pressures to treat migrants as outsiders. It engages socio-political debates on forced migration, citizenship, and belonging, portraying the Miya community as active defenders of their homeland, claiming both moral and physical stakes in Assam’s security, identity, and future.
The Consolidation Phase (1980-2016)
In the post-Nellie period (1983), themes of trauma, mourning, and exclusion emerged in Miya poetry. Khabir Ahmed’s poem ‘I beg to state that’ was composed in 1985, in the immediate aftermath of the Assam Movement (1979-’85), as a literary tribute to those who were murdered in the Nellie massacre of 18 February 1983. That night, a mob comprising members of the Tiwa, Koch, and Hira communities surrounded 14 Miya-inhabited villages. It carried out a mass killing that claimed the lives of over 1,800 people, predominantly women, children, and the elderly, within a matter of six hours. The survivors were placed in relief camps at Nellie, a site whose name came to epitomise the tragedy and remains a stark reminder of the violence directed against the Miya community (Misra, 2024, p. 36).
Khabir Ahmed wrote: I beg to state that / I am a settler, a hated Miyah / Whatever be the case, my name is / Ismail Sheikh, Ramzan Ali or Majid Miyah / Subject- I am an Asomiya (Assamese)”) (Sunflower Collective, 2016, Appendix B).
The poem begins with “I am a settler, a hated Miyah”, which summarises the politics of labelling, where Miya is weaponised to mark Bengali-origin Muslims as outsiders or Videshi (foreigners). The socio-political impact is visible in citizenship debates since then, which institutionalise stigmatisation by requiring constant proof of belonging. These narratives expose how state mechanisms sustain exclusion through identity politics, as this has been strongly reflected, particularly in the NRC and D-voter system of the state.
“After forty years of independence / I have no space in the words of beloved writers / The brush of your scriptwriters does not dip in my picture / My name left unpronounced in assemblies and parliaments / On no martyr’s memorial, on no news report is my name printed / even in tiny letters. / Besides, you have not yet decided what to call me- / Am I Miyah, Asomiya or Neo-Asomiya?”) (Sunflower Collective, 2016, Appendix G).
This stanza directly foregrounds the Miya community’s erasure from literary, political, and cultural narratives. The complaint of having “no space in the words of beloved writers” highlights how Assamese mainstream literature rarely acknowledges Miya voices, thereby reinforcing what Alexander, Chatterji, and Jalais (2016) describe as the “politics of forgetting” in diasporic histories. Such silences perpetuate cultural invisibility, amounting to a denial of symbolic citizenship in the Assamese public sphere. This exclusion not only undermines identity recognition but also deepens the community’s political marginalisation.
“And yet you talk of the river / The river is Assam’s mother, you say / You talk of trees / Assam is the land of blue hills, you say / My spine is tough, steadfast as the trees / The shade of the trees my address / You talk of farmers, workers / Assam is the land of rice and labour, you say / I bow before paddy, I bow before sweat / For I am a farmer’s boy” (Sunflower Collective, 2016, See Appendix H).
Verses like “paddy” and “sweat” connect to the Miya community’s role as agrarian labourers in Assam. Paul and Meyieho’s (2019) history of Neo-Assamese Muslims documents their vital role in reclaiming wastelands and expanding agriculture under colonial and postcolonial regimes. However, despite building Assam’s rice economy, their belonging is questioned. The impact is a paradox: the community is economically indispensable but politically and culturally disowned.
“I have flattened the red hills / Chopped forests into cities, rolled earth into bricks / From bricks built monuments / Laid stones on the earth, burnt my body black with peat / Swam rivers, stood on the bank / And dammed floods / Irrigated crops with my blood and sweat / And with the plough of my fathers, etched on the earth / A…S…S….A…M.” (Sunflower Collective, 2016, See Appendix I).
The claim of “flattening the red hills” signals the role of Miya labour in shaping Assam’s landscape. Azad confirms that Char settlers transformed Chars and lowlands into productive farmland, while colonial records praised their industriousness. However, these contributions are erased in public discourse. The impact is denial of indigeneity: Miya poetry reclaims this history to assert land rights and citizenship.
“Suddenly a rough hand brushed my face / On a burning night in ’83 / My nation stood on the black hearths of Nellie and screamed / The clouds caught fire at Mukalmua and Rupohi, Juria, / Saya Daka, Pakhi Daka- homes of the Miyahs / Burnt like cemeteries / The floods of ’84 carried my golden harvest / In ’85 a gang of gamblers auctioned me / On the floor of the Assembly.” (Sunflower Collective, 2016, See Appendix J).
The invocation of the Nellie 1983 massacre in the poem directly recalls one of India’s darkest pogroms, where more than 1,800 Bengali Muslims were massacred in a few hours. As Baruah (2020) and Azad (2019) observe, Nellie has come to symbolise the state’s failure to protect vulnerable minorities, while its absence from official memory underscores the politics of selective remembrance. The socio-political consequence is the normalisation of violence against Miya communities, reinforcing their enduring precarity within Assam’s polity.
The Digital and Transnational Phase (2016-Present)
In this phase, these poetic narratives adopted advanced technology to amplify the movement and capture international attention for this community. The movement restarted on 29 April 2016, when Dr Hafiz Ahmed, president of Char-Chapori Sahitya Parisad, shared a poem titled ‘Write Down I am a Miya’ on his Facebook page. That same day, Shalim M Hussain, a poet and translator, wrote an English response followed by a version in one of the Char-Chapori dialects. A few days later, Shahjahan Ali contributed his poem. What started as a single poem and a reply blossomed into a series of works by fifteen poets from across Assam. Subsequently, an FIR was filed against them, raising citizenship-related issues, among others. They have been charged under various sections of the Indian Penal Code for criminal conspiracy and spreading social disharmony (Choudhury, 2019). However, this phase showcases the Miya poets’ collective assertion of identity and resistance to discrimination. Poets like Hafiz Ahmed, Shalim Hussain, Kazi Neel, and Rehna Sultana exposed themes of statelessness, at-homeness, alienation, and belonging through their poems. In this way, the dialectal narratives give voice to the Miya community’s struggles for recognition, dignity, and a rightful place within Assam’s sociopolitical landscape (Bhuyan, 2024, pg 135).
Miya Poetry in the Digital Sphere
The digital circulation of Miya poetry marks a turning point in its development from localised expression to global discourse. Social media platforms such as Facebook, YouTube, Instagram, and digital blogs played a central role in transforming Miya poetry into a participatory movement, especially after 2016. The first viral circulation began when Dr Hafiz Ahmed uploaded his poem “Write Down, I Am a Miya” in April 2016, prompting responses and collaborative compositions that would not have been possible in traditional print environments.
Digital platforms also dissolved geographical boundaries by connecting Miya voices with audiences in national and international spaces, including diaspora readers, activists, journalists, and academic communities. The circulation of translated versions further enabled Miya poetry to enter global cultural and scholarly conversations on migration, minority identities, and resistance writing. However, digital visibility also increased vulnerability. Poets such as Rehna Sultana, Hafiz Ahmed, Forhad Bhuyan, Ashraful Hussain, and others faced online harassment, FIRs, and state scrutiny, demonstrating how digital activism and digital policing coexist. This duality reflects what scholars describe as “platformed precarity,” in which creative resistance is simultaneously amplified and surveilled.
Thus, digital spaces operate as both archive and arena: they democratise poetic participation while exposing it to politicisation, acceleration, contestation, and state control. The digital phase of Miya poetry, therefore, represents not only technological adaptation but a shift in agency, scale, and historicity.
The central feature of Miya poetry is its deliberate use of both Assamese and Bengali dialects. This writing space served as a strategy of resistance and identity assertion for the Bengali-origin Muslim community in Assam. In this way, the choice of dialect is not accidental, but it reflects the socio-political histories of settlement, exclusion, and belonging. The earlier thematic analysis shows that it is necessary to publicise the concerns to both the local public and the National media.
In this framework, it is understandable that the dialectal dimension of Miya poetry operates on two registers: it negotiates belonging by drawing on Assamese vernaculars, while simultaneously preserving Bengali dialectal traces as counter-memory of migration and survival. This duality transforms dialect from a marker of exclusion into a mode of resistance, enabling Miya poetry to inhabit and contest multiple cultural spaces simultaneously.
Influence of Assamese Dialects
A defining feature of Miya poetry is its linguistic liminality, which deals with an in-betweenness that constantly negotiates between Assamese and Bengali dialectical influences. Many poets consciously adopt local Assamese dialectal inflexions rather than the standardised forms of Assamese or Bengali. The choice is neither accidental nor merely aesthetic, but it is a socio-political act. Miya poets articulate resistance and assert identity by crafting a third space, as theorised by Bhabha (1994, p. 36) through the dynamics of hybridity. In this space, the Miya dialect itself becomes a powerful marker of identity by transforming marginal speech into legitimacy. As Bourdieu (1991) argues, language functions as linguistic capital; here, the dialect is reclaimed as cultural currency to challenge exclusion and affirm belonging.
However, when Miya poets deploy these hybrid forms in poetry, they foreground their claim to belonging within Assamese culture while simultaneously resisting absorption into its mainstream canon. It confirms Chatterjee’s (1993, p. 73) argument that vernacular speech functions as the spiritual domain of cultural sovereignty, even when denied recognition by the state or dominant institutions as a material domain. Similarly, Baruah (2020, p. 3) observed this phenomenon as ‘inside’ and ‘outside’ concepts of nation-state sovereignty. Thus, Assamese dialects in Miya poetry perform a double task, asserting shared cultural roots with Assamese society while also marking a subaltern difference that resists erasure.
For instance, Assamese dialectal influences are evident in vocabulary, syntax, and imagery drawn from the Char-Chapori landscape. Azad (2019) notes that many poets adopt Kamrupi or Barpetia inflexions to assert proximity with Assamese linguistic culture, positioning themselves as part of the state’s socio-cultural fabric rather than outsiders or Bideshis.
At the same time, Miya poetry is deeply tied to Bengali dialectal legacies, particularly those of Mymensingha, Sylheti, Goalparia, and Dhakaiya (Daniyal, 2019). These dialects were carried into Assam during colonial-era migrations. Their incorporation into Miya poetry therefore challenges two layers of hierarchy: first, the Assamese mainstream that discredits them, and second, the political discourse that represents them as a threat to the Assamese people.
By employing Bengali dialects, Miya poets transform stigmatised speech into a medium of poetic legitimacy, reclaiming what was once derogated as a powerful tool of cultural affirmation and resistance. Kazi Neel’s provocative verse “We the Sons of Bitches, for example, integrates Sylheti idioms not only to reclaim authenticity but also to destabilise the Assamese nationalist presumption that Bengali Muslims lack cultural rootedness in Assam. Dialect here becomes not only a linguistic choice but also a political counter-memory, indicating Foucault’s (1977, pp. 143-144) idea that subaltern groups preserve alternative histories through everyday speech.
Miya Poetry as Resistance Literature
From the discussion made so far, it is argued that Miya poetry has emerged as one of the most potent forms of resistance literature in contemporary Assam. Its significance lies not only in its thematic content but also in its form, in which dialects historically stigmatised as “Miya bhasha” are re-appropriated as a weapon of resistance and self-defence. As Harlow (1987) observes, resistance literature unsettles hegemonic narratives by reclaiming cultural and political space for the marginalised. Miya poetry performs precisely this function; for instance, it challenges the official Assamese discourse that casts Bengali-origin Muslims as outsiders, simultaneously articulating counter-narratives of belonging, labour, and contribution.
The themes of Miya poetry reveal its resistance character. Verses that recall agrarian toil, floods, and migration histories position the community as integral to Assam’s socio-economic fabric. As Harlow (1987, p. 31) argues, the resistance literature functions as a “testimony to oppression” while simultaneously issuing a call to liberation. Miya poetry fulfils this dual role: it bears witness to the structural injustices faced by Assamese Muslims of Bengali origin while articulating their determination to endure and resist. A key dimension of this resistance lies in the poetic responses to displacement and violence. In Hafiz Ahmed’s poem, the lines “If you wish, kill me, drive me from my village, / Snatch my green fields / hire bulldozers / To roll over me” (Sunflower Collective, 2016, See Appendix K). The poem dramatises the violent dispossession carried out through eviction drives. Rather than submitting to silence, the poem transforms victimhood into protest, refusing to be invisible even in death. This aligns with Fanon’s (1963) observation that resistance often emerges when humiliation is met with the resolve to reclaim dignity through anger and defiance.
Equally striking is the way Miya poets mobilise collective memory as a weapon against erasure. Shahjahan Ali Ahmed’s litany of years “Mine is the story of 83, 90–94, 2008, 2012, 2014” invokes massacres and riots, particularly the Nellie massacre of 1983. To name these years in verse is to resist historical amnesia, preserving counter-memories that challenge the sanitised narratives of the state. In Foucauldian (1977) terms, such acts of memory constitute “counter-discourses” that destabilise dominant historiographies.
Resistance is also enacted through irony and satire. Kazi Neel’s “We the Sons of Bitches” subverts derogatory slurs by appropriating them, turning insult into identity. The refrain “We… are doing fine” drips with irony, exposing the hypocrisy of both state neglect and elite activism. Here, resistance does not manifest in solemn declaration alone but in mocking the very absurdities of political and cultural marginalisation. As Said (1994, pp. XIII) reminds us, to represent oneself in literature is already to wrest power from hegemonic narratives. ‘The very power to narrate, or to block other narratives from forming and emerging, is critical to the dynamics of culture and imperialism
Finally, the circulation of Miya poetry on digital platforms magnifies its resistant potential, transcending geographical confines and creating transnational solidarities. In this way, Miya poetry exemplifies what Bhabha (1994, pp. 56) describes as a hybrid “third space,” neither assimilated nor erased, but strategically positioned to challenge exclusionary nationalism. Thus, Miya poetry resists on multiple fronts: against dispossession, historical erasure, cultural stigma, and political silencing. It is testimony, archive, and defiance, an insurgent voice within Assam’s contested terrain. Ultimately, Miya poetry demonstrates that dialectical expression can serve as a mode of resistance. By asserting cultural memory, reclaiming language, and testifying to injustice, it situates the Miya community within the broader canon of global resistance literature.
Reception and Controversy
The reception of Miya poetry reveals the deep tension between literary expression and political legitimacy in Assam. Prominent intellectuals such as Hiren Gohain criticised Miya poets for portraying Assamese society as inherently xenophobic, cautioning that protest oppression should not ignore the structural forces fuelling mistrust. In July 2019, this debate escalated when the Assam Police filed an FIR against ten Bengali Muslim poets and activists following a journalist’s complaint that one poem depicted Assamese people as xenophobic. However, the journalist clarified that his objection was to the poem’s content rather than to Miya poetry; the case reflected growing state involvement in policing literary voices.
By contrast, voices like Sanjib Pol Deka, editor of Aalaap magazine and a Sahitya Akademi awardee, defended Miya poetry as a legitimate act of expression. He condemned the FIR and linked the controversy to the impending release of the NRC, arguing that political interests stood to gain from suppressing such poetry. This polarised reception illustrates how Miya poetry is entangled in broader socio-political struggles. Criticism from figures like Gohain and Doloi shows how cultural authority can be mobilised to delegitimise subaltern voices. At the same time, support from Deka highlights counter-currents affirming Miya poetry as a vital democratic act. The controversy underscores how questions of belonging and identity are contested not only through law and policy but also within literature itself, making Miya poetry both a cultural expression and a political battleground (Choudhury, 2019).
Miya Poetry as Subaltern Voice
From the discussion so far, it is clear that Miya poetry emerges as one of the most urgent articulations of the subaltern voice in contemporary South Asia. Written by Bengali-origin Muslims of Assam, these poems confront both the stigma of “Miya” as a slur and the structural exclusions enforced by bureaucratic apparatuses such as the National Register of Citizens (NRC) and the electoral rolls. The decision to write in stigmatised Char-Chapori dialects rather than standard Assamese or Bengali is a deliberate subaltern strategy. As Spivak (2010) reminds us, the subaltern is often denied audibility unless mediated through dominant languages and institutions. Miya poets reverse this logic, asserting that their voices will be heard precisely in the language branded “impure,” making dialect a tool of defiance rather than a mark of deficiency.
Thematically, Miya poets foreground identity through bureaucracy, labour, and citizenship. Hafiz Ahmed’s often cited “Write Down I am a Miya” reduces the speaker to an NRC serial number while simultaneously reclaiming visibility through that very enumeration (Yasmeen, 2019, p. 74). Likewise, his invocation of agrarian and menial labour flips the outsider narrative: far from parasitic, Miya existence is foundational to the Assamese economy and culture. Shalim M. Hussain pushes this further by situating Miya identity in cosmopolitan and even cosmic registers, whether through the names of everyday villagers or declarations of pride in outer space. He writes: “See me catch a plane, get a Visa, catch a bullet train / Catch a bullet / Catch your drift / Catch a rocket / Wear a lungi to space / And there where no one can hear you scream, / Thunder / I am Miyah / I am Proud” (Sunflower Collective, 2016, See Appendix L).
Kazi Neel adopts an ironic, self-satirical mode, embracing insults such as “sons of bitches” to critique elite hypocrisy, token activism, and the commodification of suffering (Hassan, 2021). Across these voices, identity is asserted through bureaucracy, labour, history, irony, and futurity.
Similarly, Miya poetry operates as resistance literature. Harlow (1987) argues that resistance literature not only represents oppression but also actively intervenes in political struggles. The poems perform this intervention by documenting state violence (Nellie 1983, displacement drives), exposing systemic marginalisation (gravel, not gruel), and denouncing the cynical politicisation of Miya deaths. Through irony and satire, poets like Neel resist both erasure and romanticisation, turning cynicism into protest. Here, Fanon’s (1963) claim that anger can be a cleansing force of resistance resonates strongly. At the same time, by embedding references to Bihu festivals, folk songs, and oral histories, Miya poets create what Bhabha (1994) terms a hybrid “third space” of cultural articulation, neither assimilationist nor separatist, but defiantly in-between.
Thus, Miya poetry exemplifies the subaltern voice not as silence but as persistent, contested, and creative speech. Its circulation through digital platforms ensures that what was once confined to Assam’s margins now resonates in transnational circuits, echoing Said’s (1994) reminder that literature can travel as a counter-narrative to dominant histories. In reclaiming stigmatised dialects, memorialising violence, and satirising power, Miya poets redefine both the parameters of Assamese literature and the possibilities of subaltern expression.
Miya Poetry and Identity Assertion
Following the objectives of resistance carried, Miya poetry enacts identity assertion as a counter to systemic stigmatisation and exclusion. By reclaiming the term “Miya”, once a derogatory label for Bengali-origin Muslims in Assam, poets transform insult into affirmation, situating themselves within the larger discourse of identity politics. Miya poets participate in this process by crafting identities rooted in bureaucratic enumeration, agrarian labour, cultural memory, and even cosmic belonging.
Hafiz Ahmed’s “Write Down I Am a Miya” crystallises this strategy. The declaration “My serial number in the NRC is 200543” illustrates how bureaucratic documents, intended to exclude, become appropriated as evidence of existence. In this sense, the poem demonstrates what Scott (1990, pp. 8-9) describes as the “hidden transcript” of resistance, appropriating the tools of power to subvert its logic. Similarly, lines such as “I turn waste, marshy lands / To green paddy fields / To feed you” (Sunflower Collective, 2016, See Appendix M) assert identity through economic contribution, reframing the Miya as foundational to Assam’s agrarian and urban economies. It transforms the stereotype of the “outsider” into that of an indispensable labourer.
Other poets extend this assertion into cultural and historical registers. Shahjahan Ali Ahmed fuses identity with memory of sacrifice: “Mine is the sacrificial offering of ‘61 / of blood screaming through / The binds of history.” (Sunflower Collective, 2016, See Appendix N). Here, Miya presence is linked to the Assamese Language Movement, embedding the community’s struggles within the broader history of Assam. Likewise, the invocation of stigmatised dialects in poetry reflects what Spivak (2010, p. 37) terms a refusal of “epistemic violence”. Instead of seeking legitimacy in dominant Assamese or Bengali, Miya poets insist on voice through the very dialects used to marginalise them.
Identity assertion also takes futuristic and universal forms. Shalim M. Hussain’s translation of Neel’s poem imagines Miya identity travelling beyond borders: “Wear a lungi to space / And there where no one can hear you scream, / Thunder / I am Miyah / I am Proud.” This cosmic vision refuses to be confined to Assam’s contested terrains, elevating Miya subjectivity into a universal claim. Thus, Miya poetry’s identity politics oscillates between bureaucratic numbers and cosmic imagination, between stigmatised dialects and constitutional belonging. In asserting “I am Miya,” poets not only reclaim dignity but also redefine what it means to belong in Assam and in India.
Resistance literature demonstrates that literature functions not merely as an aesthetic representation, but, as Harlow (1987) defines it, as a political praxis; as Foucault (1977) conceives it, a repository of counter-memory; and as Bhabha (1994) frames it, a site of cultural hybridity. By positioning Miya poetry within this genealogy, it becomes clear that its verses are not isolated cultural artefacts but an active intervention in the contestations of citizenship, belonging, and identity.
The discussion about how language and dialect become terrains of power and struggle. The Miya poets’ choice to write in stigmatised Char-Chapori dialects, a combo of Assamese and Bengali, embodies Bourdieu’s (1991) concept of linguistic capital, where marginalised speech acts defy dominant hierarchies and claim legitimacy. It is, in line with Spivak’s (2010) concerns about subaltern voice, Miya poetry as not being heard or becoming “audible and legible predication” to the mainstream. The subaltern is in a structural place where their capacity to access power is radically obstructed, and if they escape this muting, they cease to be subaltern.
However, through a historical lens, Miya poetry is bound to be stronger or more textually violent in its form, towards its core themes of citizenship, identity, and belonging. Across its three phases of circulation from local to global stage, for example, Bande Ali’s early assertions (1939), Khabir Ahmed’s post-Nellie lament (1983), and Hafiz Ahmed and others’ digital activism (2016 onwards), Miya poetry witnesses a demonstration of how literature resists domination and asserts identity—moreover, showing how dialects transform from markers of stigma into instruments of resistance and forming a space for subaltern voices as constructed through counter-narratives of citizenship and belonging.
As part of the resistance literature, Miya poetry stands alongside African American, Palestinian, Dalit, and Tibetan traditions. It demonstrates the universal yet context-specific strategies through which oppressed groups mobilise poetry as memory, protest, and survival. Its hybridity (a combination of Assamese and Bengali dialects), its reliance on oral tradition and digital circulation, and its defiant re-centring of stigmatised voices establish Miya poetry as one of the most urgent articulations of subaltern expression in contemporary South Asia.
Endnotes
- The term Pomua, often translated as “settler,” refers to Bengali-origin Muslims in Assam who migrated during colonial and postcolonial periods and were later stigmatised as outsiders.
- The term Choruwa refers to inhabitants of the Chars, the shifting riverine islands of the Brahmaputra in Assam. Often used pejoratively, Choruwa marks a socio-spatial identity shaped by precarity, displacement, and marginalisation.
- The term Char-Chaporis refers to the shifting riverine islands (chars) and low-lying flood-prone banks (chaporis) of the Brahmaputra River in Assam. These geographies are formed by seasonal sedimentation and erosion, making them ecologically transient and socio-politically complex spaces.
- In Assamese, the word “Aai” (আই) denotes “mother.” It carries deep emotional and cultural resonance, often used in poetry, oral traditions, and everyday speech to evoke familial intimacy and maternal affection.
- Abbajan (আব্বাজান) is a term of endearment for “father” used among Bengali-speaking Muslims, particularly in Bangladesh and parts of West Bengal. In Bengali Muslim households, Abbajan carries connotations of reverence, warmth, and familial intimacy, often used in both spoken language and literary expressions. Its usage reflects the syncretic linguistic heritage of Bengali Muslims, where Persianate and Urdu influences blend with native Bengali speech.
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Appendices
Appendix A:
Maulana Bande Ali Mia (1939)
Original Text (Assamese)
নহওঁ চৰুৱা মই নহওঁ পমুৱা / আমিও যে হ’লো অসমীয়া, / অসমৰ জল-বায়ু অসমৰ ভাষা / সকলোৰে সমান ভগীয়া। / মৰে যদি অসমীয়া আমিও মৰিম / তেনে কথা কিয় হ’ব দিম! / নতুন উদ্যমে আমি সবাই যুঁজিম / নাই যাৰ মহিমাৰ শেষ। / চেনেহী অসম-মাতৃ দিছে স্তন্যধাৰা / আনন্দতে নাচে মোৰ হিয়া, / গাওঁ আহা সমস্বৰে—আমি অসমীয়া
Transliteration
Nahõn sôruwā moi nahõn pomuwā / Āmio je holõ Axomiyā, / Axomor jol-bāyu Axomor bhāxā / Xokolorē xomān bhogiyā. / More jodi Axomiyā āmio morim / Tene kothā kiyo hʹob dim! / Notun udjome āmi xobāi jujhim / Nai jār mohīmār xesh. / Senehī Axom-mātrī dise stônyodhārā / Ānondote nāse mur hiyā, / Gāo āhā xomoxore—āmi Axomiyā
English Translation
I am not a charuwa, not a pamua / We have also become Asomiya / of Assam’s land and air, of Assam’s language / We have become equal claimants. / If Assamese dies, so do we / But why will we let it happen? / For newer tribulations we will build new weapons / Let us sing in one tune- we are Asomiya
Appendix B
Khabir Ahmed (1985)
Original Text: (Assamese)
বিনীত নিবেদন এই যে / মই এজন পমুৱা, এজন লাঞ্চিত মিঞা / যিয়েই নহওক কিয় মোৰ নাম / ইছমাইল শ্বেখ, ৰমজান আলি কিংবা মাজিদ মিঞা / জ্ঞাতব্য বিষয় মই অসমৰেই অসমীয়া
Transliteration (Roman Assamese)
Binit nivedon ei je / Moi ezon pomua, ezon lanchito Miya / Jiyei nohauk kiyo mur naam / Ismail Shekh, Ramzan Ali kimbā Majid Miya / Gyatobyo bishoy moi Axomorei Axomiya
English Translation
I beg to state that / I am a settler, a hated Miyah / Whatever be the case, my name is / Ismail Sheikh, Ramzan Ali or Majid Miyah / Subject- I am an Assamese Asomiya.
Appendix C
Maulana Bande Ali Mia (1939)
Original Text (Assamese)
কোনে বোলে বঙ্গদেশ মোৰ জন্মভূমি / লভি যাৰ তিক্ত নিৰ্য্যাতন, / আহিছিল ঘৰ এৰি হই দেশান্তৰী
Transliteration
Kone bole Bongodesh mur jonmobhumi / Lobhi jar tiktô nirjātôn, / Ahisil ghor eri hoi deshantori
English Translation
Some say Bengal is my birthplace /And gloat in this bitter accusation / Well, before they came.
Appendix D
Maulana Bande Ali Mia (1939)
Original Text (Assamese)
পিতৃ-মাতৃ আৰু কতজন ! / তেতিয়া আছিল ক’ত দেশৰ কুটুম / যিসকলে দিছে নেতা ভাও,
Transliteration
Pitrī-matrī aru kôtojon! / Tetiyā asil kot desor kutum / Jihokole dise neta bhāo,
English Translation
My father and my mother and many others / Left their homes, became country-less / How many people belonged to countries then
Appendix E
Maulana Bande Ali Mia (1939)
Original Text (Assamese)
যি দেশত আছোঁ মই সিখনি দেশৰ / হিত চিন্তি হ’ম মতলীয়া / যিখিনি দেশতে মোৰ আই-আব্বাজানে / দুনিয়াত লভিলে আস্মান, / সেয়ে এই মোৰ দেশ সোণৰ অসম / ইয়াতোকৈ নাই পূণ্যস্থান।
Transliteration
Ji desot asõ moi sikhini desor / Hit chinti hʹom motoliyā / Jikhini desote mur ai-abbājane
Duniyāt lobhile āsmān, / Sei ei mur desh sonor Axom / Iyatokoi nai punyosthān.
English Translation
This land that I live in / I will revel in this land’s well-being. / The land which my Aai, Abbajan / Left for the heavens / This land is my own, my golden Assam / This land is my holy sanctuary
Appendix F
Maulana Bande Ali Mia (1939)
Original Text (Assamese)
নোহো আৰু মৈমনছিঙীয়া। / ‘সীমাৰেখা’ প্ৰয়োজন নহয় তেতিয়া / একে ভাই হ’লো একে ঠাই, / আহিলে বিদেশী কোননো আমাক লুটিব / বাধা দিম বুকু ফিন্দুৱাই।
Transliteration
Nohõ aru Moimônsingiyā. / “Simārekhā” proyojon nohoi tetiyā / Eke bhāi holõ eke thāi, / Ahile bideshī konoṇo āmāk lutib / Bādhā dim buku phinduwāi.
English Translation
We shall not be Mymensinghia / We will need no ‘borders’ / We will be brothers / And when outsiders come to loot us, / We will bar them with our bare chests
Appendix G
Khabir Ahmed, 1985
Original Text (Assamese)
কোনো সহৃদয লেখকৰ লেখনিত মোৰ ঠাই নহ’ল / কোনো চিত্ৰশিল্পীৰ তুলিকাত চিত্ৰিত নহ’ল মোৰ ছবি / বিধানসভা অথবা সংসদ ভৱনত এবাৰো উচ্চাৰিত নহ’ল মোৰ কথা / কোনো শ্বহীদ বেদী অথবা কোনো সংবাদ পত্ৰত / ঘুণাক্ষৰেও লিখা নহ’ল মোৰ নাম / আনকি মোৰ কোনো সংজ্ঞাও পোৱা নহ’ল / মই মিঞা নে অসমীয়া নে ন-অসমীয়া
Transliteration
Kono sohridoy lekhokor lekhanit mur thāi noho’l / Kono chitrôshilpir tulikāt chitrīto noho’l mur chobi / Bidhanxobha othobā xonxod bhobonot ebaro ussārito noho’l mur kotha / Kono shahīd bedī othobā kono xongbād potrot / Ghunākhorēo likhā noho’l mur naam / Anki mur kono xongyāo pāwa noho’l / Moi Miya ne Axomiya ne no-Axomiya
English Transliteration
After forty years of independence / I have no space in the words of beloved writers / The brush of your scriptwriters does not dip in my picture / My name left unpronounced in assemblies and parliaments / On no martyr’s memorial, on no news report is my name printed / Even in tiny letters. / Besides, you have not yet decided what to call me- / Am I Miyah, Asomiya or Neo-Asomiya?
Appendix H
Khabir Ahmed, 1985
Original Text (Assamese)
হৃদয় মোৰ নদীৰ দৰেই গভীৰ আৰু বহল / বৃক্ষৰ কথা কোৱা হয়, অসম নীলা পাহাৰৰ দেশ / মেৰুদণ্ড মোৰ বৃক্ষৰ দৰেই কঠিন আৰু অটল / বৃক্ষৰ ছায়াই মোৰ স্বাভাৱিক ঘৰ / কৃষক শ্ৰমিকৰ কথা কোৱা হয়, অসম কৃষি প্ৰধান দেশ / কৃষি আৰু শ্ৰমৰ প্ৰতি আছে মোৰ জন্মগত মহান শ্ৰদ্ধা / মই যে কৃষকৰেই সন্তান…
Transliteration
ridoy mur nodir dorei gobhīr aru bohol / Brikkhor kotha kowa hoy, Axom nīlā paharor desh / Merudondo mur brikkhor dorei kothin aru otol / Brikkhor chāyāi mur swābhāwik ghor / Krishok shromikor kotha kowa hoy, Axom krishi prodhān desh / Krishi aru shromor proti āse mur jonmogoto mohān shroddhā / Moi je krishokorei xontān…
English Transliteration
And yet you talk of the river / The river is Assam’s mother, you say / You talk of trees / Assam is the land of blue hills, you say / My spine is tough, steadfast as the trees / The shade of the trees my address / You talk of farmers, workers / Assam is the land of rice and labour, you say / I bow before paddy, I bow before sweat / For I am a farmer’s boy
Appendix I
Khabir Ahmed, 1985
Original Text (Assamese)
ৰঙা মাটিৰ পাহাৰ কাটি সমতল কৰিছোঁ ভূমি / হাবি কাটি নগৰ কৰিছোঁ মাটি পিহি কৰিছোঁ ইটা / আৰু ইটাৰ পৰা অট্টালিকা / ৰাস্তাত শিল পাৰিছোঁ পিটচেৰে ক’লা কৰি দিছোঁ গা / কাৰখানাত কুলিগিৰি কৰিছোঁ পথাৰবোৰ / সেউজীয়া কৰিছোঁ মই / মই নদী সাঁতুৰিছো নদীৰ পাৰত উবুৰি হৈ / বানপানী ভেটা দিছোঁ মই / এনেদৰে প্ৰতিদিন তেজ আৰু ঘামেৰে উৰ্বৰ কৰিছোঁ মাটি / বাপতিসাহোন নাঙলেৰে মাটিত লিখিছোঁ এটি নাম / অ…স…ম
Transliteration
Rongā mātir pahar kāti xomotol korisõ bhumi / Hābi kāti nogor korisõ māti pihī korisõ itā / Aru itār porā ottālikā Rastāt shil pārisõ pitchere kolā kori disõ gā / Kārkhānāt kuligiri / korisõ pothārbur xeujiya korisõ moi / Moi nodī sānturisõ nodīr pārôt ubhuri hoi
Bān-pānī bhētā disõ moi / Enedore protidin tej aru ghomere ubôr korisõ māti / Bāpotisāhon nāngolere mātit likhisõ eti nām / O… x… o… m
English Transliteration
I have flattened the red hills / Chopped forests into cities, rolled earth into bricks / From bricks built monuments / Laid stones on the earth, burnt my body black with peat / Swam rivers, stood on the bank / And dammed floods / Irrigated crops with my blood and sweat / And with the plough of my fathers, etched on the earth / A…S…S….A…M.
Appendix J
Khabir Ahmed, 1985
Original Text (Assamese)
জাতিৰ পিতা যেতিয়া অসমলৈ আহিছিল / তেতিয়া মই লুইতৰ গান শুনিছিলো / সূৰ্যাস্তৰ সময়ত কপিলীৰ বোকাময় বুকু মই স্বৰ্ণোজ্জ্বল দেখিছিলোঁ / মোৰ তিৰাশীৰ জোৎস্নাপ্লুত ৰাতি / নেলীৰ বিধ্বস্ত বস্তি ভিটাত থিয় হৈ বিনালে মোৰ দেশ / মুকালমুৱাত মেঘাচ্ছন্ন হ’ল আকাশ আৰু ‘ৰূপহী’ ‘জুৰিয়া’ / মিঞাসকলৰ সেই ‘ছায়া ঢাকা পখী ডাকা’ গাঁওবোৰ শ্মশান হ’ল… / চৌৰাশীৰ প্ৰবল বন্যাই উটুৱাই নিলে মোৰ সোণবৰণীয়া পথাৰ / পঁচাশীত এদল বাজিকৰে নিলামত বিক্ৰী কৰিলে মোক / বিধানসভাৰ মজিয়াত
Transliteration
Jātir pitā jetiyā Axomloi āhisil / Tetiyā moi Luitor gān hunisilõ / Surjāstor xomoyot Kopilīr bokāmoy buku moi xornôjjol dekhisilõ / Mur tirāshir jotsnāpluto rāti / Nelir bidhwosto bostī bhitāt thiyoi bināle mur desh / Mukālmuwāt meghāssonno ho’l ākāx aru “Rupohi”, “Juriya” / Miyasokolor sei “chāyā dhākā pakhī dākā” gāobur xomshān ho’l… / Chourāshir probol bonyāi utuwāi nile mur xonoboroniya pothār / Ponchāshit edol bājikore nilāmat bikri korile mok / Bidhanxobhar mojiyāt
English Translation
Suddenly, a rough hand brushed my face / On a burning night in ’83 / My nation stood on the black hearths of Nellie and screamed / The clouds caught fire at Mukalmua and Rupohi, Juria, / Saya Daka, Pakhi Daka- homes of the Miyahs / Burnt like cemeteries / The floods of ’84 carried my golden harvest / In ’85 a gang of gamblers auctioned me / On the floor of the Assembly.
Appendix K
Hafiz Ahmed, 2016
Original Text (Assamese)
ইচ্ছা কৰিলেই তুমি মোক হত্যা কৰিব পাৰা, / জ্বলাই দিব পৰা মোৰ খেৰৰ পঁজা, / খেদি দিব পাৰা মোক মোৰেই গাঁৱৰ পৰা, / কাঢ়ি নিব পাৰা মোৰ সেউজী পথাৰ / মোৰ বুকুৰ ওপৰেৰে চলাব পাৰা / তোমাৰ বুলড্জাৰ / তোমাৰ বুলেটে বুকুখন মোৰ
Transliteration
Iccha korilei tumi mok hotya korib para, / Jolai dibo para mor kheror ponja, / Khedi dibo para mok morei gaon’or pora, / Karhi nibo para mor xeujia pothar. / Mor bukur oporei solabo para / Tomar bulldozer, / Tomar bullete bukukhon mor.
English Translation
If you wish kill me, drive me from my village, / Snatch my green fields / hire bulldozers / To roll over me.
Appendix L
Shalim M Hussain, 2016
Original Text (Bengali)
বুলেট ট্ৰেন ধৰতে দেহুইন / ৰকেট ধৰতে দেহুইন / মহাকাশে আমাৰ লুংগী দেহুইন / আৰ যেনে আমাৰ ডাক কেউ হুনা না হাৰে / হেনে আমাৰে চিল্লাইতে দেহুইন / যে আমি মিয়া / আমি গৰ্বিত৷৷
Transliteration
Bullet train dhorite dehuin / Rocket dhorite dehuin / Mohakashot amār lungi dehuin / Aru jene amār dāk keu huna nā hāre / Hene amāre chillāite dehuin / Je āmi Miya / Āmi gorbito.
English Translation
See me catch a plane, get a Visa, catch a bullet train / Catch a bullet / Catch your drift / Catch a rocket / Wear a lungi to space / And there where no one can hear you scream, / Thunder / I am Miyah / I am Proud.
Appendix M
Shalim M Hussain, 2016 (Bengali)
Original Text (Bengali)
পতিত ভূমি, পিতনিক/ মই ৰূপান্তৰিত কৰিছোঁ / শস্য-শ্যামলা সেউজী পথাৰলৈ / তোমাক খুৱাবলৈ
Transliteration
Patit bhumi, pitonik / Moi rupantorit korisũ / Shossho-shyamola seuji pothārloi / Tomāk khuwāboloi
English Translation
I turn waste, marshy lands / To green paddy fields / To feed you.
Appendix N
Shahjahan Ali, 2016 (Assamese)
Original Text (Assamese)
ত্যাগৰ ৫১ৰ উপহাৰ / ৮৩ আৰু ৯০-৯৪, ২০০৮, ১২, ১৪ / ইতিহাসৰ ৰক্তাক্ত সোঁৱৰণেৰে কম্পমান মই / প্ৰাগজ্যোতিষপুৰৰ খিলঞ্জীয়া দ্ৰাবিড়ৰ
Transliteration
Tyāgor 61-or upohār / 83 aru 90–94, 2008, 12, 14 / Itihāsor roktākto sōwarone-re kompomān moi / Prāgjyotishpuror khilonjiya Drābiror
English Translation
Mine is the sacrificial offering of ’61 / Of blood screaming through / The binds of history / Mine is the story of 83, 90-94, 2008, 2012, 2014. / Mine is the oppression, the ignominy / The deprivation of Dravidians in Pragjyotishpur.
Author’s Positionality Statement
This article forms part of the author’s post-graduate thesis submitted to Darul Huda Islamic University, Kerala, under the Department of Civilizational Studies (2025-’26). The author has academic training in Political Science and interdisciplinary area studies. The research adopts established analytical frameworks and textual methods to examine questions of identity and cultural expression. While acknowledging that scholarly location may shape interpretive perspectives, the author remains committed to methodological rigour, reflexivity, and critical distance, and does not claim representational authority over the communities or voices examined.
Author’s Funding Statement
The researcher did not receive any funding. This research was part of a master’s degree dissertation.
Acknowledgements
The author gratefully acknowledges the guidance and academic supervision of Dr. Rafeeq Karimpackal, Darul Huda Islamic University, whose insights and support were invaluable throughout the course of this research. He also thanks his colleagues and mentors for their insightful feedback and guidance, and the participating respondents for generously sharing their time and perspectives. He is appreciative of the administrative and technical support provided by his institution, which facilitated the smooth execution of this work.
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