Winner of Wingword Poetry Prize 2017
The first prize of INR 1,00,000 was awarded along with book publication to Vancouver Shullai.
Vancouver Shullai is the winner of Wingword Poetry Prize 2017. Hailing from lovely Laitumkhrah in the hills of Shillong, his poetry is a hybrid of old school vibrance and modern day madness. Aside from poetry, Vancouver has an exceptional ability for singing and loves music. He has completed M.A in English Literature at Christ University in Bangalore.
The title of the winning poem in Wingword Poetry Competition 2017 is "The Wait". Vancouver was also awarded book publication for his poems by winning the competition. His debut book ‘How To Love A Broken Man’ is a collection of thoughtful and honest poetry exploring varied shades of life.
Read the winning poem below-
THE WAIT
BY VANCOUVER SHULLAI
Shullai writes about his imagination at the airport when he saw a Maruti 800 with a family. He wanted to create a motion picture for himself. He calls himself christened with imagination, watered with precision and salted with detail. And so he goes on to describe his imagination of the family in the Maruti 800. He describes a little girl Riya with her Dada ji in the passenger seat, Rajah the loyal driver of the family. In the back seat of the car is seated Anjali with her son Ritesh. Anjali is also the mother of Riya and daughter of Dada ji. Shullai imagines the family to be heading home after a trip to New Delhi and Anjali was waiting for lunch just as Riya was hungry. It was all about waiting. Back at home Dadi waited for everyone with her warm lunch ready and buckets of water for them to bathe. In the same house, Anjali’s husband Francis sat reading a British book and waited for his wife and children to return. Hearing the sound of the Maruti 800 entering the gate, Dadi runs with joy to receive them. The wait is then over.
The poem describes the beauty and impatience of waiting. The family members waited for something. Riya waited to get down from the sweaty arms of Dada ji, Anjali waited for lunch, Francis waited for his wife and children and Dadi waited for her kids to come back home to a fresh warm meal. The poem is beautiful in its imagination and description of relations and its beauty.
I am thirteen years of ignorance,
Five years of mistakes and three years Of telling myself not to do them again. I am Khasi with no Khasi name. Catholic, with no Catholic name.
I am christened with Imagination, Watered with Precision
And salted with Detail.
It has been exactly one hour
And thirty six minutes
Since I arrived at the airport
And exactly seventeen minutes
Less of that, that I saw a Maruti 800 With dents and scratches and a family.
I wanted to imagine right away.
To create a personal motion picture For my mind and my mind, alone:
You see,
There was Dada with little Riya
Sitting in the passenger seat next to Rajah ― Their loyal driver who has a North Indian wife Pregnant with their second child.
In the back seat was Anjali, first child
Of Dada - with her son, Ritesh,
Brother of Riya.
Heading home after a trip to New Delhi Anjali was only waiting for a hearty lunch. Riya, just as hungry, was waiting to get away From her grandfather's sweaty arms.
Rajah was waiting for a phone call,
While Dada was waiting to rest.
Ritesh was fast asleep to wait for anything.
(It was an affair of waiting.)
Dadi waited at home with a warm pot of rice, Dal, papad, sabji, Italian pasta
And three buckets of bathing water.
In their Japanese-themed living room
Was Anjali's beloved Francis, whose erudition
Included a Master's degree in Psychology
And seven Spanish words, one of which meant window. He sat and he read a book of a British writer
And waited on his wife and children to return.
The Maruti 800, model 1998, entered the gate ― The sound of which made Dadi run with joy, Francis sigh and the papad burn.