On 20 August, I met Jacinta Kerketta at the writer Ranendra’s apartment, which serves as an informal meeting place for writers and intellectuals in Ranchi, Jharkhand. She had driven the hour to the capital from where she lives: the rainy season had turned sunny for one day in August. Jacinta is petite and soft-spoken, but she is among the most frequently mentioned poets of the “new generation,” or those who have gained recognition in the last ten years.
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MSR: How did you start writing? Were there other people in your family writing?
JK: My father was originally a marathon runner. Through this, he got a job in the Bihar Police. Then, he was promoted to Assistant Sub-inspector (ASI). But at first he didn’t read my writing. He thought that it wasn’t good for me because it wouldn’t lead to a job. But when he learned that I was getting published, he was proud of my achievements. My mother would read my stories, which would often lead her to cry. She also loved watching movies. In the village where we lived, sometimes people collect money and rent a VCR. Then we’d all watch the movies together. Or if only one family had a TV, everyone would go watch. This was something my mother and I shared, but my father didn’t like.
I was sent to boarding school when my father was transferred to the Siwan District in Northern Bihar. Since there were good boarding schools nearby, I was sent to Bettiah. Going to boarding school was good for me. After a year, I returned with my mother to my village, Khupos Bandhtoli in the West Singbhum District of Jharkhand. I went to the Carmel School in Chakradharpur. From the eighth grade to the tenth grade, I was writing stories and poems. A sister named Sister Lucia encouraged me. She would pay for me to send them to a children’s magazine in Ranchi called Rahi. She paid for the envelope and stamp and could take care of mailing my work. So I was published there. Now the magazine has stopped publishing. But it was only me who had this interest in my family. My brothers weren’t interested in reading and writing.
MSR: Did you always like studying?
JK: Where I came from, in Adivasi culture, there wasn’t a culture of studying. My early education was in the Santhal Pargana District of today’s Jharkhand. There, I read comic books and stories. When I first went to boarding school in Bettiah, that’s when I started studying in a disciplined way. There, I tried writing for the first time.
MSR: When I was in Bhopal, I learned that you’re writing children’s literature, too, for Ektara.
JK: Yes. I write a story every month for their publication Cycle. Then, I had a yearlong fellowship, the Takshila Bal Sahitya Srijanpeeth [https://www.ektaraindia.in/srijanpeeth/]. I wrote two books, Jacinta ki diary [Jacinta’s Diary]and Jirhul [Cassia Indigo] for them. The second is a series of ten poems on Indian flowers—flowers that bloom in Adivasi areas, and that Adivasis hold dear. The Jirhul is one. And there are other things, but those are the two that are published already. I’m working on stories about the naming of Adivasi villages and how development is replacing these names with names from Hindi.
MSR: And I’ve heard that you’ve been to the US several times.
JK: I’ve been to Harvard, Michigan, Minnesota, and Ohio State. I was invited to the Harvard India Day Conference in February 2020. I was on the panel “Freedom of Media in Democracy.” Just after that, I went to Minnesota to read poetry from my book Jadon ki zamin [Land of Roots]. On that trip, I also had readings in Boston and St. Louis. In Michigan, the conference was called Social Media and Society in India. That was in April 2023. Afterwards, I read at Ohio State. And I got to meet First Nations youth for the first time.
MSR: Besides writing, what do you do for a living?
JK: I was first working in journalism in Ranchi. Now I work for an independent journalism organization founded by P. Sainath, the People’s Archive of Rural India [https://ruralindiaonline.org].
MSR: Hindi isn’t your mother tongue, then?
JK: No, Kurukh is the language of the Oraon people. But I don’t actually consider myself fluent in it. I understand it, like I understand Mundari. But I can speak Nagpuri, Santali, Hindi, and English. For the last three years, I’ve been living in Kurukh-speaking areas of Jharkhand. Now, I understand a little bit.
MSR: Do you find it odd to be writing in Hindi, since it’s not your mother tongue?
JK: No, you can reach more people in Hindi. And now since I began writing people realize that we exist in ways they didn’t before.
MSR: Do you even find the concept of the mother tongue valid? To me, it sounds colonial.
JK: Language is about context. If you live in different contexts, then you’ll learn different languages. You should be free to communicate in whatever language you choose. It’s not inherently hierarchical. Since I spent most of my time among Adivasi communities, and since I’m interested in our philosophies of life, struggles, and perspectives, this is present in my writing.
MSR: Do you think of yourself as Adivasi?
JK: The first time I became aware of this part of me was when I went to boarding school in Bihar. There were girls from everywhere. But there were upper caste girls, too. That was my introduction to the caste system, and I realized then that I didn’t come from that culture. Then I started thinking more about my community, language, and culture.
MSR: Do you feel like Adivasi life is the subject of your poetry?
JK: I live among Adivasi communities. And I am Oraon. While searching for my roots in my Adivasi heritage, this became the focus of my writing. But it’s not my subject, per se.
MSR: Do you feel like you’re asked to be a representative of a group, with the group largely being Adivasis?
JK: The Hindi mainstream call me that, but I don’t feel like a representative. I want to write about myself, as well, and my shortcomings. But if I’m writing something about others I know, I’m conscious of how it will be read. Recently, I wanted to write something about my family members, and I asked them if I could, but not naming them outright. So it’s important to be sensitive to the feelings of others. We live in a community, in society, after all. Anyway, if you get elected a representative, then if you don’t write what people want, they’ll be sure to say something. Something negative. So there’s no benefit. I just want to be free to write what I want to write.
MSR: I have just your two collections published by Rajkamal Prakashan. Do you have more?
JK: I have four poetry books, and a forthcoming story collection. The first is “Angor” from Adivaani in Kolkata. It was published in 2016. It’s bilingual, in Hindi and English. Then in 2018 my book “Lands of Roots” was published in New Delhi. It’s also bilingual. Then I have two from Rajkamal Prakashan in Delhi. The story collection is also from them.
MSR: Why did you choose love as the title of your last collection, Prem men ped hona [Loving Like a Tree]?
JK: My first three collections were mostly poems of resistance. In this one, I wanted to write love poems as well. They’re usually short. Caste-based society and Adivasi society are very different. In Adivasi life, love is like nature, people want to live in harmony. There isn’t the same sense of possessive love. Now even love in Adivasi communities is affected by the influence of the mainstream. I wanted to write about love because of this.
