1.  Does your research on folk traditions reflect the current struggles of oppressed communities in JangalMahal?

My research on folk traditions is not limited to preserving cultural heritage; it seeks to uncover the histories of struggle, marginalization, oppression, and resistance embedded within these traditions. Through the study of folk songs, oral narratives, rituals, and community practices of the Indigenous (Adivasi), Dalit, and other marginalized communities of JangalMahal, I have found that many of their contemporary challenges are deeply rooted in long-standing social and economic realities.

Genres such as kandna Geet (songs of lament), Bhadu, Tusu, and Jhumur repeatedly articulate themes of landlessness, poverty, labor exploitation, gender inequality, and social exclusion. These traditions are far more than forms of entertainment; they function as living archives of collective experience and memory. In particular, kandna Geet reveals the often-silenced realities of women’s lives, including domestic violence, emotional abuse, forced early marriage, and the hardships associated with child marriage. Such songs provide valuable insight into the everyday struggles faced by women in marginalized communities.

Even today, the people of JangalMahal continue to fight for livelihood security, access to education and healthcare, rights over forest resources, and cultural recognition. The echoes of these ongoing struggles can be clearly heard in their folk traditions. The songs and narratives preserve not only memories of past injustices but also expressions of resilience and aspirations for a more equitable future.

A significant focus of my research is the voices of women. kandna Geet, songs born out of sorrow, grief, and hardship, offer a unique space for emotional and social expression. In a social environment where men are often discouraged from openly expressing vulnerability, women transform their pain into song, using music as a means of articulating suffering and easing emotional burdens. These songs frequently contain subtle yet powerful forms of protest, reflecting demands for dignity, autonomy, and social justice. Notably, they are largely secular in character, transcending religious boundaries and speaking to universal human experiences of suffering and resistance.

For this reason, I do not view folk traditions merely as remnants of the past. Rather, I see them as dynamic and living testimonies to contemporary social realities. They reveal how historical inequalities continue to shape present conditions while simultaneously documenting the ways marginalized communities resist, negotiate, and survive.

My research therefore reflects the ongoing struggles of oppressed communities in JangalMahal because their histories, pain, aspirations, and resistance are deeply embedded within their cultural expressions. Folk traditions remind us that the voices of marginalized people are never entirely silenced; they endure across generations—through songs, stories, memories, and collective acts of cultural survival.

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2. Where does the “Viksit Bangla” narrative disconnect from the everyday reality of the people in JangalMahal?

The idea of “Viksit Bangla” (Developed Bengal) presents a vision of progress, growth, and modernization. However, for many people in JangalMahal, there remains a significant gap between this narrative of development and their everyday lived realities. This disconnect is most visible in the contrast between official development indicators and the actual experiences of local communities.

While government reports often highlight improvements in infrastructure, electrification, road connectivity, and welfare schemes, many residents of JangalMahal continue to face persistent challenges such as limited employment opportunities, insecure agricultural livelihoods, restricted access to forest resources, inadequate healthcare facilities, and limited opportunities for higher education. For a large section of the population, development has yet to translate into lasting economic security, social dignity, and an improved quality of life.

The gap becomes even more pronounced for Adivasi and other marginalized communities. Development is frequently framed through economic and administrative benchmarks, while local cultures, languages, knowledge systems, and ways of life receive comparatively less attention. As a result, development can sometimes appear as a top-down process rather than one shaped by the aspirations and participation of the people it is intended to benefit. Local voices, cultural identities, and community priorities are not always adequately reflected in policy frameworks.

For many people in JangalMahal, meaningful development is not measured solely by physical infrastructure. It is closely tied to secure land and forest rights, dignified livelihoods, access to quality healthcare and education in mother tongues, cultural recognition, and meaningful participation in decision-making processes. These dimensions are essential to creating a development model that is both inclusive and sustainable.

As a researcher of folk culture, I have observed that traditions such as kandnageet, karam,  Bhadu, Tusu, Jhumur, and other folk forms continue to express people’s aspirations, anxieties, and experiences of exclusion. The themes that emerge from these songs—economic hardship, social inequality, displacement, gendered struggles, and the desire for dignity—remain strikingly relevant today. Folk traditions therefore offer an important lens through which to understand the realities that often remain invisible within official narratives of progress.

In this sense, the promise of “Viksit Bangla” can only be fully realized when development is assessed not merely through statistics and infrastructure projects, but also through the lived experiences, voices, and well-being of the people of JangalMahal. True development is not only about economic growth; it is equally about social justice, cultural dignity, democratic participation, and the ability of communities to shape their own futures.

3.What specific type of development do marginalized women in this region actually need right now?

For marginalized women in JangalMahal and similar peripheral regions, development cannot be reduced to economic assistance alone or measured solely through government schemes and infrastructure projects. What is needed is a holistic, rights-based, and community-centered model of development that addresses the realities of their everyday lives.

First and foremost, educational empowerment remains crucial. Many girls are still compelled to discontinue their education after secondary school due to poverty, early marriage, inadequate educational facilities, or social pressures. Expanding access to quality education, particularly mother-tongue-based learning, higher education opportunities, and skill-development programs, would enable women to become more self-reliant and active participants in social and economic life.

Equally important is the right to health and well-being. Maternal healthcare, menstrual health, nutrition, reproductive rights, and mental health continue to receive insufficient attention in many marginalized communities. Accessible healthcare services, trained health workers, and greater awareness are essential for ensuring that women can lead healthy and dignified lives.

Economic independence is another critical dimension. Women contribute significantly through agriculture, forest-based livelihoods, handicrafts, domestic labor, and informal work, yet their contributions often remain invisible or undervalued. Development must therefore focus on fair wages, livelihood security, access to markets, financial inclusion, land and property rights, and support for women-led enterprises and self-help groups. Economic empowerment is not merely about income; it is about strengthening women’s agency and decision-making power.

Women also require freedom from violence and discrimination. Gender-based violence, domestic abuse, child marriage, trafficking, and deeply rooted social prejudices continue to limit opportunities for many women. Effective legal protection, community awareness, institutional support, and social transformation are necessary to create an environment where women can exercise autonomy and make decisions about their own lives.

Another often-overlooked aspect is cultural and linguistic recognition. Women in JangalMahal are custodians of rich traditions of folk songs, oral histories, rituals, storytelling, and community knowledge. Development that ignores these cultural resources risks becoming exclusionary. Their cultural contributions, indigenous knowledge systems, and linguistic identities should be recognized as valuable forms of social capital rather than treated as obstacles to modernization.

Most importantly, development should not be imposed upon marginalized women from above. It must emerge from their own experiences, aspirations, and priorities. Women must be involved in planning, implementation, and decision-making processes at every level. Development becomes meaningful only when those who are most affected by it have the power to shape it.

In essence, the women of JangalMahal need a form of development that combines education, healthcare, economic justice, social dignity, cultural recognition, and political participation. When a woman is educated, healthy, economically secure, culturally respected, and able to exercise her rights, development extends beyond individual empowerment—it strengthens families, communities, and society as a whole. Such a model of development is not merely inclusive; it is transformative.

4. Is current modernization actively erasing the indigenous cultures and languages of JangalMahal?

The answer is neither a simple “yes” nor “no.” Contemporary modernization has undoubtedly placed significant pressure on the indigenous languages and cultural traditions of JangalMahal, yet it has also created new opportunities for their preservation and revitalization. The real question is not whether modernization exists, but what kind of modernization is being pursued and whose voices it includes.

On one hand, market-driven economic changes, urbanization, mass media, migration, and standardized education systems have contributed to the gradual weakening of many local languages and cultural practices. As younger generations increasingly associate social mobility with dominant languages such as Bengali, Hindi, or English, the transmission of indigenous and regional languages from one generation to the next becomes more fragile.

A particularly important example is the Subarnarekha dialect, spoken by communities living along both banks of the Subarnarekha River. This linguistic tradition possesses its own distinctive grammatical structures, verbal forms, vocabulary, and cultural expressions. It can be understood as a rich contact language shaped by centuries of interaction among diverse communities in the region. Local residents continue to use it in everyday communication, and many writers, poets, singers, and cultural practitioners are actively producing literature and songs in this dialect. However, like many regional languages, it faces increasing pressure from dominant linguistic cultures and formal educational systems.

A similar situation can be observed among speakers of Santali, Kurmali, Mundari, and Ho. In many families, parents encourage children to prioritize Bengali, Hindi, or English in the hope of securing better educational and economic opportunities. While this aspiration is understandable, it can unintentionally weaken the transmission of mother tongues and the oral traditions embedded within them—folk songs, folktales, proverbs, rituals, and community histories.

At the same time, modernization is not inherently destructive. Digital technologies, social media platforms, community archives, and new forms of cultural documentation have opened unprecedented possibilities for preservation. Researchers, artists, and cultural activists are recording folk songs, publishing literature in indigenous languages, creating digital repositories, and sharing local cultural expressions with wider audiences. In this sense, technology can serve as a powerful tool for cultural survival and renewal.

The deeper problem emerges when development is defined exclusively through the lens of dominant cultures, languages, and lifestyles. Under such frameworks, indigenous knowledge systems, local agricultural practices, oral traditions, and cultural identities are often viewed as “backward” rather than as valuable sources of knowledge and heritage. This perspective risks marginalizing the very communities whose histories and cultural practices enrich the region’s diversity.

From the perspective of folk-culture research, the indigenous cultures of JangalMahal remain vibrant, dynamic, and resilient. Traditions such as Bhadu, Tusu, Jhumur, the Karam festival, and numerous indigenous rituals continue to function as spaces where communities reaffirm and recreate their identities. These cultural practices are not relics of the past; they are living expressions of collective memory, belonging, and resistance.

Therefore, modernization itself is not necessarily erasing the indigenous cultures and languages of JangalMahal. However, when modernization fails to respect cultural diversity and linguistic rights, it can accelerate processes of cultural erosion. Sustainable and inclusive development must recognize that cultural heritage, mother-tongue education, community participation, and economic progress are not competing goals. The most meaningful vision of development is one in which modernity and tradition coexist, strengthening rather than diminishing one another.

5. How should we redefine “development” to bring true parity and inclusive growth to these communities?

In regions such as JangalMahal and other marginalized areas, the concept of development must move beyond conventional measures such as roads, bridges, electrification, mobile connectivity, or GDP growth. While these indicators are important, they do not, by themselves, capture the quality of people’s lives. Development should be redefined as a process that places human dignity, rights, cultural identity, and democratic participation at its core.

First, development must be people-centered rather than project-centered. The success of development should not be measured solely by the amount of money invested or the number of schemes implemented, but by the extent to which people’s lives become more secure, dignified, and empowered. The ultimate question should be: Has development improved people’s ability to live with freedom, respect, and opportunity?

Second, any meaningful definition of development must incorporate cultural justice. The languages, knowledge systems, festivals, agricultural practices, oral traditions, and worldviews of Indigenous and marginalized communities should be recognized as valuable assets rather than obstacles to progress. Development that erases local identities in the name of modernization risks creating new forms of exclusion. Sustainable growth can only be achieved when cultural diversity is protected and celebrated.

Third, development must be participatory and democratic. Policies affecting local communities should not be designed exclusively in distant administrative centers and imposed from above. Instead, local people—especially women, farmers, forest-dependent communities, and young people—must have a meaningful voice in shaping development priorities. Genuine inclusion requires that communities become active decision-makers rather than passive beneficiaries.

Fourth, gender equality must become a central indicator of development. A society cannot be considered truly developed if women continue to face barriers in education, healthcare, property ownership, employment, leadership, and personal autonomy. The empowerment of marginalized women is not merely a social objective; it is a prerequisite for equitable and inclusive growth. When women gain access to opportunities and decision-making power, entire communities benefit.

Fifth, development must be grounded in environmental justice and sustainability. In JangalMahal, people’s lives are intimately connected to forests, land, water, and natural resources. Development models that prioritize short-term economic gains at the expense of ecological balance often undermine the livelihoods and cultural foundations of local communities. A more inclusive vision of development recognizes that environmental protection and human well-being are deeply interconnected.

Ultimately, development should be understood as a social process that enables every individual—regardless of language, culture, gender, ethnicity, or economic background—to live with dignity, participate in decisions that affect their lives, and realize their full potential. Such a framework shifts the focus from economic growth alone to a broader commitment to education, healthcare, justice, equality, freedom, and cultural pluralism.

For communities like those of JangalMahal, this redefinition is not merely theoretical. It is essential for creating a future in which progress is measured not only by material advancement, but also by the extent to which all people are able to flourish, preserve their identities, and exercise their rights as equal citizens. In this sense, inclusive development is not about bringing marginalized communities into a pre-existing model of progress; it is about reshaping the very meaning of progress through their experiences, aspirations, and knowledge.

6. How can literature and research effectively challenge today’s systemic oppression in the Bengal borderlands?

One of the greatest strengths of literature and research is their ability to make visible those realities that often remain hidden from the gaze of the state, policymakers, and mainstream society. In the borderlands of Bengal—whether in JangalMahal, riverine char regions, or other marginalized geographies—systemic forms of oppression continue to shape everyday life. Economic inequality, educational deprivation, linguistic marginalization, gender-based discrimination, and struggles over land and forest rights are not isolated problems; they are deeply embedded within historical and institutional structures. Literature and research play a crucial role not only in documenting these experiences but also in questioning and challenging the systems that produce them.

Research contributes by uncovering the historical, social, and political processes that sustain inequality. Through the study of folk traditions, oral histories, women’s narratives, and Indigenous cultural memory, researchers can demonstrate that marginalization is neither accidental nor temporary. Rather, it is the outcome of long-standing power relations. Such work is particularly important because it brings the lived realities of marginalized communities into academic, public, and policy discussions.

My own work on folk traditions, especially kandna Geet (songs of lament), reveals how deeply social violence is embedded in everyday life. One song collected during fieldwork contains the following lines:

Nodī dhāre dhāre pākā panas dādāre,

Mor śāśu ghore kālā baṅśa dādāre,

Kuṭi kuṭi khābe mor māṅsa dādāre,

Sijāi khābe mor māṅsa dādāre.

[By the riverside the jackfruits ripen, brother;

In my in-laws’ house lives a dark lineage, brother.

They will cut and consume my flesh, brother;

They will boil and devour my flesh, brother.]

The song is sung by a young bride addressing her brother. On the surface, it uses metaphorical language, but its emotional reality is unmistakable. It conveys the terror, isolation, and suffering experienced within the marital home. Such songs offer powerful testimony to the persistence of domestic violence and gendered oppression—issues that remain tragically familiar across many parts of South Asia.

What is particularly striking is that these experiences often remain unspoken in public. Generations of women have been taught to endure suffering as an inevitable part of life. Domestic violence is frequently normalized rather than recognized as violence. Consequently, protest often survives not as open rebellion but as suppressed grief, quiet resentment, and emotional endurance. Folk songs become one of the few spaces where such pain can be expressed.

Another lament collected during fieldwork captures this emotional landscape:

Gã pār hine nā nukibe māgo,

Ār ki jhi tor ghuri āsibe māgo,

Eṭhe thilā jhiã ãkhir maṇi māgo,

Seṭhe je hoibe ãkhir bāli māgo,

Jhiã janam dukher puj māgo,

Khedāi pārile bãchi jāib māgo.

[Do not hide beyond the village, Mother.

Will your daughter ever return again?

Here she was the apple of your eye, Mother;

There she will become a grain of dust in the eye.

A daughter’s life is woven from sorrow, Mother;

If you could take me away, I might survive.]

These songs are not merely artistic expressions; they are social documents. They preserve experiences that are rarely recorded in official archives and provide insight into the emotional realities of marginalized women.

Literature complements research by reaching dimensions that statistics alone cannot capture. A research paper may explain inequality through data and analysis, but a poem, story, song, or play allows readers to feel its human consequences. Literature transforms abstract social issues into lived experiences. It appeals not only to reason but also to empathy, imagination, and moral reflection.

This is especially important in regions such as JangalMahal, where people often struggle with economic hardship, environmental uncertainty, and limited access to resources. Folk songs, stories, and oral traditions emerge directly from these lived experiences. During my fieldwork, I rarely encountered written versions of kandna Geet or even many Tusu songs. They survive primarily through memory, performance, and oral transmission. Their fragility makes documentation all the more urgent.

At the same time, literature and research should not claim to speak for marginalized communities. Their more meaningful role is to create spaces where people can speak for themselves. The goal is not to become the “voice of the voiceless” but to recognize, preserve, and amplify voices that already exist. This is why folk songs, Bhadu, Tusu, Jhumur, oral histories, and women’s life narratives are so important. They offer alternative archives of knowledge and experience that challenge dominant narratives.

Today, literature and research can become even more effective if they move beyond universities and academic publications. Local-language publications, digital archives, community-based research, collaborations with folk artists, and public-facing scholarship can democratize knowledge production and make it accessible to the communities from which it emerges.

Ultimately, challenging systemic oppression in Bengal’s borderlands requires more than protest alone. It requires recovering forgotten histories, transforming silence into language, interrogating structures of power, and imagining more just futures. Literature awakens social conscience; research provides that conscience with evidence, context, and critical understanding. Together, they form a powerful instrument for social transformation—one capable of advancing justice, equality, dignity, and cultural recognition for those who have too often remained at the margins of history.

[ Baby Shaw is a poet, folklorist, researcher, translator, and editor from Jhargram, West Bengal, India. She holds postgraduate degrees in Bengali and English Literature and a Ph.D, she serves as an Associate Editor of South Asia Journal (New Jersey, USA) and is associated with All India Radio, Jamshedpur. She writes, translates, and conducts research in Bengali, Hindi, and English, while also editing the literary magazine Abahaman.

Shaw is the author of eighteen poetry collections, three essay collections, two novels, one short-story collection, and six translated volumes. Her notable poetry books include Gan Lekhe Lalanduhita, Chhoy Mohola Bari, Ekanno Sharire Bhango, Hemanter Annapurna, Chhayapather Porijayi, Monipodme Lekha, Amake Kashmir Bhebe, and Je Kabya Shantijal etc. Her recent novel, Kurchi Phuler Mala, portrays the life, folk culture, songs, and social realities of JangalMahal.

Her acclaimed folklore research book, kandna Geet: Sangraha O Itibritta (kandna Geet: Collection and History), documenting the endangered folk songs of the Bengal borderlands, received the prestigious Bangla Akademi Award in 2020. She has translated the poetry of Baek Seok, Thich Nhat Hanh, Ibn Arabi, and Mir Taqi Mir into Bengali. Through her edited and translated anthology Samakalin Bangla Kabita, she introduced a century of Bengali women’s poetry to Hindi readers across India.

Her poems have been translated into Hindi, English, Assamese, Odia, Greek, Russian, and Arabic. Recipient of numerous literary honors, including the Bangla Akademi Award, the Krittibas Deepak Majumdar Award, Shantiniketan Padya Samman, and Shabdapath Yuva Samman, Baby Shaw is widely recognized for her contributions to literature, folklore studies, translation, and the preservation of the cultural heritage of the Bengal–Jharkhand borderlands.]