By Karthik Kaushik

“The wisdom of the old is never lost” or as a Zeliangrong proverb says, “Peihruina boumei” beautifully captures the essence of ‘The Cowries and Other Poems’ by Dr. Achingliu Kamei. Growing up far from the Northeastern region of India, my cultural and linguistic bearings have largely been shaped by mainstream educational frameworks and northern plains sensibilities. Prior to reading this trilingual poetry collection, I had limited familiarity with the Zeliangrong-Inpui community and their oral-literary traditions. Yet, I was drawn to this trilingual collection not only for its rich illustrative form and accessibility, but also because it captures minute textures of daily life; textures that often disappear in the sweep of dominant, modern chaos.

It is important to note that the Zeliangrong-Inpui community comprises four cognate groups — Liangmai, Rongmei, Zeme, and Inpui — scattered across parts of Nagaland, Manipur, and Assam. Rooted in an oral tradition, their folklore, rituals, and ecological knowledge are preserved through performance, storytelling, and craft. However, due to years of marginalization, migration, and changing political landscapes, many of these traditions are endangered or undergoing transformation. ‘The Cowries and Other Poems’ arrives at this juncture not as a passive act of preservation, but as an active intervention by bridging oral memory with textual permanence.

In The Cowries & Other Poems, Dr. Achingliu Kamei presents a thoughtfully illustrated trilingual poetry collection that gently introduces readers to the Zeliangrong-Inpui community’s history, language, and customs. As I read through the English section, I couldn’t help but acknowledge a certain limitation: my lack of familiarity with Ruanglat and Luangdilat meant that some of the poetic rhythm and cultural nuances may have escaped me. Yet, even with this barrier, I found myself drawn in. Despite the obvious linguistic and geographical distance, I felt a growing affinity with the people and places described in the poems. The metaphors used throughout the text, grounded in the earth, sky, rivers, and voices of the community fostered a compelling sense of kinship. I believe this is what makes it particularly effective as the text doesn’t ask for prior knowledge, only openness.

On another note, I also noticed how often the word “beautiful” came to mind as I read. It felt

like more than a descriptor. In fact, it became a theme in itself. The beauty in this book is not

ornamental or aesthetic alone; it is embedded in the values the poems celebrate. The act of

gathering cowries, the shared rhythm of ancestors waking before dawn, the slow erosion of aplastic bird under the sun — each is beautiful in how it anchors itself in meaning. For me, that term came to symbolize what the book stands for: an insistence on the dignity and wonder of everyday life, especially in a world that often moves too fast to notice.

One of the most compelling poems in the collection, which is also first in the chronology, “Dragonflies and Damselflies,” speaks to a shared ecological vulnerability. These insects, whose presence indicates the purity of water bodies, are presented as both literal & symbolic markers of environmental health. I find myself resonating with Dr. Kamei’s portrayal of the child narrator who is trapped indoors, aware of the broader world only through observation and imagination. In a time when we are increasingly becoming detached from the environment, this poem, and its other 5 counterparts, serves not only as a plea for preservation but also as a reminder that “interspecies empathy” is essential.

In this opening poem, Dr. Kamei uses these creatures as a powerful symbol of resilience and environmental balance. She personifies the dragonflies and damselflies, turning them into storytellers who reflect on their own fragile existence: “Several of our species are extinct now / We help control a lot of pests on land and water.” The sense of urgency conveyed through these lines underscores the environmental crisis facing these species, a theme that resonates universally, more so in the contemporary world. The dragonflies, which travel long distances across the Indian Ocean, here become messengers urging readers to pay attention to the shifting ecological balance.

Dr. Kamei expands the conversation on the human connection to nature. Another such moment appears in “The Garden Birds” poem, where the longing of a plastic bird to live like the organic birds, moreover, the birds’ own envy of stillness, unfolds as a commentary on modernity and ageing. The juxtaposition of the plastic bird and the real garden birds gives the poem a poignant, almost melancholic tone, as it critiques the emptiness of artificiality in contrast to the vibrancy of life. The lines, “The garden birds thought there was too much chirping / Going about all day long. What cacophony”, captures the weariness of everyday life, while the plastic bird’s longing to mimic the natural world reflects a deeper yearning for authenticity and connection.

I believe this subtle juxtaposition reveals how even the most unnoticed shifts in daily life, be it the fading luminescence of a plastic bird or the fatigue of the garden birds, are repositories of larger truths. The poem makes no exaggerated claims; instead, it allows the tension between artificial permanence and natural impermanence to speak quietly but forcefully. Dr. Kamei seems to ask the reader: What happens when the real becomes too much to bear, and the artificial seems like an easier substitute? The poem’s closing lines — “Appreciate what you have now / You can look back, but you cannot return.” — are a reminder of the inevitability of change and the importance of cherishing what we have before it is gone.

The titular poem, “The Cowries,” positions these shells not merely as objects of beauty or ornamentation, but as mnemonic devices. I see the disappearance of the old cowrie gatherers and weavers as reflective of the slow erosion of indigenous knowledge systems. When the poem notes that “they went away one by one,” it makes palpable the pain of generational loss. Yet, this poem doesn’t end in despair. The young people “have gone in search of the cowries,” indicating a revivalist impulse. To me, this intergenerational arc is not only poetic, it is instructive. Recovery, as it suggests, begins with listening.

And this very act of listening is emphasized again in the poem “Ancestors’ Way,” which advocates for re-aligning modern routines with ancestral rhythms. Here, the poem does not preach return or idealize the past. Instead, it offers a practical invocation: to wake up at pre-dawn, to whisper thanksgiving, to see oneself as part of a continuum rather than a rupture. The connection to the earth is also emphasized: “The trees heave sighs of relief / They give you enough oxygen / To survive the night.” Dr. Kamei’s depiction of nature as a living, breathing entity is both a call to appreciate the environment and a reminder of our dependence on it.

In “The Bison,” the poetess personifies the animal once central to the community’s ritual life. The bison, now hemmed in by shrinking forests and development, becomes a symbol of ecological dispossession. I find the bison’s lament — “there are not enough forests for us to run and be free” — to be a powerful indictment of progress without consideration for kinship systems that transcend its kind.

Finally, “A Day at the Ahu River” reflects a nostalgic memoryscape that feels deeply rooted in local geography and familial bonds. The river is not a backdrop but a character who is alive through sensory details, and shared meals. As I read about wild berries, fresh river fish, and rafting with uncles, I am reminded of how place and memory co-constitute one another. Moreover, in communities like the Zeliangrong-Inpui, rivers are not merely natural resources as they are central to narrative identity. The childlike joy in out-jumping frogs and eating fresh river fish evokes a sense of nostalgia for the “carefree days,” reiterating that such moments, no matter how small, are precious.

If I were to choose a favourite among the six poems, it would be “Ancestors’ Way.” I say this not out of bias but because it speaks directly to my ongoing search for rhythm in a fast-moving world. The poem’s emphasis on waking at pre-dawn, of reconnecting with nature and ancestry, resonated with me profoundly. Moreover, its message felt neither instructional nor performative, but lived-in and sincere.

In an era where traditional ways of life are rapidly being overshadowed by the demands of modernization, The Cowries and Other Poems stands as an urgent call to value what we risk losing. As the back cover aptly puts it, “Every story contributes to our collective history and understanding.” This book is not just about the Zeliangrong-Inpui community; it is about all of us: how we remember, how we live, and how we might move forward with care. Moreover, works like this are crucial, not because they offer simple access to “other” worlds, but because they require us to engage with difference through humility, context, and care.

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Karthik Kaushik studies English Literature at Atma Ram Sanatan Dharma College, University of Delhi. When he’s not caught between deadlines and dusty paperbacks, he’s probably scribbling thoughts about poetry or pondering over a line that makes him pause. He enjoys writing pieces that trace the quieter corners of culture, memory, and meaning — with a cup of chai never too far.