Nibir Deka

Yuval Noah Harari wrote in Sapiens that human beings conquered the world because of stories. We could make strangers believe in the same idea. We could take a piece of land, a flag, a God, a company or a nation and convince millions that it was worth believing in.

Assam has always had stories.

When I spoke to a teacher who had been visiting Kamakhya since 1984, he laughed while recalling how many people in North India genuinely believed that coming to Assam meant risking some tantric curse. To them, Assam was not a place. It was a mystery. A land of black magic and occult rituals hidden somewhere beyond Bengal.

Then the 90s arrived, and the story changed. The country embraced liberalisation. Bangalore and other metros became an IT city. At the same time, Assam became the land of guns and uncertainty.

Every headline reinforced it. Bomb blasts. Extortion. Insurgency. Bandhs. Curfews. Rhino killings. and Floods (that still exist now). The rest of India was selling aspirations while we were selling anxieties.

A generation of opportunities disappeared in those years. Investors don’t invest in fear. Tourists don’t vacation in uncertainty (just look at present-day Manipur). Entrepreneurs don’t build factories where tomorrow feels doubtful.

The saddest part is that after hearing these stories for so long, we started believing them ourselves. We became experts at telling the story of what was wrong with our state.

It was understandable. Anxiety became part of our collective personality. When you grow up hearing about bomb blasts and extortion calls, scepticism feels safer than optimism.

Which is why I find the current moment fascinating. The same moment of truth that happened during the 2006 National Games had a lot of opposition from certain groups then, but later changed the scenario of the state and brought modernisation in Guwahati and gave us confidence to host national events.

Tarun Gogoi’s stand to host the games was one of the first milestone in to give us the confidence as a state. Still remember a conversation with a top cop from Guwahati who reflected that it took him an hour to figure out where the Sarusajai area was after he was assigned to CM visit duty protocol.

Today, some news reports are coming in that the proposed visit of the Japanese Prime Minister might be cancelled. Over the last month, after the announcement of the Japan PM’s visit, a conversation should have opened about long-term trade, diplomacy, manufacturing, connectivity and the future of Northeast India. Instead, much of the discussion revolves around traffic restrictions, planted trees and general inconveniences.

Yes, in the name of beautification, in a stupid way, the Zubeen Garg mural was removed, and the public, by virtue of their power, restored the right way. But we seem to have forgotten the other things Zubeen Garg said, “Pothar amar, Bazar Amar” (Our farmlands, our market). The proposed bilateral visits have the ability to give us that if we wish to make our land a hub of entrepreneurs, just like Zubeen Garg wanted, but instead we have shut down all possibilities into scepticism…

Criticism is necessary. Every democracy needs it. But criticism alone cannot become a civilisation’s story.

Within a matter of weeks, Assam has hosted senior European Union representatives. Countries like Australia and Japan have revised how they engage with the state. EU nations have removed restrictive travel advisories. Bhutan increasingly sees Assam as a manufacturing and connectivity partner. The proposed visit of the Japanese Prime Minister is part of a much larger geopolitical shift where Northeast India is slowly being viewed not as India’s edge, but as its gateway to South-East Asia.

Yet we rarely speak about that.

The irony is that the world understands storytelling far better than we do. Ireland turned a drink into culture. France turned bread into identity. America turned barbecue, blue jeans and rock music into soft power.

None of these things became powerful because they were inherently superior. They became powerful because somebody told the story well.

The same principle applies to Assam.

A lemon can remain a lemon. Or it can become The Assamese Kazi Nimbu. Ginger from Dima Hasao can remain a commodity. Or it can become a Wellness brand. A river can remain in geography. Or it can become an ecotourism destination. The difference is the story. If Meghalaya can turn rainwater into gin, why can’t we create a brand out of commodities?

Today we have a choice.

We can continue to stare at every opportunity with suspicion and ask why it will fail, or worse, celebrate when it fails. Or we can finally learn to tell the story of a place that survived isolation, survived neglect and still has enough left in it to dream.

Both are stories. One keeps you trapped in the past. The other invites the future in.