inspire INTERVIEW ROSHNI GOYATE
“I grew up in Brent, which, historically, was the most ethnically diverse borough in London. Growing up, our leisure time was spent going to visit friends and family; not exploring nature. We played in urban areas like the school field or went on a couple of trips to Ruislip Lido, which felt very sanitised. Once we took a trip to the country park, which felt like a big adventure, but I remember feeling a bit scared. Even in my 20s, visiting Cornwall, I was out on a walk with a friend, but there was no-one else around, and I was like, 'Is this allowed?' Which seems so silly now.
“There's so much going on that is very much rooted in the legacies of what colonialism left behind. And one of those things was the perception of and access to nature and wild spaces”
My MA was about colonial histories, legacies of colonisation, and was eye-opening. I went in wanting to explore my diasporic identity and came out having learned so much about the inter-connectivity of the world of oppressions. How even now, we still have this idealistic view of how liberated and forward-thinking and progressive the world is, but that there's so much going on that is very much rooted in the legacies of what colonialism left behind. And one of those things was the perception of and access to nature and wild spaces.
Access to the natural world
At that point I was starting to be in touch with my love for nature. Studying for my MA helped solidify some of my random thoughts about who has a place in the UK, and who has access to the natural world. In my early 20s, I'd visited white American friends in California and Oregon and being outdoors was so natural for them. We spent time rockpooling, bodyboarding, and that embedded something in me that made me want to do more of that. But the MA helped me realise that there are historical patterns at play that lead to some ambiguity.
The topic I explored was that there was a disproportionate number of Indian farmers near Mumbai taking their own lives. I wanted to figure out what was happening and discovered that India has very aggressive agricultural policies that are rooted in legacies of colonialism and are about India wanting to become an economic super-power. So they're beholden to the IMF, and big monoculture multinationals like Monsanto, and prioritise profit over the lives of individuals. Both my parents are from farming backgrounds, and have amazing stories about encounters with wildlife, but in our lives in Wembley there was a constant suspicion of nature.
Ancient knowledge lost
I think there were three driving factors that erased our connection to nature. Lands were occupied by European colonial forces. I can speak from an Indian perspective, and the UK outright stole land, policed it and appropriated it. It goes back to the farming, the monoculture, the English gentlewomen having access to the outdoors but not the people who were from that land. So indigenous culture was cut – all over the world – languages wiped out, ancient knowledge scratched out and policed. This led in turn to sanitisation, erasure and suspicion of the natural world. My response to all this is grief.
“My mum read my diary once and I got into a lot of trouble, so I started writing in these very elaborate, layered metaphors that would get past her”
As people move around the world, they carry ghosts of that knowledge with them, but sometimes it's hard to grasp. My parents needed to put that wisdom aside for survival. They have horrible stories of racism; explicit and implicit. They were in fight or flight a lot of the time. They were working class people, working in factories to send money back to India on autopilot; all they had to do was work and cook. That generation didn't have words for mental health issues, but thankfully my generation does.
My dad recently visited, and whilst out walking we spotted a tree. He said, “Oh, we have this tree in India. You can use its leaves to soothe a cough.” That knowledge is there and ready to be passed on. But in a globalised world where we spend less time with our elders, those things are sometimes missed.
Re-parenting
I talk about parenting as re-parenting. As we move away from extended family set-ups, parenting communities can do a hell of a lot together; Facebook and WhatsApp groups, apps like Peanut can be used for good. Many mums feel lonely, because they don't have that village any more.
My parents - my son's grandparents - have softened. Our relationship has matured. I see how they are with their grandson, and it gives me little clues about how they might have been as parents.
I want my son to experience nature differently. While we were still in the UK, we'd get out to country parks and nature reserves. If he wanted to splash in puddles, I'd make a point to never to stop him. I'd make sure he was wearing the right gear. Now we're in Muscat we go on hikes and to the beach, all the time. We go to the mountains and we're endlessly curious about animals and birds, the flora and fauna, and he's absorbing that. Which is beautiful.
Writing is my outlet; I've always written. When I was young, I didn't feel like I could always talk about my feelings, so I wrote them down instead – really explicitly. My mum read my diary once and I got into a lot of trouble, so I started writing in these very elaborate, layered metaphors that would get past her. And that was my route to creativity. It was about expressing and getting things off my chest, developing my worldview and identity.
Poetry collective
In 2017 I started a collective for Brown girls who write, with three other poets. And we started performing. Our performance is really simple. All four of us stand on stage, and whoever is reading takes three steps forward to the microphone and afterwards back to the safety of the harbour, the four of us. We took a show to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival and sold out, and published pamphlets with Rough Trade Books.
When I moved to Muscat and my life readjusted, I stopped writing; and felt such imposter syndrome calling myself a poet as I wasn't active. I did a course at the Findhorn Foundation in Scotland which made me realise how important nature and writing was to me. I had this idea of running online workshops as a low-pressure way to allow people to tap back into something that they felt they'd lost, and that's where my workshop series, Tenderly was born. It's about being tender with yourself as a remedy to perfectionism. The sessions are for people who want to reconnect with something creative, and there's a big emphasis on sharing what you've written, even in draft form.
Poetry and writing is about locking in and being connected to the rhythms of nature, slowing down, paying attention, being present. The ideas of cycles, death, decay and rebirth feeds my own practice as a writer, a mum, a human being.
Sometimes when you're a parent you lose your sense of self. It takes alot to reconnect and find yourself again. I find this comes up frequently in my workshops; rediscovering your voice, something you thought was lost. And in turn, quietening the voices of doubt, imposter syndrome and fear of judgement. Connecting with nature and writing is one of the best ways to help yourself.”
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