AI can learn to write, but it can't mimic a poet's pulse: Nayab Midha
Spoken word poet Nayab Midha was in Kolkata, a city she says she feels "happily envious of" for its intellect and cultural ease. She stands for honesty over polish - work that breathes, blinks, and hesitates like real people do. For writers, her message is simple: the craft needs edges, not just clean lines.
Art works because it's flawed
Midha's stance is clear: the strength of a poem lives in its fractures. The pauses, the contradictions, the lines that feel a bit unsafe - that's where the human heart shows up. "What makes art great is that it is flawed because of human emotions."
She reminds us that clarity isn't always the point. Confusion, conflict, and change are not problems to fix - they're materials.
- Keep one deliberate rough edge in every piece - a line you refuse to smooth out.
- Read aloud and mark where you naturally pause or swallow a word. Keep that breath in the text.
- Favor a memory over a metaphor. A smell, a doorway, a date on a bill - details beat abstractions.
AI can shape form; it can't carry your ache
Midha respects craft but draws a boundary: "AI might mimic form, but it can't understand the ache behind a word or the hesitation before a confession." Use tools for scaffolding, not for soul.
- Let AI suggest structures, constraints, or rhyme options. You supply the lived moment.
- Ask for alternate line breaks; insert your own images and cuts.
- If a draft feels hollow, swap in a memory only you could have written.
If you rely on AI for workflow (outlines, edits, variations), make sure your voice stays in the driver's seat. A simple rule: tools can propose; you dispose. For practical training that reinforces this boundary, see AI courses by job.
The stage is the classroom
Midha is an engineer turned artiste who learned by doing. "Whatever I've learnt is on stage." Observation is her core process: "I cannot make up stories; I can just express what I observe."
- Keep a daily field note: one overheard line, one texture, one contradiction.
- Test work aloud early. The room will show you where the poem breathes.
- Write small-town tight - limit spectacle, sharpen attention.
Vulnerability without wearing it as a badge
She talks about years of healing before she could write "happy things" on stage. The pivot wasn't to perform pain, but to integrate it. "I learned to entertain people with that vulnerability & stop wearing it as a badge of honour."
- Set boundaries. Decide which wound is for the page and which is for your therapist.
- Trade confession for clarity: say less, mean more.
- Let one truth stay unresolved. Tension keeps the poem alive.
A conscious shaadi, and what it teaches about craft
Midha built her wedding around equality and intent. She dropped kanyadaan and sought a female pandit - found two days before the ceremony. That search rewired a tradition: she learned it was always kanya-var paani grahan - mutual care, not a one-sided "giving away."
The ceremony was simple: Sanskrit shlokas, token exchange, no trousseau. It was intimate, equal, and sustainable - form serving meaning, not spectacle.
- Audit your creative rituals. Keep what aligns; cut what doesn't.
- Write with "small, equal, intentional" as constraints - fewer props, deeper vows.
- If a line feels performative, replace it with a choice rooted in your values.
Kolkata's quiet challenge to writers
Midha felt the city's inheritance: "Even the tea corner conversations are so intellectual and aware. Aaplog ko ye viraasat mein milaa hai." Audiences everywhere want something new - not louder, just truer.
"No one knew poetry could also entertain people… kavita ko aapne mushaire ki tarah suna hai, but to do it in a set up like this makes it unique." Translation for writers: keep the container fresh and the content honest.
- Host intimate readings - cafés, living rooms, cross-genre shows.
- Let format serve feeling: shorter sets, more silence, tighter edits.
- Choose feedback from presence, not applause. Stillness tells you more than claps.
For more background on performance poetry's roots and formats, see spoken word.
Write with more pulse today
- Draft a 12-line poem where one line openly contradicts another - and you stand by both.
- Record a read-through and keep the take where you stumble once. Edit the text to keep that breath.
- Replace one grand metaphor with a sensory detail from last week.
Midha's takeaway is a practical one for working writers: protect the human element. Let form help, let tools assist, but let your life decide the line.
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