Kiran Bath’s Instructions for Banno is a tapestry of poems stitching matrimony and matriarchy. It’s about becoming and being a South Asian bride—and ultimately a woman in the world. “Banno” means bride in Punjabi, and the poems in the collection are from the perspective of different bannos: their fear, love, hunger, and pain. Through intricate imagery and prose poems, Bath’s debut poetry collection teaches us how womanhood is a sacred bond transcending generations and geographies of women.
The collection is organized similarly to a guideline: one of the earliest poems titled “Abstract” sets the scene for the collection, and one of the last poems ends with a conclusion about bannos (“In this way I wear their faces and each one has worn mine”). The technical setup allows Bath to explore questions about what it means to be and act as a banno. Some of the bannos in the persona poems are recognizable figures: “Nirbhaya” refers to Jyoti Singh, who became a symbol of women’s resistance after being gang-raped and killed in 2012, “Mumtaz” alludes to the Mughal princess buried in the Taj Mahal, and “Bebe Nanaki” is the older sister of Sikhism’s founder Guru Nanak. Many others are figures from Bath’s own matrilineal and patrilineal lines. The bannos’ persona poems are separated by poems from the speaker entitled, “The Poet interrupts.” These poems provide moments for the speaker to explore the legacy of bannos and the sacrifices they must make to understand the psyche of banno. Observations from the speaker are also listed as field notes at the end of some of the persona poems.
Banno by banno, Bath challenges the stigmas and taboos South Asian women may face. In the poem “Your ladder step skin care routine,” Bath confronts the prevalence of anti-blackness in South Asian culture. Because of her darker skin color, the banno Santhiya doesn’t deem herself beautiful. Towards the poem’s end, she stumbles upon a dusty idol of Lakshmi, the Hindu goddess of fortune. After washing her, she notices that Lakshmi becomes “iridescent.” How she washes the idol reflects how she cleans herself, without the desired result:
I am unanswered by Lakshmi, by fairness creams, by suitors who refuse me. Take back
this skin, I keep cleaning. Next to godliness, I make space for waiting.
In this poem’s field notes, Bath points to the archaeological evidence of “ruins and ruins of goddesses black as night.” Bath interrogates the origins of anti-blackness despite the historical deification of blackness and godliness: “Who made the poets and painters see white? Aryan, Mughal, British, Media.” With this charge, we understand the reality of South Asian women like Santhiya, who spend hours bleaching themselves for the sake of Eurocentric ideals of beauty.
In “How to be seen,” Bath addresses the devastating consequences of honor killings, committed in the name of patriarchal standards. The poem begins with imagery reminiscent of an Indian miniature painting: “Our houses bent in Mahal arches. Lives on display in Pishtaq frames.” Bath moves the reader from bursts of village imagery to a simple observation of a boy being sighted in the same room as “the gazelle eyed girl. All of 9.” We then witness the girl being led by her father to commit the honor killing. That fleeting moment of synchronicity and “who else had looked on?” would determine the banno’s fate: “a painting ruined.” Here, Bath contrasts the picturesque scenery with the eyes of those watching the horrific practice take place. This poem’s field note speaks to the frivolity of a banno’s worth: “A girl is a gun that may go off at any time.”
The impact of unattainable expectations on bannos is another taboo that Bath explores, and it’s especially apparent in “Pouring milk for girls.” In this poem, we work through the psyche of what led the banno Ninda to commit infanticide. The prose works through the history of how she endured the unworthiness of her sex:
Calculations of worthy began so early. I arrived a bride of soot and modesty; they
subtract for shortness. For dusk in complexion. I knew from the beginning how much
should be missing.
“They” refers to Ninda’s in-laws, the newfound family to whom she owes fealty and the birth of sons. Ninda also suffers from violence perpetuated by her husband’s own mental illness. Following miscarriages, she finally and disappointingly gives birth to a girl. Her internalized misogyny and defeat lead her to the infanticide: “Her trusting sparrow mouth. / (I knew the math for how). (Subtract for worthy).” In the field note, there is another startling truth as Bath remarks upon the scale of infanticide. Bath notes that Punjab translates to “land of five rivers,” then takes us to the accusing metaphor: “Appendages of a girl. Rivers of fallen harps.”
Delving into the tie between mothers and daughters, Bath defines a woman as the source of lineage. In the poem “What to grow in the meantime,” Bath presents the concept of lineage after speaking of what grows inside the banno’s body:
What’s meant to be wills itself. Take lineage for example, the mother who birthed me, her mother who bore her, that mother and mothers of mothers before her.
Women are born carrying their mothers and grandmothers inside of their womb. In essence, women carry their maternal ancestors and are the “vessel” for all beings. Bath carries this concept in the poem “How to take root” to expand on how time is the “element” separating such maternal lineage:
I tried to count the number of wombs
separating me from the first mother,
a lineage of prayer beads.
Towards the poem’s ending, Bath challenges the standard notions of lineage:
Rely on a horizontal root system,
per the water lilies, per the lotus.
Recall why the vedics painted devis
floating on lotus pads—
flamed, petalled, six-armed,
crowned by light particles.
Imagine a non-linear lineage.
Imagine it.
Typically, lineage conveys a vertical form, but Bath considers what it means for lineage to bloom as non-linear. Unlike other flowers, the roots of lotus flowers disperse horizontally. What does it mean for lineage to be non-linear? Bath answers this question through each banno’s story, where not only lineage but also time is non-linear. Imagining a non-linear lineage is envisioning that the bannos carry their maternal ancestors, and each other. Like the lotus flower, this lineage is rooted in rebirth and resilience.
Instructions for Banno showcases the stunning beauty of South Asian culture while capturing cultural practices and taboos anchored on patriarchy and colonialism. In the collection, Bath portrays the legacy and lineage of South Asian brides. Each banno offers us a window of lived experiences. Amidst the despair and violence bannos bear, their reliance on each other—as mothers, sisters, aunts, and daughters—is tighter than any thread. In the last interrupted poem by the speaker, there is a tender scene that summarizes this bond:
We sat in a diamond on a Sunday,
oiling one another’s feet.
Mother, Massi, Sister.
Something said in Gurmukhi.
I told their soles: stop toiling.
I oiled my own.
The book is not just a set of instructions for Banno, but a collection of diaries for everyone to read and most importantly, to listen to. What we learn from Bath is that the spiritual and sacred bond of bannos—and of womanhood—can never be broken. As the collection concludes, “We have each other no matter what.”
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