Author: borderlesssg1

Categories
Excerpt

A Perpetual Struggle

Title: Cyclones in Odisha: Landfall, Wreckage, and Resilience

Author: Bhaskar Parichha

Publisher: Pen In Books

Chapter 10

 A Perpetual Struggle

“Humans and nature can never be friends! Nature will never hesitate to starve you in the drought, drown you in the rain, burn you in the sun, and kill you with an earthquake, a hurricane or a disease; and as such, nature should always be seen as an enemy not a friend.”
― Mouloud Benzadi

 Cyclones exert a significant influence on the economy and agricultural sector of Odisha, leading to considerable disruptions and enduring challenges for the region. Agriculture serves as a fundamental component of Odisha’s economy, accounting for approximately 26% of the Gross State Domestic Product (GSDP) and providing employment for around 85% of the rural populace. The occurrence of cyclones frequently results in severe crop damage, exemplified by the 1999 Super Cyclone, which led to the loss of nearly 2 million tons of rice and devastated approximately 18.43 lakh hectares of farmland. More recent cyclones, such as Fani in 2019, inflicted damage on about 60% of the paddy crop and had a detrimental effect on vegetable production.

The fishing industry, crucial for the livelihoods of local communities, also suffers significant setbacks due to cyclonic events. Damage to fishing infrastructure and interruptions in fishing operations result in decreased catch and income for fishermen, thereby intensifying the economic difficulties faced by coastal populations.

Cyclones inflict extensive damage on infrastructure, including roads, electricity, and housing. This destruction not only affects immediate livelihoods but also obstructs long-term economic recovery. For instance, Cyclone Amphan in 2020 caused widespread infrastructural damage, impacting millions of consumers and resulting in prolonged power outages.

Job Loss

The devastation wrought by cyclones leads to job losses, particularly affecting daily wage laborers and roadside vendors, who are often the most susceptible to economic disruptions. The reduction in employment opportunities further exacerbates poverty levels in a state that is already economically disadvantaged.

Research indicates that cyclones adversely affect local economic growth, with studies revealing a significant decline in the growth rate in the years following such events. For instance, after the catastrophic cyclones of 2013 and 2014, the growth rate plummeted to 1.8% in 2014-15, a stark decrease from 9.3% in the preceding year.

Cyclones result in flooding, soil salinization, and erosion, which significantly undermine agricultural productivity. Coastal areas, where a majority of agricultural activities are concentrated, are especially susceptible to these effects, resulting in diminished crop yields and heightened food insecurity. Farmers are compelled to adjust to the evolving climate and the rising occurrence of cyclones. This adaptation may involve altering planting schedules, implementing multiple cropping strategies, and enhancing irrigation systems to alleviate the impact of cyclones on their livelihoods. The financial challenges associated with recovering from cyclone-related damage can be daunting for farmers, many of whom do not possess sufficient insurance coverage. This economic pressure can perpetuate cycles of poverty and obstruct agricultural advancement in the region.

Ongoing Struggle

The ongoing struggle of the people in Odisha against the backdrop of cyclones is a complex interplay of psychological trauma, economic hardship, and the need for improved disaster management. While strides have been made in preparedness and response, the experiences of survivors underscore the necessity for continued support and infrastructure development to mitigate the impacts of future cyclones.

Resilience to cyclones involves implementing a range of strategies to minimize the impact of these natural disasters on communities and infrastructure. This can include building stronger and more resilient infrastructure, such as storm-resistant buildings and flood barriers, as well as developing early warning systems and evacuation plans. Investing in disaster preparedness and response training for communities can help them cope better with the aftermath of a cyclone. By taking proactive measures to increase resilience to cyclones, communities can reduce the loss of life and property damage caused by these powerful storms.

Incorporating nature-based solutions such as mangrove restoration and coastal vegetation can help absorb the impact of cyclones and reduce erosion. Building codes and regulations can also be updated to ensure that new construction is more resilient to extreme weather events.

 Promoting community engagement and participation in resilience-building efforts can help foster a sense of ownership and responsibility among residents. This can include educating communities on how to prepare for cyclones, providing resources for emergency supplies, and establishing communication networks to disseminate information during a crisis.

Resilience to cyclones requires a multi-faceted approach that involves collaboration between government agencies, non-profit organizations, businesses, and local communities. By working together to implement these strategies, we can better protect vulnerable populations and infrastructure from the devastating impacts of cyclones.

Livelihood Loss

The economic impact of cyclones is profound highlighting the broader economic devastation faced by many in the fishing and agricultural sectors. Initial estimates indicated that thousands of fishing boats were lost, and agricultural land became salt-encrusted, rendering it unusable for years. This dual loss of livelihood and resources has compounded the stress for displaced communities.

Survivors of Cyclone Fani, which struck Odisha in May 2019, have faced severe mental health issues, including stress disorders and depression. Many individuals expressed feelings of despair and anxiety about their future, struggling to cope with the trauma of the cyclone’s destruction. Mental health experts have emphasized the need for immediate interventions to address these issues, as the fear of future cyclones continues to haunt the affected communities.

Mental health professionals have been mobilized to assess the psychological impact of the cyclone. A study conducted a month after Cyclone Fani found that approximately 42.9% of participants exhibited probable PTSD, while 36.7% experienced severe anxiety and 16.5% showed moderately severe depression. Additionally, suicidal thoughts increased by 14% among the affected population. These findings underscore the urgent need for targeted mental health interventions.

Efforts are being made to enhance community-based mental health support. This includes training local volunteers to identify individuals in need of psychological assistance and providing them with referral support. Such grassroots initiatives are crucial for ensuring that mental health care reaches those who may not have access to formal healthcare services.

Despite these interventions, challenges remain. Many survivors continue to experience sleep deprivation and anxiety due to the trauma of the cyclone and the ongoing fear of future disasters. The presence of mosquitoes in temporary shelters has further exacerbated sleep issues, highlighting the need for improved living conditions during recovery.

Moreover, the long-term psychological effects of such disasters necessitate sustained mental health support beyond the immediate aftermath. Historical data from the 1999 supercyclone indicates that without adequate post-disaster psychological support, issues like PTSD can persist for years.

Government’s Role

Cyclones in Odisha lead to devastating impacts on local communities, including loss of life, destruction of homes, and significant economic losses. The recurrent nature of these disasters has resulted in long-term challenges, such as food insecurity and displacement among vulnerable populations. The state government has been working on improving cyclone preparedness and response mechanisms to mitigate these impacts.

Early warning systems play a crucial role in reducing the impact of cyclones on the East Coast of India. These systems involve the use of advanced meteorological technology to track and predict the path and intensity of cyclones, allowing for timely evacuation and preparation. Additionally, coastal defense infrastructure such as seawalls, breakwaters, and mangrove restoration projects can help mitigate the impact of storm surges and erosion caused by cyclones.

Initiatives to prepare and build resilience within the community are also essential in reducing the impact of cyclones. This includes educating the public about cyclone preparedness, conducting drills and simulations, and providing access to emergency supplies and shelters. Building resilient infrastructure, such as cyclone-resistant housing and public buildings, can also help minimize the damage caused by cyclones.

Despite these measures, the East Coast of India remains vulnerable to the devastating impact of cyclones. Continuous research into cyclone behavior, climate change adaptation strategies, and the development of innovative technologies are crucial in improving the effectiveness of measures to reduce disaster risk. Strategic planning at the national and local levels is also necessary to ensure that resources are allocated effectively and that policies are in place to address the long-term impacts of cyclones.

Climate Change

In recent years, there has been a noticeable increase in the frequency and intensity of cyclones in the region. This trend is believed to be linked to climate change, which is causing rising sea levels and warmer ocean temperatures. These changes create more favorable conditions for cyclones to form and intensify, posing a significant threat to the people of Odisha.

Climate change has a profound effect on Odisha’s disaster preparedness plans in a variety of ways. The increasing temperatures and sea levels are contributing to more frequent and severe disasters such as cyclones, floods, droughts, and heat waves. This necessitates more robust and frequent evacuation drills, shelter maintenance, and emergency response planning. The prevalence of water and vector-borne diseases like malaria and dengue fever is worsened by climate change. Consequently, the health sector must incorporate climate change considerations into health policies, enhance disease management, and implement measures to mitigate the impact of heat waves.

Changes in monsoon patterns and more frequent cyclones result in widespread food and nutrition insecurity. Disaster preparedness efforts should prioritize ensuring access to nutritious food and promoting sustainable agricultural practices. The rise in sea levels due to climate change and the increased intensity of storms pose a threat to coastal infrastructure, including cyclone shelters and evacuation routes. Regular maintenance and improvement of these structures are essential to minimize the impact of climate change.

Raising awareness about climate change and being prepared require ongoing community involvement and capacity building. This involves training volunteers, promoting safe migration practices, and increasing media coverage of climate change issues. Climate change can negatively impact economic growth and exacerbate poverty. Disaster preparedness strategies need to address these economic risks by encouraging sustainable industries, renewable energy, and climate-resilient infrastructure.

Given the changing impacts of climate change, Odisha’s disaster preparedness strategies must evolve to ensure effective response and mitigation measures. This requires ongoing investment in disaster preparedness and response measures, as well as efforts to address the underlying causes of climate change. By taking proactive steps to mitigate the impact of cyclones and adapt to changing climatic conditions, Odisha can better protect its coastal region and ensure the safety and well. Financial investment in measures to reduce disaster risk and adapt to climate change is essential for the East Coast of India. This includes funding for the development and maintenance of early warning systems, the construction of resilient infrastructure, and community preparedness initiatives.

Investment in research and development of new technologies and strategies for cyclone mitigation is crucial in building a more resilient and adaptive East Coast community.

As climate change continues to influence weather patterns, the frequency and intensity of cyclones in this region may increase, further highlighting the need for effective disaster management strategies and resilient infrastructure to protect the vulnerable populations of Odisha. In the face of a cyclone, communities must come together to prepare and respond to the impending disaster. Early warning systems and evacuation plans can help to minimize the impact of a cyclone, saving lives and reducing property damage. In the aftermath of a cyclone, communities must work together to rebuild and recover, showing resilience in the face of adversity.

Political Accountability

The impact of cyclones on political dynamics in Odisha has been significant, particularly following the devastating 1999 Super Cyclone. This event not only caused immense human suffering but also reshaped the political landscape and public sentiment towards various parties. The destruction prompted widespread criticism of the government, particularly regarding its preparedness and response to the disaster. Many survivors expressed dissatisfaction with the lack of support and infrastructure improvements in the years following the cyclone, leading to a sense of betrayal among the electorate.

In the years following the cyclone, political parties in Odisha, especially Biju Janata Dal and its leader Naveen Patnaik have faced scrutiny over their handling of disaster relief and infrastructure development. Although the BJD asserts that significant advancements have been made in the reconstruction initiatives, numerous inhabitants of regions impacted by the cyclone have indicated persistent challenges, including insufficient compensation and a shortage of cyclone shelters. This dissatisfaction has affected electoral choices in later elections, as those who survived the disaster frequently perceive a lack of attention from political figures who pledged assistance but did not fulfill their commitments. The political narrative in Odisha has continued to evolve, especially in light of more recent cyclones like Fani and Phailin. The BJD had maintained a significant foothold in the state, leveraging its disaster management initiatives as part of its campaign strategy. Opposition parties have capitalized on public grievances, framing their campaigns around issues of local pride and accountability in disaster management.

NGO’s Role

Non-Governmental Organizations (NGOs) play a crucial role in disaster mitigation and recovery efforts in Odisha. NGOs sensitize local communities about disaster risks and preparedness measures through awareness campaigns, mock drills, and training programs. They build the capacity of communities, especially vulnerable groups like women, children, the elderly, and the disabled, to cope with and recover from disasters. NGOs collaborate with the government in preparing disaster management plans at the district and state levels.

During disasters, NGOs are involved in rescue operations, providing temporary shelters, organizing health camps and setting up communication facilities.  They work closely with the government in relief distribution, ensuring equitable access to food, water, sanitation, and other essential supplies for affected populations. NGOs focus on protecting vulnerable groups and providing special care for pregnant women, lactating mothers, children, elderly, and disabled persons during emergencies.

In the recovery phase, NGOs support the rebuilding of damaged houses and public infrastructure and restoring the livelihoods of affected communities. They promote the use of disaster-resilient construction techniques and make rehabilitation efforts disability-friendly.  NGOs help in reviving local economies by providing livelihood support, forming self-help groups, and establishing market linkages.

NGOs coordinate their efforts with the government through dedicated coordination cells at the state and district levels. They advocate for inclusive and equitable disaster management policies that address the needs of marginalized sections of society. NGOs also collaborate with the private sector through CSR initiatives and public-private partnerships in disaster management.

The Government of Odisha recognizes the critical role of NGOs in building community resilience. The state has involved NGOs in its disaster management framework, leveraging their grassroots presence, flexibility, and innovative approaches to complement government efforts in protecting lives and livelihoods from disasters.

Media Coverage

The historical context of cyclones in Odisha is characterized by significant events, particularly during the late 20th and early 21st centuries. The Super Cyclone of 1999 stands out as one of the most devastating. This disaster prompted substantial reforms in the state’s disaster management approach, leading to the establishment of the “Odisha model” for disaster preparedness.

The evolution of media coverage regarding cyclones in Odisha has been notable, especially in the aftermath of catastrophic occurrences like the Super Cyclone. Reports increasingly focus on the state’s preparedness initiatives, including early warning systems and community-managed cyclone shelters, which have played a crucial role in significantly lowering casualties in recent cyclones compared to earlier incidents.

The relationship between media coverage, public awareness, and government preparedness has been instrumental in shaping Odisha’s response to cyclones. The proactive strategies adopted by the state, along with community engagement, have established a framework for disaster management that reflects a transition from reactive to proactive measures in addressing climate-related challenges.

Public Perception

In the wake of the 1999 disaster, the Odisha government launched a “Zero Casualty” initiative aimed at reducing fatalities in future cyclones. This strategic shift is evident in media narratives, which increasingly highlight the state’s proactive efforts, such as the implementation of early warning systems and community-based disaster preparedness programs. During Cyclone Fani in 2019, for instance, media coverage underscored the successful evacuation of more than 1.2 million people, illustrating the effectiveness of the state’s preparedness strategies and garnering international recognition for its response efforts.

Media narratives have progressively included discussions regarding climate change and its effects on the frequency and severity of cyclones. Reports indicate that climate change is expected to intensify the challenges encountered by Odisha, with predictions of more powerful cyclones in the future. This evolution signifies an increasing recognition of the wider environmental factors associated with cyclonic events and has led to demands for more effective climate adaptation measures.

The public’s perception of cyclones in Odisha has significantly transformed over the years, shaped by a blend of historical experiences, governmental actions, and improvements in disaster management practices.

Changing Paradigm

Odisha encounters several significant obstacles in upholding its high standard of disaster preparedness. Despite the establishment of extensive cyclone shelters and evacuation routes, the state’s power, communication, and transportation infrastructure are still at risk. Disruptions of these systems can lead to widespread consequences during disasters. The continuous challenge lies in investing in underground power lines and disaster-resilient infrastructure. A considerable portion of coastal housing in Odisha remains vulnerable to cyclone damage. The transition of at-risk families from straw huts to disaster-resilient homes is an area that demands sustained attention and investment.

The success of Odisha’s disaster preparedness efforts heavily relies on the mobilization of local communities and volunteers. Ensuring the maintenance of this level of preparedness and response capability along the state’s extensive coastline poses an ongoing challenge that necessitates consistent training and drills. With the escalating frequency and intensity of cyclones due to climate change, Odisha must consistently enhance its early warning systems, evacuation strategies, and disaster management approaches to proactively address evolving threats.

Despite the significant progress made by Odisha, disaster preparedness is a continuous process that demands unwavering commitment, innovation, and allocation of resources to tackle emerging challenges effectively. Sustaining the state’s prominent position in global leadership in this domain remains a persistent priority.

Odisha’s disaster management paradigm has evolved from a relief-centric model to a comprehensive, proactive, and integrated framework that emphasizes risk reduction, community participation, and efficient response mechanisms.

About the Book

Cyclones in Odisha presents an in-depth exploration of the complex dynamics surrounding the storms that have impacted the coastal region of Odisha. It delivers a thorough examination of their frequency, the catastrophic effects they inflict, and the remarkable resilience exhibited by the communities in the aftermath. The book investigates the underlying factors that contribute to these extreme weather phenomena, analyzing the geographical and meteorological conditions that render the area vulnerable to such formidable storms. The book explores the devastating power of cyclones and their profound impact on the state, carefully chronicling the extensive destruction caused. It also highlights the remarkable resilience of the communities affected, showcasing their determination to rebuild and thrive in the face of adversity. The roles of governmental bodies, non-governmental organizations, and various stakeholders in facilitating recovery and reconstruction efforts are also examined. The text assesses the effectiveness of disaster management strategies and initiatives, shedding light on both successes and shortcomings in addressing the needs of the affected communities. By scrutinizing the diverse approaches employed, it offers critical insights into how the impacts of future cyclones can be mitigated and managed more effectively. This groundbreaking book is the first of its kind to explore the entirety of severe weather events, serving as an invaluable resource that offers a thorough overview while equipping readers with crucial insights for future preparedness.

About the Author

Bhaskar Parichha (1957) is a senior journalist and author of six books, including ‘Unbiased: Writings on India’; ‘No Strings Attached: Writings on Odisha’; Madhubabu: The Global Indian’; and ‘Biju Patnaik: A Biography’. He has also edited three anthologies of essays entitled ‘Naveen @ 25: Perspectives’; ‘Bhubaneswar @ 75: Perspectives’ and ‘Essential Odisha: Portrait of a State’. He is a bilingual writer and lives in Bhubaneswar.

.

Click here to read more about the book and an author interview.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL. 

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International

Categories
Poetry

Oblivion’s Ashes & Other Poems

By Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

OBLIVION’S ASHES

Let’s take flight 
like oblivion’s ashes
I will find 
you in swirling breezes
Let’s tear up
the skies, you and me

On autumn
days when skies are gray
Show me your
sadness, I’ll show you mine

What thoughts have
you about me and you?
I know we
can live in harmony 

Let’s take flight
on autumn days
when skies are grey
like oblivion’s ashes.

LEFT WANTING

I am left wanting 
of everything 
the world takes away.

I don’t seek excess.
I take a deep breath 
and turn off the lights.

I find a cozy 
bed, fall asleep,
and I dream away.

I let everything 
go and sing a
melancholy song.

CLOUDY EYES

I stand on the balcony 
crying rain from cloudy 
eyes. It is a steady stream.
It becomes a storm being
pushed by the wind. If I
could, I would try to keep 
it all inside. But the rain
falls out from cloudy eyes

like waterfalls. How it falls.
How it falls out of control.
I spray the crying rain with
fierce strength. It becomes
a raging flood. It falls 
and falls till the world ends.
From Public Domain

Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal lives in California, works in Los Angeles in the mental health field, and is the author of Raw Materials (Pygmy Forest Press).His poetry has appeared in Blue Collar Review, Borderless Journal, Escape Into Life, Mad Swirl, and Unlikely Stories. His latest poetry book, Make the Water Laugh, was published by Rogue Wolf Press. Kendra Steiner Editions has published 8 of his chapbooks.

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International

Categories
Nazrul Translations Tagore Translations

Love Songs by Tagore and Nazrul: Translated by Fakrul Alam

From Public Domain

Tumi Kon Kanoner Phul ( From whose garden could you be) by Tagore was published in the collection called Kori O Komal (Sharp and Flat) in 1886.

From whose garden could you be
And in which sky were you a star?
Where could I have seen you before
And in what dream did you last appear?
When was it that you had last sung,
And when did you last look at my eyes?
I’ve forgotten it all!
All that I can remember now
Is that you were my eyes’ star!
Hush—don’t say anything now—
Just take a look and go your way
In this moonlight just smile and melt away!
Overcome with sleep, I look at the moon
With an enraptured heart
Like your eyes, let the twin stars in the sky
Keep streaming their rays.
Renderred by well-known contemporary singer, Srikanto Acharya

Anjali Loho Mor (Take my Offerings) was written and composed by Nazrul (1899-1976)


Take my offerings melodically, musically
Like a flaming lamp, my soul flickers
Captivated by you, O lovely one;
What feeling of bliss is this, making the body sway
And dance before you melodically, musically?
In ecstasy unfolds love’s petals,
Full of beauty, fragrance and love
Looking at your face, I’d like to say to you:
“Fall down like petals of flower will do
And colour your feet’s soles, melodically, musically”
Renderred by the legendary Feroza Begum (1930-2014)

.

Fakrul Alam is an academic, translator and writer from Bangladesh. He has translated works of Jibanananda Das and Rabindranath Tagore into English and is the recipient of Bangla Academy Literary Award (2012) for translation and SAARC Literary Award (2012).

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Amazon International

Categories
Review

…My Heart Wanders Wailing with the Restless Wind…

Book Review by Meenakshi Malhotra

Title: Shabnam

Author: Syed Mujtaba Ali

Translator from Bengali: Nazes Afroz

Publisher: Speaking Tiger Books

Shabnam (1960) by Syed Mujtaba Ali is a love story that is set in the third decade of the 20th century. ‘Shabnam’ in Persian means a ‘dewdrop’. The polyglot scholar Mujtaba Ali’s love story becomes a vehicle for articulating the profundities of life which extends beyond the plot and the telling just like that of his teacher, Rabindranath Tagore. To quote the words of another reviewer: “His novel can be compared to a dewdrop which assumes rainbow hues during sunrise as it encompasses not only the passionate cross-cultural romance of Shabnam and the young Bengali lecturer, Majnun, but also shades of humanity, love, compassion set against the uncertainties generated by ruthless political upheavals.” Sweeping in scope, set against the backdrop of the Afghan Civil War (1928-29) and beyond, the novel narrates an epic love story. That this has recently been translated by a former BBC editor stationed in Afghanistan, Nazes Afroz, and published for a wider readership, emphasises its relevance in the current context, where regressive curtailment of human rights and liberties are evident on a daily basis.

Shabnam is a young, upper class and educated Afghan woman, fluent in French and Persian. As we learn in the course of the narrative, she is daring and apparently fearless. She is proud of her Turkish heritage as she invokes it while introducing herself: “You know I’m a Turkish woman. Even Badshah Amanullah has Turkish blood. Amanullah’s father, the martyred Habibullah, realised how much power a Turkish woman—his wife, Amanullah’s mother—held. She checkmated him with her tricks. Amanullah wasn’t even supposed to be the king, but he became one because of his mother.” Given the current context, with its attack on womens’ freedom, it is perhaps difficult to imagine that a woman like Shabnam or anyone with a similar persona or voice could be found at all. She seems at times to inhabit the rarefied realms of her author’s imagination, beyond the earthly realm.

Shabnam’s knowledge of history and the world is extensive. She actively chooses and decides about her surroundings and her own life, which is more than what many women can do in today’s Afghanistan. Characters like Shabnam are also the result of the varied travels of the author Mujitaba Ali, who traveled and taught in five countries. On the power wielded by women, Shabnam offers a rejoinder to her lover/narrator: “In your own country, did Noor Jahan not control Jahangir? Mumtaz—so many others. How much knowledge do people have of the power of Turkish women inside a harem?”

The novel has a tripartite structure. In the first part, is the dramatic meeting of the narrator, Majnun, with the striking and unconventional Shabnam at a ball given by Amanullah Khan, the sovereign of Afghanistan from 1919 to 1929. The novel’s narrative is dialogic in nature and the introduction and subsequent exchanges of the protagonists  are peppered with wit and poetry. The first part concludes with the two of them acknowledging their love for each other.

In the second part of this novel,we witness more developments in their relationship. Shabnam assumes an agential role and makes a decision to marry Majnun secretly with only their attendants looking on. And then later, this decision receives a legitimate sanction since a wedding is organised for them by her father, who does not know they are already married. Despite the xenophobic approach in those times of many Afghans (and other South Asian communities) against marrying their daughters to foreigners, her family decides to marry Shabnam to Majnun as they wanted her out of conflict-ridden Afghanistan and in a safer zone. Her father hopes she will go off to India with her husband. This seems unexpectedly progressive in the Afghanistan of  almost a century ago. But instead, in the third part, she is abducted by the marauding hordes while her beloved attempts to organise their return from Afghanistan.

The last part continues with Majnun’s quest for his beloved. His endeavour leads him to travel, hallucinate and drives him almost insane, reminiscent of the Majnun of Laila-Majnun fame, a doomed union that resonates in and forms a motif in the narrator/lover’s repeated conversations with Shabnam. At the end of the novel, Majnun ascends the physical realm of love. He says: “Now after losing all my senses, I turn into a single being free of all impurities. This being is beyond all senses—yet all the senses converge there… There is Shabnam, there is Shabnam, there is Shabnam.”

The novel concludes with the realisation that “there is no end” (tamam na shud). This feeling seems to echo the idea of  “na hanyate hanyamane sarire”(“It does not die”) in Sanskrit signifying that love is eternal, even beyond the material realm. Both the luminosity and fragility of love is represented in the novel.

Mujtaba Ali’s wide and varied experience is in evidence at several points in the novel, as is his wit and satiric sense, some of which filters through to his created characters.   This can be experienced in the dialogues and descriptions even in its translated form. In order to conceal her identity from the marching and rustic hordes, Shabnam comes to visit her beloved in a burqa. She argues that it is not a symbol of oppression but a self-chosen disguise: “Because I can go about in it without any trouble. The ignorant Europeans think it was an imposition by men to keep women hidden. But it was an invention by women—for their own benefit. I sometimes wear it as the men in this land still haven’t learned how to look at women. How much can I hide behind the net in the hat?”

A valuable addition to the rich corpus of travel writing in Bangla Literature, the book remained unknown to the world outside Bengal despite its excellence as there were no translations. In 2015, Afroz had translated and published this book as In a Land Far from Home: A Bengali in Afghanistan. It was subsequently shortlisted for the Crossword Book Award. That translations can provide a bridge across cultures is eminently clear from this work, which gives us a tantalising glimpse of a culture beyond our own and encourages us, the readers, to recognise that true love transcends borders or boundaries and that the language of true love is the same everywhere.

The novel’s title, Shabnam, is a natural choice, as the intelligent, courageous and beautiful Shabnam is the emotional centre of the novel. To describe her ineffable charm, we could draw upon Mujtaba’s teacher’s words, in Gitanjali (Song Offerings by Tagore):

She who ever had remained in the 
depth of my being, in the twilight of 
gleams and of glimpses…

 …  Words have wooed yet failed to win 
her; persuasion has stretched to her its 
eager arms in vain.

Song 66, Gitanjali by Tagore

Majnun, the narrator lover is left, in Tagore’s words: “gazing on the faraway gloom of the sky, and my heart wanders wailing with the restless wind.” Romance by its very nature, is fleeting and  transient and romantic love in its literary avatars/depictions acquires a bitter-sweetness when its founded on loss and longing. So it is with Shabnam.

.

Dr Meenakshi Malhotra is an Associate Professor of English Literature at Hansraj College, University of Delhi, and has been involved in teaching and curriculum development in several universities. She has edited two books on Women and Lifewriting, Representing the Self and Claiming the I, in addition  to numerous published articles on gender, literature and feminist theory.  Her most recent publication is The Gendered Body: Negotiation, Resistance, Struggle.

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Amazon International

Categories
Poetry of Jibananda Das

‘All My Songs Will Still Only be for You’

Tumi to Janona Kichu (You seem to know nothing) from Jibananda Das’s poetry collection, Ruposhi Bangla (1934), has been translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam.

From Public Domain
You seem to know nothing, and it won’t matter if you don’t—
All my songs will still only be for you.
When Hemonto’s* early winter storms have gone away
Will you shed and lie down on my bosom
Like fallen leaves on a pathway?
Will your mind be content 
To be overtaken by sleep?
Will the sharpness you display now
Loose its edge by that dawn?
Did you really want only the dew
That gathered on my bosom that night?
Will only its taste
Satiate you?
Though I’ll shed, with all my life
I’ll cling to you as long as I am alive
All my songs will still only be for you!  

*Autumn

Jibananada Das (1899-1954) was a Bengali writer, who now is named as one of the greats. In his lifetime, he wrote beautiful poetry, novels, essays and more. He believed: “Poetry and life are two different outpouring of the same thing; life as we usually conceive it contains what we normally accept as reality, but the spectacle of this incoherent and disorderly life can satisfy neither the poet’s talent nor the reader’s imagination … poetry does not contain a complete reconstruction of what we call reality; we have entered a new world.”

.

Fakrul Alam is an academic, translator and writer from Bangladesh. He has translated works of Jibanananda Das and Rabindranath Tagore into English and is the recipient of Bangla Academy Literary Award (2012) for translation and SAARC Literary Award (2012).

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Amazon International

Categories
Stories

Vasiliki and Nico Go Fishing

By Paul Mirabile

From Public Domain

It was Easter holiday. Nico had ten days off from school. His grandfather, Vasiliki, had promised his grandson to take him out on a fishing expedition for a few days on the island of Pontikos to the south-east of Hydra. It was a tiny island hardly inhabited by man where wildlife roamed freely. Vasiliki had been there several times with his father. They always stayed in a cave which lay hidden in a small creek, unknown to all, save of course, themselves …

So one April morning, the sky more or less clear and the sea calm, Vasiliki weighed anchor and they set out in his motorised sailing dinghy. Making sure the motor was not in gear he pulled the pull-starter to ignite it. An instant later he choked it.

“Why did you choke the motor, grandpa?” Nico enquired, eating sardines with a slab of goat cheese and bread.

“Have to warm her up a bit, my boy. The fuel needs a few seconds to fill her.” Vasiliki again tugged at the pull-starter and away they glided, humming slowly away from the make-shift pier, Nico now hauling in the tie-ropes. Vasiliki took firm hold of the throttle, steering the boat out of the coastal waters.

“Shouldn’t we hoist the jibe, grandpa?”

“Not today. There isn’t much wind and Pontikos is far off. Thanks to my new motor, we’ll get there quicker … Tonight we’ll be eating shrimp,” he shouted over the pleasant humming of his new motor. “ And tomorrow morning we’ll fish for sea bream. Prawns and shrimp rise to the surface of the water at night and sea bream during the day.”

“Why is that, grandpa?” Nico sat sleepily on coils of rope at the bow wiping off the pieces of bread that had fallen on his anorak. He enjoyed the smell of the sea, that briny, seaweed smell. The air had a sweet taste to it that he could not identify, perhaps oleander or fuchsia.

His grandfather scratched his silvery beard: “I really don’t know why. Fish are like us humans. They have different reactions to different circumstances.” Nico, although not quite satisfied with this response had not the heart to pursue the subject.

“The sky was red last night,” continued Vasiliki, gently manoeuvring the throttle, steering the sail-less dinghy further out away from the dangerous rocky shores of Hydra. “You know what they say: ‘Red at night, sailor take delight; red in the morning, sailor take warning.’ No storm will be on us this morning.”

“Why do they say that, grandpa?” asked the inquisitive Nico.

Vasiliki observed the clouds moving in behind Hydra: “I really don’t know, Nico. It’s just one of rhymes that fishermen and sailors have repeated for centuries.” Vasiliki sniffed the air: “The weather will be clear only for us up till tonight, Nico. Who knows, we just may see a rainbow.”

“Only for us, grandpa?”

Vasiliki smiled: “Well, we’re the only ones out on the sea this morning, right?”

Nico nodded. Indeed their vessel was the only one seen on the whole wide horizon. The boy looked up — white puffy clouds plodded across the blue like camels over desert sands.

The motor raced them out into an Aegean smooth as silk. Gentle wavelets slapped the sides of the dinghy. The plodding caravan continued it’s heavenly voyage, the sun peeping over and to the sides of their creamy white humps. Nico gasped, he was witnessing an amazing spectacle of Creation! The early morning breeze stung his cheeks a crimson red. It was his first time out on a fishing expedition with his grandfather. How excited he was. He shot a glance behind him: a few dark clouds rose above the bleak cliffs of Hydra.

“The northern winds, grandpa,” he informed the steering Vasiliki, his voice a bit shaky. “They’ll be on us.”

“No bother, my boy, we’re out-racing them thanks to our new motor. That’s why I didn’t hoist the jibe, you see. Don’t forget : ‘red at night is sailor’s delight !’ Anyway, we’ll be at Pontikos in a few hours, long before those nasty black clouds chase or swallow those lovely white puffy ones.”

“Like the sea monsters that swallow boats and their crew, grandpa?”

Vasiliki offered no reply.

Three hours later, Vasiliki slackened speed by gradually easing up on the motor until he pressed the choke button on the throttle. He then took up the oars and began rowing strenuously, the muscles of his arms and shoulders contracting to the rhythmic movements of the current.

“Why have you cut the motor, grandpa?”

“Cause we’re entering the creek where our cave is. We have to be very careful to avoid snags. The strong current will also help us through the creek and push us right to the mouth of the cave. I know these waters well, my boy. You see, I’m not even rowing, it’s the current that’s doing all the work. Just look at this creek, Nico. It’s magic to the eye.”

Vasiliki gazed dreamily at their surroundings. He had indeed pulled up the oars and now let the current eddy them through sprays of seaweed toward the sandy beachhead. With the rising mist, the towering cliffs of Pontikos loomed eerily before them, encircling the indented crescent creek, although paths could be discerned on the pebbly strand, widening and snaking amidst the huge fissures and cavities of the cliffs. Tiny maritime parasols clung precariously off the jagged crags. The ruddy colours of the late afternoon bathed the whole scene in a marvellous fairy-tale aura. Nico sat mesmerised before the slightly rolling reflexions of the craggy palisades in the turquoise waters of the creek, over which his grandfather was now rowing prudently to avoid any collisions with the flat rocks that surged up here and there on the foamy wavelets. He envisioned himself on a page of A Thousand and One Nights, or on one in Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island which he had just finished reading …

“There she is, Nico … the mouth of our cave. That’ll be our home for a few days.”

Suddenly Nico cried out: “Grandpa! Look, a seal on the rock, I heard her cry … There she is!”

Nico stood up at the bow to get a better look. “It’s a fat seal with tiny white eyes.” The seal squealed in delight and dived into the cool, clear waters. “What a beautiful seal, grandpa!” added an overjoyed Nico.

“She sure is, Nico. Now let’s do the same. We have to jump into the water to haul the boat on to the beachhead. Take off your sandals and roll up your trousers.”

“I’d love to dive like that fat seal,” Nico called out as he hauled away. “I’d be able to catch so many prawns and sea breams and …”

“Get a hold of the rope and tie it to a few of the trailing vines that criss-cross the beach,” broke in Vasiliki, rubbing his calloused hands. Then he dropped anchor. “Get our bags out of the dinghy, but leave the fishing gear inside.”

Nico gathered up their bed-rolls, firewood and spittle, carrying them into the cave. Meanwhile his grandfather busily cleared and smoothed the floor of the cave to make it comfortable to lie on and build a fire. “I hope she comes up again,” Nico said, listening to his echo.

“Who?” 

“The seal, grandpa.”

“She’ll come up. My father and I always saw her come up and dive back down.”

“Can seals live that long?” Vasiliki glanced at his curious grandson.

“Well, I’m not sure she’s the same one. It may be her baby.” After that rather enigmatic reply, Vasiliki vanished into the deepest shades of the cave in search of prawns caught in the many shallow pools of water. Nico sat on the strand watching their boat dance suavely upon the wavelets that lapped the shore like ripples of laughter. The sun was setting over Hydra. The seagulls were laughing and the cormorants crying, both now on the wing, rising from the darkening waters, lifting their wet wings, flapping them madly. Suddenly the seal jumped up again on to the flat rock with a joyous squeal. The foamy waves brushed against the flat rock, soundlessly. She dived back into them. A call from the cave! Vasiliki had netted dozens of small prawns and was now scooping them out of the pools.

“Nico, get the big pot from the boat. We’ll be having boiled prawns with goat cheese, olives and bread tonight.” Vasiliki appeared stirred by the idea.

No sooner said than done! Whilst Nico searched for the big pot, Vasiliki dug a small hole, filled it with dry wood bits and made a fire. They used bottled water to boil and drink since no drinking water was found on Pontikos. 

Nico and his grandfather ate a hearty meal that first night. Tired from their voyage, they spread out their bed-rolls and lay down in the silence of the dim, fire-lit cave. Nico used his anorak for a pillow. He observed the last plumes of smoke rising to the rocky ceiling where there, they fanned out, the wisps tracing weird configurations: shapes of birds perched upon gigantic cliffs, deep-sea fish and reptilic creatures all moving slowly … very slowly. Nico rubbed his exhausted eyes, the phantasmagoria gradually vanished into the black rock. The fire lowered, then died out …

Streams of orange rays broke into their dreamless sleep. Vasiliki awoke first: “Nico, go out and find some brush and underwood for our fire. Be careful on the paths between the boulders, there may be scorpions or snakes.”

Nico rolled out of his bed-roll, splashed his face with a bit of briny-scented seawater, then throwing a sack over his shoulder which he retrieved from the dinghy, set out in search of firewood. The agile boy had not been at it for long when he stopped dead in his tracks. On the strand lay a seagull shaking her orange legs, pecked at the reddening morning sky with her horny beak. He approached the bird carefully. She opened her eyes as if pleading for help. Vasiliki soon joined his grandson.

“What’s wrong with the bird?”

“She’s dying, grandpa.” Nico lamented. “Look, she can’t fly when she spreads her wings.” Vasiliki shook his head sadly and turned to leave.

“We got to get to the boat, my boy, the fishing will be good today.”

Nico cradled the seagull’s head in his hands then poured some seawater onto her beak. She shook her head violently, closed her eyes and lay still. The boy dug a hole in the warming sands, placed the dead bird gently in it then covered her with sand and pebbles. He erected a little mound on the burial spot. The gloom-filled boy retraced his steps to join his grandfather at the boat, his bag full of wood bits and dry brush.

“What’s wrong, Nico?” asked Vasiliki as they pushed the dinghy into the still waters.

“The seagull’s dead, grandpa. I buried her.”

Vasiliki eyes shone with warmth. “Seagulls die, my boy,” he mulled, waist deep in the creek. “Like us, we die too.”

Vasiliki took up the oars and rowed out towards the open sea. Pulling them in, he let the dinghy float gently on her own whilst he prepared the fishing lines.

“We’re not too far out, grandpa?” observed Nico, fixing his line with a plummet and baiting his hook with worms and not with pieces of fish as the fishermen of Hydra would always do much to the dislike of his grandfather.

“No … Have to keep that coastline in sight,” reminded Vasiliki. “These waters can change in a blink of an eye.”

Nico fixed his line and sent it spinning through the rod out into the choppy waters. He sat on the coil of ropes sniffing the pleasant morning breeze. The air smelt of flowers. He scanned the watery horizon where he felt overwhelmed by a strange sensation of encountering a primordial world when primitive men hunted, fished, built fires in caves … sang dirges to the dead. Would he chant a dirge for the dead seagull that night in the warmth of their cave fire?

Hours passed. Both stared dreamily into the sea as they held their rods steady, a sea so creamy, so milk-like. Now and then a slight turbulence, perhaps a whirlpool, tossed the dinghy from side to side.

“Do you see any mackerel?” Vasiliki asked, peering over the surface of the sea.

“I’m not sure if they’re mackerel or scad fish, grandpa,” answered the boy, tugging lightly at his rod.

“Well, the mackerel chase the scad, so you know that the mackerel are behind them.”

Nico nodded.

“Tell me about the seagull, Nico.”

Nico peered at this grandfather’s aging face, leathery from the wind and sun, at his deep, gimlet set eyes. “Which one, grandpa? The one I just buried or Dimitri’s?”

“Dimitri’s?” 

“Yes, remember Dimitri, he was one of my classmates … He had a seagull for a pet.”

“A seagull for a pet? That’s strange. Tell me about her.”

“She was a different kind of seagull. A domesticated seagull. She would fly up on to a rock whenever Dimitri and his father were out fishing. From that rock, she would observe them with her beady eyes. Then she would dive straight down to the boat but she never perched on Dimitri’s father’s side of it, only on Dimitri’s side. His father was a grouchy old man and the seagull never cared for him. Dimitri would throw her fishbones, picarels and other bait. His father would get angry, saying that bait was for fishing and not for that blasted bird ! Dimitri never listened to his father. He would just wave a hand and keep feeding his companion. They were an inseparable pair, you know. When Dimitri died of the flu the seagull flew off and was never seen again … »

“Where did she fly off to?” enquired Vasiliki, intrigued by this tale.

“Perhaps she flew to China, grandpa … Like the Nefeli[1] …”

“To China?” Vasiliki eyed his grandson thoughtfully.

“Yes, grandpa. Or to somewhere unknown, or at least not known to us.” Vasiliki bowed his head. They shook their rods : nothing yet …

The sun was high in the sky now. It warmed their bones and skin. Nico threw off his anorak. How beautifully the sunbeams bounced off the blue waters. They shimmered like the scales of a fish just caught on the line. From time to time, the gulls and the cormorants that glid over their heads swooped down and skimmed the surface of the white foam in search of scud or other schools of fish that were presently leaping at the surface. The birds certainly had more luck than our two fishermen. Plunging downwards, fluttering their huge wings, their graceful dives and surges hypnotised Nico. Meanwhile in the fathoms of the deep, millions of sea-creatures pursued millions others. The microscopic fish were swallowed up by the bigger fish, and in turn were swallowed up by even bigger fish! The whole lot of them were then completely disappeared in one enormous suction into the hollow vortex of the great whale. A great battle indeed was underway both in the inflamed sky and in the broiling sea. Nico felt enfolded in this chaotic struggle for life. Would he, too, be swallowed up along with his grandfather?

Nico shot a questioning glance at Vasiliki who suddenly broke the silence with cries of joy: “Ah ! Nico, here … a fish … two or three fishes!” Vasiliki, all agog, triumphantly displayed three flapping fish in his straw-weaved basket, their gills quivering silver in the intense sunlight. Nico, too, quite unexpectedly got lucky. Not only had he reeled in a mackerel, but also a big, white fleshy sea bream. He had at first lost his plummet, no doubt badly tied. But when Vasiliki showed him how to fix it properly the fish came to him as if the bait were a magnet.

“We’ll be having a hot-pot tonight, my boy,” rejoiced Vasiliki. “We’ll cook some vegetables with our catch. What do you think?”

Nico smiled. He thought it an excellent idea …That night when they had cleaned the fish, Vasiliki boiled them with an assortment of vegetables brought over from Hydra, especially egg-plant, red-pepper and tomato.

“How was the meal, Nico?” asked his grandfather when they had finished eating.

Nico, who had been listening to the moaning wind, turned to him: “Delicious, grandpa. But you know, I thought of the dead seagull all day when fishing. She should have been diving and catching fish with the others.” He paused a moment. “Grandpa, what did you think of my story?”

“What story?”

“About Dimitri’s pet seagull.”

“A good story, my boy. A beautiful story. A very beautiful one.” Vasiliki puckered his lips. “Why do you keep thinking about the seagull you buried ? Do you want to give her a name, like your boat that sailed to China?” Nico stared at his grandfather rather perplexed.

“No grandpa, I have no name for her. She’s gone far away … like the Nefeli … to another land …”

“We’ll build another boat together,” Vasiliki promised. “A bigger boat. The biggest of them all. But the seagull,” he hesitated. “The seagull has flown off to a land where we can never see her again. I’m sure it’s a beautiful land, like where the Nefeli is now on her way.”

“Wouldn’t you like to see that land, grandpa?”

“Well … not right now, my boy. Right now I’d like to close my eyes and sleep. Tomorrow we’ll be on the sea the whole day again. They’re biting out there.”

And that is exactly what the old man did …

The last embers of their fire cast undulating shadows on the walls of the cave. Vasiliki was sound alseep, snoring lightly. Nico strolled to the beachhead. The moon had risen, girt by a rosy halo. Darkened seagulls glided in and out of the misty moonbeams. They danced an eerie dance. Nico perceived Hydra’s beacon far, far off at the south-west tip of the island. A steamer passed over the sleepy waters heading for Hydra, her lights burning bright against the umber orb of the horizon. Nico thought of the Nefeli on her long voyage to China. Slicing unmanned, captainless over unchartered seas, like Dimitri’s pet seagull on the wing, perhaps she too flying towards unknown lands now that her master had long since departed. The seagull he had buried could also be flying off to some mysterious place, a paradise for seagulls where she could fly and fly and fly without a thought of ever diving for fish or of escaping the hunter’s gun. A peaceful place…

Nico’s grandfather told him that tomorrow night they would be eating mussels with lemon juice; a real regale his grandfather had beamed. With bread and olives, too. Olives always go so well with mussels, he said. Nico smiled. Why they always go so well together his grandfather never offered a reason. But Nico believed him. Nico believed everything that his grandpa told him, even about the monsters of the sea that swallow boats and their crews. Perhaps the Nefeli had been swallowed up by one of those monsters.

Nico stared at the shadowy moon. A slight wind began to groan. The dinghy tossed gently, the scraping of the pebbly strand under her bow prompted a rather strange rhythm like a saw sawing wood.

Nico strolled back into the dark cave. The fire had gone completely out. Nothing could be seen, only heard: his grandfather’s snoring, the seagulls screaming, the wavelets lapping, the dinghy scraping … He loved his grandfather. Yes, they would build a great, majestic boat, sturdier than the Nefeli — an unsinkable boat, one that would voyage all around the world like Magellan’s galleon. He would name the boat Mytho … Yes, that would be a fitting name for such a beautiful boat.

Nico stared at his unseen snoring grandfather. He would have liked to ask him why olives and mussels go so well together. And his grandfather would have probably answered: “Well my boy, it’s just a feeling I can’t really explain. But believe me, they do go well together.”

And Nico would have believed him. Would have accepted that answer as a perfectly acceptable answer …

Nico slipped into his bed-roll and immediately into a deep, deep sleep. He dreamed of seagulls on the wing, boats navigating on the high seas, underwater monsters with long, leathery tentacles chased by the great whale and caves full of gold and diamonds and other precious stones whose names Nico had not as yet learned but would surely ask his grandfather their names when he awoke.

[1] Read the story by clicking on this link.

.

Paul Mirabile is a retired professor of philology now living in France. He has published mostly academic works centred on philology, history, pedagogy and religion. He has also published stories of his travels throughout Asia, where he spent thirty years.

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International

Categories
Poetry

Good Bloke that Tim, Or Maybe it was Jim…

By Stuart McFarlane

     WORK

It's strange; about work--
You work for a number of years.
Your employers are impressed
by your substantial experience.
'You're just what we're looking for.
An asset to the company.
Welcome on board!'

So you work a few more years
and all that experience just
keeps accumulating…
Till one day they call you in,
say how sorry they are
to let you go;
how, now, despite all your
years of experience,
you're just too old for the job!


        VICTIM

They found him dead upon the ground
outside the tube at Camden Town.
At first they thought he was dead drunk,
another victim that succumbed --
not dead drunk, though, but only dead
(drank a lot as well, they said).
Strangers filed past, on their way home.

He lay there as he'd lived, alone.
Some winos around said they knew him;
name was Tim, or maybe it was Jim.
Seems he'd once had a big job in the city,
but he lost it, took to drink; such a pity.
The ambulance rolled up in the cutting light,
the body was then whisked away into the night.
The winos said they were glad to know him.
'Good bloke, that Tim. Or maybe it was Jim'.
Death at the Helm (1944) by Edvard Munch (1863-1944). From Public Domain

Stuart McFarlane is now semi-retired. He taught English for many years to asylum seekers in London. He has had poems published in a few online journals.                                                                                                                    

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International

Categories
Poetry

Mithilesh Barber by Shamik Banerjee

MITHILESH BARBER 

An entertainer brandishing a pair
of scissors, spinning it around his thumb.
With just a touch, his calloused fingers numb
my scalp of every job-imposed despair.
No chanteuse nor musician has this flair
of slow-injecting rest in me; no pill
can ease my beaten ligaments or still
the deafening cymbals in the brain. The hair
above my ears is snipped to perfect arcs—
a skilled geometrician! Through a list
of Rafi's hits, he dulls the great barrage
of outside noise—complaining horns, loud barks—
then, with a smile, enquires, "A head massage?"
and puts me in a trance I can't resist.

Shamik Banerjee resides in Assam with his parents. Some of his recent works will appear in York Literary Review, Willow Review, Thimble Lit and Modern Reformation — to name a few.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International

Categories
Musings

Just Another Day?

By Farouk Gulsara

Photo Courtesy: Farouk Gulsara

The Sun rears its orangey hue over the horizon. Yet another new day dawns. The Sun does not know it is starting a new horizon. It performs its preordained duty, firing nuclear fusion reactions on its surface. It is the round Earth that revolves around the Sun. The Earth does not know a new day has begun. It just revolves counterclockwise on its axis. It has multiple new dawns at its manufactured latitudes. It neither knows where it started nor its point of reference. A series of celestial accidents brought it to be with its speed and its faithful lunar companion.

The day does not know it is a new day. Wednesday does not know it is Wednesday. It is merely an agreed arrangement for convenience. There is nothing specific about Wednesday or, for that matter, any day. It can rain, shine, snow, or be a non-discrete day. Good or bad things can happen, just like any other day. It is daylight, and night befalls before another day.

Earthlings have been miscalculating their calendars anyway. In 1582, Pope Gregory XIII replaced the Julian calendar with the Gregorian calendar. They realised they had miscalculated the solar cycle and had to remove ten days from the Julian calendars to be in sync with a complete revolution. It took the world three centuries to agree on a single calendar. Imagine the ensuing pandemonium. Sweden had to add two leap days to correct their miscalculations. Imagine finding headstones bearing dates like February 30 or 31 as death dates! So, going back, today’s Wednesday could have been a Saturday in the old Julian calendar.

Different cultures view the beginning of the calendar year at various times, depending on whether they follow a solar, lunar, or lunisolar calculation. The Chinese, who follow a lunar system, celebrate theirs in late January or early February, allowing for leap years. The Persians start theirs, Nowruz, on the summer solstice. The Indians and their Southeast Asian counterparts usher it in April with a water festival, prayers and much merriment. Not to forget the Cambodian despotic leader who established Year 0 on 17th April 1975 to whitewash their glorious past, much like the French Year Zero of the 1789 Bastille Day.

In essence, it is just another day. Just as Paul McCartney described in his song, ‘Another Day‘, one merely slips into shoes on the first day of the calendar and follows the same old routine. That is sad. So, to break the monotony, we attach importance to these days. We start a new ledger or a new school term in some countries. In Malaysia, our school term used to begin on the first Monday of January until COVID-19 befuddled everything. The Education Ministry had to close the schools and postpone examinations. The public examinations used to be done at the end of the year those days. Now, nobody knows when the term begins and when the examinations are written.

Many seize the opportunity to use the new year as leverage to get their lives in order. In the post-inebriation hangover following Christmas and New Year’s Eve, one would vow to become a teetotaller. The resurgence of gym memberships can be observed again. The days into the New Year would see new, eager, wannabe Jane Fondas, who would be MIA by mid-January, often seen arguing at the front desk for a refund.

Life is a continuum; it is not compartmentalised. Though it is good to use the birth of a new year as a fulcrum to springboard oneself to greater heights, any day is a good day to start. All it requires is determination and focus. However, it is easier said than done, and the motivational push varies from person to person. Elements that break the will and opinionated naysayers are aplenty.

Anyway, life will be boring if there are no days to look forward to— no birthdays to shower love, no Christmas to bond, no Harvest Festivals to show gratitude to the forces of Nature, and no New Year’s to make new resolutions for the umpteenth time and break them once again. This makes the world go on. There is always something to look forward to.

Photo Courtesy: Farouk Gulsara

Farouk Gulsara is a daytime healer and a writer by night. After developing his left side of his brain almost half his lifetime, this johnny-come-lately decided to stimulate the non-dominant part of his remaining half. An author of two non-fiction books, Inside the twisted mind of Rifle Range Boy and Real Lessons from Reel Life, he writes regularly in his blog, Rifle Range Boy.

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International

Categories
Poetry

Changes by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

From Public Domain 
CHANGES

Everyone was at each other's throats,
insistent that the world was ending.
But I felt differently, as though I were just beginning,
or just beginning again: wine and music,
that great belly of laughter -- an undefeated joy!
The inward turn, some said. And perhaps it was.
Affecting what could be affected, incremental changes.
Away from outside noises,
those petty monsters of division
that could no longer reach me
like they used to.

Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and many bears that rifle through his garbage.  His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly, Borderless Journal, GloMag, Red Fez, and Lothlorien Poetry Journal. 

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International