Categories
Ghumi Stories

Grandpa & the Rickshaw

By Nabanita Sengupta

Rickshaw

For Raya, the bustling bazaar of Ghumi, just outside the factory gate, held a special significance. It was commonly known as the gate bazaar or the 5pm bazaar and had simply come into existence out of a mutual necessity of two sections of people. The largest number of factory goers completed their daily grind in the factory at 5pm. It was convenient for them to fill their bags with fresh vegetables and other daily requirements on their way home. For the local vendors too, 5pm meant business. It assured them of a daily income however meagre that might be. This symbiotic dependence made this bazaar a thriving commercial area. But it was not all just commerce.

The bazaar was a complex mesh of stories. It was a catalyst which could convert a single innocuous sentence coming in contact with several human ears, into one long juicy tale. It was also the place where people exchanged news about each other, asked after friends and fellow beings. For Raya, the bazaar seemed to be full of chatter. She loved the medley of words that wrapped the place in a separate identity of its own. And the variety of languages was enormous. It became a game for her to count the number of languages she could discern during each of her visits with her father. She loved the different cadences of the medley, making a mental note of their pitch, speed and rhythm. No, she did not do all these consciously. A school going child then, she did not even understand much. It was a sort of habit with her, an inheritance of multilingual Ghumi. Much later, when she developed a conscious interest in the variety of bhashas in India, she understood the import of her childhood activities.

Even in bazaar it was Kaali the fishmonger who drew her interest the most. Each time she accompanied her father to the market, she did not miss a chance to listen to Kaali’s stories. Kaali had a trunkful of tales and was more than eager to narrate them. While most of her customers did not have much time to spare, Raya loved listening to those. Her father too found it convenient to finish his shopping from other nearby sellers while Raya stood in rapt attention, listening to Kaali. He knew that his daughter would be safe, with the fishmonger keeping an eye on her while entertaining her with anecdotes. Kaali was an ace in multi-tasking, much before the term was in vogue. Whenever Raya was there, Kaali would keep talking to her, keep an eye on her as well as measure, descale, cut and sell fish to her buyers. Her deft hands never stopped for a moment. Her stout appearance and sharp tongue made her a formidable figure. One of the legends about her was that once she had made a local goonda do sit ups in the crowded market for habitually bullying the vendors. Chances are that the story is apocryphal, nevertheless such anecdotes added an aura of strength to her personality. Today too, Raya stood in anticipation while her father continued shopping. In fact there was more than usual to shop, the festival of Holi being just a couple of days later. The market was more vibrant than on other days, with mounds of colours of various sizes and attractive water guns dominating the scene. 

Raya’s favourite stories were about her grandfather, her dadu. Though she was barely four years when her dadu left them forever, she had vague remembrances of the old man. Kaali’s stories added to her mental picture of him. Kaali always narrated the same story in the same way each time Raya requested her to do so and always referred to the departed old man as grandfather or grandpa. Kaali had known her grandfather as a young man and had fond memories. She knew him to be a practical man with a no-nonsense attitude. Today Kaali promised to tell Raya one such story that also revolved around the time of Holi but was of a different kind.

Kaali’s story

As you know, I had met your grandfather here in the bazaar only. An avid fish lover, he used to be one of my regular customers. I was the first fish seller to set up shop here so all the Bangali baboos of Ghumi used to know me. Since your grandfather worked on a contract with this factory specialising in construction jobs, he had to go to the neighbouring big town to procure raw materials for his job. Those were the days when telephones were still restricted to offices or the homes of the affluent. Ghumi did not have access to telephones at that time. So, your grandfather had to go into town to place the order, make the payment and then return. The goods would be delivered later by a truck. 

While returning from one such trip, he missed the bus that he was supposed to catch. It was almost dusk. The nearest bus stop, from which he could get another bus was a few kilometres away. He had only half an hour to reach there to be in time for the last bus. The place did not have any decent hotels too, so spending the night there was not an option. Also, he had made plans with his friends for Holi the next day and he didn’t want to miss that under any event. 

He was in one of those areas which generally wore a deserted look by the evening and the commerce of daylight gave way to illegal activities by sunset. The sooner your grandfather left that place the better it would be. He was tired too. Also, since it was the evening before Holi, celebrations had started. As a result, there were no rickshaws in sight to take him to the next bus stop. Your grandpa was getting agitated. He was also carrying some important documents which he had to deliver to one of the officers in the factory. The documents were crucial for his business. He was acting as a go between for the factory and his suppliers to seal an agreement that would be beneficial to him too. But more important than the commercial benefit was the trust that both these organisations had vested upon him and the onus of living up to that trust worried him more. 

Suddenly, he spotted a rickshaw coming his way. He was relieved and immediately stopped it. While negotiating the fare your grandfather realised that the person was not too well. But desperate about to catch the last bus, he did not want to miss the opportunity. So he hopped on to the rickshaw and asked the rickshaw puller to move as fast as he could. He did not have much time to lose. However, the rickshaw puller was in not a state to do his bidding. His emaciated body heaved with exhaustion and he even kept on missing the paddle. After watching him for a few minutes grandfather felt guilty. Yet his desperation to reach home safely did not allow him to let go of his only mode of transport. Never had he been a man with the need to maintain appearances and habituated to taking quick decisions, he did not hesitate in coming to a resolution.

Without thinking any further he asked the rickshaw puller to exchange places with him. The man was flabbergasted at such a request. Then grandfather explained patiently, “You are unwell. It is not good to exert yourself anymore. I can make that out by looking at you. At any other time I would have given you money and let you go but I cannot do so now as I must reach the bus stand immediately and there is no other means to do so. There are certain pressing matters that cannot be delayed.”

After much cajoling and sermonising and ensuring he would get a full fare on reaching destination, the rickshaw puller agreed. He had never met with such an unusual request and hence it was difficult for him to comply immediately. They exchanged places and grandpa focussed his complete attention on the road. He too was very tired after an extremely hectic day and could pull the vehicle only due to his sheer strength of mind. To a person unused to this task, it was not a very easy matter, especially because this part of the Chhotanagpur plateau had quite a number of ups and downs along the way. He could feel the strain in his thigh muscles and even had difficulty in breathing. After paddling for about fifteen minutes they reached the stop just in time for the bus.

That’s when I saw him. I had gone to the town to buy some new baskets for my fishes and was enjoying a glass of tea before the bus started moving. I had already found a seat for myself in the bus and had reserved it by keeping my baskets on it. Suddenly my attention was drawn to the lone rickshaw coming towards the stand and the very familiar figure of its puller. I could not believe my eyes and hence, kept looking closely.

As soon as they reached the stand and I was sure of the rickshaw puller’s identity, I rushed towards him. I was bursting with curiosity but looking at the condition of both the men I reserved my questions for some other time. Your grandfather handed me his precious briefcase which he had tied to his back with the rickshaw puller’s gamcha to ensure its safety. He was barely in a state to talk so I took the bag from him, waited till he paid the original rickshaw puller his fare and helped him board the bus. Tired from the exertion, he slumped on the seat and went into a deep sleep. I guarded his belongings, bought his ticket when the conductor came and woke him up only after reaching Ghumi. The briefcase that he had been guarding with such zeal was left to my care. Of course, it was only the next day when he came to return the bus fare to me that I got to know the whole story. The next day being Holi, he also brought me some sweets and a packet of colours. From that day he bought fish from no other fishmonger, even if they brought his favourite hilsa. He said that I have helped him in his most difficult time so he could never repay my debt. I have never met a person of greater integrity. 

Raya could visualise the entire episode and another new aspect of her dadu was revealed to her. Suddenly the red, the yellow and the green colours that the vendors were selling, became colours of courage, honesty and integrity and she felt proud of her dadu and Kaali both. 

Glossary

Bhashas – Language

Gamcha – A cotton towel

Nabanita Sengupta is an Assistant Professor of English by profession and creative writer by passion. Translation remains one of her chief areas of work and interest. Her works can be read in various journals, anthologies and e-zines.

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Categories
Poetry

Poems from the East

By Sekhar Banerjee

Lataguri East Cabin, south of Nepal


Did I ever tell her– Moon always looks good 
where rail tracks intersect and depart near the woods?

She never found a moon over the rail tracks south of Nepal;
for that you need to have a railway cabin near the woods –
a crossing, and rail tracks that are resolute 
yet unmindful
Because all rail tracks are cartographers 
on vacation, like us 
Rail tracks have established their claim, as if, to be set up
near the woods and settlements
They know the shortest route 
to stations, home, the woods
and the location of an honest full moon

I should have also told her 
how it feels to be a forlorn railway track near home 
where only two trains pass to measure each other every autumn 
when the leaves of shimul trees float mid-air,
and descend slowly on railroads to feel the warmth 
of ballast and metal 

It is simple and cryptic, when tracks meet and change path
like baffled lovers; they depart –
changing towns, stations and homes but locked 
permanently in intersections 
near a full moon somewhere over Lataguri East Cabin, 
south of Nepal 


The Middle Path


You look at your own room – 
it is your last hypothesis on earth
The middle path
Your inertia of taking a side, left or right,
is the wisdom of a carpenter
who knows how the saw goes straight
like a judgment 
and it saves half of the continents, 
skin of an orange,
dolls from China, notebook from Bhutan, 
while giving you options 
to take a U-turn, to give up or to start
and proceed straight like a termite 
in a labyrinth inside a piece of driftwood
where there is no side like a Murakami book
on your table which, in the third chapter, deals with
cherry blossoms and music  

Your room is now almost Buddhist

Sekhar Banerjee is an author.  He has four poetry collections and a monograph on an Indo-Nepal border tribe to his credit. His works have been published in Indian Literature, The Bitter Oleander, Ink Sweat and Tears, Kitaab, Borderless Journal and elsewhere. He lives in Kolkata, India.

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Categories
Adventures of a Backpacking Granny

Inspiriting Siberia

Sybil Pretious takes us with her to Lake Baikal in Siberia

“Aerodynamically a bee should not be able to fly but the bee does not know this and it flies.”

There are, of course, down sides to being a backpacking granny. The most important one was that I missed out on getting to know my young grandchildren. But the truth of the matter was that my girls eventually lived in three different countries far apart so the result would have been the same. Fortunately, there were old fashioned phone calls, emails and Skype so I was not totally isolated when I left for my teaching post in Suzhou, China in 2006 and I tried to include them in my trips each year. But there was too little physical contact, and nothing can replace that as we have discovered during the pandemic. I hope I have given them courage to be fearless explorers and to fly when they didn’t know that they could.

So, the second half of my Russian adventure in 2007 emerged as I left the wondrously beautiful St Petersburg, one of my favourite cities. The Heritage will always remain, for me, the most brilliant art gallery I have ever been to, both the building and the art therein.

I was to travel via Moscow to Irkutsk in Siberia.

At a small Moscow airport, I had very little time to change flights and hit the ground running from the plane. I whipped off my backpack and threw it onto the conveyer belt and stood, ready to sprint out the door to the waiting plane.

A heavy-set Russian woman stood with hands on her hips.

“You hef knife in bag!”

“No, I don’t carry knives!”

With that she proceeded to empty my carefully arranged backpack.

No knife.

I grabbed everything, stuffed it back into the bag and was about to grab it and sprint after the disappearing queue for the plane when she put a restraining hand on mine and proceeded to put the backpack through the scanner once more. Meanwhile my nails were being chewed to shreds.

The bag came through and she pounced, thrusting her hand right down the front pocket that went under the base.

Triumphantly she brandished a small metal knife, fork and spoon set that my daughter had put in the backpack without informing me when she had given it to me as a present.

It is interesting to note that the backpack had travelled out of China, where I was living at the time, into and out of Canada; into and out of the UK; into and out of Germany without anyone stopping me. I was both impressed and irritated with Russian thoroughness.

As I would be in Irkutsk for a few days before boarding the Siberian Express bound for Vladivostok, I had booked a tour of The Taisy Open-Air Museum of Architecture and Ethnology and then on to Lake Baikal before catching the train.

 The best laid plans of mice and women…

Passing through my mind at that time was the fleeting thought that it would be good to have a companion to travel with and to discuss and share experiences after the trip. It was not a serious plan though.

The tour of the museum was a wonderful introduction to life in this generally frozen land – I went in August, their summertime.

  • House with grass roof
  • Wooden Churches and music played just for me
Photographs taken at The Taisy Museum

Then on to Lake Baikal. This ethereal lake is the biggest in the world, holding 22% of the world’s fresh water and more water than all the great lakes together. It is a mile deep and has 330 rivers running into it and only one exiting it, the Angarra. The nerpa is the only fresh-water seal in existence. It is the oldest, deepest and clearest lake in the world, and it held me in its thrall instantly. The water is so clear that it is easy to see down to a depth of 39m on a clear day.

Nerpas on Lake Baikal. Courtesy: Creative Commons

 All fascinating facts but actually being at the lake is an uplifting experience. I was entranced and wished I could have stayed longer.

On a high, I arrived back in Irkutsk. People in Irkutsk are keen to tell you about their links with the rebel Decembrists and the history is recorded in The Historical and Memorial Museum. It is a wonderful human story of rebellion, strength of character and endurance in an inhospitable land and climate after they were banished to Siberia.

I did some shopping for the train journey. Standing in the supermarket a woman next to me held up a soup packet and flapped her arms like a chicken pointing to the packet. I laughed and told her I spoke English. She was using similar tactics to me to understand.

The Travel Agent delivered my ticket for the Siberian Express leaving the next day. I glanced at the departure time and knew I would have plenty of time to get to the station.

I therefore arrived at the station next day and couldn’t understand why everybody just shook their heads when I showed them the ticket to get directions to the train platform. Eventually I was shown up a very steep flight of stairs and went, sweating and dragging my suitcase with me.

I was hot and tearful as I showed the clerk my ticket. She stabbed the ticket with her finger and said,

 “Moscow time!”

Oh, no! I had forgotten that in Russia local trains run on local time, but long-distance trains run on Moscow time. I had missed the train!

She said I could book another train which I did and returned to my lodgings. I showed the ticket to the receptionist and she smiled and happened to say,

“Ah, you reach Vladivostoc on 25th August. Good.”

“What? My visa would have run out by then.”

There was nothing for it but to return to the station, up those stairs and cancel the trip. This I did and received a voucher to cash downstairs.

Downstairs was just the vast waiting room, no sign of an office to cash the voucher.

Enough! I just stood in the middle of the that terminal, tears flowing down my face and shouted,

“Does anyone here speak English?”

A young lady came to my rescue and I was directed outside the building to another building to reclaim the money.

This was obviously a conspiracy by the universe to keep me where I was, and I was not amused.

I booked into a room on Lake Baikal for the next three days. I had wished to return to the lake on my first visit so here I was, though I was unappreciative of the events that had brought me here.

Enjoying the beauty and tranquillity of the Lake I regained my elated feeling as I strolled  along the banks,  dipping my toes into the pristine water. I stopped to take a photo of an outlook building on the flower- strewn shore.

                                             

  • Flowers along Lake Baikal
  • A distictly Australian voice came from behind me

A distinctly Australian voice came from behind me.

“G’day, that looks loke a great photo.”

We chatted for a minute or so and then went on our opposite ways.

I wandered to Listvankia, a charming village on the shores of the Lake. I spent a lovely two hours in shops, admiring the quaint architecture, dressing up in the national costumes and buying my lunch of freshly caught fish which I ate as I sat on the shore.

                                                        

In Russian costume

 I wandered back, feeling relaxed and finally accepting the fact that I had missed the train. At the exact same spot where I had seen him before was the Australian man, strolling down the path, returning from his walk. The synchronicity was obvious and before long we had exchanged emails and promised to keep in touch.

The day before leaving I enjoyed a boat trip on the lake. The weather was overcast and rainy, so I was unable to take the glass-bottomed boat to admire life below the water, but it was special anyway.

                                                        

On Lake Baikal

The travel agent who issued my Siberian Express train ticket took no chances and was at the airport to make sure I left.

I flew into a small airport in Beijing (we could not use the main one because the Olympic Games were in progress), late at night and was due to leave at 5am next morning. My plan was just to sleep on one of the benches in the airport. It would have only been a few hours before my plane left for Shanghai at 5 in the morning.

Airport staff, seeing me through customs asked which hotel I was booked into.

I told them my plan.

Only one hostess spoke English. “You can’t sleep here. The airport is locked for the night because of the Games. We will find you a hotel.”

“But I don’t have money for a hotel.”

On hearing that she chatted away to her colleagues animatedly for several minutes.

I waited.

They looked at me despairingly.

Finally, resigned, she said, “You can come with us to our staff hotel.”

 I thought that she should have top marks for innovation. And thanked her profusely. I was transported with them in their Airport mini-van and directed in the lobby to a leather couch. Toilets were nearby.

I settled for the night and was almost asleep when I felt a presence looming over me.

It seemed that the guard had not been informed of my stay. He chatted away in Chinese, waving his arms towards the door and getting really bothered. I looked blank and held up my hands in despair. Eventually he gave up and said the words that all Chinese people had been taught before the Beijing games, “Welcome to China.”

And I went back to sleep. I was woken at 5am to be transported with the crew back to the airport to catch my plane. What wonderful, caring service I had had from everyone.

If you are wondering what happened about the Aussie and myself, well we corresponded for about 8 months before I invited him to come to China and to accompany me on a trip to Vietnam. Having done that, I panicked. What if he smoked? I couldn’t travel with anyone who smoked.

I emailed him.

“If you smoke, then the invitation is rescinded.”

He neither smoked nor drank.

It is interesting that I had had the thought passing through my mind about a travelling companion a well as a desire to return to Lake Baikal. Both had come to pass but not in quite the way I had expected.

Now when things don’t work out as I planned, or times seem difficult, I tend to shrug and think that there are plans afoot that I am not privy to but which I will understand on hind-sight. Easier said than done, though!

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Sybil Pretious writes mainly memoir pieces reflecting her varied life in many countries. Lessons in life are woven into her writing encouraging risk-taking and an appreciation of different cultures.

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Categories
Poetry

Memory

By Achingliu Kamei 

  

In a former life…

I was a bird soaring above the clouds,

My wings fresh and strong,

My feathers rippling in the breeze.

I was an orchid bringing glory to the tree,

A sea heart*-polished ebony, 

A weaver, a potter, a tiller, a storyteller.

I was a grey cloud, a gust of wind,

A medicine maker, a healer. 

I was a memory, an ember, a hearth,

The beginning, the story.

I was a bud, a flower,

A dormant volcano, a river current, the waves.

I was the smoke, the spark, the flame,

The bamboo that would not break.

When I was born, my bed was of soft petals,

My food the flower’s nectar,

Soft, fragile, flimsy, sweet,

Bloomed for a season. Like the fireflies,

Soon gone,

A speck of dirt blown away.

A butterfly that flitted briefly,

I gave wings and roots to the next unborn.

*The sea heart is a round brown smooth seed and has cultural significance for some of the Naga tribes who live in India. It is used as a core on which the weaving yarn is wound by the dexterous hands of womenfolk.The sea heart also lends itself as an equipment for the only traditional game the womenfolk were allowed to play in the past.

  • Sea Heart
  • Sea Heart
  • Sea Heart

Achingliu Kamei is a short story writer, poet, and an ultra-runner. Her work has appeared in international journals and anthologies. She is currently residing in Delhi, India, with her husband, two daughters, and Haru, the cat.

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Categories
Slices from Life

Pohela Boishakh: A Cultural Fiesta

Sohana Manzoor shares the Bengali New Year celebrations in Bangladesh on April 14th, pausing on the commonality and differences with Poila Baisakh, the Indian version of Pohela Boishakh celebrated in the Eastern part of India

Happy & Prosperous New Year or ‘Shubho Nabobarsho’ in Bengali script

“Shubho Nabobarsho” (happy and prosperous new year) is the traditional greeting for the Bengali new year. The upcoming April 14 will herald the beginning of the Bengali year 1428 in Bangladesh, but in the Indian states of West Bengal, Tripura, Odisha and parts of Assam it will be the 15th of April. In Bangladesh, Pohela Boishakh is one of the biggest occasions of celebration, next to perhaps the two Eids.

Whereas the celebrations of Pohela Boishakh is now a regular thing, its history is somewhat unclear. According to most historians, the Bengali year or Bangabda was introduced by the Mughal Emperor Akbar. In those days, agricultural taxes were collected according to the Hijri Calendar. But then the Hijri calendar is a lunar calendar and naturally, it did not coincide with the agricultural year. The tax collecting time was not a time when the peasants and farmers could pay the taxes. It only added to the confusion of the people who tilled the land in various capacities. To streamline the tax collection, Akbar ordered a reformation of the calendar. As a result, in 1584 Bangabda was born. But the year started from 963, the Hijri year it was modeled on. According to some historians, however, it was adopted by another Muslim ruler called Hussain Shah of Bengal. There is yet another group that alludes to Shashanka, a seventh-century King of Bengal, for inventing Bangabda. It is quite possible that it existed before Akbar’s time and the Mughal Emperor reinvented it with the help of his royal astronomer and other pundits of his court.

An interesting aspect of Bangabda is that the names of the months were different in those times. The story of how the months of Farwardin, Urdibahish and Khordad became Baishakh, Jyoshthyha and Ashar is lost to us. But we do know that just as he had helped in modernizing the Bengali language, Dr. Muhammad Shahidullah helped in modernizing the Bengali year. Partially accepting his reformative suggestions, the Bangla Academy saw that the first six months had thirty-one days each and the last six, thirty. Hence there is no further confusion about which day of the Gregorian calendar Pohela Boishakh coincides with. In Bangladesh, it is always 14 April. But in West Bengal and other parts of India, it can be either 14 or 15 of April.

When the Bengali new year was first introduced, the most important activities on the first day of the year involved halkhata, opening of a new book for zamindars who would treat their tenants with sweets. On the last day of the old year, there would be Chaitra Sankranti, a day celebrating the end of the year. Actually, in rural areas, this day was more colourful than Pohela Baishakh. Charak Puja, a Hindu festival honouring the god Shiva is central to this celebration. The actual puja used to take place on the midnight of Chaitra Sankranti, and it was a very special kind of ritual and not too many people even know about it anymore. The preparation would start a month ahead of the actual puja and a total of twelve devotees would take part in it. There would be different kinds of festivities through the day, and snacks like puffed rice, ground gram called chhatu,  dry sugary sweets like khoi, murki, batasha, kodma, and many varieties of leafy vegetables would be available. In today’s Bangladeshi scenario, Chaitra Sankranti has almost disappeared except in some distant villages. Only lately, some initiatives are being taken in Dhaka to reintroduce the fair, even though it looks like any other fair and very different from the original Chaitra Sankranti.

With urbanization, the more secular Pohela Boishakh became popular. However, some elements from Chaitra Sankranti have been integrated in Baishakhi celebration. For example, there are fairs that still showcase puffed rice, khoi, murki, batasha and kodma. There are products made by rural artisans. Performances on musical instruments like ektara, dotara and dhol by rural artists are show cased. Riding the nagardola (a mini and wooden version of the Ferris wheel, reminiscence of the charak) is a central attraction of the fair.

  • Nagardola on Pohela Boisakh
  • Special dishes for the New Year

It is impossible to conceive of any Bengali festival without food. The first food item that comes to mind regarding Pohela Baishakh, is hilsa fish. Different preparations of mouth-watering taste are prepared with hilsa. Then there are panta bhat (fermented rice) with green chili, all kinds of bhartas (mashes) starting with potatoes to tomatoes, sweet pumpkins, lentils, beans, shrimps and different types of fish, chutneys, shutki (bitters), authentic Bengali sweets, savoury snacks like fuchka, chotpoti and even traditional ice-creams, kulfi. Bigger cities find fairs and programmes in almost every locality.

Chhayanaut, an institution devoted to the propagation of Bengali culture, started celebrating the Bengali Nababarsha under the Ramna Botomul (a historic banyan tree) in 1967. Since the Liberation War of 1971, Pohela Boishakh has grown into a national festival for all Bangladeshis irrespective of religions. In Dhaka, the Pohela Boishakh procession begins from the Faculty of Fine Arts, University of Dhaka. The students start taking preparation for the procession from days ahead. They make masks and banners and wear elaborate costumes. This is known as the festive Mangal Shobhajatra, translated procession showcasing good fortune. In 2016, this festivity organized by the Faculty of Fine Arts was listed as UNESCO cultural heritage. Specific roads around Dhaka city are decorated with white and red alpanas, elaborate designs made with rice flour mixed with water.

  • Alpanas
  • Mangal Shobhajatra
  • Morning Programme by Chhayanaut

At the break of dawn on Pohela Boishakh, people gather at the Ramna batamul festival ground. The day starts with singing the famous Tagore song, “Esho he Boishakh*” along with many others. The whole day is spent in celebration. Radios and TV channels air special programs on the day too. People dressed in white and red and other colourful attire flock around the city. It is also observed as a national holiday and a fun-day for everybody.

Sohana Manzoor is an Associate Professor of English at ULAB. She is also the Literary Editor of The Daily Star.

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Categories
Excerpt

Parenting Children

Title: Raising a Humanist; Conscious Parenting in an Increasingly Fragmented World

Authors: Dr. Manisha Pathak-Shelat & Kiran Vinod Bhatia

Publisher: Sage, 2021

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Chapter 1: What Is Your Child’s World View?

The Big Three: How Family, School and Media Shape Our Children

Family, school and media are the three most important building blocks constituting children’s world view. While families and schools allow children to learn and practise norms and codes of conduct acceptable to the communities and countries in which they live, the media is a channel that connects children’s local environments and the outside world. Children’s perceptions of how power and politics work in the world, how to make sense of realities which they cannot experience first-hand, their mental images of people and places and their perception of their own place in the world are largely influenced by the media.

Let us look at an example. Young girls learn about gender roles dominant in their immediate communities from family members, teachers, friends and peers through routine interactions.

Many families and communities in India, for instance, want their girls to be fair because only fair skin is considered to be beautiful.

Fair becomes synonymous with lovely. In many schools, fair girls often act as female protagonists in theatre activities and other school programmes, such as cultural dance performances and video making. Many young girls are raised on a staple diet of the following aspirations.

Fair is lovely!

• You must try to make your skin look fair.

• If you have a dark skin, you must resort to chemical treatments/facials/and other cosmetic procedures to lighten your skin colour.

• Girls should not play sports because exposure to the sun will darken their skin and make them look ugly.

• Girls who have a dark skin shouldn’t wear certain colours because those colours will make their skin look darker.

• For matrimony, only fair girls are in demand. If your daughter has dark skin, it will be difficult to find a match for her.

As is evident, families and communities instil in children the obsession for fair skin through daily communication and practices.

Gradually, it also translates into discrimination against dark-skinned people, that is, considering them less valuable or beautiful.

This obsession over fair skin is then reinforced through media narratives where famous celebrities endorse beauty products designed to make girls look fair and lovely. The media acts as a bridge between children’s local experiences and the trends and practices dominant in the outside world. It is, however, important to realize that popular culture in the outside world of children and everyday experiences in their immediate surroundings happen simultaneously and constantly feed off each other.

Children are socialized on the basis of an interaction between what they observe and practise at home, in schools and communities and how these patterns of thoughts and actions are normalized and justified through media and popular culture. What is significant in this spiral of socialization is the interdependence of these two worlds.

Media: Constructing Social Realities

The media often acts as a lens through which children witness and participate in the outside world. It performs two critical functions in socializing children. First, it informs and influences the aspirations of children in relation to how they should position themselves in their societies. Second, it legitimizes several social practices and interactions. For instance, young children who have been raised on the staple diet of item numbers often sing, dance and appreciate these songs in their routines. We observe that many child contestants on children’s talent shows in India such as ‘Dance India Dance’, ‘India’s Got Talent’ and others are encouraged to perform seductively on item number songs to become more popular and get more votes. Repeated and continuous exposure to such TV content normalizes the act of sexualizing children’s bodies and encourages children to look at themselves using the same lens. They may also develop the fear that if they do not do this, the attention and love they are receiving will be withdrawn.

It is important to note that the role of the media is not limited to just representing the society as it is. It not only selects trending issues of popular interest but also encourages individuals to understand these issues in specific ways. For instance, for years, item number songs in Bollywood movies were not criticized for sexualizing and objectifying female bodies in harmful ways.

Also, the portrayals of protagonists or female leads in Bollywood movies as fair and thin reinforce the stereotype that a girl must be fair and thin to be successful in life. In many movies, their role and character are ornamental; that is, they provide diversion and comic-relief through extremely sexualized songs and dances. Media portrayals thus compel us to think of beauty among women in a limited sense—fair, thin, unquestioning and yielding, and to believe that their role in the society is limited to ‘serving the men’.

Media often represents a selected part of reality and what they want to show. For instance, during a religious conflict, voices that are strident, violent and radical always draw the maximum attention from the media, thus skewing our perception of a community. In each religious community, there are fringe voices and there are people who are working hard to initiate interfaith dialogue and to establish peace between different communal factions. These voices are never heard on prime-time news channels because voicing of moderate opinions seldom boosts their TRPs*. On the contrary, sensationalizing issues help news channels sustain and/or increase their viewership and revenue earned from advertisements, sponsorships, partnerships and other forms of economic and political alliances. When children and adults consume media stories that sensationalize differences between religious communities, individuals start believing that their religion will ultimately decide their fate in the world. Constant exposure to and consumption of such biased media stories can influence children’s everyday interactions with those from different religious communities.

When all that children can see and hear in their families, schools and media is discrimination and stereotyping, how will they find the resources to imagine a different reality?

Of course, the media has a great potential to present new possibilities and to enable individuals to reimagine ways of being in the world, but mainstream media companies are more driven by revenue generation than by democratic morals and values. If they make their audience uncomfortable, they risk losing their viewership and so they prefer to align their coverage with the dominant thoughts, practices and values in the society. When children consume media uncritically, they reproduce in their routines the aspirations and lifestyle choices projected by the media. This is how the media socializes children to behave within religious, gender, class and caste norms that benefit powerful groups in the society.

*Target Rating Points

About the Book

The world is immensely divided and broken. We have lost the art of having conversations with those who are different from us. While we cannot change the world, we can take small remedial steps starting with our homes and communities.

The authors—communication scholars—with a vast experience of working with parents, teachers and youth engage you in a conversation that is bound to leave a lasting impression on you, your children, and our world. Using critical questions, pragmatic tips and interesting anecdotes, they touch upon the deep divisive issues of our society and provide fascinating ways to use art, technology and media to provide our children with a nurturing community.

Bold and provocative at times, this empowering book is your companion in raising a humanist.

About the Authors

Dr. Manisha Pathak-Shelat is a Professor, Communication & Digital Platforms and Strategies, and Chair, Centre for Development Management and Communication, MICA, Ahmedabad. A widely published scholar, Manisha has taught and worked as a media consultant, communication trainer, and researcher in India, Thailand, and U.S.A. Manisha believes in scholarship that is socially engaged and accessible for making meaningful contribution towards a better world.

Kiran Vinod Bhatia is a doctoral candidate at the School of Journalism and Mass Communication, University of Wisconsin-Madison. Bhatia has published widely in journals of international repute and has co-authored a book on media education and critical literacy. Bhatia believes that critical education and thinking have the potential to change the ways in which we engage with others in our societies.

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Categories
Young Persons' Section

Sara’s Selections, April 2021

April is a time when summer or spring comes knocking at your door in the Northern Hemisphere and in the Southern, winter starts to peep with autumn doing a somersault. In India, we welcome our traditional new years along with many other countries like Nepal, Myanmar, Thailand, Sri Lanka and Bangladesh. New Years have so many names just like a frog has varied names in different languages: qingwa in Mandarin, kb in Thai, bang in Bengali, mendak in Hindi and we could go on and on. The reason we talk of frogs is because some even observe April as the National Frog Month. You can read all about it by clicking here.

But frog stories aside, we would like to wish you all a fabulous new year this April, a traditional new year. Here we always celebrate with the glamorous Ms Sara. So, Ms Sara what do we have this time?

We have a fabulous collection of poetry, stories and essays about so many things that happened between March and April!

Poetry

In keeping with the theme of frogs and variety is a rainbow. And here is a young man who talks of tasting one! Seven-year-old Savvya Gupta talks of the flavours.

Taste The Colours Of The Rainbow
By Savvya Gupta

I tasted the colours of the rainbow.

Red told me to be slow,

Blue gave me a taste of the sky,

Indigo was very shy.

Yellow was very dear,

Green colour did not fear,

Orange told me to be sweet.

But Violet didn’t want me to eat!

Thirteen-year-old Nazera Sheikh from Dahod, Gujarat misses the rains and the hot snacks that are perfect for the weather and she has put it all in a poem!

Missing The Rains And The Hot Snacks 
By Nazera Sheikh

Raindrops falling down
All around.
From high up in the sky
Touching the ground and saying bye.

Missing the rains and the hot snacks,
 
There is water everywhere
Some say it isn’t fair.

Children come out with their boats
And wear their raincoats,
Throw water on each other
Whether they are friends or neighbours.

Missing the rains and the hot snacks.
 

Mothers trying new cooking hacks,
We all love eating hot snacks!

Rain rain come again!

How nice! Eleven-year-old Dhriti Keni from Chennai dreams big and wants to follow it to the end. 

Following My Big Dreams 
By Dhriti Keni

You are the driver of your destiny

Passengers none

Dreams are held deep inside us

Better to fail by faith

Then not do anything by fear

You are a shining star

High in the sky

Glowing like a legend

 

Following My Big Dreams
 

Wishes come true

If you work hard

And believe in yourself

 

Following My Big Dreams
 

Try and Try

Until your dreams come true

You may fall down

But you have to get up

Show courage and faith

Stories

Aha! Now we start with stories. Nine-year-old Ishani Ghosh, a Bookosmian from Kolkata writes a heartwarming tale of two girls who meet a homeless girl and help her find what she was looking for.

Making An Unexpected New Friend

By Ishani Ghosh

It was new year’s day of 2019.

I woke up, brushed my teeth and went downstairs for breakfast. My parents then surprised me by telling me that my best friend was coming over to celebrate the New Year’s day with us.

When she came over, we had lunch and then after some time, we went to the park. We went on the swings and then to the sandpit.

My parents then took us for a ride on a beautiful white horse called Milky. I went first and had just got off the horse when I noticed a little girl standing near the horse.

She was wearing ragged, torn clothes and was very skinny. My friend got off too. I showed her the girl. She told me that it looked like the girl wanted to ride the horse too but had no money to do so. We both told my parents about the girl.

We asked the people giving rides on the horse and found out that she was poor, homeless and had no parents. We were terribly sorry for her when I got an idea. I told my friend first and then my parents.
I suggested that we talk to my aunt Nora and arrange for the girl to move to her house. My aunt was very lonely. She lived all alone in her house and came to visit us often.

My parents thought it was a great idea and talked to my aunt about it. She was delighted and so was the little girl when we asked her.

We found out that her name was Judy and she immediately said that she would love to live with my aunt.

Now she is living happily with my aunt and is also one of my close friends.

Twelve-year-old P.N. Hitaesh from Chennai imagines a scenario where naughty little dragons play near a volcano.

Adventures Of The Dragon Family

By P.N. Hitaesh

Once there lived a family of dragons named Draco, Mushu and Drogan. Draco was the father, Mushu was the mother and Drogan was their son.

One day, Drogan went to play in the forest with his friends. All dragons were warned not to play near the dangerous volcano but Drogan and his friends were curious so they went there.

As they went there, the volcano erupted! The dragons ran to safety but Drogan, unfortunately, got stuck in a place where his father’s enemy lived.

When Drogan was not home, Mushu and Draco searched but he was not to be seen anywhere. Then Draco’s enemy came and said “Your son is with me. You need to fight with me and my group if you want him back.”

The fight started in the evening and it was a hard fought one. Finally, Draco and Mushu won the fight and Drogan came home.

Ten-year-old Annaya Aggarwal from Delhi tells us a lovely story of three sisters and how the shy sister, Star, finally learnt to express and communicate better. 

The Day Star Overcame Her Shyness

By Annaya Aggarwal

Once there were three sisters – Sun, Moon and Star.

Sun and moon were snobbish but popular in their kingdom. Star was shy but kind-hearted and a lovely girl but she wasn’t popular among her people as she hardly spoke.

One day, they got an invite for high tea from their aunt and uncle (Lightning and Thunder). They had never met them and were very excited.

So, when the day came, they got dressed and went in a beautiful carriage to the party. At the party, they were having so much fun that they lost track of time and were late for their dinner with their mother.

At home, their mother Galaxy was getting worried. Soon, she heard the sound of the carriage outside the palace and heaved a sigh of relief.

Mother galaxy thought that her kids would be as hungry as her. So, she asked them to set the dining table but Sun and Moon didn’t care much about their mother’s feelings. They went to sleep but Star saw tears in her mother’s eyes.

She joined her mother at the dinner table and told her all about the party. Her mother was very happy. Star realised that talking about what you feel is not so hard after all!

After that day, Star gained confidence and started helping her mother with work. She made an effort to speak to everyone and soon, she became the town’s favorite princess.

Essays

Time to think of travel? Well, once the world is rid of the pandemic, maybe we can visit this safari park called Kabini.

Let us for the time being find out about what eleven-year-old Yohaan Marda from Kohlapur, saw during his safari.

Meeting A Tiger And Sloth Bear At Kabini Safari

By Yohaan Marda

I was six when we saw this magnificent sloth bear with her cubs. We actually had stopped to see a Brahminy kite. But the sloth bear turned up out of nowhere!

It was an amazing moment and the first time ever that I had seen a sloth bear. Seeing the sloth bear with her cubs was very rare because sloth bears are shy animals and tend not to bring their cubs out so much. As we were seeing the sloth bear, the guide yelled “Tiger! Tiger!”

We all looked around and there she was! We were all very excited. Then as soon as the tiger saw the sloth bear she went charging towards the sloth bear.

This trip to Kabini was a family trip and about 55 of us went. Kabini is a wildlife sanctuary in Karnataka, about 200 kms from Bangalore. It is an amazing place for nature lovers with activities like safari, trekking, boating and plenty of animals and birds to see. We did not expect much when we booked the safari but we were lucky to see these majestic animals. At the time I thought seeing a sloth bear is not a big deal.  I thought it was a common animal but how wrong was I!

And now let us move on to the festivals we celebrated in March and early April. First let’s talk of Holi… which was a bit muted for nine-year-old Aarshiya Agarwal from Kolkata because of the pandemic. 

An Organic Holi With My Loved Ones

By Aarshiya Agarwal

Holi is a festival of colours.Holi is celebrated because of the death of Holika, Hiranyakashyapu’s evil sister.

She was killed by her nephew, Bhakt Prahlad. Every year according to the Hindu calendar, it is celebrated but on different dates. It is usually celebrated in March in the spring season. One day before the festival, there is a puja or prayer held called Holika Dahan.

On the day of Holi, we play with water and colours. We throw water balloons and put colour on each other. We also play with water guns. After playing, when we go for our bath instead of using soap on our body, we apply a body scrub to get rid of all the colors.

We eat sweets with our friends and family. This year it is going to be my 2nd holi with my little brother. Nowadays, some people make colours which have bad chemicals. These ruin our skin and cause infections and irritations. So that’s why people have started using natural and organic colours.

I celebrated Holi with my parents, little sibling, grand and great grandparents and cousins. This year because of the coronavirus, we were not celebrate fully. I reused my old water guns because it is not safe to buy new ones from outside. I hope you all had a very happy and safe holi!

And the other festival in the time period some countries celebrate frog month, is Easter. Eight-year-old Riddhima Mishra from Kalyan, Maharashtra, tells us more about the festival with rabbits (not frogs) and chocolate eggs!

Why We Celebrate Easter

By Riddhima Mishra

Easter is a festival that is celebrated by Christians all over the world. This festival is always celebrated on Sundays between March 22 and April 25 every year. The festival is also known as Easter Sunday; or resurrection Sunday.

The word, Easter, was derived from the word “Eastra” which means goddess of springs. It celebrates the resurrection of Jesus Christ which occurred on the third day after he was crucified on the cross.

Forty days prior to Easter, Christians follow lent, which is supposed to be a period of prayer, penance and fasting. The week before Easter is known as the holy week.

Jewish Christians were the first who celebrated Easter around the middle of the second century in Jerusalem. Churches are specially decorated on Easter day. On this day, prayers are done for the welfare of the whole world in the church. Along with this, candles are lit in the church and at the same time candles are lit in homes.

Chocolate-filled eggs or brightly painted eggs with sweets inside (Easter eggs) are common gifts exchanged on Easter. Churches and homes are decorated with white lilies also known as Easter lilies.

The symbol of Easter is ‘the Easter bunny’ depicted as a rabbit bringing Easter eggs. The day also witnesses lavish feasts and a variety of traditional dishes being cooked and served.

Hope all of you had a happy Easter!

And with that we come to the end of the Bookosmian adventures. Hope you all have a fantastic month. Here is wishing all of you a wonderful start to all your new years in April!

( This section is hosted by Bookosmia)

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Categories
Tagore Translations

Greetings on Asian New Years in April!

 This song by Tagore welcoming the new year, Esho He Baishakh, is especially relevant because it talks of the New Year wiping away diseases that weaken and kill humanity. Here is a translation of the lyrics and renditions by popular contemporary voices and a video of a dance performance to this song. 

Come O Boisakh!
(A translation of Tagore's Esho He Boisakh, Esho, Esho, 1927)

Hail O boisakh! Welcome. 

Blow away deadly diseases with your ascetic breath. 
May the debris from the old year disappear. 
Let go of old memories, let go of old melodies. 
May sorrows and tears evaporate. 
Wipe away slanders, wipe away infirmities. 
May the Earth be purified by fire. 
Wither obsessive unhealthy passions. 
Summon a storm with a conch call to
Transfigure the misty webs woven by Maya*.

*Maya is an illusory play of divine intervention.

Jayati Chakraborty Click here to listen.

Iman Chakraborty Click here to listen.

Lopamudra Mitra Click here to listen.

Sadi Mohammad Click here to listen.

New Year arrives in some parts of Asia every April, around 13th to 15th. India celebrates new year under various names and with many different traditions –  such as Ugadi in Karnataka, Vishu in Kerala, Baisakhi among Sikhs and many more. Nepal observes Nava Varsha. Thailand celebrates Songkran, which is a bit like Holi in India as it involves water play and a bit like the Thingyan, the Myanmar New Year. Sri Lanka calls their festival Avurudu, which seems to have customs close to the Tamilian new year Puthandu or that of Karnataka. Bangladesh livens up with a national festival, called Pohela Boisakh, which is a bit different from the Polia Boisakh celebrations in the Eastern parts of India.

Songkran
Indian New Years
Thingyan celebrations
Courtesy: Creative Commons Licence

Intrinsic to all these is the joie de vivre of the festivities whether with water play, food, Bhangra dancing or with Rabindra Sangeet.

May we all have a glorious entry into our plethora of New Years!

Greetings again for all Asian New Years !

(Written and translated by Mitali Chakravarty)

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
World Poetry Day, 2021

Celebrating Poetry without Borders

“And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen
Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name”

(William Shakespeare, A Midsummer's Night's Dream,1596)

Like clouds float, words waft through currents of ideas and take shapes and forms. We celebrate poetry across the world, across space and time, with the greatest and the new… our homage in words to the past, present and future…

A paean to the skies, the Earth and empathy with nature sets the tone for this poetic treat. I offer you a translation/transcreation of a Tagore song, from the original lyrics penned by the maestro in Bengali…

The Star-Studded Sky  by Rabindranath Tagore

( A translation/transcreation of Akash Bhora, Shurjo Tara, 1924)

The sky replete with sun and stars, the Earth brimming with life,
In the midst of this universe, I have found my abode.
Spellbound by the plenitude, songs awaken in my being. 

The infinite, eternal waves that create planetary tides 
Resonate through the blood coursing in my veins.

As I walk to the woods, I step on the grass. 
Heady perfumes of flowers startle me into a rhapsody.
Benefactions of joy anoint the universe.

I have listened, I have watched, I have poured my life into the Earth.
Through knowing, I have sought the unknown. 
Spellbound by the plenitude, songs awaken in my being. 

(Translated/transcreated by Mitali Chakravarty on behalf of Borderless Journal,2021)

Poetry connects with eternal human emotions over space and time with snippets from old and verses from new.

Poets continue to draw from nature to express and emote. In empathy with the forces that swirl around us are poems written by moderns, like Jared Carter.

 What is that calling on the wind
           that never seems a moment still?
 That moves in darkness like a hand
           of many fingers taken chill?

(Excerpted from Visitant by Jared Carter)

Click here to read Jared Carter’s Visitant and more poems.

Tagore wrote and painted. Here we have a poem about a painting done by the poet-artist herself, Vatsala Radhakeesoon. 

An endless expanse swirls
over the tropical island.
At the foot of the Meditative Mountain,
birds, bees and butterflies wonder --
who is this mystic blue?

(Excerpted from Swirling Blues by Vatsala Radhakeesoon)

Click here to read Swirling Blues by Vatsala Radhakeesoon and gaze at the painting.

Separated by oceans and decades, were poets empathetic? 

I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you...

The smoke of my own breath,...

My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs,
The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and 
dark-color'd sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,
The sound of the belch'd words of my voice loos'd to the eddies of the wind,
A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,
The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides,
The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun.

(Excerpted from Song of Myself, Walt Whitman, 1881)

And despite exuberance of poets and their love of nature, came wars from across continents. Here are some of the responses of poets from all over the world to war and the pain it brings…

A soldier and a poet, Bijan Najdi (1941-1997) wrote in Persian, he captured the loss and the pain generated by war on children for us. This has been translated by Davood Jalili for Borderless…

The world does not become bitter with the sword.

It does not become bitter with shooting, cries and fists.

The bitterness of the world

Is not the deer’s necks

And leopard’s tooth

And the death of a fish...

(Excerpted from Our Children by Bijan Najdi)

Click here to read Our Children by Bijan Najdi

Maybe children have a special place in poets’ hearts. Michael R Burch from across the Pacific writes of their longings too…

I, too, have a dream …

that one day Jews and Christians

will see me as I am:

a small child, lonely and afraid,

staring down the barrels of their big bazookas,

(Excerpted from I, too have a dream by Michael R Burch)

Click here to read Dreams of Children by Michael R Burch and more by him.

From Nepal, Manjul Miteri travelled to Japan to design a giant Buddha. While visiting the Hiroshima museum, he responded to the exhibits of the 1945 nuclear blast, a bombardment that ended not just the war, but many lives, many hopes and dreams… It heralded the passing of an era. Miteri’s poem was translated by Hem Biswakarma for us from Nepali.

Orimen*!
Oh, Orimen!
Mouthful of your Tiffin
Snatched by the ‘Little Boy’*!
The Tiffin box, adorned with flowers,
Scattered and spoilt,
Blown out brutally.

(Excerpted from Oh Orimen! by Manjul Miteri)

Click here to read Majul Miteri’s Oh Orimen!

Continuing on the theme of war, what can war weapons not do? Karunakaran has written a seemingly small poem about warplanes in Malayalam that embraces the nuclear holocaust and more. The words are few but they say much… It has been translated by Aditya Shankar for us.

No warplane 
has ever flown like a bird,
has lost way like a bird,
has halted mid-flight reminiscing a bygone aroma.

(Excerpted from No Warplane Has Ever Flown Like A Bird by Karunakaran)

Click here to read No Warplane Has Ever Flown Like A Bird by Karunakaran.

From wars and acquisition of wealth, grew the greed for immortality.

Aditya Shankar writes rebelling against man’s greed, greed that also leads to war. 

Through the tube,

the world poured into that room

with news of war and blood.

(Excerpted from Human Immortality Project  by Aditya Shankar)

Click here to read Human Immortality Project by Aditya Shankar.

Continuing the dialogue on discrepancies is a poem written by a visiting professor from Korea. Ihlwha Choi was in Santiniketan and just like Tagore found poetry in Krishnokoli, he found poetry in Nandini…

There was Nandini’s small shop along with fruits' stalls and the bike shop.

Cows passing by would thrust their heads suddenly

Into the shop thatched with bamboo stems....

...There lived a flower-like little girl selling chai near the old house of Poet R. Tagore.

(Excerpted from Nandini by Ihlwha Choi)

Click here to read Nandini by Ihlwha Choi

Poetry is about moods — happiness and sadness, laughter and tears.

Reflecting on multiple themes that mankind jubilates and weeps about is the poetry of John Grey, camping out in Australian outbacks, revelling in the stars and yet empathising with hunger… A few lines from his poem hunger.

Hunger can sing soft but compelling

in the voice of the one who last

provided you with three meals a day.

That’s years ago now.

Hunger has no memory

but it assumes that you do.

(Excerpted from Hunger by John Grey)

Click here to read Camping out, Hunger and more … by John Grey

And now we introduce some laughter. A story-poem by Rhys Hughes, about an alien who likes to be tickled… 

“Oh, tickle me under the chin,
   the chin,
 please tickle me
 under the chin.
 It might seem quite fickle
 or even a sin
 to make this request,
 to ask such a thing,
 but I must confess
 that to ease my distress
 there’s nothing so fine
    as a tickle.
 So please tickle me 
 under the chin,
    the chin.
 Tickle me under the chin.” 

(Excerpted from The Tickle Imp by Rhys Hughes)

Click here to read The Tickle Imp by Rhys Hughes

And here is a poem by Tamoha Siddiqui, jubilating the borderless world of friendship.

Yesterday I heard the sound of colourful feet

to Indonesian beats, in the middle of Michigan:

white, black, brown, all were one

pitter-patter paces in a conference hall.

(Excerpted from Birth of an Ally by Tamoha Siddiqui)

Click here to read Tamoha Siddiqui’s Birth of an Ally

We share with you now from the most unusual poetry we have on our site, from a book called Corybantic Fulgours. If you want to know what it means, click here to check it out!

Concluding our oeuvre to jubilate a world without borders, here are lines from a poet who probably has influenced and united majority of writers across the world…another truly universal voice.

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
...
The dance along the artery
The circulation of the lymph
Are figured in the drift of stars
Ascend to summer in the tree
We move above the moving tree
In light upon the figured leaf
And hear upon the sodden floor
Below, the boarhound and the boar
Pursue their pattern as before
But reconciled among the stars.

Excerpted from TS Eliot's Four Quartets, Burnt Norton(1936)

The poetry of the historic greats are all woven by eternal threads that transcend man made boundaries. They see themselves almost as an extension of the Earth we live. Tagore, Whitman and Eliot write of the universe coursing through their veins. Shakespeare gives the ultimate statement when he brings in the play between imagination and nature to lift the mundane out of the ordinary. With inspiration from all these, may we move into a sphere, where poetry not only moves but also generates visions for a more wholistic and inclusive future.

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

Categories
Contents

Borderless, March 2021

Our First Anniversary Issue

Editorial

Happy Birthday Borderless Journal by Mitali Chakravarty: We complete a year on March 14th, 2021. A recap of the year, thanks to our contributors across 31 countries and a fresh look at our future along with what we look for in our pieces. Click here to read.

Interviews

Avery Fischer Udagawa is an American, who lives in Thailand and translates from Japanese. Click here to read more.

Anuradha Kumar is a writer who pans through different cultures and continents. Click here to read more

Stories

The Literary Fictionist

In Love Beyond Words, Sunil Sharma explores relationships. Click here to read.

Orang Minyak or The Ghost

A Jessie Michael explores blind belief in a Malay village. Click here to read.

Shoes in the Forbidden Attic

Vidula Sonagra explores childhood and its exigencies. Click here to read.

The Beggar

Shouvik Banerjee relates an unusual story set in Kolkata. Click here to read.

Ghumi Stories: The Threat Note

Nabanita Sengupta finds crime lurking in the darkness of Ghumi woods. Click here to read.

Flash Fiction: Fat!

The fiction by Supriya Rakesh is just about that — a fun-filled relook at being Fat. Click here to read

Musings

Musings of a Copywriter

Devraj Singh Kalsi ponders on Creativity and Madness in a lighthearted tone. Click here to read.

Adventures of a Backpacking Granny

In Where it All Began, Sybil Pretious recounts her first adventure on Mt Kilimanjaro. Click here to read.

Harvest your Patches

Aditi Jain philosophises on how the pandemic could be perceived as a patchwork quilt. Click here to read.

Moving from the Podium to the Helm

Meredith Stephens from Australia maps the impact of the start of the pandemic a year ago with the lockdowns being put in place. Click here to read more.

Essays

When West Meets East & Greatness Blooms

Debraj Mookerjee reflects on how syncretism impacts greats like Tagore,Tolstoy, Emerson, Martin Luther King Jr, Gandhi and many more. Click here to read.

Reflections on Nobel Laureate Bunin’s ‘Un Petit Accident’

Mike Smith reflects on a short fiction by Russia’s first Nobel Laureate, Ivan Bunin. Could it be a precursor to flash fiction? Click here to read.

Beyond Ideological Borders

Anu Karippal explores the world beyond the margins drawn by ideologies. Click here to read.

Photo Essay: Birds & Us

Penny and Michael B Wilkes take us on a photographic journey with a narrative in San Diego. Click here to read.

Poetry

Click on the names to read

Sangeeta Sharma, Penny Wilkes, Shraddha Arora, Anthony Wade, Vatsala Radhakeesoon, Jared Carter, Vijayalakshmi Harish, Ken Allan Dronsfield, Ihlwha Choi, Michael R. Burch

Story Poem

Rhys Hughes takes us on a brilliant trip with aliens popping out of treasure chests and humour. Click here to read.

Transcreations

Ratnottama Sengupta transcreates three poems from Bengali. Click here to read.

Translations

Poetry by Krishna Bajgai has been translated from Nepalese by Dr. Rupak Shrestha. Click here to read

Aditya Shankar translates Krispin Joseph‘s poetry from Malyalam to English. Click here to read.

Kumar Bhimsingha by Swarnakumari Devi, the sister of Rabindranath Tagore, was published in a magazine run by the Tagore family, in April 1887. It has been translated by Chaitali Sengupta. Click here to read.

The Magic Spell of Scheherazade’s Nights are reflections by Sandhya Sinha (1928-2016) on the magic of storytelling in Arabian Nights translated by Ratnottama Sengupta. Click here to read.

Book Excerpt

A Sense of Time & Other Stories by Anuradha Kumar, excerpted from the book of short stories. Click here to read

Book Reviews

Bidyut Chakrabarty’s Socio-political Thought of Rabindranath Tagore, published by Sage India, reviewed by Bhaskar Parichha. Click here to read.

Suzanne Kamata’s Indigo Girl reviewed by Gracy Samjetsabam, to commemorate the tenth anniversary of the 2011 Tsunami in Japan. Click here to read.

Sutputra Radheye’s Inqallab on the Wall, a collection brought out by Delhi Poetry Slam, reviewed by Rakhi Dalal. Click here to read.

Sara’s Selections

Sara’s Selections features young person’s writings from Bookosmia. Click here to read this section.