Baseball – Borderless

There was a time when there were no boundaries drawn by humans. Our ancestors roamed the Earth like any other fauna — part of nature and the landscape. They tried to explain and appease the changing seasons, the altering landscapes and the elements that affected life and living with rituals that seemed coherent to them. There were probably no major organised structures that laid out rules. From such observances, our festivals evolved to what we celebrate today. These celebrations are not just full of joie de vivre, but also a reminder of our syncretic start that diverged into what currently seems to be irreparable breaches and a lifestyle that is in conflict with the needs of our home planet.

Reflecting on this tradition of syncretism in our folklore and music, while acknowledging the boundaries that wreak havoc, is an essay by Aruna Chakravarti. She expounds on rituals that were developed to appease natural forces spreading diseases and devastation, celebrations that bring joy with harvests and override the narrowness of institutionalised human construct. She concludes with Lalan Fakir’s life as emblematic of the syncretic lore. Lalan, an uneducated man brought to limelight by the Tagore family, swept across religious divides with his immortal lyrics full of wisdom and simplicity. Dyed in similar syncretic lore are the writings of a student and disciple of Tagore from Santiniketan, Syed Mujtaba Ali (1904-1974). His works overriding these artificial constructs have been brought to light, by his translator, former BBC editor, Nazes Afroz. Having translated his earlier book, In a Land Far from Home: A Bengali in Afghanistan, Afroz has now brought to us Syed Mujtaba Ali’s Tales of a Voyager (Jolay Dangay), in which we read of his travels to Egypt almost ninety years ago. In his interview, the translator highlights the current relevance of this remarkable polyglot.

Humming the tunes of Mujtaba Ali’s tutor, Tagore, a translation of Tagore’s song, Amra Beddhechhi Kasher Guchho (We have Tied Bunches of Kash[1]) captures the spirit of autumnal opulence which heralds the advent of Durga Puja. A translation by Fazal Baloch has brought a message of non-violence very aptly in these times from recently deceased eminent Balochi poet, Mubarak Qazi. Professor Fakrul Alam has translated a very contemporary poem by Quazi Johirul Islam on Barnes and Nobles while from Korea, we have a translation of a poem by Ihlwha Choi on the fruit, jujube, which is eaten fresh of the tree in autumn.

A poem which starts with a translation of a Tang dynasty’s poet, Yuan Zhen, inaugurates the first translation we have had from Mandarin — though it’s just two paras by the poet, Rex Tan, who continues writing his response to the Chinese poem in English. Mingling nature and drawing life lessons from it are poems by George Freek, Ryan Quinn Flanagan and Gopal Lahiri. We have poetry which enriches our treasury by its sheer variety from Hawla Riza, Pramod Rastogi, John Zedolik, Avantika Vijay Singh, Tohm Bakelas and more. Michael Burch has brought in a note of festivities with his Halloween poems. And Rhys Hughes has rolled out humour with his observations on the city of Mysore. His column too this time has given us a table and a formula for writing humorous poetry — a tongue-in-cheek piece, just like the book excerpt from The Coffee Rubaiyat. In the original Rubaiyat, Omar Khayyam (1048–1131) had given us wonderful quatrains which Edward Fitzgerald immortalised with his nineteenth century translation from Persian to English and now, Hughes gives us a spoof which would well have you rollicking on the floor, and that too, only because as he tells us he prefers coffee over wine!

Humour tinged with irony is woven into Devraj Singh Kalsi’s narrative on red carpet welcomes in Indian weddings. We have a number of travel stories from Peru to all over the world. Ravi Shankar takes us to Lima and Meredith Stephens to Californian hot springs with photographs and narratives while Sayani De does the same for a Tibetan monastery in Lahaul. Keith Lyons converses with globe trotter Tomaž Serafi, who lives in Ljubljana. And Suzanne Kamata adds colour with a light-veined narrative on robots and baseball in Japan. Syncretic elements are woven by Dr. KPP Nambiar who made the first Japanese-Malyalam Dictionary. He started nearly fifty years ago after finding commonalities between the two cultures dating back to the sixteenth century. Tulip Chowdhury brings in colours of Halloween while discussing ghosts in Bangladesh and America, where she migrated.

The theme of immigration is taken up by Gemini Wahaaj as she reviews South to South: Writing South Asia in the American South edited by Khem K. Aryal. Japan again comes into focus with Aditi Yadav’s Makoto Shinkai’s and Naruki Nagakawa’s She and Her Cat, translated from Japanese by Ginny Tapley Takemori. Somdatta Mandal has also reviewed a translation by no less than Booker winning Daisy Rockwell, who has translated Usha Priyamvada’s Won’t You Stay, Radhika? from Hindi. Our reviews seem full of translations this time as Bhaskar Parichha comments on One Among You: The Autobiography of M.K. Stalin, the current Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu, translated from Tamil by A S Panneerselvan. In fiction, we have stories that add different flavours from Paul Mirabile, Neera Kashyap, Nirmala Pillai and more.

Our book excerpt from Nobel laureate Kailash Satyarthi’s Why didn’t You Come Sooner? Compassion in Action—Stories of Children Rescued from Slavery deserves a special mention. It showcases a world far removed from the one we know. While he was rescuing some disadvantaged children, Satyarthi relates his experience in the rescue van:

“One of the children gave it [the bunch of bananas] to the child sitting in front. An emaciated girl and a little boy were seated next to me. I told them to pass on the fruit to everyone in the back and keep one each for themselves. The girl looked curiously at the bunch as she turned it around in her hands. Then she looked at the other children.

“‘I’ve never seen an onion like this one,’ she said.

“Her little companion also touched the fruit gingerly and innocently added, ‘Yes, this is not even a potato.’

“I was speechless to say the least. These children had never seen anything apart from onions and potatoes. They had definitely never chanced upon bananas…”

Heart-wrenching but true! Maybe, we can all do our bit by reaching out to some outside our comfort or social zone to close such alarming gaps… Uma Dasgupta’s book tells us that Tagore had hoped many would start institutions like Sriniketan all over the country to bridge gaps between the underprivileged and the privileged. People like Satyarthi are doing amazing work in today’s context, but more like him are needed in our world.

We have more writings than I could mention here, and each is chosen with much care. Please do pause by our contents page and take a look. Much effort has gone into creating a space for you to relish different perspectives that congeal in our journal, a space for all of you. For this, we have the team at Borderless to thank– without their participation, the journal would not be as it is. Sohana Manzoor with her vibrant artwork gives the finishing touch to each of our monthly issues. And lastly, I cannot but express my gratefulness to our contributors and readers for continuing to be with us through our journey. Heartfelt thanks to all of you.

Have a wonderful festive season!

Best wishes,

Mitali Chakravarty

borderlessjournal.com

[1] Wild long grass

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Baseball and Robots

By Suzanne Kamata

When I first came to Japan from America to teach English on the Japan Exchange and Teaching (JET) Program, I had no idea how popular baseball was in this country. I quickly found out, however. I was assigned to a high school in Tokushima, on the island of Shikoku to be an assistant English teacher. It was summer, and I was immediately informed that the school’s baseball team had won the regional baseball tournament. They had gone on to the National High School Baseball Summer Tournament at Koshien stadium near Osaka.

This event is on par with the Super Bowl in the United States. The games are televised, and the entire country is riveted for the duration of the tournament. Many star players go on to play professional baseball in Japan, and later maybe even in the Major League in America. Ichiro Suzuki, Yu Darvish, and Shohei Otani are just a few players who first claimed the spotlight at Koshien.

Once classes started in September, I discovered that the baseball players were immediately recognisable by their shaved heads. I often saw them practicing on the baseball diamond very early in the morning, sometimes dragging tires yoked to their shoulders as they ran. I noticed that they were respected by the teachers. Even if they fell asleep in class, the teachers didn’t try to wake them up. When they were awake, the baseball players were very polite. They had been trained to greet their elders in a loud voice, and to bow and doff their caps.

Another thing that I quickly found out was that in Japan, baseball season is basically year-round, at least up through high school. Japanese students can choose only one sport. While in the United States, coaches often cut weaker players from their teams, in Japan anyone who wants to join a team is welcome. The team becomes a community for players of different abilities. The bonds that Japanese kids form with their teammates tend to be very strong, since they spend so much time together.

My second year in Japan, I met the man who became my husband. He was a teacher, and a baseball coach. Through him, I became even more aware of what a big deal baseball was in Japan. I also acquired a lot of insider information. I started to write a novel about an American woman married to a Japanese high school baseball coach, which I called The Baseball Widow. I asked my husband many questions while I was writing the book.

We later had twins – a daughter, who is disabled, and a son, who began to play baseball in elementary school. He devoted himself to the sport throughout high school, sometimes waking up at five o’clock in the morning on weekends for out-of-town games. He never once complained. At one point, he asked me to write a baseball story. I did. I wrote the text for a children’s picture book, Playing for Papa, which was published in Spain and is now sadly out of print. I also wrote a middle grade novel, Pop Flies, Robo-pets and Other Disasters, featuring a boy in junior high school. I read the entire novel to my son, and made some changes following his advice.

In addition to baseball, Japan is famous for its robots. Gundam is a well-known robot character, who first appeared in Japanese anime in 1979. Although many science fiction stories feature robots, they are increasingly becoming a part of daily life in Japan. This is partly because Japan’s population is decreasing. There are fewer and fewer young people to do necessary work, so machines are called upon to take up the slack.

Recently, the Japanese have developed robots which can help elderly people and others in many different ways. For example, there are robots which can help farmers pick fruit, as well as humanoid robots that can chat with people and ward off loneliness. Robot pets, like Paro (which became Mon-chan in The Baseball Widow), are also used to keep elderly people and children in hospitals company. There are special cafes staffed entirely by robots, including at least one at which the robots are controlled by people with disabilities. A nearby art museum has a robot guide which takes visitors on tours of exhibits. Robots in Japan have performed weddings and funerals. During the COVID-19 epidemic, one small university even used robots as avatars in a graduation ceremony.

I am fascinated by robots. They are not always what people expect. Sometimes they are soft and fuzzy. As soon as I learned of the robo-seal, I wanted to put it into a story. However, I sometimes feel uneasy about the replacement of humans by robots. Fortunately, at the moment, family bonds remain strong in Japan, with multiple generations living together and helping each other. Like the family in my book, we were three generations, living in the same house. We don’t have a robo-seal yet, but we do have a robotic vacuum cleaner.

Suzanne Kamata was born and raised in Grand Haven, Michigan. She now lives in Japan with her husband and two children. Her short stories, essays, articles and book reviews have appeared in over 100 publications. Her work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize five times, and received a Special Mention in 2006. She is also a two-time winner of the All Nippon Airways/Wingspan Fiction Contest, winner of the Paris Book Festival, and winner of a SCBWI Magazine Merit Award.

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