Categories
Review

A Kaleidoscope of Bibhutibhushan Bandopahyay’s Works

Book Review by Somdatta Mandal

 Title: Kaleidoscope of Life: Select Short Stories

Author: Bibhutibhusan Bandyopadhyay

Translated from Original Bengali by Hiranmoy Lahiri

Publisher: Hawakal Publishers

Bibhutibhusan Bandyopadhyay (1894 – 1950) is one of the best-known Bengali writers of the twentieth century and therefore needs no introduction.  Though most of his works are largely set in rural Bengal, he didn’t receive much critical attention until 1928. Author of famous novels like Pather Panchali (1929), Aparajito (both of which inspired the famous film director Satyajit Ray make  his films based on them), Chander Pahar and Aryanak, he is the also the author of several short story collections like Meghmallar (1931), Jonmo O Mrityu (1937), Kinnardal (1938), Talnabami (1944), Upolkhondo (1945), Kshanavangur (1945), and Asadharon (1946). The multifaceted nature of his short stories has invited translators to explore the different facets of this genre and till date, we find several new translated volumes of his short stories see the light of the day quite frequently.

An interesting feature of the short story is that down the centuries the genre’s changing variety made it difficult to be classified under any fixed notion. Whatever may be the subject matter, structure, or style, a short story tells a ‘story’; otherwise, readers would not read it. Whether events in their stages of development or sequential movements and logical relationships are enough for it to be considered a story have been debated so often that it is not necessary to repeat them here. We just need to remember that as far as the short story is concerned, readers have opted for it because of the beauty that lies within its compact structure, a beauty that thrills the reader when the story ends.

Now to come to this collection of Bibhutibhusan’s short stories selected and translated by Hironmoy Lahiri, a young translator and a freelance writer. Apart from the semi-autobiographical piece “How I began writing,” with which it begins, there are fifteen stories ranging from the sentimental, bizarre, thrilling, meditating, and occult where different other kinds of emotions are also expressed. Except for a couple of already translated pieces by other hands, most of the stories selected here by the debut translator have not been translated earlier and all of them are unique for their theme, style and narrative method. The stories have not been chosen on the criterion of chronology of their appearance in print or a particular theme which is usually resorted to by other translators; instead, the focus has been on the diverse nature of the author’s creative world. The volume thus includes ‘slices of life’ stories, unusual stories such as those of smugglers and dacoits, fictions of remote places and unusual personalities, and even supernatural narratives. They really provide a comprehensive view of Bibhutibhusan’s genius, and the phrase ‘kaleidoscope of life’ mentioned in the title definitely justifies this collection.

The very first story in this collection titled Upekshita, ‘The Disregarded’, is significant because it happens to be Bibhutibhusan’s first published story that appeared in the leading Bengali magazine Prabasi in 1921 and narrates the writer’s special relationship that he had developed with a village lady who took on the responsibility of taking care of his meals and looking after him. Drawn upon his personal experiences, especially during his stint as a teacher at a suburban school in Harinavi, when the myopic residents of the area misrepresented the author’s innocent nature of the relationship with the lady as a scandalous incident, it led to such misunderstanding that Bibhutibhusan eventually resigned from his school and moved to Calcutta.

 ‘Archaeology’ talks about a statue that mysteriously comes to life and establishes Bibhutibhusan’s interest in ghosts, the mystic and occult that is revealed in several other stories as well. Some of them are simplistic, like the story ‘Motion Picture’ that narrates the vision of seeing a lady djinn swinging outside an old house, or the sighting of the ghost of an opium seller in ‘Gangadhar’s Peril’. But there are also much more complicated ones like the very popular long story of ‘Taranath, the Tantrik’ where the protagonist is a mystic figure and practitioner of occult. With a growing fascination for tantra and tantric practices and philosophy in real life, it is said that the author had interactions with a commanding female ascetic who was a devoted follower of the Hindu goddess Kali, and she offered him words of wisdom about tantra and afterlife. The popularity of this fictional character created by Bibhutibhusan was later continued by his son Taradas Bandyopadhyay and even graphic stories continue to be created on him.

 Bibhutibhusan’s penchant for exotic locations in his fiction like Chander Pahar (The Mountain of the Moon, 1937) and Moroner Donka Baje (The Death Knell, 1921) comes out clearly in the story ‘Chyalaram’s Adventure’ where a driver is recruited to help the King and his family escape from Kabul by crossing inhospitable terrain and reach India. The narrative is packed with action and thrilling escapades and Bibhutibhusan portrays Chyalaram’s brave actions and unorthodox approach to life in a positive light. As in the novels mentioned above, it expresses the author’s impressive ability to vividly and accurately describe exotic places he had never visited but write about them imaginatively, totally resting upon ‘the wings of poesy.’

In several stories, we find a delicate twist at the end of the tale, be it ‘Grandpa’s Tale’ narrating how he was forced to marry a dacoit’s daughter with a subtle touch of humour seamlessly integrated into the narrative, or ‘Not a Story’ that focuses on the danger posed by dacoits in rural Bengal at that time, where a traveller narrates the tale about a person called Satish Bagdi; or the sweet romantic ending of ‘The Suitcase Wrap’ that was inspired by an actual event when the author’s  sister-in-law’s suitcase was accidentally switched on a train. This story captured the attention of readers and was eventually made into a very popular Bengali feature film called Baksho Bodol. ‘Jawharlal and God’ is a satirical tale born out of the author’s anguish and sorrow caused by the Partition of India and the tumultuous aftermath of World War II. The story was written to depict the loss of human values and how man had lost compassion and wonder for the natural world and distanced himself from God. Each of the remaining stories in this collection is unique and once again the translator needs to be congratulated for such an eclectic selection.

Providing a suitable glossary at the end, Hironmoy Lahiri has tried to stick to the original as far as possible, as well as to keep inconsistencies at bay. He has also taken particular care to maintain the essential Bengali linguistic and cultural nuances in the stories. The book will provide non-Bengali readers a good example of the quintessential Bibhutibhusan Bandyopadhyay, who is definitely a difficult writer to translate. The stories explore several universal themes that transcend cultural boundaries and will prove to be popular with readers from different cultural backgrounds.

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Somdatta Mandal is a critic and translator and a Former Professor of English, Visva-Bharati, Santiniketan.

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

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Categories
Greetings from Borderless

Auld Lang Syne…

As we wait for the new year to unfold, we glance back at the year that just swept past us. Here, gathered together are glimpses of the writings we found on our pages in 2024 that herald a world of compassion and kindness…writings filled with hope and, dare I say, even goodwill…and sometimes filled with the tears of poetic souls who hope for a world in peace and harmony. Disasters caused by humans starting with the January 2024 in Japan, nature and climate change, essays that invite you to recall the past with a hope to learn from it, non-fiction that is just fun or a tribute to ideas, both past and present — it’s all there. Innovative genres started by writers to meet the needs of the times — be it solar punk or weird western — give a sense of movement towards the new. What we do see in these writings is resilience which healed us out of multiple issues and will continue to help us move towards a better future.

A hundred years ago, we did not have the technology to share our views and writings, to connect and make friends with the like-minded across continents. I wonder what surprises hundred years later will hold for us…Maybe, war will have been outlawed by then, as have been malpractices and violences against individuals in the current world. The laws that rule a single man will hopefully apply to larger groups too…

Poetry

Whose life? by Aman Alam. Click here to read.

Winter Consumes by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal. Click here to read.

Hot Dry Summers by Lizzie Packer. Click here to read.

House of Birds (for Pablo Neruda) by Ryan Quinn Flanagan. Click here to read.

Poems for Dylan Thomas by Michael Burch. Click here to read.

Dylan Thomas in Ardmillan Terrace? by Stuart McFarlane. Click here to read.

Bermuda Love Triangle & the Frothiest Coffee by Rhys Hughes. Click here to read.

Satirical Poems by Maithreyi Karnoor. Click here to read.

Three Poems by Rakhi Dalal. Click here to read.

Manish Ghatak’s Aagun taader Praan (Fire is their Life) has been translated from Bengali by Indrayudh Sinha. Click here to read.

Manzur Bismil’s poem, Stories, has been translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch. Click here to read.

Ye Shao-weng’s poetry ( 1100-1150) has been translated from Mandarin by Rex Tan. Click here to read.

Amalkanti by Nirendranath Chakraborty has been translated from Bengali by Debali Mookerjea-Leonard. Click here to read.

The Mirror by Mubarak Qazi has been translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch. Click here to read.

Homecoming, a poem by Ihlwha Choi on his return from Santiniketan, has been translated from Korean by the poet himself. Click here to read.

Pochishe Boisakh (25th of Baisakh) by Tagore (1922), has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty. Click here to read.

Nazrul’s Ghumaite Dao Shranto Robi Re (Let Robi Sleep in Peace) has been translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.

Jibananada Das’s Andhar Dekhecche, Tobu Ache (I have seen the dark and yet there is another) has been translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.

Tagore’s Shotabdir Surjo Aji ( The Century’s Sun today) has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty. Click here to read.

Non-fiction

Baraf Pora (Snowfall)

A narrative by Rabindranath Tagore that gives a glimpse of his first experience of snowfall in Brighton and published in the Tagore family journal, Balak (Children), has been translated from Bengali by Somdatta Mandal. Click here to read.

Dylan on Worm’s Head

Rhys Hughes describes a misadventure that the Welsh poet had while hiking as a tribute to him on Dylan Thomas Day. Click here to read.

Travels of Debendranath Tagore 

These are from the memoirs of Tagore’s father translated from Bengali by Somdatta Mandal. Click here to read.

Two Pizza Fantasies

Rhys Hughes recounts myths around the pizza in prose, fiction and poetry, Click here to read

Is this a Dagger I See…?

Devraj Singh Kalsi gives a tongue-in-cheek account of a writer’s dilemma. Click here to read.

Still to Moving Images 

Ratnottama Sengupta explores artists who have turned to use the medium of films… artists like the legendary MF Husain. Click here to read.

How Dynamic was Ancient India?

Farouk Gulsara explores William Dalrymple’s latest book, The Golden Road: How Ancient India Transformed the World. Click here to read.

The Magic Dragon: Cycling for Peace

Keith Lyons writes of a man who cycled for peace in a conflict ridden world. Click here to read.

A Cover Letter

Uday Deshwal muses on writing a cover letter for employment. Click here to read.

A Manmade Disaster or Climate Change?

Salma A Shafi writes of floods in Bangladesh from ground level. Click here to read.

Pinecones and Pinky Promises

Luke Rimmo Minkeng Lego writes of mists and cloudy remembrances in Shillong. Click here to read.

 Educating for Peace in Rwanda

Suzanne Kamata discusses the peace initiatives following the terrors of the 1994 Rwandan Genocide while traveling within the country with her university colleague and students. Click here to read.

Breaking Bread

Snigdha Agrawal has a bovine encounter in a restaurant. Click here to read.

From Srinagar to Ladakh: A Cyclist’s Diary

Farouk Gulsara travels from Malaysia for a cycling adventure in Kashmir. Click here to read.

A Saga of Self-empowerment in Adversity

Bhaskar Parichha writes of Noor Jahan Bose’s Daughter of The Agunmukha: A Bangla Life, translated from Bengali by Rebecca Whittington. Click here to read.

Safdar Hashmi

Meenakshi Malhotra writes of Anjum Katyal’s Safdar Hashmi: Towards Theatre for a Democracy. Click hereto read.

Meeting the Artists

Kiriti Sengupta talks of his encounter with Jatin Das, a legendary artist. Click here to read.

The Comet’s Trail: Remembering Kazi Nazrul Islam

Radha Chakravarty pays tribute to the rebel poet of Bengal. Click here to read.

The Myriad Hues of Tagore by Aruna Chakravarti

Aruna Chakravarti writes on times and the various facets of Tagore. Click here to read.

The Year of Living Dangerously

Professor Fakrul Alam takes us back to the birth of Bangladesh. Click here to read.

A Short, Winding, and Legendary Dhaka Road 

Professor Fakrul Alam takes us on a historical journey of one of the most iconic roads of Dhaka, Fuller Road. Click here to read.

 A Sombre Start 

Suzanne Kamata talks of the twin disasters in Japan. Click here to read.

Fiction

The Snakecharmer

Shapuray by Nazrul, has been translated from Bengali by Sohana Manzoor. Click here to read.

Significance

Naramsetti  Umamaheswararao creates a fable around a banyan tree and it’s fruit. Click here to read.

Just Another Day

Neeman Sobhan gives a story exploring the impact of the politics of national language on common people. Click here to read.

The Ghosts of Hogshead

Paul Mirabile wanders into the realm of the supernatural dating back to the Potato Famine of Ireland in the 1800s. Click here to read.

A Queen is Crowned

Farhanaz Rabbani traces the awakening of self worth. Click here to read.

The Last Hyderabadi

Mohul Bhowmick talks of the passage of an era. Click here to read.

The Gift 

Rebecca Klassen shares a sensitive story about a child and an oak tree. Click here to read.

Galat Aurat or The Wrong Woman

Veena Verma’s story has been translated from Punjabi by C Christine Fair. Click here to read.

The Melting Snow

A story by Sharaf Shad,  has been translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch. Click here to read.

Conversations

Ratnottama Sengupta talks to Ruchira Gupta, activist for global fight against human trafficking, about her work and introduces her novel, I Kick and I Fly. Click here to read.

A conversation with eminent Singaporean poet and academic, Kirpal Singh, about how his family migrated to Malaya and subsequently Singapore more than 120 years ago. Click here to read.

A brief overview of Rajat Chaudhuri’s Spellcasters and a discussion with the author on his book. Click here to read.

A review of and discussion with Rhys Hughes about his ‘Weird Western’, The Sunset Suite. Click here to read.

Categories
Editorial

‘Footfalls Echo in the Memory’

Painting by Claud Monet (1840-1926). From Public Domain

Acknowledging our past achievements sends a message of hope and responsibility, encouraging us to make even greater efforts in the future. Given our twentieth-century accomplishments, if people continue to suffer from famine, plague and war, we cannot blame it on nature or on God.

–Homo Deus (2015), Yuval Noah Harari

Another year drumrolls its way to a war-torn end. Yes, we have found a way to deal with Covid by the looks of it, but famine, hunger… have these drawn to a close? In another world, in 2019, Abhijit Banerjee had won a Nobel Prize for “a new approach to obtaining reliable answers about the best ways to fight global poverty”. Even before that in 2015, Yuval Noah Harari had discussed a world beyond conflicts where Homo Sapien would evolve to become Homo Deus, that is man would evolve to deus or god. As Harari contends at the start of Homo Deus, some of the world at least hoped to move towards immortality and eternal happiness. But, given the current events, is that even a remote possibility for the common man?

Harari points out in the sentence quoted above, acknowledging our past achievements gives hope… a hope born of the long journey humankind has made from caves to skyscrapers. If wars destroy those skyscrapers, what happens then? Our December issue highlights not only the world as we knew it but also the world as we know it.

In our essay section, Farouk Gulsara contextualises and discusses William Dalrymple’s latest book, The Golden Road with a focus on past glories while Professor Fakrul Alam dwells on a road in Dhaka , a road rife with history of the past and of toppling the hegemony and pointless atrocities against citizens. Yet, common people continue to weep for the citizens who have lost their homes, happiness and lives in Gaza and Ukraine, innocent victims of political machinations leading to war.

Just as politics divides and destroys, arts build bridges across the world. Ratnottama Sengupta has written of how artists over time have tried their hands at different mediums to bring to us vignettes of common people’s lives, like legendary artist M F Husain went on to make films, with his first black and white film screened in Berlin Film Festival in 1967 winning the coveted Golden Bear, he captured vignettes of Rajasthan and the local people through images and music. And there are many more instances like his…

Mohul Bhowmick browses on the past and the present of Hyderabad in a nostalgic tone capturing images with words. From the distant shores of New Zealand, Keith Lyons takes on a more individualistic note to muse on the year as it affected him. Meredith Stephens has written of her sailing adventure and life in South Australia. Devraj Singh Kalsi describes a writerly journey in a wry tone. Rhys Hughes also takes a tone of dry humour as he continues with his poems musing on photographs of strangely worded signboards. Colours are brought into poetry by Michael R Burch, Farah Sheikh, George Freek, Rajiv Borra, Kelsey Walker, John Grey, Stuart McFarlane, Saranyan BV, Ryan Quinn Falangan and many more. Some lines from this issue’s poetry selection by young Aman Alam really resonated well with the tone defined by the contributors of this issue:

It's always the common people who pay first.
They don’t write the speeches or sign the orders.
But when the dust rises, they’re the ones buried under...

Whose Life? By Aman Alam

Echoing the theme of the state of the common people is a powerful poem by Manish Ghatak translated from Bengali by Indrayudh Sinha, a poem that echoes how some flirt with danger on a daily basis for ‘Fire is their life’. Professor Alam has brought to us a Bengali poem by Jibanananda Das that reflects the issues we are all facing in today’s world, a poem that remains relevant even in the next century, Andhar Dekhecche, Tobu Ache (I have seen the dark and yet there is another). Fazal Baloch has translated contemporary poet Manzur Bismil’s poem from Balochi on the suffering caused by decisions made by those in power. Ihlwha Choi on the other hand has shared his own lines in English from his Korean poem about his journey back from Santiniketan, in which he claims to pack “all my lingering regrets carefully into my backpack”. And yet from the founder of Santiniketan, we have a translated poem that is not only relevant but also disturbing in its description of the current reality: “…Conflicts are born of self-interest./ Wars are fought to satiate greed…”. Tagore’s Shotabdir Surjo (The Century’s Sun, 1901) recounts the horrors of history…The poem brings to mind Edvard Munch’s disturbing painting of “The Scream” (1893).  Does what was true more than hundred years ago, still hold?

Reflecting on eternal human foibles, Naramsetti Umamaheswararao creates a contemporary fable in fiction while Snigdha Agrawal reflects on attitudes towards aging. Paul Mirabile weaves an interesting story around guilt and crime. Sengupta takes us back to her theme of artistes moving away from the genre, when she interviews award winning actress, Divya Dutta, for not her acting but her literary endeavours — two memoirs — Me and Ma and Stars in the Sky. The other interviewee Lara Gelya from Ukraine, also discusses her memoir, Camels from Kyzylkum, a book that traces her journey from the desert of Kyzylkum to USA through various countries. In our book excerpts, we have one that resonates with immigrant lores as writer VS Naipual’s sister, Savi Naipaul Akal, discusses how their family emigrated to Trinidad in The Naipauls of Nepaul Street. The other excerpt from Thomas Bell’s Human Nature: A Walking History of the Himalayan Landscape seeks “to understand the relationship between communities and their environment.” He moves through the landscapes of Nepal to connect readers to people in Himalayan villages.

The reviews in this issue travel through cultures and time with Somdatta Mandal’s discussion of Kusum Khemani’s Lavanyadevi, translated from Hindi by Banibrata Mahanta. Aditi Yadav travels to Japan with Nanako Hanada’s The Bookshop Woman, translated from Japanese by Cat Anderson. Jagari Mukherjee writes on the poems of Kiriti Sengupta in Oneness and Bhaskar Parichha reviews a book steeped in history and the life of a brave and daring woman, a memoir by Noor Jahan Bose, Daughter of The Agunmukha: A Bangla Life, translated from Bengali by Rebecca Whittington.

We have more content than mentioned here. Please do pause by our content’s page to savour our December Issue. We are eternally grateful to you, dear readers, for making our journey worthwhile.

Huge thanks to all our contributors for making this issue come alive with their vibrant work. Huge thanks to the team at Borderless for their unflinching support and to Sohana Manzoor for sharing her iconic paintings that give our journal a distinctive flavour.

With the hope of healing with love and compassion, let us dream of a world in peace.

Best wishes for the start of the next year,

Mitali Chakravarty

borderlessjournal.com

Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden.

TS Eliot, ‘Burnt Norton’, Four Quartets (1941)

Click here to access the content’s page for the December 2024 Issue

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Categories
Tagore Translations

The Century’s Sun by Rabindranath Tagore

Published as part of Naibedya (1901) Tagore’s Shotabdir Surjo Aji (This Century’s Sun Today) remains relevant to this day.

Art by Sohana Manzoor
THE CENTURY’S SUN 

The century’s sun sets today amidst clouds that are blood-red.
Revelling in violence, the crazed ragini* of death
Plays a fierce tune. Civilisation’s merciless serpent raises
Its evil hood, its concealed fangs with deadly venom laced.
Conflicts are born of self-interest.
Wars are fought to satiate greed.
Hurricanes rage in distress and churn
Barbarism that rouses from filth
Shamelessly, disguised as decorum.
Terrible outrages are committed.
Faith is pushed adrift by force,
Ostensibly, for the love of the race.
Poets scream stirring fear in hearts.
Dogs in the graveyard snatch and bark.

*Female raga

This poem has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty with editorial input from Sohana Manzoor

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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

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Categories
Essay

A Short, Winding, and Legendary Dhaka Road

By Fakrul Alam

From Public Domain

Fuller Road, the short and winding road in the middle of the University of Dhaka campus, is quite legendary, not only as far as the history of that institution is concerned, but also in the annals of Bangladesh. It must also be one of the most beautiful of Dhaka city’s roads, having till now mostly escaped the degradations other old roads of the city have been subjected to due to rampant urbanisation. It is steeped in history, but still looks as if it was built not that long ago. Undoubtedly, it has real character and a distinctive place in the city’s life.

Bampfylde Fuller[1] was the first Lieutenant Governor of the province of East Bengal and Assam but he held that position for less than a year. Fuller Road must have been named to acknowledge his indirect role in the creation of Dhaka’s university. A controversial administrator and a very opinionated man, he had quit his position in a huff after less than a year at his job. The Partition of Bengal had been revoked in 1912, and all Fuller left behind then in his brief stint seemingly was the beautiful Old High Court Building of the city (whose construction he had initiated) and the splendid, sprawling rain trees of the university he had apparently imported from Madagascar. Nevertheless, the naming of the road indicates that he was part of the historical current that would lead not only to the building of the University of Dhaka in 1921, but also to the Partition of India in 1947, and the birth of Bangladesh in 1971. Fuller Road is thus replete with history.

Enter it from Azimpur Road and you will see it flanked on one side by Salimullah Muslim (or SM) Hall, and on the other by Jagannath Hall. The former, of course, is named to honour Nawab Salimullah, one of the university’s founders, and someone who had donated a lot of land to the university. Built in 1930-1931, SM Hall is a splendid building, incorporating features not merely of Mughal architecture and gardens, but also of design elements of the colleges and halls that echo another venerable university, Oxford (one reason why the University of Dhaka was once called the “Oxford of the East”). Jagannath Hall comes with an overload of history as well. It, too, was originally modelled after the halls of the University of Oxford and was named after a zamindar of Savar who had contributed to the founding of Jagannath College, which had an organic connection with the university for a long time.

Fuller Road, in fact, is also steeped in the history of Bangladesh. If you enter it from its Azimpur Road entrance, you will see the Swadhinata Sangram, a group of sculptural busts by Shamim Sikder that commemorates the legendary names associated with the university and the birth of Bangladesh. If you care to enter the university staff quarters from either the left or right of the road, and if you then ask the guards to show you around, you will find the graves of intellectuals (or plaques honouring them). These were men martyred in 1971 due to the single-minded determination of the Pakistani army and its Bengali collaborators to eliminate dissident intellectuals who had worked for the birth of Bangladesh, thereby crippling the country at the moment of its birth.

If you exit the road on Nilkhet road, you will find a solemnly built commemorative area in another island, containing plaques listing university teachers, staff members, and students martyred in 1971. The sculptures and the plaques are testaments not only to the sheer bloody-mindedness of the Pakistani forces of yore but also to the major contribution made by the university’s people to Bangladesh’s independence. I grew up listening to snatches of the history of the University of Dhaka and Fuller Road that are relevant here.

One of my uncles, for instance, is still fond of retelling an incident when he escaped from the Pakistani police’s bloody assault on demonstrators protesting on February 21, 1952, against the imposition of Urdu as the sole national language of the nascent state by (West) Pakistani administrators and their cohorts. He had taken refuge at that time in the Fuller Road flat of an European Jewish academic, who was then a faculty member. A few of my teachers have either talked about or written about the movements that continued from that memorable incident till December 16, 1971, describing their involvement with the various other movements that led to the emergence of Bangladesh. They highlight, in the process, noteworthy moments in the road’s history and the roles its denizens played in our country’s pre-liberation stages, as well as the memorable transitional historical moments they had either witnessed or were part of.

As I move in from the Swadhinata Sangram island on the Azimpur Road entry point of Fuller Road nowadays, I can see only a few remnants of the natural beauty the road once boasted. Gone is the basketball court placed in a picturesque setting that SM Hall once possessed, or the lush green grass tennis court of the Hall that my uncle reminisced about. He played there before my time. For a long time, there were many statuesque and lovely trees on the SM Hall side of the road. However, the distinctive architectural features of the SM hall building still strikes me as very impressive.

On the other side, however, the first clear signs of the uglification of Fuller Road are visible in the drab features of the newly built extension of the Jagannath Hall complex. In addition to these two halls, Fuller Road is flanked on one side by the British Council and university staff quarters, and on the other by Udayan Bidyalaya (aka Udayan School/College), some faculty and staff quarters, the residences of one of the pro-vice chancellors and the treasurer, and the vice chancellor’s house. The two buildings of the pro-vice chancellor and the treasurer are pretty nondescript, as are the Udayan buildings, but the British Council setup is quite notable. I have written about the British Council’s transformation from an open access center for intellectual and cultural pursuits and my own memories of stimulating as well as adda[2]-filled days in anguished as well as indignant remembrance elsewhere, but let me just reiterate what I say in that piece briefly here: This new British Council is, indeed, sleekly designed and has state-of-the art security, but it is no longer the vibrant centre of intellectual exchange it once was, and is now mostly a place visited by those who can afford its wares of British education.

The Vice-chancellor’s residence, however, is undoubtedly still striking. If you have had the privilege of going inside, you must have been impressed by the building as well as the grounds, containing krishnachuras and jarul trees, which when flowering, make Fuller Road look vibrant and colourful—almost a garden in Dhaka city. Indeed, the rain trees, the krishnachuras and jaruls in bloom, one or two shirish and a solitary sonalu trees and (still) numerous mango trees play their part in making Fuller Road a distinctive floral phenomenon of the cityscape. Fuller Road is indeed as beautiful as you could expect any road to be in a bustling, bursting-at-its seam, and unsparingly chaotic city like Dhaka.

It is a road that also has many moods and that you can see in many lights—literally. I lived in Fuller Road for over two decades and frequented it for two more, and thus have had the privilege of viewing the road at different times of the day and on diverse occasions for at least four decades. When I now reflect on what I saw, I am struck by the immense variety of the experiences the road affords to those who live in it and even to passersby.

It was during my prolonged stay in Fuller Road that I got frequent glimpses of the wondrous place it once must have been. Even now, a nature-lover can take delight in its birds, for although the cacophonic crows still reign supreme amongst the bird population of the locality, throughout the day, and especially in the evening, you will see swiftly flying flocks of pigeons, tribes of parrots, and incomparably beautiful yellow-breasted holud pakhi[3]couples, in addition to the sad-looking, ubiquitous shaliks[4] and evening’s surrealistic bats.

When I first started living in Fuller Road, I would occasionally see snakes slithering by on monsoonal days; mongooses darting away at the sight of walkers is a not uncommon experience even now. Wild dogs roam in parts of Fuller Road at nights and early mornings. The foxes have disappeared, and I have seen a stray monkey only once or twice, but there is still enough flora and fauna around to make you feel an intimate connection with nature in this neighbourhood of the city. But of course, in addition to its nonhuman residents as well as its human ones, Fuller Road is now frequented mostly by people who find its free and open spaces appealing for different reasons at different times of the day.

Early in the morning or late in the evening, for instance, you will find men and women chatting away as they do their constitutionals; during the day students saunter across the road while vehicles fill the free and plentiful parking spaces; come evening lovers sit down discreetly in its dark spots, trying to be as close as possible and as far away as they can from prying eyes; with nightfall nouveau riche youths park faux sports and/or sleekly painted cars, trying to impress the girls who stroll across the road. Nowadays you will see with irritating frequency in evenings the parked motorcycles of busy-seeming student leaders. At night, Fuller Road can have a surrealistic feel to it—lit up but deserted, desolate as in some dreamscape, and as in a dreamscape, hauntingly familiar. 

What surely makes Fuller Road truly distinctive, though, are the festival days that it hosts throughout the year, and the processions and parades that cross it throughout the year for one reason or the other. If you list them by the English calendar, you can begin with the new year when celebrations continue from the final hours of the dying year and end till the first nightfall of the new one. February is a truly distinctive month in the road—first Bashanta Utshob[5]and then Valentine’s Day see it fill up with young men and women in bright, warm colours and obviously romantic, flirtatious moods. Even solemn Ekushey[6]February, when night-long Fuller Road residents hear the doleful notes of the Ekushey song commemorating our language martyrs, and when from dawn to afternoon the road is closed to all vehicular traffic, switches to a festive mood by late afternoon, as those crisscrossing it seem bent on leaving the sad notes behind to celebrate all things Bengali. But the most exuberant display you can see in and around Fuller Road is during Pohela Boishakh[7], when the road turns into a conduit for festival-loving people flowing from fun-filled event to event. Eid days and Durga Pujas, and Saraswati pujas too witness suitably dressed young people walking across the road in obviously celebratory moods, lighting up themselves and the people around them, as they either stroll by or stand in pairs or groups here and there in the curving road’s embrace.

And the processions and parades? Suffice it to say that they are motivated not only by politics but this or that reason or cause. In the three Fuller Road flats I lived in for twenty or so years, I felt the kind of contentment and ease that I did not experience in the many neighbourhoods of Dhaka I had lived in before, or the Dhanmondi flat I live in now. Mango-filled trees exuding mango blossom scents, kamini flowers with overpowering fragrances, wide open spaces where children and boys play to their hearts’ content and neighbours greet each other familiarly throughout the day made my life on Fuller Road incomparably pleasing.

Towards the end of my Dhaka University career, I moved to a flat on the ninth floor of the newly constructed faculty apartment complex. There I saw what I had never seen before—monsoonal cloud formations, magnificent sunsets (I would not get up in time for sunrises!), the moon in its full glory, and star-studded nights. Heaven seemed to come closer and closer to me then. I truly seemed to have ascended to celestial heights! But paradise has to be lost sooner or later and can only be regained in this world by willing the mind to vision it from exilic places every now and then. But to have had some close to it moments in this life through Fuller Road is truly something to be thankful for!

From Public Domain

[1] Fuller (1854-1935) held the position from 16 October 1905 until he resigned on 20 August 1906 after which he relinquished the position to Lord Minto (1845-1914).

[2] Tete-a tete

[3] Orioles

[4] Mynas

[5] Spring Festival

[6] Twenty-first February has been declared the mother tongue day by UNESCO. One of the reasons Bangladesh was formed was its insistence on Bengali being its mother tongue while Pakistan tried to impose Urdu as the national language.

[7] Pohela Boishakh (first day of the Bengali month of Boishakh) falls on 14th April in Bangladesh and  is celebrated as the start of the Bengali New Year with a holiday and fanfare.

(First Published in Daily Star on July 7, 2018)

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

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Review

 A Saga of Self-empowerment in Adversity

Book Review by Bhaskar Parichha

Title: Daughter of The Agunmukha: A Bangla Life 

 Author: Noorjahan Bose (Author), Rebecca Whittington (Translator)

Publisher: Speaking Tiger Books

This memoir recounts the journey of a young woman from a small island in Bangladesh who discovers the works of Tagore, Marx, and de Beauvoir, ultimately emerging as a prominent advocate for feminist causes.

Noorjahan Bose is a feminist author, social advocate, and activist resides between the United States and Bangladesh. She is the founder of two organizations based in the US aimed at empowering South Asian women: Ashiyanaa (previously known as ASHA) and Samhati. Rebecca Whittington serves as a literary translator specialising in Tamil, Bangla, and Hindi.

The narrative of Daughter of the Agunmukha[1] intricately weaves the life story of Noorjahan Bose, a remarkable woman whose journey is marked by resilience, courage, and an unwavering quest for freedom. Born in 1938 in a rural area of what is now Bangladesh, Noorjahan’s early life was deeply intertwined with the rhythms of nature and the struggles of her family, who were farmers living in close proximity to the tumultuous River Agunmukha, ominously referred to as the Fire Mouth River. This river, with its fierce currents and unpredictable nature, serves as a powerful metaphor for the challenges Noorjahan would face throughout her life.

From a young age, Noorjahan was thrust into a world of hardship and trauma. She endured sexual abuse at the hands of male relatives, a harrowing experience that left deep emotional scars. Compounding her struggles was the influence of her mother, who, having been a child bride herself, was often constrained by the societal norms and expectations of their time. Despite her own limitations, Noorjahan’s mother became a beacon of hope and creativity in her life. She instilled in Noorjahan a sense of joy and the importance of self-expression, encouraging her to explore her talents and dreams even in the face of adversity.

As Noorjahan grew older, her thirst for knowledge and personal freedom became increasingly evident. Education, however, was not easily accessible to her. The societal barriers and gender discrimination prevalent in her community posed significant obstacles to her academic pursuits. Yet, with the unwavering support of her mother and the encouragement of local activists who recognised her potential, Noorjahan began to carve out a path for herself. These activists, driven by a vision of social justice and equality, played a crucial role in empowering her to challenge the status quo.

Emboldened by her experiences and the solidarity she found in progressive movements, Noorjahan’s journey took her beyond the borders of her village. She became an advocate for women’s rights, using her voice to speak out against the injustices faced by women in her community and beyond. Her activism not only transformed her own life but also inspired countless others to join the fight for equality and empowerment.

As she traveled the globe, Noorjahan encountered diverse cultures and perspectives, each enriching her understanding of the world and deepening her commitment to social change. Her experiences abroad further fueled her passion for education and advocacy, leading her to collaborate with international organisations dedicated to uplifting marginalised communities.

Noorjahan’s life has been marked by significant hardships, beginning with the anguish of Partition, followed by the loss of her husband when she was merely 18 and expecting a child. Additionally, she faced the relentless threat of cyclones that jeopardised her family’s home and means of survival. Despite these challenges, her bravery is evident throughout her memoir. She advocated for the rights of the Bangla language in East Pakistan, navigated the tumultuous period of Bangladesh’s Liberation War (1971), and entered into a marriage that transcends her family’s religious boundaries.

This poignant and compelling narrative encapsulates a profound journey of trauma, loss, resilience, and empowerment.

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[1] Agunmukha means fire mouthed

Bhaskar Parichha is a journalist and author of Cyclones in Odisha: Landfall, Wreckage and ResilienceUnbiasedNo Strings Attached: Writings on Odisha and Biju Patnaik – A Political Biography. He lives in Bhubaneswar and writes bilingually. Besides writing for newspapers, he also reviews books on various media platforms.

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Review

Lavanyadevi: An Epitome of Perfection?

Book Review by Somdatta Mandal

Title: Lavanyadevi

Author: Kusum Khemani (Translated from Hindi by Banibrata Mahanta)

Publisher: Orient BlackSwan Private Limited

Lavanyadevi is an award-winning 2013 novel by Kusum Khemani written in Hindi that chronicles five generations of a traditional aristocratic Bengali zamindar family as it transitions into modernity from British India to the present with the eponymous protagonist as its principal focus. Lavanyadevi—a compelling woman of perfection, extraordinary vision, qualities, and grace—remains real and credible because she is self-aware, self-critical, open to others, and to change. As a Marwari (people originally belonging to Marwar in Rajasthan) living in Kolkata, in Khemani’s fiction the schisms between ‘Bengali’ and ‘Marwari’ blur to reveal a delightfully plural, composite, and distinctively Indian ethos. Lavanyadevi is a story about women and their search for self, about shared laughter and friendships that endure across generations, beliefs and cultures—between mother and daughter, grandmother and granddaughter, and Marwari and Bengali women. Khemani’s women protagonists are strong, clear-sighted, both worldly and sublime, embodying a larger-than-life idealism while being grounded firmly in the everyday.

In his introduction to his novel Kanthapura (1938), Raja Rao had defined it as a sthala-purana[1], which he defined as a “legendary history” in which the old lady narrator in the village took recourse to the traditional Indian narrative technique, digressed at will to bring forth her point. Somehow the way Kusum Khemani takes recourse to multiple narrative techniques in Lavanyadevi and binds the different digressive stories and incidents into one contiguous whole when she tells us about the history of five generations of the Bengali zamindar family, reminds one of Raja Rao’s theory. She uses diverse narrative strategies like flashbacks, diaries, letters and emails, history, memory and the third person narrator to enrich its telling, lending it depth and range. A large part of the narrative revolves around telling us about past history when Lavanyadevi manages to lay her hands on her mother Jyotirmoyidevi’s diaries and finds great pleasure and thrill of reading one’s own family history. Not only do they offer a wonderful eye-witness account of the private and public sphere of Kolkata of those times, but they also make her easy transition into reading about her mother’s youth, her elaborate description of her magnificent wedding and the rituals that spread over almost a month.

The diary as metanarrative and the protagonist as reader/narrator are particularly effective, offering a telescopic perspective. Though at times it rambles a bit, the polyphonic structure of the novel engages Lavanyadevi the granddaughter, the daughter, the wife, the mother and the grandmother in conversations with her preceding and her succeeding generations. One must sometimes go back to the family tree and chart provided at the beginning of the novel to place people in proper perspective.

From the very beginning of the novel, Khemani portrays the character of Lavanyadevi in superlatives and this continues in different phases of her life till the end when she decides to remain incognito in the mountain ashram and yet control the lives of her descendants, well-wishers and others. From a child who always stood first in school and remained wholly ignorant of the real world, to her unusual marriage to a gentleman who moved over to Rangoon and then to London where she acquired many more degrees, till she came back to Kolkata, to rear her three children successfully, she seemed to excel in everything. This is how she is described at one place:

“Lavanyadevi was indefatigable. She administered the work of several institutions, her college and her home efficiently and with ease. She was never seen to panic. She was like Goddess Durga with her many hands – untiring in her zeal, handling all her duties unfailingly, responsibly and meticulously. No one could ever complain of being ignored by her. She loved all and treated everyone with the same degree of love and warmth. Scrupulous and hardworking, always upholding truth, Lavanyadevi was the unmatched standard of excellence in all aspects of life, her words worth their weight in gold.”

After judiciously assigning different welfare projects in the city as well as in far-flung places like Dhaka and the hills in Uttarkashi from the immense money she inherited from the family, and after her husband’s demise, Lavanyadevi decided it was time for her to leave the family premises and go and live in an ashram in the hills. There she did not stay in hibernation but her travels for work grew even more frenetic.

From the very beginning her rootedness and belief in the philosophical framework of Hinduism formed the core of her being. They propelled her to seek answers to questions of satya (truth) and mukti (liberation) that confronted her in the latter half of her life. She decided to transcend immediate personal concerns and address larger universal issues. Her transition from grihastha (householder) to sanyasa (renunciate) harkens back to the Hindu ideal of human life divided into four phases. However, contrary to the conception of life in isolation, Lavanyadevi, free of any kind of worldly considerations in this final phase of life, marshaled material and human resources to create a strong network of seva (social service) across the country and even beyond its borders. The list of her welfare schemes is too long to mention in the purview of this review, but ranged from renovating brothels in Kolkata’s red-light areas, creating self-help centres for rural women in Dhaka, de-addiction centres, eco-friendly schools in the hills, organic farming in South India, etc.

In the latter half of the novel, we find Lavanyadevi successfully transmitting her values and ideals to her children and grandchildren who are called the “Saptarshi Mandal friends” and who carry her legacy forward and emphasise that progress does not always mean breaking from the past. Here the novelist becomes too idealistic and brings in too many issues that seem a bit far-fetched. Issues of inter-caste and inter-religious relationships apart, the list of social welfare missions seems endless. Her “soul-children” unobtrusively usher in change and create space for diversity in relationships and ways of living. Harmonious cohabitation with nature became the foundational principle of all the education centres she built in the hills but the way she invisibly controls the activities of all her soldiers through emails and emphasises the middle path of life makes the advocacy of humanitarian concerns a bit overemphasised. She becomes larger than life for ideas and wish-fulfilment.

A Hindi novel about a Bengali family by a Marwari woman from Kolkata became significant when it was commissioned for translation into English. Winner of the PEN/Heim Translation Grant 2021, the jury called Lavanyadevi an ‘ambitious, far-reaching’ novel, lauding Khemani’s ‘energetic prose, deadpan sense of humor, and exquisite control’, and Banibrata Mahanta’s translation that ‘stretches and manipulates language to produce a vivid text’ and a must-read for lovers of Indian literature. Here one needs to mention the seriousness with which Mahanta gives us the ‘Translator’s Introduction’ at the beginning of the text and again ‘Translator’s Note’ at the end. This reviewer feels that both these could have been combined into one general essay highlighting the significance of the evolution of the Marwaris in Bengal, how Khemani’s novel is a hybrid artefact born out of multiple linguistic and cultural encounters, how the characters in the novel speak in languages other than Hindi produces dialogues in Bangla, Marwari, Haryanvi or Punjabi; and how between a breezy translation and a linguistically nuanced one, wherever possible the translator has eschewed the former and gone for the latter. As he rightly admits, translating this complex narrative into global or even a pan-Indian English is always risky, but Mahanta should be given due credit for overcoming all obstacles and bringing this immensely readable novel to a wide readership.

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[1] Ancillory texts to Puranic literature

Somdatta Mandal, critic, academic and translator, is a former Professor of English at Visva-Bharati University, Santiniketan, India.

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Poetry of Jibananda Das

I Have seen the Dark …

A translation of Jibananada Das’s Andhar Dekhecche, Tobu Ache (I have seen the dark and yet there is another) from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam

Art by Sohana Manzoor
I have seen the dark and yet there is another, greater dark
I have known death and yet there is another death awaiting
Behind is a whole history existing, but not accessible yet
Is that grand narrative—one to whom the plot has another meaning;
And to whom the sea sings another tune, and there is a different stirring
Of the heart and of issues—and where the mind is illumined uniquely.

Fire, wind, water—primeval gods burst out laughing
Spent—once spent—does one end up as pork?
Ha! Ha! I burst out laughing—
It was as if amidst the loud laughter,
The carcass of a huge whale had suddenly surfaced in a dark ocean
Making the entire earth become as overpowering as a whale carcass’s stench.

I had thought humans would progress steadily in history’s lap;
Instead of playing with machines they had mastered
They would mature from accumulated successes.
And yet it is the machine that has become a power to reckon with
It is Love that has been punctured and power that has prospered
With the nuclear bomb—was the increase in knowledge
Supposed to result in such a split?

The wisdom that we had gathered over time in life
Just isn’t there—what we have is stasis—senility;
Surrounded by all sorts of fears, we only have
Fatigue and depression. We’ve become self-centered
And have enclosed ourselves in shells. We’re too scared
To break them and avoid unclean sexual exchanges
Carried out in the dark. Oceanic, airy, sunlight soaked,
Blood-drenched, death-touched words come and dance
Like frightening witches—we are frightened---hide in caves—
We would rather disappear—dissolve—disappear in Brahma’s
Word. Our two thousand years of learning is thus much!


We keep ourselves busy with commissions—build bases—love the city
and the port’s bustle
The grass below our boots we consider only grass—nothing else alas—
we’ve made the motorcar our prized possession
Why do wagtails dance then—fingas and bulbulis flit from forest to forest?

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.”

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

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Contents

Borderless, November 2024

Art by Sohana Manzoor

Editorial

Clinging to Hope…Click here to read.

Translations

Nazrul’s Tumi Shundor Tai Cheye Thaki (Because you are so beautiful, I keep looking at you) has been translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.

Hotel Acapulco, has been composed and translated from Italian by Ivan Pozzoni. Click here to read.

On the Reserved Seat of the Subway, a poem by Ihlwha Choi, has been translated from Korean by the poet himself. Click here to read.

Tagore’s Phul Photano (Making Flowers Bloom) has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty. Click here to read.

Poetry

Click on the names to read the poems

Michael R Burch, Jahanara Tariq, Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, Shahalam Tariq, Stuart McFarlane, Saranyan BV, George Freek, G Javaid Rasool, Heath Brougher, Vidya Hariharan, Paul Mirabile, Ananya Sarkar, Ryan Quinn Flanagan, Pulkita Anand, Rhys Hughes

Musings/Slices from Life

Pinecones and Pinky Promises

Luke Rimmo Minkeng Lego writes of mists and cloudy remembrances in Shillong. Click here to read.

Elusive XLs

Shobha Sriram muses on weight management. Click here to read.

The Eternal Sleep of Kumbhakarna

Farouk Gulsara pays a tribute to a doctor and a friend. Click here to read.

Musings of a Copywriter

In Becoming a ‘Plain’ Writer, Devraj Singh Kalsi explores the world of writer’s retreats on hills with a touch of irony. Click here to read.

Notes from Japan

In Educating for Peace in Rwanda, Suzanne Kamata discusses the peace initiatives following the terrors of the 1994 Rwandan Genocide while traveling within the country with her university colleague and students. Click here to read.

Essays

The Year of Living Dangerously

Professor Fakrul Alam takes us back to the birth of Bangladesh. Click here to read.

Deconstructing Happiness

Abdullah Rayhan analyses the concept of happiness. Click here to read.

More Frequent Cyclones to Impact Odisha

Bijoy K Mishra writes of cyclones in Odisha, while discussing Bhaskar Parichha’s Cyclones in Odisha – Landfall, Wreckage and Resilience. Click here to read.

Stories

Hotel du Commerce

Paul Mirabile gives a vignette of life in Paris in the 1970s. Click here to read.

Chintu’s Big Heart

Naramsetti Umamaheswararao gives a value-based story about a child. Click here to read.

Headless Horses

Anna Moon relates a story set in rural Philippines. Click here to read.

A Penguin’s Story

Sreelekha Chatterjee writes a story from a penguin’s perspective. Click here to read.

Phantom Pain

Lakshmi Kannan writes of human nature. Click here to read.

Conversations

A conversation with Dutch author, Mineke Schipper, with focus of her recent book Widows: A Global History. Click here to read.

Ratnottama Sengupta converses with Veena Raman, wife of the late Vijay Raman, an IPS officer who authored, Did I Really Do All This: Memoirs of a Gentleman Cop Who Dared to be Different. Click here to read.

Book Excerpts

An excerpt from Vijay Raman’s Did I Really Do All This: Memoirs of a Gentleman Cop Who Dared to be Different. Click here to read.

An excerpt from Rhys Hughes’ Growl at the Moon, a Weird Western. Click here to read.

Book Reviews

Somdatta Mandal reviews The Collected Short Stories of Kazi Nazrul Islam, translated by multiple translators from Bengali and edited by Syed Manzoorul Islam and Kaustav Chakraborty. Click here to read.

Rakhi Dalal reviews The Long Strider in Jehangir’s Hindustan: In the Footsteps of the Englishman Who Walked From England to India in the Year 1613 by Dom Moraes and Sarayu Srivatsa. Click here to read.

Bhaskar Parichha reviews Mohammad Tarbush’s My Palestine: An Impossible Exile. Click here to read.

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Editorial

Clinging to Hope

I will cling fast to hope.

— Suzanne Kamata, ‘Educating for Peace in Rwanda

Landscape of Change by Jill Pelto, Smithsonian. From Public Domain

Hope is the mantra for all human existence. We hope for a better future, for love, for peace, for good weather, for abundance. When that abundance is an abundance of harsh weather or violence wrought by wars, we hope for calm and peace.

This is the season for cyclones — Dana, Trami, Yixing, Hurricanes Milton and Helene — to name a few that left their imprint with the destruction of both property and human lives as did the floods in Spain while wars continue to annihilate more lives and constructs. That we need peace to work out how to adapt to climate change is an issue that warmongers seem to have overlooked. We have to figure out how we can work around losing landmasses and lives to intermittent floods caused by tidal waves, landslides like the one in Wayanad and rising temperatures due to the loss of ice cover. The loss of the white cover of ice leads to more absorption of heat as the melting water is deeper in colour. Such phenomena could affect the availability of potable water and food, impacted by the changes in flora and fauna as a result of altered temperatures and weather patterns. An influx of climate refugees too is likely in places that continue habitable. Do we need to find ways of accommodating these people? Do we need to redefine our constructs to face the crises?

Echoing concerns for action to adapt to climate change and hoping for peace, our current issue shimmers with vibrancy of shades while weaving in personal narratives of life, living and the process of changing to adapt.

An essay on Bhaskar Parichha’s recent book on climate change highlights the action that is needed in the area where Dana made landfall recently. In terms of preparedness things have improved, as Bijoy K Mishra contends in his essay. But more action is needed. Denying climate change or thinking of going back to pre-climate change era is not an option for humanity anymore. While politics often ignores the need to acknowledge this crises and divides destroying with wars, riots and angst, a narrative for peace is woven by some countries like Japan and Rwanda.

Suzanne Kamata recently visited Rwanda. She writes about how she found by educating people about the genocide of 1994, the locals have found a way to live in peace with people who they addressed as their enemies before… as have the future generations of Japan by remembering the atomic holocausts of 1945.

Writing about an event which wrought danger into the lives of common people in South Asia is Professor Fakrul Alam’s essay on the 1971 conflict between the countries that were carved out of the 1947 Partition of the Indian subcontinent. As if an antithesis to this narrative of divides that destroyed lives, Luke Rimmo Minkeng Lego muses about peace and calm in Shillong which leaves a lingering fragrance of heartfelt friendships. Farouk Gulsara muses on nostalgic friendships and twists of fate that compel one to face mortality. Abdullah Rayhan ponders about happiness and Shobha Sriram, with a pinch of humour, adapts to changes. Devraj Singh Kalsi writes satirically of current norms aiming for a change in outlook.

Humour is brought into poetry by Rhys Hughes who writes about a photograph of a sign that can be interpreted in ways more than one. Michael Burch travels down the path of nostalgia as Ryan Quinn Flanagan shares a poem inspired by Pablo Neruda’s bird poems. Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal writes heart wrenching verses about the harshness of winter for the homeless without shelter. We have more colours in poetry woven by Jahanara Tariq, Stuart MacFarlane, Saranyan BV, George Freek, G Javaid Rasool, Heath Brougher and more.

In translations, we have poetry from varied countries. Ihlwha Choi has self-translated his poem from Korean. Ivan Pozzoni has done the same from Italian. One of Tagore’s lesser-known verses, perhaps influenced by the findings of sensitivity in plants by his contemporary, Jagadish Chandra Bose (1858-1937) to who he dedicated the collection which homed this poem, Phool Photano (making flowers bloom), has been translated from Bengali. Professor Alam has translated Nazrul’s popular song, Tumi Shundor Tai Cheye Thaki (Because you are so beautiful, I keep gazing at you).

In reviews, Somdatta Mandal has discussed The Collected Short Stories of Kazi Nazrul Islam, translated by multiple translators from Bengali and edited by Syed Manzoorul Islam and Kaustav Chakraborty. Rakhi Dalal has written about The Long Strider in Jehangir’s Hindustan: In the Footsteps of the Englishman Who Walked From England to India in the Year 1613 by Dom Moraes and Sarayu Srivatsa, a book that looks and compares the past with the present. Bhaskar Parichha has written of a memoir which showcases not just the personal but gives a political and economic commentary on tumultuous events that shaped the history of Israel, Palestine, and the modern Middle East prior to the more than a year-old conflict. The book by the late Mohammad Tarbush (1948-2022) is called My Palestine: An Impossible Exile.

Stories travel around the world with Paul Mirabile’s narrative giving a flavour of bohemian Paris in 1974. Anna Moon’s fiction set in Philippines gives a darker perspective of life. Lakshmi Kannan’s narrative hovers around the 2008 bombing in Mumbai, an event that evoked much anger, violence and created hatred in hearts. In contrast, Naramsetti Umamaheswararao brings a sense of warmth into our lives with a story about a child and his love for a dog. Sreelekha Chatterjee weaves a tale of change, showcasing adapting to climate crisis from a penguin’s perspective.

Hoping to change mindsets with education, Mineke Schipper has a collection of essays called Widows: A Global History, which has been introduced along with a discussion with the author on how we can hope for a more equitable world. The other conversation by Ratnottama Sengupta with Veena Raman, wife of the late Vijay Raman, a police officer who authored, Did I Really Do All This: Memoirs of a Gentleman Cop Who Dared to be Different, showcases a life given to serving justice. Raman was an officer who caught dacoits like Paan Singh Tomar and the Indian legendary dacoit queen, Phoolan Devi. An excerpt from his memoir accompanies the conversation. The other book excerpt is from an extremely out of the box book, Rhys Hughes’ Growl at the Moon, a Weird Western.

Trying something new, being out of the box is what helped humans move out from caves, invent wheels and create civilisations. Hopefully, this is what will help us move into the next phase of human development where wars and weapons will become redundant, and we will be able to adapt to changing climes and move towards a kinder, more compassionate existence.

Thank you all for pitching in with your fabulous pieces. There are ones that have not been covered here. Do pause by our content’s page to see all our content. Huge thanks to the fantastic Borderless team and to Sohana Manzoor, for her art too.

Hope you enjoy our fare!

Mitali Chakravarty

borderlessjournal.com

Click here to access the  content’s page for the November 2024 Issue

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