Title: Of Ancestors and Friends: A Life with Books
Author: Shanta Gokhale
Publisher: Speaking Tiger Books
Shanta Gokhale’s Of Ancestors and Friends: A Life with Books is an unusual kind of literary memoir. It is neither a conventional autobiography nor a conventional work of criticism. Instead, it occupies an intimate space between the two, tracing a life’s intellectual and emotional history through books. For Gokhale, reading is not merely a habit or a professional necessity; it is a way of living, thinking, and making sense of the world. The result is a book that is at once personal, erudite, playful and deeply reflective.
Gokhale begins with a simple but revealing confession: reading has been the strongest and longest thread running through her eighty-five years. She began reading at seven, reading seriously at twelve, and over the decades discovered, as she puts it, “ancestors and friends”. The distinction is important.
Some books become intellectual ancestors, shaping how we think and see; others become friends, returning at different stages of life and revealing something new each time. The Covid lockdown, which provided her with the time and solitude to reread many of these works, becomes the immediate occasion for this literary journey.
Gokhale brings together criticism and memory. She writes about writers as diverse as Jean-Paul Sartre, Jane Austen, Naguib Mahfouz, Salman Rushdie and Kazuo Ishiguro, alongside major Indian writers such as Shri Na. Pendse, Kiran Nagarkar, U.R. Ananthamurthy and Alka Saraogi. Yet these are not detached academic exercises. Gokhale approaches literature as a living experience. She asks what these books mean to her now, what they meant when she first encountered them, and what they reveal about society, politics, human relationships and the changing world.
Her perspective as an Indian reader gives the discussions an additional dimension. Familiar works are viewed from a location that is neither wholly Western nor narrowly Indian. This enables her to make connections across cultures and literary traditions without reducing one to the other. Her reading is comparative, but never mechanical. The books are allowed to speak in their own voices while being placed within the larger questions of history and contemporary life.
Translation and the craft of writing form another important strand of the memoir. Gokhale’s reflections on the translator’s responsibility demonstrate her sensitivity to language, context, and cultural nuance. Translation, in her understanding, is not simply the transfer of words from one language to another. It involves interpretation, empathy and difficult choices about voice and meaning. Her experience as a writer, critic and translator gives these observations the authority of practice rather than theory.
What makes Of Ancestors and Friends particularly engaging is its refusal to behave like a conventional critical book. Gokhale deliberately calls it a “ramble”. She announces that she does not want to hear the “sound of those shackles” of deadlines, word counts and imposed structures that have accompanied her sixty years of writing. She wants to digress, follow anecdotes, abandon order when necessary and write simply for the pleasure of writing. That freedom becomes part of the book’s charm.
The anecdotes about her reading life are among its most delightful passages. The excitement of finding a long-sought book in a dusty second-hand bookstore, the mystery contained in inscriptions in old books, and the affectionate possessiveness of a true bibliophile are described with wit and warmth.
Her encounters with writers and playwrights from Maharashtra bring another personal dimension to the narrative. These episodes prevent the book from becoming overly cerebral and remind us that literature is ultimately connected with people, places, friendships and lived experience.
There is also an implicit philosophy of reading here. Gokhale demonstrates that rereading is not repetition. We change, and therefore the books change with us. A novel encountered in youth may acquire an entirely different significance in old age. Characters once admired may become troubling; passages once overlooked may suddenly appear profound. In this sense, it is as much about the changing reader as it is about the books being read.
The book’s intellectual richness never entirely overwhelms its humaneness. Gokhale writes with the confidence of a seasoned literary practitioner but also with the curiosity of someone who has never lost the pleasure of discovering a book. Her prose combines critical sharpness with humour, anecdote with analysis, and scholarship with accessibility.
The book, in a nutshell, is a celebration of the life of the mind—and of the enduring companionship that books can offer. It reminds us that reading is not an escape from life but one of the ways in which life becomes more intelligible. Gokhale’s literary ancestors have shaped her, her fictional friends have accompanied her, and rereading has allowed her to meet them again. In sharing those encounters, she invites readers to look back at their own bookshelves and remember the books that, in one way or another, made them who they are.
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Bhaskar Parichha is a journalist and author of Cyclones in Odisha: Landfall, Wreckage and Resilience, Unbiased, No 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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Title: The Climate Crossroads: Literature’s Encounter with a Planet on Fire
Author: Rajat Chaudhuri
Publisher: Bloomsbury
The climate crisis has produced an unprecedented body of scientific research, policy documents, and environmental journalism. Yet facts alone have often failed to generate the emotional engagement necessary to confront a planetary emergency. How, then, can literature bridge the gap between knowledge and action? In The Climate Crossroads: Literature’s Encounter with a Planet on Fire, Rajat Chaudhuri argues that stories are indispensable to understanding climate change—not merely as an environmental phenomenon but as a profound cultural, ethical and imaginative challenge.
This is neither a conventional work of literary criticism nor a handbook on climate science. Instead, it is an ambitious interdisciplinary exploration that moves effortlessly across literature, philosophy, history, politics, art, and environmental activism. Drawing upon his own experiences as a climate novelist, researcher and environmental communicator, Chaudhuri creates a work that is as intellectually stimulating as it is deeply personal.
The book opens with intriguing questions that immediately unsettle familiar assumptions. Why do climate activists throw soup at Van Gogh’s Sunflowers? What connects a venomous spider with a centuries-old myth from the Sundarbans? How does an ancient Chinese calligrapher recording snowfall resonate with Indian farmers marching in protest?
These seemingly unrelated images become entry points into a larger conversation about the relationship between culture and ecological crisis. Rather than offering simplistic explanations, Chaudhuri demonstrates how literature reveals hidden connections between the human imagination and the changing planet.
Organised into three sections—Maps, Routes and Discoveries—the book unfolds like an intellectual journey. The first section introduces readers to the conceptual landscape of climate storytelling. Chapters such as A Rainy Night in the North and Poets, Volcanoes and a Chinese Calligrapher explore how literary traditions preserve ecological memory and help us read environmental change through cultural narratives.
Chaudhuri argues convincingly that climate stories did not begin with twenty-first-century climate fiction; they have existed in myths, travel writing, poetry, and historical narratives for centuries.
One important feature of the book is its refusal to isolate literature from other disciplines. Michelangelo appears alongside recipes and agriculture; philosophy intersects with environmental history; artistic imagination coexists with political activism. These unexpected juxtapositions enrich the discussion, illustrating that climate change cannot be understood through scientific data alone. Instead, it demands an engagement with aesthetics, ethics and memory.
The middle section, Routes, represents the intellectual heart of the book. Here Chaudhuri explores the relationship between climate and aesthetics, asking whether beauty and artistic representation remain meaningful in an age of ecological catastrophe. Drawing upon philosophical traditions that include Kantian ethics and the Freudian concept of the uncanny, he examines how literature helps readers experience realities that often seem unimaginable. His readings of significant climate novels demonstrate how fiction transforms abstract scientific projections into lived human experience.
Equally compelling is the chapter Heart of Darkness: Climate and Justice. Chaudhuri insists that climate change is inseparable from questions of inequality, colonial history and political responsibility. The climate crisis is shown not simply as an environmental emergency but as a crisis of justice, disproportionately affecting vulnerable communities while exposing the moral contradictions of modern development. His discussion avoids ideological simplification, instead encouraging readers to appreciate the complex intersections of ecology, economics and power.
The concluding section, Discoveries, offers a cautiously hopeful vision. Rather than ending with despair, Chaudhuri argues that stories possess the power to cultivate empathy, resilience and new forms of planetary consciousness. Literature becomes not merely a record of ecological collapse but an imaginative space where alternative futures can be conceived. This emphasis on possibility distinguishes The Climate Crossroads from many climate books that remain trapped within narratives of inevitable catastrophe.
Chaudhuri’s prose reflects his dual identity as novelist and literary critic. It is elegant without being ornamental and scholarly without becoming inaccessible. Although the book engages sophisticated theoretical frameworks, including environmental humanities, philosophy and literary criticism, its language remains lucid enough for general readers willing to engage with complex ideas. The inclusion of visual material further enhances accessibility, making abstract concepts easier to grasp, as does the extensive footnote.
The author’s own credentials significantly enrich the work. As the acclaimed author of The Butterfly Effect, editor of pioneering Solarpunk anthologies, translator, and climate communicator, Chaudhuri occupies a unique position at the intersection of creative writing and environmental thought. His international engagements, including literary fellowships and participation in global sustainability forums, provide the book with a perspective that is both rooted in South Asia and attentive to global conversations on climate change.
The book is unquestionably an important contribution to the growing field of climate humanities. It reminds us that the climate crisis is not solely a scientific or political problem but also a crisis of imagination. Rajat Chaudhuri demonstrates with remarkable insight that stories are among humanity’s most powerful tools for understanding uncertainty, confronting ecological loss, and envisioning more just futures.
Richly researched, beautifully written and intellectually adventurous, The Climate Crossroads deserves to be read by scholars, students, writers, environmentalists and anyone interested in how literature can illuminate one of the defining challenges of our time. It is both a map of climate storytelling and an invitation to imagine new pathways through an increasingly uncertain world.
Bhaskar Parichha is a journalist and author of Cyclones in Odisha: Landfall, Wreckage and Resilience, Unbiased, No 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.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Title: Icons of Odisha – Lives that Shaped a State
Author: Bhaskar Parichha
Publisher: BK Publications Private Limited
Introduction
The history of Odisha is often approached through the visible markers of civilization—its ancient kingdoms, magnificent temples, maritime trade, freedom struggles, and political milestones. While these frameworks are indispensable, they do not fully explain how Odisha came to possess its distinctive moral and cultural character.
Beneath these historical structures lies another, equally powerful narrative: the story of individuals whose ideas, actions, and creative energies shaped the consciousness of the land. This book begins from that premise—that civilizations are not sustained by monuments and institutions alone, but by people who articulate values, challenge inertia, and imagine new possibilities for society.
Icons of Odisha: Lives That Shaped a State is an attempt to trace the making of modern Odisha through thirty such lives. These men and women belonged to different generations, professions, and ideological persuasions, yet each responded to the demands of his or her time with uncommon clarity of purpose. Their contributions—whether through literature, politics, education, social reform, music, dance, or visual arts—collectively chart Odisha’s transition from a region struggling for linguistic and cultural recognition under colonial rule to a self-aware society negotiating the complexities of modern democracy and globalization.
The temporal arc of this book broadly spans the late nineteenth century to the present. This was a period of profound transformation, marked by colonial intervention, the rise of nationalism, social reform movements, and the challenges of post-independence governance. For Odisha, these changes were especially significant.
At the turn of the twentieth century, Odia language and identity faced marginalization; administrative divisions ignored linguistic realities, and cultural confidence was under strain. The response to these challenges did not emerge solely from mass movements or political negotiations. It was shaped decisively by individuals who understood that language, culture, and ethics are the foundations of collective self-respect.
Language emerges as a central thread running through this volume. The struggle to establish Odia as a language of administration, education, and literature was inseparable from the struggle to assert dignity and belonging. Fakir Mohan Senapati’s pioneering realism transformed Odia prose into a vehicle for social critique.
Gangadhar Meher demonstrated that poetic excellence could arise from lived experience rather than elite privilege. Sachi Routray, Gopinath Mohanty, Ramakanta Rath, and Manoj Das expanded the thematic and aesthetic boundaries of Odia writing, ensuring that the language could address modern anxieties without losing its rootedness. Through their works, literature became a site of resistance, reflection, and renewal.
Parallel to this literary awakening was the emergence of a political consciousness grounded in ethical responsibility. Figures such as Madhusudan Das and Gopabandhu Das understood that political rights without cultural self- respect were fragile. Their efforts to unite Odia-speaking regions, build educational institutions, and mobilize public opinion laid the groundwork for statehood and democratic participation.
In the post-independence era, leaders like Nabakrushna Choudhury, Harekrushna Mahtab, Biju Patnaik, Nandini Satpathy, Rabi Ray, and J. B. Patnaik represented diverse approaches to governance—Gandhian idealism, mass politics, charismatic leadership, administrative firmness, and parliamentary propriety. Their careers reveal the tensions between ideals and power, and the enduring challenge of translating moral vision into public policy.
The book also foregrounds the role of culture and aesthetics in sustaining civilizational continuity. Odisha’s artistic traditions, particularly in dance and music, were once confined to ritual spaces and threatened by neglect. The revival and global recognition of Odissi were made possible by individuals such as Kelucharan Mohapatra, Sanjukta Panigrahi, Raghunath Panigrahi, and Balakrushna Dash, who combined rigorous training with creative reinterpretation.
In the realm of visual art and cultural scholarship, figures like Dinanath Pathy demonstrated that tradition could be preserved without fossilization, and modernity embraced without rupture. Popular music and cinema, shaped by artists like Akshaya Mohanty and Jharana Das, carried cultural values into everyday life, reaching audiences beyond elite circles.
A defining feature of this volume is its attention to voices that expanded the boundaries of participation. Women such as Rama Devi, Kuntala Kumari Sabat, Bidyut Prabha Devi, and Nandini Satpathy entered public and creative spaces at a time when such participation was constrained by social norms. Their lives represent different modes of resistance—quiet reform, lyrical assertion, intellectual challenge, and administrative authority.
Similarly, the inclusion of Raghunath Murmu underscores the importance of indigenous cultural assertion. By creating the Ol Chikiscript, he transformed linguistic empowerment into a tool of cultural survival, reminding us that Odisha’s identity is plural and layered.
This book does not present these figures as flawless icons or distant heroes. Instead, it offers interpretive portraits that seek to understand what each life represents within a broader historical and cultural context. The essays focus on ideas, values, and influence rather than exhaustive chronology. In doing so, the book invite readers to engage critically with legacy—to see these lives as conversations across time rather than closed chapters of history.
The organization of the volume reflects a unique approach. Literary figures appear alongside political leaders; artists are placed next to reformers; revolutionaries share space with philosophers and administrators. This deliberate juxtaposition underscores a central argument of the book: that the making of a civilization is a collective, multidimensional process. Progress in one domain is sustained by developments in others, and cultural vitality depends as much on ethical leadership as on creative expression.
In an era where public conversations are frequently influenced by quick reactions and disjointed thoughts, looking back at these lives has a more profound significance. It shows us that cultural confidence is developed slowly, through consistent effort and moral vision. The people honored here didn’t just react to their situations; they transformed what could be achieved within those situations. Their legacies push readers to confront tough questions about accountability, creativity, and a sense of belonging.
Icons of Odisha: Lives That Shaped a State is not only a book about the past. It is an invitation to reflect on the present and the future. To remember these lives is to recognize that heritage is not inherited passively but renewed through conscious engagement. The values embodied by these figures—integrity, courage, empathy, intellectual rigor, and cultural pride—remain as relevant today as they were in their own time.
Through their stories, this book seeks to affirm that the making of Odisha, like the making of any living civilization, is an ongoing moral and cultural endeavor.
About the Book
Icons of Odisha: Lives That Shaped a State explores modern Odisha through the lens of thirty-five impactful individuals—writers, reformers, artists, educators, and political figures—who engaged with their era through creativity and intent. Covering the fight for the Odia language and identity, the resurgence of dance, music, and literature, as well as ethical politics and cultural revitalization, these profiles illustrate how a region developed its self-awareness. Not a hagiography or a comprehensive biography, the book presents thoughtful essays that delve into ideas, values, and influence. It encourages readers to view heritage not merely as something that is passively inherited, but as a duty that is revitalized with each new generation. A reflective chronicle on Odisha’s history—and a contemplation of its present and future.
About the Author
Bhaskar Parichha is a journalist and author of Cyclones in Odisha: Landfall, Wreckage and Resilience, Unbiased, No 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.
Title: Wajid Ali Shah: A Cultural and Literary Legacy
Author: Kaukub Talat Quder Sajjad Ali Meerza
TranslatedfromUrdu byTalat Fatima
Publisher: Hachette India
The late Dr Kaukub Quder Sajjad Ali Meerza’s study of Wajid Ali Shah is far more than a conventional biography. It is an act of historical recovery, a painstaking attempt to rescue one of nineteenth-century India’s most misunderstood figures from the distortions of colonial historiography. His book has been translated from Urdu by Talat Fatima, the great-great grand daughter of Wajid Ali Shah and Hazrat Begum and brought out as Wajid Ali Shah: A Cultural and Literary Legacy recently.
For generations, Wajid Ali Shah has survived in public memory largely as the indolent aesthete who lost his kingdom to the British while immersing himself in music, dance, and courtly pleasures. Dr Meerza’s deeply researched work dismantles this simplistic caricature and restores before the reader a ruler of extraordinary artistic imagination, intellectual depth, and cultural sophistication.
What makes this volume particularly compelling is the sheer breadth of its archival engagement. Drawing upon rare manuscripts, personal letters, poetic compositions, and forgotten historical documents, Dr Meerza reconstructs not merely the life of a king but the cultural ecology of nineteenth-century Lucknow.
The book vividly captures the refinement of Awadhi court culture at a moment when colonial expansion sought to undermine and delegitimise indigenous centres of power and creativity. Through meticulous scholarship, the author demonstrates that Wajid Ali Shah was not a passive dreamer detached from governance, but a prolific poet, dramatist, composer, patron, and innovator who consciously shaped the artistic identity of his kingdom.
The chapters dealing with Wajid Ali Shah’s literary contributions are among the most illuminating. His poetic works, especially Sabatul Quloob, emerge not as ornamental exercises in royal vanity but as deeply emotional meditations on exile, loss, devotion, and memory. Equally fascinating is the discussion of the ‘Shahi Rahas’, the nawab’s theatrical experiments that blended music, dance, costume, and storytelling into forms that anticipated modern performance traditions.
Dr Meerza carefully situates these innovations within the broader evolution of Urdu literary and theatrical culture, making a persuasive case for Wajid Ali Shah’s centrality in the development of North Indian artistic traditions.
One of the biggest strengths of the book is its refusal to separate culture from politics. The British annexation of Awadh in 1856 is shown not merely as a political event but as an ideological campaign that required the systematic defamation of its ruler. Colonial narratives portrayed Wajid Ali Shah’s love for the arts as evidence of decadence and incompetence, thereby legitimising imperial intervention. Dr Meerza exposes the deeply political nature of these accusations and presents a more nuanced portrait of a ruler who attempted administrative reforms, maintained military discipline, and remained deeply connected to the cultural aspirations of his people.
The English translations by Dr Fatima deserves special appreciation. The prose retains scholarly precision while remaining accessible and elegant, allowing contemporary readers to engage with an important body of Urdu scholarship that may otherwise have remained confined to academic circles. Her translation also carries emotional resonance, extending a family legacy of preserving the memory of a much-maligned ancestor through intellectual rigour rather than sentimentality.
At nearly six hundred pages, the work is expansive and occasionally dense, yet its richness never feels excessive. Every chapter contributes to the larger project of historical correction. More importantly, the book invites readers to reconsider how colonial narratives continue to shape modern perceptions of Indian rulers and cultural figures.
Eventually, this is not simply a book about a dethroned nawab. It is a meditation on memory, power, art, and historical injustice. Dr Meerza succeeds brilliantly in restoring Wajid Ali Shah to his rightful place not merely as the tragic last ruler of Awadh, but as one of the great cultural visionaries of nineteenth-century India.
For anyone interested in Urdu literature, the history of Awadh, colonial politics, or the cultural life of India, this volume stands as an indispensable and deeply rewarding work of scholarship.
Bhaskar Parichha is a journalist and author of Cyclones in Odisha: Landfall, Wreckage and Resilience, Unbiased, No 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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Title: No. 1 Akashganga Lane: The First Novel about the Gig Workers of Kolkata
Author: Ashoke Mukhopadhyay
Translation from Bengali by Zenith Roy
Publisher: Niyogi Books
No. 1 Akashganga Lane: The First Novel about the Gig Workers of Kolkata by Ashoke Mukhopadhyay, translated with sensitivity and nuance by Zenith Roy, is a strikingly contemporary novel that brings into sharp focus the precarious lives of urban gig workers. Set against the pulsating yet indifferent backdrop of Kolkata, the novel explores a world that is at once hyper-connected and profoundly isolating.
At the heart of the narrative is Sriman, a food delivery worker whose life is defined by anonymity and transience. He delivers meals to strangers, navigating the city’s labyrinthine streets, yet remains invisible within the very system he sustains. Mukhopadhyay captures this paradox with quiet precision: Sriman’s labour is essential, but his existence is expendable. The gig economy, as portrayed in the novel, demands efficiency, obedience, and silence—qualities that gradually erode individuality and agency.
Equally compelling is the character of Mrittika Sen, a bike taxi driver whose experiences foreground the gendered dimensions of gig work. Through her, the novel examines the additional vulnerabilities faced by women in an already unstable ecosystem. The constant threat of being “logged out”—a chillingly impersonal metaphor for economic erasure—hangs over her life. Mukhopadhyay does not sensationalise her struggles; instead, he presents them with restraint, allowing their quiet intensity to resonate.
What elevates No. 1 Akashganga Lane beyond a social-realist narrative is its imaginative and philosophical layer. The titular word, Akashganga, is a century-old house and serves as a refuge, both literal and symbolic. Within its walls resides Bishan Basu, a figure who introduces Sriman, Mrittika, and others to the stars. This shift from the immediacy of urban struggle to the vastness of the cosmos is one of the novel’s most poignant devices. It offers a counterpoint to the claustrophobia of gig work, suggesting that even in the most constrained lives, there exists a yearning for transcendence.
The recurring motif of the stars and the speculative question—whether these workers might one day need another planet to call home—imbues the narrative with a subtle dystopian edge. It reflects not only ecological anxieties but also a deeper sense of displacement. The idea that gig workers might carry their labour into another world is both darkly humorous and profoundly unsettling, underscoring the inescapability of systemic exploitation.
Mukhopadhyay’s Bengali prose, as rendered in English by Roy, is measured and evocative. The translation deserves particular commendation for retaining the cultural texture of the original while ensuring readability for a wider audience. Kolkata itself emerges as a character—its rhythms, inequalities, and fleeting solidarities shaping the lives of those who inhabit it. The author’s background in documenting the city’s social history is evident in the authenticity of detail and atmosphere.
The novel also succeeds in capturing the fragile solidarities that emerge among gig workers. Friendships, though often transient, provide moments of warmth and resistance. The shared experiences of precarity create a sense of community, however fleeting. Akashganga becomes a space where these fragmented lives intersect, offering not solutions but solace.
No. 1 Akashganga Lane is a timely and thought-provoking novel that captures the human cost of the gig economy with empathy and insight. Through its blend of social realism and philosophical reflection, it offers a nuanced portrait of contemporary urban life.
Ashoke Mukhopadhyay has crafted a narrative that is both rooted in the specifics of Kolkata and resonant with global relevance, while Zenith Roy ensures that its voice travels beyond linguistic boundaries. The result is a work that lingers, prompting readers to look more closely at the invisible lives that sustain modern cities.
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Bhaskar Parichha is a journalist and author of Cyclones in Odisha: Landfall, Wreckage and Resilience, Unbiased, No 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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The narrative of Odisha post-1947 is one of change, unity, and strength, set against the backdrop of India’s fresh independence. Although Odisha was established as a distinct province from the Bengal Presidency in 1936, primarily based on linguistic and cultural factors, its evolution into a modern political and administrative entity truly commenced with independence.
On the Cusp of Independence
The foremost and most urgent challenge was the amalgamation of 26 princely states, collectively referred to as the Garjat states, each governed by its own ruler, administrative system, and local customs. These states were scattered throughout the hilly and forested regions of Odisha, and their unification required not just political acumen but also cultural awareness, negotiation skills, and strategic insight.
The responsibility of bringing Odisha together largely rested on Harekrushna Mahatab, the state’s first Premier, who collaborated closely with Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel and V.P. Menon from the central government. The discussions commenced in 1946–47, prior to India’s official independence, and extended into the early years following independence.
Several rulers quickly consented to join, swayed by enticing offers of financial rewards, ceremonial honors, and guarantees that their roles would be honored in a democratic Odisha. In contrast, some were hesitant, worried about the potential decline of their traditional power and local sway.
Mahatab skillfully blended diplomacy, patience, and strategic advantage, methodically uniting all 26 states under Odisha’s governance. This consolidation not only enhanced administrative efficiency but also set the stage for consistent laws, tax systems, and development initiatives throughout the region.
Democracy Finds Its Feet
In the political landscape following independence, Odisha experienced the formation of democratic institutions and practices. The Indian National Congress played a pivotal role in the early political scene, capitalising on its organisational strength and the heritage of the independence struggle.
Elections, local governance bodies, and legislative assemblies were created, providing citizens with a voice in governance and facilitating a gradual shift from princely rule and colonial frameworks to democratic self-governance.
The strengthening of political authority also enabled the formalisation of administrative practices, the modernisation of the bureaucracy, and improved coordination with the central government, which aided in developmental planning for both urban and rural regions.
Farmers First
Economically, Odisha grappled with the twin issues of historical underdevelopment and susceptibility to natural disasters. Agriculture, which employed the majority of the populace, relied heavily on monsoon rains, while traditional tools and methods hindered productivity. After gaining independence, governments focused on land reforms, including tenancy regulations and the redistribution of surplus land to small farmers, with the goal of reducing inequalities and empowering the rural poor.
Rise of Industrial Odisha
The enhancement of irrigation systems, canals, embankments, and reservoirs, especially along the Mahanadi, Brahmani, and Baitarani rivers, aimed to stabilise agricultural production and lessen the risks associated with droughts and floods. These initiatives established a foundation for sustainable rural development while ensuring food security in a state that has historically faced famine.
Industrialisation emerged as a crucial element of Odisha’s strategy following independence. The state’s rich mineral resources—such as coal, iron ore, bauxite, and chromite—served as the foundation for establishing heavy industries. Industrial hubs like Rourkela, which hosts India’s inaugural integrated steel plant, were developed with assistance from the central government and international partnerships, leading to job creation, urban expansion, and economic diversification.
The establishment of the Paradip port during the 1960s and 1970s enhanced the transportation of raw materials and finished products, connecting Odisha to both national and global markets. These industrial and infrastructural developments were part of a concerted effort to shift Odisha from a predominantly agricultural economy to one that is more varied and robust.
Furthermore, education and social reform played a vital role in Odisha’s growth after independence. Literacy initiatives broadened access to primary and secondary education, while improvements in teacher training and school construction elevated educational quality.
Tribal communities and marginalised groups were given focused support, including scholarships, vocational training, and legal protections aimed at helping them integrate into the broader economic and political landscape. Health infrastructure also saw significant growth, with the establishment of hospitals, primary health centers, vaccination campaigns, and maternal care initiatives that gradually enhanced life expectancy and lowered infant mortality rates, especially in remote and tribal regions.
Culture in Full Color
Oddisi dance at a temple
Cultural revival and the building of identity were closely linked to these economic and social changes. Odisha took active steps to promote Odissi dance, music, literature, and handicrafts, which not only bolstered regional pride but also created economic opportunities through tourism and the livelihoods of artisans. The state committed to preserving and promoting traditional arts like pattachitra painting, silver filigree, appliqué work, and handloom weaving, often facilitated by cooperative societies and government support.
Pattachitra Silver filigree work From Public Domain
Temple towns such as Puri and Konark have maintained their significance in spirituality and culture, with events like the Rath Yatra and the Konark Dance Festival serving as key highlights of both religious fervor and cultural tourism. This fusion of age-old traditions with contemporary elements has enabled Odisha to carve out a distinctive identity while also addressing the developmental needs of a modern state.
The political landscape in Odisha after independence has transformed over the years, influenced by a mix of national and local factors. Initially, the Congress party held sway, but the rise of tribal movements, regional activism, and calls for increased administrative autonomy posed challenges to central governance and enriched the discourse on democracy.
Local leaders from tribal and marginalised communities have stepped forward, championing the cause for representation and the fair distribution of resources to overlooked areas. As a result, Odisha has cultivated a diverse political environment, featuring a variety of parties, coalitions, and grassroots initiatives that mirror the state’s intricate social and geographical tapestry.
Nature’s Wrath
Odisha’s natural environment has consistently challenged the resilience of its people and governance. The state faces threats from cyclones, floods, and droughts, which have repeatedly resulted in catastrophic losses of life, property, and agricultural productivity. Significant cyclones in 1971, 1999, 2013, and 2020 caused tremendous devastation, underscoring the susceptibility of coastal and rural populations.
Each disaster led to improvements in early warning systems, disaster readiness, and coordinated relief efforts, gradually turning Odisha into a benchmark for disaster management in India. The involvement of communities, enhanced infrastructure, and strategic planning enabled the state to respond more adeptly to natural disasters over the years.
Mining Marvels
In the late 20th and early 21st centuries, economic development centered on industrial growth, mining, and energy generation. Odisha emerged as a center for steel, aluminum, and power industries, drawing both domestic and international investments. Urban areas like Bhubaneswar, Cuttack, Rourkela, and Sambalpur grew swiftly, transforming the demographic and social fabric of the region.
Industrialisation ushered in a wave of prosperity and job opportunities, yet it also introduced significant challenges, such as environmental degradation, community displacement, and the pressing need to balance economic growth with sustainable development. Efforts to address these issues included policies focused on corporate social responsibility, environmental regulations, and rehabilitation initiatives, although the struggle to harmonize development with conservation persisted as a continual challenge.
Connectivity and Integration
The evolution of infrastructure has been pivotal to Odisha’s transformation since independence. The expansion of roads, railways, ports, and communication networks has linked rural and urban areas, facilitating the flow of goods, services, and people. Notable projects like the Hirakud Dam on the Mahanadi not only offered irrigation and flood management but also produced hydroelectric power, playing a crucial role in the region’s industrial growth.
Ports like Paradip and Dhamra have enhanced trade and maritime links, while the development of rail and road networks has connected remote areas with urban centers and industrial zones. These advancements have contributed to the geographical and economic unification of the state, diminishing isolation and encouraging greater involvement in the national economy.
Social and cultural transformations progressed in tandem with economic growth. Literacy rates saw a consistent rise, particularly focusing on the education of girls. Women became more involved in education, the workforce, and politics, mirroring both national policy efforts and evolving social standards.
Tribal and rural populations maintained aspects of their traditional lifestyles while also embracing modern education, healthcare, and job opportunities. Folklore, languages, and ritual practices were safeguarded through documentation, festivals, and community-driven projects, ensuring that the process of modernisation did not obliterate local identities.
Multi-faceted Society
By the dawn of the 21st century, Odisha had transformed into a complex, multi-faceted society, striking a balance between tradition and modernity, rural and urban progress, and the management of natural resources alongside industrial expansion. Politically, the state had transitioned from a period of Congress dominance to a more pluralistic and competitive democratic framework, with regional parties and coalitions influencing policy and governance.
Economically, the state’s diverse foundation in agriculture, industry, mining, and trade enabled it to endure external challenges while fostering ongoing development. Socially and culturally, Odisha preserved a vibrant heritage, merging classical arts, festivals, and tribal customs with the requirements of a contemporary, globalised world.
The era following 1947 in Odisha embodies a tale of unity, strength, and change. It spans the intricate discussions with princely states leading to the formation of democratic frameworks, agricultural advancements, industrial growth, recovery from disasters, and a resurgence of culture. Odisha’s evolution mirrors the larger narrative of India’s shift from colonial domination to sovereign nationhood.
The state’s skill in managing natural disasters, economic hurdles, and societal shifts while maintaining its cultural essence showcases an extraordinary ability to adapt, positioning Odisha as a fascinating case of regional evolution in a swiftly modernising country.
(Excerpted from the book Odisha – 500 Years of Turmoil, Mayhem and Subjugation by Bhaskar Parichha. Published by Pen In Books/Bhubaneswar)
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Bhaskar Parichha is a journalist and author of Cyclones in Odisha: Landfall, Wreckage and Resilience, Unbiased, No 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.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Never before has the world been so wealthy, so networked and so saturated with information. And yet, as Kailash Satyarthi points out in Karuna: The Power of Compassion, humanity appears increasingly fractured—by inequality, conflict, ecological devastation and a growing culture of indifference. The paradox, he argues, is not a lack of resources or knowledge, but a moral failure. What the modern world suffers from is not technological deficit, but a deficit of compassion.
Satyarthi’s central intervention is to reclaim compassion from the realm of softness. In popular imagination, compassion is often treated as an individual emotion—gentle, personal, and largely apolitical. Karuna rejects this framing outright. Compassion, Satyarthi insists, is not passive kindness or distant sympathy. It is an active, disruptive force—one that challenges injustice, reshapes institutions and compels moral action.
For Satyarthi, compassion is born at a precise moment: when another person’s suffering is experienced not as an abstract concern but as one’s own. That recognition, he argues, cannot remain inert. True compassion demands a response. In this sense, compassion is not the opposite of power; it is a form of power—ethical power—that has historically driven social movements, expanded rights and forced political change. From struggles against child labour to campaigns for human dignity, Satyarthi positions compassion as the invisible engine behind lasting transformation.
One of the book’s most distinctive contributions is the idea of a “Compassion Quotient (CQ)”. Just as IQ measures cognitive ability and EQ assesses emotional intelligence, CQ is proposed as a way to understand how individuals, organisations and societies relate to suffering and responsibility. For Satyarthi, CQ is not an abstract moral scorecard. It is a practical framework—something that can be cultivated, strengthened and embedded into systems of governance, education and leadership.
The argument is clear: without a high CQ, even the most intelligent or emotionally skilled societies risk becoming efficient but cruel. Economic growth without compassion deepens inequality. Technological progress without compassion accelerates exclusion. Political power without compassion normalises injustice. CQ, in Satyarthi’s formulation, becomes the missing ethical dimension in modern decision-making.
To prevent compassion from dissolving into sentimentality, Satyarthi defines it through four inseparable elements. The first is awareness—the refusal to look away from suffering. Indifference, he argues, is not neutrality; it’s complicity. The second is connectedness—the recognition that another’s pain is not “their problem” but part of a shared human condition. This sense of moral interdependence is central to karuna or compassion.
The third element is deep feeling—a genuine emotional identification with the other, distinct from detached sympathy or charity. And finally, action—concrete, mindful steps to reduce harm and restore dignity. Compassion, Satyarthi insists, collapses if it stops at feeling. Without action, awareness becomes voyeurism and empathy becomes self-indulgence.
When these four elements converge, compassion becomes transformative. It turns individuals—often without formal authority—into problem-solvers, moral leaders and catalysts for change. This is a recurring theme in the book: power does not always flow from institutions; it often emerges from ethical clarity and moral courage.
Satyarthi’s insistence on compassion as a public ethic is shaped by his own life’s work. Over five decades, he has fought for the rights of millions of marginalised children across borders, cultures and political systems. In Karuna, these experiences are not presented as personal triumphs but as evidence of what compassion-in-action can achieve when it is organised, sustained and fearless.
The urgency of the book lies in its diagnosis of the present moment. Satyarthi argues that globalisation has connected markets and technologies, but not consciences. What is needed, he writes, is a “globalisation of compassion”—a deliberate effort to act as if the world is one family. This is not sentimental universalism, but a pragmatic moral stance, especially when addressing issues such as child exploitation, forced labour, displacement, and environmental collapse.
In a political climate increasingly defined by hostility, exclusion and moral exhaustion, Karuna makes a quiet but radical demand: that compassion be treated not as a personal virtue but as a collective responsibility. It calls on citizens, leaders and institutions to rethink success—not merely in terms of growth or efficiency, but in terms of dignity protected and suffering reduced.
Karuna: The Power of Compassion is not a manual for charity, nor a retreat into moral idealism. It is a challenge—to individuals and societies alike—to recognise that the future will not be shaped by intelligence, technology, or power alone. Without compassion as a guiding force, Satyarthi warns, progress itself becomes hollow. With it, even the most entrenched injustices can be confronted.
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Bhaskar Parichha is a journalist and author of Cyclones in Odisha: Landfall, Wreckage and Resilience, Unbiased, No 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.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
It has been a strange year for all of us. Amidst the chaos, bloodshed and climate disasters, Borderless Journal seems to be finding a footing in an orphaned world, connecting with writers who transcend borders and readers who delight in a universe knit with the variety and vibrancy of humanity. Like colours of a rainbow, the differences harmonise into an aubade, dawning a world with the most endearing of human traits, hope.
A short round up of this year starts with another new area of focus — a section with writings on environment and climate. Also, we are delighted to add we now host writers from more than forty countries. In October, we were surprised to see Borderless Journal listed on Duotrope and we have had a number of republications with acknowledgement — the last request was signed off this week for a republication of Ihlwha Choi’s poem in an anthology by Hatchette US. We have had many republications with due acknowledgment in India, Bangladesh, Pakistan and UK too among other places. Our team has been active too not just with words and art but also with more publications from Borderless. Rhys Hughes, who had a play performed to a full house in Wales recently, brought out a whole book of his photo-poems from Borderless. Bhaskar Parichha has started an initiative towards another new anthology from our content — Odia poets translated by Snehaprava Das. We are privileged to have all of you — contributors and readers — on board. And now, we invite you to savour some of our fare published in Borderless from January 2025 to December 2025. These are pieces that embody the spirit of a world beyond borders…
I Am Not My Mother: Gigi Baldovino Gosnell gives a story of child abuse set in Philippines where the victim towers with resilience. Click here to read.
Persona: Sohana Manzoor wanders into a glamorous world of expats. Click here to read.
In American Wife, Suzanne Kamata gives a short story set set in the Obon festival in Japan. Click here to read.
Sandy Cannot Write: Devraj Singh Kalsi takes us into the world of advertising and glamour. Click here to read.
Reminiscences from a Gallery: The Other Ray: Dolly Narang muses on Satyajit Ray’s world beyond films and shares a note by the maestro and an essay on his art by the eminent artist, Paritosh Sen. Click here to read.
A discussion of Jaladhar Sen’s The Travels of a Sadhu in the Himalayas, translated from Bengali by Somdatta Mandal, with an online interview with the translator. Click here to read.
Last Song Before Home, the English translation of Indira Das’s Bengali memoir Shuru Theke Phera – Mayer Smritikatha[1], emerges as a luminous elegy to the fragility of memory and familial bonds. Translated by Bina Biswas, the book chronicles the author’s mother, Gayatri Das, navigating vascular dementia post-stroke. Through an epistolary structure of imagined letters, Das captures the slow erosion of self, where recollections surface like half-remembered melodies amid Bengal’s partitioned landscapes. The thematic depth and stylistic finesse position it as a vital contribution to South Asian memoir literature.
Central themes orbit memory as both lifeline and tormentor. Dementia strips Gayatri of chronology, yet fragments—rain-soaked courtyards, Partition’s unspoken wounds—resurface as anchors of identity. Das reframes loss as resistance, transforming maternal decline into a testament to resilience. Sisterhood underscores this; bonds with siblings weave a tapestry of shared silences, countering isolation’s void.
Partition looms subtly, not as a historical spectacle but an intimate scar—displaced homes echo in Gayatri’s fading queries: “Where is home?” This mirrors postcolonial Bengal’s flux, where personal trauma intersects collective upheaval. Dignity persists through ritual: songs hummed off-key, hands folding faded saris. Das elevates the mundane, critiquing modernity’s erasure of oral legacies. Resilience triumphs, not via triumph, but quiet defiance—memory’s “last song” before oblivion. The memoir critiques gendered aging in India, where women’s stories dissolve unspoken, urging reclamation.
A practicing gynaecologist, Das’s prose, via Biswas’s fluid translation, mimics dementia’s rhythm: elliptical sentences drift, loop, and fracture like synapses firing erratically. “The courtyard bloomed once, or was it twice? Rain came, carrying voices from across the river.” This stream-of-consciousness narrative eschews linear plot for associative flow, evoking Woolfian interiority fused with Bengali lyricism—sensory motifs—jasmine perfume, monsoon mud—ground abstraction, rendering emotion tactile.
In the translator’s note, Biswas, who is a poet and academician, says: “This book is not simply a narrative-it is a mosaic of survival, and the search for belonging. As John Berger once wrote, ‘Never again will a single story be told as though it is the only one.’ The protagonist’s journey is part of a greater collective-a shared history of migration, exile, and emotional displacement. Her voice rises in a chorus of the grieving, each thread woven with shared loss and a fierce resolve to cling to identity.
“She is a figure many will recognize: a woman who, though exiled by circumstance, carries the remnants of home in every gesture and memory. Her story becomes a vessel for inherited struggle, for resilience passed from one generation to the next. As Milan Kundera so memorably stated, ‘The struggle of man against power is the struggle of memory against forgetting.’”
Epistolary form innovates: letters to an absent self-blur authorial voice, fostering intimacy without sentimentality. Repetition (“Remember? No, forget.”) mirrors cognitive loops, building hypnotic cadence. Das avoids melodrama; understatement amplifies pathos— a single, misplaced utensil evokes existential ache. Cultural bilingualism enriches: Bengali idioms, untranslated, preserve authenticity, challenging monolingual readers. Pacing accelerates in crescendo passages, where songs bridge eras, culminating in cathartic release.
Last Song Before Home transcends memoir, becoming a philosophical meditation on impermanence. Its strengths—haunting style, layered themes—outweigh minor translation hiccups, like occasional stiffness. Essential for readers of Partition literature or aging narratives, it earns four stars for profound humanity. Das not only mourns but hymns endurance, leaving echoes that linger.
[1] Translates to: Returning from the Beginning: Memories of Mother
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Bhaskar Parichha is a journalist and author of Cyclones in Odisha: Landfall, Wreckage and Resilience, Unbiased, No 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.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Bibhuti Patnaik (born: 1937). Photo provided by Bhaskar Parichha
Bibhuti Patnaik’s literary career unfolds like a long river—steady, persistent, and quietly transformative—running through the landscape of Odia literature for more than six decades. From the late 1950s onward, he wrote with a rare combination of emotional honesty and narrative discipline, giving voice to the evolving inner lives of middle-class Odias.
His writing emerged at a time when Odia literature was searching for a new expression after Independence, trying to reconcile classical traditions with modern psychological sensibilities. Into this space stepped a young writer who was not concerned with ideology or grand social systems, but with the stirrings of the human heart.
A defining feature of Pattanaik’s oeuvre is his meticulous representation of the Odia middle class. His novels, whether Aswamedhara Ghoda (Horse of Aswamedha), Sesha Basanta (Last Spring), or Prathama Sakala (First Dawn), foreground the ethical tensions, emotional fragilities, and moral negotiations embedded in quotidian life.
What distinguished Patnaik from many of his contemporaries was his unwavering commitment to emotional realism—a faith that the complexities of human relationships, especially love and desire, could carry as much literary weight as any political or social theme.
In his earliest works, Patnaik revealed a sensitivity to the fragile moral dilemmas that shape everyday life. His characters were not heroic figures or tragic archetypes; they were ordinary men and women negotiating expectations, impulses, and the confines of middle-class respectability. His prose, clean and unadorned, immediately established a new relationship with the reader—intimate, direct, and unpretentious.
For Odia readers of the 1960s, accustomed to more stylized narrative forms, this was refreshing. Young readers in particular embraced his novels, drawn to a writer who articulated emotional experiences with clarity and sincerity. Even at this early stage, Patnaik showed a remarkable ability to create female characters with depth and interiority, granting them agency in a literary culture that often placed women on symbolic pedestals rather than treating them as independent subjects.
As Patnaik moved into the 1970s and 1980s, his literary world expanded. The emotional tensions that shaped his early novels did not disappear, but they began to encounter new social realities. Odisha was changing—economically, culturally, and morally—and Patnaik’s novels became sensitive mirrors to these shifts. Urbanisation, job insecurity, the erosion of joint families, and the anxieties of modern aspiration found their way into his fiction.
He continued to write about intimate relationships, but these relationships were now embedded in broader pressures: generational conflict, economic burdens, and shifting gender dynamics. His characters struggled not only with their feelings but also with the demands of a changing society. Through this evolution, Patnaik maintained a narrative clarity that made his writing accessible to a wide audience, allowing him to be both widely read and critically noticed.
The 1990s marked a turning point in his career. While he continued to produce fiction, Patnaik increasingly turned his attention toward literary criticism and self-reflection. His essays—fearlessly honest, sometimes provocative—revealed a writer deeply engaged with the ethical health of the literary world. He wrote about the politics of awards, the failures of institutions, the erosion of literary standards, and the compromises that authors often make.
These writings unsettled the comfortable spaces of Odia literary culture but also enriched the discourse by demanding accountability and sincerity. At a time when many writers preferred diplomatic silence, Patnaik chose frankness. This choice, while controversial, made him an indispensable voice in understanding the dynamics of Odia letters in the late twentieth century.
His memoirs and autobiographical writings in the 2000s and 2010s further broadened his contribution. They are not mere recollections of a long literary life but important historical documents that offer insight into the personalities, politics, and conflicts of Odisha’s literary circles. The candour with which he narrates his experiences—sometimes tender, sometimes critical—makes these works stand apart in Odia autobiographical literature.
They reveal a writer who, despite being celebrated, never hesitated to critique himself or the milieu in which he worked. The tone of these later writings is marked by a late-style simplicity: calm, distilled, and enriched by decades of observation. Unlike many of his generation who grew stylistically heavier with age, Patnaik’s prose became lighter, clearer, and emotionally more resonant.
One of the most enduring features of his work is his representation of women. Throughout his career, Patnaik returned again and again to the complexities of female experience—women torn between personal desire and social expectation, women who resist, women who compromise, and women who assert themselves. His empathy for his female characters is evident not in idealisation but in the dignity he grants to their doubts, choices, and vulnerabilities. In a literary tradition long dominated by male narratives, this alignment with women’s emotional truth marked a significant departure and set a model for subsequent writers.
What ties Patnaik’s diverse phases together—novels, essays, memoirs—is an ethical thread. At the heart of his writing lies an insistence on sincerity: sincerity in feeling, sincerity in storytelling, sincerity in literary practice. His criticism emerges from the same commitment that shaped his fiction—the belief that literature must remain close to life, uncorrupted by pretension or institutional manipulation. Even when he critiques, he does so with the conviction that honesty is necessary for a healthy literary culture.
Today, looking back at his multi-decade journey, it becomes clear that Bibhuti Patnaik’s importance extends far beyond his widespread readership. He shaped the emotional vocabulary of several generations of Odia readers. He penned some of the most psychologically astute portrayals of love and moral conflict in Odia fiction.
He exposed the fissures in literary institutions through his bold essays. And he preserved the history of Odia literary life through his memoirs. His evolution—from a young chronicler of quiet emotions to a mature critic of cultural politics—mirrors the transformations of post-Independence Odisha itself.
Bibhuti Patnaik’s legacy is defined by this continuity of purpose. Whether writing a tender love story or a sharp critical essay, he remained committed to the integrity of human experience. His work endures because it speaks, with remarkable clarity, to the fears, hopes, and contradictions that shape ordinary lives.
In doing so, he carved a place for himself as one of the most authentic voices in modern Odia literature—unshakeable in sincerity, unafraid of truth, and unforgettable in the emotional clarity of his storytelling.
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Bhaskar Parichha is a journalist and author of Cyclones in Odisha: Landfall, Wreckage and Resilience, Unbiased, No 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.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
