Such a nice, perhaps one-of-a-kind, planet. Spacious. Water, oxygen, fertile earth. Let’s simply name it after what it is. Look at that waterfall, taste it, take a cold shower. You wouldn’t want to be anyone or anywhere else. Build shelter, pick fruit, grow food then share it with neighbours, invent language so you can compete with birds that make poems and songs to express the wonder of it all and praise Mother Nature and their luck for having survived arrival. You have never seen anywhere else except this generous plain but, surely, this must be a paradise without one flaw.
Allan Lake, originally from Canada, has lived in Saskatoon, Cape Breton Island, Ibiza, Tasmania, and Melbourne, Australia. His latest chapbook of poems, My Photos of Sicily, was published by Ginninderra Press. Such journals as The Hong Kong Review, Tokyo Poetry Journal, New Philosopher and The Fabians Review have published his poems.
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In Did He Ever?,Rhys Hughes gives fun-filled verses on Lafcadio Hearn, a bridge between the East and West from more than a hundred years ago. Clickhere to read.
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. Clickhere to read.
Poetry, prose — all art forms — gather our emotions into concentrates that distil perhaps the finest in human emotions. They touch hearts across borders and gather us all with the commonality of feelings. We no longer care for borders drawn by divisive human constructs but find ourselves connecting despite distances. Strangers or enemies can feel the same emotions. Enemies are mostly created to guard walls made by those who want to keep us in boxes, making it easier to manage the masses. It is from these mass of civilians that soldiers are drawn, and from the same crowds, we can find the victims who die in bomb blasts. And yet, we — the masses — fight. For whom, for what and why? A hundred or more years ago, we had poets writing against wars and violence…they still do. Have we learnt nothing from the past, nothing from history — except to repeat ourselves in cycles? By now, war should have become redundant and deadly weapons out of date artefacts instead of threats that are still used to annihilate cities, humans, homes and ravage the Earth. Our major concerns should have evolved to working on social equity, peace, human welfare and climate change.
One of the people who had expressed deep concern for social equity and peace through his films and writings was Satyajit Ray. This issue has an essay that reflects how he used art to concretise his ideas by Dolly Narang, a gallery owner who brought Ray’s handiworks to limelight. The essay includes the maestro’s note in which he admits he considered himself a filmmaker and a writer but never an artist. But Ray had even invented typefaces! Artist Paritosh Sen’s introduction to Ray’s art has been included to add to the impact of Narang’s essay. Another person who consolidates photography and films to do pathbreaking work and tell stories on compelling issues like climate change and helping the differently-abled is Vijay S Jodha. Ratnottama Sengupta has interviewed this upcoming artiste.
Reflecting the themes of welfare and conflict, Prithvijeet Sinha’s essay takes us to a monument in Lucknow that had been built for love but fell victim to war. Some conflicts are personal like the ones of Odbayar Dorj who finds acceptance not in her hometown in Mongolia but in the city, she calls home now. Jun A. Alindogan from Manila explores social media in action whereas Eshana Sarah Singh takes us to her home in Jakarta to celebrate the Chinese New Year! Farouk Gulsara looks into the likely impact of genetic engineering in a world already ripped by violence and Devraj Singh Kalsi muses on his source of inspiration, his writing desk. Meredith Stephens tells the touching story of a mother’s concern for her child in Australia and Suzanne Kamata exhibits the same concern as she travels to Happy Village in Japan to meet her differently-abled daughter and her friends.
As these real-life narratives weave commonalities of human emotions, so do fictive stories. Some reflect the need for change. Fiona Sinclair writes a layered story set in London on how lived experiences define differences in human perspectives while Parnika Shirwaikar explores the need to learn to accept changes set in her part of the universe. Spandan Upadhyay explores the spirit of the city of Kolkata as a migrant with a focus on social equity. Both Paul Mirabile and Naramsetti Umamaheswararao write stories around childhood, one set in Europe and the other in Asia.
Do pause by our contents page for this issue and enjoy the reads. We are ever grateful to our ever-growing evergreen readership some of whom have started sharing their fabulous narratives with us. Thanks to all our readers and contributors. Huge thanks to our wonderful team without whose efforts we could not have curated such valuable content and thanks specially to Sohana Manzoor for her art. Thank you all for making a whiff of an idea a reality!
Life evolves. The new replaces the old, and fresh ideas overshadow previous ones. What was once an avant-garde style one day may appear unattractive the next. We sometimes feel embarrassed by the clothes we wear and the trends we embrace decades after models showcased them on the catwalk.
Trends come and go constantly. Species become extinct at a background rate of one species per million each year. Human activities, such as habitat destruction and chemical pollution, have accelerated this decline by hundreds or thousands of times.
At times, cataclysmic accidents of Nature expedite this decline, such as meteoritic impacts and the extinction of the dinosaurs 65 million years ago. Neanderthals lost the survival game to Homo sapiens because they did not adapt to environmental demands, though not without infusing their DNA into the latter. Should we consider this an inevitable consequence of our existence, or should we strive to rectify it with our current level of scientific advancement?
It was recently reported that a rare species of wolf, the dire wolf, last roamed the Earth 13,000 years ago. Three dire wolves have been recreated using CRISPR technology[1] and surrogacy, allowing them to roam the Earth once more. Part of their DNA was extracted from an ancient fossil and transplanted into an artificial grey wolf egg. The grey wolf differs genetically from the dire wolf and is related to the domesticated dog. Dire wolves were fierce apex predators that existed before humans, when the world was a much more hostile place.
The scientists who embarked on this experiment thought it was a necessary first step towards preventing further species extinction. Their next objectives include recreating the dodo bird, which humans hunted to extinction due to its ease of capture, and the Tasmanian tiger. Scientists are particularly fascinated by Tasmanian tigers because they belong to a rare group of marsupials mainly found in Australasia. Additionally, rats with woolly mammoth genes are also being developed in laboratories somewhere.
Are these all really necessary? On one hand, humans pose the greatest threat to all living beings. We not only kill each other but also other species to assert our dominance. Our mere existence on Earth leaves a significant carbon footprint, which could potentially destroy the planet before its expiration date. Logically, we are a greater threat to the species than Nature’s natural selection. We should not exist at all. We only expedite doomsday. Yet, we carry the notion that the burden of preserving the third rock from the Sun for eternity lies squarely upon our shoulders.
A real example of the danger of our manipulation of Nature’s order can be seen in our irritation with pathogenic insects. DDT[2] was introduced to control mosquitoes. We believed we were doing a great service by reducing arthropod-borne diseases, only to realise the crucial roles insects play in pollination and, by extension, our food chain. Rachel Carson’s [3]now-famous 1962 line, “the spring with no chirping birds”, serves as a grim reminder of Nature’s intricate web of interdependency and the detrimental effects of chemical pesticides. Every being has a specific role in the grand scheme of things.
Wolves regulate the overpopulation of large herbivores, such as elk and deer, which helps maintain plant health and diversity. Mosquitoes and many other insects may be pests, but they are also essential for plant pollination and are integral to the food chain that helps balance the ecosystem. Dodos and Tasmanian tigers may have had their significance at one time. Nature, the greater equaliser, must have its reasons for ending its existence. To act against Nature, to correct something we perceive as wrong, is foolhardy.
Hollywood offers a fictional reminder, as was seen in Jurassic Park, of what occurs when humanity meddles with Nature, regardless of how thoroughly we believe we have crossed the ‘t’s and dotted the ‘i’s. The seed of life possesses a mind of its own. Its innate drive to propagate may lead to the creation of dangerous hybrids, mutants, and chimaeras or even result in hermaphrodites within species to ensure continuity.
Even before the dire wolves’ secret whereabouts are made public, Elon Musk has already expressed his desire to have one as a pet. This shows that these freak products will just end up as rich men’s playthings. It is unlikely that this technology will significantly change the day-to-day life of the average person. The tech moguls may view these baby steps as precursors to transhumanism, a better version of humanity, where human capabilities are enhanced synthetically through technology, bypassing Nature’s selection.
Anyway, the last thing we want to see in our lifetimes is new breeds of vicious, ferocious dire wolves joining forces with woolly-toothed mice and bloodthirsty Tasmanian tigers in our streets, searching for us as food in a borderless world as far as these beasts can see.
From Public Domain
[1] CRISPR technology, or Clustered Regularly Interspaced Short Palindromic Repeats, is a gene-editing technique.
[2] Dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane, is a synthetic chemical compound that was once widely used as an insecticide and a key component in malaria control efforts.
6. Transhumanism is a philosophical and scientific movement that advocates the use of current and emerging technologies, such as genetic engineering, cryonics, artificial intelligence (AI), and nanotechnology, to enhance human capabilities and improve the human condition.
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Farouk Gulsara is a daytime healer and a writer by night. After developing his left side of his brain almost half his lifetime, this johnny-come-lately decided to stimulate the non-dominant part of his remaining half. An author of two non-fiction books, Inside the twisted mind of Rifle Range Boy and Real Lessons from Reel Life, he writes regularly in his blog, Rifle Range Boy.
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World Poetry Day falls in March — the same month that houses the World Wildlife Day. Our beautiful planets’ flora and fauna, impacted by the changing climate, might have to adapt or alter. Part of the land masses are likely to return to rest under rising tides. And humanity, how will we respond or survive these phenomena?
We have here responses in poetry from our newly-minted section on Environment and Climate. We celebrate with poetry on our home and hearth, the Earth.
From Public Domain
We start with poetry on fires that seems to have razed large parts of our planet recently…
Drops of water gather to make a wave. The waves make oceans that reshape land masses over time…
Five years ago, on March 14th, in the middle of the pandemic, five or six of us got together to start an online forum called Borderless Journal. The idea was to have a space that revelled with the commonality of felt emotions. Borderless was an attempt to override divisive human constructs and bring together writers and ideators from all over the Earth to have a forum open to all people — a forum which would be inclusive, tolerant, would see every individual as a part of the fauna of this beautiful planet. We would be up in the clouds — afloat in an unbordered stratosphere— to meet and greet with thoughts that are common to all humans, to dream of a world we can have if we choose to explore our home planet with imagination, kindness and love. It has grown to encompass contributors from more than forty countries, and readers from all over the world — people who have the same need to reach out to others with felt emotions and common concerns.
Borderless not only celebrates the human spirit but also hopes to create over time a vibrant section with writings on the environment and climate change. We launch the new section today on our fifth anniversary.
Devraj Singh Kalsi with a soupçon of ironic amusement muses on humans’ attitude to the fauna around him and Farouk Gulsara lays on a coating of sarcasm while addressing societal norms. Meredith Stephens brings us concerns for a green Earth when she beachcombs in a remote Australian island. Prithvijeet Sinha continues to familiarise us with his city, Lucknow. Suzanne Kamata, on the other hand travels to Rwanda to teach youngsters how to write a haiku!
Professor Fakrul Alam takes us to libraries in Dhaka with the hope that more will start writing about the waning of such paradises for book lovers. Other than being the month that hosts World Environment Day, March also homes, International Women’s Day. Commemorating the occasion, we have essays from Meenakshi Malhotra on the past poetry of women and from Ratnottama Sengupta on women in Bengali Cinema. Sengupta has also interviewed Poulami Bose Chatterjee, the daughter of the iconic actor Soumitra Chatterjee to share with us less-known vignettes from the actor’s life. Keith Lyons has interviewed Malaysian writer-editor Daphne Lee to bring to us writerly advice and local lores on ghosts and hauntings.
We also have a translation by Lourdes M Supriya from Hindustani of a student’s heartrending cry to heal from grief for a teacher who faced an untimely end — a small dirge from Tanvir, a youngster with his roots in Nithari violence who transcended his trauma to teach like his idol and tutor, the late Sanjay Kumar. With this, we hope to continue with the pandies corner, with support from Lourdes and Anuradha Marwah, Kumar’s partner.
Borderless has grown in readership by leaps and bounds. There have been requests for books with writings from our site. On our fifth anniversary, we plan to start bringing out the creative writing housed in Borderless Journal in different volumes. We had brought out an anthology in 2022. It was well received with many reviews. But we have many gems, and each writer is valued here. Therefore, Rhys Hughes, one of our editorial board members, has kindly consented to create a new imprint to bring out books from the Borderless Journal. We are very grateful to him.
We are grateful to the whole team, our contributors and readers for being with us through our journey. We would not have made it this far without each one of you. Special thanks to Sohana Manzoor for her artwork too, something that has almost become synonymous with the cover page of our journal. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart.
Wish you all happy reading! Do pause by our content’s page and take a look at all the wonderful writers.
The world has changed, so the people claim. Knowledge and wisdom have reached great heights. Yet my unyielding heart remains ever the same.
Dawns and dusks often ask of me, When will the sun glide upon the sea? When will, like the moon, the rainbow Cast upon the earth its colourful glow? When will stars adorn the earth's lap, Descending from heavenly height?
When will the wind chant like a cooing dove? When will elegies transform into songs of love? When will lizards and moths soar like birds? And mountains soften to cotton flakes?
Your smiles and giggles, unfurl in my songs, When will fire rise from beneath the water? Lightning leap from eyes, the scorching winds Blow across as gentle as gentle breeze? When will fig blooms scatter, a feast for all to see, When will Man regress from the heights of grace? When will he grasp his true essence? When will this world birth a new dawn's light?
When will life witness such glories? With fervent urge, I plead.
The world has changed, or so the people claim. Yet my unyielding heart remains ever the same. I ponder, will change ever find its way?
Mubarak Qazi(1955-2023), is one of the most prolific and popular of modern Balochi poets. He is credited with making poetry a vocation for the masses in a lucid vocabulary. In other words, Qazi is like the conscience of the people — one who addresses them in a language they can easily comprehend and decipher. Instead of maintaining a subtle or vague approach, he conveyed his sentiments in simple and unembellished language. He has published ten anthologies of poetry.
Fazal Baloch is a Balochi writer and translator. He has translated many Balochi poems and short stories into English. His translations have been featured in Pakistani Literature published by Pakistan Academy of Letters and in the form of books and anthologies.
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Long, long ago, Zeus descended to the place where two trees are wrapped in a loving embrace: an oak and a linden tree amid an undulating landscape, their entwined branches a testimony to undying love. ‘I have seen them with my very eyes’ is how the narrator begins the story about how the gods can decide our fate, which was recorded by Ovid in his Metamorphoses.
The story goes as follows: one day Zeus, king of the gods, disguised himself as a mortal and descended to Earth, accompanied by his son, Hermes. They knocked at every door they found in search of a place to rest, but none of the homes they visited welcomed them in. They finally reached the tumble-down cottage belonging to Baucis and Philemon, an old couple who, in spite of their poverty, were perfectly content with their lot, and welcomed the pair with open arms, generously providing them with all the fruit, nuts, figs and dates they had to hand. They were even prepared to kill their goose, but the bird escaped its fate and found safety between the two gods. Hermes and Zeus explained to the couple who they were and why they were going to destroy this godless part of the world: ‘Only the two of you will be allowed to escape this disaster’.
Leaning on their staffs, the old couple followed the gods to the top of a hill, from which they looked back to see all the land in the valley flooded and sinking into a muddy bog, apart from their own cottage, which had been turned into a glistening temple with marble floors and columns. Zeus granted the couple a wish, and they did not need too long to think about their reply: they wished to become priest and priestess of the new temple and, most beautifully of all, they both wanted to die at the same time at the end of their lives. Both wishes were granted.
One day, after a long and fortunate life, the pair stood at the bottom of the marble steps leading up to the temple. All of a sudden bark began to cover their bodies and legs and their arms began to sprout leaves. They shared one final word of farewell as the leafy canopy started to engulf their faces. In an act of tenderness, they stretched out their branches longingly towards one another, and to this day continue to whisper to each other through the rustle of the leaves.
Living on together in human form after death is another comforting solution in stories the world over. No surprise therefore that storytellers have always wondered how Adam and Eve, the first humans according to Judaism, Christianity and Islam, met their end. The holy books of these three religious traditions all begin with the pair living in Paradise, with the Bible even stating that Adam was 930 years old when he died, but the details of their deaths are conspicuous by their absence.
Eve’s widowhood is not dealt with at all in the Bible, yet oral traditions do discuss it, as storytellers tend to have free rein. In one early Christian story, on his deathbed Adam confronts Eve with the most wicked accusation; during that emotional moment, he forces her to once again explain to their children and grandchildren (and all of his progeny) that it is through her that death came into the world. No surprise therefore that, after Adam’s death, Eve wallows in the mud, grief-stricken and despondent, imploring God’s mercy for her unending guilt, until she dares to gaze upwards, where the most incredible spectacle unfolds before her eyes: angels float in the sky, obscuring the vaults of heaven with their swinging incense burners, as the body of Adam is brought to Heaven on a chariot of light drawn by four shining eagles.
Further details about the now widowed Eve are absent, but in one optimistic Islamic story from Yemen, upon their deaths the angel Gabriel comes to Earth to collect both Adam and Eve to take them back to the Garden of Eden. As they arrive, the gates of Heaven swing open, and they are greeted with ‘Peace be with you and welcome back’. These words are spoken by Ridwan, the same gatekeeper who at the start of their earthly lives had slammed the gates of heaven behind the pair as they left. Upon their return they must undergo a ritual purification: first they are handed a golden cup with water from the well of purity, followed by another golden cup filled with water from the fountain of eternal youth.3 Together till the end, from their expulsion from Paradise to their return.
One goes, the other remains
In the harsh reality of life, this narrative works slightly differently, the question being ‘which of the two of us will be the first to go?’ This pressing question inevitably arises among people who are in love and happy with one another. In fairy tales, couples live long and happy lives, and at weddings you will often hear a variant of the adage ‘may you live long and well’. At weddings in India’s eastern state of Assam, you will hear the words ‘may the kinowari (bindi) never disappear from your forehead’. This symbol of marital bliss is used to wish brides a marriage that lasts a lifetime, with those who become widows no longer being permitted to wear it.
‘May a God-blessed wife go with her husband to his grave’ is a popular Arabic wish for women, as what could be more beautiful than dying together on the same day?
(Extracted from Widows: A Global History by Mineke Schipper. Published by Speaking Tiger Books, 2024)
About the Book
Widows have always far outnumbered widowers (who quickly remarry, usually younger women). War, hunting and the uncertainties of long travel ensured that most husbands died before their wives did. Mineke Schipper’s cultural history of widows examines how these husband-less women have, throughout history and mythology, been portrayed as helpless damsels, easy pickings for men outside the family or clan, or as cunning witches who are suspected of murder. In every case, the motive has been to exclude them and control them. Schipper traverses the world, travelling across time, to collect and analyse stories about widows and their treatment—the loss of status they face after their husband’s death; the harsh rituals of mourning they are forced to perform; the often brutal controls on attire, mobility and sexuality that they must submit to. It is a global legacy of cruelty and shame—as also, occasionally, of resilience and defiance—that has rarely been studied as deeply and thoroughly as in this extraordinary work. Widows draws upon sources from Ancient Egypt and Greece, medieval India and modern-day Europe, Africa and the Americas—examining folk and real-life stories of communities in Fiji, Papua New Guinea, Ghana, China, France, and several other countries and regions, as also stories and images from comics and fashion magazines.
Impressively researched and entertainingly narrated, this book—its information made distinctive by Schipper’s sharp insight and her humour—is an important document that helps us understand our past and, through it, our present.
About the Author
Mineke Schipper is Emeritus Professor of Intercultural Literary Studies at the University of Leiden, The Netherlands, with visiting professorships in Nigeria, Kenya, Zimbabwe, Burkina Faso and China. She is the author of NeverMarry a Woman with Big Feet (Eureka Prize for Non-fiction), Naked or Covered and Hills of Paradise.
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We live on a huge planet, a watery world, which is a small cosmos in itself.Keith Lyons discovers humanity in his local swimming pool.
In recent years, I’ve increasingly sought an elixir of life. Even though I know this magical potion won’t grant me eternal life — not even eternal youth. The elixir doesn’t even promise to cure all diseases, though it seems a lot of other people are taking this tonic as treatment for every kind of ailment.
My pursuit of this higher realm means that most days, if I am able, I take a break from work, life and the busy-ness of it all to replenish, relax, and rejuvenate. My woo-woo astrological friend reckons that because my star sign is Cancer (one of the three water signs along with Pisces and Scorpio), I am drawn to water. But then, we all need water. Water is Life. It keeps all life going – for without water, life cannot exist. As the saying goes, “No Blue – No Green.” We need water to survive, to thrive, for our hygiene, for our wellbeing, and for the ice cubes in our virgin piña colada cocktails.
When I heard about the prospect of a new swimming pool opening up nearby my home, in the dark days of the Covid-pandemic, I was doubly happy and expectant. I even turned up to the new venue before it had actually opened, when they were still finishing the build and checking all the systems worked. The local government funded facility offered not only a swimming pool, but also a point of contact for interactions with the council, and the pool was twinned with a modern library. In my mind, I imagined that it might be possible to go swimming, then to glide over to a cafe or bar to get a drink, and then to select a book to read while reclining on an in-water lounger. Could it possible? I know I had stayed at a fancy hotel with a wet bar in Macau, where the bartender served cocktails to me and a photographer as we lived our best lives — until the next morning when we didn’t feel so flash.
Water, as you may know, makes up over 70% of the Earth’s surface. Up to 60% of the human body is actually water — depending on how much fluids you’ve drunk. A cucumber is made up of around 96% water. I recall these facts from a high school science project as I push the button of the water dispenser and a half circle of cool water arcs up for me to catch as much as I can in my mouth. I’m thirsty and know I need to drink lots of fluids, as I’ve just spent the last 80 minutes exercising and soaking in warm water. And I feel like I’m dehydrated from all the exertion.
Ever since a new indoor swimming pool opened in my neighbourhood, I’ve been making the effort to go as often as I can, to move and stretch in the warm hydrotherapy pool and then relax in the even-hotter spa. It has become something of a pilgrimage for me, even on the coldest, rainy days of winter. My route there from my house goes along a new cycleway, through a park (where a dog recently tried to attack me on my bike) cuts through a local ‘secret shortcut’ beside offices and a new church, then tracks along an industrial area of factories, warehouses, and commercial premises. After 6pm, the road to the pool has little traffic, just the occasional truck and security vehicle. If road conditions, traffic and winds are favourable, I can be door-to-door in under 10 minutes. But once I enter the new complex, change into my swimming gear, and walk down the ramp of the hydrotherapy pool, time becomes less important. I change from the demands of a busy world to more me-time.
But there’s more than devoting an hour to honour and exercise one’s physical body. Moving in water offers benefits beyond the physical realm, whether one’s aim is to help the heart, the waistline or the body’s strength. Because water is a lot denser than air, water provides more resistance — around 12-14% — compared to doing the same exercises on land. That resistance assists cardio and strength training. There’s another factor for water-based activities: buoyancy. The feeling of being lighter or weightless when submerged in water means you take the pressure off bones, joints and muscles. It is the closest thing you or I might get to being in space. You don’t even need one of those NASA t-shirts with the iconic blue, red and white logo of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration.
The 1.4-metre-deep hydrotherapy pool, which is kept at 33-36C, sits alongside the traditional 25-metre swimming pool, which is kept at 26-28C. The therapeutic pool’s inclusion in the new community complex was the result of lobbying by locals, who previously had to drive across to the opposite side of the city to access a suitably warm pool.
Photo Courtesy: Keith Lyons
It has only been a few months since the pool opened, but already many come to the waters, from when it opens at 5.30am each weekday (7am weekends) to when the last are forced to leave at 9.30pm (8pm in weekends). I’m more of an afternoon and evening swimmer, preferring to go to the pool after work or at the end of the day. Some attend the twice-a-week gentle exercise class, where the average age is 65+. Others visit almost every day at nearly the same time.
Some arrive in wheelchairs, pushing walking frames, or hobbling on crutches. Others walk from the changing rooms to the water smiling expectantly as they pace towards the transformative pool. At mid-morning, with the light from the wall-to-ceiling windows slanting across the pool, it could easily be a scene from the 1985 movie, Cocoon, where the retirement home pool helped them rediscover their youth (it was full of aliens). If you had to paint the scene, there would be a lot of blue hues, along with off-white and grey tones, with silvery reflections off the water.
While some exercise by themselves, focusing on their routines, the set prescribed by their physiotherapist, or whatever takes their fancy, for many it is also a social time, as they aqua jog up and down the lengths, or stand at the sides doing calisthenics. If you listen carefully over the music soundtrack of upbeat, positive songs playing over the public speakers, you can hear the water gushing and flowing. It bubbles up from the floor of the pool. Jets roll in from the sides of the hydrotherapy pool. In the spa pool, there’s a force field strategically placed around the pool. Modern water treatment means there’s no smell of chlorine.
The pool is a very tactile, sensual in-body experience. It is also somewhat humbling. Patrons must change into suitable bathing costumes, which can be as skimpy and revealing as bikinis and togs, though some prefer full body covering for modesty or self-perceptions. The water in the hydrotherapy pool is so warm that there’s never any hesitation on entering. People are only limited by the speed at which they can move from the air environment to the watery world of buoyancy and drag.
My local swimming pool is a microcosm of the wider community, and the big wide world. As where I live has experienced significant migration in recent decades, it is certainly a diverse multi-national cross-section of the community. Chinese are the largest group, with a swim school, coached sometimes in Mandarin, operating most weeknights. There are also families from the Philippines, a group of learn-to-swimmers from Nepal, and occasionally a non-swimmer from India who needs to be rescued from the deep end of the main pool by lifeguards. On one afternoon and evening, the whole pool becomes ‘women-only’, with the blinds drawn so women can use the pools without the glare of men. With more refugees from other countries now making up our neighbourhood, there are often people from Afghanistan, Eritrea, Kurdistan, Ethiopia, Somalia and Bhutan venturing into the pools for the first time.
Is the swimming pool I go to special? Can such a multi-sensory, multi-cultural, relaxing-yet-reviving experience only be found in my swimming pool? Nope. Seek out a public swimming pool in your area and discover another world.
Photo Courtesy: Keith Lyons
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Keith Lyons (keithlyons.net) is an award-winning writer and creative writing mentor originally from New Zealand who has spent a quarter of his existence living and working in Asia including southwest China, Myanmar and Bali. His Venn diagram of happiness features the aroma of freshly-roasted coffee, the negative ions of the natural world including moving water, and connecting with others in meaningful ways. A Contributing Editor on Borderless journal’sEditorial Board, his work has appeared in Borderless since its early days, and his writing featured in the anthology Monalisa No Longer Smiles.
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Time flows at an indolent pace. The mind floats in an empty space. Into that vast void, images drift. Over many eons, many have flit To the distant past. Arrogant conquerors sped fast. Pathans rode to satiate their greed. Then, Mughals wheeled Victories, whipping dust-storms, Flying flags for their throngs. These empires have left no trace On the vast void at which I gaze. Through ages, the serene sky Is with sunset and sunrise dyed. Now the might of Britons holds sway Penetrating new pathways With the power of steam And vehicles of fiery steel. With vigour, they spread Their dominions across the land’s breadth. I know their regime will also pass. Their empire will crumble at last. On the astral plane, despite their strength, Their army will not leave a single indent.
When I look around the Earth, An ocean ripples along its girth Heaving huge waves of humanity Through myriad paths, in myriad coveys, Over centuries as their daily needs are met In life and in death. Forever, they row, With their rudders tow, Work in fields, plant seeds, Their harvests reap. They work all the time, In towns or in wilds. Empires decline silencing bugles of war. People forget histories of battles fought. Stories of glory, angst and gore, Stay concealed in children’s lore. They struggle to work hard, In Punjab, Bombay and Gujarat, In Bengal, in Kalinga, all over the land, By the coastline and the riverbank. These stories of daily life hum Reverberating like drums; Joys, sorrows, day and night Resonate as hymns to our lives. Empires are ruined to ashes. Over eons, they toil as masses.
This poem has been translated by Mitali Chakravarty with editorial input by Sohana Manzoor
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