Naramsetti Umamaheswararao makes up a new fable. Click here to read.
Feature
A review of Jaladhar Sen’s The Travels of a Sadhu in the Himalayas, translated from Bengali by Somdatta Mandal, and an online interview with the translator. Click here to read.
Autumn Garden by Vincent Van Gogh (1853-1890). From Public Domain
September heralds the start of year-end festivities around the world. It’s autumn in one part and spring in another – both seasons that herald change. While our planet celebrates changes, dichotomies, opposites and inclusively gazes with wonder at the endless universe in all its splendour, do we? Festivals are times of good cheer and fun with our loved ones. And yet, a large part of the world seems to be in disarray with manmade disasters wrought by our own species on its own home planet. Despite the sufferings experienced by victims of climate and war-related calamities, the majority will continue to observe rituals out of habit while subscribing to exclusivity and shun change in any form. Occasionally, there are those who break all rules to create a new norm.
One such group of people are the bauls or mendicants from Bengal. Aruna Chakravarti has shared an essay about these people who have created a syncretic lore with music and nature, defying the borders that divide humanity into exclusive groups. As if to complement this syncretic flow, we have Professor Fakrul Alam’s piece on a human construct, literary clubs spanning different cultures spread over centuries – no less an area in which we find norms redefined for, the literary, often, are the harbingers of change.
Mandal, herself, has a brilliant translation featured in this issue. We have a review of her book, an interview with her, and an excerpt from the translation of Jaladhar Sen’s The Travels of a Sadhu in the Himalayas. Written and first published in the Tagore family journal, Bharati, the narrative is an outstanding cultural bridge which even translates Bengali humour for an Anglophone readership. That Sen had a strictly secular perspective in the nineteenth century when blind devotion was often a norm is showcased in Mandal’s translation as well as the stupendous descriptions of the Himalayas that haunt with elegant simplicity.
Our fiction this month seems largely focussed on women’s stories from around the world. While Fiona Sinclair and Erin Jamieson reflect on mother-daughter relationships, Anandita Dey looks into a woman’s dilemma as she tries to adjust to the accepted norm of an ‘arranged’ marriage. Rashida Murphy explores deep rooted social biases that create issues faced by a woman with a light touch. Naramsetti Umamaheswararao brings in variety with a fable – a story that reflects human traits transcending gender disparity.
The September issue would not have been possible without contributions of words and photographs by many of you. Huge thanks to all of you, to the fabulous team and to Sohana Manzoor, whose art has become synonymous with our journal. And our heartfelt thanks to our wonderful readers, without who the effort of putting together this journal would be pointless. Thank you all.
The question is, why are we here? What are we doing, and what is expected of us? Is the purpose of our existence merely to continue the propagation of the species? Is there a higher calling to elevate our souls? Can we correct our karmic order to a better footing? Unfortunately, if only we knew where we went wrong last time, we could fix our past mistakes. Sadly, we do not. Is our presence on Earth to raise our species a level higher, whether intellectually or technologically, than a generation before? Is there a greater plan in the pipeline, to consume more and more, heading towards entropy? The less wise among us will be sure of their existence, convinced that this is a testing ground for more magnificent things to come.
Among the lower orders of species, it is a given that the biological reason for their existence is the perpetuation of DNA and the selection of the fittest. Most animals die shortly after laying eggs. Some, like praying mantises and black widow spiders, kill their mates after sex. Salmons lay eggs once in their lifetime, after enduring life-changing experiences to swim upstream, conserving all their energy for their one final trip to lay eggs and then die[1]. At this level, it seems that their raison d’être is to procreate. That is all.
As we climb the pecking order, women evolve to live longer. Some even reach a phase of life way past the cessation of ovarian follicles, a period called menopause. Only in a few species do the females have the luxury of relieving themselves of childbirth and caring for the young towards the latter part of their lives. Formerly, it was thought that only humans go through menopause. Now, we know that besides humans, whales, orcas, and chimpanzees also spend a significant part of their lives in the postmenopausal period[2]. Thinking about it, if the main purpose of life is to pass on DNA and then move on, why do they stay so long without trying to improve or spread the gene pool? It seems like a waste of resources. If it were only for procreation, it would clash with the purpose of existence. They might have to compete for limited resources.
Behavioural scientists who have studied orcas and whales suggest that their pod structure is matrilineal[3]. The older members care for the ‘grandchildren’ to promote survival. Indirectly, they help ensure the continuation of the species. This is known as the ‘grandmother hypothesis’. Their presence leads to healthier and stronger calves for future generations. These older postmenopausal orcas possess a wealth of knowledge to guide the pod in making life-changing decisions such as where to hunt juicy salmon and where to relax in peace.
Elephants that live for a long time, up to around 80 years, can still reproduce quite late, even as late as a 65-year-old female. One may wonder whether inbreeding is a possibility since they live in communities. Fortunately, nature provides a solution for them. Bull elephants, after reaching adulthood, leave their community tribe — a practice called dispersal. They then join their bachelor friends and roam around sowing their seeds. Female elephants remain with their birth herd for their entire lives and do not go through menopause[4]. In the chimpanzee community, dispersal is carried out by the females. They leave their troop when their hormones surge to avoid inbreeding.
So, where does that leave us as humans? Are we evolutionarily programmed to spend a long time in the postmenopausal state? After all, our ancestors rarely reached menopause. Even as late as the 18th century, the life expectancy of a woman was between 35 to 40. Advances in medical care and safe childbirth have extended our lifespan beyond the expectations of our ancestors. It might be an evolutionary accident, but we have adapted to it. It also prevents intergenerational reproductive conflict, as we avoid competing with our daughters for limited resources and reproductive opportunities.[5]
If the continuity of a species is the primary goal of life, then postmenopausal women have fulfilled their mission early in life. Life in old age should be regarded as a bonus. Without a role in transmitting genetic material, they may indulge in pursuits that bring them happiness. They might be catching up on activities they could not pursue during the demanding years of motherhood. The vast wealth of life experiences and street-smart wisdom can be passed on to their children, if the young are willing to listen. They could also revisit their carefree teenage years, which were cut short by hormonal surges during youth and the burdens they carried.
Recently, it has been suggested that living in an extended family can help ease the burden of caring for children with neurodevelopmental conditions. While it does not prevent ADHD or autism, grandparents can be valuable for providing emotional support and practical assistance.[6] They can offer a listening ear to understand the child’s unique needs. Better outcomes have been observed when grandparents live with their grandchildren.[7]
On a philosophical and existential level, it is difficult to precisely define what life is all about. We can discuss endlessly, like a philosopher, until the cows come home and then go grazing again. From a biological perspective, there is no doubt that it is not merely about the propagation of chromosomes. There is also room for acquiring knowledge, disseminating it broadly, and offering a helping hand to make the world a better place.
An orcas: Sourced by Farouk Gulsara from Public Domain
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.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Storm in purple by Arina Tcherem. From Public Domain
If we take a look at our civilisation, there are multiple kinds of storms that threaten to annihilate our way of life and our own existence as we know it. The Earth and the human world face twin threats presented by climate change and wars. While on screen, we watch Gaza and Ukraine being sharded out of life by human-made conflicts over constructs made by our own ‘civilisations’, we also see many of the cities and humankind ravaged by floods, fires, rising sea levels and global warming. Along with that come divides created by economics and technology. Many of these themes reverberate in this month’s issue.
From South Australia, Meredith Stephens writes of marine life dying due to algal growth caused by rising water temperatures in the oceans — impact of global warming. She has even seen a dead dolphin and a variety of fishes swept up on the beach, victims of the toxins that make the ocean unfriendly for current marine life. One wonders how much we will be impacted by such changes! And then there is technology and the chatbot taking over normal human interactions as described by Farouk Gulsara. Is that good for us? If we perhaps stop letting technology take over lives as Gulsara and Jun A. Alindogan have contended, it might help us interact to find indigenous solutions, which could impact the larger framework of our planet. Alindogan has also pointed out the technological divide in Philippines, where some areas get intermittent or no electricity. And that is a truth worldwide — lack of basic resources and this technological divide.
On the affluent side of such divides are moving to a new planet, discussions on immortality — Amortals[1] by Harari’s definition, life and death by euthanasia. Ratnottama Sengupta brings to us a discussion on death by choice — a privilege of the wealthy who pay to die painlessly. The discussion on whether people can afford to live or die by choice lies on the side of the divide where basic needs are not an issue, where homes have not been destroyed by bombs and where starvation is a myth, where climate change is not wrecking villages with cloudbursts. In Kashmir, we can find a world where many issues exist and violences are a way of life. In the midst of such darkness, a bit of kindness and more human interactions as described by Gower Bhat in ‘The Man from Pulwama’ goes some way in alleviating suffering. Perhaps, we can take a page of the life of such a man. In the middle of all the raging storms, Devraj Singh Kalsi brings in a bit of humour or rather irony with his strange piece on his penchant for syrups, a little island removed from conflicts which seem to rage through this edition though it does raise concerns that affect our well-being.
Parichha has also reviewed a book by another contemporary Odia woman author, Snehaprava Das. The collection of short stories is called Keep it Secret. Madhuri Kankipati has discussed O Jungio’s The Kite of Farewells: Stories from Nagaland and Somdatta Mandal has written about Chhimi Tenduf-La’s A Hiding to Nothing, a novel by a global Tibetan living in Sri Lanka with the narrative between various countries. We have an interview with a global nomad too, Neeman Sobhan, who finds words help her override borders. In her musing on Ostia Antica, a historic seaside outside Rome, Sobhan mentions how the town was abandoned because of the onset of anopheles mosquitos. Will our cities also get impacted in similar ways because of the onset of global ravages induced by climate change? This musing can be found as a book excerpt from Abiding City: Ruminations from Rome, her book on her life as a global nomad. The other book excerpt is by a well-known writer who has also lived far from where he was born, MA Aldrich. His book,From Rasa to Lhasa: The Sacred Center of the Mandala is said to be “A sweeping, magnificent biography—which combines historical research, travel-writing and discussion of religion and everyday culture—Old Lhasa is the most comprehensive account of the fabled city ever written in English.”
With that, we come to our fiction section. This time we truly have stories from around the globe with Suzanne Kamata sending a story set in the Bon festival that’s being celebrated in Japan this week for her column. From there, we move to Taiwan with C. J. Anderson-Wu’s narrative reflecting disappearances during the White Terror (1947-1987), a frightening period for people stretched across almost four decades. Gigi Gosnell writes of the horrific abuse faced by a young Filipino girl as the mother works as a domestic helper in Dubai. Paul Mirabile gives us a cross-cultural narrative about a British who opts to become a dervish. While Hema R touches on women’s issues from within India, Sahitya Akademi Award Winner, Naramsetti Umamaheshwararao, writes a story about children.
With such hope growing out of a neolithic burial chamber, maybe there is hope for life to survive despite all the bleakness we see around us. Maybe, with a touch of magic and a sprinkle of realism – our sense of hope, faith and our ability to adapt to changes, we will survive for yet another millennia.
We wind up our content for the August issue with the eternal bait for our species — hope. Huge thanks to the fantastic team at Borderless and to all our wonderful writers. Truly grateful to Sohana Manzoor for her artwork and many thanks to all our wonderful readers for their time…
How often have we, as fully realised human beings, found ourselves in the ironic situation of proving our human status to a computer programme? We have ticked boxes to identify zebra crossings, traffic lights, and buses, only to be told we were wrong, as if we did not know what a bus was. It is as if our fingers were too stubby to press the right keys or too daft to understand. And now, we are deciphering distorted words, as only a human could read wavy or cursive writing.
Now we understand. The verification exercises did not just stop automatons from spying on our data. They were meant to aid computers in digitising old books[1]. Computers sometimes struggle with old pages when converting physical books into digital versions. Due to wear and tear and fading caused by oxidation, the text may appear distorted. Computers use this mundane verification process by making humans interpret these unreadable texts. We play a crucial role in this process, creating a training module to help identify issues and errors to improve digitisation.
While CAPTCHA[2] (acronym for Completely Automated Public Turing test to tell Computers and Humans Apart) was initially designed to prevent bot attacks and spam, it is now used by computers to distinguish between humans and bots among users. Alan Turing, the father of theoretical computer science, proposed a test[3] which was later named after him to evaluate a machine’s ability to exhibit intelligent behaviour indistinguishable from a human. Although many machines and AI programmes have passed this test, humans now face a reverse Turing Test to prove our organic status.
The funny thing is, while all this is happening, with automation and the diminishing need for human interaction, humans are gradually losing their humanity. We have lost the ability to look into each other’s eyes and start a conversation just for fun. Suppose Alan Turing proposed the test to gauge machine intelligence, and modern computers give a reverse Turing Test[4] to exclude unwanted chatbots. In that case, humans perhaps need a Turing-like test to confirm they still have some grey cells. We are increasingly losing our capacity for idle chats. We are all just prisoners, best left to our own devices.
Talking about looking into each other’s eyes and melting into the passion of each other’s aura, the dating scene these days is no longer like that. Enter any dimly-lit romantic restaurant, couples are not lost looking at one another but lost in the abyss of cyberspace, looking at the digital restaurant menu or perhaps into each other’s social media or Tinder hits to see what the other half has been up to.
While it is true that automation is changing the job market, it’s also creating new opportunities. My son, for instance, worries about his job, but I remind him that the world has created jobs that were non-existent just half a century ago. Who has heard of social media managers, cloud architects, or veterinary psychologists? My mother told me that my grandfather worked in a printing press. He used to come back smelling of turpentine, which he used to clean off the ink that stuck on his body. Nowadays, printing is done at home with a button, a slight whirring and a whooshing, and out comes a printed document at one’s convenience.
My grandfather later became a chauffeur to a successful business magnate. Once we have sorted out the finer points of bringing self-driving cars to market, we may not need drivers in the future. Now, many self-proclaimed gig entrepreneurs give up their full-time paying jobs to become delivery boys. Do we have news for these boys? Drones are dying to get up and replace you.
If one were to think that only the blue-collar job is at risk, think again. Conveyancing jobs currently carried out by paralegals can be taken over by an AI programme to churn out beautiful Sales and Purchase Agreements[5].
These programmes have also learnt to say the appropriate words during grief and crises. Increasingly, call-in helplines are ‘manned’ by AIs. The field of psychiatry may be at risk of not needing doctors. Even as we speak, we may already be conversing with chatbots about our bank transactions without realising it. This raises ethical questions about the role of AI in sensitive areas of human life and the potential loss of human connection in these interactions.
I remember a time in mid-1990 when the Malaysian civil society expressed concern over Malaysia’s uncontrolled influx of foreigners and our overdependence on the foreign labour force[6]. Someone suggested automation and mechanisation as a possible way to avert this. Still, apparently, the financiers were not too keen to increase business expenses, which would possibly reduce foreign investment. The general acceptance was that third-world nations were not ready to fully automate. They had not been able to provide universal employment to their citizens. This historical perspective highlights the complex relationship between automation, economic development, and social equity.
Moving forward, we sometimes find ourselves in zombie states, clicking reel after reel on social media as if we have so much time. Examples of children turning violent against the hands that feed them when their demand to go online is denied are not uncommon. Have we not heard of spouses immersed in full-blown affairs living under the same roof with the other half with ease, with a bit of help from the need for data privacy? A husband does not know what the wife does behind his back because access to devices is guarded by passwords.
Rock bands once thought using synthesisers on their songs was sacrilegious. The legendary British rock band, Queen, proudly boasted that they never used synthesisers to maintain a traditional, raw, organic feel to their sounds. Now, we must be happy with the digital manipulation of music and voice. Even though AI can compose music at a philharmonic level, music connoisseurs are far from contented. They say it lacks emotion, probably because great music comes from lived experience[7].
What started as automation, where machines aided humans to ease work, has now evolved to something which can learn and mimic human actions. It has come to be called intelligence, albeit artificially developed by the human mind. Like a student surpassing his teacher, the real fear now is that AI is evolving consciousness. If AI is the future, the person who controls the future will be King. Does that not mean that tech entrepreneurs will be the world’s future leaders? The world will indeed be borderless, only determined by digital connectivity.
We already long for the good old days when talking to customer service did not start with, “press 1 for English and this conversation will be recorded for self-improvement.” What they mean is that it will be used against you. Dealing with a computer chatbot already feels Kafkaesque. It feels like talking to a wall without recourse to “talking to the manager!”
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.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Ratnottama Sengupta muses on her encounter with the writings of eminent artist and writer, Dhruba Esh, and translates one his many stories, Amiyashankar Go Back Home from Bengali. Click here to read.
It all started with a Facebook post which quoted Churchill and read, “If you are twenty and not a Communist[1], you don’t have a heart. But if you are forty and still a leftist, you do not have a brain.” That snowballed into a literary discourse on the word great and what constitutes greatness. The funny thing is that Churchill never said anything to that effect. The closest one gets to that quotation is Otto von Bismarck, the first Chancellor of Germany who may have uttered, “He who is not a socialist at 19, has no heart. He who is still a socialist at 30, has no brain.” By the way, Bismarck’s brand of politics earned him the title ‘Iron Chancellor’. How do we classify something or someone as great or otherwise?
As written by the victors, history also designates Churchill as a great leader and statesman. A towering figure, he stood steadfast with the people, with his oratory skills, during ‘The Darkest Hour’[2], as London was bombarded by German fighter planes. Surprisingly, he was also voted out of office after World War II. He was mentioned to have said, “History will be kind to me, for I intend to write it.”[3] I do not think that the family members of the 1943 Bengal famine victims will consider him anything but great – a racist, a bigot and a white supremacist, maybe.
Even then, many in the United Kingdom thought Churchill was not a statesman but a foul-mouthed drunkard. At a function, a female guest of aristocratic standing, obviously not his fan, berated him and his politics. She is said to have said, “Sir, if you were my husband, I’d poison your tea.” Without a single pause, the witty Churchill quipped, “Madame, if you were my wife, I’d drink it!” [4]
When Churchill was informed about the Bengal Famine, he was infamously quoted as saying, “Serves them right for breeding like rabbits and, by the way, why isn’t Gandhi dead yet?” [5]
My point is that one man’s great leader may be another’s mortal enemy. This is especially true in a world where power and wealth are used as a yardstick of prosperity. We often forget that these commodities are finite; the losses of one side exactly offset the gains of the other.
Alexander may be ‘Great’ for putting a small region called Macedonia on the world map. With all the carnage and misery he spread over the lands he and his army traversed, it took only the might of a tiny mosquito to bring him down. At least, that is one of the likely ways he died. Other contenders include alcoholic liver disease, depression and strychnine poisoning.
Alexander The Great On His Sickbed, By Christoffer Wilhelm Eckersberg (c. 1783 – 1853). From Public Domain
Like Alexander, many monarchs with the suffix ‘The Great’, such as Peter, Catherine, and Frederick II, left behind an enormous body count and a trail of devastation.
The Great ‘state-of-the-art’ Titanic was marketed as ‘unsinkable’, and itself was a lifeboat with tight watertight compartments, giving ample time for ferry passengers to be rescued by rescue vessels. Hence, the need for an adequate number of lifeboats was deemed unnecessary. We all know about the irony of its disastrous maiden journey, which is still spoken about a century later as one of Man’s greatest miscalculations.[6]
Indians of the 20th century honoured Karamchand Mohandas Gandhi as a selfless soul who chose a life of poverty to stir the masses’ consciousness towards self-rule. The people thought it appropriate to address him as Mahatma (the Great Soul) or the Father of the Nation. Today, an increasing number of Indians are having second thoughts. Perhaps they may have been taken for a ride and got the short end of the stick from the British. It is amusing that Gandhi’s son, Harilal, despite the reverence of the people of the subcontinent towards his father, also did not hold his father in high regard. Disillusioned with the senior’s move to block his law scholarship to England, Harilal became a rebel, spiralling into alcoholism, eventually becoming a public nuisance and falling into oblivion.[7]
The Great War, also known as World War I, was touted as a necessary battle to end all wars. We know it never ended anything, but its post-war deals remain a nidus for World War II and the turmoils that persist even today.
The Great Gatsby exposes the fallacy of the American Dream and the notion of a successful life under capitalism. F. Scott Fitzgerald shows that success-based materialism and trying to relive a nostalgic past will not lead to fulfilment. Instead, it will lead to a decadent path and disappointment. [8]
Published in 1925Film from 2012
In a world so entrenched in wealth acquisition, we have heard of many families afflicted with the misfortune of striking it rich in the lottery and seeing their family spiral into an abyss.
The Great Train Robbery in 1963, the UK’s biggest heist, where the robbers scooted off with the present-day value of £62 million, ended with none of the culprits laying their hands on the loot, but mostly just behind bars. [9]
Just look at Trump and his track to the White House using the ticket which promises to ‘Make America Great Again (MAGA)’. The illusion of the blissful past only morphed into civil unrest, which required the deployment of National Guards and Marines to use flash-bang grenades and tear gas to squash down their own citizens. If that was not enough, now there is talk of MIGA — Make Iran Great Again, perhaps returning Iran to its glory days of the Persian Empire! [10]
When we describe something as great, we usually refer to it in a positive light, as something extraordinary pushing human abilities beyond normal boundaries. It is a subjective assessment. One man’s greatness is another’s failure. It can serve as a cautionary tale for those who have fallen.
It’s just food for thought. After having a bad day at the office when nothing went right, we returned to find that we had forgotten the house key at work and had to go all the way back to the office to retrieve it. What do we say? “Great!”
.
[1] ). Even though this quote is often referred to as coming from Churchill, it may have been originated from Otto von Bismarck, the first Chancellor of unified Germany between 1871 and 1890. He could have said, “he who is not a socialist at 19, has no heart. He who is still a socialist at 30, has no brain.”
[4] People probably put words into Churchill’s mouth. It may be a misquotation. The conversation may have taken place between Lady Astor and Churchill’s aide.
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.
Disclaimer: The opinions expressed are solely that of the author and not of Borderless Journal.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
The story of Hawakal Publishers, based on a face-to-face tête-à-tête, and an online conversation with founder Bitan Chakrabortywith his responses in Bengali translated by Kiriti Sengupta. Clickhere to read.
The Great War is over And yet there is left its vast gloom. Our skies, light and society’s soul have been overcast…
'The Great War is Over' by Jibanananda Das (1899-1954), translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam.
Jibanananda Das wrote the above lines in the last century and yet great wars rage even now. As the world struggles to breathe looking for a beam of hope to drag itself out of the darkness induced by natural calamities, accidents, terror attacks and wars that seem to rage endlessly, are we moving towards the dystopian scenario created by George Orwell in 1984, which would be around the same time as Jibanananda Das’s ‘The Great War is Over’?
Describing such a scenario, Ahmed Rayees writes a moving piece from the Kashmiri village of Sheeri, the last refuge of the displaced refugees who were bombarded after peace was declared in their refuge during the clash across Indo-Pak borders. He contends: “People walked back not to homes, but to ruins. Entire communities had been reduced to ash and rubble. Crops were destroyed, livestock gone, schools turned into shelters or craters. How do you rebuild a life when all that remains is dust?”
People could be asking the same questions without finding answers in Gaza or Ukraine, where the cities are reduced to rubble. While we look for a ray of sunshine, amidst the rubble, Farouk Gulsara muses on hope that has its roots in eternity. Vela Noble wanders on nostalgic beaches in Adelaide. And Meredith Stephens travels to the Australian outback. Devraj Singh Kalsi brings in lighter notes writing of driving lessons while Suzanne Kamata creeps back to darker recesses musing on likely ‘criminals’ and crimes in her neighbourhood.
Lopamudra Nayak writes on social media and its impact while Bhaskar Parichha writes of trends that could be brought into Odia literature. What he writes could apply well to all regional literature, where they lose their individual colouring to paint dystopian realities of the present world. Does modernising make us lose our ethnic identity and how important is that? These are questions that sprung to the mind reading his essay. As if in an attempt to hold on to the past ethos, Prithvijeet Sinha wafts around old ruins in Lucknow and sees a cemetery for colonial soldiers and concludes: “Everybody has formidable stakes, and the dead don’t preach the gospel of victory or sombre defeat.”
We have mainly poetry in translation this time. Snehaprava Das has brought to us Soubhagyabanta Maharana’s poems from Odia and Ihlwha Choi has translated his own poem from Korean. Sangita Swechcha’s poem in Nepali has been rendered to English by Saudamini Chalise. From Bengali, other that Jibanananda Das’s poems translated by Professor Fakrul Alam, we have Tagore’s pensive and beautiful poem, Sonar Tori (the golden boat). Yet another Bengali poet, one who died young and yet left his mark, Sukanta Bhattacharya (1926-1947), has been translated by Kiriti Sengupta. Sengupta has also translated the responses of Bitan Chakravarty in a candid conversation about his dream child — the Hawakal Publishers. We also have a feature on this based on a face-to-face conversation, giving the story of how this publishing house grew out of an idea. Now, they publish poetry traditionally, without costs to the poet. Their range of authors are spread across continents.
Our fiction again returns to the darkness of war. Young Leishilembi Terem has given a story set in conflict-ridden Manipur from where she has emerged safely — a story that reiterates the senselessness of violence and politics. While Jeena R. Papaadi writes of modern human relationships that end without commitment, Naramsetti Umamaheswararao relates a value-based story in a small hamlet of southern India.
We have more content. Do pause by our contents page and take a look.
Huge thanks to all our contributors without who this issue would not have materialised. Heartfelt thanks to the team at Borderless for their support, especially Sohana Manzoor for her iconic artwork that has almost become a signature statement for Borderless.
Let’s hope that next month brings better news for the whole world.
I learnt early that life is never fair. They say time and tide wait for no man, moving along their own trajectory.
I heard money solves all problems or at least eases the pain of tough times. There was a time I ventured into saving mode. I started my own piggy bank, dropping in a coin almost daily into a plastic-mould chick figurine. I patted myself on the back as the clink of coins became louder and louder. It was not much, but every jingle reminded me of the value of money and the comfort it would provide me one day. The trouble was that my sisters were equally pleased that my coffers were filling to the brim. They began needling out coin after coin to finance their addiction of buying little treats. I felt frustrated. I knew saving was hard, but I never expected reaching my goal to be so difficult. My sisters’ malfeasance came to light one day when I noticed that the piggy bank had been displaced away from its usual place, tucked behind my nice shirts. That was when I confronted my sisters.
In my eyes, I did nothing wrong. Instead of admonishing my sisters and compensating for my loss, Amma claimed it was my fault. She taught me the harsh truths of life. It was my responsibility to safeguard my property, not anyone else’s. After that realisation, I sought out other ways to save money.
Then, I had a new group of friends. I joined a competitive group of classmates who wanted to excel academically. I thought that would be easy. I devoted all my time to studying and paying attention in class. It seemed easy, but it was a different story when the examination results were released. It was the class jester, for whom everything was a joke, who came out on top. Another valuable lesson I learnt was not just to study hard, but to study smart.
As I grew older and the screaming radio became a constant background to my daily life, I realised that the world was not a peaceful place. On one hand, songs promised a tranquil world of apple trees and honeybees[1]; from the same country, they sent tanks and bombs to annihilate each other. It seemed that the Vietnam War would never end. Peace in the Middle East was merely a pipe dream.
Amidst all that, a hippie song emerged, envisioning a world without boundaries, an airspace free from control, and a peaceful existence [2]. It instilled a sense of hope that life might indeed have something to look forward to after all. The image of two figures dressed entirely in white playing a white grand piano remains permanently etched in my mind as the beacon of hope that one day everything will be all right. And life went on.
After many years of burning the midnight oil and reaping bitter seeds, its sweet fruit finally emerged. Yet, all my classmates who were partying and living life to the full had already gained a head start in their careers. They had ascended the ladders of their professions and were cruising around in flashy cars, while I was starting as an intern with little to show except a few letters behind my name. The competitive streak within me, however, reassured me that academic excellence is superior to the acquisition of wealth.
I continued my healing work, convincing myself that what I was doing would be returned in kind and that I would receive blessings of a different kind. As time passed, I realised that those were merely comforters to soothe a colicky baby. The old adage ‘health is wealth’ was a fallacy. In the real world, wealth buys health, just as one gets justice with all the money one can afford to pay for legal services. The youthful cry of ‘Can’t Buy Me Love’ [3] was another lie. Money buys everything, and it feels better to cry in a BMW than by the footpath of the street.
So, there I was, thinking that if I were to follow the ways prescribed by the elders, I would be all right. “Tell no lies.” They said. “Speak only the truth!” Then there were people who made lying— or they would call it ‘bending the truth’— the pillar of their profession. “Don’t be materialistic, look at humanity!” Tell that to the stockholders who do not take it kindly when the conglomerate shows high praises and blessings but announces no monetary returns in dividends. For one thing, even big countries help each other not for altruistic reasons but for geopolitical and economic interests. There is no such thing as a free lunch. Everything comes with its encumbrances.
I was advised not to fight back but to turn the other cheek. Yet, behind my back, the world has regarded me as a fall guy, and I was merely a useful idiot—someone they could blame for all their wrongdoings because I was naïve enough to admit my mistakes. Now my friends urge me to strike before the other party draws first blood and to never admit to any wrongdoings.
As human beings, we yearn for a world without conflict. We all desire peace of mind—a world where everyone follows a single prescribed path, where everything falls into place, a utopia in which one person sees another not by the colour of their skin or the tunic they wear, but by the strength of their character. Most prayers we offer to a higher being invariably end with ‘Peace on Earth’ or ‘Happiness for All’. Prayers like ‘Sarve Bhavantu Sukhinaha‘ [4] and ‘Om Shanti‘ [5] assume that everyone can have things their way at one given time, creating a win-win situation. Such a situation can only exist in our imagination. Regardless of what everyone else says, life is a zero-sum game. For someone to win, another must lose, somewhere, somehow. For the lion colony to be happy, a goat must be sacrificed. Contentment is achieved when we acknowledge our limitations and accept that sometimes things do not go in our favour. Outcomes may improve if we recognise that we can only do so much.
An Earth without conflict is a pipe dream. The natural course of events is entropy interspersed with instances of chaos and order. One can choose to adopt a nihilistic view of our existence and do nothing, or be like Sisyphus [6] — resigned to the fact that we are in a hopeless situation — but strive to find joy in setting small targets and achieving modest successes, filling our hearts with laughter and happiness during the lull before the storm, and endeavour to leave a better future for the next generation.
When everyone found it impossible to carry a big load, the human mind devised the wheel. When the greener pastures across the lake obsessively stirred the curious, it took one brave young man with the imagination to make a raft of fallen tree trunks. Hope springs eternal in the human breast[7]. The change we want the world to embody starts with the man in the mirror. Numerous social experiments have repeatedly shown that doing a kind gesture is contagious. One good turn deserves another. No good deed remains unreturned. We can try.
Sisyphus: From Public Domain
[1] A verse from The New Seekers’ “’I’d Like To Teach the World to Sing” became a jingle for Coca-Cola later.
[2] John Lennon’s most successful solo single, ‘Imagine’, envisions a world of peace without materialism, without borders separating nations, and without religion.
[3] The Beatles’ 1964 hit ‘Can’t Buy Me Love’ is a McCartney composition that naively preaches that true love cannot be bought. In the later stages of his life, McCartney discovered the hard way that divorce, without a pre-nuptial agreement for someone of his stature, could be financially draining. Money can’t buy love, but falling out of it can be costly.
[6] In Greek mythology, Sisyphus was a shrewd king. The gods condemned him to roll a boulder up a hill for eternity, only to see it roll down again after reaching the summit. Albert Camus, in his book ‘The Myth of Sisyphus,’ implies that Sisyphus was happy. He found performing and completing the act itself meaningful. He gave meaning to the meaningless.
[7] “Hope springs eternal in the human breast,” an excerpt from Alexander Pope’s poem “An Essay on Man.”
.
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.
.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Borderless 