Tag: G Venkatesh

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Editorial

Imagine… All the People…

Art by Henry Tayali(1943-1987). From Public Domain

Let us imagine a world where wars have been outlawed and there is only peace. Is that even possible outside of John Lennon’s song? While John Gray, a modern-day thinker, propounds human nature cannot change despite technological advancements, one has to only imagine how a cave dweller would have told his family flying to the moon was an impossibility. And yet, it has been proven a reality and now, we are thinking living in outer space, though currently it is only the forte of a few elitists and astronomers. Maybe, it will become an accessible reality as shown in books by Isaac Asimov, Arthur C Clarke or shows like Star Trek and Star Wars. Perhaps, it’s only dreamers or ideators pursuing unreal hopes and urges who often become the change makers, the people that make humanity move forward. In Borderless, we merely gather your dreams and present them to the world. That is why we love to celebrate writers from across all languages and cultures with translations and writings that turn current norms topsy turvy. We feature a number of such ideators in this issue.

Nazrul in his times, would have been one such ideator, which is why we carry a song by him translated by Professor Fakrul Alam. And yet before him was Tagore — this time we carry a translation of an unusual poem about happiness. From current times, we present to you a poet — perhaps the greatest Malay writer in Singapore — Isa Kamari. He has translated his longing for changes into his poems. His novels and stories express the same longing as he shares in The Lost Mantras, his self-translated poems that explore adapting old to new. We will be bringing these out over a period of time. We also have poems by Hrushikesh Mallick translated from Odia by Snehprava Das and a poignant story by Sharaf Shad translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch.

We have an evocative short play by Rhys Hughes, where gender roles are inverted in a most humorous way. It almost brings to mind Begum Rokeya’s Sultana’s Dream. Tongue-in-cheek humour in non-fiction is brought in by Devraj Singh Kalsi and Chetan Dutta Poduri. Farouk Gulsara and Meredith Stephens write in a light-hearted vein about their interactions with animal friends. G. Venkatesh brings in serious strains with his musings on sustainability. Jun A. Alindogan slips into profundities while talking of “progress” in Philippines. Young Randriamamonjisoa Sylvie Valencia gives a heartfelt account of her journey from Madagascar to Japan. Ratnottama Sengupta travels across space and time to recount her experiences in a festival recognised by UNESCO as an Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. Suzanne Kamata brings a light touch again when she writes about robots serving in restaurants in Japan, a change that would be only fiction even in Asimov’s times, less than a hundred years ago!

Pijus Ash — are we to believe or not believe his strange, spooky encounter in Holland? And we definitely don’t have to believe what skeletons do in Hughes’ limericks, even if their antics make us laugh! Poetry brings on more spooks from Saranyan BV and frightening environmental focus on the aftermath of flooding by Snehaprava Das. We have colours of poetry from all over the world with John Valentine, John Swain, Ahmad Al-Khatat, Stephen Druce, Jyotish Chalil Gopinath, Jenny Middleton, Maria Alam, Ron Pickett, Tanjila Ontu, Jim Bellamy, Pramod Rastogi, John Grey, Laila Brahmbhatt, John Zedolik and Joseph K.Wells.

Fiction yields a fable from Naramsetti Umamaheswararao. Devraj Singh Kalsi takes us into the world of advertising and glamour and Paul Mirabile writes of a sleeper who likes to sleep on benches in parks out of choice! We also have an excerpt from Mohammed Khadeer Babu’s stories, That’s A Fire Ant Right There! Tales from Kavali , translated from Telugu by D.V. Subhashri. The other excerpt is from Swati Pal’s poetry collection, Forever Yours. Pal has in an online interview discussed bereavement and healing through poetry for her stunning poems pretty much do that.

Book reviews homes an indepth introduction by Somdatta Mandal to Banu Mushtaq’s Heart Lamp: Selected Stories, translated from Kannada by Deepa Bhasthi. We have a discussion by Meenakshi Malhotra on Contours of Him: Poems, edited and introduced by Malaysian academic, Malachi Edwin Vethamani, in which she concludes, “that if femininity is a construct, so is masculinity.” Overriding human constructs are journeys made by migrants. Rupak Shreshta has introduced us to immigrant Sangita Swechcha’s Rose’s Odyssey: Tales of Love and Loss, translated from Nepali by Jayant Sharma. Bhaskar Parichha winds up this section with his exploration of Kalpana Karunakaran’s A Woman of No Consequence: Memory, Letters and Resistance in Madras. He tells us: “A Woman of No Consequence restores dignity to what is often dismissed as ordinary. It chronicles the spiritual and intellectual evolution of a woman who sought transcendence within the rhythms of domestic life, turning the everyday into a site of resistance and renewal.” Again, by the sound of it a book that redefines the idea that housework is mundane and gives dignity to women and the task at hand.

We wind up the October issue hoping for changes that will lead to a happier existence, helping us all connect with the commonality of emotions, overriding borders that hurt humanity, other species and the Earth.

Huge thanks to our fabulous team, especially Sohana Manzoor for her inimitable artwork. We would all love to congratulate Hughes for his plays that ran houseful in Swansea. And heartfelt thanks to all our wonderful contributors, without who this issue would not have been possible, and to our readers, who make it worth our while, to write and publish.

Have a wonderful month!

Mitali Chakravarty

borderlessjournal.com

CLICK HERE TO ACCESS THE CONTENTS FOR THE OCTOBER 2025 ISSUE

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Musings

My Forest or Your City Park?

By G Venkatesh

The tussle between the neoclassical economist [that stubborn, unyielding breed] and the ecological economist [the rebellious change-seeking breed] has been going on for several decades now, and now has reached a climax. As per the former – Robert Solow, Joseph Stiglitz and John Hartwick[1] among them –capital has to be interpreted as an aggregate of the natural and manmade varieties and as long as this sum total is constant, we are good. A decrease in the former can be made up for, by an increase in the latter – it is as simple as that, according to the neo-classicists.

Stress-free thinking? Just move on doing what you will, and the Universe will keep caring for you and protecting you. In fact, that is how a large majority of Homo Sapiens have been conducting their lives and livelihoods over the years, short-changing the conscientious ones in the process. Now this presents a disintegrated view – the adjective being important here. Disintegrated, ironically, even though the neo-classicists claim that what was not created by man can be balanced out by anthropogenic[2] assets, and one could claim that the total utility and happiness and welfare will remain unchanged.  

Let me tell you a story – fiction, yes, but may well have happened somewhere in the world, or maybe in many places in the world, on several occasions. Say there was a forest yonder a few kilometres out of the city. A forest my grandpa used to take me to, for a stroll on weekends, when I was a school-goer. Communion with Mother Nature. Feet on the soil. Glimpses of songbirds, rabbits, squirrels, gurgling streams. Shady trees under which, I and my grandpa would sit and play Ludo. He would tell me stories from the Aesop Fables and I would visualise those animals in that very forest. He would sing for me in his mellifluous singing voice and I would be enthralled and that would develop in me an interest for singing and expressing my locked-up emotions in my adulthood to vent out my grief. We would sit there, and he would teach me how to sketch the elements of Nature. I would grow up to develop an abiding interest in drawing, sketching and painting. Grandpa is no more. But thanks to those strolls, I now think I am a well-diversified individual with multiple tastes and abilities, and also a leaning towards industrial ecology, ecological economics and the like.

That was then. Now, I am a city planner in the very same city I grew up in. I have forgotten those lessons from childhood, even though I retain the said abilities – sing, sketch etc. Grandpa watching from the astral plane is surely sad. But I decide not to care. I veer towards the neoclassical, as I come under pressure from the others I am working with. I cannot stand my ground like Howard Roark did in Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead (1943). I give my consent to the idea that miners be allowed to prospect for gold in the same forest I used to go for strolls with my grandpa in the past. I visualise a stream of royalties and taxes for the city, which could be used to set up many parks. As the neoclassical theory goes, I would be convincing city-dwellers that I am creating easily-accessible capital for them right at their doorsteps!

The city parks styled as mini-forests, come up in due course of time [money loaned out by banks, which will be repaid thanks to the said royalties and taxes which are anticipated, as the miners have struck gold, literally]. I take my sons out to the park, and while telling them about how they came about and boasting about my planning skills, I slip into memories of the past and tell them how I enjoyed my strolls with their great grandfather long ago in those natural forests yonder. My younger son looks up at me and asks, “Why have not you taken us there? We wish to see where you used to go with your grandpa.” I am dumbfounded. An epiphany!

I have stolen from them what I enjoyed as a little boy. I have deprived them of what Mother Nature had bestowed upon all of us. Surely, people of my grandpa’s generation also used to visit the forest when they were young? And possibly their own ancestors too? Obviously, that is how grandpa knew of the value of the forest for holistic development? My sons have since joined the Greta Thunberg gang and they do not spare me in their criticism. I am proud of them while I am ashamed of myself, if at all these two feelings can arise in the human heart at the very same time. But what I have done, cannot be undone.

Well, the parks and the forests can surely co-exist, so that the aggregated capital can increase a bit and then saturate, instead of having to remain constant. After all, a conscientious city planner should realise that every inhabitant in the city may not have the time, energy or the wherewithal to go to the forest a few kilometres away [especially if he/she does not own a car and there is no public transportation out to the forest]. For such people [who may perhaps account for a sizable percentage of the city population], the city parks are indeed worthwhile investments the municipality can make. A poor substitute, yes, but something good better than nothing.

We came from the forests, right? Those of you who believe that God created Adam and Eve and we all trace our lineage back to a ‘poisoned apple in the Garden of Eden’ (now was that a park or a forest?) may take a hard left. But when you have already read through the article, maybe you have no choice but to pause and ponder. Then, head to the park for a quiet walk, or if there is a forest nearby, you could go there as well for some introspection.

[1] Robert Solow, Joseph Stiglitz and John Hartwick are economists known for their theory on economic growth

[2] of, relating to, or resulting from the influence of human beings on nature

G Venkatesh is a ‘global citizen’, currently serving at The Energy and Resources Institute’s School of Advanced Studies (New Delhi, India). Prior to this, he was Associate Professor at the Karlstad University in Sweden. has published a memoir, four volumes of poetry, four e-textbooks, numerous scientific publications, crosswords, and magazine articles over time.  He is a ‘sustainabilist’ who sketches in his spare time, likes singing, and is a sports enthusiast, cricket in particular.

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Contents

Borderless, September 2024

Art by Sohana Manzoor

Editorial

And Wilderness is Paradise Enow… Click here to read.

Translations

Raja O Praja or The King and His Subjects, an essay by Tagore, has been translated from Bengali by Himadri Lahiri. Click here to read.

Nazrul’s Roomu Jhoomu Roomu Jhoomu has been transcreated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.

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

The Source by Ihlwha Choi has been translated from Korean by the poet himself. Click here to read.

Suprobhat or Good Morning by Tagore has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty. Click here to read.

Poetry

Click on the names to read the poems

Rhys Hughes, Cal Freeman, Jackie Kabir, Jennifer McCormack, Pramod Rastogi, Miriam Bassuk, K B Ryan Joshua Mahindapala, Paul Mirabile, Shamik Banerjee, Craig Kirchner, Thomas Emate, Stuart MacFarlane, Supriya Javalgekar, George Freek, Ryan Quinn Flanagan, Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, Michael Burch

Musings/Slices from Life

Finding the Fulcrum

Farouk Gulsara gives a poignant account of looking after an aged parent. Click here to read.

Watery World

Keith Lyons finds the whole world within a swimming pool. Click here to read.

Days that don’t Smell of Cakes and Candy

Priyanka Panwar muses on days which not much happens… Click here to read.

Rayban-dhan

Uday Deshwal revisits his life with his companion sunglass. Click here to read.

In Favour of a Genre…

Saeed Ibrahim argues in favour of short stories as a genre. Click here to read.

Musings of a Copywriter

In Shades of Grey – Hair and There, Devraj Singh Kalsi writes of adventures with premature greying. Click here to read.

Notes from Japan

In Sneaky Sneakers, Suzanne Kamata grins at life in Japan. Click here to read.

Essays

Ah Nana Bari!

Fakrul Alam writes nostalgically of his visits to Feni in Noakhali, a small town which now suffers from severe flooding due to climate change. Click here to read.

A Manmade Disaster or Climate Change?

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

A Doctor’s Diary: Life in the High Ranges

Ravi Shankar writes of his life in the last century among the less developed highlands of Kerala. Click here to read.

Stories

The Useless Idler

Paul Mirabile writes of a strange encounter with someone who calls himself an ‘idler’. Click here to read.

Imitation

Naramsetti Umamaheswararao explores parenting. Click here to read.

Final Hours

Mahila Iqbal gives a poignant story about aging. Click here to read.

Friends

G Venkatesh writes a story stirring environmental concerns. Click here to read.

Conversation

Ratnottama Sengupta converses with Reba Som, who recently brought out, Hop, Skip and Jump; Peregrinations of a Diplomat’s Wife. Click here to read.

Book Excerpts

An excerpt from Mineke Schipper’s Widows: A Global History. Click here to read.

An excerpt from Anuradha Marwah’s Aunties of Vasant Kunj. Click here to read.

Book Reviews

Somdatta Mandal reviews Karan Mujoo’s This Our Paradise: A Novel. Click here to read.

Rakhi Dalal reviews Swadesh Deepak’s A Bouquet of Dead Flowers translated from Hindi by Jerry Pinto, Pratik Kanjilal, Nirupama Dutt, Sukant Deepak. Click here to read.

Meenakshi Malhotra reviews Anuradha Marwah’s Aunties of Vasant Kunj. Click here to read.

Bhaskar Parichha reviews Ayurveda, Nation and Society: United Provinces, c. 1890–1950 by Saurav Kumar Rai. Click here to read.

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Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Amazon International

Categories
Editorial

And Wilderness is Paradise Enow…

Prayer Wheel at Nurulia, Ladakh. Photo Courtesy: Farouk Gulsara
We lock eyes, find glimmers
of smiles, trust our leaders.
We break bread with strangers
because there aren’t any.

--Imagine by Miriam Bassuk

Imagine the world envisioned by John Lennon. Imagine the world envisioned and partly materialised by Tagore in his pet twin projects of Santiniketan and Sriniketan, training institutes made with the intent of moving towards creating a work force that would dedicate their lives to human weal, to closing social gaps borne of human constructs and to uplifting the less privileged by educating them and giving them the means to earn a livelihood. You might well call these people visionaries and utopian dreamers, but were they? Tagore had hoped to inspire with his model institutions.  In 1939, he wrote in a letter: “My path, as you know, lies in the domain of quiet integral action and thought, my units must be few and small, and I can but face human problems in relation to some basic village or cultural area. So, in the midst of worldwide anguish, and with the problems of over three hundred millions staring us in the face, I stick to my work in Santiniketan and Sriniketan hoping that my efforts will touch the heart of our village neighbours and help them in reasserting themselves in a new social order. If we can give a start to a few villages, they would perhaps be an inspiration to some others—and my life work will have been done.”  But did we really have a new social order or try to emulate him?

If we had acted out of compassion and kindness towards redefining with a new social order, as Miriam Bassuk points out in her poem based on Lennon’s lyrics of Imagine, there would be no strangers. We’d all be friends living in harmony and creating a world with compassion, kindness, love and tolerance. We would not have wars or regional geopolitical tensions which act against human weal. Perhaps, we would not have had the issues of war of climate change take on the proportions that are wrecking our own constructs.

Natural disasters, floods, fires, landslides have affected many of our lives. Bringing us close to such a disaster is an essay by Salma A Shafi at ground level in Noakhali. More than 4.5 million were affected and 71 died in this disaster. Another 23 died in the same spate of floods in Tripura with 65,000 affected. We are looking at a single region here, but such disasters seem to be becoming more frequent. And yet. there had been a time when Noakhali was an idyllic vacation spot as reflected in Professor Fakrul Alam’s nostalgic essay, filled with memories of love, green outdoors and kindnesses. Such emotions reverberate in Ravi Shankar’s account of his medical adventures in the highlands of Kerala, a state that suffered a stupendous landslide last month. While Shafi shows how extreme rainfall can cause disasters, Keith Lyons writes of water, whose waves in oceanic form lap landmasses like bridges. He finds a microcosm of the whole world in a swimming pool as migrants find their way to New Zealand too. Farouk Gulsara muses on kindness and caregiving while Priyanka Panwar ponders about ordinary days. Saeed Ibrahim gives a literary twist to our musings.   Tongue in cheek humour is woven into our nonfiction section by Suzanne Kamata’s notes from Japan, Devraj Singh Kalsi’s piece on premature greying and Uday Deshwal’s paean to his sunglasses!

Humour is wrought into poetry by Rhys Hughes. Supriya Javelkar and Shamik Banerjee have cheeky poems that make you smile. We have poetry on love by Michael Burch and poetry for Dylan Thomas by Ryan Quinn Flanagan. Miriam Bassuk has described a Utopian world… but very much in the spirit of our journal. Variety is brought into our journal with poetry from Jackie Kabir, Jennifer McCormack, Craig Kirchner, Stuart MacFarlane, George Freek, Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal and many more.

In translations, we have Nazrul lyrics transcreated from Bengali by Professor Alam and poetry from Korean by Ihlwha Choi. We pay our respects to an eminent Balochi poet who passed on exactly a year ago, Mubarak Qazi, by carrying a translation by Fazal Baloch. Tagore’s Suprobhat (Good morning) has been rendered in English from Bengali. His descriptions of the morning are layered and amazing — with a hint of the need to reconstruct our world, very relevant even today.  A powerful essay by Tagore called Raja O Praja (The King and His Subjects), has been translated by Himadri Lahiri.

Our fiction hosts two narratives that centre around childhood, one by Naramsetti Umamaheswararao and another by G Venkatesh, though with very different approaches. Mahila Iqbal relates a poignant tale about aging, mental health and neglect, the very antithesis of Gulsara’s musing. Paul Mirabile has given a strange story about a ‘useless idler’.

A short story collection has been reviewed by Rakhi Dalal, Swadesh Deepak’s A Bouquet of Dead Flowers, translated from Hindi by Jerry Pinto, Pratik Kanjilal, Nirupama Dutt, Sukant Deepak. Somdatta Mandal has written about a book by a Kashmiri immigrant which is part based on lived experiences and part fictive, Karan Mujoo’s This Our Paradise: A Novel. Bhaskar Parichha has reviewed Ayurveda, Nation and Society: United Provinces, c. 1890–1950 by Saurav Kumar Rai, a book which shows how healthcare was even a hundred years ago, politicised. Meenakshi Malhotra has reviewed Anuradha Marwah’s novel, Aunties of Vasant Kunj, of which we also have an excerpt. The other excerpt is from Mineke Schipper’s Widows: A Global History. Ratnottama Sengupta converses with Reba Som, author of Hop, Skip and Jump; Peregrinations of a Diplomat’s Wife.

We have more content that adds to the vibrancy of the issue. Do pause by this issue and take a look. This issue would not have been possible without all your writings. Thank you for that. Huge thanks to our readers and our team, without whose support we could not have come this far. I would especially like to thank Sohana Manzoor for her continued supply of her fabulous and distinctive artwork and Gulsara for his fabulous photographs.

Let us look forward to a festive season which awakens each autumn and stretches to winter. May we in this season find love, compassion and kindness in our hearts towards our whole human family.

Have a wonderful month!

Mitali Chakravarty

borderlessjournal.com

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

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READ THE LATEST UPDATES ON THE FIRST BORDERLESS ANTHOLOGY, MONALISA NO LONGER SMILES, BY CLICKING ON THIS LINK.

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Stories

Friends

By G Venkatesh

From Public Domain
“Limitless and immortal, the waters are the beginning and end of all things on earth.”  -- Heinrich Zimmer, German Indologist and linguist

Little Varshita has an inborn affinity for proximity to water bodies. A June-born Cancerian, she eagerly looks forward to short walks along the Marina Beach in Chennai – the second-largest urban beach in the world. Five-and-a-half years old now, she is a prodigy eagerly looking forward to starting school next year. Whether her genius owes itself to nature or nurture or both, is difficult to say. It can be mentioned here that both her parents are teachers. She also possesses a very high emotional intelligence for her age. Perhaps there is a connection here to the aforementioned affinity for proximity to water bodies. Perhaps not.

“Appa[1], can we go to the beach today?”

“We were there two days ago, Varshita. Can we go tomorrow instead?” Her father Ramesh who wants to watch a cricket match on television at home, smilingly attempts to dissuade her.

“Okay, no problem, Appa. Can I watch Animal Planet then this evening? If they show fish and crabs and whales and sharks and dolphins and orcas and octopuses and squids and seals and penguins….and….my-aunties?”

“Your aunties? Are Periyamma[2] and Aththai[3] going to be seen swimming, on Animal Planet?” Ramesh asks with a wink and a smile, eagerly expecting a response from Varshita.

“Noooo…M.A.N.A.T.E.E.S…” She hurls a pillow playfully at Ramesh, realising that he is pulling her leg.

“Ah, I see! Those creatures which are also called sea-cows.”

“Are they also called sea-cows, Appa? I did not know that. Now I do. But I knew sea-lions.” Ramesh is happy that he has invested in his daughter’s knowledge bank. Perhaps, his sister and sister-in-law are not going to be very happy if Varshita decides to share the joke with them. His sister especially does not have a sense of humour.

“Do not share this joke with your aunties, Varshita.”

“I promise, but in return you have to take me to the beach three times next week,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Done! Good girl!”

Varshita looks at Ramesh and knows that she has somehow gotten her way, tactfully. Little girls wiser than men; cleverer too, thinks Ramesh, recalling the Leo Tolstoy story about Akulya and Malasha[4], he had read in school in the ninth grade.

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The waters of the Bay of Bengal are calm. Waves, longing for contact with the littoral sands, swoosh against the shore. Even though there are many people there on the beach, they seem to be observing silence in deference to the Sea-God. Varshita tends to speak less when out on these walks. She watches Mother Nature intently, listens carefully to Her sounds, and once in a while her curiosity leads her to ask a carefully-thought-out question. Ramesh does his best to reply, and whenever he is not able to find an answer instantly, he makes it a point to put the question on the back-burner, give it serious thought, and get back to Varshita with the answer. At times, that is even a day or two later. Once in a while, there are unanswerable questions hurled at him. Being a senior lecturer at the Indian Institute of Technology, he is used to this practice. After all, his daughter is also his student – a special one at that.

“Appa, is it okay to throw a chocolate wrapper into the water?”

“No, Varshita. It is not. One must not pollute the environment.”

“But then why are there so many things lying around here? That is bad, right?”

“Yes, it is. Very much so. But maybe, people will learn not to do so, and when you are an adult, you will see that the beach is perfectly clean.”

She looks up, nods and smiles.

“Appa, when the waves come and take all these things into the sea, what happens to them?”

“ A good question, Varshita. Many things which you see lying here are harmful to the animals which live in the water. All the animals you like seeing in the Animal Planet.”

“I will not throw anything, Appa, when I come here with you to walk.”

Ramesh and Varshita do a high-five, and Ramesh tells her that he is very proud of her.

The blue sky starts turning grey and some clouds float in. Precisely at that moment, Varshita sees a little girl with a sack on her back, and a stick in her hand, bending down and picking up a plastic bottle.

“Appa, what is she doing?”

“She is doing a very good thing. People throw things, and this little girl is collecting them, so that they do not get dragged into the sea to cause harm to the animals living in it. There are many people like her in our city. They are poor, yes. But we have to be thankful to them for what they do for us.”

It starts drizzling, and Ramesh tells Varshita that they have to head home. She keeps looking sideways at the little girl with the sack, as they walk away from the sea. Unanswered questions, for sure, start piling up in that four-and-a-half-year-old brain of hers.

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Rains reign in Chennai for the next three days. Varshita knows that she cannot compel Ramesh to take her out to the beach for a walk. Ramesh however remembers the promise, and keeps checking the weather forecast every day. On Thursday, he tells Varshita that it is going to be sunny for four days at a stretch.

“So, can we go the beach tomorrow, the day after and the day after the day after?”

He chuckles, realising that his daughter remembers the promise in letter and spirit.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Because I am happy to go to the beach three evenings in a row with you. We must also ask Amma[5]to come along.” He winks, and they do a high-five.

“Yes, that will be fun. But Amma is afraid of the waves.”

“We will help her to get over her fear. But you must convince her to come with us.”

“Yes! I take on that challenge,” she says.

Ramesh’s wife Megha works as a school-teacher. She picks up Varshita daily from the kindergarten on her way back home from school. “Amma, are you interested in coming to the beach tomorrow evening with me and Appa?’

Megha looks at Varshita and studies the expression on her face. She realises that the last time she was out with Ramesh and her for a walk on Marina Beach, was over a month ago. She agrees.

“You do not seem really interested,” says Varshita.

Megha is taken aback. “How can you say that?”

“It is written all over your face,” Varshita says.

Megha bursts out laughing. “Well, whatever is written on my face, I will join you both tomorrow. That is a promise.”

“Yes!” Varshita does a V-sign this time.

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Friday evening happens to be just the perfect time to be out on Marina Beach. Yes, there are some stray clouds, but they do not seem to be in a mood to discharge their content in Chennai. Some other place is destined to receive rainfall from them.

Megha, Ramesh and Varshita buy three ice-creams, and walk down closer to the shore. Megha spreads a large plastic sheet, and they sit down on it. Varshita remembers the little girl with the sack on her back she had seen on the previous weekend and starts looking around. Call it intuition or what you will, she spots her about 50 metres away. The girl spots a big plastic bottle floating on the water, but is a bit wary of the waves advancing to the shore.

“Appa, can I go and help her to retrieve that plastic bottle? I like getting my feet wet in the water.”

Megha glares at Ramesh and nods her head from left to right, signalling to him that he must not give in to Varshita’s request. Ramesh winks at Megha. “I will go with her. Do not worry.”

The father-daughter duo walks towards the girl, and Ramesh tells Varshita to go and talk to her. She is as tall as Varshita is, and may perhaps be a little older than her. Not more than six years old, for sure.

“You want to get that bottle?”

“Yes, but I am afraid of the waves.”

“I will get it for you. Wait here.”

Varshita looks at Ramesh, who gives her the thumbs-up sign. The little girl notices that and smiles.

Varshita takes off her slippers, and leaves them beside her father. “Take care of them, Captain, till I come back.”

Courtesy: G Venkatesh

Laughing aloud, she wades two metres into the sea when the nearest incoming wave is still a few metres away.  She retrieves the bottle, turns and walks up to the girl, and says, “Here. I managed to get it for you. It was easy. My name is Varshita. What is your name?”

The girl smiles gratefully, accepts the bottle, and drops it into her sack. “My name is Mary. You are not afraid of the waves, Varshita?”

“I used to be.” She points to Ramesh and continues, “Appa told me not to be. He said that we must be careful, not afraid. But you know what, Amma is still afraid.”

“You visit the beach daily, Varshita?”

“Appa and I like to walk here sometimes. I love the sea. How about you?”

Mary looks into the distance. “I do not know if I love the sea or not. I just come here to look for things like these.”

“What do you do with them? Appa says that we must be thankful to all of you who clean up the beaches. He says that you help to stop damage being done to the fish.”

Mary smiles weakly. “You see my Amma there,” she points to a woman with a bigger sack hunting for treasures, about 100 metres away. “I will give these to Amma. Then my Amma and Appa will sell these and get money. Then we buy food and eat.”

Varshita listens intently, as she always does. “You like ice-cream, Mary?”

“Yes, I ate an ice-cream long ago. On Christmas Day.”

“Wait here,” says Varshita. She runs to where Ramesh is guarding her slippers, puts them on, and runs to her mother. “Amma, can I give my ice-cream to Mary over there? I just helped her to get that plastic bottle.”

“I saw you doing that, dear. I am so proud of you. Yes, you can give her your ice-cream. It is melting away slowly. Ask her to eat it quickly.”

Varshita grabs the ice-cream cone and runs towards Mary with a cherubic smile of her face. “Here, Mary. Your second ice-cream.”

“Have you eaten?”

“I will eat Amma’s. She usually does not eat her ice-cream and ends up giving it to me.”

“Will you be coming tomorrow, Varshita?”

“Yes, that is the plan. And the day after tomorrow also.”

“At this time?”

“Yes, and you?”

“I am not sure. I go with Amma wherever she goes. If she chooses to come here, it will be at this time.”

“What is that you are wearing around your neck?” Varshita asks, pointing to the little crucifix.

“Oh, this one. This is Jesus. Our God. I got this on the same day I ate my first ice-cream.”

Mary’s mother is calling out to her from a distance. “I am so happy that you got me the bottle and then gave me your ice-cream. You are a good person. Can we be friends?”

Varshita smiles cutely, and extends her hand for a handshake. Mary reciprocates, puts her little sack on her right shoulder, holds the stick in the right hand and the ice-cream in the left, and hurriedly walks towards her mother.

“Eat the ice-cream quickly. It will melt away,” shouts Varshita.

“Yes, I will,” Mary shouts back.

.

The next day, Mary’s mother decides to take her to a stretch of the beach further away. The day after that, Varshita feels a little unwell and the trip to the beach is called off. The two girls never meet each other again in Chennai.

But as we already know, God’s ways are mysterious. Many years pass, before they meet again in Bengaluru in a public school. One in her capacity as the mother of a girl named Sarah, and the other in her capacity as Sarah’s science teacher.

[1] Father

[2] Mother’s elder sister. In Tamil, transliterated.

[3] Father’s sister (elder or younger). In Tamil, transliterated.

[4] Leo Tolstoy’s parable Wisdom of Children was first published in 1885.

[5] Mother

G Venkatesh is an Associate Professor in Karlstad University, Sweden. E-mail: Venkatesh_cg@yahoo.com

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

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

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Categories
Contents

Borderless, August 2024

Art by Sohana Manzoor

Editorial

A Sprinkling of Happiness?… Click here to read.

Conversation

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

Translations

Two Songs of Parting by Nazrul have been translated by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.

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

Leaving for Barren, Distant Lands by Allah Bashk Buzdar has been translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch. Click here to read.

Loneliness has been translated from Korean by the poet, Ihlwha Choi. Click here to read.

Tagore’s Olosh Shomoy Dhara Beye (Time Flows at an Indolent Pace) has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty. Click here to read.

Poetry

Click on the names to read the poems

Michael Burch, Arshi Mortuza, Jason Ryberg, Saranyan BV, Koiko Tsuuda, Jane Hammons, Noopur Vedajna Das, Adeline Lyons, George Freek, Naisha Chawla, John Grey, Lakshmi Chithra, Craig Kirchner, Nia Joseph, Stuart MacFarlane, Sanjay C Kuttan, Nilsa Mariano, G Javaid Rasool, Ryan Quinn Flanagan, Rhys Hughes

Musings/ Slices from Life

Breaking Bread

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

That Box of Colour Pencils

G Venkatesh writes of a happy encounter with two young children. Click here to read.

The Chameleon’s Dance

Chinmayi Goyal muses on the duality of her cultural heritage. Click here to read.

Musings of a Copywriter

In Godman Ventures Pvt. Ltd., Devraj Singh Kalsi looks into a new business venture with a satirical glance. Click here to read.

Notes from Japan

In In Praise of Parasols, Suzanne Kamata takes a light look at this perennial favourite of women in Japan. Click here to read.

Essays

The Comet’s Trail: Remembering Kazi Nazrul Islam

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

From Srinagar to Ladakh: A Cyclist’s Diary

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

Bottled Memories, Inherited Stories

Ranu Bhattacharyya takes us back to Dhaka of the 1930s… and a world where the two Bengals interacted as one with her migration story. Click here to read.

Landslide In Wayanad Is Only The Beginning

Binu Mathew discusses the recent climate disaster in Kerala and contextualises it. Click here to read.

Stories

The Orange Blimp

Joseph Pfister shares a vignette set in the Midwest. Click here to read.

A Queen is Crowned

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

Roberto Mendoza’s Memoirs of Admiral Don Christopher Columbus

Paul Mirabile explores myths around Christopher Columbus in a fictitive setting. Click here to read.

Book Excerpts

An excerpt from Syed Mujtaba Ali’s Shabnam, translated from Bengali by Nazes Afroz. Click here to read.

An excerpt from Maaria Sayed’s From Pashas to Pokemon. Click here to read.

Book Reviews

Somdatta Mandal reviews Upamanyu Chatterjee’s Lorenzo Searches for the Meaning of Life. Click here to read.

Meenakshi Malhotra reviews Shuchi Kapila’s Learning to Remember: Postmemory and the Partition of India. Click here to read.

Rakhi Dalal reviews Namita Gokhale’s Never Never Land. Click here to read.

Bhaskar Parichha reviews Malvika Rajkotia’s Unpartitioned Time: A Daughter’s Story. Click here to read.

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Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Amazon International

Categories
Editorial

A Sprinkling of Happiness?

A Pop of Happiness by Jeanie Douglas. From Public Domain

Happiness is a many splendored word. For some it is the first ray of sunshine; for another, it could be a clean bill of health; and yet for another, it would be being with one’s loved ones… there is no clear-cut answer to what makes everyone happy. In Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince (JK Rowling, 2005), a sunshine yellow elixir induces euphoria with the side effects of excessive singing and nose tweaking. This is of course fantasy but translate it to the real world and you will find that happiness does induce a lightness of being, a luminosity within us that makes it easier to tackle harder situations. Playing around with Rowling’s belief systems, even without the potion, an anticipation of happiness or just plain optimism does generate a sense of hope for better times.  Harry tackles his fears and dangers with goodwill, friends and innate optimism. When times are dark with raging wars or climate events that wreck our existence, can one look for a torch to light a sense of hope with the flame of inborn resilience borne of an inner calm, peace or happiness — call it what you will…?

It is hard to gauge the extreme circumstances with which many of us are faced in our current realities, especially when the events spin out of control. In this issue, along with the darker hues that ravage our lives, we have sprinklings of laughter to try to lighten our spirits. In the same vein, externalising our emotions to the point of absurdity that brings a smile to our lips is Rhys Hughes’ The Sunset Suite, a book that survives on tall tales generated by mugs of coffee. In one of the narratives, there is a man who is thrown into a bubbling hot spring, but he survives singing happily because his attacker has also thrown in packs of tea leaves. This man loves tea so much that he does not scald, drown or die but keeps swimming merrily singing a song. While Hughes’ stories are dark, like our times, there is an innate cheer that rings through the whole book… Dare we call it happiness or resilience? Hughes reveals much as he converses about this book, squonks and stranger facts that stretch beyond realism to a fantastical world that has full bearing on our very existence.

Poetry brings in a sprinkling of good cheer not only with a photo poem by Hughes, but also with more in a lighter vein from Ryan Quinn Flanagan, Michael R Burch, Arshi Mortuza, Jason Ryberg and others. Sanjay C Kuttan has given a poem dipped in nostalgic happiness with colourful games that evolved in Malaysia. Koiko Tsuuda, an Estonian, rethinks happiness. George Freek, Stuart MacFarlane and Saranyan BV address mortality. Nilsa Mariano and G Javaid Rasool have given us powerful migrant poetry while John Grey, Craig Kirchner, Jane Hammons, Nia Joseph, Noopur Vedajna Das and Adeline Lyons refer to climate or changes wrought by climate disasters in their verses.

A powerful essay by Binu Mathew on the climate disaster at Wayanad, a place that earlier had been written of as an idyllic getaway, tells us how the land in that region has become more prone to landslides. The one on July 30th this year washed away a whole village! Farouk Gulsara has given a narrative about his cycling adventure through the state of Kashmir with his Malaysian friends and finding support in the hearts of locals, people who would be the first to be hit by any disaster even if they have had no hand in creating the catastrophes that could wreck their lives, the flora and the fauna around them. In the wake of such destructions or in anticipation of such calamities, many migrate to other areas — like Ranu Bhattacharya’s ancestors did a bit before the 1947 Partition violence set in. A younger migrant, Chinmayi Goyal, muses under peaceful circumstances as she explores her own need to adapt to her surroundings. G Venkatesh from Sweden writes of his happy encounter with local children in the playground. And Snigdha Agrawal has written of partaking lunch with a bovine companion – it can be intimidating having a cow munching at the next table, I guess! Devraj Singh Kalsi has given a tongue-in-cheek musing on how he might find footing as a godman. Suzanne Kamata has given a lovely summery piece on parasols, which never went out of fashion in Japan!

Radha Chakravarty, known for her fabulous translations, has written about the writer she translated recently, Nazrul. Her essay includes a poem by Tagore for Nazrul. Professor Fakrul Alam has translated two of Nazrul’s songs of parting and Sohana Manzoor has rendered his stunning story Shapuray (Snake Charmer) into English. Fazal Baloch has brought to us poetry in English from the Sulaimani dialect of Balochi by Allah Bashk Buzdar, and a Korean poem has been self-translated by the poet, Ihlwha Choi. The translations wind up with a poem by Tagore, Olosh Shomoy Dhara Beye (Time Flows at an Indolent Pace), showcasing how the common man’s daily life is more rooted in permanence than evanescent regimes and empires.

Fiction brings us into the realm of the common man and uncommon situations, or funny ones. A tongue-in-cheek story set in the Midwest by Joseph Pfister makes us laugh. Farhanaz Rabbani has given us a beautiful narrative about a girl’s awakening. Paul Mirabile delves into the past using the epistolary technique highlighting darker vignettes from Christopher Columbus’s life. We have book excerpts from Maaria Sayed’s From Pashas to Pokemon and Nazes Afroz’s translation of Syed Mujtaba Ali’s Shabnam with both the extracts and Rabbani’s narratives reflecting the spunk of women, albeit in different timescapes…

Our book reviews feature Meenakshi Malhotra’s perspectives on Shuchi Kapila’s Learning to Remember: Postmemory and the Partition of India and Bhaskar Parichha’s thought provoking piece on Malvika Rajkotia’s autobiographical Unpartitioned Time: A Daughter’s Story. While both these look into narratives around the 1947 Partition of the Indian subcontinent, Rakhi Dalal’s review captures the whimsical and yet thoughtful nuances of Namita Gokhale’s Never Never Land. Somdatta Mandal has written about Upamanyu Chatterjee’s latest novel, Lorenzo Searches for the Meaning of Life, which is in a way a story about a migrant too.

When migrations are out of choice, with multiple options to explore, they take on happier hues. But when it is out of a compulsion created by manmade disasters — both wars and climate change are that — will the affected people remain unscarred, or like Potter, bear the scar only on their forehead and, with Adlerian calm, find happiness and carpe diem?

Do pause by our current issue which has more content than mentioned here as some of it falls outside the ambit of our discussion. This issue would not have been possible without an all-out effort by each of you… even readers. I would like to thank each and every contributor and our loyal readers. The wonderful team at Borderless deserve much appreciation and gratitude, especially Manzoor for her wonderful artwork. I invite you all to savour this August issue with a drizzle of not monsoon or April showers but laughter.

May we all find our paths towards building a resilient world with a bright future.

Good luck and best wishes!

Mitali Chakravarty

borderlessjournal.com

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

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Categories
Musings

That Box of Colour Pencils

By G Venkatesh

I walked down the forest path in Karlstad, Sweden, wondering how best I could ensure that a box of 36 colour pencils (used to different degrees), when given away could continue to be used so that they could fulfil the purpose they were fabricated for, as completely as possible. I recalled a tarot reader having said that ideas do not come to us when we think, but rather when we have stopped doing so. They come unbeckoned from somewhere beyond the astral realm. I stopped the train of thought in its tracks, to let the engine cool down a bit, and surrendered to the divine process of ideation and inspiration.

The next day, I was walking down the very same path – this was a routine after a couple of surgeries, for the purpose of recovery and regaining strength in my lower torso – when I saw two little girls (less than 6 years old, perhaps) playing in the garden to my left. An idea bubbled up. I hastened to my apartment, fetched the box of colour pencils and rushed down to the garden where I had seen the little girls. They were still there, on the swings. I walked up casually, making sure not to scare them (my bearded foreign face told me that I need to be careful here), and called out from a distance, in Swedish – “Hallo, vill ni gärna ha den? (Hello, would you like to take this?)”

The younger of the two came a bit closer, looked at the box in my hands, and asked curiously – “Vad är det? (What is it?)”

I explained that it was  a box of 36 colour pencils, some used more than the others, and that I wished to gift it away to them. As more and more questions were hurled at me, I could not help but smile and recollect Rudyard Kipling’s poem:

I keep six honest serving-men
   (They taught me all I knew);
Their names are What and Why and When 
   And How and Where and Who.

The elder of the two girls then came down to brass-tacks, and asked, “Är det verkligen gratis? (Is it really for free?)”

I said yes, and she took it from my hands.

As I was about to turn around and walk away, I heard some murmured whispers behind me. I thought they would have opened the box, started counting and marvelling at the various shades of blue, red, green and yellow in there.

“Vänta, vänta…(Wait, wait).”

I turned and they came running towards me. The younger one was now holding the box of pencils in her hand.

“Vi vill gärna betala dig (We would like to pay you for this).”

I repeated that it was a gift and one does not have to pay for gifts.

“Nej, nej…vänta (No, no, wait).”

The older one then started searching in the little pouch she had around her waist, and fished out a 2 SEK coin. Summertime in Sweden, and little kids are provided with some money by their parents, which they carry around in these mobile piggy-banks strapped around their waists. Once they have accumulated enough, they spend the money on purchasing ice-cream or chocolates or candies.

“Här, (Here),” she said proudly with a smile across her face. “Den är för dig (This is for you).”

I accepted it with a smile, which hid mixed feelings. I did not wish to deprive the little one of the feeling of pride which she was experiencing – of having put aside money to ‘buy’ this gift from a stranger.

What it was that triggered the desire to monetarily compensate me for the gift I gave them, I would never know. I would also not wish to know. Maybe because I was a stranger to them, who also looked a bit bedraggled after the surgery. Maybe it made them feel good to also give me something in return for what I had given them. That would be another thing I would surrender to the realm of ideas, which had played a part in bringing these two little girls momentarily into my life that day – the invisible hand of God, of ideas floating around in the ether ready to inspire those who are fit to receive them.

Photo Courtesy: G Venkatesh

G Venkatesh is an Associate Professor in Karlstad University, Sweden. E-mail: Venkatesh_cg@yahoo.com

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

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International

Categories
Festive Special

Lighting Lamps of Love

Light of mine, O light, the universe is filled with your effulgence, 
My heart is yours; my eyes drown in your refulgence. 
…. 
The sky awakens, the breeze flits, the Earth laughs. 
As luminous currents surge, thousands of butterflies take flight. 

— Aalo Amar Aalo (Light, My Light), Bichitra, 1911, Rabindranath Tagore

There was a time when lights were a part of joy and celebrations as in Tagore’s poem above. Lighting lamps, people welcomed home their beloved prince Rama on Deepavali, who returned after a fourteen year exile, and during his banishment, killed the demonic Ravana. On the same day in Bengal, lamps were lit to ward off evil and celebrate the victory of Kali, (the dark woman goddess wooed by Tantrics) over the rakshasa, Raktabeeja. In the Southern part of India, lamps were lit to celebrate the victory of Krishna over Narakasura. The reasons could be many but lights and fireworks were lit to celebrate the victory of good over evil during the festival of lights.

In the current world with lines blurred between good and evil, while climate crises seeks smoke free, coal free energy, flames of fire or fireworks are often frowned upon. In these times, we can only hope to light the lamp of love — so that differences can be settled amicably without killing the helpless and innocent, infact without violence, greed, peacefully and with kindness, keeping in mind the safety of our species and our home, the Earth. We invite you to partake of our content, writings that light the lamp of love — 

Poetry

I Gather Words by Shareefa Beegam P P. Click here to read.

The Language of Dreams by Sister Lou Ella Hickman: Click here to read.

Dreams are like Stars by Mitra Samal: Click here to read.

At Teotihuacan by Jonathan Chan: Click here to read.

Love Poetry by Gayatri Majumdar: Click here to read.

Today’s Child by Atta Shad, translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch: Click here to read.

Endless Love, Ananto Prem (Endless Love) by Tagore, translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.

Prose

Hena: a short story about love and war by Nazrul, has been translated from Bengali by Sohana Manzoor. Click here to read.

Annapurna Bhavan: Lakshmi Kannan closes class divides in Chennai over a meal. Click here to read.

Rituals in the Garden: Marcelo Medone discusses motherhood, aging and loss in this poignant flash fiction from Argentina. Click here to read.

The Tree of Life: An unusual flash fiction by Parnil Yodha about a Tibetan monk. Click here to read.

Adoption: A poignant real life story by Jeanie Kortum on adopting a child. Click here to read.

The Potato Prince: A funny but poignant love story by Sohana Manzoor. Click here to read.

A Taste of Bibimbap & More: G Venkatesh revisits the kindness he that laced his travels within Korea. Click here to read. 

Therese Schumacher and Nagayoshi Nagai: A Love Story: Suzanne Kamata introduces us to one of the first German women married to a Japanese scientist and their love story. Click here to read.

Categories
Contents

Borderless September 2023

Art by Sohana Manzoor

Editorial

What do They Whisper?… Click here to read.

Conversations

Shantanu Ray Chaudhuri in conversation with M.S. Viraraghavan and Girija Viraraghavan ( grand daughter of President Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan) on their new book, Roses in the Fire of Spring: Better Roses for a Warming World and Other Garden Adventures. Click here to read.

In conversation with Isa Kamari, a celebrated writer from Singapore, with focus on his latest book, Maladies of the Soul. Click here to read.

Translations

A Hunger for Stories, a poem by Quazi Johirul Islam, has been translated by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.

A Hand Mill, a story by Ammina Srinivasaraju, has been translated from Telugu by Johny Takkedasila. Click here to read.

Kiyya and Sadu, a part of this long ballad on the legendary lovers from Balochistan, has been translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch. Click here to read.

The Time for the Janitor to Pass by, poetry written in Korean and translated by Ilhwah Choi. Click here to read.

Sharat or Autumn, a poem by Tagore, has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty. Click here to read.

Poetry

Click on the names to read the poems

Jared Carter, Rhys Hughes, Santosh Bakaya, Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, Sagar Mal Gupta, Nirmala Pillai, George Freek, Pramod Rastogi, Peter Devonald, Afshan Aqil, Hela Tekali, Swarnendu Ghosh, Alpana, Michael Burch

Poets, Poetry & Rhys Hughes

In Tintin in India, Rhys Hughes traces the allusions to India in these iconic creations of Hergé while commenting on Tintin’s popularity in the subcontinent. Click here to read.

Musings/Slices from Life

Black Pines and Red Trucks

Meredith Stephens shares the response of some of the Californian community to healing after the 2020 forest fires with a narrative and photographs. Click here to read.

Remembering Jayanta Mahapatra

KV Raghupathi travels down nostalgia with his memories of interactions with the recently deceased poet and his works. Click here to read.

The Toughness of Kangaroo Island 

Vela Noble draws solace and lessons from nature around her with her art and narrative. Click here to read.

Where is Your Home?

Madhulika Vajjhala explores her concept of home. Click here to read.

A Homecoming like No Other

Saumya Dwivedi gives a heartwarming anecdote from life. Click here to read.

Musings of a Copywriter

In Hair or There: Party on My Head, Devraj Singh Kalsi explores political leanings and hair art. Click here to read.

Notes from Japan

In Against Invisibility, Suzanne Kamata challenges traditions that render a woman invisible with a ‘sparkling’ outcome. Click here to read.

Essays

Jayanta Mahapatra: A Tribute to a Poetic Luminary

Dikshya Samantrai pays tribute to a poet who touched hearts across the world with his poetry. Click here to read.

Celebrating the novel… Where have all the Women Writers Gone?

G Venkatesh writes about a book from 1946. Click here to read.

Chandigarh: A City with Spaces

Ravi Shankar travels back to Chandigarh of 1990s. Click here to read.

The Observant Immigrant

In Climate Change: Are You for Real?, Candice Louisa Daquin explores the issue. Click here to read.

Stories

The Infamous Art Dealer

Paul Mirabile travels through Europe with an art scammer. Click here to read.

Getting Old is like Climbing a Mountain

Saranyan BV explores aging and re-inventing homes. Click here to read.

The Airport

Prakriti Bandhan shares a short, whimsical narrative. Click here to read.

Book Excerpts

An excerpt from Syed Mujtaba Ali’s Tales of a Voyager (Joley Dangay), translated by Nazes Afroz. Click here to read.

An excerpt from Sanket Mhatre’s A City Full of Sirens. Click here to read.

Book Reviews

Somdatta Mandal reviews Begum Hazrat Mahal: Warrior Queen of Awadh by Malathi Ramachandran. Click here to read.

Basudhara Roy reviews Sanket Mhatre’s A City Full of Sirens. Click here to read.

Bhaskar Parichha reviews Samragngi Roy’s The Wizard of Festival Lighting: The Incredible Story of Srid. Click here to read.

.

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International