Categories
Editorial

‘…I write from my heart of the raging tempest…’

I can see the heartbreak, 
Hear the wailing, the awakening,
I write from my heart
Of the raging tempest.

— Translation of Probhatey or ‘In the Morning’ by Rabindranath Tagore (1906)

All around us, we hear of disasters. Often, we try to write of these as Tagore seems to do in the above lines. However, these lines follow after he says he draws solace and inspiration from a ‘serene lotus’, pristine and shining with vibrancy. He gazes at it while looking for that still point which helps him create an impact with words. That is perhaps what we can hope to do too — wait for a morning where clarity will show us the path to express not just what we see, but to find a way to heal and help. Finding parallels in great writings of yore to our own attempts at recreating the present makes us realise that perhaps history is cyclical. In Rome, new structures rear up against thousand-year walls, reflecting how the past congeals into the present.

Congealing the past into our present in this July’s issue are stories of American migrants — like Tom Alter’s family who made India their home — by Anuradha Kumar in her new non-fiction Wanderers, Adventurers, Missionaries: Early Americans in India. We feature this book with a review and an interview with the author where she tells us how and why she chose to write on these people. We have more people writing of their own wanderings. Mohul Bhowmick wanders into Cambodia and makes friends over a local sport while Prithvijeet Sinha strolls by the banks of the River Gomti in Lucknow. Meredith Stephens not only takes us to the Prime Meridien in Greenwich but also to Carnarvon which houses a science and technology centre in Australia. Devraj Singh Kalsi wanders with humour to discover gastronomical inspiration and hopes for sweeter recompense.

The dialogue started by Professor Fakrul Alam on libraries earlier with his essay and by Kalsi (with a pinch of humour) has been continued by Odbayar Dorj. She talks of the fading culture of libraries in Mongolia, her home country, and the vibrant culture that has blossomed in Japan. Suzanne Kamata writes of the rituals of summer holidays in Japan… including looking after a pet dung beetles.

Farouk Gulsara muses on ‘greatness’ as a concept with irony. Aparajita De muses on the word serendipity, applying it to her own situation while Ratnottama Sengupta muses on her encounter with the writings of eminent cover artist and writer who is not only a recipient of the Bangla Academy literary award but also immensely popular with children, Dhruba Esh, and translates one his many stories from Bengali.

In translations, Professor Alam has brought to us a beautiful poem by Jibanananda Das. Karim Drashti’s Balochi short poems have been rendered in English by Fazal Baloch and Snehaprava Das has found for us Odia poems of Sangram Jena in translation. Ihlwha Choi has rendered his own Korean poem to English while Tagore’s poem, ‘Probhatey (In the Morning)’ winds up the poetry in this section. We have more in prose — Surya Dhananjay’s story, Mastan Anna, translated from Telugu by Rahimanuddin Shaik.

In fiction, we have stories from around the world. Paul Mirabile sets his story in Burgaz. Spandan Upadhyay gives a mysterious narrative set in a world outside our waking consciousness and Vidya Hariharan gives us a glimpse of life in modern day India. From Bangladesh, Md Mujib Ullah writes a short cli-fi based on real life events.

Taking up the theme of cli-fi, Rajat Chaudhuri’s Wonder Tales for a Warming Planet seems to bring hope by suggesting adapting to changing climes. Rakhi Dalal tells us in her review: “It dares to approach the climate crisis through the lens of empathy and imagination rather than panic or guilt. In doing so, Rajat Chaudhuri gives us what many adult climate narratives fail to deliver—a reason to believe that another world is not only possible but already being imagined by the young. All we need to do is listen.” Bhaskar Parichha has discussed the autobiography of a meteorologist and Distinguished University Professor at George Mason University, Jagadish Shukla. In A Billion Butterflies: A Life in Climate and Chaos Theory, he claims Shukla has “revolutionised monsoon forecasting.” Somdatta Mandal has written about Dilip K Das’s Epidemic Narratives: The Cultural Construction of Infectious Disease Outbreaks in India. And Gower Bhat reviews Neha Bansal’s best-selling poetry collection, Six of Cups.

Poetry awakens myriad of hues in Borderless with verses from across the world. We have poems from Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, Ryan Quinn Flangan, Snehprava Das, George Freek, Laila Brahmbhatt, Tracy Lee Duffy, Amarthya Chandar, Jason Ryberg, Momina Raza, Shahriyer Hossain Shetu and more. Snigdha Agrawal gives a fun-filled poem about a duck and Rhys Hughes has given us a collection of verses like puzzles where we need to guess the animals! We also have an excerpt from Hughes’ The Eleventh Commandment And Other Very Short Fictions and Das’s short stories, Keep It Secret.

With that, we wind up the contents of this month’s issue. Do pause by our content’s page to check it out in more details.

This month’s edition would not have been possible without all our contributors, our fabulous team and especially Sohana Manzoor’s artwork. Huge thanks to all of them and to our wonderful readers who make it worthwhile for us to write and publish. Do write in to us if you have any feedback. Five years ago, we chose to become a monthly from a daily… We have come a long way from then and grown to host writers from more than forty countries and readers from almost all over the world. For this, we owe you all – for being with us and encouraging us to find fresh pastures.

Enjoy the reads!

Wishing you peace and happiness,

Mitali Chakravarty,

borderlessjournal.com

Click here to access the contents for the July 2025 Issue

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Categories
Slices from Life

From Cape Canaveral to Carnarvon

Narrative by Meredith Stephens & photographs by Alan Noble

The Prime Meridian Line.

Whenever we visit another city, Alex and I always head straight for a science or maritime museum. When we spent a day in London several years ago, Alex insisted that we visit the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich, and then the Royal Observatory. The highlight of the latter was John Harrison’s marine timekeepers, which made the calculation of longitude at sea possible, therefore making navigation safer. A fun part of visiting the Observatory was standing on either side of the Prime Meridian Line, which defines zero longitude and divides the eastern and western hemispheres of the earth. If you are facing north, the person on the left is in the western hemisphere, and the person to the right is in the eastern hemisphere. We had to queue behind other couples to stand either side of the line. The couple in front of us were taking an inordinate amount of time to have their photo taken here, from which global time is calculated.

“Time’s up!” quipped someone behind us.

“What’s time?” came a philosophical comment from someone else.

The quick banter between strangers is one of the many reasons why I love visiting London.

During our short stay we devoted hardly any time to visiting any other tourist sites. The changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace held little allure. After visiting the Royal Observatory, we strolled past the historic British clipper ship “Cutty Sark” and then caught a ferry back from Greenwich to Central London. We briefly hopped off to see the Houses of Parliament, but after having visited the Royal Observatory Alex’s curiosity was sated.

Fast forward to March 2025 and we found ourselves in a remote town in Western Australia called Carnarvon. The first attraction Alex wanted to visit was the Carnarvon Space and Technology Museum. Carnarvon has a little-known relationship to Cape Canaveral in Florida. Many people have heard of Cape Canaveral and its rocket launching site, but who has heard of the not dissimilar-sounding town of Carnarvon?

Unlike the grand public museums in Western Australia, this one is self-funded and run by volunteers. NASA established a tracking station at Carnarvon in 1964, which played a critical role for both the Gemini and Apollo programs. Carnarvon was strategically located as the most distantly located site on the earth diametrically opposite from Cape Canaveral, providing the ability to track spacecraft over the Indian Ocean that were out of range from Cape Canaveral. The most famous launch was Apollo 11 in July 1969, which achieved humanity’s dream of landing humans on the Moon and safely returning them to Earth.

This museum was different from public museums in that when we visited it was managed by a grey nomad couple from the east coast. (“grey nomad” is an Aussie term for retirees who embark on an extended period of travel around the country, usually in a caravan.) A resident cat curled himself into a ball proudly on the reception desk. It was the only museum we visited in Western Australia that required a fee to enter. The first experience we sought was to hop in the replica of the Apollo capsule to get a feel for the astronauts during the July 1969 launch. I was worried about a panic attack coming on in a confined space but the manager assured me that he would open the door to let me out at any time if I felt uncomfortable. We lay down with the lower half of our bodies propped up on a platform in what we hoped was an astronaut launching posture, while footage from the 1969 launch played out on the screen in front of us. Countdown on the screen was followed by lift-off. Not only did I not have a panic attack, it felt exhilarating to be transported to Cape Canaveral in 1969. Having watched this on black and white television when we were in primary school, it was all the more meaningful to watch it as adults. After touring the rest of the museum, we returned to the Apollo capsule to experience it a second time, like the space nerds we were.

We braced ourselves to face the oppressive heat as we headed outside to view the original satellite dish. Rather than languishing as ancient technology the dish has been leased to an overseas company who were upgrading it to track satellites orbiting Earth.

After viewing numerous 1960s space memorabilia, such as a replica of a Gemini capsule, which had preceded the Apollo series of capsules, and a life-sized replica of the lunar lander module, we bought some tourist T-shirts, chatted with the manager couple, and bade farewell to the resident cat. This was the most thrilling of the magnificent museums we visited in Western Australia. Thanks to Alex, we had a bias to visit maritime museums, including The WA Maritime Museum in Fremantle, The Museum of Geraldton, and The WA Shipwrecks Museum. They provided rich accounts of the many arrivals from distant lands to the west Australian shores since Dutchman Dirk Hartog’s nearby landing at Shark Bay in 1616. All visits were immensely educational and informative, but somehow the less glamorous Carnarvon Space and Technology Museum stood out. Unlike the public museums, it was somewhat ramshackle, but this was more than made up for in terms of authenticity and charm. Who would have thought that this outpost in regional Western Australia that even many Australians have not heard of, could have played such a pivotal role in the tracking of Apollo 11? This museum enjoys none of the fame of the Royal Observatory in Greenwich, but the role it played in history is just as moving.

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Meredith Stephens is an applied linguist from South Australia. Her recent work has appeared in Syncopation Literary Journal, Continue the Voice, Micking Owl Roost blog, The Font – A Literary Journal for Language Teachers, and Mind, Brain & Education Think Tank. In 2024, her story Safari was chosen as the Editor’s Choice for the June edition of All Your Stories.

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