My Eyes Don’t Speak

By Chaturvedi Divi


The City Mall assistant walked behind Vikas up to the exit door and handed over a small pack of apples. Vikas climbed down the broad steps at a gingerly pace, walked through the parking area waiting for his cab to arrive. His cane vibrated and a cyclist brushed past him. The bag he was holding got entangled in the rear rack of the cycle, and Vikas loosened his grip and let it go. As he was regaining his balance, someone rushed towards him.

“Are you all right? It is a narrow escape.”

“No worries, I am fine, thank you.”

After five minutes, Vikas heard the same voice. “Wow, believe it or not. This is great. The cyclist, the poor boy, was frightened. He handed over your bag and rode off.”

Vikas thanked him and moved on.

At home, to beat loneliness, Vikas listened to the audio book, Anne Frank’s The Diary of a Young Girl. At 5 P.M he opened the bag, and took out one apple, and noticed that the apples were not the ones he bought. The stickers were intact. At the mall, every time he bought fruits, the mall assistants removed the stickers before packing. They knew that removing stickers would be a cumbersome affair to him. 

So, my bag was lost. Out of pity, the man gave the apples he bought. He lost control over his thoughts and he felt depressed and angry. He wanted to tell everyone that at 25, he was the most accomplished singer of theme songs on TV commercials and he made a fortune, and was not living on charity.

The doorbell rang. When Vikas opened the door, Suresh started humming a tune. It was always how he announced his visit. “Yesterday I worked late in the night…  Installed new music system in our studio.” 

“Did the company send its audio engineer to help you?”

“No, just their electrical engineer and his assistants. I was the only audio engineer responsible for checking the sound quality. It was hectic.” Suresh went into the dining hall and brought two glasses of water and plates. “I brought snacks from our favourite restaurant. Guess what.?” When he opened the pack, Vikas could smell samosas.

“Today, I want to try The Bird’s Opening.” Vikas nodded his head. After 20 moves, Suresh said, “BXE5.” He waited for a few seconds.  “I called out my move. It seems that you are not your usual self today. What happened?”

Vikas told him the trick played by a stranger at the City Mall, and societal categorisation made him feel humiliated.

 “Weird! He tried to play smart. He may even post the incident on social media. Question of attitude.  Don’t give it the colour of humiliation. That is nothing but your imagination. Cheer up boy.”

I shouldn’t blame him for ignoring my feelings. He didn’t face any serious challenge in life. I should never broach this subject again with Suresh. Vikas had a disturbed sleep that night.


In the studio, while singing a theme song, Vikas missed a beat, for the first time in his career. The time signature was set to a slow waltz. In his second attempt, the sliding from one pitch to the other was not smooth. His third attempt too was not satisfactory. The creative director, Sankar had remained with the sole option of rescheduling the recording.

That evening while Vikas was pacing the patio up and down restlessly, Suresh called him. “Geetha and I will be at your house at 7.30.”

“Did she sing her lines this morning?”

“No, some re jigging.”

“Oh!” Vikas paused. “7.30 dinner time. I’ll order dinner for three.”

“Not this time, Geetha will bring home made food, just for a change.”

While dining, Vikas’ phone started singing. “It is from Educational Trust for the Blind,” Suresh handed over the phone to Vikas.

“Oh my god, I was supposed to address the students this afternoon.” Vikas apologised. His voice was shaky.

After they settled in the living room, Suresh said, “Sankar sir was a bit upset this morning.”

“But that was not because of you, Vikas,” Geetha quickly added. “Multiple takes…natural in the music world. There is lot of pressure from our customer, in-charge of the political campaign.”

“Yes, Vikas,” said Suresh. The fight between political parties resulted in a tough competition between ad agencies.”

“This morning you were a bit distracted,” Geetha smiled.

“Sankar sir gave me a good break in my career. I won’t trouble him. If it is required, I’ll opt out of the campaign.”

“Cheer up, boy. The same team will be retained for the entire campaign. I’m sure about it.” Suresh tapped on the centre table. “We all had a very long association with Bhavana Ad Agency.”

“Just relax, things will fall in line soon,” Geetha gently touched his hand.

After they left, Vikas sat in the patio switching from one audio book to another till midnight.

Two days later, Vikas received a call from Sankar. “Tomorrow evening there will be a small party at my house at 5.30.  My daughter’s birthday. please do come.”

Did he invite Suresh and Geetha too? Who else would be in the party other than his daughter’s friends? Would there be a music performance? Would he ask me to sing? Will he tell me I am out of the campaign?

On the way to Sankar’s house, Vikas bought a branded pen set. Sankar led him into his house. His wife Jyothi and their daughter Vani thanked him for sparing time and Vani introduced him to her friends. Vikas noticed that it was a small gathering and all the guests were Vani’s school mates. Sankar guided him to a corner table and said, “My childhood friend Dr. Pravin will join you soon.”

A couple of minutes later, Vikas heard footsteps. “I’m Dr Pravin.”

“Pleasure to meet you, doctor.”

“The pleasure is all mine. You know, I was caught in a traffic jam… a procession… some political party. Pravin lowered his voice and said, “I believe that the world will be a better place without most of these politicians.”

“Yeah, they whip up regional feelings simply to gain support from a section of the people.”

“Exactly, every day some kind of unrest somewhere. I feel that every morning before venturing out, we should check whether it is safe to go out or not,”

“The way people check in some regions whether it is snowing or not.” Vikas laughed.

“Snowing. It reminds me of beautiful places in Kashmir… You know there is a village in the eastern ghat of Andhra Pradesh, Lambasingi, the Kashmir of AP.”

“Lambasingi? I visited that place when I was in school. Those images are still fresh in my mind. Thajangi reservoir… Susan Garden….  Amber coloured flowers.”

“I understand you are not blind by birth.”

“How do you…”

Cutting in Dr Pravin said, “You told me just now.”

“Did I? …Yeah… I was normal till I finished my bachelor’s degree in music. One day I had some discomfort in my eyes. I was treated for macular degeneration but there was no improvement and after a few months I lost sight.”

“Visual impairment… Things changed. There were times when it was tough to handle even day to day activities like crossing busy roads or making a phone call. Those days have gone. Technology is of immense help now.”

“Yeah.  The phone I use is voice activated, it has programmed buttons in Braille. Routine activities are not at all challenging to me. My real challenge is…” Vikas crossed his legs, uncrossed them, and leaned back.

“Go ahead Vikas.”

“I mean… I believe there is a mismatch between my self-image and social identity. Except my colleagues in the agency, others often times, in the name of helping me, place me in embarrassing situations.” His voice choked. “They give a fancy name to their behaviour… social etiquette.”

“I understand the lowered expectations offend you.  You feel disturbed, agitated and you lost focus on your work. An issue, considered trivial sometime back, has grown into a serious problem now. Am I right?”

“I try to divert my thoughts but…” Vikas leaned forward. My colleague Suresh says it is in my head… cognitive dissonance. Is it not real?”

“There are several planes of consciousness. At one plane, it is real.”

“You mean?”

“Identity– psychological or social is a complex experience. It involves a host of things influenced by family values, beliefs, media and social interaction. The question, what is my identity, led many from physical to metaphysical…”

“Dr, I’m not bothered about…”

“Interact with people more and more. Socialise.”

“Will it solve my problem?”

“Certainly. Perceptions will change.”

 The next morning Vikas went to the neighbourhood park and sat on a bench. He heard noises- children playing, adults jogging, some discussing politics. No one came to share the bench with him. After one hour, he noticed that the park was almost deserted. While returning home, he could exchange greetings with his immediate neighbour, but there was no more interaction. After four days, he stopped his morning visits to the park.

The park was a nice place to meet people, but in his case, Vikas had to find better ways to socialise. He thought of  running chess classes for children… I could take Suresh’s help without disclosing the motive. Or, he will again come up with his imaginative theories…

On that Sunday, while playing chess, Vikas shared his idea with Suresh.


“Yeah, Sunday mornings.”

“Interesting. The patio is just enough for a small group. We’ll insist on nominal entry fee. You know, free coaching doesn’t carry any value.”

In the first session, Vikas explained to the boys the nuances of opening, middle and end games and about classical, rapid and blindfold formats. Suresh analysed the different strategies and tactics followed by world class chess players and asked them to start with foot soldiers. Despite their attempts to make the session interesting, none of the five boys turned up for the second session.

 “Street cricket is popular here. The boys don’t want to miss it. We should have thought of it,” Suresh said.


Vikas woke up at 5.a. m to the devotional music that invaded his bed room from the new temple, about 100 feet to the north of the park.

 I should tell the priest to lower the noise.

He had a bath and then waited till he felt the warmth of the sun. Then he went to the temple. When he entered, he noticed it was crowded. He heard adults guiding children, breaking coconuts and ringing the temple bell. Some devotees were chanting Durga ashtottram[1]. Puja was going on.

While he was wondering which way he to go, one devotee approached him. “For darshan[2], turn to your right and move on.”

“I’d like to wait for some time.”

“Come with me. I’ll show you a place where you can sit comfortably.”

Vikas was in a dilemma whether to lodge a complaint with the priest or not. After half-an-hour, Vikas noticed that except for the footsteps of an occasional visitor, there was silence.

“Did you have darshan? Are you waiting for anyone?” Vikas was startled. The voice continued, “I am the temple priest.  Do you need any help in getting back home?”

“No, thank you. My house is close bye, the other side of the park.”

“Oh, you stay nearby.  There will be a veena recital this evening. Please do come, sir.”

Veena recital! I can think of giving a musical performance in the temple.  Festive season. Almost everyone in the neighbourhood visits the temple. Can there be a better place for socialising. Not the usual devotional songs? Must be different and fit into the festive theme and mood. How about folk songs?

When he shared his idea with Geetha and Suresh, they were not enthusiastic.  “Folk music. I am not sure that the trustees of the temple and the priest will encourage the idea,” Geetha said.

“It is not easy to convince the devotees too,” Suresh said.

“Don’t feel disappointed Vikas. We are not giving up the idea. You know my brother Ravi. He is in event management. I’ll speak to him,” Geetha assured.


“It is possible if we can find a sponsor and a suitable venue. Temple premises are not ideal. Sponsors can’t erect banners and they don’t come forward if you tell them, you are invisible.” Ravi patted Vikas on the shoulder. “Any other venue? Not the expensive conference halls.”


“Park, yeah, brilliant idea. Now, I can look for a sponsor, and even cosponsors like ice cream stalls, coffee stalls. How about Bhavana Ad. Agency?”

Geetha laughed. “You are asking us about our own agency!”

“Why not? Your director will inaugurate. The local MLA[3] will be the chief guest. No doubt, we will get good media coverage.”

 When Ravi raised the subject with ad agency, Sankar said, “I’m not convinced that the agency gets lot of publicity by just placing a few banners. The finance Dept. will object. The agency must be able to show case its achievements…  an audio- visual show may be ideal. I’d like to involve local people by organising a slogan writing contest for the school children. Can we open a stall there?”

Ravi was taken aback. He asked for two days to look into the feasibilities. He and Vikas met the colony welfare association president and secretary and shared their idea with them. When Vikas and Ravi proposed to contribute generously to the association welfare fund, the president and secretary gave their consent.

“Now, we have to reschedule our plan. We should make the event more attractive to the business community. A few more stalls should come up. Otherwise, we just can’t organise it,” said Ravi.

Ravi contacted several business establishments and Vikas, Suresh and Geetha accompanied him for personal interaction with the heads of firms who showed some interest in the event. At the end of the third day, there was some clarity. Dealers of hand-loom sarees, handicrafts, children’s

books and confections agreed to open stalls. It turned out to be a mini exhibition that would run for three days with music performances in the evenings.

Suresh said, “Now I am confident. Yes, we can make it happen. I’ll take care of the sound system.”

“Ravi, please see that everyone gets due recognition,” Vikas said.

“Recognition… monetary benefit… we can discuss later.”


Geetha and Vikas selected a few folk songs highlighting Sankranthi[4] theme and practised. They added commentary to every song  explaining the significance of the cultural traditions of India. One TV channel signed an agreement with Vikas and Geetha for telecasting one song a day for one month.

Though there were frequent references to his blindness in the media coverage, Vikas didn’t get irritated.

One morning, to gauge the mood of the people in the neighbourhood, Vikas went to the park and sat on a bench. Children surrounded him asking for autograph. Adults were eager to shake hands with him. One of them said, “I enjoyed the programme a lot. It was unique and memorable. Adding commentaries highlighting the profundity of the traditions is a wonderful idea. Most of us follow the traditions casually without paying attention to the message they carry.”

Vikas heard a faint and distant voice. “Do you know, he is blind. He lives around here; we didn’t even notice it. The other day, in the general body meeting, some questioned the colony welfare association president for granting permission for holding a commercial event like this. The president said he thought the residents would appreciate his decision for being sympathetic towards a blind man.”


Vikas remained cool and confident. The doctor said perceptions would change… But…  but whose perception? Planes of consciousness…. Physical…. Metaphysical?   I should delve deep into my inner being to know my reality, my true identity. 

[1]  Chanting a God’s name 108 times

[2] Viewing a deity

[3] Member of Legislative Assembly

[4] An Indian festival to highlight different phases of solar transmigration

Chaturvedi Divi’s short stories and poems have appeared in the anthology of Only Men Please, Reading Hour, America the Catholic magazine, Twist & Twain, Spillwords  and elsewhere. He has an MA in creative writing from The University of Wales. His doctoral thesis is on diasporic literature.




Poetry from Kashmir

By Ahmed Rayees


My name is Rose.
I bloomed in the heavenly garden,
Sang with birds and butterflies,
Without fear and agony.
I played hide and seek,
Inside my little fantasy world
I lost my way, I lost my songs...
I found myself in a dark corner
Pierced by innumerable scars,
I cried...I screamed...
But could not escape those strong claws
I lay withered
In the dark serpentine.
No door opened.
No car stopped.
I cried...I screamed...

My limbs stopped aching.
My lungs stopped breathing.
I died... I died... I died...
Profusely bleeding!
I drenched your city red.

I am your unresolved question
I am your indecisive end --
Getting dissected in the courtrooms
Without getting a fair verdict
I am waiting...
My body is broken, but not my soul
One day, I will come back,
I will come back as one among you --
May be as your very own daughter…

Ahmad Rayees is a freelance poet and writer from Kashmir valley, currently working with Claylab Education Foundation as a mentor. Claylab aims to alleviate educational inequity and increase economic mobility by providing affordable, quality, and meaningful education to students. 


Interview Review

The Oldest Love Story – In Conversation with Editor Rinki Roy

The Oldest Love Story, edited and curated by Rinki Roy and Maithili Rao published by Om Books International, 2022, carries multiple voices across cultures on a most ancient bond and nurtures pertinent questions and observation, which hope to redefine the role.

‘Antara 1’

Antara rising from primordial waters
As the first sun, forever new, forever old,
You made me the universe.
History and prehistory filed through me hand in hand 
In gradual evolution.
Antara, because of you
I have earned the right to enter
The tenfold halls of my foremothers.
Clutching your baby hands in my fist,
I have made the future a debtor to me
Antara, in an instant you have filled all time
By your grace I am coeval with the Earth today.

-- Nabanita Dev Sen, The Oldest Love Story(2022)

The Oldest Love Story, curated by two eminent authors and journalists, Rinki Roy Bhattacharya and Maithili Rao, is an anthology that not only describes a human’s first love, their mother, and their lives, but also explores the social and psychological outcomes and ramifications of motherhood with powerful narratives from multiple writers. They range from eminent names like the late Nabanita Dev Sen, Shashi Deshpande, Kamala Das to Bollywood personalities like Shabana Azmi and Saeed Mirza and contemporary names like Amit Chaudhuri or Maithili Rao herself.

The anthology has narratives clubbed into three sections: ‘Being a Mother: Rewards and Regrets’, ‘Outliers’, ‘Our Mothers: Love, Empathy and Ambivalence’. The headings are descriptive of the content of each section. These real-life narratives, some of which include translations by editors Roy and Rao among others, make for interesting and fresh perspectives of the age-old story that is as natural as water or air. More than two dozen diverse voices as well as Roy’s powerful “Preface” and Rao’s exhaustive “Introduction” paint motherhood in new colours, giving it an iridescence that glitters with varied shades. Stories of what mothers faced — bringing up a child with Down’s syndrome, a child who drove his roommate to suicide and yet another daughter who marries a man old enough to be her father — bring us close to issues we face in today’s world.

One of the most interesting and unusual aspects of this book is at the end of each essay is a takeaway from the narrative where the writers write about themselves. This is not a biography but a description of the writers’ perception about their mother or what they learnt from their experience of motherhood. The most interesting takeaway is given by Shabana Azmi, who wrote of her dynamic mother Shaukat Kaifi (1926-2019).

“I am cut from the same cloth as her. But who am I?

“I would say I’m a woman, an Indian, a wife, an actress, a Muslim, an activist, etc. My being Muslim is only one aspect of my identity but today it seems as though a concerted effort is being made to compress identity into the narrow confines of the religion one was born into, at the absence of all other aspects. This is not the truth about India. India’s greatest truth is her composite culture.

“The Kashmiri Hindu and the Kashmiri Muslim have much more in common with each other because of their ‘Kashmiriyat’ than a Kashmiri Muslim and a Muslim from Tamil Nadu in spite of them sharing a common religion. To me, my cultural identity is much stronger than my religious identity.”

And she concludes: “My mother taught me that identity must not be a melting pot in which individual identities are submerged. It should be a beautiful mosaic in which each part contributes to a larger whole.”

Major social issues are taken up in multiple narratives. Mirza used the epistolary technique to describe how his mother discarded her burqa forever in Pre-Partition India.

“You were emerging from the hall of the Eros theatre and were about to wear your burqa in the foyer when Baba popped the question to you.

“‘Begum, do you really want to wear it?’

“You told me you paused for a moment, and then you shook your head. And that was that. The rest, as they say, is history.

“I am trying to imagine that moment. The year was 1938 and you had been wearing a burqa ever since you were thirteen years old.”

Mannu Bhandari’s spine-chilling narrative of her mother, a child bride around the time when Mirza’s mother shed her burqa, shows a young girl punished and abused for accidentally tearing her sari. It showcases a conservative, abusive culture where women turn on women. An extreme contrast to the bold maternal outlook described by Mirza or Azmi, the narrative highlights the reason why women need to protest against accepting familial abuse bordering on criminality. That these three mothers lived around the same time period in different cultures and regions of India only goes to enhance the large diaspora of beliefs, customs and cultures within one country.

Dalit writer, Urmila Pawar’s reasserts her mother’s belief, “A woman is a wife for only a while/ She is a mother all her life.” “Screams Buried in the Walls” by Sudha Arora dwells on the abuse borne by women to pander to societal norms. Narratives of abuse of women who could not stand up to social malpractices seem to have turned into lessons on what not to do for daughters who condemn patriarchal norms for the suffering their mothers faced.

On the other hand, Shashi Deshpande tells us: “Motherhood becomes a monster that devours both her and her young; or, when the children go away, there is an emptiness which is filled with frustration and despair. I have been saved from this because of my work. My children no longer need me, but my life does not seem empty.” While Shashi Deshpande found her catharsis by writing her stories, Deepa Gahlot, justifies her stance of remaining unmarried and childless by espousing a voice against motherhood.  She contends that the only reason to perceive motherhood as a viable alternative would be propagation of the species. But concludes with an interesting PS: “Does it even make sense to bring a child into such an ugly, nasty, brutal world?” As one hears of senseless violence, wars and mass shootings in the news, Gahlot’s words strike a chord. She has actually researched into the subject to draw her conclusions. But one would wonder how would humankind propagate then — out of test tubes in a bleak scenario like Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World (1932)? Would humans really want such an inhuman existence?

I would rather go with Dev Sen’s outlook. While she emoted on motherhood in her poems on her daughter Antara, she has given a powerful prose narrative elucidating her own perspective. Antara, the daughter to who these poems are addressed, has given a beautiful takeaway on her mother at the end of Dev Sen’s narrative. Despite being abandoned by her husband, Amartya Sen, who later became a Nobel laureate, Dev Sen not only fulfilled herself as a woman and a mother but threw out an inspiring statement that well sums up motherhood for some: “[C]ould I do anything to make this planet worthy for my kids?”

Rinki Roy Bhattacharya, one of the editors of this sparkling collection and author of a number of books, especially on the legendary film maker, her father, Bimal Roy (1909-1966), had published an earlier collection on a similar theme called, Janani (Mother, 2006). She agreed to tell us more about the making of this meaty and gripping anthology, The Oldest Love Story.

Editor Rinki Roy Bhattacharya at the book launch in Mumbai. Photo sourced by Rinki Roy

Motherhood as a concept that is ancient, natural, and yet, not fully understood nor explored. What made you think of coming up with this collection that highlights not only stories of mothers and how it influenced women but also discusses the process of being a mother?

The present collection, titled “The Oldest love Story” goes back several decades. This is mentioned in my preface. It began when I woke up to the fact that I was redundant as a mother. By the time the children had grown up one-by-one and left home. I began to explore the situation with other women to understand, why we give so much importance to motherhood? Foolishly, I felt. Motherhood as a concept is indeed natural but taken for granted. I have a problem with that. My maid, Laxmi, is a classic example of a mother who is exploited to the hilt by her children. She is blind to their exploitation and refuses any change that will help her live with comfort or dignity. As if women are just mothers and nothing else?

Was it a personal need or one that you felt had to be explored given the current trend towards the issue where women are protesting the fact that looking after children saps them of individuality? Can you please explain?

I answered this issue as have others in this book. The deep resentment that follows after raising kids who then go away to find greener pastures, is an extremely common, and collective experience for most parents. Particularly in the Indian context. Parents cannot let go. The main reason, I think is, the parent’s fear. The fear of who will light the funeral pyre if not the son? In the event of not having a son,  a close male relative takes over. Do you see the gender bias, the patriarchal assumption? Daughters are not considered legitimate enough to light the pyre?! Yet it is daughters who care for elderly parents in most cases.

This is not the case in Europe, nor the West, where children are expected to become independent very early. In fact, European teenagers seize their independence at the earliest opportunity. It is the expected thing, and no one resents that inevitable shift.

You had an earlier collection called Janani (Mother). Did that have an impact on this book?

I am glad you referred to Janani, published by Sage books in 2006. That collection is the cornerstone of our new book. In this collection, we have included eight extraordinary essays from Janani. We have retained, for example, Kamala Das and Shashi Deshpande to name two. And guess what we discovered out of the blue? In the oldest love story, we have several Sahitya Akademi winners amongst our writers, including these stalwarts. This raises our book to a huge literary stature.

How was it to work jointly on a book with Maithili Rao? Did you both have the same vision for the book?

Working with Maithili was fantastic, and it was great fun. She is the most generous of people and shares without fuss. Ours was a good partnership. I could not have produced this book without Maithili. She has been and continues to be a rock.

You have done many translations for the book. Why is it we did not find an essay from you as we did from Maithili Rao?

Yes, I did. I helped fine-tune Mannu Bhandari’s story It ranks as one of my personal favourites. Her narrative is beautifully visual. I find it cinematic. I also translated Sudha Arora’s poignant essay. Sudha is a noted Hindi writer. It was, however, difficult for me to write my personal story. But the hope is, our next reprint will carry a story I wrote on my son Aditya’s birthday in 2021. In this I have given graphic details of how childbirth robs women of their dignity in the so-called natural process of birthing children. My essay is entertaining and somewhat satirical in style.

You have written a beautiful preface to the book, reflecting your own experience with your children. Were you, like the other writers, impacted by your mother?

I take that as a compliment. Yes, I wrote a heartfelt preface. My relationship with my mother, admittedly, was a strained one. Our age difference was just eighteen years…whatever the reason, I have not been able to fathom or pinpoint it. So, I thought it was best to refrain from the troubled territory.

Would you say that Bollywood had some bearing on the book as a number of writers are from within the industry? Also, your father, the eminent Bimal Roy, made a movie called Maa in 1952. If so how. Please explain.

I do not see any bearing from Bollywood. The fact we have eminent personalities from the world of cinema, for example, Shabana Azmi, Saeed Mirza, and Lalita Lazmi do not make it a Bollywood-driven work. My father, Bimal Roy’s Bombay debut was with a film called Maa. Apparently, Maa was inspired by a Hollywood film titled Over the Hills. The main protagonist was an elderly mother of two sons. Maa bared a socially relevant issue, elder abuse, that has been globally recognised and is prevalent. My father’s empathy for the elderly is well documented in this fictional account. In day-to-day life, my father supported the elderly. His widowed aunt in Benaras was maintained by him. His brothers were educated and helped by his generosity. Compassion was his second nature. From him, I learned that a silent, discreet way to support others is the best way to reach out.

There are so many women in the anthology who reiterated the huge impact their mothers had on them, and they were quite critical of their ‘patriarchal’ fathers. Do you think this is true for all women? At a personal level, did your father or mother have a similar impact on you?

I am glad to hear that these woman are critical of their patriarchal fathers…while most women tend to overlook the patriarchal aspect. In general, women tend to ignore or even neglect, their mothers. In my case, it was distinct. My cultural upbringing was instilled by my father’s secular and inclusive vision and social values. These played a decisive part. Much more than my mother, who was a gifted photographer. My parents, by the way, were a made for each other couple. Rarest of rare in the movie industry. My father is my mentor. If you contemplate his well-loved films, let us take Sujata [1959], for one. I have yet to see another film that speaks so eloquently of social boycott. It is not just the caste issue of Sujata, which doubtless is the main thrust. It is the combined forces of class, caste, and gender that play havoc with human relationships as portrayed compassionately in this work.

Yes, Sujata is indeed a beautiful film and your book has taken up many of the issues shown in the movie through the voice of mothers, whether it is caste or religion. Was this intentional or was it something that just happened?

The voices of our contributors in the book are of individuals who write with exemplary honesty and spontaneously. Nothing is contrived in their writings. We did not brief our writers to take up any specific issue. They wrote from the heart.

One of the trends that emerged from my reading of the book was that educated and affluent mothers through the ages had it easier than child brides and less educated mothers, whose children also reacted with more vehemence, looking for a better world for themselves. Do you feel my observation has some credence? Please comment on it.

I do not agree entirely. Bearing children, and raising them in our complex, the confusing socio-economic culture is a challenging matter for all mothers. For all parents in fact. Child brides are subjected to it more intensely than others. There are no shortcuts, nor ready-made answers.

There is an essay against motherhood in this anthology. Do you agree with the author that it is a redundant institution and can be replaced by test-tube babies? Do you not think that could lead to a re-enactment of what Aldous Huxley depicted in Brave New World

I think, you mean Deepa Gahlot’s essay. This was from the earlier collection. Deepa is entitled to her views. As are others. I think many younger women would agree with Deepa. Balancing motherhood with one’s professional life is a knotty business. I know women who have opted for one or the other to do full justice to it.

Yes, it was Deepa Gahlot’s essay. As you have rightly pointed out in your preface, motherhood can be interpreted variously. What do you see as the future of motherhood in India, and in the world?

Motherhood, remains subjective. Interpreted differently in each case. Every childbirth is a different experience. It may be life-threatening. A case to note is my dear friend Smita Patil’s. She died giving birth. But, I doubt women will stop being mothers, or abandon stereotypical mothering options that live up to that Deewar [Wall, 1975] dialogue: “Mere paas maa hain [I do not have a mother]”. There is a change, a shift, nonetheless, it is slow. Women are afraid to rock this entrenched image of motherhood. At least in India. I know successful women filled with guilt that they failed to be good mothers.

Well, that is certainly a perspective that needs thought.What books and music impact your work?

I read both Bangla and English. After leaving Calcutta where I read the children’s Ramayana, Raj Kahini, or stories by Tagore and Sukumar Ray. But there was an interruption when I got into an English medium school. Culturally I moved out of Bengal. During that phase, my mother introduced me to Agatha Christie. I was 12 years perhaps…I devoured her works. And I still do. Christie fascinates me.

I fell in love with the piano and began to learn it. As a result, Chopin, Mozart, and Liszt were my musical inspirations. I also learned Rabindra sangeet and Manipuri dance in Calcutta…. there was no dearth of cultural grooming. We are especially fortunate that our parents enjoyed the best in performing arts. Pandit Sivakumar Sharma, the great santoor maestro who just passed away, played at home. Sitara Devi danced for private programs. We were wrapped in a rich tapestry of culture.

What is your next project? Are you writing/ curating something new?

I am a compulsive writer, always itching to write.  I believe that writers do not age…they mature and get better. Currently, I am compiling non-fiction episodes about some of the most celebrated artists from Indian cinema who I was privileged to meet…the collection may be titled, Brief Encounters. Writing keeps me creatively busy. Before I sign off, we have to thank our editor Shantanuray Chaudhuri for his unconditional support to make this book a reality. He has been marvellous.

Thank you for taking our work seriously.

Thank you for giving us your time and answering the questions

From Left to Right: Rinki Roy, Maithili Rao and Shabana Azmi at the Mumbai book Launch in June 2022. Photo sourced by Rinki Roy

(This is an online interview conducted by Mitali Chakravarty.)



Entwined Places

By S Srinivasan

Artwork by Gita Viswanath

Standing on the Juhu beach,
I heard, more than a decade ago, 
The winds from the Marina, 
In a smattering of Marathi and Tamil,
Accompanying birdsongs.

Blame that on a bout of homesickness
But what about last year, when

The Sealdah station, its turf
Pounded by the waves of human feet,
Seemed to me to reverberate 
With the weighty steps of the rush hour, 
Also felt in Mylapore and Nariman Point?

Perhaps, the crowds stirred me then
But that cannot be all, for

Often on cool Hyderabadi afternoons,
I have worn, in silence, the unease
Of Bangalore's woolen evenings;
And sensed in Delhi's nippy nights
The cold grip of other Indian winters...

Extremes sometimes addle the brain
And lull the heart, but…

Even when I take a leisurely stroll
On a summer dusk, around the lake
That girdles my neck of the woods,
I am greeted by the lush sights, of
The long winding ways yonder...

To Darjeeling and Kodaikkanal,
To Yercaud and Dehradun,
To Kashmir and Kanyakumari,
And to all that lies beyond.      

Srinivas S teaches English at the Rishi Valley School, India. He spends his free time taking long walks, watching cricket and writing poetry in short-form (mostly haiku).




The Departure

By Subzar Ahmad


At midnight, by the windowpane,
He sat for the last time.
That night in my lap, he lay as if a toddler,
So motionless that I felt he was dead.
Supposed to run he was but he paused.
With the barrel pointed to the foe,
He asked,
"What would you seek from the Bohr model?"
Nothing much but a race of feats.
The barking dogs with devils' eyes
brought to us gestures of fear.
Three and me, together we stood to fight,
To fight for the cause you never understood.
You never knew the urge and zeal
That binds and bonds within a second.
No breaks and cracks can bring a halt.
He then woke up after a dream
And said, " No need to fear for the Lord is there."
The chains of hell are there in the neck,
"I see them yelling amid the devastating fire."
Hurrah! we had won the midnight game,
as the dawn had broken with a drizzling air
"What is it to the mountain if a bird rests?" said he for the last time.

Subzar Ahmad is a student in Kashmir. 




Bridge over Troubled Waters

In Conversation with Sanjay Kumar, the founder of Pandies, a socially responsible theatre group

Some members of Pandies, with Sanjay Kumar sitting in the right hand corner.

Festivals often involve pageantry where people connect, reach out and have fun through performances. These can range from high class shows in halls to entertaining performances in street corners, individual buskers or theatricals at home. Brecht (1898-1956), often taught in universities,  popularised socially responsible epic theatre.  Epic theatre connects the players, imbued with welfarism and a sense of social responsibility, to educate the audience, subsequently encouraged to question and move towards altering their present reality to a more egalitarian one. Add to this students who look for more than just academic growth in universities and a young dynamic professor in the 1980s, and the end result is a volunteered ‘institution’ that has blossomed over three decades into a strangely named group – Pandies.

Sanjay Kumar

Founded in 1987 by Sanjay Kumar, an academic from Delhi University with residencies in Italy and the United States for the welfare of exploited children, the group evolved into a major voice trying to reach out to all strata of society. Kumar evolved a form of theatre to channelise the energy of students towards creating an awareness for the need to grow by helping the less fortunate. He tells us by the way of introduction: “We have been working with twenty slums or bastis in Delhi, have had interactions with a hundred schools and about twenty-five colleges. A minimum of hundred presentations are held each year. The major issue till 2000 was gender-sensitisation. Each year, pandies’ latches on to a different theme. After performing in the proscenium theatre, it takes adaptations of the same to diverse places. The group also works on issues related to environment. The adaptable, flexible, bilingual (at times multi-lingual) scripts are totally ours. The group is constantly exploring, searching for better modes to get its meaning across. Songs, dances, choreographed sequences are all a part of its repertoire. One of the most successful modes is an extremely interactive discussion at the end where the activist even narrates relevant anecdotes to get its audience to talk. The group has evolved a mega network in and around Delhi consisting of women, HIV activists, environmentalists, school and college teachers and students, progressive women from various communities including slums, victims of rape, attempted murder.” His work has reached across to multiple countries, universities (including Harvard) and has found credence among number of hearts across the East and the West.

The most impressive performance I saw was online with young refugees from Afghanistan and migrant workers in slums. They have worked with Non-Governmental Organisations (NGOs)  that work with children, sex workers and women, thus educating and learning from them and exposing them to our, more secure world where the maximum need a young student has, is to score well to get into the right university and for their family and friends to travel, to have freedom of speech and better lives. Perhaps, the best way to comprehend this kind of drama is to let Sanjay Kumar take over and introduce the work they are doing, bridging gaps at multiple levels.

Tell us about the inception of pandies’. How old is the group?

The incipience of the group goes back to college really to the year 1987 when we did the first play from Hansraj (a college under Delhi University), though we registered later in 1993, as we broke away. As I got free from MPhil, I decided to start theatre in the college in a way that steers it clear of the festival circuit of doing 25-30 minutes plays and winning small cash awards at various college fests. The College Drama Society was revived in 1987 and under that banner we did six plays, one each a year on the trot: Lorca’s Blood Wedding (1933), Ngugi’s The Trial of Dedan Kimathi (1974), Strindberg’s The Dream Play (1901), Vicente Lenero’s The Bricklayers (1976), Genet’s The Balcony (1957)and Brecht’s The Caucasian Chalk Circle (1944).  Each was a full-length play of at least 100 minutes.

We were doing plays at a semiprofessional level, all having a run of five to seven days in Delhi’s leading theatre halls. The bookings were being done in the name of the college but from the beginning no money was put forth by the college. The funding was collected by the students from small donations. The group was getting too big for the college. There was a constant targeting from many in the administration and the faculty, accusations of the openly sexual content of the plays, of the insubordinate behaviour of the students, of classes being bunked. And then as the group evolved, there were many students who had graduated but still wanted to be there and as the reputation grew with the choice of plays and quality of production (contemporary reviews read us at par with professional groups), many students from other colleges wanted to join us. Things came to a head with the college administration in 1993. We had already booked at the auditorium in the name of the college and were rehearsing for Macbeth. We decided to launch our own group (the work normally took about six months) and in two months we registered and collected money enough to go under the new banner — Pandies’ theatre.   The relationship with structures of the university remains tricky, there are those among the younger teachers and of course students who love us but the old and orthodox are still a bit wary.

Was this theatre started for the needs of the students/ teachers or to create an interest in academic curriculum?

Yes, at that time the syllabus had a totally first world bias (the bias is still there but less), to get in plays that speak to us. They may be first world, but they critique our oppressor — Brecht,  Rame, Genet.

 What was the gel that bound the group together ? Was it used to satisfy the needs of  the students, teachers or society. Can you elaborate? 

The first thing was the love of theatre. It’s like a bug, and the heady thing about a collectivism trying its own thing, charting paths not done in college before. And then the activism took over and went way beyond the love. We started pandies’ with a view that our world is not the way we want it. We wanted to make it better for more people. Even the plays from 1987 to 1993 were exploring non-canonical theatre. 

The first point of attack was the huge gender bias. We felt we were living in a misogynist, rape friendly society. Series of proscenium plays attacked that. We tied up with the feminist NGO, Shakti Shalini. Our ties go back to 1996, with LGBT movements and women’s movements. Veils had more than hundred shows, theatres, colleges, schools and markets and slums and villages. We were asking for  change in rape laws in the country. She’s MAD took stories from women’s organisations about laws of mental illness being consistently used against women to label them mad to take away their property rights, custody of children and provide a veneer over patriarchal violence. Again a play that sought legislative reform was Danger Zones. It explores what happens when you are lesbian and do not have a big wallet or parents to save you — forced marriages, sale into prostitution. 

Equally important, in fact more so in later years has been the attack on religious bigotry. Gujarat was a breaking point. We had years of series workshops with impoverished youth in slums exposing the rhetoric of  bigotry. We start with the Sikh pogrom of ’85 and go on to dissent against what our society has evolved to under a right wing dispensation, the religious supremacism of our world.

When you work with young boys, drug peddlers and sex workers, aged eight to fourteen, you return home a wreck and in need of therapy. But if you keep that fire alive inside you, you know how to take on the oppressors.

It is about a naked politics. We seek to rouse people from slumber, awaken a critical understanding of the world we live, of the forces that govern us — patriarchy, capitalism and, the tying factor of all oppression — religion.

The need was and remains the need of our times and our ethos.

How did the name evolve? And your group evolve?

It goes back to 1993 and is fully in keeping the with ‘play’ aspect of the group which likes to play with politics with its audience. It emerged from collective decisioning that has been the hallmark of pandies’ functioning. The name is a take ‘off’, ‘away’ from Mangal Pandey and the revolt of 1857. Actually, from the inability of the British to get Indian pronunciations correct. Pandey became Pandy, a hated expletive for the British commanders and continued in their letters even 50 years after the suppression of the revolt. ‘Pandy’ was one who was a part of the British structure, in their employ (Jhansi’s soldiers were not Pandies for instance), earned from them and rose against them. The hatred conveyed by the word was many times higher than in the simple expletives of  traitor or the Hindustani ‘gaddaar.’ While it has a historical solidity, it also has a playful aspect just beneath, for many of the young in the group it was also deliciously close to panties and pondies (slang for pornographic literature), the sexual aspects for which the group was falsely castigated while in college, and what we loved to grin and laugh at.

We broke away in 1993, four teachers and about thirty students. Starting as a proscenium English group with an activist leaning in 1993, by 1996 we had turned totally activist. Starting with about thirty-five members (still the core for each project), the group soon acquired more than hundred members (today it has more than that, people go away and many return, even after a decade or fifteen years, to do that “better thing”).  A strong presence of young, motivated women gave the group a feminist essence. And seeking overtly to make our ethos better, the group stressed a Left Feminist Atheist core as the law of its work from the very beginning. Activism, simply the overt statement that we are not okay with our world the way it is and seek a systemic change and are willing to do our bit as theatre enthusiasts for it.

Our three primary areas of work are : a. Proscenium: The plays are always activist and many of our own scripts and many adapted, some activist plays (Brecht, Rame and other activist scripts including agit prop) in the original; b. Theatre outside proscenium: What is usually called street theatre, nukkad natak, guerrilla theatre, the group has done actually thousands of performances and c. Workshop theatre: Where activist facilitators create plays with communities, staying with them or visiting them regularly — razor’s edge work has been done with young boy sex workers picked from platforms and housed in shelters, in the cannibalised village of Nithari, in women’s shelters, with refugees and in Kashmir.  The process consists of getting ‘stories’ from the margins and creating theatre from them, performed usually by the community members, and at times along with Pandies.

Were you influenced by any theatre/art forms/writers or any external events to evolve your own form?

From the international activist tradition Brecht has been the most solid influence, his mode of showing what is obvious but we refuse to see it. Boal, Franca Rame, Dario Fo. The entire traditions of left swinging realism and alienation. In our own traditions the influence is more subtle, Indian People’s Theatre Association (IPTA) itself and Janam (a  more contemporary people’s theatre group). We also borrow from the political and popular traditions of the subcontinent — Dastaan Goi, Jatra, Tamasha and Nautanki to name a few.

What impacts us most is the politics. Theatre is about critique, it’s about my ability to say ‘no’ and my desire to ask ‘why.’ We look back through history, history that tells us nothing can be permanent, that is record of those who stood and fought tyranny and authoritarianism. Gujarat 2002 was difficult and so was Babri Masjid but so was the emergency of 70s and never forget the anti-Sikh pogrom of the mid 80s at the heart of the country where I live.

Yes, and what is happening today, here and all over the globe cries for activist intervention.

What were the kind of content you started with? I heard you even adopted out of Aruna Chakravarti’s novel (Alo’s World?) to make a play. So, what was the content of your plays? Were you scripting your own lines?

We started with adaptations of plays with explicitly activist content which could be made more activist and imposed on our reality. Ibsen’s Ghosts, inspirations from Simon de Beauvoir, Doris Lessing. And post-1996, we were creating more and more from our own scripts, often containing multiple plays tied with thematic thrusts. And again, in times of repression one reverts to adaptations, of those who stood up to the challenge of their times, specially at the doors of gender, religion and class (the three themes of Pandies).

What we did for Aruna was akin to what we have done for other friends of Pandies, fiction writers, create small dramatic enactments based on parts their novels/short stories to go along with the launch and publicity of their works.

Have you moved away from your earlier models? What is your new model?

From proscenium to (while retaining proscenium) community theatre to (while retaining proscenium and community) workshop theatre that was the trajectory of Pandies before the pandemic struck our world. 

The pandemic thrust us into a new model of cyber theatre. The group meets every Sunday but with Covid and the lockdown, we all went hibernating for a few months, awestruck by what struck us.

And then we started meeting online. It was amazing, we were able to connect with members in US, in Philippines, in UK and in different parts of India. There was the frigidity of the online mode but the ability to converse with so many people in their respective bubbles was just great. We met every Sunday. And started with storytelling for each other. With around thirty people that process took some Sundays. And then we started thinking of doing online plays using zoom. These were live online, no recording and each ending with a question-and-answer session with our audiences.

What was happening around us, the pandemic, and the equally deadly forays of our right-wing rulers made us look for avante garde activist plays from the past. We turned deliberately to the American tradition (important to let it be known that even the most decadent capitalist center has a solid activist theatre tradition) and did one agit prop and one proto-feminist play. Subterfuge was important and it was also important to say that even in the darkest of hours people have stood up to tyranny and fascism. Clifford Odets’ Till the Day I Die (1935), an anti-Nazi play of the agit prop tradition is aimed as much at Hitler as at McCarthy and relevant against all fascist governments. Broadcast simultaneously on Zoom and Facebook, the play got over 7000 hits. Sophie Treadwell’s Machinal (1928) was the second, a proto feminist play it raised issues of mainstream violence and suppression of ‘other’ voices. We were making quite an impact. Our audience was not confined to people from one city but spread internationally as friends all over the world who had wanted to see our plays (we have travelled and performed abroad twice, once in Manchester with an anti-fascist play — Cleansing in 2002 and in New York in 2012 with Offtrack, based on the lives of young boys ‘rescued’ from platforms in India).

We decided to connect with communities that we work with at least in and around Delhi through zoom. And we discovered the horrors for ourselves. While the rich had actually been ‘worried’ over the lockdown, the poor had taken an unfathomable hit. The incidence of domestic violence was at a peak (lockdown, problems getting ‘booze’, little help from cops and NGOs). Our young friends — now in late 20s, with whom we had been performing since 2006 since the Nithari (slum outside Delhi) pogrom had been thrown out of their meagre jobs, belonging to families of migrant labour — had seen it all and refugees from Afghanistan — in a bad state anyways — were really hit. And they were all artists, performers and storytellers par excellence. So, we decided on a storytelling festival where people from these sectors would narrate their stories in the same cyber format. And we asked our audience to put in some money and that was entirely distributed among the participants. The stories that emerged, personal and fiction derived from personal, were simple exhilarating.

What and how many languages do you use and how do you bridge linguistic gaps?

Language is highly political. We set out as an English group but with Macbeth itself some crucial scenes were being rendered in Hindustani (the opening scene and the porter scene). By 1996, as the group was going totally activist, a multi-language form had evolved. We were still keeping a section of English in the proscenium (had to be translated or made easier in the slums and villages shows) but sections of Hindustani and diverse languages of North India are being introduced. A recent example is an adaptation of Manto’s(1912-1955) stories and writings (Saadat Hasan Manto: Pagaleyan da Sardar), about 60 percent in Punjabi and 40 in English with no other language used (Punglish). We do a lot of translation work, including at times on the spot.

Who does your scripting? How do your scripts evolve?

The original scripts are a collective, collated exercise and emerge after months of workshopping on an issue within the group. Most of the Scripts are written by me or my colleagues from Delhi University, Anuradha Marwah and Anand Prakash.

Who are your crew members and how many team members do you have? How many did you start with?

The total number is above 100. Many leave for a while and return from careers and families. It is strictly volunteer group. The group has tried variously models and the one that works and keeps it activist intent intact is the one where we do not pay ourselves for our time. A project involves a total of about thirty people.

What was the reaction of your colleagues when you started Pandies? Did it find acceptance/ support did you receive from among your colleagues, the academics, and the media?

I would like to add that the reactions from colleagues and academia have been interesting and mixed. Pandies is the first and possibly the only story, of a group tracing its origins in college society theatre and move on without a break to establish not just a national but an international reputation. Even as the model evolved from proscenium alone to in-your-face activism, from seeking and getting funding to putting in your own money and/or collecting it from the audience but never compromising on the political content of what you do. It makes people uncomfortable, especially in the early years, say the first decade — “is this theatre at all?” Today it is seen a story, as an experiment that worked  — the sheer survival of the group from 1987 to 2021 and beyond creates a space for admiration. Students spread across this university, over other universities in India and abroad have been the most ardent support system.

The media has been supportive, quite a bit actually. Over the years, the Pandies’ fan club has extended there too. We got some adverse reviews to begin with but more from those from the academia, who were writing in papers and journals, who had problems of simply — I cannot see activist success stories from the university itself.

What has been the impact on the people who are part of the Pandies? What has been the impact on the audience?

When you do political theatre the impact is on all sides of the spectrum. And the best place to measure the success is your own side. The empathy, the killing guilt and the desire to do more manifest in the group members, especially after series of tough workshop theatre evidences the impact.  

I saw your play in an on online forum. What exactly made you move towards what you called cyber theatre?

Basically, the pandemic. But it has been a good experience, sheerly in terms of reach and numbers (the first play had 7000+ hits though we never got near that again, also we were ticketing plays after the first). We always crib about the reach of market theatre and how activist theatre falls by the side. The cyber medium actually gives an international access to live theatre. Think the potential is huge.

How would others access these plays?

Amazingly the reach of the smart phone is huge. When we worked with communities, we did send out signals to make available smart phones for our performers and their local audience but discovered that not much was required. The internet does at times pose problems, even for us, there are technical glitches at times but then we have glitches everywhere. And technology, as young techie at Pandies told me, is to be used and not feared. If the audience can suspend disbelief in theatre, what’s a glitch or two on screen.

The potential far outweighs the hurdles.

You had interesting pieces (or rather pieces) evolving out of slums and migrant workers. You had an interesting take on why slums develop. Can you tell us?

The ignored margins of our world. Metropolitan cities, and I speak of Delhi — my abode specifically, attract people from all over. The prospects are great, and it is not untrue, as we have seen in our experiences of performing in so many slums and more importantly creating theatre with those who live there, that life is actually better for most. They earn more, eat better and find better school and health facilities. The trajectory is both simple and awful, many villages around Delhi become abodes for migrants, first on rent and then ownership. These margins are also the blot for the rich and famous who live around there in big bungalows and condominiums. They berate the residents for being thieves and drug peddlers and use them for a supply of menial help, maids, drivers, and the same kind of drugs. Working with them and creating theatre one realises that the grievances from the other side are worse — of exploitations, profiling and being treated worse than animals.

What was the impact of this piece on migrant workers and the theatre you had with Afghan refugees among your audience? Who are the people that constitute your audience? How do they respond to these plays? Do you have collaborations with more universities or theatre groups?

In the preceding decades Pandies has performed in practical every college in Delhi University besides performing in universities all over including IITs (Indian Institute of Technology), TISS (Tata Institute of  Social Sciences), Jammu, Bangalore and colleges of Rajasthan and Jharkhand. The tie-ups and collaborations are specific project related. Pandies has over the years been very zealous of guarding its artistic and political independence and anything that seeks to compromise that even slightly is not welcome. We have long lasting collaborations with organisations that work in areas we are in — Shakti Shalini (NGO Women’s group), or Saksham in Nithari (NGO running schools for children).

Can you tell us its reach — universities, theatre halls, small screen? How far have you been able to stretch out in thirty years? Tell us about the growth.

Bourgeois theatre rules the world. It’s connected  and money generates more money. pandies’ endeavour has been to connect not just at the university levels, not just at national levels but at international levels, evolve collectives that deal with exploitation and oppression at diverse levels.

We perform and do workshops. The group’s reach has been wide. Going on a narrower, sharper course over the last decade to be able to work with the severely marginalised, those who don’t even come on the space of development of the downtrodden.

The nature of our theatre enables us to connect with the underserved and more than 80 percent of the work does not come on the page of the dominant middle class. Performances and presentations all over the country and many abroad use the pandies’ template, Syrian refugees in Greece (2018), Gypsy communities of Ireland (2013), communities in NYC (2012) and nooks and corners of our own country including the Muslim valley of Kashmir where angels fear to tread.

What are your future plans?

As the world opens up, all varieties of work have started again. Workshops with our underserved margins and a full-length proscenium production are both long overdue.

At the same time the cyber experience has taught us the importance of reach, that those who go physically away don’t have to opt out of working for the group.

So yes, we seek a malleable form, a hybrid that combines stage theatre with all its power and is available online live, and the online form too will merge together to the performance which will be more far reaching and accessible. Given the group’s depth we will get there and soon.

Thank you.

(This is an online interview conducted by Mitali Chakravarty.)


A Special Tribute

The Many Faces of ‘Freedom’

Romanticised by writers and artists over time, freedom has been variously interpreted. There is the freedom of birds that fly, of the clouds that float across the connecting blue skies, of the grass that grows across manmade borders, of the blood that flows to protect the liberty of confines or constructs drawn by man, the river that gurgles into the ocean, of the breeze that blows.

The many-splendored interpretations of freedom and its antitheses in Borderless journal are presented here for you to ponder … tell us what you think. Can freedom come without responsibility or a tryst with circumstances?


Then Came the King’s Men by Himadri Lahiri, tracing dreams of freedom through the ages. Click here to read.

Poetry in Bosnian from Bosnia & Herzegovina, written and translated by Maid Corbic, explores the freedom of speech. Click here to read.

The Storm that Rages from the conflict ridden state of Kashmir, Ahmed Rayees writes of hope, freedom and peace. Click here to read.


The Protests Outside

Steve Ogah talks of trauma faced by riot victims in Nigeria while exploring the bondage of tyranny. Click here to read.

A Prison of Our Own Making

Keith Lyons gives us a brief essay on how we can find freedom. Click here to read.

A Life Well-Lived

Candice Louisa Daquin discusses the concepts of the role of responsibility that goes with the freedom of choices. Click here to read.

The Parrot’s Tale by Tagore

Exploring the freedom from bondages of education social norms and more, this story has been translated by Radha Chakravarty from Bengali. Click here to read.


Poems from Kashmir

By Ahmad Rayees

Unsettled Agonies

We lived — yes we lived in confinement

We lived in solitary confinement…

We were living in it yesterday and today.

We may be living in it tomorrow also.


I looked at the darkness that slowly grew around me


Spring suffocated in the gardens.

Flowers died on branches on their own

As the unborn died in the womb of a dead mother.

Faraway a little bird fluttered in pain and agony…


I sadly captured the hues of autumn…


The wild wind blew away a heap of dried leaves

And dust swept away dreams of daffodils,

Withering the petals to be embraced by winter.

Naked branches helplessly stretched out their longings towards the sky


I sat alone looking at the turbulent future in time


The river saturated into white snowy silence…

And the lonely boat half drowns into that cold aloofness.

Like the half- widows — half-dead, and half-alive

Suspended in life with a trickle of hope and deathly grief


I sat down on the horizon and looked at the sky.


It seems the Earth was angry with the sky

Just as the moon was angry with the sun and the stars.

Maybe Nature itself is slowly coming to a halt   

Oh God,  are you also in pain and despair?


The countries busily build walls of hatred and tyranny

While little Alan slept endlessly on the shores of the great sea

The angels are whimpering and awakening their dead ones

Remember that no amount of candies can wash away their pain


I’m still walking through the rubble of the city of hatred —


Here every soul is thirsty and everybody is hurt in the mayhem.

Here everyone seems to be oppressed  and enslaved.

Here everyone seems to be lonely, the rich and the poor.

Here everyone seems to be strangely normal and silently crying…


I searched like a wailing morning breeze of the mountains.


Today I know the pitcher of love is broken and dried

Today I am standing here and waiting for you my Prophet!

Bring us the magical verses that will melt our stoned heart.

Sing for us the song of sparrows, the songs of love and peace.


Sing for us the song of life, song of your eternal gardens……


Warrior Of Light: A Tribute To My Mother

 Mother, Oh mother, you are my  guardian angel, epitome of love.

All mothers are precious to their children, she’s the goddess of life

And my mother is my everything , she’s is the light of my eyes

Without her I will not exist, without her I will not sustain

My mother is the most courageous woman of our valley

She’s is the most ferocious , most beautiful angel of this paradise

Like the torrential waters of Jhelum, she went beyond the mountains and valley for truth

She’s is not afraid of anything or anyone when it comes to protect her children

Come soon mother the home is desolated in your absence

Reminiscence of your caring persona , your touch , your smell ,

Again and again resonating the sense of loss and sense of vacuum

Now we are the orphaned lambs of the meadows lost without our shepherd

When will you be back mom , Eid is here Muharram is gone

Years are passing in gloom without you in our life

Our screams are suppressed our pain is been ignored and forgotten

Our prayers, our shrines are vandalised by pellets and bullets

But your voice echoed in us , your shadow loomed around us

Your infinite love and compassion for humanity is our strength mother

You keep the promises of tomorrow , fighting injustice alone in the dark cell

Your persistence your determination is the vast silent Himalayas

Tall as the heavenly seraph slayer of evil, hold us in your encompassing wings

Mother you are my rock, you are my sword and shield

Mother come for once, make me sleep inside your warm “Phiren”

Make me sleep next to your heart, the pot of red embers.


Rayees Ahmad is a budding writer and poet from Kashmir. He has bachelor’s in mass communication and masters in Peace and Conflict Studies. He hopes to add a new colour to Kashmir and the conflict it faces through his poetry. He has written many poems and articles on the Kashmiri diaspora.