Tag: Lucknow

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Review

Memoirs of Romila Thapar

Book Review by Meenakshi Malhotra

Title: Just Being: A Memoir

Author: Romila Thapar

Publisher: Seagull Books

The title of Romila Thapar’s memoirs is deceptive and deceptively simple. It is not ‘just being’ but that being Romila Thapar is also a story of becoming, of mapping out borders and boundaries of what a woman from a liberal, progressive and well to do family could achieve in newly independent India. Her achievements are many and varied and her persona redoubtable. There is tremendous breadth of scholarship and Thapar’s is undoubtedly a remarkable journey which details the trajectory of her growing up  years-family, background, physical and social location.   

As a historian, Thapar is acutely aware and interested in the way memory works and it is this abiding interest which is perhaps reflected in her use of the following lines: “Times present and time past/Are both perhaps present in time future/And time future contained in time past”, lines from “Four Quartets” by TS Eliot.

This encapsulation of time reminds us of a common  feature of autobiography — memoirs and autobiographies measure the gap between two temporal loci — the time of a past event and the time of its narration. In this case, the beginning of the story goes back nine decades. Prof Thapar regales us with stories of growing up in pre-Independence India. Born in Lucknow, she grew up in the North Western Frontier Provinces, moving from place to place as her father was a doctor in the Army.

In a way, the seeds of autonomy and independent thinking were sown very early in her life in myriad ways. She was influenced by her maternal grandmother and her mother. The latter  was a graduate  in the India of the 1920s, creditable for a woman  since it was at a time when women’s education received mixed responses. She was competent in reading and writing three languages — Hindi, Urdu and English. Thapar narrates that “my maternal grandmother had insisted on two conditions before the marriage: that my mother never be asked to observe purdah– take the veil — when there were men around: and that she never be asked to cook meals for the family. These conditions were met.”

One finds it surprising even from the vantage point of the present time where entrenched patriarchal attitudes completely normalise the double burden carried by women and mythify cooking not only as part of women’s household duties and responsibilities, but as an act of maternal care and a labour of love. Many such instances stand out which provide a glimpse of a progressive, educated and liberal family, among whom are to be found many intellectuals who played their role in public life.

Underlying this memoir is a certain imagination of India. Thapar stands in the vanguard of  those invoking, protecting and saving the idea of an India which is secular, multilingual, diverse and heterogenous. Thapar’s narrative warns us time and again of the dangers of a single narrative , a single story. Thus, she calls out the crises of democracy both during the Emergency[1] and in the present time. Is the failure of democracy attributable to the pervasive atmosphere of fear where citizens were/are cowed into silence? Or is it the failure of the education system within capitalism which has oriented individuals to fulfilling privatised desires rather than their duties as citizens? Or is it a comment on our civilisational failure that we have been reduced to acting as echo chambers for ruling elites?   

In Just Being, historian par excellence Romila Thapar reflects on a rich, variegated, path-breaking life ― along with the people, relationships, ideas and journeys that made her who she is. In this compelling memoir, she invites us into her illustrious world ― a rich, testimony from a scholar who has profoundly shaped and moulded our understanding of India’s past and present. From her childhood growing up in British India, through her years of education in London, her extensive travels to archaeological sites across Asia and beyond, and her trailblazing role in shaping the Centre for Historical Studies at Jawaharlal Nehru University, Thapar reflects on a life lived in the service of education and research. Written over the past few years, Just Being is ample proof of Thapar’s ability to view herself within the larger flow of history, and to give a splendid account of it with a scholar’s depth, a storyteller’s sensitivity and an artist’s luminosity. It reveals not only an extraordinary, boundary-defying life but courage, integrity and a profound conviction that understanding our past in the light of undeniable evidence is essential to understanding the present and shaping a more thoughtful future.

She completed her doctorate in 1958 and was offered a temporary job at School of Oriental and African Studies to teach a course in ancient history in London. Thapar’s father had set aside funds – it could be used for either marriage or education. She chose the latter and proceeded to educate herself in myriad ways. From attending the lectures of Eric Hobsbawm on European political thought, reading Ismat Chughtai, Simone de Beauvoir, enrolling herself in evening courses on Chinese art (she did Chinese landscape painting) and archaeology, learning italic calligraphy, playing table tennis with monks, holding the stepladder for friends in libraries while the other reached for books in upper shelves, her discovery of Africa, to making posters and going for marches at Trafalgar Square and Hyde Park, hers is a rich and variegated life.

One is enthralled by her narratives of the people she met, the places she visited, illumined by the rays of her razor-sharp wit and comprehensive intelligence. What also dazzles is her knowledge of jazz, her cosmopolitanism and her capacity to engage with politics and culture, art and music. She narrates about  her experiences in both white and coloured jazz bars, among musicians across the racial divide, in the immediate aftermath of Martin Luther King’s assassination in January 1968. She writes about her meeting with the writer Nelson Algren, who had previously shared an intense relationship with Simone Beauvoir and featured in her  work, both fictional and non-fictional.  Undoubtedly and confidently cosmopolitan, she is able to make a place for herself and earn respect in widely varying contexts, including many international fora and platforms.

Professor Thapar’s feistiness is evident throughout this absorbing memoir. So is her impeccable scholarship. In the chapters on “History Rocks” and “Textbooks in the Fray,” she calls out the ideologically motivated peddlers of popular histories prevalent on Whatsapp groups and contrasts them with professional historians and historiographers. She is a stickler for honing the historian’s craft through the discipline of method and process and sharply critiques the ideologically motivated peddling of history at the cost of professionalism. Two points are made very clearly by her: first that history is and should be based on scientific evidence and there should be no mixing up or conflation of mythology and history. “Mythology is the other kind of literature that is often quoted in public discussion and confused with history.’’ Another distinction is made with equal precision: following a Weberian or Marxist methodology is not necessarily a sign of ideological persuasion as much as a methodological preference for a certain rational process of  historical analysis.

Thapar is one of the world’s foremost authorities on ancient Indian history, celebrated for transforming how ancient Indian history is studied. Rather than treating history as a sequence of kings and battles, her structural, sociological, and text-critical approach shifts focus on social formations, economic shifts, and the evolution of cultural identities. Her definitive research has fundamentally challenged both nineteenth-century colonial stereotypes and reductive nationalist narratives.

Her contribution to Indian history is immeasurable.She meticulously dismantled the Eurocentric colonial claim that ancient Indians lacked a “sense of history”. In works like The Past Before Us, she showed how early Indian society embedded its historical memory through distinct traditions — such as the Itihasa-Purana literature, Buddhist/Jain monastic chronicles, and royal biographies (charitas).

Her chapter “Textbooks in the Fray” traces the ideological warfare being waged over school textbooks, some of which she had written along with other well-known historians. Her interrogation and contestation of monolithic and singular identities pave the way for a  layered reading of history.

Thapar argues that modern conceptions of a singular, monolithic “Hindu” or “Muslim” community are modern constructs. Her study of the historical narratives surrounding the Somnath Temple in Dwarka illustrated how a single historical event was interpreted in profoundly different, multifaceted ways by varying social groups over centuries. Similarly, her study of Sakuntala’s contrasting depictions in the famous Indian epic  Mahabharata (around 4th century BC) and  Kalidas’s play “Abhijnanashakuntalam” (4th-5th century AD) point out different conceptualisations and representation of women from a chronological perspective. 

Prof Romila Thapar’s skills as a memoirist are perhaps comparable to her skill as a historian. Her endeavours have both decolonised history as well as given the discipline the status of a social science. The book gives an insight into her life, her beliefs and reflects on our times with an unbiased perspective of an adroit historian. It is a prized and rare read.

[1] 1975-77: Period of curtailment of civil liberties in India due to internal unrest.

Meenakshi Malhotra is Professor of English Literature at Hansraj College, University of Delhi, and has been involved in teaching and curriculum development in several universities. She has edited two books on Women and Lifewriting, Representing the Self and Claiming the I, in addition  to numerous published articles on gender, literature and feminist theory.  Her most recent publication is The Gendered Body: Negotiation, Resistance, Struggle.

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Poetry

Poetry by Shazia Khatoon

Shazia Khatoon 
“YOU AND I”

When You said, “This is your real home” 
 I start making a "home sweet home"
When You said, "I fulfilled every desire of yours"
 I spend the whole day thinking when I last made a wish 
When You said, "Stop working...sit at home...I will handle everything"
I wonder, "When you’ll give me a penny to spend"
When You said, "You are living the best life"
 I think, "If it's the best then what will be the worst"  
You said, " Neither do you participate in household tasks nor do you talk to anyone "    
And when I try to do something, you stopped me because they don't like change  
You said, "You have to go and spend time with them"
I think, "They are living in the past"...
I am struggling to find a connection between Your talk and behaviour
 I slowly feel misplaced and am shutting down myself...
At night, I wonder when loneliness had learned to live within me...
Somewhere beneath the tears, a voice rises, "I am still here my dear you need time to recover"

Dr. Shazia Khatoon is an Assistant Professor in the Department of English, Karamat Husain Muslim Girls’P. G. College, University of Lucknow.

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Review

Homecoming

Book Review by Somdatta Mandal

Title: Homecoming

Author: Omair Ahmad

Publisher: Speaking Tiger Books

 From the title of this novella, Homecoming, one can guess that a particular place becomes the focal point in the unravelling of the story, and that place is none other than Lucknow, seeping in past history, a promise of grace that the city was famed for, and a unique brand of Nawabi culture. The novel opens with a ‘Prologue’ where we are told that Hassan’s wife Samina has decided to leave Lucknow after she discovered that a small monument with a grave had been destroyed and the calligraphy over it had been vandalised. From that vantage point, Omair Ahmad, an eminent novelist, tactfully gives us the entire history through rendition given by three characters – Hassan, Ahmed Sahib and Sam or Samina narrate the story in four independent segments.

 Hassan originally belonged to a Reddy family in Hyderabad and was of mixed parentage with a father steeped in communist ideology. His father married a Muslim lady from Patna. After several years, when they quarreled and fell apart, Hassan, a dentist by profession, left for Lucknow in search of a stable job. That became his home for almost twenty-five years. After years of trying to belong to Lucknow, once a city of poetry and grace where he had hoped to find something of the father he had lost, Hassan meets a kindred spirit—Ahmed sahib, an elderly man of quiet warmth and dignity, although diminished in circumstance. Unable to pay his professional fees, Ahmed sahib accepts Hassan’s proposal to show him around the city of Lucknow with the hope that it would become his home and gives him the gift of unspoken friendship. He believed that the city was too close to him. Sometimes, he thought, everything had changed, and sometimes he thought nothing had. In the company of this man, the city opened itself to him, parting ever so slightly, slowly making him its own in a way he had not felt in all the years he had lived there.

Ahmed sahib himself was an abandoned son, had no siblings, no wife or child, but was still connected to a wider family. It was through his connections with an extended family that the novelist depicts the lifestyle and stories of old Lucknow with its begums, kothas, tawaifs, courtesans, old havelis[1], music being practiced by so many great artists, intricacies of inheritance etc.  

The third and the most significant protagonist is Sam or Samina, who was born in Lucknow, though she didn’t know that, and as an orphan went to live and grow up in London with her aunt and uncle. In college she fell in love with Urdu calligraphy and the Lucknawi style, and she managed to receive a fellowship from the Royal Historical Society to go to Lucknow to study calligraphy on the tombs of the noblewomen there.

Her aunt used to receive a letter once every six months from Badinani in Lucknow, from a great aunt called Begum Waheed, who briefed regularly about the myriad people she still thought of as her family, even if she hadn’t met most of them. At first Sam was afraid because she felt she was entering a world where everybody was an aunt or uncle, or a great-aunt or great-uncle. But gradually she becomes slightly more stable.  

Hassan and Samina meet and gradually fall in love with the machinations of Ahmed sahib. When Ahmed sahib dies, the two of them felt orphaned once more. Hassan concludes his narrative by telling us that he was no longer the man he had been before he met Ahmed sahib, before he learned of all he was to so many people. It had taken a year after his death for him and Samina to discover each other, and when she offered him her name, he knew he could never let her go. The concluding lines of the novella are striking:

“I will let Samina rescue me from Lucknow, as her parents were once rescued by exile, and go haunt another land. I think Ahmed sahib would forgive me, I think he would even approve.”

Spare, nostalgic and moving, Omair Ahmad’s new novella is a meditation on love, lost and gained, dwelling on ideas of family, home and belonging. A wonderful read and the novelist should be congratulated for it.

[1] Kothas– brothels; Tawaifs– courtesans; Havelis– old palatial houses

Somdatta Mandal, critic and translator, is former Professor of English at Visva-Bharati, Santiniketan, India.

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Review

The Legacy of Wajid Ali Shah

Title: Wajid Ali Shah: A Cultural and Literary Legacy 

Author: Kaukub Talat Quder Sajjad Ali Meerza

Translated fromUrdu by Talat Fatima

Publisher: Hachette India

The late Dr Kaukub Quder Sajjad Ali Meerza’s study of Wajid Ali Shah is far more than a conventional biography. It is an act of historical recovery, a painstaking attempt to rescue one of nineteenth-century India’s most misunderstood figures from the distortions of colonial historiography. His book has been translated from Urdu by Talat Fatima, the great-great grand daughter of Wajid Ali Shah and Hazrat Begum and brought out as Wajid Ali Shah: A Cultural and Literary Legacy recently.

For generations, Wajid Ali Shah has survived in public memory largely as the indolent aesthete who lost his kingdom to the British while immersing himself in music, dance, and courtly pleasures. Dr Meerza’s deeply researched work dismantles this simplistic caricature and restores before the reader a ruler of extraordinary artistic imagination, intellectual depth, and cultural sophistication.

What makes this volume particularly compelling is the sheer breadth of its archival engagement. Drawing upon rare manuscripts, personal letters, poetic compositions, and forgotten historical documents, Dr Meerza reconstructs not merely the life of a king but the cultural ecology of nineteenth-century Lucknow.

The book vividly captures the refinement of Awadhi court culture at a moment when colonial expansion sought to undermine and delegitimise indigenous centres of power and creativity. Through meticulous scholarship, the author demonstrates that Wajid Ali Shah was not a passive dreamer detached from governance, but a prolific poet, dramatist, composer, patron, and innovator who consciously shaped the artistic identity of his kingdom.

The chapters dealing with Wajid Ali Shah’s literary contributions are among the most illuminating. His poetic works, especially Sabatul Quloob, emerge not as ornamental exercises in royal vanity but as deeply emotional meditations on exile, loss, devotion, and memory. Equally fascinating is the discussion of the ‘Shahi Rahas’, the nawab’s theatrical experiments that blended music, dance, costume, and storytelling into forms that anticipated modern performance traditions.

Dr Meerza carefully situates these innovations within the broader evolution of Urdu literary and theatrical culture, making a persuasive case for Wajid Ali Shah’s centrality in the development of North Indian artistic traditions.

One of the biggest strengths of the book is its refusal to separate culture from politics. The British annexation of Awadh in 1856 is shown not merely as a political event but as an ideological campaign that required the systematic defamation of its ruler. Colonial narratives portrayed Wajid Ali Shah’s love for the arts as evidence of decadence and incompetence, thereby legitimising imperial intervention. Dr Meerza exposes the deeply political nature of these accusations and presents a more nuanced portrait of a ruler who attempted administrative reforms, maintained military discipline, and remained deeply connected to the cultural aspirations of his people.

The English translations by Dr Fatima deserves special appreciation. The prose retains scholarly precision while remaining accessible and elegant, allowing contemporary readers to engage with an important body of Urdu scholarship that may otherwise have remained confined to academic circles. Her translation also carries emotional resonance, extending a family legacy of preserving the memory of a much-maligned ancestor through intellectual rigour rather than sentimentality.

At nearly six hundred pages, the work is expansive and occasionally dense, yet its richness never feels excessive. Every chapter contributes to the larger project of historical correction. More importantly, the book invites readers to reconsider how colonial narratives continue to shape modern perceptions of Indian rulers and cultural figures.

Eventually, this is not simply a book about a dethroned nawab. It is a meditation on memory, power, art, and historical injustice. Dr Meerza succeeds brilliantly in restoring Wajid Ali Shah to his rightful place not merely as the tragic last ruler of Awadh, but as one of the great cultural visionaries of nineteenth-century India.

For anyone interested in Urdu literature, the history of Awadh, colonial politics, or the cultural life of India, this volume stands as an indispensable and deeply rewarding work of scholarship.

Bhaskar Parichha is a journalist and author of Cyclones in Odisha: Landfall, Wreckage and Resilience, Unbiased, No Strings Attached: Writings on Odisha and Biju Patnaik – A Political Biography. He lives in Bhubaneswar and writes bilingually. Besides writing for newspapers, he also reviews books on various media platforms.

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Contents

Borderless, March 2026

Art by Sohana Manzoor

Editorial

Is Sky the Limit?… Click here to read.

Feature

A brief introduction to Aruna Chakravarti’s Creeping Shadows: 13 Ghost Stories and an interview with the author. Click here to read.

Translations

Nazrul’s lyrics of Mor Priya Hobe Eso Rani (My Sweetheart, Be My Queen) has been translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.

Eight quatrains by the late Majeed Ajez have been translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch. Click here to read.

Four of his own Malay poems have been translated by Isa Kamari. Click here to read.

Open Marriage, a story by Lakhvinder Virk, has been translated from Punjabi by C Christine Fair. Click here to read.

Jatra ( Journey), a poem by Rabindranath Tagore has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty. Click here to read.

Poetry

Click on the names to read the poems

Jared Carter, Tim Tomlinson, Mohul Bhowmick, Nma Dhahir, Laila Brahmbhatt, George Freek, Lana Hechtman Ayers, Pramod Rastogi, John Grey, Snigdha Agrawal, Edward Reilly, Ron Pickett, Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, Snehaprava Das, SR Inciardi, Ryan Quinn Flanagan, Rhys Hughes

Poets, Poetry & Rhys Hughes

In Rhysop’s Fables, Rhys Hughes shares short absurdist narratives. Click here to read.

Musings/Slices from Life

Imprints from the Past

Farouk Gulsara muses on imprints left in time. Click here to read.

When Meassurement Fails

Tamara-Lee Brereton-Karabetsos muses on numbers. Click here to read.

How I Learned to Write from Films

Gower Bhat writes about the impact of the screen on his writerly journey. Click here to read.

Launching into the New Year

Meredith Stephens writes of a fire on the night of the New Year, a hot summer day in the Southern Hemisphere. Click here to read.

Visiting an Outpost of Lucknow: Moosa Bagh

Prithvijeet Sinha takes us to visit an eighteenth century garden and monument. Click here to read.

Musings of a Copywriter

In Missing the Tail, Devraj Singh Kalsi dreams with a dollop of humour on the benefits of humans having the extension. Click here to read.

Notes from Japan

In My Cambodian Taxi Driver, Suzanne Kamata writes of her experiences in Phnom Penh. Click here to read.

Essays

March Musings: Rethinking Histories

Meenakshi Malhotra writes of the diverse ways histories can be viewed, reflecting on the perspective from the point of view of water, climate, migrations or women. Click here to read.

Some Changes are Bigger than Others

Keith Lyons assess our times. Click here to read.

Somdatta Mandal on ‘Mother Mary Comes to Me’

Somdatta Mandal steps beyond the review to look into the marketing of Arundhati Roy’s memoir. Click here to read.

Mark Tully: A Citizen of the World

Mohul Bhowmick pays a tribute to a journalist who transcended borders. Click here to write.  

Bhaskar’s Corner

In Odisha after 1947, Bhaskar Parichha brings us up to date with developments in this region. Click here to read.

Stories

The Wedding

Sohana Manzoor explores the razzmatazz of a Bangladeshi wedding to find what really matters. Click here to read.

Two Black Dresses

Jonathon B Ferrini gives a narrative that has a beam of light in a universe filled with losses. Click here to read.

Flying Away

Terry Sanville writes of death, growing up and healing from loss. Click here to read.

Whispers of Frost

Gower Bhat tells us a story set in Kashmir. Click here to read.

Ameya’s Victory

Naramsetti Umamaheswararao tells us a story that could happen in any school. Click here to read.

Book Excerpts

An excerpt from Aruna Chakravarti’s Creeping Shadows: 13 Ghost Stories. Click here to read.

An excerpt from Kailash Satyarthi’s Karuna: The Power of Compassion. Click here to read.

Book Reviews

Mohammad Asim Siddiqui has reviewed Anisur Rahman’s The Essential Ghalib. Click here to read.

Rituparna Khan has reviewed Malashri Lal’s Signing in the Air. Click here to read.

Bhaskar Parichha has reviewed Deepta Roy Chakraverti’s Daktarin Jamini Sen: The Life of British India’s First Woman Doctor. Click here to read.

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Editorial

Is Sky the Limit?

Sometimes, we have an idea, a thought and then it takes form and becomes a reality. That is how the Borderless Journal came to be six years ago while the pandemic raged. The pandemic got over and takeovers and wars started. We continued to exist because all of you continue to pitch in, ignoring the differences created by certain human constructs. We meet with the commonality of felt emotions and aesthetics to create a space for all those who believe in looking beyond margins. We try to erase margins or borders that lead to hatred, anger, violence and war. Learning from the natural world, we believe we can be like the colours of the rainbow that seem to grow out of each other or the grass that is allowed to grow freely beyond manmade borders. If nature gives us lessons through its processes, is it not to our advantage to conserve what nurtures us, and in the process, we save our home planet, the Earth? We could all be together in peace, enjoying nature and nurture, living in harmony in the Universe if only we could overlook differences and revel in similarities.

A young poet Nma Dhahir says it all in her poem that is a part of our journal this month —

This is how we stay human together:
by refusing the easy damage, by carrying each other
without calling it sacrifice,
by believing that what we protect in one another
eventually protects the world.

--'How We Stay’ by Nma Dhahir

In our poetry section, we have Ron Pickett suggesting peace and love with his poem on three doves on a roof and Snigdha Agrawal hinting at a future Earth. We have heartfelt poetry weaving in the colours of life with Jared Carter, Tim Tomlinson, Mohul Bhowmick, Laila Brahmbhatt, George Freek, Lana Hechtman Ayers, Pramod Rastogi, John Grey, Edward Reilly, Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, Snehaprava Das, SR Inciardi and Ryan Quinn Flanagan while Rhys Hughes weaves in humour.

Translations has more poetry with Professor Fakrul Alam bringing us Nazrul’s Bengali lyrics in English and Fazal Baloch familiarising us with beautiful Balochi poetry of the late Majeed Ajez, a young poet who left us too soon. Isa Kamari translates his own poems from Malay, capturing the colours of the community in Singapore to blend it with a larger whole. And of course, we have a Tagore poem rendered into English from Bengali. This time it’s a poem called ‘Jatra (Journey)’ which reflects not only on social gaps but also on politics through aeons.

Christine C Fair has translated a story from Punjabi by Lakhvinder Virk, a story that reflects resilience in women who face the dark end of social trends, a theme that reverberates in Flanagan’s poetry and Meenakshi Malhotra’s essay, which while reflecting on the need of different perspectives in histories – like water and nomads — peeks into the need to recall women’s history aswell. This is important not just because March hosts the International Women’s Day (IWD) but because one wonders if women in Afghanistan are better off now than the suffragettes who initiated the idea of such a day more than a century ago?

This time our non-fiction froths over with scrumptious writings from across continents. Tamara-Lee Brereton-Karabetsos muses on looking at numbers and beyond to enjoy the essence of nature. Farouk Gulsara ideates about living on in posterity through deeds and ideas. Gower Bhat shares how he learns story writing skills from watching movies. Meredith Stephens talks of her experience of a fire in the Australian summer. Bhaskar Parichha writes with passion about his region, Odisha. We have a heartfelt tribute to Mark Tully, who transcended borders, from Bhowmick. And an essay on Arundhati Roy’s memoir, Mother Mary Comes to Me, from Somdatta Mandal, which explores not just the book but also the covers which change with continents. Prithvijeet Sinha travels beyond Lucknow and Suzanne Kamata brings to us stories about her trip to Phnom Penh.

Keith Lyons draws from the current crises and writes about changing times, suggesting: “Changes aren’t endings, but thresholds.” Perhaps, if we see them as ‘thresholds of change’, the current events are emphasising the need to accept that human constructs can be redefined. I am sure a Neolithic or an Australopithecus would have been equally scared of evolving out of their system to one we would deem ‘superior’. Life in certain ways can only evolve towards the future, even if currently certain changes seem to be retrogressive. We can never correctly predict the future… but can only imagine it. And Devraj Singh Kalsi imagines it with a dollop of humour where tails become a trend among humans again!

Humour and absurdity are woven into a series of short fables by Hughes while Naramsetti Umamaheswarao weaves a fable around acceptance of differences. In fiction, we have stories of resilience from Jonathon B Ferrini and Terry Sanville. Bhat gives us a story set in Kashmir and Sohana Manzoor gives us one set in Dhaka, a narrative that reminds one of Jane Austen… and perhaps even an abbreviated version of the 2001 film, Monsoon Wedding.

In reviews we have, Mohammad Asim Siddiqui discussing Anisur Rahman’s The Essential Ghalib. Rituparna Khan has written on Malashri Lal’s poetry collection reflecting on women, Signing in the Air. And Bhaskar Parichha has reviewed Deepta Roy Chakraverti’s Daktarin Jamini Sen: The Life of British India’s First Woman Doctor, a book that reflects on the resilience that makes great women. Thus, weaving in flavours of the IWD, which applauds women who are resilient while urging humans for equal rights for one half of the world population.

Book excerpts host Kailash Satyarthi’s Karuna: The Power of Compassion and Aruna Chakravarti’s Creeping Shadows: 13 Ghost Stories. We are also running a feature on the latter collection with Chakravarti telling us why she switched from historical fiction to ghost stories. The interesting thing is many of her ghouls are embedded in histories where they suffered violences, which leads us to the bigger question, can human suffering dehumanise us? Should it?

While we ponder on larger realities, Borderless Journal looks forward to a future with more writings centred around humanity, climate change, our planet and all creatures great and small. This year has not only seen a rise in readership and contributors — and the numbers rose further after our unsolicited Duotrope listing in October 2025 — but has also attracted writers from more challenged parts of the world, like Ukraine, Iran, Tunisia and Kurdistan. We are delighted to home writing from all those who attempt to transcend borders and be a part of the larger race of humanity. I would like to quote Margaret Atwood to explain what I mean. “I hope that people will finally come to realize that there is only one ‘race’—the human race—and that we are all members of it.” And I would like to extend her view to find solidarity with all living beings. I hope that there will be a point in time when we will realise there’s not much difference between, a lizard, a fly, a human or a tree… All these lifeforms are necessary for our existence.

I would want to hugely thank all our team for stretching out and making this a special issue for our sixth anniversary and Manzoor for her fabulous artwork. Huge thanks to all our contributors and readers for being with us through our journey. Let’s change the world with peace, love and friendship!

Looking forward to the future.

Mitali Chakravarty

borderlessjournal.com

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Slices from Life

Visiting an Outpost of Lucknow: Moosa Bagh

By Prithvijeet Sinha

Samridh had always dreamt of standing atop the mound of Moosa Bagh for the last four years. His good friend Kabir had so animatedly filled his head with its haunting, almost transcendent images that Sam was engrossed by its structure, its history and the sheer fact that it was located in the most “silent parts of the city’s outer realm”. This made the place seem unattainable but also something to hold close to memory.

Kabir filled Samridh with the essence of Lucknow’s quintessential wonders and took him to a few of these “outposts”, sturdy sentinels who had seen decay and ruin and could even possibly be forgotten by the city’s dazzling archive that only focused on the centre. Sam now wanted to visit Moosa Bagh at any cost. He even expressed the desire to explore it all alone. Something about a mostly ruined but still beautiful archeological anamoly was deeply attractive to him.

It was the first week of August. It was an inclement day. Kabir was accompanying Sam. As soon as they took the left turn from Hussainabad ahead of the Bara Imambara and Rumi Darwaza, the sea of classically constructed mansions as old as Time’s curves and twitches, shops spanning the panorama of generations, mosques, temples and commotion that could be intercepted from the flanks of the new flyover made him giddy. If this was a quiet expanse, it wouldn’t be the same. The mass of humanity was the bloodline of the old city and nobody could truly fall prey to anodyne loneliness within these streets and lanes, not one angle bereft of sound and sights. No other place could make him inhale the aroma of sheermaals, kababs and biryani from the sea of eateries. No foreword could prepare him for the colours and shapes of the vegetables being hauled and taken out of the Dubagga Sabzi Mandi[1]— not one crackle of feet and wheels on the road or the cacophony of voices seemed to bother him. He was looking at it all for the first time, taking in the splendour of an area he had never set foot in before. Most impressive was the electrical tower which was almost shaped like an ubiquitous monument in Paris.

But soon the commotion cleared and the roads became more accommodative. They breathed in fragrance of the fresh air. The disappearing outline of buildings suggested that Moosa Bagh was near. Sam saw the open land in front of him as the car slowly made its way towards the mound. There was no human presence here except a young man on a bicycle. The land was mostly barren but little growths of plants and grass were still everywhere. It was the monsoon that kept its promise of verdure. Sam took a deep breath because as soon as he shifted his gaze to his left, he saw a dark red, earthy brown texture. Moosa Bagh was a beauty, a theatre of visuals that truly unveiled itself under the hazy sky so that the black stilts on its remaining mossy walls with overgrowth narrated its own saga, not of pain or destruction but something enduring, like Dali’s melting clocks or the moors in Wuthering Heights, or the solitary hills in Anita Desai’s Fire on the Mountain.

Sam gasped, beholding its outer ramparts that had holes like eyes; they could look into a visitor’s soul and read the signs of storm that had been delayed. It was just Samridh and Kabir looking over an ancient well in the compound, feeling the strength in the bricks that had seen glorious times when this was a haven. A spiritual poem seemed to grow out of the structure.

This was exactly how Kabir had come to accept it as the unheralded silent sentinel that perhaps allowed true believers to visit the place, finding in the process that it was not a ghost of the past or an architectural aberration. It was once a palace disseminating pleasure and leisurely journeys. On that day, two men deeply in love with Lucknow touched the tangle of leaves and the heft of twains, their appearance like an elderly person’s head full of grey river currents.

Kabir nodded. Samridh looked at the field of freedom that surrounded this mound, a place up there under inclement skies and reaching the upper realms of open reality with the shapes and contours of an unusual reprieve.

We discard secrets at the end of the line. We keep grinding on whetstones of popular appeal. But there are places and the feelings they evoke that don’t surrender to overestimated beauty or courting excitable crowds. In our world, a city can be oblivious to one sight and can still have the maganimity to send two introverts to its most treasured corners so that they salvage the essence of its history anew. Moosa Bagh is a beneficiary of these second chances. It is a place of charm and exquisite freedom to sensitive young men like Kabir and Samridh. Visits at the end of every month here have solidified their friendship into something greater than the sum of their parts.

At nights, Sam comes to his senses and initiates the same wondrous raptures that came to him on a gusty August afternoon. He is thankful for a storyteller like Lucknow. He feels it in his bones how Moosa Bagh is a symbol of the depths that he had never charted within his little lifetime, so far finding places close to his feet and repeating the same cycle of familiarity. But now going to an outer realm is no longer about being a traveller out of breath or time. He still dreams of Moosa Bagh almost every night, asleep on its mound, kissed by the moon and keeping its eyes in its walls open, telepathically conveying its deepest mysteries to him. Moosa Bagh is a sentinel taking him towards the perpetual road to his beloved city’s inner soul.

Then…
Now…
Moosa or Musa Bagh is an eighteenth century garden and monument also known as Monsieur Bagh. From Public Domain

*Note: Sam and Kabir are persona taken on by the author and his friend.

[1] Vegetable market

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Prithvijeet Sinha  is an MPhil from the University of Lucknow, having launched his prolific writing career by self-publishing on the worldwide community Wattpad since 2015 and on his WordPress blog An Awadh Boy’s Panorama. Besides that, his works have been published in several journals and anthologies. 

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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
Contents

Borderless, January 2026

Art by Sohana Manzoor

Editorial

Sense and Nonsense: Atonal, Imperfect, Incomplete… Click here to read.

Translations

Akashe Aaj Choriye Delam Priyo(I sprinkle in the sky) by Nazrul has been translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.

Four of his own Malay poems have been translated by Isa Kamari. Click here to read.

Six Fragments by Sayad Hashumi have been translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch. Click here to read.

Five poems by Pravasini Mahakuda have been translated to English from Odia by Snehaprava Das. Click here to read.

A Poet in Exile by Dmitry Blizniuk has been translated from Ukranian by Sergey Gerasimov. Click here to read.

Kalponik or Imagined by Tagore has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty. Click here to read.

Pandies Corner

Songs of Freedom: The Seven Mysteries of Sumona’s Life is an autobiographical narrative by Sumona (pseudonym), translated from Hindustani by Grace M Sukanya. These stories highlight the ongoing struggle against debilitating rigid boundaries drawn by societal norms, with the support from organisations like Shaktishalini and Pandies. Click here to read.

Poetry

Click on the names to read the poems

Ryan Quinn Flanagan, Ron Pickett, Snehaprava Das, Stephen Druce, Phil Wood, Akintoye Akinsola, Michael Lauchlan, Pritika Rao, SR Inciardi, Rich Murphy, Jim Murdoch, Pramod Rastogi, Joy Anne O’Donnell, Andrew Leggett, Ananya Sarkar, Annette Gagliardi, Rhys Hughes

Poets, Poetry & Rhys Hughes

In What is a Prose Poem?, Rhys Hughes tells us what he understands about the genre and shares four of his. Click here to read.

Musings/Slices from Life

Duties For Those Left Behind

Keith Lyons muses on a missing friend in Bali. Click here to read.

That Time of Year

Rick Bailey muses about the passage of years. Click here to read.

All So Messi!

Farouk Gulsara takes a look at events in India and Malaysia and muses. Click here to read.

How Twins Revive Spiritual Heritage Throbbing Syncretism

Prithvijeet Sinha takes us to the Lucknow of 1800s. Click here to read.

Recycling New Jersey

Karen Beatty gives a glimpse of her life. Click here to read.

Musings of a Copywriter

In ‘All Creatures Great and Small’, Devraj Singh Kalsi writes of animal interactions. Click here to read.

Notes from Japan

In The Cat Stationmaster of Kishi, Suzanne Kamata visits a small town where cats are cherished. Click here to read.

Essays

The Untold Stories of a Wooden Suitcase

Larry S. Su recounts his past in China and weaves a narrative of resilience. Click here to read.

A Place to Remember

Randriamamonjisoa Sylvie Valencia dwells on her favourite haunt. Click here to read.

Christmas that Almost Disappeared

Farouk Gulsara writes of Charles Dickens’ hand in reviving the Christmas spirit. Click here to read.

The Last of the Barbers: How the Saloon Became the Salon (and Where the Gossip Went)

Charudutta Panigrahi writes an essay steeped in nostalgia and yet weaving in the present. Click here to read.

Aeons of Art

In Art is Alive, Ratnottama Sengupta introduces the antiquity of Indian art. Click here to read.

Stories

Old Harry’s Game

Ross Salvage tells a poignant story about friendship with an old tramp. Click here to read.

Mrs. Thompson’s Package

Mary Ellen Campagna explores the macabre in a short fiction. Click here to read.

Hold on to What You Let Go

Rajendra Kumar Roul relates a story of compassion and expectations. Click here to read.

Used Steinways

Jonathan B. Ferrini shares a story about pianos and people set in Los Angeles. Click here to read.

The Rose’s Wish

Naramsetti Umamaheswararao relates a fable involving flowers and bees. Click here to read.

Discussion

A brief discusion of Whereabouts of the Anonymous: Exploration of the Invisible by Rajorshi Patranabis with an exclusive interview with the author on his supernatural leanings. Click here to read.

Book Excerpts

An excerpt from Showkat Ali’s The Struggle: A Novel, translated from Bengali by V. Ramaswamy and Mohiuddin Jahangir. Click here to read.

An excerpt from Anuradha Marwah’s The Higher Education of Geetika Mehendiratta. Click here to read.

Book Reviews

Somdatta Mandal reviews Showkat Ali’s The Struggle: A Novel, translated from Bengali by V. Ramaswamy and Mohiuddin Jahangir. Click here to read.

Meenakshi Malhotra reviews Anuradha Marwah’s The Higher Education of Geetika Mehendiratta. Click here to read.

Udita Banerjee reviews The Lost Pendant, translated (from Bengali) Partition poetry edited by Angshuman Kar. Click here to read.

Bhaskar Parichha reviews Rakesh Dwivedi’s Colonization Crusade and Freedom of India: A Saga of Monstrous British Barbarianism around the Globe. 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

Sense and Nonsense: Atonal, Imperfect, Incomplete

Incomplete statues of Michelangelo in Accademia Gallery, Florence

In the Accademia Gallery, Florence, are housed incomplete statues by Michelangelo that were supposed to accompany his sculpture of Moses on the grand tomb of Pope Julius II. The sculptures despite being unfinished, incomplete and therefore imperfect, evoke a sense of power. They seem to be wresting forcefully with the uncarved marble to free their own forms — much like humanity struggling to lead their own lives. Life now is comparable to atonal notes of modern compositions that refuse to fall in line with more formal, conventional melodies. The new year continues with residues of unending wars, violence, hate and chaos. Yet amidst all this darkness, we still live, laugh and enjoy small successes. The smaller things in our imperfect existence bring us hope, the necessary ingredient that helps us survive under all circumstances.

Imperfections, like Michelangelo’s Non-finito statues in Florence, or modern atonal notes, go on to create vibrant, relatable art. There is also a belief that when suffering is greatest, arts flourish. Beauty and hope are born of pain. Will great art or literature rise out of the chaos we are living in now?  One wonders if ancient art too was born of humanity’s struggle to survive in a comparatively younger world where they did not understand natural forces and whose history we try to piece together with objects from posterity. Starting on a journey of bringing ancient art from her part of the world, Ratnottama Sengupta shares a new column with us from this January.

Drenched in struggles of the past is also Showkat Ali’s The Struggle: A Novel, translated from Bengali by V. Ramaswamy and Mohiuddin Jahangir. It has been reviewed by Somdatta Mandal who sees it a socio-economic presentation of the times. We also carry an excerpt from the book as we do for Anuradha Marwah’s The Higher Education of Geetika Mehendiratta. Marwha’s novel has been reviewed by Meenakshi Malhotra who sees it as a bildungsroman and a daring book. Bhaskar Parichha has brought to us a discussion on colonial history about Rakesh Dwivedi’s Colonization Crusade and Freedom of India: A Saga of Monstrous British Barbarianism around the Globe. Udita Banerjee has also delved into history with her exploration of Angshuman Kar’s The Lost Pendant, a collection of poems written by poets who lived through the horrors of Partition and translated from Bengali by multiple poets. One of the translators, Rajorshi Patranabis, has also discussed his own book of supernatural encounters, Whereabouts of the Anonymous: Exploration of the Invisible. A Wiccan by choice, Patranbis claims to have met with residual energies or what we in common parlance call ghosts and spoken to many of them. He not only clicked these ethereal beings — and has kindly shared his photos in this feature — but also has written a whole book about his encounters, including with the malevolent spirits of India’s most haunted monument, the Bhangarh Fort.

Bringing us an essay on a book that had spooky encounters is Farouk Gulsara, showing how Dickens’ A Christmas Carol revived a festival that might have got written off. We have a narrative revoking the past from Larry Su, who writes of his childhood in the China of the 1970s and beyond. He dwells on resilience — one of the themes we love in Borderless Journal. Karen Beatty also invokes ghosts from her past while sharing her memoir. Rick Bailey brings in a feeling of mortality in his musing while Keith Lyons, writes in quest of his friend who mysteriously went missing in Bali. Let’s hope he finds out more about him.

Charudutta Panigrahi writes a lighthearted piece on barbers of yore, some of whom can still be found plying their trade under trees in India. Randriamamonjisoa Sylvie Valencia dwells on her favourite place which continues to rejuvenate and excite while Prithvijeet Sinha writes about haunts he is passionate about, the ancient monuments of Lucknow. Gulsara has woven contemporary lores into his satirical piece, involving Messi, the footballer. Bringing compassionate humour with his animal interactions is Devraj Singh Kalsi, who is visited daily by not just a bovine visitor, but cats, monkeys, birds and more — and he feeds them all. Suzanne Kamata takes us to Kishi, brought to us by both her narrative and pictures, including one of a feline stationmaster!

Rhys Hughes has discussed prose poems and shared a few of his own along with three separate tongue-in-cheek verses on meteorological romances. In poetry, we have a vibrant selection from across the globe with poems by Ryan Quinn Flanagan, Ron Pickett, Snehaprava Das, Stephen Druce, Phil Wood, Akintoye Akinsola, Michael Lauchlan, Pritika Rao, SR Inciardi, Jim Murdoch, Pramod Rastogi, Joy Anne O’Donnell, Andrew Leggett, Ananya Sarkar and Annette Gagliardi. Rich Murphy has poignant poems about refugees while Dmitry Bliznik of Ukraine, has written a first-hand account of how he fared in his war-torn world in his poignant poem, ‘A Poet in Exile’, translated from Ukranian by Sergey Gerasimov —

We've run away from the simmering house
like milk that is boiling over. Now I'm single again.
The sun hangs behind a ruffled up shed,
like a bloody yolk on a cold frying pan
until the nightfall dumps it in the garbage…

('A Poet in Exile', by Dmitry Blizniuk, translated from Ukranian by Sergey Gerasimov)

In translations, we have Professor Fakrul Alam’s rendition of Nazrul’s mellifluous lyrics from Bengali. Isa Kamari has shared four more of his Malay poems in English bringing us flavours of his culture. Snehaparava Das has similarly given us flavours of Odisha with her translation of Pravasini Mahakuda’s Odia poetry. A taste of Balochistan comes to us from Fazal Baloch’s rendition of Sayad Hashumi’s Balochi quatrains in English. Tagore’s poem ‘Kalponik’ (Imagined) has been rendered in English. This was a poem that was set to music by his niece, Sarala Devi.

After a long hiatus, we are delighted to finally revive Pandies Corner with a story by Sumona translated from Hindustani by Grace M Sukanya. Her story highlights the ongoing struggle against debilitating rigid boundaries drawn by societal norms. Sumana has assumed a pen name as her story is true and could be a security risk for her. She is eager to narrate her story — do pause by and take a look.

In fiction, we have a poignant narrative about befriending a tramp by Ross Salvage, and macabre and dark one by Mary Ellen Campagna, written with a light touch. It almost makes one think of Eugene Ionesco. Jonathan B. Ferrini shares a heartfelt story about used Steinway pianos and growing up in Latino Los Angeles. Rajendra Kumar Roul weaves a narrative around compassion and expectations. Naramsetti Umamaheswararao gives a beautiful fable around roses and bees.

With that, we come to the end of a bumper issue with more than fifty peices. Huge thanks to all our fabulous contributors, some of whom have not just written but shared photographs to illustrate the content. Do pause by our contents page and take a look. My heartfelt thanks to our fabulous team for their output and support, especially Sohana Manzoor who does our cover art. And most of all huge thanks to readers whose numbers keep growing, making it worth our while to offer our fare. Thank you all.

Here’s wishing all of you better prospects for the newborn year and may we move towards peace and sanity in a world that seems to have gone amuck!

Happy Reading!

Mitali Chakravarty

borderlessjournal.com

CLICK HERE TO ACCESS THE CONTENTS FOR THE JANUARY 2026 ISSUE.

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Categories
Musings

How Twins Revive Spiritual Heritage Throbbing Syncretism

Narrative and photographe by Prithvijeet Sinha

Lucknow bears the identity of an old soul always beholding glory and cultural heydays that have not altogether faded. The afterglow of its architecture, spiritual antecedents rarely misses the mark. After being pulverized by the lost revolution of the First War of Independence (1857), it transmuted its fearless legend to the present day, it’s hard not to think about the city’s twin children who breathe new life to it.

Shah Najaf Imambara
Sibtainabad Imambara

Shah Najaf Imambara and Sibtainabad Imambara are nestled just ten minutes away from each other within the historic and unmistakable centre of Lucknow- Hazratganj. But they cannot be summarised in pithy words. For if serenity draws us closer to our own tranquil and fuller selves, they play a huge part in orienting us towards a spiritual life that’s almost impressionistic.

Built under the aegis of Nawab Ghazi-ud-Din Haider in 1818, Shah Najaf Imambara derives its name from Shah-e-Najaf (King of Najaf), leaning towards its Shia origins and a place of spiritual importance in erstwhile Iran. Once again, these imambaras/ mausoleums were made in such formative fashion that the distinction between a royal estate and a resting place for architects of the region almost blurred. Today, it’s taken as the burial place of Nawab Ghazi-ud-Din Haider and some other pivotal family members. But on every occasion where the spirit meets holy chants and inner emotions especially during Muharram, Shah Najaf Imambara celebrates human valour to let the timeless strains stir those that need history to guide the present.

Two doorways usher us towards the main structure. The first has two lions almost standing as eternal sentinels while the second one has arched designs, windows in striking sky blue and turrets to welcome us. Then, past a garden and symbols of umbrellas and pillars on both sides, we enter the domed structure with a golden spire. The initial architectural framework has a miniature castle-like arrangement and pillars. Then the unique indoors open to wide verandahs, huge walls resembling those of a palace while stained glass windows and floral patterns catch our eyes.

We walk around and behold the sunshine. Pigeons make their passage like unobtrusive guides. It’s once we enter the main hall of the Imambara that its richness finds heft and visual import. Intricate doorways in black open the way to the sanctum where colours shimmer and add lustre to portraits of erstwhile kings.

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Here tazias (handmade religious symbols), chandeliers, gilded mirrors and clocks, tapestries, lanterns, Quranic verses engraved on walls and pillars evince an aura of holding everything in a single space. Yet they never overwhelm the assortment. From the high roof with circular vents, light floods this space as green and gold filigrees shimmer admiration for the craft. Gold, green, black, white are the prominent colours expediting a unique spiritual leadership. We come here to capture serenity in our pulses, quieting our anxious throb. Shah Najaf Imambara commences that sojourn in true humbling fashion. It’s said that the thick walls around the central mosque withstood the heavy gun fires of the Rebellion of 1857. Looking at this centre of secularism today, it’s obvious there’s some extraordinary strength that still radiates power and integrity.

Then walking towards the further center of Hazratganj which is bustling and still lively with the rhythms of an active day, we reach the other spiritual cousin which is the Sibtainabad Imambara. Here too, dual gateways, one that begins amid the main market area and the other that leads us further to the main structure, are attractions in their own individual right. Then commanding a centre surrounded by a few residences styled in an exquisite classical style is a white mosque, Sibtainabad Imambara, raised on an eight-foot platform navigated by steps. Its historical continuum is still intact and that is why it’s so fascinating.

It was Amjad Ali Shah(1801-1847), the fourth King of Awadh, who greenlit its construction as a place of majlis (mourning) in memory of Imam Hussain’s martyrdom in the Battle of Karbala. It was his son, the great Wajid Ali Shah, who completed the structure with his army of architects and other creative hands. Today, Sibtainabad Imambara houses Amjad Ali Shah’s tomb and bears the history of being under the eye of the storm during 1857. But since History and Time always have a unique way of restoring Lucknow’s architectural marvels, it has withstood the test of time despite changing administrative jurisdictions and the gradual passage of eras.

Its outer surface is one of arches, parapets, eaves, dome and stucco which makes it conjoin its formation with Shah Najaf Imambara. The interiors are adorned with beautiful green paint of the most impressive hue. The main hall enthralls with images of horses bearing coat of arms, floral designs, anthropomorphic beings, swords, angels harking to past riches and fish symbols central to the city.  Stained glass windows, huge mirrors on the walls and chandeliers complete a mosaic of colours that take the caravan of spiritual fulfillment further ahead, all the way from Shah Najaf Imambara.

Tazias deck the main hall while a throne shrouded in black and zig-zagging floor designs create a most exquisite picture.

While many people, men and women say their prayers here in both these places of spirituality, religious exclusivity never even becomes a point of consideration. You can be anyone, belonging to any faith or religious background which are after all man-made labels. Both the Shahnajaf and Sibtainabad Imambaras let us become one with the light emanating from their natural structures and the tranquil air that counters the world of noise and everyday activity. We are encased or should we say delivered from the coves of our daily occupations to their cores of transformation simply by choosing to go there.

Spirituality and faith beckon private, internalised journeys. Both the Shahnajaf Imambara and Sibtainabad Imambara attest to those journeys, occupying the heart of Lucknow to let its bloodstream flow with due diligence, with an eye towards true serenity.

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Prithvijeet Sinha  is an MPhil from the University of Lucknow, having launched his prolific writing career by self-publishing on the worldwide community Wattpad since 2015 and on his WordPress blog An Awadh Boy’s Panorama. Besides that, his works have been published in several journals and anthologies. 

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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