Tag: Lucknow

Categories
Editorial

Celebrating Borderless… Five Years and Counting…

Emerging by Sybil Pretious

Drops of water gather to make a wave. The waves make oceans that reshape land masses over time…

Five years ago, on March 14th, in the middle of the pandemic, five or six of us got together to start an online forum called Borderless Journal. The idea was to have a space that revelled with the commonality of felt emotions. Borderless was an attempt to override divisive human constructs and bring together writers and ideators from all over the Earth to have a forum open to all people — a forum which would be inclusive, tolerant, would see every individual as a part of the fauna of this beautiful planet. We would be up in the clouds — afloat in an unbordered stratosphere— to meet and greet with thoughts that are common to all humans, to dream of a world we can have if we choose to explore our home planet with imagination, kindness and love. It has grown to encompass contributors from more than forty countries, and readers from all over the world — people who have the same need to reach out to others with felt emotions and common concerns.

Borderless not only celebrates the human spirit but also hopes to create over time a vibrant section with writings on the environment and climate change. We launch the new section today on our fifth anniversary.

Adding to the wealth of our newly minted climate and environment section are poems by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal on the LA fires, Green by Mark Wyatt and Ecopoetry by Adriana Rocha in our March issue. We also have poetry on life in multiple hues from Kiriti Sengupta, Ryan Quinn Flanagan, Snehaprava Das, Stuart McFarlane, Arshi Mortuza, George Freek, Ahmad Al-Khatat, Jyotish Chalil Gopinathan, Michael Burch, Bibhuti Narayan Biswal, Owais Farooq and Rakhi Dalal. Tongue-in-cheek humour in poetry is Rhys Hughes forte and he brings us just that in his sign poem.

 Devraj Singh Kalsi with a soupçon of ironic amusement muses on humans’ attitude to the fauna around him and Farouk Gulsara lays on a coating of sarcasm while addressing societal norms. Meredith Stephens brings us concerns for a green Earth when she beachcombs in a remote Australian island. Prithvijeet Sinha continues to familiarise us with his city, Lucknow. Suzanne Kamata, on the other hand travels to Rwanda to teach youngsters how to write a haiku!

Professor Fakrul Alam takes us to libraries in Dhaka with the hope that more will start writing about the waning of such paradises for book lovers. Other than being the month that hosts World Environment Day, March also homes, International Women’s Day. Commemorating the occasion, we have essays from Meenakshi Malhotra on the past poetry of women and from Ratnottama Sengupta on women in Bengali Cinema. Sengupta has also interviewed Poulami Bose Chatterjee, the daughter of the iconic actor Soumitra Chatterjee to share with us less-known vignettes from the actor’s life. Keith Lyons has interviewed Malaysian writer-editor Daphne Lee to bring to us writerly advice and local lores on ghosts and hauntings. 

Our fiction truly take us around the world with Paul Mirabile giving us a story set Scotland and Naramsetti Umamaheswararao giving us a fable set in a Southern Indian forest. Swati Basu Das takes us on an adventure with Peruvian food while sitting by the Arabian Sea. Munaj Gul gives a heart-rending flash fiction from Balochistan. And Zoé Mahfouz shares a humorous vignette of Parisian life, reflecting the commonality of felt emotions.

Celebrating the wonders of the nature, is a book excerpt from Frank S Smyth’s The Great Himalayan Ascents. While the other excerpt is from Hughes’ latest novel, The Devil’s Halo, described as: ‘A light comedy, a picaresque journey – like a warped subterranean Pilgrim’s Progress.’ We have reviews that celebrate the vibrancy of humanity. Bhaskar Parichha writes of Sandeep Khanna’s Tempest on River Silent: A Story of Last 50 Years of India, a novel that spans the diversity that was India. Malashri Lal reviews Rachna Singh’s Raghu Rai: Waiting for the Divine, a non-fiction on the life and works of the famous photographer. Somdatta Mandal discusses two book by Tsering Namgyal Khortsa reflecting the plight of Tibetan refugees, a non-fiction, Little Lhasa: Reflections in Exiled Tibet and a fiction, Tibetan Suitcase.

One of features that we love in Borderless is that language draws no barriers — that is why we have translations by Professor Alam of Jibananada’s short poems on the impact of war on the common masses. We have a small vignette of Korea from Ihlwha Choi’s self-translated poem. And we have a translation of Tagore’s verses invoking the healing power of spring… something that we much need.

We also have a translation by Lourdes M Supriya from Hindustani of a student’s heartrending cry to heal from grief for a teacher who faced an untimely end — a small dirge from Tanvir, a youngster with his roots in Nithari violence who transcended his trauma to teach like his idol and tutor, the late Sanjay Kumar. With this, we hope to continue with the pandies corner, with support from Lourdes and Anuradha Marwah, Kumar’s partner.

Borderless has grown in readership by leaps and bounds. There have been requests for books with writings from our site. On our fifth anniversary, we plan to start bringing out the creative writing housed in Borderless Journal in different volumes. We had brought out an anthology in 2022. It was well received with many reviews. But we have many gems, and each writer is valued here. Therefore, Rhys Hughes, one of our editorial board members, has kindly consented to create a new imprint to bring out books from the Borderless Journal. We are very grateful to him.

We are grateful to the whole team, our contributors and readers for being with us through our journey. We would not have made it this far without each one of you. Special thanks to Sohana Manzoor for her artwork too, something that has almost become synonymous with the cover page of our journal.  Thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

Wish you all happy reading! Do pause by our content’s page and take a look at all the wonderful writers.

Best wishes,

Mitali Chakravarty

borderlessjournal.com

Click here to access the contents page for the March 2025 issue

Happy Birthday Borderless… Click here to read.

Vignettes from a Borderless World… Click here to read a special fifth anniversary issue.
Categories
Musings

Quiet Flows the Gomti: A Monument of Tranquility 

By Prithvijeet Sinha

Chota Imambara. from Public Domain

A land known and globally recognised for its mannerisms, poetry and an old-world graciousness that never seem to be at odds with the churning that defines our supercilious modern lives, Lucknow is exuberant and mildly attuned to the speed of hurtling motions. Amidst its chaotic hustle of life, the Chota Imambara is like a syncretic island of serenity in the tumult that thrives around it.

Built by Mohammad Ali Shah[1] around 1838 as a religious congregation site, it is both a mausoleum and a monument. This spirited inter-dependence often springs forth from Lucknow’s erstwhile Nawabi realm as in the Chota Imambara. But above all, it offers a tranquility that verges on the sublime, in no small part because of its architecture. A mere five minute walk from the inimitable Bara Imambara, it is adorned with Quranic verses in impeccable calligraphy on its outer walls. Sunlight beams through its surface against the silvery backdrop like a revelation to the senses; the eyes trained to its humble beauty are no less transfixed by it than the other sites on its way, the historic expanse of the Hussainabad corridor converging in this final corner. The historic Hussainabad corridor is the crown of Lucknow as it’s suffused with natural beauty that is visible and transcendent. The cobble stone roads, erstwhile havelis (mansions), gateways, a picture gallery, the iconic Clock tower and bridges with characteristic craftsmanship, Teele Wali Masjid (the iconic mosque on a hill) and ancient temples invite instant awe, a continuum for those who dwell within the city to avidly become guides for the uninitiated.

Rumi Gate; Photo Courtesy: Prithvijeet Sinha
Hussainabad Corridor: From Public Domain

When you look at this mausoleum in the afternoon shaded by the sun, the turrets and intricate design of its gateway welcome you first as if receiving a weary traveller, offering him reprieve from the heat and the crowds that have preceded his journey to the Bara Imambara and Rumi Gate, the legendary doorway that is a sight for sore eyes. There’s a beauty to the colour of the Chota Imambara’s gateway, the golden anemometer(a geographical instrument used to indicate the wind’s direction) in the shape of the fish and an Anglicised statue in the middle of this compound that’s startling and comforting. Then there are the pond and the fountains further ahead. Something about the water, especially shimmering during hot summer days, already prepares one for the holy glint there is in the entire structure or in the Taj Mahal styled miniatures on both sides, one of which bears Muhammad Ali Shah’s beloved daughter Asiya Begum’s tomb. The symmetry of the place hence doesn’t overwhelm but is subdued in subtle colours and muted moods of light and shadows.

*

It’s the inner part of the Imambara that is a burst of red, green, yellow, blue and white, their variations dazzling and sensuous on account of the distinctive placement of Belgian chandeliers and tazias (religious processional items of great significance especially during Muharram). Both attest to a paradox- of luxury and faith coalescing. Both come draped in these bold colour schemes that delight the onlooker who soon beholds them. There’s also a throne and mirrors in this hall — indicating a rich past and illusions of grandeur that have now become mists, the air filled with memories yet redolent of individual stakes.

*

In essence, the Chhota Imambara maintains its privacy at the further end of Lucknow and when looking at its almost moon-like silver glow, the promise of Sham-e- Awadh ( fabled evenings of the city) gets more romanticised. These evenings where food, cultural activities, long walks and conversations with animated strangers and friends alike take centre stage  diffuse its historic community where boundaries of faith and personal beliefs blur into a beautiful embroidered fabric.

 The Chhota Imambara’s peculiarity is that despite so many elements to its structure including a hamam (bath) in the outer realm, there’s a simplicity to it all. Nothing screams out for attention. Each aspect invites individual perspectives shorn of tacky symbolism or a mishmash of styles. Every colour, every inch ultimately soothes.

It’s all about the aesthetics of grace and charm which is particularly unique to Lucknow. At the end of the day, there’s no humungous historical backstory behind Chhota Imambara or a grave precedent to its place in the Awadhi pantheon, Awadhi relating to both the region within which Lucknow stands and which it shapes ceaselessly into joyful forms. But it has always been here, rescuing itself from elusive murmurs and forgetfulness daily. Yet never adhering to overexposure. That is its greatest gift to the city and its loyal custodians.

Every visitor is a beholder here and his spirit becomes as free and unburdened like the pigeons finding home in this structure’s spires and dome, a picture of harmony.

[1] Nasser-ud-daula Mu’in ad-Din Muhammad Ali Shah(1774 –1842), was the ruler of Awadh, the former name of Lucknow.

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. 

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
Editorial

The Kanchenjunga Turns Gold…

The Kanchenjunga turns gold

Ghoom, Darjeeling, is almost 2.5 km above sea level. Standing in the rarified air of Ghoom, you can watch the Kanchenjunga turn gold as it gets drenched in the rays of the rising sun. The phenomenon lasts for a short duration. The white pristine peak again returns to its original colour blending and disappearing among the white cirrus clouds that flit in the sky. Over time, it’s shrouded by mists that hang over this region. The event is transitory and repeats itself on every clear morning like life that flits in and out of existence over and over again…

Witnessing this phenomenon feels like a privilege of a lifetime as is meeting people who shine brightly and unusually, like the Kanchenjunga, to disappear into mists all too early. One such person was the founder of pandies’ 1 who coordinated the pandies’ corner for Borderless Journal, the late Sanjay Kumar (1961-2025). The idea of starting this column was to bring out the unheard voices of those who had risen above victimhood to find new lives through the work done by pandies’. In his book, Performing, Teaching and Writing Theatre: Exploring Play, published by Cambridge Scholars Publishing, he described his scope of work which in itself was stunning. His work ranged from teaching to using theatre and play to heal railway platform kids, youngsters in Kashmir, the Nithari survivors and more — all youngsters who transcended the scars seared on them by violations and violence. We hope to continue the column in coordination with pandies’.

Another very renowned person whose art encompassed a large number of social concerns and is now lost to time was the artist, MF Husain (1915-2011). This issue of Borderless is privileged to carry an artwork by him that has till now not been open to the public for viewing. It was a gift from him to the gallerist, Dolly Narang, on her birthday. She has written nostlgically of her encounters with the maestro who walked bare-feet and loved rusticity. She has generously shared a photograph of the sketch (1990) signed ‘McBull’ — a humorous play on his first name, Maqbool, by the artist.

Drenched with nostalgia is also Professor Fakrul Alam’s essay, dwelling on more serious issues while describing with a lightness his own childhood experiences. Many of the nonfiction in this issue have a sense of nostalgia. Mohul Bhowmick recalls his travels to Bhutan. And Prithvijeet Sinha introduces as to a grand monument of Lucknow, Bara Imambara. Lokenath Roy takes us for a stroll to Juhu, dwelling on the less affluent side. Suzanne Kamata describes her source of inspiration for a few stories in her new book, River of Dolls and Other Stories. A darker hue is brought in by Aparna Vats as she discusses female infanticide. But a light sprays across the pages as Devraj Singh Kalsi describes how his feisty grandmother tackled armed robbers in her home. And an ironic tone rings out in the rather whimsical musing by Farouk Gulsara on New Year days and calendars.

With a touch of whimsy, Ratnottama Sengupta has also written of the art that is often seen in calendars and diaries as well as a musing on birthdays, her own and that of a friend, Joy Bimal Roy. They have also conversed on his new book, Ramblings of a Bandra Boy, whose excerpt is also lodged in our pages, recalling their days in the glitzy world of Bollywood as children of notable film director, Bimal Roy (1909-1966), and award-winning writer, Nabendu Ghosh (1917-2007).

We feature the more serious theme of climate change in our other interview with Bhaskar Parichha, who has written a book called Cyclones in Asia: Landfall, Wreckage and Resilience. He has spoken extensively on resilience and how the incidence of such storms are on the rise. We carry an excerpt from his non-fiction too. His book bears the imprint of his own experience of helping during such storms and extensive research.

Climate change has been echoed in poetry by Gazala Khan and the metaphor of thrashing stormy climate can be found in Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal’s poetry. Touching lines on working men spread across the globe with poems from Michael Burch, Shamik Banerjee, Stuart McFarlane and Ashok Suri while Ryan Quinn Flanagan has written of accepting change as Nazrul had done more than eighty years ago:

Everyone was at each other's throats,
insistent that the world was ending.
But I felt differently, as though I were just beginning,
or just beginning again…

--Changes by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Poets, like visionaries across time and cultures, often see hope where others see despair. And humour always has that hum of hope. In a lighter tone, Rhys Hughes makes one laugh or just wonder as he writes:

I once knew a waiter
who jumped in alarm
when I somersaulted across
his restaurant floor
after entering the front door
on my way to my favourite
table: he wasn’t able
to control his nerves
and the meal he was bearing
ended up on the ceiling
with people staring
as it started to drip down.

--No Hard Feelings by Rhys Hughes

We have many more colours of poetry from John Drudge, Cal Freeman, Phil Wood, Thompson Emate, George Freek, Srijani Dutta, Akbar Fida Onoto, and others.

Translations feature poetry. Lyrics of Nazrul (1899-1976) and Tagore (1861-1941) appear together in Professor Alam’s translations of their love songs from Bengali. He has also transcreated a Bengali poem by Jibananada Das (1899-1854). Profoundly philosophical lines by Atta Shad (1939-1997) in Balochi has been rendered to English by Fazal Baloch for his birth anniversary this month. Ihlwah Choi has translated his poem from Korean, taking up the poignant theme of transience of life. A Tagore poem called ‘Kheya (Ferry)’, inspired by his rustic and beautiful surroundings, has been brought to us in English.

Our fiction this month features human bonding from across oceans by Paul Mirabile, Naramsetti Umamaheswararao and Snigdha Agrawal. This theme of love and bonding is taken up in a more complex way by our reviews’ section with Meenakshi Malhotra writing of Syed Mujtaba Ali’s novel, Shabnam, translated from Bengali by Nazes Afroz. Bhaskar Parichha has explored the past by bringing to focus Abhay K’s Nalanda: How it Changed the World. Somdatta Mandal’s review of Amitav Ghosh’s latest Wild Fiction: Essays touches upon various issues including climate change.

Huge thanks to all our contributors, the Borderless team for all these fabulous pieces. Thanks to Gulsara, Kamata, Bhowmick and Sinha for the fabulous photography by them to accompany their writings. Heartfelt gratitude to Sohana Manzoor for her cover art and to Dutta for her artwork accompanying her poem. Without all your efforts, this issue would have been incomplete. And now, dear readers, thank you for being with us through this journey. I turn the issue over to all of you… there is more as usual than mentioned here. Do pause by our contents page.

Let’s celebrate life this spring!

Happy Reading!

Mitali Chakravarty

borderlessjournal.com

.

  1. pandies’ was started in 1987. It’s spelled with a small ‘p’ and the name was picked by the original team. Read more about pandies’ by clicking here. ↩︎

Click here to access the contents page for the February 2025 Issue

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

Categories
Musings

As Flows the Gomti: A Palace of Benevolence

Narrative and Photographs by Prithvijeet Sinha

The Bara Imambara in Lucknow

Solitude hardly alienates us when our mind is at peace. It travels with us. It’s a profound pursuit when one embraces the solitude of a city like Lucknow. Our fates travel with the boat of time flowing on the languid currents of the river that flows through the town, Gomti.

As someone born and brought up here, it’s a great joy to walk in the footsteps of those who gave exquisite shape to its countless monuments, their chisels and hammers turning stones into works of art, adorning the city with centuries of hard toil that created exquisite beauty. This beauty hewn into the Bara Imambara enchants me anew everytime I stroll through the compound. Those limestone pillars, graded by years of construction in its classical heyday, are miracles of human hands that mesmerise. The golden paint adorning its architecture courts the sun and that great orb of light gives in to the invitation to be eternal friends for life.

The Bara Imambara, also bestowed with the title of “Asafi Imambara”, was made by the king Asaf Ud Daula out of benevolence. He commissioned the building in order to employ the drought-stricken populace of the city in the 18th Century. Very soon, this structural project expedited as a corollary to supplement the dwindling fortunes of the region became more than a philanthropic feat. Over the centuries, Bara Imambara became a royal palace, a seat of power and knowledge and a quintessential component of the Awadhi [1]identity. It’s convenient to say that it’s the axis around which the entire city revolves. It’s the architectural apex around which Lucknow sculpts its identity with each era.

Throngs of revellers travel across the city to savour its beauty and historicity. The Imambada keeps its tryst with timelessness sacred, giving every discerning eye moments to cherish, feel the same timeless energy course through their mortal bodies, giving them the gift of the spiritual. Then there’s the mystical side to it where on each visit tugs my heart. It’s as if from some intensely private part of the soul emerge these words, “Thank God, you are alive to see it. Thank God that you were born to witness such sublime beauty.”

The story of arches, pillars, doorways, the zigzagging mysteries of the Bhool Bhulaiya — its fabled labyrinth, hallways that make a single lighting of the match echo with precision across great distances and the cool atmosphere that envelops it even on muggy or scorching days make it a unique experience. But as the horizon spills its canvas around it and the panorama of life becomes a live orchestra of colours, the Imambara transcends its solemn sanctity as the abode of imams, transcends the rails of religion to diffuse faith to every corner. From some high point in the parapet, when you look straight at the city, each angle reflects the union of the divine and the mundane. It’s a grand gesture that this timeless solitude is something that can be felt even among millions of other feet and voices. It’s the solitude of the dark alleys and the baoli or stepwell within these enchanting premises. It’s this solitude gliding with the birds above the soaring pillars and dome of the Asafi Mosque, making the secular transport tangible in the mouths of those who drink in the air contained in the edifice of this monument.

I may be a dreamer but, in a city, where so many parts feel like a dream come true, the Hussainabad corridor hosting Bara Imambada is immune to modernisation’s whims or the gritty nature of our societal churnings.

As tongas[2] carry dignified visitors on cobblestone roads, Lucknow’s epicenter of culture beseeches us like a best friend to partake in the poetry of its eternal axis. Which is why I always like to walk towards it, crossing a stretch of the road that finds beautiful buildings, parks, wide roads and secular spots lead towards that most handsome of structures. Time stops here yet moves like ripples. Time is of the essence. A lifetime of meetings with the Imambada makes one reconcile with the inherent meanings behind one’s attachment to Lucknow and its Awadhi cheer. I’m fortunate to live and tell the tale, a modest man made to feel grander by these inflections of architecture, stillness and cosmic solitude that only this city has to offer. The Imambada absorbs all of these inflections and stands in good stead, telling me, “You are not a dreamer, son. Your sense of your world is intimate to a fault. Come to us. Come again. There’s so much to seek from each other…”

[1] Awadh was the ancient name of Lucknow

[2] Horse drawn carriages

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. 

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
Poetry

Trailing a Birdwatcher

By G. Javaid Rasool

Photo Courtesy: Jairam Pathak, provided by G Javaid Rasool. 
The impulsive flashes of a birdwatcher
Fills the birder’s ears with fluttering twitters.
Her chattering words
Begin to utter her vision.
The body is illuminated with the avian soul --

Longing to fly,
To be one among them, and
Discovering the façade of being
In yet another life for a moment.

Loud cheerful cackles flash
In amusing oddity.

The desperation for a shot from a proficient vantage
Is jolted when the subject moves hither and thither.

The birder’s wary eyes glow again and again, in other moments,
As though virtually seeing
From the bird’s perspective,
And gulps all the loud cravings
In a draught; shunning aside prudery
For creatures of sky leave in a tearing hurry.

Roaming around trivial flats on the hillside,
A piece of wet monsoon land dotted with scanty shrubberies,
The birder begins his ferreting, suspicious
Following bit by bit the hunch, the hope
To shoot avian frolic.

Experiencing the euphoria of spirit,
Yet wary of achieving some corporeal trance,
The birdwatcher turns back
And we begin going hand in hand
Into the midnight of a garden of virtuality.

The virtuality vanishes, assigning us
To discover the original clay in each of us.

G. Javaid Rasool, a self-proclaimed Lucknow boy, is a social worker. ‘The Wire’ has been publishing his poetic compositions. Besides, Varsity of Columbia, WCAR, etc. have carried his articles.

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
Poetry

A Family Portrait

By G. Javaid Rasool

      A family of climate evacuees
    Escaped the rage of magisterial Kali
     In one of her imperious avatars,
        Ingraining its identity,
        And tears-strewn remains
   Of missed lands – the lands with the promise 
    Of a tryst for life, long years ago.

     The family in its distant perches
   Was left with food not for its memories,
         For aspirations and hopes.

    Frail childhoods of children of the times,
    Plausibly moulded by maladies of life, and
       Bereft of love-struck reminiscences,
     Inured in the given as divinely ordained.

   Growing lives shrouded in the garb of serenity,
         Construing the writing on walls
                 Making ends meet
     All by themselves as alienated individuals
         On estranged lands of prejudices.

        The tide of time moved on
   Bringing motherhood and fatherhood to them.
  And their children, like those of a lesser god,
    Find time to accompany them, occasionally,
      With manifest sense of bonding,
  Overshadowed by packages of individuality
Causing suffocation in posing for an unlikely family portrait.

G. Javaid Rasool, a self-proclaimed Lucknow boy, is professional social worker specialising in documentation services and training. The Wire has been publishing his poetic compositions.

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 Amazon International

Categories
Poetry

Poems by Kumar Sawan

Kumar Sawan 
ABSENCE

One fine morning,
I sit on the river bank.
I stand on the river bank.
I sit. And stand again.
But I do not open my hands,
For the fear of this wind.
I'm sorry if I fumble, I'm not used to this.
This is not a poem of joy,
Or exhilarating remembrance.
This is a poem of non-presence.
I see these lanes, monuments,
Crevices, just like my father told me.
He would tell me of 
How he would come here, 
Stroll with friends and weave stories.
He never left this city except when
His mother passed away in the village.
The world stays unaffected,
While everything inside you
Falls apart, ruptures
Like broken skin
Before it bleeds.
But you can’t
Bring it to your face
Or they will ask what happened,
And you won’t know
Where to start,
He said.
If I look ahead, I will see the clouds,
Watching over the river and me,
And a boatman throwing his net
In the green water.
But I don't look anywhere,
Instead, I hold my hands open,
And let the wind gust over me.
The wind disburdens me of my father's ashes,
And leaves me heavier than before.
 
CANVAS 

offer me your blood
I will dab my fingers
and paint your dreams

on the canvas
Hungry for a piece of art
Hungry like a lonely wolf

in search of its prey.
the canvas enjoys
the foreplay

of the coloured fingers.
you are to me 
what art is to a canvas.

THE MATCH

I gave you the match.
The stick. The kerosene.
And you light it.
Make it a torch. A mashaal*.
And you set fire to the bridge between us.
With each charred piece falling,
Our memories fall too.
The smoke blurs your apparition,
I’m burning too. Alive.
But you can’t see me.

*mashaal: a torch made by wrapping a piece of cloth on a wooden stick, pouring some flammable oil on it.

Kumar Sawan was born and brought up in Lucknow. He is a Ph.D. scholar in theDepartment of English and Modern European Languages, at Lucknow University. His works have been published in Rhetorica: A Literary Journal of Arts, Contemporary Literary Review India, SPL Journal, Literary Horizon, Creative Saplings, and the Teesta Review.

.

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
Poetry

Poetry on Solar Eclipse & More…

By Prithvijeet Sinha

SHADOWLANDS
(Inspired by the global solar eclipse on April 8th, 2024) 

Tomorrow 
the shadowlands 
will 
have their edict 
up 
in the sky
with 
the whole world's prior knowledge.

The Sun 
and The Moon --
those two fastidious 
and ever at loggerheads 
to mark their showy turns --
will indulge 
in their sibling rivalry 
of ages.

It will be a sight.

The earth will be omnipresent,
pooling resources 
for this compromise 
between two 
arch-rivals,
pulling 
in a tie 
as the final verdict.

It will all be over
before we know it.

EXPEDITION

There is a halt in
the expedition.

From not so far 
away,
a decaying skeleton
shrieks,
its bones
gradually 
ground to a paste.

Sordidly,
the remnants
of privation
now feebly
agitate
for all of us. 

A blood-soaked spray
emerges
from a songwriter's 
torso.

The day has commenced. 
Rain clouds
cry 
tears of blood
today.

Prithvijeet Sinha, is a resident of the cultural epicenter of Lucknow. He has published poetry, musings on the city, cinema in anthologies and journals of national and international repertoire as well as a blog. His life-force resides in writing, in the art of self-expression.

.

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
Review

I am Not the Gardener

Book Review by Ranu Uniyal

Title: I am Not the Gardener: Selected Poems by Raj Bisaria

Author: Raj Bisaria

Publisher:  Terra Firma, Bangalore

Here is a book that I have been waiting for.  In several sittings you go through these breathtaking poems by Raj Bisaria.  A book that needs to be read with patience and, if you have had the privilege of being taught by him, you read with a curious eye.  Soft and gentle – a touch of an artist gently goads you to read it loudly– as if you are in an auditorium reading out to an unknown audience.  Who will listen to this voice of a gardener who with I am Not the Gardener weaves seasons of delight “telling of one’s heart is not self-gazing” but divine contemplation? 

The book does not carry an introduction to the author.  It has forty-three poems with photos capturing moments with family and friends. A few pictures of the domes and spires from Lucknow too add a special meaning to the verses. As director, producer, designer, actor and professor, Raj Bisaria has left an indelible mark. Press Trust of India described him as “Father of the modern theatre in North India”. Raj Bisaria founded Theatre Arts Workshop in 1966 and Bhartendu Academy of Dramatic Arts in 1975 in Lucknow. He taught English literature for more than three decades at the University of Lucknow. He is the first to receive Padma Shree from Uttar Pradesh for his contribution to modern theatre.  As a theatre artist his contribution remains unparalleled.

The first poem in this collection is ‘The Curtain Boy’. The poem is a thoughtful mediation on the meaning rather meaninglessness of all our actions.  The poet writes “I am not the gardener, / Nor the owner of the garden. / My job is to do odd things/ To weed out little wrongs/ To keep the pathway clean”. ‘Odd’ and “little” acts of “watching” lead to an awareness of the burden of possession and the transitory nature of dreams.  And this is followed by a similar concern in the poem ‘To a Young Actor’ – “I was told once to discipline/ Imagination in the rhythm/ of iambs and trochees. Only I wonder / If external form will give / Meaning to chaos.”

The poet, artist, and the philosopher in him create a complex mirage of emotions that reflect the restlessness and the anxiety of a man who finds comfort in words.  “In your dying/ My love has found / A new lease:/ For beyond death / Only love goes on”, the poet expresses his love for his mother in the poem ‘Elegy’.  Like Hamlet he gives voice to his own fears and then affirms with a defining certitude “Love is a quiet secret, / The seed within the rose.” The images are drawn from garden to the sea and the mountains “And I learnt to be silent / with the unspeakable granite of the mountains.”

Travel as a motif binds his restless spirit and opens the unreachable corners of his heart.  Love and fulfilment are contraries in a world trapped in the mundane.  In his poem ‘Byzantium’, Yeats refers to “The fury and mire of the human veins”. An artist seeks perfection in this imperfect world. The desire to transcend the ordinary compels him to write. The debut collection of poems gives us fascinating insights as Bisaria draws us to a wide range of experiences with a cry for attention “Do not shut my words out.  It is winter.” Here in lies an assertion with a sad awareness that yes, life is ending.  The artist within and the performer without must often be traversing contradictory spaces.  Both are equally strong and vulnerable. 

Sometimes the voice of the performer seems to undermine the anguish of the poet.  “He who does not forgive himself/ Forgives others less.” These are poems of love, longing, grief, and interminable loneliness that invades an artist whenever he confronts his inner self.  Those familiar with Bisaria’s dramatic productions might find a different voice lurking behind these poems.  It requires courage to accept one’s vulnerabilities, to confront the inner daemons and to pour an array of emotions with a faith that only an eternal seeker can display.  “To your shrines I came my Lord, / But I came without faith; / To your people I spoke my Lord / But I spoke without love; …Yet give me Lord peace/ To bear my own emptiness, / And your silence /Quieten my doubting mind.” This is not just a poem with the title ‘Prayer’, but a plea that resonates with a quest for self-realisation. 

A sadness runs through these poems.  Read and receive every word, every glance, every touch of this mortal self where “Love comes slowly by and by…” and the poet firmly believes “Love’s life is more than time…”. “It is a flight in the freedom of self…”. Even if you try hard, it is difficult to run away from oneself.  Like a shadow your inner conscience follows you, here, there, and everywhere.   

Ranu Uniyal is a poet and a Professor from the Department of English and Modern European Languages, University of Lucknow.

.

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
Review

The Warrior Queen of Awadh

Book Review by Somdatta Mandal

Title: Begum Hazrat Mahal: Warrior Queen of Awadh

Author: Malathi Ramachandran

Publisher: Niyogi Books

Over the past few decades there has been a surge in the publication of Indian historical fiction where the authors are fascinated by India’s rich past, and the many human stories of love and loss buried beneath the larger narratives. Simplistically speaking, historical fiction is a literary genre in which the plot takes place in a setting related to the past events, but is fictional.  An essential element of historical fiction is that it is set in the past and pays attention to the manners, social conditions, and other details of the depicted period. Authors also frequently choose to explore notable historical figures in these settings, allowing readers to better understand how these individuals might have responded to their environments. After The Legend of Kuldhara (2017) and Mandu (2020), Malathi Ramachandran has now presented us with a fascinating novel, Begum Hazrat Mahal: Warrior Queen of Awadh (2023). She endeavours in her novel not just to re-create history as it happened long ago, but to also explore the lives and relationships of those who lived in those times.

The setting of the novel is Lucknow, 1857 where the First War of Independence against the British is fought. Wajid Ali Shah, the last Nawab of Awadh has been exiled by the British to Calcutta along with his courtiers and his coterie some months ago. Only his second wife, the beautiful queen Begum Hazrat Mahal, who had refused to accompany her husband to Calcutta stays back with her young twelve-year old prince Birjis Ali. Hazrat vows to fight the British and win back her beloved Awadh for her people and the crown for her son. She builds a rebel army and high drama ensues as they besiege the Residency, the walled British cantonment, for five months. A fictional saga based on actual events, this book takes us within the walls of the Residency where love and passion rage alongside the battle, and into the world of Begum Hazrat and her loyal band. From the beginning we encounter Hazrat’s interactions with Major Kenneth Murphy, the Company’s liaison officer who is enamoured by the beauty of the Begum and succumbs to her machinations. She wants his help to crown Birjis Ali the next Nawab and win back their lands and their properties. Then there are many stereotypical British characters – women who came from England to seek husbands and worked in evangelical missions, doctors, sergeants, and officers who took up native women for sexual gratification, and the like.

When Hazrat decides on action against the Angrez1, she forms baithaks2 comprising of the rich and poor, powerful and subordinate, Hindu, Muslim and Christian, all of whom feel that they had had enough of subjugation by these tyrants from another land. They would not take any more of their religious conversions, their oppression on the streets, their suppression in the garrisons. Her friendship with Jailal Singh, based on a shared love for Hindustan, blossomed and he promised her his allegiance in the fight against the British. She had found in Jailal a confederate, an able accomplice.

A large section of the narrative is then devoted to the details of the fight that ensued. There were times when the natives thought that they had managed to restrict the British soldiers from winning; at other times the tide of fortune turned in their disfavour when even after forming women’s brigade and defiant groups among the natives, success didn’t come in their favour. The reader is kept guessing whether the rebel army would storm the British bastion before their relief forces arrived or the tide would turn in a wave of loss and grief, crushing Hazrat Mahal’s dream for Awadh and her son. In November 1858, after more than nine months of fighting in Lucknow, and finally establishing complete control over North India, the Governor General, Lord Canning, presided over the Queen’s Durbar in Allahabad and read out the Proclamation from Queen Victoria. The territories of India, up until now governed by the East India Company, would now come directly under the Crown, and be governed by the Queen’s civil servants and military personnel.

After several turns of incidents Hazrat realises that defeated she and her army may be, but they would never be vanquished in spirit. In her chamber in the Baundi fort, she paces back and forth, the printed proclamation crumpled in her hand. Her close supporters watched in mute frustration. She would never agree to the British offer of clemency with all its benefits. She would rather live in penury than become one of their vassals. Deep inside the stone fortress, she sits huddled in her quilt, and feeling the loneliness and desolation of one who had fought and lost everything. The story ends with Hazrat and her son silently leaving the already orphaned Awadh and heading into the forests to cross over to Nepal on the other side and seek asylum there.  

Malathi Ramachandran must be appreciated for the racy narrative style of the novel that does not weigh down under the plethora of historical events. Here one must mention the similarity of incidents narrated about the plight of another Indian queen in another historical fiction titled The Last Queen written by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni. This novel also tells us the story of Jindan Kaur, Maharaja Ranjit Singh’s youngest and last queen, his favourite. She became regent when her son, Dalip, barely six-years-old, unexpectedly inherited the throne. Sharp-eyed, stubborn, passionate, and dedicated to protecting her son’s heritage, Jindan distrusted the British and fought hard to keep them from annexing Punjab. Defying tradition, she stepped out of the zenana, cast aside the veil, and conducted state business in public. Addressing her Khalsa troops herself, she inspired her men in two wars against the ‘firangs3.’ Her power and influence were so formidable that the British, fearing an uprising, robbed the rebel queen of everything she had, including her son. She was imprisoned and exiled. But that did not crush her indomitable will. Like Begum Hazrat Mahal, she also had to live the last years of her life in exile, shorn of all her power and wealth. In both the novels, we learn about the strong and determined will power of Indian women who wanted to retain the pride of their motherland despite all odds and machinations of the British. A perfect blending of fact with fiction, the novel is strongly recommended for all categories of readers, serious and casual alike.

  1. British ↩︎
  2. Concerts ↩︎
  3. Foreigners ↩︎

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

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