In conversation with Isa Kamari, a celebrated writer from Singapore, with focus on his latest book, Maladies of the Soul. Click here to read.
Translations
A Hunger for Stories, a poem by Quazi Johirul Islam, has been translated by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.
A Hand Mill, a story by Ammina Srinivasaraju, has been translated from Telugu by Johny Takkedasila. Click here to read.
Kiyya and Sadu, a part of this long ballad on the legendary lovers from Balochistan, has been translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch. Click hereto read.
In Tintin in India, Rhys Hughes traces the allusions to India in these iconic creations of Hergé while commenting on Tintin’s popularity in the subcontinent. Click hereto read.
Meredith Stephens shares the response of some of the Californian community to healing after the 2020 forest fires with a narrative and photographs. Click hereto read.
No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.
‘Moment’ by Margaret Atwood
With an unmanned mission reaching the moon — that moon that was chipped off the Earth’s surface when Theia bashed into the newly evolving planet — many feel mankind is en route to finding alternate biomes and perhaps, a solution to its housing needs. Will we also call moon our ‘Homeland’ and plant flags on it as we do on Earth? Does the Earth — or the moon — really belong to our species. Do we have proprietary rights on these because of lines drawn by powerbrokers who say that the land belongs to them?
These are questions Margaret Atwood addresses in her writings which often fall into a genre called cli-fi. This is gaining in popularity as climate has become uncertain now with changes that are wringing fear in our hearts. Not all fear it. Some refuse to acknowledge it. While this is not a phenomenon that is fully understood by all of us, it’s impact is being experienced by majority of the world — harsh stormy weather, typhoons, warmer temperatures which scorch life and rising water levels that will eventually swallow lands that some regard as their homeland. Despite all these prognostications, wars continue to pollute the air as much as do human practices, including conflicts using weapons. Did ‘climbing a hill’ and ‘planting the flag’ as Atwood suggests, ever give us the rights over land, nature or climate? Do we have a right to pollute it with our lifestyle, trade or wars — all three being human constructs?
In a recent essay, Tom Engelhardt, a writer and an editor, contended, “Vladimir Putin’s greatest crime wasn’t simply against the Ukrainians, but against humanity. It was another way to ensure that the global war of terror would grow fiercer and that the Lahainas of the future would burn more intensely.” And that is true of any war… Chemical and biological weapons impacted the environment in Europe and parts of Afghanistan. Atom bombs polluted not only the cities they were dropped in, but they also wreaked such havoc so that the second generation’s well-being continues impacted by events that took place more than seven decades ago. Yet another nuclear war would destroy the Earth, our planet that is already reeling under the impact of human-induced climate change. Flooding, forest fires and global warming are just the first indications that tell us not only do we need to adapt to living in changed times but also, we need to change our lifestyles, perhaps even turn pacifist to survive in a world evolving into an altered one.
Critiquing the darker trends in our species which leads to disasters is a book by an eminent Singaporean writer, Isa Kamari, called Maladies of the Soul. He too looks for panacea in a world where the basic needs of humans have been satiated and they have moved on towards overindulgence that can lead to redundancy. In a conversation, he tells us how he hopes his writings can help towards making a more hopeful future.
This hope is echoed in the palliative poems of Sanket Mhatre from his book, A City full of Sirens, excerpted and reviewed by Basudhara Roy. Bhaskar Parichha’s review of Samragngi Roy’s The Wizard of Festival Lighting: The Incredible Story of Srid, is a tribute also from a granddaughter to her grandfather celebrating human achievements. Somdatta Mandal’s discussion of fiction based on history, Begum Hazrat Mahal: Warrior Queen of Awadhby Malathi Ramachandran not only reflects the tenacity of a woman’s courage but also explores the historicity of the events. Exploring bits of history and the past with a soupcon of humour is our book excerpt from Syed Mujtaba Ali’s Tales of a Voyager (Joley Dangay[1]), translated from Bengali by Nazes Afroz. Though the narrative of the translation is set about ninety years ago, a little after the times of Hazrat Mahal (1820 –1879), the excerpt is an brilliant introduction to the persona of Tagore’s student, Syed Mujtaba Ali (1904-1974), by a translator who describes him almost with the maestro’s unique style. Perhaps, Afroz’s writing bears these traces as he had earlier translated a legendary work by the same writer, In a Land Far from Home: A Bengali in Afghanistan. Afroz starts with a startling question: “What will you call someone who puts down his profession as ‘quitting job regularly’ while applying for his passport?”
In non-fiction, we have Devraj Singh Kalsi’s funny retelling of his adventures with a barber while Hughes‘ essay on the hugely popular Tintin makes us smile. The patriarchal past is reflected in an essay by G Venkatesh, whereas Suzanne Kamata from Japan talks of women attempting to move out of invisibility. Meredith Stephens and Candice Louisa Daquin both carry on the conversation on climate change. Stephens explores the impact of Californian forest fires with photographs and first-hand narrative. Vela Noble draws solace and strength from nature in Kangaroo Island and shares a beautiful painting with us. Madhulika Vajjhala and Saumya Dwivedi discuss concepts of home.
Two touching tributes along with a poem to recently deceased poet, Jayanta Mahapatra, add to the richness of our oeuvre. Dikshya Samantrai, a researcher on the poet, has bid a touching adieu to him stating, “his legacy will continue to inspire and resonate and Jayanta Mahapatra’s name will forever remain etched in the annals of literature, a testament to the enduring power of the poet’s voice.”
Our translations this time reflect a diverse collection of mainly poetry with one short story by Telugu writer, Ammina Srinivasaraju, translated by Johny Takkedasila. Professor Fakrul Alam has introduced us to an upcoming voice in Bengali poetry, Quazi Johirul Islam. Ihlwha Choi has translated his own poetry from Korean and brought to us a fragment of his own culture. Fazal Baloch has familiarised us with a Balochi ballad based on a love story that is well known in his region, Kiyya and Sadu. Our Tagore translation has attempted to bring to you the poet’s description of early autumn or Sharat in Bengal, a season that starts in September. Sohana Manzoor has painted the scene depicted by Tagore for all of us to visualise. Huge thanks to her for her wonderful artwork, which invariably livens our journal.
Profound thanks to the whole team at Borderless for their support and especially to Hughes and Parichha for helping us source wonderful writings… some of which have not been mentioned here. Pause by our content’s page to savour all of it. And we remain forever beholden to our wonderful contributors without who the journal would not exist and our loyal readers who make our existence relevant. Thank you all.
Going into work after almost a week of absence feels rather peculiar, I feel like an outsider in the city where I grew up — a city that is often referred to as my hometown. It greets me with a polite nod as a stranger would. This is the city where I spent over two decades growing up and yet today my sense of belonging seems to have dissipated in the dusty morning traffic, leaving me confused as to what makes a home. Is home the physical space that we exist in or is it the people who make a place a home?
If the definition of home is about a place I reside in, why can’t it be the dusky lonely evening that I got lost in the Tallahassee Park only to find company in the countless stars that helped me find my way back?
Or the Welsh mountains that I struggled to hike up with Chittappa — almost giving up for the steepness of the trek, constantly reminded by my aching body that I was lazy and good for nothing. Yet, the endless green hills glistening in the golden rays smiled at me and greeted me with a cool welcome hug, urging me to be hopeful for my future. Isn’t that a home for making me believe in myself once again?
Or can it be the bone chilling cold shores of the lake in the Algonquin State Park, where Anna and I greeted the new year alongside the wolves howling at the moon who seemed to be lost that night like us. We hid from the countless years that stretch before us, not knowing if there would be an end to all the craziness that we had to deal with. Is it home when you are lost and confused, yet at peace knowing that not all answers are to be found, some questions are endless quests, but the journey teaches us more than the answer itself?
Or maybe it is in the sunrise on the Vizag beach with my cousins, where we laughed and played while the cool water soothed our battle scars of rivaling parents and vengeful family feuds. Is it home where all my fears and insecurities are treated with a cooling balm and my soul is healed so I find courage to love again amidst the raging darkness that overwhelms me?
Or is it the apartment I found on the hot afternoon, walking in despair along the Whitefields road with Amma after our family banished us from living in their home? The balcony with the wise eucalyptus trees that reminded me that parents are human too. While love is not perfect, setting my boundaries and building my life independent of family can strengthen our bonds more.
Or is it home when my girlfriend opens the door with the brightest smile after a long stressful day at work, asking me how my day went? Even if we had both just spent the past eight hours getting yelled at and defeated by corporate patriarchy, she gives me the warmest hug assuring me that I am safe and with her. I don’t have to battle to be seen or heard. Isn’t it home where you always matter and your contributions are recognised, irrespective of where you live or how far apart you are from each other?
Or can it be home in the arms of my boyfriend as he cuddles me to sleep, gently calming my mind, easing away the stress. Reminding me to stay smart and channel my ever-bubbling anger, raging beneath my surface into something useful instead of drowning myself in it and getting lost. Isn’t it home where you learn to channel your strengths but there is space for your weakness and failure to co-exist, so that you learn to not get overwhelmed in the face of adversity?
Perhaps home is in the delicious fragrance of my mother’s coffee as she greets me with her loving good morning and a freshly baked pumpkin muffin, a reminder that today is a new day and ripe with unexplored opportunities. Isn’t it home where you feel supported and encouraged even when you are lost and unsure of what to do next?
Maybe I am someone who will always find a home wherever I go with the people I love. Home is not static nor confined to a physical space set in a particular time. To me it is all those experiences (and people) that help me find joy, love, courage, and strength to greet another day with a smile.
Madhulika Vajjhala has a passion for literature and exploration. She loves reading and globetrotting.
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