Categories
Slices from Life

Technology War in the House

By Chetan Datta Poduri

The other day I had a tough time explaining mobile telephony and its advancements to my dad who’s around 85 years old. Both of us are highly educated. Neither of us knew modern technology well. Nevertheless, me being a self-taught-geek-or-engineer-or-technologist-of-sorts keep explaining the advancements in technology at regular intervals to my father.

My father, 85, is still actively practicing in a nearby trust hospital. He retired from government service almost two decades ago. Ever since he has been actively consulting patients in local private hospitals. He always says that keeping oneself active (physically or professionally) is more than sufficient to keep ourselves healthy.

No exercises needed”, he would say whenever someone asked him, and would add, “there isn’t any beach or a lake resort in the arid Hyderabad to sit back and relax. So, the patients give me some avocation to pass my time”.

I must also confess that my father has been using hearing aids in both the ears since he was 50 years old, and amnesia slowly started getting the better of him four years ago…

*

Six years ago, another problem cropped up…

In December 2019, as you all know this planet was plagued by the COVID-19 pandemic. Amidst this hullabaloo, China made a small significant technological advancement – China silently unrolled 5G mobile telephony[1] in Wuhan.

As March 2020 neared, Indian government announced harsh restrictions, prominent amongst them are the lockdowns. To complicate the matters, my dad’s patients desperately needed to consult him for whatever…

… So, literally imprisoned at home my father embarked on video consultations to patients through WhatsApp. That represented the flashpoint between my dad and me.

Dad started complaining that his video conferences were not working properly.

The self-taught engineer in me explained that for proper video streaming and conferencing the mobile handset needs to have certain amount of memory in its RAM and storage all of which must be compatible with the ‘xG’ mobile telephony the government or service provider is offering (where ‘x’ represents a whole number like 2, 3, 4 or 5 and in near future can be 6 also). Like a true technocrat, I explained all the technology I knew with appropriate diagrams and flow-charts.

What’s this RAM and storage?” asked my dad

Well, I think RAM means Random Access Memory…”, I quipped peering through the edge of my glasses.

What’s with the storage?

Well, everything your mobile handset receives, be it SMS or any other notifications or photographs you click with your mobile camera, it needs to keep somewhere. It needs a filing cabinet. That is called storage. If your handset has something called an SD card, it is external storage while every handset is sold initially with some storage called ‘internal storage’…

So … how much area does this storage take

I casually replied, “Usually it is measured in GBs (giga bytes) … Your handset, I guess is some 16 GB or so… Mine’s about 32 GB…

It’s been six years since we have had this discussion. The then government complicated the situation in our house by announcing that in another six months it will roll out 5G services in India to compete with Chinese …

Ok! That’s alright but why are my phone calls not up to the mark. What does it have to do with storage? I understand if it is missing SMS, photos, storing and retrieving videos, etc… But why is the voice of the caller invariably broken or videos not clear?

Well, you might be using a 3G handset. Presently, the service providers are offering 4G+ services. Maybe you need to change your handset

Do I look like a fool? On one hand you are saying my phone is 16 G and on the other hand you are saying that government is offering only 4G services. Are you trying to ridicule me?

Dumbstruck I tried to convince my dad. “Daddy, telephony G is different from storage GB … G of telephony means Generation and GB is giga bytes… 4G is different from 16 GB”.

I know… I know… If government is offering only 4G and I have a 16 G handset, and there are two SIM cards in my handset 4G multiplied 4G is 16 G… then why is my handset not working properly?”, dad said angrily.

As an adolescent, I always felt that my father was very poor in mathematics and that’s perhaps why he asked me to opt for Biology stream in college. Had I known then that he knew how to square 4, I would’ve opted for mathematics stream giving many-a-CEOs a good run for their money…

No!” I yelled, “the G in xG is different from GB

Now… Now… Now… My hearing aids are working properly… no need to shout… unnecessarily you’ll be disturbing the neighbours… Tell me, if my handset is 16 G why is it not working in 4G technology?

I tried to pacify myself, “guess he has a hearing problem with letter ‘B’…

This G is not the same as that GB… Both are different…,” I said at the top of my voice

Ok… But how to solve the problem?

Change your handset to something that can support 4G services…

But it is lockdown now… So… what’s the alternative?

The only alternative is to wait till they relax the lockdown and buy a new one until then endure the faulty video and audio calls… No other way out…

*

Twenty years ago, in 2002, I bought my first mobile handset – a Nokia 3100 for about Rs3000. I was in Shimla, Himachal Pradesh then. There was a delayed roll-out of mobile telephony in North-western India and Kashmir regions of India for obvious reasons of them being very next to enemy nations, China and Pakistan. It was 2G technology then. Subsequently, a number of cheap Chinese, Taiwanese, Vietnamese and Korean mobile handsets invaded India.

Back in 1991 CE, when India liberalised its economy, India was invaded by a number of international products in all spheres of life. Many Chinese and other Asian national companies also released their wares. This gave the average Indian at least four options.

The first option of buying highly priced superior quality original products from the Western Countries. The second option is that of the cheap lookalikes mostly from oriental countries like China, Taiwan, Vietnam and Korea. These were commonly referred to as duplicates. A third reasonable and genuine option was also offered by the liberalised Indian market – the Japanese products. These Japanese products, particularly the watches and calculators, were diametrically different from either the Western or the Oriental country products. They were priced somewhere in between and offered technology products with graceful designs. No matter what happens, these Japanese goods exceed your expectations. The fourth option was the local Indian products. These were rather crude in their design, usually low in quality and may or may not work testing your luck.

Chinese products, the duplicates, looked more American than the American products themselves but with Mandarin notations. From a distance it is difficult to say which is which. The most popular example in this direction was the copy of popular Batteries. Street vendors used to dispense American lookalike batteries for Rs5 while the original western would cost Rs95. Among the Indian products that stood the test of time were mostly food and dairy items and some watches/clocks.

This period of 90s in India paralleled the European Union’s efforts to revive the defunct industries that were bombed out in World War II. Also, around this time domestic airlines pampered the passengers by giving cheap watches as gifts and souvenirs. Net result: both my father and me developed a passion for collecting watches. My father’s patients would gift him cheap Chinese or so-called duplicates of the popular European watches. While he still collects these cheap watches, I, in due course, fizzled out. Of course, as of today, the pace at which the companies release newer designs outran our passion.

Mobile handsets, particularly the cheap ones that flooded the Indian market, fuelled our passion to collect handsets. So, now both of us have an additional avocation of changing mobile handsets as frequently as possible. Since in 2002 I was in Shimla and my dad was in Hyderabad, it became an unwritten rule between both of us that we appear with a different mobile handset every time we met. This passion continued for about a decade till 2012. By this time, I covered two cities – Shimla and Guwahati in Northeastern state of Assam. My father having retired from active government service lived (and continues to live in, touch wood) in Hyderabad which is in the south Indian state of Telangana.

A neighbourhood mobile vendor used to supply my father with cheap mobile handsets. For some unknown reason he used to call my father ‘Uncle’ and me as ‘Sir’. So, my mother and me used to pull my dad’s legs by calling the mobile vendor as his nephew.

As per our passion, we regularly changed our mobile phones. This continued till sometime… literally till 2018… when the 4G services were launched. Around this time the mobile ‘nephew’ of my father stopped supplying newer versions of handsets to my father.

But when he supplied mobile handsets to my father, he also used to do an additional service to my father: every time my father changed his handset, the mobile ‘nephew’ would somehow do a data transfer from the older handset to the new one. This I call an additional service because my father, as I mentioned earlier, uses hearing aids. So, the mobile handset must also be connected to the hearing aid through Bluetooth or other reliable technology. This is followed by a calibration of the hearing aid with the audiologist. All this took at least 2 – 3 days and multiple visits to both the mobile vendor and the audiologist. The mobile ‘nephew’ was very enthusiastic and never complained about any inconvenience. Other mobile shop owners would bluntly ask my father to get the calibration done elsewhere or with the service centre present at the other end of the city.

In one of the exchanges of mobiles, the data could not be properly transferred.

*

In June 2020, I guess, the government relaxed the lockdowns for the first time. Promptly, my father headed to a neighbourhood mobile phone shop and bought a 4G handset as per my recommendation. To my surprise, my father did not go to his mobile ‘nephew’. He went to a high-end mobile shop. My father this time bought an advanced model of a popular company’s handset.

After a day or two, and more video conferences later, my father expressed happiness and thanked me saying that for the first time in his life I gave a correct advice.

But now he needed something from the earlier unfinished data transfer. He wanted the data in the older mobile handset into the new handset. I took both the handsets to the new vendor and requested him to do the transfer. He gave a polished glib talk giving me the impression that the earlier handset is a cheap model from which it is better not to transfer the data. Crestfallen, I dragged myself to my-father’s-mobile-nephew and asked him to do the needful. The nephew told me that he failed to get permission for 4G and 5G so he’s at a loss as to help me.

…that”, the nephew told me then, “is also the reason why your father no longer procures his mobiles from me”.

*

Two years of COVID restrictions rolled on somehow. For more than a year and a half every Indian was literally imprisoned in their respective homes due to the on-going pandemic.

The technology argument resurfaced between me and my father once again.

Dad said, “…again the problem of poor-quality video and audio…

Ah! Our service provider has now upgraded to 5G+ …Your handset is 4G… Change your handset…

Hmm… you mean there’s no problem with the handset?

Yeah! There’s no problem with the handset. It is just outdated. It is no longer compatible with the existing technology“, I quipped.

What do you mean?

I played the cards differently this time.

We are three people in this house now. How comfortable will it be if suddenly there are 15 people in this house now?

If you talk like that, a greater number of people can be made to adjust in the house…

But what if everyday 15 people keep coming into the house without vacating?

Ah! Then that will be a problem…

Ditto for your handset… It is receiving more information from the network than it can handle…

The Apps are also freezing occasionally…

Same logic… they are receiving more information and upgrading themselves to the new technology… time to change your handset…

How much will a basic handset that works will cost me?

The one that is compatible will cost you around Rs15,000. The one that is also compatible with your hearing aids will be at the least Rs 20,000.

Well, since my childhood, I always kept myself updated on the prices of the latest in market whether I need those items or not. Wishful thinking, I guess.

If this is the case then, every year or two even if there is no malfunction, I am forced to change my handset. This is very bad…

That’s the flip side of the technological advancement… Whether you like it or not… Whether there’s a malfunction or not, we are forced to change our products leading to huge amounts of pollution…

Very bad state of affairs. Think about the laptops then. Unnecessarily we are shelling out truckloads of money just to keep us abreast of the technology…

Very bad state of affairs… the technology developers think everybody is a billionaire and everybody’s a computer geek…

*

Thanks to our passions, every year, me and my dad each spend at least Rs8000 just for the batteries so that our watches are in working condition. The other day, I took an Indian watch of mine for servicing which I bought in 2001 with the first salary I received after my PhD. I bought it for Rs400 then.

The servicing personnel cooed, “Is this watch still working?

Nostalgically, I asked, “What’s the price of this model now?

This model is no longer produced Sir…

If this episode makes me misty-eyed, my Japanese watch always gives me goosepimples.

In 2010, I found a display board in a watch shop in the Fancy Bazaar of Guwahati that read, “Japanese – EcoFriendly watches”. I walked into the shop and bought the watch for about two thousand bucks. The manual said, “10-year Battery Life”. Believe it or not, it lasted 15 years and this is the only watch which did not give me an opportunity to change its battery.

Good and Honest things in life must be appreciated at the first opportunity.

[1] Telephony is the technology involving telephones for communication (audio or video), and data exchange between distant parties

Categories
The Lost Mantras

Four More Poems by Isa Kamari

Poetry and translations from Malay by Isa Kamari

INCENSE BURNER

O, incense from rock and root!
In the name of God and salutations to the Prophet,
I sprinkle you onto the charcoal ember
in the incense burner inherited from Elders.
Ssseesshh! Ssseesshh! Ssseesshh!
Billow across the span of humanity.
Sharpen our senses, elevate our spirits,
as an adornment of prayers for peace,
as an accompaniment of the dead.
Send blessings to the world of jinns and humans.
The doors of servitude open,
the purpose both are created.
You are the balm for tormented souls.
You welcome the mind into the realm of remembrance.
Focus the soul on complete devotion
to the One, the only One.
Those with vague knowledge
only see smoke of superstition,
stupefied as rose water is sprinkled.

Ssseesshh! Ssseesshh! Ssseesshh!

O, this servitude is indeed fragrant!
O, this worship is indeed mystical and intimate
to the One, the Only One.
When the kris blade is smouldered by smoke,
after washed with lime juice,
in the name of God and salutations to the Prophet,
the blade is dried and withstands rust,
preserving inheritance and the calling.
Culture and religion are intertwined,
knowledge and understanding of the sacred realm
that bless the worlds of jinns and humans.
The doors of servitude open,
creatures of the One,
servants of the only One.
O, this servitude is indeed fragrant!
O, this worship is indeed mystical and intimate!
Ssseesshh! Ssseesshh! Ssseesshh!
Allah! Allah! Allah! My Lord!

DEBT

Hey, bestower of pleasure!
Hey, the saving hand!
I think I have been to hell:
My soul is charred by sins,
My mind is bombarded by doubt.
I have rebelled against Me
for fulfilling my desire.
I think I have been to heaven:
My soul is at peace with gratitude.
My mind is still in acceptance.
Everything has its place.
Everything is measured.
I am accepted by Me,
mutual and pure.
But return my will,
return my future,
return my entire me to the world and reality,
from mere illusion, from every expectation.
I want to live.
I want to live.
I want to live in a bit of doubt,
in a pinch of rebellion,
to learn by myself,
to be in place and measured.
Hey, bestower of pleasure!
Hey, the saving hand!
Let me pay my debt in feelings unsatiated.

THE MOUNTAIN
God, smash the mountain
in my soul.
Obliterate the entire me
with your Grace and Love.
I could no longer bear
the sufferings of alienation.

FIRASAT
(Spiritual Intuition)

People nowadays do not know firasat.
People nowadays do not use firasat.
Purity brought down from Elders—
the first intuition without veil,
the stirrings and effects of unity of experience:
Nature, knowledge, and actions unified,
moved by the eye of the soul,
nurtured by the discipline of the mind,
based on strings of reiterative knowledge,
demonstrated by signs from layers of Nature,
validated by proofs in actions and breaths.
The mind, soul, and spirit
moulded in the self and surroundings.
Ever since it is compartmentalised by thoughts
that distinguish object from subject,
dissecting issues to the atom,
limiting conclusions and acceptance,
denying possibilities and visions,
veiling light by separation of knowledge.
Is not this world a mirror?
Is not this universe a sign?
Is not this life a labyrinth?
Is not a problem interlinked?
Science, philosophy, psychology, history, and religion
are only points of view
that need to be reunified,
that need to be rejuvenated as a whole
with stirrings and effects of firasat
that will pierce layers of existence,
that will open secret doors of
the manifest, symbolic, transcendent, and immanent worlds.
Are not all that fall from the sky,
grow on the surface of the earth,
and return to the sky a belief in the unity of everything?
So, the dust that floats in the air
remembers the moment of attesting of the spirit
that is gently blown at the boundaries of seven worlds.
"Am I not your Lord?"
The Malay testifies in firasat:
"Yes, we affirm!"

Isa Kamari has written 12 novels, 3 collections of poetry, a collection of short stories, a book of essays on Singapore Malay poetry, a collection of theatre scripts and lyrics of 3 music albums, all in Malay. His novels have been translated into English, Turkish, Urdu, Arabic, Indonesian, Jawi, Russian, French, Spanish, Korean, Azerbaijan and Mandarin. Several of his essays and selected poems have been translated into English. Isa was conferred the S.E.A Write Award from Thailand (2006), the Singapore Cultural Medallion (2007), the Anugerah Tun Seri Lanang (2009) from the Singapore Malay Language Council, and the Mastera Literary Award (2018) from Brunei Darussalam.

He obtained a BArch (Hons) from the National University of Singapore in 1989, an MPhil (Malay Letters) from Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia in 2008 and is currently pursuing a PhD programme at the Academy of Islamic Studies, Univeristi Malaya. His area of research is on the problem of alienation and the practice of firasat (spiritual intuition) in selected Singapore Malay novels.

The Lost Mantras is a collection that blends spirituality, Malay cultural heritage, and universal human experience. First published as part of Menyap Cinta (Love Greetings, 2022, Nuha Books KL), these poems are like a bridge between mysticism and everyday life, where traditional images (betel, jasmine, kris[1], oil lamps, setanjak[2]) are woven with Qur’anic echoes, prayers, and existential questioning. The collection carries a Sufi resonance—always circling back to longing, humility, surrender, and beauty as signs of God. The poems are not only lyrical but also function as cultural memory: they preserve Malay traditions, communal practices, and village life, while situating them in a cosmic framework of faith, sin, and redemption. The use of Malay customs, rituals, and objects is powerful: it asserts that spirituality is not abstract but embedded in heritage. This makes the collection uniquely Southeast Asian despite its universal in appeal.

[1]A dagger

[2] Malay headgear

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
celebrations

Six Years of Borderless Journal…

Art by Sohana Manzoor

Six years ago, a few of us got together to bring out the first issue of Borderless Journal. We started as a daily blog and then congealed into a monthly journal offering content that transcends artificial borders to meet with the commonality of felt emotions, celebrating humanity and the Universe. Today as we complete six years of our existence in the clouds, we would like to celebrate with all writers and readers who made our existence a reality. We invite you to savour writings collected over the years that reflect and revel in transcending borders, touching hearts and some even make us laugh while exploring norms. 

In this special issue. we can only offer a small sample of writings but you can access many more like these ones at our site…Without further ado, let us harmonise with words. We invite you to lose yourselves in a borderless world in these trying times.

Poetry

Click on the names to read

Jared CarterSnehaprava Das,  Manahil Tahir, Ryan Quinn Flanagan,  Luis Cuauhtémoc BerriozábalSaptarshi Bhattacharya, John Swain, Ron Pickett, Saba Zahoor, Momina Raza, Annette GagliardiJenny Middleton, Afsar Mohammad, Rhys Hughes, George FreekMitra SamalLizzie PackerShamik BanerjeeMaithreyi Karnoor,  Hela Tekali, Rakhi Dalal, Prithvijeet SinhaAsad Latif, Stuart MacFarlane

Isa Kamari translates his poems from Malay in The Lost Mantras. Click here to read.

Two of her own Persian poems have been written and translated by Akram Yazdani. Click here to read.

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

Refugee in my Own Country/ I am Ukraine… Poetry by Lesya Bakun of Ukraine. Click here to read. 

Sukanta Bhattacharya’s poem, Therefore, has been translated from Bengali by Kiriti Sengupta. Click here to read.

Amalkanti by Nirendranath Chakraborty has been translated from Bengali by Debali Mookerjea-Leonard. Click here to read

Ye Shao-weng’s poetry ( 1100-1150) has been translated from Mandarin by Rex Tan. Click here to read.

Rebel or ‘Bidrohi’, Nazrul’s signature poem, ‘Bidrohi‘, translated by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.

Manish Ghatak’s Aagun taader Praan (Fire is their Life) has been translated from Bengali by Indrayudh Sinha. Click here to read.

Tagore’s poem, Tomar Shonkho Dhulay Porey (your conch lies in the dust), has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty as ‘The Conch Calls’. Click here to read.

Waiting for Godot by Akbar Barakzai; Akbar Barakzai’s poem has been translated by Fazal Baloch. Click here to read.

Ihlwha Choi spent some time in Santiniketan and here are poems he wrote in reaction to his observations near the ‘home of R.Tagore’, as he names Santiniketan and the Kobiguru. Click here to read Nandini.

Fiction

Flash Fiction: Peregrine: Brindley Hallam Dennis tells us the story of a cat and a human. Click here to read.

Rituals in the Garden: Marcelo Medone discusses motherhood, aging and loss in this poignant flash fiction from Argentina. Click here to read.

Navigational Error: Luke P.G. Draper explores the impact of pollution with a short compelling narrative. Click here to read.

Henrik’s Journey: Farah Ghuznavi follows a conglomerate of people on board a flight to address issues ranging from Rohingyas to race bias. Click here to read.

The Magic Staff , a poignant short story about a Rohingya child by Shaheen Akhtar, translated from Bengali by Arifa Ghani Rahman. Click here to read.

A Cat Story : Sohana Manzoor leaves one wondering if the story is about felines or… Click here to read. 

Pus Ki Raat or A Frigid Winter Night by Munshi Premchand has been translated from Hindi by C Christine Fair. Click here to read. 

American WifeSuzanne Kamata gives a short story set set in the Obon festival in Japan. Click hereto read.

Hena, a short story by Nazrul, has been translated from Bengali by Sohana Manzoor. Click here to read. 

A Queen is Crowned: Farhanaz Rabbani traces the awakening of self worth. Click here to read.

A Penguin’s Story: Sreelekha Chatterjee writes a story from a penguin’s perspective. Click here to read.

Disappearance by Bitan Chakraborty has been translated from Bengali by Kiriti Sengupta. Click here to read.

The Sixth Man: C. J. Anderson-Wu tells a story around disappearances during Taiwan’s White terror. Click here to read.

Looking for Evans: Rashida Murphy writes a light-hearted story about a faux pas. 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 Beaten Rooster, a short story by Hamiruddin Middya, has been translated from Bengali by V Ramaswamy. Click here to read.

The Onion: JK Miller brings to us the story of a child in Khan Yunis. Click here to read.

Santa in the Autorickshaw: Snigdha Agrawal takes us to meet a syncretic spirit with a heartwarming but light touch. Click here to read.

The Untold Story: Neeman Sobhan gives us the story of a refugee from the 1971 Bangladesh Liberation War. Click here to read. 

The Wise Words of the Sun: Naramsetti Umamaheswararao relates a fable involving elements of nature. Click here to read.

The Headstone, a poignant story by Sharaf Shad has been translated by Fazal Baloch. Click here to read.

Sandy Cannot Write: Devraj Singh Kalsi takes us into the world of adverstising and glamour. Click here to read.

Musalmanir Galpa (A Muslim Woman’s Story) Tagore’s short story has been translated by Aruna Chakravarti. Click here to read.

Non-Fiction

 Haiku for Rwandan Girls: Suzanne Kamata writes of her trip to Africa where she teaches and learns from youngsters. Click here to read.

Menaced by a Marine Heatwave: Meredith Stephens writes of how global warming is impacting marine life in South Australia. Click here to read.

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

One Life, One Love, 300 Children: Keith Lyons writes of a woman who looked after 300 children. Click here to read.

When West Meets East & Greatness Blooms: Debraj Mookerjee reflects on how syncretism impacts greats like Tagore,Tolstoy, Emerson, Martin Luther King Jr, Gandhi and many more. Click here to read.

The Day Michael Jackson Died: A tribute  by Julian Matthews to the great talented star who died amidst ignominy and controversy. Click here to read.

Amrita Sher-Gil: An Avant-Garde Blender of the East & West: Bhaskar Parichha shows how Amrita Sher-Gil’s art absorbed the best of the East and the West. Click here to read.

Dramatising an Evolving Consciousness: Theatre with Nithari’s Children: Sanjay Kumar gives us a glimpse of how theatre has been used to transcend trauma and create bridges. Click here to read.

Potable Water Crisis & the Sunderbans: Camellia Biswas, a visitor to Sunderbans during the cyclone Alia, turns environmentalist and writes about the potable water issue faced by locals. Click here to read.

T.S Eliot’s The Waste Land: Finding Hope in Darkness: Dan Maloche muses on the century-old poem and its current relevance. Click here to read. 

 My Love for RK NarayanRhys Hughes discusses the novels by ths legendary writer from India. Click here to read.

Travels of Debendranath Tagore : These are travel narratives by Debendranath Tagore, father of Rabindranath Tagore, translated from Bengali by Somdatta Mandal. Click here to read.

The Comet’s Trail: Remembering Kazi Nazrul Islam: Radha Chakravarty pays tribute to the rebel poet of Bengal. Click here to read.

From Srinagar to Ladakh: A Cyclist’s Diary: Farouk Gulsara travels from Malaysia for a cycling adventure in Kashmir. Click here to read.

 Baraf Pora (Snowfall): This narrative gives a glimpse of Tagore’s first experience of snowfall in Brighton and published in the Tagore family journal, Balak (Children), has been translated by Somdatta Mandal . Click here to read.

In The Hidden Kingdom of Bhutan: Mohul Bhowmick explores Bhutan with words and his camera. Click here to read.

The Day of Annihilation: An essay on climate change by Kazi Nazrul Islam has been translated from Bengali by Radha Chakravarty. Click here to read.

Reminiscences from a Gallery: The Other Ray: Dolly Narang muses on Satyajit Ray’s world beyond films and shares a note by the maestro and an essay on his art by the eminent artist, Paritosh Sen. Click here to read.

The Bauls of Bengal: Aruna Chakravarti writes of wandering minstrels called bauls and the impact they had on Tagore. Click here to read.

The Literary Club of 18th Century London: Professor Fakrul Alam writes on literary club traditions of Dhaka, Kolkata and an old one from London. Click here to read.

From Madagascar to Japan: An Adventure or a Dream: Randriamamonjisoa Sylvie Valencia writes of her journey from Africa to Japan with a personal touch. Click here to read.

250 Years of Jane Austen: A Tribute: Meenakshi Malhotra pays a tribute to the writer. Click here to read.

The Chickpea That Logged More Mileage Than You: Ravi Varmman K Kanniappan gives an interesting account of the chickpeas journey through time and space, woven with a bit of irony. Click here to read.

The Day the Earth Quaked : Amy Sawitta Lefevre gives an eyewitness account of the March 28th earthquake from Bangkok. Click here to read.

Where Should We Go After the Last Frontiers: Ahamad Rayees writes from a village in Kashmir which homed refugees and still faced bombing. 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.

That Time of Year: Rick Bailey muses about the passage of years. Click here to read.

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.

Adventures of a Backpacking Granny: Sybil Pretious recalls her travels across the world post sixty, including Kiliminjaro. Click here to read.

Categories
The Lost Mantras

It’s but a Memory… More Poems by Isa Kamari

Poetry and translations from Malay by Isa Kamari

THE BENCH

The melodious magpie on the bamboo twig --
the passing breeze welcomed the chirping.
Sitting on a dilapidated wooden bench,
under the thick canopy of the mango tree,
village folks rested in the shade,
calming the tremors of troubled hearts.
The hardship evident in the sighs,
still hopeful of tomorrow’s dreams,
drying the sweat of weariness.
Honest earnings chased away worries.
A pinch on the thigh, a cry of pain.
Laughter and jokes were shared merrily,
teasing the maiden sitting by the door,
smiling sheepishly, welcoming attention.
Recollecting a slice of an old tale,
fun and camaraderie were reminisced,
firm and amicable bonds were fostered.
It’s but a memory. It’s but a memory. It’s but a memory.
Now alone in a room,
gazing at the handphone screen,
chatting aimlessly in social media—
do we remember and long for the dilapidated bench,
crafting old tales, forging firm and amicable bonds?
Do we remember and pine
for the maiden sitting by the door?



CUSTOMS


Customs are not like banana fritters
coated with rice flour, dipped in hot oil,
served instantly, crispy and delicious, eaten warm,
accompanied by sips from a cup of black coffee.
Customs are like rain
that falls on the whims of the weather.
It’s always there, although infrequent,
temperamental and purposeful,
sometimes an inconvenience— plans thwarted—
but always invigorating
and instils a sense of acceptance.
If received with gratitude,
directed with perseverance,
and tempered with wisdom.
Life is beautiful with droplets of grace.
Life is fertile with the pouring of bounties.
Life is prosperous with love bestowed.
Customs make the earth supple.
Customs make the village noble.
Customs make a people well-mannered.
Once in a while,
relish a crispy banana fritter
and sip warm black coffee
while it rains cats and dogs.
Momentary disruption of plans,
the alleys and roads flooded—
moments of reflection,
moments of appreciation for the day,
is inherent in droplets of grace,
inherent in the pouring of bounties,
inherent in love bestowed.
Shifting of time and signs
the soil is tilled with purpose.
The village gathers and collectively agrees,
the people ready to realise
aspirations of good character
and respected stature.



SMOKE

Like smoke billowing amidst rubbish,
he burns his self-worth,
dances in the flames,
when the fire is meant
to warm breakfast and meals to school.
Now like smoke,
his children are floating,
begging for favours
at tips of cigarettes and cars’ exhaust pipes,
crushed by confusion in the stifling air.
Who would be hungry
if the smoke does not billow in the kitchen,
and for generations,
our humanity returns uncooked to God?



CURSE OF A WARRIOR

Hail the snake and its venom!
Call it a callous and rebellious act!
Shame be endured,
head decapitated!
Surrender not, carry the corpse!
Foolish is the mind,
desperate are the moves.
Let death fulfil the curses.
Let death be executed by the Angel.
Destroy my body, take my soul.
The wooden club hit the coffin.
Pierce my tongue and neck.
Stab my chest, guts dis-embowelled.
Blood spurts, life departs.
The warrior kisses the earth.
Blood turns into pus.
Pus turns into ambers of Hell.
Let me die so you die.
Let us die so everyone dies.
I give you my sin, my hurt, my sadness.
You’ll bathe in blood.


Isa Kamari has written 12 novels, 3 collections of poetry, a collection of short stories, a book of essays on Singapore Malay poetry, a collection of theatre scripts and lyrics of 3 music albums, all in Malay. His novels have been translated into English, Turkish, Urdu, Arabic, Indonesian, Jawi, Russian, French, Spanish, Korean, Azerbaijan and Mandarin. Several of his essays and selected poems have been translated into English. Isa was conferred the S.E.A Write Award from Thailand (2006), the Singapore Cultural Medallion (2007), the Anugerah Tun Seri Lanang (2009) from the Singapore Malay Language Council, and the Mastera Literary Award (2018) from Brunei Darussalam.

He obtained a BArch (Hons) from the National University of Singapore in 1989, an MPhil (Malay Letters) from Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia in 2008 and is currently pursuing a PhD programme at the Academy of Islamic Studies, Univeristi Malaya. His area of research is on the problem of alienation and the practice of firasat (spiritual intuition) in selected Singapore Malay novels.

The Lost Mantras is a collection that blends spirituality, Malay cultural heritage, and universal human experience. First published as part of Menyap Cinta (Love Greetings, 2022, Nuha Books KL), these poems are like a bridge between mysticism and everyday life, where traditional images (betel, jasmine, kris[1], oil lamps, setanjak[2]) are woven with Qur’anic echoes, prayers, and existential questioning. The collection carries a Sufi resonance—always circling back to longing, humility, surrender, and beauty as signs of God. The poems are not only lyrical but also function as cultural memory: they preserve Malay traditions, communal practices, and village life, while situating them in a cosmic framework of faith, sin, and redemption. The use of Malay customs, rituals, and objects is powerful: it asserts that spirituality is not abstract but embedded in heritage. This makes the collection uniquely Southeast Asian despite its universal in appeal.

[1]A dagger

[2] Malay headgear

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
The Lost Mantras

Four Poems by Isa Kamari

Women wearing baju kurongs and men wearing kain sampings. From Public Domain
OIL LAMPS

We did not taste chicken unless it was Hari Raya.
Mats laid on the corridor floor in front of ten doors—
the barrack houses at the end of Ramadan
decorated by oil lamps at each corner.
The gloomy village turned bright.
Each family brought out trays of varieties of dishes and cakes,
the feast welcoming Shawal.
The call of prayer from the radio,
followed by the hymns to glorify God.
Life in the village was indeed harmonious,
although sprinkled with misunderstandings,
slighted feelings throughout the year.
Exchanging delicious food,
extending congratulatory wishes,
laughter and tears flowed unimpeded.
The young proceeded to the field,
ignited the fuse of bamboo cannons
stuffed with carbide powder fodder.
The new moon was welcomed by blasts, claps, and cheers of happiness.
Flames of oil lamps swayed in the breeze,
resplendent till the morning,
before going to the mosque in groups,
wearing the baju kurung and kain samping.


THE BENCH

The melodious magpie on the bamboo twig,
the passing breeze welcomed the chirping.
Sitting on a dilapidated wooden bench,
the thick canopy of the mango tree,
village folks rested in the shade,
calming the tremors of troubled hearts.
The hardship evident in the sighs,
still hopeful of tomorrow’s dreams,
drying the sweat of weariness.
Honest earnings chased away worries.
A pinch on the thigh, a cry of pain,
laughter and jokes were shared merrily,
teasing the maiden sitting by the door,
smiling sheepishly, welcoming attention.
Recollecting a slice of an old tale,
fun and camaraderie were reminisced,
firm and amicable bonds were fostered.
It’s but a memory. It’s but a memory. It’s but a memory.
Now alone in a room,
gazing at the handphone screen,
chatting aimlessly in social media—
do we remember and long for the dilapidated bench,
crafting old tales, forging firm and amicable bonds?
Do we remember and pine
for the maiden sitting by the door?

CUSTOMS

Customs are not like banana fritters
coated with rice flour, dipped in hot oil,
served instantly, crispy and delicious, eaten warm,
accompanied by sips from a cup of black coffee.
Customs are like rain
that falls according to the weather.
It’s always there, although infrequent,
temperamental and purposeful,
sometimes an inconvenience— plans thwarted—
but always invigorating
and instils a sense of acceptance.
If received with gratitude,
directed with perseverance,
and tempered with wisdom,
life is beautiful with droplets of grace,
life is fertile with the pouring of bounties,
life is prosperous with love bestowed.
Customs make the earth supple.
Customs make the village noble.
Customs make a people well-mannered.
Once in a while,
relish a crispy banana fritter
and sip warm black coffee
while it rains cats and dogs.
Momentary disruption of plans,
the alleys and roads flooded—
a moment of reflection,
a moment of appreciation of the day,
inherent in droplets of grace,
inherent in the pouring of bounties,
inherent in love bestowed.
Shifting of time and signs
so the soil is tilled with purpose,
so the village gathers and collectively agrees,
the people ready to realise
aspirations of good character
and respected stature.

SIN

Sin is the earth,
Sin is the water,
Sin is the air,
Sin is the fire,
moved by a rebellious heart,
whispered by a vile intention.
Yes, Sin is the arrogance.
Yes, Sin is the pawn of power.
Yes, Sin is shamelessness.
Sin is a human,
who is given a will without limits,
without pity, who wants to be the reigning deity,
who wants to be the undeterred devil:
also, a human who chooses to want darkness,
wants to cheat, gorge, and be satiated:
the snake slithering in dark crevices,
the scorpion hiding in an undetected nest,
the leech waiting for prey in wetlands.
But Sin is the smelly compost that cultivates,
the cracked mirror that reflects form,
despondent valleys that look up to the summit,
tumultuous sea flowing from the openness of estuaries.
If the earth, water, air, and fire
are cleansed by seven skies, seven rivers, and seven blossoms,
moved by a modest heart,
whispered by a sincere intention,
Yes, the Sin will change to Repentance.
Yes, the Sin will change to Obedience.
The Sin will become Blissful and Fragrant.
Humanity.

Isa Kamari has written 12 novels, 3 collections of poetry, a collection of short stories, a book of essays on Singapore Malay poetry, a collection of theatre scripts and lyrics of 3 music albums, all in Malay. His novels have been translated into English, Turkish, Urdu, Arabic, Indonesian, Jawi, Russian, French, Spanish, Korean, Azerbaijan and Mandarin. Several of his essays and selected poems have been translated into English. Isa was conferred the S.E.A Write Award from Thailand (2006), the Singapore Cultural Medallion (2007), the Anugerah Tun Seri Lanang (2009) from the Singapore Malay Language Council, and the Mastera Literary Award (2018) from Brunei Darussalam.

He obtained a BArch (Hons) from the National University of Singapore in 1989, an MPhil (Malay Letters) from Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia in 2008 and is currently pursuing a PhD programme at the Academy of Islamic Studies, Univeristi Malaya. His area of research is on the problem of alienation and the practice of firasat (spiritual intuition) in selected Singapore Malay novels.

The Lost Mantras is a collection that blends spirituality, Malay cultural heritage, and universal human experience. First published as part of Menyap Cinta (Love Greetings, 2022, Nuha Books KL), these poems are like a bridge between mysticism and everyday life, where traditional images (betel, jasmine, kris[1], oil lamps, setanjak[2]) are woven with Qur’anic echoes, prayers, and existential questioning. The collection carries a Sufi resonance—always circling back to longing, humility, surrender, and beauty as signs of God. The poems are not only lyrical but also function as cultural memory: they preserve Malay traditions, communal practices, and village life, while situating them in a cosmic framework of faith, sin, and redemption. The use of Malay customs, rituals, and objects is powerful: it asserts that spirituality is not abstract but embedded in heritage. This makes the collection uniquely Southeast Asian despite its universal in appeal.

[1]A dagger

[2] Malay headgear

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
The Lost Mantras

A Song of the Wind & Other Poems by Isa Kamari

A SONG OF THE WIND 

I surrender my body and soul
to smoke, steam, and mist,
which I gather with one last fibre of strength.
Listen to this lonesome song,
for the sun is envious of my existence.
This life yearns for separation;
frailty is only human.
Ballads after ballads you would know.
An honest young man is always chided for his age.
The unending love of parents
sometimes makes them act as dictators.
If you feel life as silkworms
dreaming of freedom,
just remember your wings have broken
the moment you willingly accept
the smoothness of silk.
If the clouds are too heavy
for the roof of your home,
call the wind, summon the earth.
Then you would taste the sweetness of charity.
But remember,
a barren land sometimes is best left barren,
for art also seeks justice.
Proclaim, but do not claim,
for your worth is still in a balance.
As life is a bountiful gift,
be discreet in giving alms,
but you must be brave to challenge,
although it means
you have to burn a piece of love letter.
For God is closer than your jugular vein.
I come to you from a dusty journey
where I gather smiles from smoke, steam, and mist.
Listen to this lonesome song for a while,
for I am envious of the ensuing dusk.

MOTHER

Oh, Allah,
I know of your Love
from the binjai which she craved for—
a slice from the only fruit plucked by a neighbour.
I know of your Mercy
from the warmth of the womb that protects a soul,
a frail presence in want of a mouthful of rice mixed
with soy sauce and fried fish,
under the thick foliage of the tree of Time,
offering shade to the unfolding age.
The moment she left to meet You,
the tree of Hope fell;
the kingdom of the Hereafter shook in my soul.
Parting will ultimately lead to meeting again.
Only to You I surrender,
begging for your love for Mother—
a straight path tracing her footsteps;
asking for your mercy for Mother—
which overrides your wrath over my life astray;
seeking your gentle affection,
as warm as Mother’s fingers.

TWEET

The chirping has escaped the cage.
The chirping is free; the trap is empty.
The chirping is returned and received.
The chirping is delirious on the rotten branch.
Your tail searches for the nest,
Your claws clench the twigs,
Your wings sift the wind,
Your beak catches the worm,
Your eyes survey the rainbow.
Hey you, the bird which has escaped!
Hey you, the bird which is free!
You bring along the cage in your flight.
The trap awaits your return.
If your tail is not guided by faith,
If your claws are not holding on to good deeds,
If your wings are not spreading grace,
If your beak is not chirping gratitude,
If your eyes are not seeking redemption—
Your song is a caged cry,
Your tweet is a prisoned anguish.
The resplendent feathers that you show off
are hiding a sadness as wide as the sky.

THE TRAIN

The door will close.
If religion is the track,
it does not determine
the path and destination for commuters.
They board and alight at different stations,
not the one, not the only one, not the same always.
Religion is like a map;
it does not make life boring,
does not block a journey,
shows the path anywhere you go,
not the one, not the only one, not the same always.
We are not carriages
that do not have choices.
Just make sure the meandering path is fun and secure,
the last stop safe and peaceful.
The door will close.
The One awaits there,
wherever it is.
The inside of a binjai mango. From Public Domain

Isa Kamari has written 12 novels, 3 collections of poetry, a collection of short stories, a book of essays on Singapore Malay poetry, a collection of theatre scripts and lyrics of 3 music albums, all in Malay. His novels have been translated into English, Turkish, Urdu, Arabic, Indonesian, Jawi, Russian, French, Spanish, Korean, Azerbaijan and Mandarin. Several of his essays and selected poems have been translated into English. Isa was conferred the S.E.A Write Award from Thailand (2006), the Singapore Cultural Medallion (2007), the Anugerah Tun Seri Lanang (2009) from the Singapore Malay Language Council, and the Mastera Literary Award (2018) from Brunei Darussalam.

He obtained a BArch (Hons) from the National University of Singapore in 1989, an MPhil (Malay Letters) from Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia in 2008 and is currently pursuing a PhD programme at the Academy of Islamic Studies, Univeristi Malaya. His area of research is on the problem of alienation and the practice of firasat (spiritual intuition) in selected Singapore Malay novels.

The Lost Mantras is a collection that blends spirituality, Malay cultural heritage, and universal human experience. First published as part of Menyap Cinta (Love Greetings, 2022, Nuha Books KL), these poems are like a bridge between mysticism and everyday life, where traditional images (betel, jasmine, kris[1], oil lamps, setanjak[2]) are woven with Qur’anic echoes, prayers, and existential questioning. The collection carries a Sufi resonance—always circling back to longing, humility, surrender, and beauty as signs of God. The poems are not only lyrical but also function as cultural memory: they preserve Malay traditions, communal practices, and village life, while situating them in a cosmic framework of faith, sin, and redemption. The use of Malay customs, rituals, and objects is powerful: it asserts that spirituality is not abstract but embedded in heritage. This makes the collection uniquely Southeast Asian despite its universal in appeal.

[1]A dagger

[2] Malay headgear

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

Endlessly Lost by Rex Tan

Rex Tan
endlessly lost

again, I’m at a loss

lost in the rain

lost in the chain of burnt cigarettes

lost in the lines of empty verses

lost in the torn pages of calendars

lost at the day’s end


only to remember — there’s still tomorrow

Rex Tan is a journalist by trade and a poet at heart. As a Malaysian, he is fluent in English, Mandarin, and Malay yet calls none his first language.

.

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
The Lost Mantras

More Poems by Isa Kamari

Poetry and translation from Malay by Isa Kamari

DAWN

Hey, the morning breaks!
Hey, the faithful sun!
Hey, the disappearing dew!
Hey, the layered air!
The breath desires,
the soul asks:
Who do you greet?
Have you pondered, sons of Adam?
Death awaits, life prolongs.
Have you realised, progenies of Eve?
The earth is impregnated and layered by purpose.
The one that you welcome is the morning,
The one that you coax is the sun,
The one that you touch gently is the dew,
The one that you breathe is the air.
The gift of death,
life fulfilled,
accompanies the inevitable:
morning, sun, dew, and air.
A breath dissipates, a soul obliterates.
Nothingness. Gone.
Hey!

THE FIELD

The green grass is a mother’s heart,
the velvet of love for her children.
Although stepped upon by mischief and transgression,
she distils dews of hope
that her children would grow with the sun.
The earth is the preparation of a father:
soil and compost for his children
where character would be rooted.
Barren or fertile,
he digs into his responsibility and self-worth,
as long as the rain nourishes his age.
Grass flowers are the children
who only know the joy of the wind
for as long as their dreams
have not landed on earth
and kissed the grass.

MOLTEN EARTH

This moment,
we’re walking in the rain,
accompanied by a bluish rainbow
and red birds with purple blood.
If they’re heading towards the dais,
we have yet to embrace the longing.
When the moon is in tears,
it’s just ill-suited for us to sail
on the orange henna sea.
In truth,
we verily love the eagle
that flies in the desolate morning.
If not for ravens like you,
our forest would be infested with rabbits.
Give us white wings;
we want to fly with blue birds
that return to reciprocate love.
We want to taste milk.
Is it for us only urine,
the manifestation of love by dogs?
Sound your prayer call in our shacks
so that our tears
are not just to bear
the pain and bitterness
of a plate of rice.
If your pensiveness is just to reminisce
the sufferings of night longing for day,
our tears have flowed
from the earth’s molten belly,
which are stepped upon
by saints like you and them
who have cast curses
upon us wretched souls.

POTPOURRI

The screw pine thrives on damp soil,
next to the swampy pond.
It spreads its green in the wild;
roots clench the earth we tread upon.
The jasmine grows on the lawn,
marks the boundaries of property.
Sturdy branches, leaves flourish;
petals open, greet the clouds.
The sliced screw pine in a receptacle,
the jasmine blossoms spread on the tray,
perfume sprinkled to enhance the scent:
the potpourri of bunga rampai welcomes guests.
The ceremony officiated by the qadi,
the couple duly married,
customs and culture celebrated in fragrance,
religious laws honoured on the dais.
The shaving of the baby’s head,
first steps on the soil,
the coffin carried to the grave—
the potpourri of bunga rampai
adorns every domain,
binding firmly entire life’s moments.

Isa Kamari has written 12 novels, 3 collections of poetry, a collection of short stories, a book of essays on Singapore Malay poetry, a collection of theatre scripts and lyrics of 3 music albums, all in Malay. His novels have been translated into English, Turkish, Urdu, Arabic, Indonesian, Jawi, Russian, French, Spanish, Korean, Azerbaijan and Mandarin. Several of his essays and selected poems have been translated into English. Isa was conferred the S.E.A Write Award from Thailand (2006), the Singapore Cultural Medallion (2007), the Anugerah Tun Seri Lanang (2009) from the Singapore Malay Language Council, and the Mastera Literary Award (2018) from Brunei Darussalam.

He obtained a BArch (Hons) from the National University of Singapore in 1989, an MPhil (Malay Letters) from Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia in 2008 and is currently pursuing a PhD programme at the Academy of Islamic Studies, Univeristi Malaya. His area of research is on the problem of alienation and the practice of firasat (spiritual intuition) in selected Singapore Malay novels.

The Lost Mantras is a collection that blends spirituality, Malay cultural heritage, and universal human experience. First published as part of Menyap Cinta (Love Greetings, 2022, Nuha Books KL), these poems are like a bridge between mysticism and everyday life, where traditional images (betel, jasmine, kris[1], oil lamps, setanjak[2]) are woven with Qur’anic echoes, prayers, and existential questioning. The collection carries a Sufi resonance—always circling back to longing, humility, surrender, and beauty as signs of God. The poems are not only lyrical but also function as cultural memory: they preserve Malay traditions, communal practices, and village life, while situating them in a cosmic framework of faith, sin, and redemption. The use of Malay customs, rituals, and objects is powerful: it asserts that spirituality is not abstract but embedded in heritage. This makes the collection uniquely Southeast Asian despite its universal in appeal.

[1]A dagger

[2] Malay headgear

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
The Lost Mantras

Poems by Isa Kamari

Poetry and translation from Malay by Isa Kamari

THE KING

I bow to you, King.
I bear the torment of your sadness
in the embrace of my sleep.
May it transform into glad tidings
for the days of your people.
This exploration is to find your throne,
which has disappeared from our hearts.
For my love to you, King.

JASMINES

Earth jasmines, sky jasmines,
a string of jasmines encircles the heart,
jasmines poured with water from the hills,
jasmines sprinkled by a pinch of compost.
Seven rivers, seven clouds—
rain pelts onto forlorn petals.
Beauty is in the form,
beauty to the eyes,
beauty is the hand that tends to the soil,
beauty is the fingers that caress the leaves,
beauty is the cut on the arms of the gardener.
The scorching sun,
the shade from the foliage,
bountiful is the soul of the tree that delivers,
witness to a life devoted to hard work,
with the laws of nature as the axis.
Strong roots clench the earth,
shoots look up high to the sky.
Stand firmly, the soul sings.
Blossoms waft fragrant dreams.
Earth jasmines, sky jasmines,
bloom in the early morning.
Say your prayers,
introduce yourself.

BETEL LEAVES

To be at the top
is to function at the bottom,
upholding responsibilities and trust,
strengthening shared roots.
The fragile branches are free to stretch,
the green leaves spread wide.
Wild betel, untouched betel,
covers the soil, climbs the trellis.
To be at the peak
in essence is to grow shoots,
carrying fertile hopes and dreams,
giving way and space to grow,
to climb each posting energetically,
to qualify for the position when seasons change.
Lofty betels, heavenly betels,
reach for the stars, greet the clouds.
To be in the ceremonial receptacle
in essence is to uphold tradition,
surrendering to the preservation of culture.
Typically chewed with lime, slicing problems,
mature-red in speech,
tracing the lives of roots and shoots.
Wild betel, untouched betel, lofty betel,
heavenly betel, courtship betel, customary betel,
weaving values and the essence of leadership
entrenched in tradition.

HOME

Free souls wouldn’t be easily bored
by mentoring and demands,
for it’s the stable self
that gives rise to liberation.
And that’s called freedom —
it isn't about release without aims,
just like city folks,
released from home or work,
wander aimlessly at shopping malls,
seek excitement from novelty and transience.
It isn't that Life doesn’t require variety,
or it isn't that the soul doesn’t long for fun.
It’s just that we who claim to be free
are easily entrapped in useless pettiness
that we spread in the city
without ever realising
that we haven’t returned to the doors of our hearts,
although we’ve stepped afoot
onto the compound of the house.

Isa Kamari : A foremost Malay writer from Singapore: Photo provided by the poet.

Isa Kamari has written 12 novels, 3 collections of poetry, a collection of short stories, a book of essays on Singapore Malay poetry, a collection of theatre scripts and lyrics of 3 music albums, all in Malay. His novels have been translated into English, Turkish, Urdu, Arabic, Indonesian, Jawi, Russian, French, Spanish, Korean, Azerbaijan and Mandarin. Several of his essays and selected poems have been translated into English. Isa was conferred the S.E.A Write Award from Thailand (2006), the Singapore Cultural Medallion (2007), the Anugerah Tun Seri Lanang (2009) from the Singapore Malay Language Council, and the Mastera Literary Award (2018) from Brunei Darussalam.

He obtained a BArch (Hons) from the National University of Singapore in 1989, an MPhil (Malay Letters) from Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia in 2008 and is currently pursuing a PhD programme at the Academy of Islamic Studies, Univeristi Malaya. His area of research is on the problem of alienation and the practice of firasat (spiritual intuition) in selected Singapore Malay novels.

The Lost Mantras is a collection that blends spirituality, Malay cultural heritage, and universal human experience. First published as part of Menyap Cinta (Love Greetings, 2022, Nuha Books KL), these poems are like a bridge between mysticism and everyday life, where traditional images (betel, jasmine, kris[1], oil lamps, setanjak[2]) are woven with Qur’anic echoes, prayers, and existential questioning. The collection carries a Sufi resonance—always circling back to longing, humility, surrender, and beauty as signs of God. The poems are not only lyrical but also function as cultural memory: they preserve Malay traditions, communal practices, and village life, while situating them in a cosmic framework of faith, sin, and redemption. The use of Malay customs, rituals, and objects is powerful: it asserts that spirituality is not abstract but embedded in heritage. This makes the collection uniquely Southeast Asian while still universal in appeal

[1] A dagger

[2] Malay headgear

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
A Wonderful World

Vignettes from a Borderless World

Enjoy some of the most memorable gems from our treasury … gems that were borne of pens that have written to make our world bloom and grow over time.

The first cover art by Sohana Manzoor published in Borderless Journal

Poetry

An excerpt from Rabindranath Tagore’sThe Child‘, a poem originally written in English by the poet. Click here to read.

Click on the names to read the poems

 Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal,  Masha Hassan, Ryan Quinn Flangan LaVern Spencer McCarthy, Prithvijeet Sinha, Shamik Banerjee, George FreekG Javaid RasoolRakhi Dalal, Afsar Mohammad, Kiriti Sengupta, Adeline Lyons, Nilsa Mariano, Jared Carter,  Mitra SamalLizzie PackerJenny MiddletonAsad Latif, Stuart Mcfarlane, Kumar Bhatt, Saranyan BVRex Tan, Jonathan Chan, Kirpal Singh, Maithreyi Karnoor, Rhys Hughes, Jay Nicholls

Tumi Kon Kanoner Phul by Tagore and Anjali Loho Mor by Nazrul, love songs by the two greats, have been translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.

Poetry of Jibananda Das translated by Fakrul Alam and Rakibul Hasan Khan from Bengali. Click here to read.

Mahnu, a poem by Atta Shad, translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch. Click here to read. 

Manish Ghatak’s Aagun taader Praan (Fire is their Life) has been translated from Bengali by Indrayudh Sinha. Click here to read.

Amalkanti by Nirendranath Chakraborty has been translated from Bengali by Debali Mookerjea-Leonard. Click here to read.

Ye Shao-weng’s poetry ( 1100-1150) has been translated from Mandarin by Rex Tan. Click here to read.

Homecoming, a poem by Ihlwha Choi on his return from Santiniketan, has been translated from Korean by the poet himself. Click here to read.

Essays

 Travels & Holidays: Humour from Rabindranath: Translated from the original Bengali by Somdatta Mandal, these are Tagore’s essays and letters laced with humour. Click here to read.

Temples and Mosques: Kazi Nazrul Islam’s fiery essay translated by Sohana Manzoor. Click here to read.

The Comet’s Trail: Remembering Kazi Nazrul Islam: Radha Chakravarty pays tribute to the rebel poet of Bengal. Click here to read.

The Oral Traditions of Bengal: Story and Song: Aruna Chakravarti describes the syncretic culture of Bengal through its folk music and oral traditions. Click here to read.

Discovering Rabindranath and My Own Self: Professor Fakrul Alam muses on the impact of Tagore in his life. Click here to read.

One Life, One Love, 300 Children : Keith Lyons writes of Tendol Gyalzur, a COVID 19 victim, a refugee and an orphan who found new lives for many other orphans with love and an ability to connect. Click here to read.

When West Meets East & Greatness Blooms: Debraj Mookerjee reflects on how syncretism impacts greats like Tagore,Tolstoy, Emerson, Martin Luther King Jr, Gandhi and many more. Click here to read.

Amrita Sher-Gil: An Avant-Garde Blender of the East & West: Bhaskar Parichha shows how Amrita Sher-Gil’s art absorbed the best of the East and the West. Click here to read.

A Manmade Disaster or Climate Change?: Salma A Shafi writes of floods in Bangladesh from ground level. Click here to read.

Dilip Kumar: Kohinoor-e-Hind: In a tribute to Bollywood legend Dileep Kumar,  Ratnottama Sengupta, one of India’s most iconic arts journalists, recollects the days the great actor sprinted about on the sets of Bombay’s studios …spiced up with fragments from the autobiography of Sengupta’s father, Nabendu Ghosh. Click here to read. 

Dramatising an Evolving Consciousness: Theatre with Nithari’s Children: Sanjay Kumar gives us a glimpse of how theatre has been used to transcend trauma and create bridges. Click here to read.

Are Some of Us More Human than Others ?: Meenakshi Malhotra ponders at the exclusivity that reinforces divisions, margins and borders that continue to plague humankind, against the backdrop of the Women’s Month, March. Click here to read.

To Be or Not to Be or the Benefits of Borders: Wendy Jones Nakanishi argues in favour of walls with wit and facts. Click here to read. 

Reminiscences from a Gallery: MF Husain: Dolly Narang recounts how she started a gallery more than four decades ago and talks of her encounter with world renowned artist, MF Husain. Click here to read.

In The Hidden Kingdom of Bhutan: Mohul Bhowmick explores Bhutan with words and his camera. Click here to read.

From Srinagar to Ladakh: A Cyclist’s Diary: Farouk Gulsara travels from Malaysia for a cycling adventure in Kashmir. Click here to read.

Musings

Baraf Pora (Snowfall) by Rabindranath Tagore, gives a glimpse of his first experience of snowfall in Brighton and published in the Tagore family journal, Balak (Children), has been translated from Bengali by Somdatta Mandal. Click here to read.

Migrating to Myself from Kolkata to Singapore: Asad Latif explores selfhood in context of diverse geographies. Click here to read. 

Cherry Blossom ForecastSuzanne Kamata brings the Japanese ritual of cherry blossom viewing to our pages with her camera and words. Click here to read.

 Hair or There: Party on My HeadDevraj Singh Kalsi explores political leanings and hair art. Click here to read.

 Ghosts, Witches and My New Homeland: Tulip Chowdhury muses on ghosts and spooks in Bangladesh and US. Click here to read.

 Two Pizza Fantasies, Rhys Hughes recounts myths around the pizza in prose, fiction and poetry, Click here to read.

An Alien on the Altar!: Snigdha Agrawal writes of how a dog and lizard add zest to festivities with a dollop of humour. Click here to read.

Where it all Began: Sybil Pretious recounts her first adventure, an ascent on Mt Kilimanjaro at the age of sixty. Click here to read.

Conversations

Rabindranath Tagore: A Universal Bard.: This conversation between Aruna Chakravarti and Sunil Gangopadhyay that took place at a Tagore Conference organised by the Sahitya Akademi in Kochy in 2011. Click here to read.

Sriniketan: Tagore’s “Life Work”: In Conversation with Professor Uma Das Gupta, Tagore scholar, author of A History of Sriniketan, where can be glimpsed what Tagore considered his ‘life’s work’ as an NGO smoothening divides between villagers and the educated. Click here to read. (Review & Interview).

In conversation with the late Akbar Barakzai, a Balochi poet in exile who rejected an award from Pakistan Academy of Letters for his principles. Click here to read.

In A Voice from Kharkiv: A Refugee in her Own CountryLesya Bukan relates her journey out of Ukraine as a refugee and the need for the resistance. Click here to read.

Andrew Quilty, an award winning journalist for his features on Afghanistan, shares beyond his book,August in Kabul: America’s Last Days in Afghanistan and the Return of the Taliban, in a candid conversation. Click here to read. 

Jim Goodman, an American traveler, author, ethnologist and photographer who has spent the last half-century in Asia, converses with Keith Lyons. Click here to read.

In Bridge over Troubled Waters, the late Sanjay Kumar tells us about Pandies, an activist theatre group founded by him that educates, bridging gaps between the divides of university educated and the less fortunate who people slums or terror zones. Click here to read.

In Lessons Old and New from a Stray Japanese CatKeith Lyons talks with the author of The Cat with Three PassportsCJ Fentiman who likes the anonymity loaned by resettling in new places & enjoys creating a space for herself away from her birthplace. Click here to read.

Fiction

 Aparichita by Tagore: This short story has been translated as The Stranger by Aruna Chakravarti. Click here to read.

Hena by Nazrul has been translated from Bengali by Sohana Manzoor. Click here to read. 

Playlets by Rabindranath Tagore : Two skits that reveal the lighter side of the poet. They have been translated from Bengali by Somdatta Mandal. Click here to read.

Pus Ki Raat or A Frigid Winter Night by Munshi Premchand has been translated from Hindi by C Christine Fair. Click here to read. 

Abhagi’s Heavena poignant story by Saratchandra Chattopadhyay translated by Aruna Chakravarti. Click here to read.

An Eternal Void, a Balochi story by Munir Ahmed Badini translated by Fazal Baloch. Click here to read.

The Witch, a short story by renowned Bengali writer Tarasankar Bandopadhyay (1898 to 1971), translated by Aruna Chakravarti. Click here to read.

I Grew into a Flute: Balochi Folktale involving magic retold by Fazal Baloch. Click here to read.

Give Me A Rag, Please:A short story by Nabendu Ghosh, translated by Ratnottama Sengupta, set in the 1943 Bengal Famine, which reflects on man’s basic needs. Click here to read

Rakhamaninov’s Sonata: A short story by Sherzod Artikov, translated from Uzbeki by Nigora Mukhammad. Click here to read.

The Magic Staff , a poignant short story about a Rohingya child by Shaheen Akhtar, translated from Bengali by Arifa Ghani Rahman. Click here to read.

Khaira, the Blind, a story by Nadir Ali, has been translated from Punjabi by Amna Ali. Click here to read. 

The Browless Dolls by S.Ramakrishnan, has been translated from Tamil by B Chandramouli. Click here to read.

Orang Minyak or The Ghost: A Jessie Michael explores blind belief in a Malay village. Click here to read.

Flash Fiction: Peregrine: Brindley Hallam Dennis tells us the story of a cat and a human. Click here to read.

No Man’s Land: Sohana Manzoor gives us surrealistic story reflecting on after-life. Click here to read.

The Protests Outside: Steve Ogah talks of trauma faced by riot victims in Nigeria. Click here to read.

Flash Fiction: Turret: Niles M Reddick relates a haunting tale of ghosts and more. Click here to read.

Henrik’s Journey: Farah Ghuznavi follows a conglomerate of people on board a flight to address issues ranging from Rohingyas to race bias. Click here to read.

Does this Make Me a Psychic?; Erwin Coombs tells a suspenseful, funny, poignant and sad story, based on his real life experiences. Click here to read. 

Phôs and Ombra: Paul Mirabile weaves a dark tale about two people lost in a void. Click here to read.

A Queen is Crowned: Farhanaz Rabbani traces the awakening of self worth. Click here to read.

The Chopsy Moggy: Rhys Hughes gives us a feline adventure. Click here to read.

Happy Birthday Borderless… Click here to read.
Art by Sybil Pretious