In conversation with Teresa Rehmanwith focus on her non-fiction, Bulletproof: A Journalistâs Notebook on Reporting Conflict and a brief introduction to her book. Click here to read.
Translations
Robihara(Sunless)by Kazi Nazrul Islam has been translated by Professor Fakrul Alam from Bengali. Clickhere to read.
Four of his ownMalay poems have been translated by Isa Kamari. Click here to read.
In a world torn by conflict, why would one mention hope or compassion? In an age of dystopian scenarios, why would we dream of utopias?
Perhaps itâs wishful musings, but at some level what people need to survive is probably something to look forward to â a speck of light â a wishful idea called hope. Hope builds resilience. Utopias are built on hope, on love and compassion. Dystopias are built on desperation and despair. They take fear or horror to the extreme and play on peopleâs vulnerabilities. They might induce a cathartic effect and one might sayâ we are better off as we are in the present or we must act so that this never happens. Is that something we can really say in a world where wars are disrupting peace and lives of all humanity, where violence against civilians is becoming an accepted norm, where shortages could also be a reality for most of us? Utopias, on the other hand, build on the element of an ideal, a dream towards which we can move on the bleakest day of our existence. They could be used to stir hope and envision a reality devoid of violence. And perhaps, some of it would congeal into a real-world scenario with smaller doses of the bad and ugly. In a conflict-ridden world, which almost feels like a reenactment of George Orwellâs 1984 (only about four and a half decades after his predicted date) what would touch your heart, give you a sense of reliefâ hope for a better future or dwelling on doomsday predictions? What would you want for your progeny?
Just before the pandemic changed our lives, a book was published where while questing for their own utopia, a group of young people became part of a dystopian reality. They were known as the ULFA rebels[1] and their story was told in Bulletproof:A Journalistâs Notebook on Reporting Conflict by Teresa Rehman. The current relevance of this book cannot be undermined because not only does it humanise the insurgents perspective, but it also shows how a centrist set up can neglect the needs of particular fringe communities. In addition, Rehmanâs heartrending stories of poachers and people who live unaccepted in the margins only strengthen the need for an unboxed world where tolerance and compassion would transcend these artificially created fences that divide and lead to violence. This issue features Rehman’s book and an online discussion with her which stretches beyond the confines of pages.
We have more poetry in our translations, some sombre and some funny. A Bengali poem written as a tribute by Nazrul on the death of his older friend, Rabindranath Tagore, has been rendered into English by Professor Fakrul Alam. To add a lighter touch, we have translated a fun-filled poem by Tagore. Isa Kamari continues to translate his own Malay poems to bring in flavours of the culture. This time his poems seem to urge a need to transcend age-old stratifications. We also have a Balochi human-interest story by Younus Hussain brought to us in English by Fazal Baloch.
Hughes’ column too has fiction. His humorous and absurdist fables continue to urge re-evaluation of the world as well as genres. We also have a poignant narrative built around a Vietnamese migrant family by Mario Fenech. Sayan Sarkar shares a tale upending norms set in Kolkata while Naramsetti Umamaheswararao narrates a story about a young boy overcoming his fears. Abhik Ganguly gives us a strange fiction set in the future in a different galaxy, where Earth is seen as the original planet of human evolution.
C Christine Fair, who is an established translator, has surprised us â like Lyons â this time with a personal memoir which dwells on the deeply annihilating impact of norms that define gender roles. Upending the idea of an immutable ruler who can overpower us, is an essay by Ravi Varmman K Kanniappan with its roots in the ruins Rameses II â known as Ozymandias too — and Shelleyâs poem of the same name.
We have had an overflow of writing about the unusual and redefining norms in our non-fiction section. Odbayar Dorj weaves an unusual narrative and shares photographs from a village of scarecrows in Japan that has a population of 27 humans and 370 scarecrows. She tells us: âIn a place where people and scarecrows live side by side, I began to understand something simple but profound: sometimes, when human presence fades, we find our own ways to fill the silence with memories, imagination, and love.â Humanity never ceases to hope. Filling in silences are narratives by Arathi Devandran and Mubida Rohman on how they deal with the quietness left by departed loved ones.
We have more from Meredith Stephens with photographs by Alan Noble on their trip to Vietnam â as they travel to places that are less touristy while Gower Bhat explores the Sunday Book Bazaar at Old Delhi. Farouk Gulsara travels back to Penang where he spent his childhood and reflects on changes. Are they always for the best?
Suzanne Kamata takes up changes with a soupçon of humour as she writes of how the AI finally conceded to her husband, âYour wife is not wrong…â while Jun A. Alindogan writes of how social media can create mayhem if misused to spread fake news. Devraj Singh Kalsi resorts to sardonic humour of a darker hue as he explores ways to make a living.
Gulsara has also explored Sam Dalrympleâs Shattered Lands: Five Partitions and the Making of Modern Asiawhich starts with the extent of the British Empire with its western-most point at Aden and stretching in the east to Burma. There was a period from 1839 to 1867, when it stretched from Aden to Singapore[2], which was a part of Malaya, leaving out Siam or Thailand which never succumbed to colonial rule. The book starts at a later date — 1928 — and talks of the piecing of the British Empire, with questionable stances taken by historically heroic figures, thus urging a critical relook at our own past â just over the last hundred years.
Our reviews include Rakhi Dalalâs take on Maithreyi Karnoorâs rather unusual stories fromGooday Nagar.Bhaskar Parichhahas wandered back to non-fiction with the late Kaukub Talat Quder Sajjad Ali Meerzaâs Wajid Ali Shah: A Cultural and Literary Legacy, translated from Urdu by Talat Fatima, a history that makes us reassess views on the last of the Awadhi nawabs. Somdatta Mandal has also shares a discussion on Sushila Takbhaureâs My Shackled Life, translated from Hindi by Deeba Zafir and Preeti Dewan, a narrative that showcases the resilience of the author.
This issue could not have been put together without all our wonderful contributors. Heartfelt thanks for sharing your gems with us. Huge thanks to the Borderless team too who continue to support bringing in variety, colour and reinforcing our values. Much thanks to Sohana Manzoor for the fabulous cover art and to all those who share vibrant visuals with their writing. Many thanks to our readers too who make our efforts worthwhile. Do write in with your comments.
Look forward to greeting you all again next month!
Phan pounded the dough, the recent argument with his wife Diu fresh in his mind. The customers in the bakery could hear them trading insults today just like many other days. It was not always like this. When the children were small, he was a happier more outgoing person. The gradual change began when the eldest son was eight. They were getting ready to return home from a beach holiday when they swiped against another car. Luckily, no one was seriously hurt but the incident had marred what had been an otherwise perfect holiday.Â
This was not the only factor in his withdrawal from emotional engagement. Instead of having pride for the academic achievements of his three children, to him it seemed to be another wedge making them seem superior and seemingly condescending when they spoke to him.      Â
When Anthony was twelve, he said, âDad, did you know there are an infinite number of possible realities determined by what happens at a sub-atomic level. There’s a famous example called Schrodinger’s Cat which is in a box and is simultaneously dead and alive until someone looks in the box and sees which state it is in.â
Phan shook his head and suggested Anthony should not waste his time on such impractical matters if he wanted to get a job. From time to time the children would ask him for help with school projects but he always had an excuse. He would also say to Diu that he needed to work on a car they kept at another property, when in fact he was going to play at the poker machines.
Diu Sat at the dining room table going through photos of when the children were little, before the change came over Phan. Linh came home from work and saw her mother reminiscing.
âHi Mum,â Linh gave Diu a hug and a kiss, âMum I think it’s time for you to seriously consider leaving Dad.â Diu was silent continuing to look at the photos.
âYour father is in many ways like a child which makes it harder to separate as I feel an obligation to take care of him as much as I do for you and your brothers.â
Linh shook her head. âYou don’t have an obligation to anyone Mum. You should be able to enjoy your life. You’re not doing any favours for Dad either as he won’t be able to move on if you keep protecting him Mum.â
Diu placed the palm of her hand gently on Linh’s cheek saying, âHe did something some time ago. He came up to me, and he wanted so much to say something, but he couldn’t find the words⊠Maybe he was trying to say sorry.â
Linh could see that for now at least she could not persuade her mother to leave her father.
âI’ll make us some tea mum.â
Early next morning Diu drove the van loaded with supplies for the bakery. Traffic was minimal so she had a clear run with most of the lights green. Then as she maintained the speed limit while passing through another intersection, there was a terrifying sound of a truck braking. The truck driver who was trying to beat the light saw Diu’s van enter the intersection as she had a green light. The truck driver braked hard, but the momentum of the heavy vehicle was enough to crush the driver’s side of the van. In the eternity of those final seconds Diu recalled one of the perfect days when she was a young girl after her holy communion. Such a beautiful sun-drenched dayâŠ
Phan arranged the bread on the racks. The reality he found himself in was almost unbearable, so he busied himself in the bakery. The only person who understood him was gone now and his plan to change came too late. Phan turned at the sound of footsteps to see his two sons and daughter approaching him.
Phan cast his eyes down at the concrete floor. With their mother no longer here, there was no reason for them to hold back on their anger and hatred. The anticipated violence toward him, physical or verbal, did not happen. His children embraced him. This simple gesture had a profound effect on Phan as years of pent-up emotions surfaced borne of a confusing mix of guilt, anger at himself, and relief at the chance for redemption. From deep inside him a groan came as he sunk to his knees supported by his children. His tears streaming onto the concrete floor.
[1] Translation from Vietnamese: âWe have a second chance.â
Mario Fenech is an artists and writer from Gzira, Malta. His sculpts and has had many exhibitions around Melbourne over the years. His has written ,ainly science fiction stories although he self-published a novella in 2013 titled, The Rock in Room Ten. He is currently two-thirds into his latest science fiction story.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Most people like you and me connect with the commonality of felt emotions and needs. We feel hungry, happy, sad, loved or unloved and express a larger plethora of feelings through art, theatre, music, painting, photography and words⊠With these, we tend to connect. And yet, larger structures created over time to offer security and governance to the massesâof which you and I are a part — have grown divisive, and, by the looks of it, the fences nurtured over time seem insurmountable. To retain these structures that were meant to keep us safe, wars are being fought and many are getting killed, losing homes and going hungry. We showcase such stories, poems and non-fiction to create an awareness among those who are lucky enough to remain untouched. But is there a way out, so that all of us can live peacefully, without war, without hunger and with love and a vision towards surviving climate change which (like it or not) is upon us?
Creating an awareness of hunger and destruction wreaked by war is a heartrending story set in Gaza by JK Miller. While Snigdha Agrawalâs narrative gives a sense of hope, recounting a small kindness by a common person, Sayan Sarkar shares a more personal saga of friendship and disillusionment â where people have choice. But does war leave us a choice as it annihilates friendships, cities, homes and families? Naramsetti Umamaheswararaoâs story reiterates the belief in the family â peace being an accepted unit. Vela Nobleâs fantastical fiction and art comes like a respiteâ though there is a darker side to it — with a touch of fun. Perhaps, a bit of fantasy and humour opens the mind to deal with the more sombre notes of existence.
The translation section hosts a story by Hamiruddin Middya, who grew up as a farmerâs son in Bengal. Steeped in local colours, it has been rendered into English by V Ramaswamy. Nazrulâs song revelling in the colours of spring has been translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Atta Shadâs pensive Balochi lines have been brought to us in English by Fazal Baloch. Isa Kamari continues to bring the flavours of an older, more laid-back Singapore with translations of his own Malay poems. A couple of Persian verses have been rendered into English by the poet, Akram Yazdani, herself. Questing for harmony, Tagoreâs translated poem while reflecting on a childâs life, urges us to have the courage to be like a child â open, innocent and willing to imagine a world laced with trust and hope. If we were all to do that, do you think weâd still have wars, violence and walls built on hate and intolerance?
Mario Fenech takes a look at the idea of time. Amir Zadnemat writes of how memory is impacted by both science and humanities while Andriy Nivchuk brings to us snippets from Herodotusâs and Periclesâs lives that still read relevant. Ravi Varmman K Kanniappan gives the journey of chickpeas across space and time, asserting: âThe chickpea does not care about your ideology, your portfolio, or your meticulously curated identity. It will grow, fix nitrogen, feed someone, and move on without a press release.â It has survived over aeons in a borderless state!
In book excerpts, we have a book that transcends borders as itâs a translation from Assamese by Ranjita Biswas of Arupa Kalita Patangiaâs Moonlight Saga. Any translation is an attempt to integrate the margins into the mainstream of literature, and this is no less. The other excerpt is from Natalie Turnerâs The Red Silk Dress. Keith Lyons has interviewed Turner about her novel which crosses multiple cultures too while on a personal quest.
In reviews, Somdatta Mandal discusses a book that explores the colours of a river across three sets of borders, Sanjoy Hazarikaâs River Traveller: Journeys on the TSANGO-BRAHMAPUTRA from Tibet to the Bay of Bengal. Rakhi Dalal writes about a narrative centring around migrants, Sujit Sarafâs Every Room Has a View â A Novel. Anindita Basak reviews Taslima Nasrinâs poetry, Burning Roses in my Garden, translated from Bengali by Jesse Waters. Bhaskar Parichha reviews Kailash Satyarthiâs Karuna: The Power of Compassion. In it, Satyarthi suggest the creation of CQ â Compassion Quotientâ like IQ and EQ, claiming it will improve our quality of life. What a wonderful thought!
Could we be yearning compassion?
Holding on to that idea, we invite you to savour the contents of our February issue.
Huge thanks to all our contributors and readers for making this issue possible. Heartfelt thanks to our wonderful team, especially Sohana Manzoor for her fabulous artwork.
Enjoy the reads!
Letâs look forward to the spring⊠May it bring new ideas to help us all move towards more amicable times.
There are many great cinematic representations of time such as the 1960 George Pal version of the Time Machine and from the same period the Time Travellers ( which was remade as the inferior Journey to the Centre of Time some years later) had some interesting juxtapositions near the end. But the sequence that has stuck in my head is from Kubrick’s 2001 a Space Odyssey, where a shattering glass is used to convey the passage of subjective time for Bowman. For the majority of living things, time is a subjective concern, a relative few spend most of their lives looking at the cosmic scheme of things — philosophers, scientists and writers.
Aristotle differed from Plato and over the centuries there were many unique interpretations ranging from bleak existential views to epic works comfortingly tied to Madeleines. Our concept of time is reinforced by popular culture. A 1960 film titled When the Clock Strikes, is about a criminal condemned to be executed at midnight. It’s a stormy night and an assortment of characters converge on Cady’s place not far from the prison where the convicted murderer will be hung. Cady’s is a convenient place to shelter from the storm for a juror who is wracked with guilt that he might have sent an innocent man to the gallows. He has an opportunity to convey his concerns when the warden calls on the way to prison. Also there is a woman pretending to be the wife of the condemned man and somehow a man struggles through the stormy night and arrives at Cady’s to announce that he is the guilty one but he is too late to stop the execution as the phone lines are down. The rest of the movie deals with a plan to somehow get the stolen money the deceased man had hidden. This is a good example of how time hangs over our existence, providing motivation and sometimes pushing us to the limits of endurance rather than be beaten by the relentless arrow of time.
Newton ‘s Universe served us well until the electron microscope focused attention on the underlying structure of the Universe. No longer could we accept that the Universe functioned like clockwork as in the languorous days gone by. Even Einstein knew that, for want of a better word, âspookyâ things were happening at a sub-atomic level. The Universe is essentially vast amounts of information. In the 20th century, devices were invented to record sound and visual information . These devices proved invaluable to scientific research as well as arts a and entertainment. Scientific and creative minds found ways of mixing, compressing and manipulating information in much the same way that information goes through various transformations in a cosmic setting such as event horizon of a black hole for instance. The Universe is composed of sequences of information , timelines branching in all directions. Some entities will follow one timeline while others will sample multiple timelines. On a quantum level, time foam can occur under the right conditions and elsewhere there are shards of time and no doubt there is time that resembles the contents of a document shredder.
This is the 21st century and we should have mastered time with all the technological marvels at our disposal. Modern transport can get us from A to B so much quicker, at least it would if only governments would spend enough on infrastructure so we did not spend so much time in traffic jams. AI should be facilitating a more a meaningful existence but algorithms can be time wasters when corporations use them to maximise profits. At a time when there are record numbers of lonely people someone comes up with the bright idea of creating a virtual reality where participants interact with avatars creating another wedge between people and the real world. Such virtual worlds can attract people predisposed to such immersion. Gambling addicts can spend days, weeks, years, gambling on poker machines. The tragedy is playing out right now as these individuals lose their partners, families and souls to the machines. It’s a limbo world where nothing meaningful happens. Lost time.
Scientists say the concept of time was invented by us to create a sense of order to our existence but is time not a thing? We should make the most of whatever devices are at our disposal to improve our lives and the lives of those around us. A meaningful existence is one that acknowledges that we are creatures like all other creatures on this planet and we are sustained by this planet and the complex ecosystems around us.
The answers to the mysteries of time might be solved by the collective wisdom of the world’s indigenous people. It might also come some time in the future in conversations with sperm whales at a depth of three thousand metres.
From Public Domain
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Mario Fenech is an artist, writer. His visual art is mainly sculptures and had many exhibitions around Melbourne over the years. His writing has been essentially science fiction ideas and most were short stories although he self-published a novella in 2013 titled, âThe Rock in Room Tenâ. He is currently two thirds into his latest science fiction story.
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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
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