Gower Bhat discusses the advent of coaching schools in Kashmir for competitive exams for University exams, which seem to be replacing real schools. Clickhere to read.
In winters, birds migrate. They face no barriers. The sun also shines across fences without any hindrance. Long ago, the late Nirendranath Chakraborty (1924-2018) wrote about a boy, Amalkanti, who wanted to be sunshine. The real world held him back and he became a worker in a dark printing press. Dreams sometimes can come to nought for humanity has enough walls to keep out those who they feel do not ‘belong’ to their way of life or thought. Some even war, kill and violate to secure an exclusive existence. Despite the perpetuation of these fences, people are now forced to emigrate not only to find shelter from the violences of wars but also to find a refuge from climate disasters. These people — the refuge seekers— are referred to as refugees[1]. And yet, there are a few who find it in themselves to waft to new worlds, create with their ideas and redefine norms… for no reason except that they feel a sense of belonging to a culture to which they were not born. These people are often referred to as migrants.
At the close of this year, Keith Lyons brings us one such persona who has found a firm footing in New Zealand. Setting new trends and inspiring others is a writer called Harry Ricketts[2]. He has even shared a poem from his latest collection, Bonfires on the Ice. Ricketts’ poem moves from the personal to the universal as does the poetry of another migrant, Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, aspiring to a new, more accepting world. While Tulip Chowdhury — who also moved across oceans — prays for peace in a war torn, weather-worn world:
I plant new seeds of dreams for a peaceful world of tomorrow.
Fiction in this issue reverberates across the world with Marc Rosenberg bringing us a poignant telling centred around childhood, innocence and abuse. Sayan Sarkar gives a witty, captivating, climate-friendly narrative centred around trees. Naramsetti Umamaheswararao weaves a fable set in Southern India.
A story by Nasir Rahim Sohrabi from the dusty landscapes of Balochistan has found its way into our translations too with Fazal Baloch rendering it into English from Balochi. Isa Kamari translates his own Malay poems which echo themes of his powerful novels, A Song of the Wind (2007) and Tweet(2017), both centred around the making of Singapore. Snehaprava Das introduces Odia poems by Satrughna Pandab in English. While Professor Fakrul Alam renders one of Nazrul’s best-loved songs from Bengali to English, Tagore’s translated poem Jatri (Passenger) welcomes prospectives onboard a boat —almost an anti-thesis of his earlier poem ‘Sonar Tori’ (The Golden Boat) where the ferry woman rows off robbing her client.
We have plenty of non-fiction this time starting with a tribute to Jane Austen (1775-1817) by Meenakshi Malhotra. Austen turns 250 this year and continues relevant with remakes in not only films but also reimagined with books around her novels — especially Pride and Prejudice (which has even a zombie version). Bhaskar Parichha pays a tribute to writer Bibhuti Patnaik. Ravi Varmman K Kanniappan explores ancient Sangam Literature from Tamil Nadu and Ratnottama Sengupta revisits an art exhibition that draws bridges across time… an exploration she herself curated.
We have a spray of colours from across almost all the continents in our pages this time. A bumper issue again — for which all of the contributors have our heartfelt thanks. Huge thanks to our fabulous team who pitch in to make a vibrant issue for all of us. A special thanks to Sohana Manzoor for the fabulous artwork. And as our readers continue to grow in numbers by leap and bounds, I would want to thank you all for visiting our content! Introduce your friends too if you like what you find and do remember to pause by this issue’s contents page.
Wish all of you happy reading through the holiday season!
Jatri (Passenger) was a part of Tagore’s collection, Khanika (moments), published in 1900.
Art by Sohana Manzoor
PASSENGER
There’s place on my ferry. You are alone. You have Only one bundle of paddy. It may be a bit crammed, But not that heavily jammed. My ferry could be A bit overloaded — But you don’t have to leave. There’s a place for you!
Come, come to my boat! If your feet are dusty, Let them be mud-coated. Your body is like a creeper. Your eyes are restless. Your garb’s blue-green, Flowing like water — There’ll always be place for you — Come, come to my boat!
There are many passengers. Their destinations are varied. They are all strangers. You’ll also for a while Sit on my ferry Till the end of the ride. A denial will make no difference — If you want to come, join us. There are many passengers.
Where’s your jetty? Where’s the store For your paddy? If you do not state, What will be our fate? I’ll have to ponder At the end of the ride — Where’s your shore, Where’s your home?
*The interesting thing about this poem is that it seems to be complete reversal of the poem Sonar Tori(Golden Boat), published in 1894, with the ferryman welcoming passengers aboard, whereas in the earlier poem, the ferry woman sails off with the bundle of paddy belonging to another, leaving her passenger behind.
This poem has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty with editorial input by Sohana Manzoor
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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Festivals are affirmations of joy and love that bind humanity with their sense of hope even in a world torn by violence and climate change. As the end of the year approaches, we invite you to savour flavours of festivals past and, a few, yet to come, before the cycle starts again in the new year. The colours of celebrations are vibrant and varied as shades of nature or the skies.
We have new years spread out over the year, starting with January, moving on to the Chinese New Year around February, the Bengali new year in April to festivals of environment, light, darkness as in Wiccan beliefs, Tagore’s birth, more conventional ones like Deepavali, Eid, Durga Puja and Christmas. People celebrate in different ways and for different reasons. What we have also gathered is not only the joie de vivre but also the sadness people feel when celebrations are muted whether due to the pandemic, wars or for social reasons. In some cases, we indulge in excesses with funny results! And there are of course festivals of humanity … as celebrated by the bauls — the singing mendicants of Bengal — who only recognise the religion of love, compassion and kindness.
Ramakanta Rath’sSri Radha celebrating the love of Radha and Krishna have been translated from Odiya by the late poet himself, have been excerpted from his full length translation. Click here to read.
Bijoya Doushumi, a poem on the last day of Durga Puja, by the famous poet, Michael Madhusudan Dutt, has been translated from Bengali by Ratnottama Sengupta. Click here to read.
A Clean Start: Suzanne Kamata tells us how the Japanese usher in a new year. Click here to read.
Shanghai in Jakarta: Eshana Sarah Singh takes us to Chinese New Year celebrations in Djakarta. Click here to read.
Cherry Blossom Forecast: Suzanne Kamata brings the Japanese ritual of cherry blossom viewing to our pages with her camera and words. Clickhere to read.
Pohela Boisakh: A Cultural Fiesta: Sohana Manzoor shares the Bengali New Year celebrations in Bangladesh with interesting history and traditions that mingle beyond the borders. Clickhere to read.
The New Year’s Boon: Devraj Singh gives a glimpse into the projection of a new normal created by God. Click here to read.
A Musical Soiree: Snigdha Agrawal recalls how their family celebrated Tagore’s birth anniversary. Click here to read.
An Alien on the Altar! Snigdha Agrawal writes of how a dog and lizard add zest to Janmashtami (Krishna’s birthday) festivities with a dollop of humour. Click here to read
Memories of Durga Puja : Fakrul Alam recalls the festivities of Durga Puja in Dhaka during his childhood. Click hereto read.
KL Twin Towers near Kolkata?: Devraj Singh Kalsi visits the colours of a marquee hosting the Durga Puja season with its spirit of inclusivity. Click here to read.
Hold the roast turkey please Santa: Celebrating the festive season off-season with Keith Lyons from New Zealand, where summer solstice and Christmas fall around the same time. Click here to read.
Odbayar Dorj writes of celebrating the start of the new school year in Mongolia and of their festivals around teaching and learning. Click here to read.
Naramsetti Umamaheswararao gives a story set in a village in Andhra Pradesh. Clickhere to read.
Feature
A conversation withAmina Rahman, owner of Bookworm Bookshop, Dhaka, about her journey from the corporate world to the making of her bookstore with a focus on community building. Clickhereto read.
The idea of spring heralds hope even when it’s deep winter. The colours of spring bring variety along with an assurance of contentment and peace. While wars and climate disasters rage around the world, peace can be found in places like the cloistered walls of Sistine Chapel where conflicts exist only in art. Sometimes, we get a glimpse of peace within ourselves as we gaze at the snowy splendour of Himalayas and sometimes, in smaller things… like a vernal flower or the smile of a young child. Inner peace can at times lead to great art forms as can conflicts where people react with the power of words or visual art. But perhaps, what is most important is the moment of quietness that helps us get in touch with that inner voice giving out words that can change lives. Can written words inspire change?
Our featured bookstore’s owner from Bangladesh, Amina Rahman, thinks it can. Rahman of Bookworm, has a unique perspective for she claims, “A lot of people mistake success with earning huge profits… I get fulfilment out of other things –- community health and happiness and… just interaction.” She provides books from across the world and more while trying to create an oasis of quietude in the busy city of Dhaka. It was wonderful listening to her views — they sounded almost utopian… and perhaps, therefore, so much more in synch with the ideas we host in these pages.
Our content this month are like the colours of the rainbow — varied and from many countries. They ring out in different colours and tones, capturing the multiplicity of human existence. The translations start with Professor Fakrul Alam’s transcreation of Nazrul’s Bengali lyrics in quest of the intangible. Isa Kamari translates four of his own Malay poems on spiritual quest, while from Balochi, Fazal Baloch bring us Munir Momin’s esoteric verses in English. Snehprava Das’s translation of Rohini K.Mukherjee poetry from Odia and S.Ramakrishnan’s story translated from Tamil by B.Chandramouli also have the same transcendental notes. Tagore’s playful poem on winter (Sheeth) mingles a bit for spring, the season welcomed by all creatures great and small.
We have good news to share —Borderless Journal has had the privilege of being listed on Duotrope – which means more readers and writers for us. We are hugely grateful to all our readers and contributors without who we would not have a journal. Thanks to our wonderful team, especially Sohana Manzoor for her fabulous artwork.
Hope you have a wonderful month as we move towards the end of this year.
Sheeth or Winter was first published in 1909 in Tagore’s collection called Shishu (Children). The poem looks forward to winter giving way to spring using simple but eloquent verses.
Art by Sohana Manzoor
The bird says, “I will leave.” The flower says, “I will not bloom.” The breeze merely says, “I will not flit across the woods.” Young shoots do not look up, Instead, sprouts shrivel to shed. Dusty bamboos loom To paint an untimely dusk. Why do the birds migrate? Why do flowers not bloom? Why has the agile breeze stopped romping in the woods? The heartless winter Has a bleak outlook. Wrinkled and harsh, She imparts hard lessons. The gleaming moonlit night, The fresh fragrance of flowers, The youthful sport of breeze, The cacophony of leaves — All these she looks upon as sins, She thinks in nature, The knowledgeable only sit Still like a picture. That is why the bird bids “goodbye”. The flower says, “I’ll not bloom.” The breeze merely says, “I’ll not run across the woods.” But when Hope says, “Spring’ll come,” The flower says, “I’ll bloom.” The bird says, “I’ll sing.” The moon says, “I’ll smile.” The newly-fledged spring Has just started to awake. He smiles at whatever he sees. He plays with everything. His heart is full of hope. Unaware of his own desires, His being runs hither and thither Looking for kindred spirits. Flowers bloom, so does the child. Birds sing, so does he. He hugs the caressing breeze To play vernal games. That’s why when I hear, “Spring’ll come,” The flower says, “I’ll bloom.” The bird says, “I’ll sing.” The moon says, “I’ll smile.” Winter, why did you come here? Your home is in the north — Birds do not sing there, Flowers do not bloom on trees. Your home is a snowy desert That’s dark and lifeless — Sit there alone, O knowledgeable, Spend your days contemplating.
Snowy Kanchenjunga photographed from Darjeeling, West Bengal, in winters.
This poem has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty with editorial input by Sohana Manzoor
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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
An interview with Amina Rahman, owner of Bookworm, Dhaka
In a world, where online bookshops and Amazon hold the sway, where people prefer soft copy to real books, some bookshops still persist and grow. There are of course many that have closed business or diversified. But what are these concerns that continue to show resistance to the onslaught of giant corporations and breed books for old fashioned readers? How do they thrive? To find answers, we talked to a well-known bookshop owner in Bangladesh.
Amina Rahman is an entrepreneur who runs such a concern called Bookworm, a haven for book lovers in Dhaka. Schooled in Italy, India and America, Rahman married into the family that owned a small bookshop. Started by her father-in-law, it was a family refuge till she took over the running and created a larger community – a concept that she believed in and learnt much about during her youth spent on various continents. She believes that just as it takes a community to bring up a child, a bookshop has to be nurtured in a similar vein. Bookworm started at Dhaka’s old airport in 1994 and eventually moved to a more community friendly locale at the town centre. Rahman took over in 2012, rebranding it, repurposing and breathing new life into it.
Bookworm houses books from all over the world, holds special launches, as they did recently of Sam Dalrymple’s Shattered Lands:Five Partitions and the Making of Modern Asia, and of many other local and foreign authors, like Vikram Seth and Aruna Chakravarti. They have even been adopted by the cats in the park! This month they are opening a book-café. Rahman has a unique outlook that makes her redefine ‘success’ and here she also talks about how she evolved into her dream project to make it a reality.
Sam Dalrymple at his launch on 9/11/2025A local launch
You studied environmental policy and environment, worked for several NGO’s and multinational concerns. What made you turn to or opt to run the bookstore over your own career options?
My choice of subject in university was impacted by a fantastic biology teacher I had in middle school at Rome. He took us out on regular field trips and made us collect garbage to learn about the environment! You can imagine — in 1984-85, when we were kids, he would pick up garbage and show us how diapers and cigarette butts were completely not biodegradable. Disgusting but effective. He told us it would take years before they deteriorated and dissolve into the Earth. These things stick in your mind.
To be honest, I followed the Environment path and ended up working for the King County solid-waste department in Seattle which was all about garbage and recycling and so fascinating. But as you get older and you travel through Asia, you realise the pointlessness of it all as none of it is applicable in the same way in our region. Bangladesh and Asia were green in those days until plastics were introduced in a big way about fifteen years ago. At the end of the day, the community is at the heart of taking care of everything, and if everyone takes care of their particular communities, it’s a better world. And this resonates with why I went into running the bookstore – to make community.
I realised that I was missing some kind of dynamism and I wanted to move forward. I wanted something more to happen. This had been a consistent strain I had with everything. You worked for organisations. They would become very top-heavy. Change happened slowly. When I shifted into the corporate world in Dhaka, I felt that was the most dynamic thing — it was fast moving. I learnt much. Then I went into market research, which was incredible research into human behaviour but was completely tuned into making money at whatever cost. It all was very self-serving and opposite of a welfarist approach towards the community. Corporations trumped community here.
I lost inspiration.
My father-in-law and I had a mutual love for books. I fell in love with my husband over his books. I married in 2004, and it was in 2012, when I was taking time out to assess my goals that my father-in-law suggested I spend time in his bookstore. So, I did. What was an amazing coincidence, was that the Dhaka LitFest started the same year! And the chief organiser asked if Bookworm could be part of the it and I agreed. Vikram Seth was the star guest that year.
Amina Rahman
Can you briefly tell us the story of Bookworm?
When I joined the Bookworm, it was almost a forgotten venture. The family had moved on to other interests. It was used more as a refuge for relatives, old staff, dusty books, unpaid debts and stalled time.
I had never run a business in my life before. For the book business I literally had to climb from the bottom up. It was definitely not easy. I had to figure out the book world, the suppliers, the publishers, the distribution network. Customer preferences, not to mention accounting, taxes, salaries and taking over a small business and the responsibilities that go with it.
The publishing world and the distributing world is a whole different ball game from every other business. It’s a supply chain of such remarkability from the packers and warehousing to the authors and customers. You go from the very basics to the highest and that is so fulfilling. Nothing can compare to that.
Besides, the love of books, one thing I knew was at bookstore was community. It is the ultimate community for booksellers and writers to connect with the world. As you will know, we hit every audience — everybody from the newborn baby to the old man or woman to young adults to school students to university goers to the erudite pursuing literature. We cover just about everything. Ultimately a physical bookstore is where the community meets, and that’s where the ideas are shared, that’s where if you put attention to it people meet inspiration.
While the Dhaka Literary Festival, in whose first iteration Bookworm was a participant, seems to have petered off, Bookworm continues to hold launches on its own. Do you see the shop as a substitute for the festival?
Absolutely not. I mean book launches are wonderful and are a must for every physical bookstore. They connect the people, and as I tell everyone, if you want to sell your book, even if you written the greatest book, you need to work hard at promoting the book. So, every writer needs to have venues whether small or big to launch their books.
Every city needs to have a LitFest, and it is a must. Dhaka is absolutely famous for having our Boimela[1]. That is a real heritage.
What is it you offer readers other than books? Do you have a café?
Actually, we are opening one now.
We didn’t have a cafe in the store, but we’ve had very interesting sort of cafe and bookstore combination when we were in the old airport. We had a cafe next-door to us, which I finally assimilated, also adding to more space for the books. And that became our own little cafe. It wasn’t really anything great; it was just regular we did not even have a coffee machine. Coffee was the old fashion Nescafe, but it did the trick. The whole set up had a very local flavour. Most of all people just like having an area to sit and drink something hot while freely reading books. And this sufficed.
That was wonderful. That store was in the old airport, which we loved with all our heart, and we were there for 30 years. Then we left. I opened up a branch in Dhanmundi, which is probably the best place for books sellers because the book reading population is huge there. We also got the opportunity to open up our bookstore inside a very famous Coffeehouse called Northend. They had a huge base, and they asked us if we’d like to take some of it and we did and that was fantastic.
We had to close that for Covid. Many say they miss it. And that was the first time we had ventured out of our space and opened a new store like a second branch. Then we got this chance to be in a park where we don’t have a cafe inside of our bookstore, but on the other side of the park, which is why we opened a café in our store.
What do you see as the future of bookstores like yours with the onset of online giants like Amazon? Does that impact you?
Yes. Amazon has had a huge impact. Luckily, we don’t have Amazon in Bangladesh. Amazon has had a very negative impact on our fellow booksellers in India and other places. I won’t even bother to compete with them.
I think everyone’s realised that there is a big difference with access points and how Amazon works. At the end of the day, people who come to our bookstore for the experience, for meeting other people, authors too, and talking to their bookseller. It’s more than just getting the book you want to read — that’s part of it — but it’s also about browsing and finding quiet time.
I think that my great experience with books was in bookstores I didn’t have to buy a book. I could browse. Sometimes, you may not be able to afford the book, but you can open it on any page. You could just read a passage, and that might change you. You could come back and buy it or the passage could just stay with you forever. You know it’s those sort of fleeting moments that you have when you’re browsing a book that makes a bookstore precious. That’s a very different experience from Amazon.
Amazon is much more utilitarian. Both have their ups and downs, I guess. You can’t have book launches on Amazon, but I think, Amazon is a big competition… in the sense that it also gives so many discounts.
What kind of books does your store offer? What kind of writers?
I tried to offer everything. In the beginning when we started, I started to try to figure out what books to get. I started with the catalogues, and it was a bit of hit and miss. You slowly start to realise what works. One of the worst experiences for bookstore are books that sit on shelves and don’t move. Sometimes you can buy what is really number one on the best seller list and it just doesn’t move because it’s irrelevant or it’s number one in a different country. You learn by trial and error and then you start to figure out your customers. It was painstaking yet enjoyable.
We use social media to draw readers to our shelves.
As a wholesome bookstore, we have a bit of everything from literature to history, kids’ books, romance, young adult fictions, thrillers, bestselling thrillers, to fantasy. Christie, Sydey Sheldon, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Manga, graphic novels, spiritual and religious books to Bangla books and collector’s items, special editions to lighter books that just bring solace. We see your customer choices and learn. You do not stuff literature down their throats. It has to be relevant to our customers.
What are the challenges of running a bookstore like yours in a country where English is not the first language?
I think actually it’s a challenge to run a bookstore anywhere in, especially with the new market forces of Amazon and online shopping and the digital world. Having physical stores is becoming a challenge. I have travelled to bookstores all over the world and learnt from the experience. A bookstore is more of a tactile experience for all people, readers and non-readers. Humanity has learnt from tactile experiences and to touch and smell a book, browse and sit amidst books is very much that. When realised that people were not coming to me, I took the books to them. I took our books to every mela(fairs). Social media was the next big thing. The ultimate was of course the Dhaka LitFest. People were excited to see our English books, and they all sold. Bangladeshis would travel to other countries to buy books as Bengalis love reading.
The LitFest helped a lot. It brought big authors, like Vikram Seth, for they were interested in exploring new readers.
We also started a delivery service. Some customers said it was hard to get to our store. So, we started a thrice week delivery service and then increased it. We bought a cycle for the rider. He went out and delivered the books that readers had ordered and paid for.
When Covid hit, it was prime time for many to turned to books and we had everything in place – our social media and our delivery service. We did well during that phase, though that is not a good thing to say.
What do you see as the future for your bookstore? There are chains like Takashimaya, Times Books and others — which despite having shrunk, post online bookstores, maintain an international presence. Do you see yourself as a chain that will grow into an international presence?
I think a chain store goes beyond the community. It is a model for more profit-oriented sellers. I would rather have a community-based culture where all people are welcome and find something that draws them and gives them a sense of quiet.
A lot of people mistake success with earning huge profits and if that’s what you’re in for that’s fine too — that’s business but what I do isn’t that. I get fulfilment out of other things –- community health and happiness, and you know just interaction. I think one of the ways to make a very powerful long-lasting brand and business is trust and good service. There’s no substitute for hard work and passion. When you love something, you really put your mind to it. And that helps you keep your friends forever.
(This online interview has been conducted over transcribed voice messages in What’sApp by Mitali Chakravarty. All the photographs have been provided by Amina Rahman.)
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Art by Henry Tayali(1943-1987). From Public Domain
Let us imagine a world where wars have been outlawed and there is only peace. Is that even possible outside of John Lennon’s song? While John Gray, a modern-day thinker, propounds human nature cannot change despite technological advancements, one has to only imagine how a cave dweller would have told his family flying to the moon was an impossibility. And yet, it has been proven a reality and now, we are thinking living in outer space, though currently it is only the forte of a few elitists and astronomers. Maybe, it will become an accessible reality as shown in books by Isaac Asimov, Arthur C Clarke or shows like Star Trek and Star Wars. Perhaps, it’s only dreamers or ideators pursuing unreal hopes and urges who often become the change makers, the people that make humanity move forward. In Borderless, we merely gather your dreams and present them to the world. That is why we love to celebrate writers from across all languages and cultures with translations and writings that turn current norms topsy turvy. We feature a number of such ideators in this issue.
Nazrul in his times, would have been one such ideator, which is why we carry a song by him translated by Professor Fakrul Alam. And yet before him was Tagore — this time we carry a translation of an unusual poem about happiness. From current times, we present to you a poet — perhaps the greatest Malay writer in Singapore — Isa Kamari. He has translated his longing for changes into his poems. His novels and stories express the same longing as he shares in The Lost Mantras, his self-translated poems that explore adapting old to new. We will be bringing these out over a period of time. We also have poems by Hrushikesh Mallick translated from Odia by Snehprava Das and a poignant story by Sharaf Shad translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch.
Book reviews homes an indepth introduction by Somdatta Mandal to Banu Mushtaq’s Heart Lamp: Selected Stories, translated from Kannada by Deepa Bhasthi. We have a discussion by Meenakshi Malhotra on Contours of Him: Poems, edited and introduced by Malaysian academic, Malachi Edwin Vethamani, in which she concludes, “that if femininity is a construct, so is masculinity.” Overriding human constructs are journeys made by migrants. Rupak Shreshta has introduced us to immigrant Sangita Swechcha’s Rose’s Odyssey: Tales of Love and Loss, translated from Nepali by Jayant Sharma. Bhaskar Parichha winds up this section with his exploration of Kalpana Karunakaran’s A Woman of No Consequence: Memory, Letters and Resistance in Madras. He tells us: “A Woman of No Consequence restores dignity to what is often dismissed as ordinary. It chronicles the spiritual and intellectual evolution of a woman who sought transcendence within the rhythms of domestic life, turning the everyday into a site of resistance and renewal.” Again, by the sound of it a book that redefines the idea that housework is mundane and gives dignity to women and the task at hand.
We wind up the October issue hoping for changes that will lead to a happier existence, helping us all connect with the commonality of emotions, overriding borders that hurt humanity, other species and the Earth.
Huge thanks to our fabulous team, especially Sohana Manzoor for her inimitable artwork. We would all love to congratulate Hughes for his plays that ran houseful in Swansea. And heartfelt thanks to all our wonderful contributors, without who this issue would not have been possible, and to our readers, who make it worth our while, to write and publish.
Today, it’s a cloudless day. Happy skies Smile like friends. The breeze flits, flies Embracing the face, chest, eyes — Like an invisible aanchol billows high Only to descend on a sleeping deity. Peacefully on Padma’s waves, the ferry Sails swishing joy. Relaxed sandbanks Lie sunbathing at a distance. The high sloping sides are interrupted By tall shady trees, a hidden hut. A narrow, curved path from a distant village Crosses the farms and nears the water’s edge Like a thirsty tongue. Rural brides Wash their clothes, chatter awhile, Joke. Their loud sweet laughter Mingle with the sounds of water To waft to me. A fisherman, aged, Sits on a bent boat, weaves a net While sunning his back. A naked child Laughs merrily while he dives Again and again into the water. Patient, Padma gazes like an indulgent parent. From the ferry, I see two shores — The clearest lucid blue expands galore. Amidst a flood of light, exotic lines are seen In the water, land, forests. On a warm breeze, The ferry sails past shores with groves, sometimes, Scent of mango buds waft, only at times, Faint sounds of bird calls.
My mind Is filled with peace — I feel Happiness is simple. It spreads like Flowers in bowers, like the smile On the face of a child — expectant lips Holding the nectar of a kiss, Gaze silently forever laced With artless innocence. The sky is immersed and stilled with the harmony of music in sync. How will I sing in tune with those notes? How will I sound? How will I compose The lyrics in simple words to gift To my beloved so that they bring A smile to her eyes, her lips? How will I help unfold this to my love? How will I convey the joy from above? It’s tough to hold on, to clasp. I chase it but it eludes my grasp. I look for it. I walk fast— Like a blind man, I stumble afar. But it’s now lost. I gaze All around, fascinated, focussing On this still, blue water, so calm. And I had thought it was easy to clasp.
*Aanchol is the loose end of a sari
This poem has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty with editorial input by Sohana Manzoor
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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Borderless 