Chapter 2of Isa Kamari’s novel, The Throne,has been translated by the author from Malay. We will be running the whole novel as serial through the year. Click hereto read.
A Tiny Piece of Homeland, an autobiographical narrative by Kallol Lahiri in Bengali, has been translated by V. Ramaswamy. Click here to read.
Walking Together, a poem, has been written and translated from Korean by Ihlwha Choi. Click hereto read.
Swopno (Dream), a poem by Tagore, has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty. Click hereto read.
Once upon a time, a wealthy merchant named Viswanatham lived in the town of Sreepuram. He owned several businesses, residential properties, and vast tracts of land.
Viswanatham had two sons. The elder, Suryam, was an upright and dutiful man. Wise beyond his years and like-minded with his father, he actively assisted in expanding and managing the family business. The younger son, Chandram, was quite the opposite—contentious, easily swayed by his wife’s manipulative counsel, and perpetually creating discord at home.
One day, Viswanatham passed away. Relatives, friends, and well-wishers poured in to pay their respects and share in the family’s grief. Suryam dutifully and meticulously performed all the solemn funeral rites and obsequies for his departed father.
No sooner had the fortnight of mourning ended and the final rituals concluded than Chandram insisted on dividing the family estate.
“Father hasn’t been gone even fifteen days,” Suryam reasoned gently with his younger brother. “Must we talk of partition so soon? Let us remain united. If you require money for your personal needs, I will gladly give you whatever you want.”
Chandram refused to yield. “This is our joint ancestral property,” he snapped back. “Why should I come begging to you for every expense and live at your mercy? I want my share separate—that is precisely why I am asking for partition.”
Seeing that all his persuasion fell on deaf ears, Suryam sighed softly. “Very well. Sit down with your wife, and we shall divide the assets between us.”
Yet Chandram remained dissatisfied. “No, let us convene the village elders and have them arbitrate the division.”
Suryam agreed and summoned the village elders. He laid out the complete inventory of properties and placed all the title deeds respectfully before them. After reviewing the estate, the elders recommended a fair, equal split: the farmland and core businesses were to be divided down the middle; one brother would take the rice mill while the other received the jaggery processing mill; and the rental houses and commercial shops would be distributed equally between them.
Chandram immediately interjected, “Since I am the younger brother, I should get the first right of choice.” Suryam readily agreed.
“I shall take the rice mill,” Chandram declared. Suryam concurred without protest.
When it came to the family cash and gold jewelry, the elders suggested an equal division. But Chandram demurred, “I do not want cash; I want all the gold.” He had been prompted by his wife, who foresaw that gold would appreciate significantly in value in the future.
The elders were taken aback. “How is that acceptable? We can divide things equally, but how can we deliver a verdict that inflicts a clear financial loss on your elder brother?”
When Chandram stubbornly refused to compromise, the elders adjourned the meeting, asking everyone to reflect overnight.
The following morning, the assembly resumed. But Chandram had abruptly changed his stance. “I have reconsidered. I want the jaggery mill instead of the rice mill. And I no longer want gold—give me the liquid cash instead!”
The elders reprimanded him, “You are backtracking on what you agreed to yesterday. That is unfair.”
“I am simple-minded and do not know how to choose properly!” Chandram blustered back argumentatively. As the debate turned increasingly chaotic and fruitless, the elders once again deferred the matter to the next day.
When they reassembled, Chandram presented yet another set of demands: “I know nothing of farming. Give me the fertile lands with guaranteed irrigation facilities and leave the dry rain-fed lands for my elder brother. Furthermore, assign all the local commercial enterprises in town to me, while Elder Brother can take the businesses situated in the neighbouring villages.”
No matter how patiently the elders explained the injustice of his demands, Chandram refused to listen. For a whole week, he concocted fresh excuses every single day to stall and dispute the division.
Fearing that endorsing a lopsided partition would burden their own consciences with sin, the exasperated village elders finally raised their hands in surrender. “We bow to your estate division and we bow to both of you! Please go to the court of law and let the judge settle your partition. This is beyond our capacity.”
Left with no alternative, the brothers approached the town judge—a magistrate renowned far and wide for his astute, brilliant, and incisive verdicts. The judge listened attentively to both brothers, took down their statements, and instructed them to return in a week’s time.
In the interim, the magistrate discreetly summoned the village elders who had attempted arbitration. He gathered a comprehensive account of the entire dispute and confirmed beyond doubt that Chandram was the sole troublemaker acting in bad faith.
When Suryam and Chandram appeared before him the following week, the judge asked, “Do either of you have anything further to state?”
Suryam replied humbly, “Your Honor, I will abide by whatever judgment you pronounce.”
Chandram, on the other hand, slyly remarked, “If the verdict does not suit me, I reserve the right to seek modifications.”
The judge, having fully gauged Chandram’s litigious nature, knew precisely how to give him a taste of his own medicine.
Pronouncing his verdict, the magistrate declared in an authoritative voice:
“It is evident from our inquiry that Suryam has acted with absolute honesty and good faith throughout this matter. Since every difficulty has been engineered by Chandram, and since no division made by others will ever satisfy him, Chandram himself shall divide the entire estate into two equal shares. Once he completes the division, Suryam shall have the first right to choose whichever share he prefers. This is my final judgment, and the division must take place right here, right now!”
Upon hearing this verdict, Chandram stood frozen—it was as if an unripe wood-apple had lodged firmly in his throat. He found himself trapped between a rock and a hard place. All along, he had criticized and disrupted divisions made by others. But now, the duty of division rested solely on his shoulders. If he unfairly stacked all the prime properties into one share for himself, Suryam would simply pick that share, leaving Chandram with the lesser portion. Thus, to protect his own self-interest, Chandram was forced to meticulously measure and balance both shares to the finest detail so that he would suffer no loss regardless of what Suryam chose.
Thus, through the judge’s masterstroke of wisdom, the long-pending property dispute was settled smoothly and flawlessly.
Everyone present lauded the brilliant magistrate for dealing Chandram the exact remedy he deserved.
Naramsetti Umamaheswararao has written more than a thousand stories, songs, and novels for children over 42 years. he has published 32 books. His novel, Anandalokam, received the Central Sahitya Akademi Award for children’s literature. He has received numerous awards and honours, including the Andhra Pradesh Government’s Distinguished Telugu Language Award and the Pratibha Award from Potti Sreeramulu Telugu University. He established the Naramshetty Children’s Literature Foundation and has been actively promoting children’s literature as its president.
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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Robihara 2 (Sunless 2) by Nazrul has been translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.
Chapter 1 of Isa Kamari’s novel, The Throne,has been translated by the author from Malay. We will be running the whole novel as serial through the year. Click here to read.
An excerpt from Aslam Dostain‘s novel, Sótkál, has been translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch. Click hereto read.
A Sudden Shower has been written and translated from Korean by Ihlwha Choi. Clickhere to read.
Jhor or Storm, a poem by Tagore, has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty. Click here to read.
Rain, Steam, and Speed – The Great Western Railway, 1844, Painting by Joseph Mallord William Turner
Perhaps, the only constant that makes a difference in this ever-transforming world is how we react to changes around us. How do we interact with not just humans but our whole planet with its climate, contours, its plethora of flora and fauna? Will that impact our survival in the long run? And yet with our focus on legacies, traditions, beliefs, we tend to ignore the call to adapt to the new that might help us move towards an unpredictable future. We forget perhaps that these systems had all been made by our ancestors to ensure survival. Somewhere along the way, these have become like fences caging us into small subsets. The strange thing is we continue to allow that to happen and create enclosures which we fight to maintain. The future that we face now seems even more tumultuous with climate change, rising sea levels and global warming taking a front seat while influx of refugees from war and natural disasters have already started making themselves felt. Add to that the shortages of resources that we have taken for granted for centuries. How would we survive these?
Is it by redefining the constructs we have created or just meeting in corners and finding commonalities as suggested by Ryan Quinn Flanagan in his poem ‘Corners’?
Corners are a meeting place, they hold a room together
Our poetry section often reflects what we experience, feel or see around us. We have poems on how nature overrides human constructs by Khayelihle Benghu. In ‘Passport for the Rain‘, she writes:
If rain possessed a passport, it would read: Citizen of every place that drinks.
We also have poetry in our translations with Ihlwha Choi giving us a glimpse of Korean life. Professor Fakrul Alam has brought to us in English a Bengali poem by Nazrul written on the death of Tagore, a poem that was read out in Calcutta radio by the poet himself in 1941. Tagore’s poem, Storm, has been translated in keeping with the heavy downpours in Asia this season. Fazal Baloch has shared an excerpt in English, which reads like a short story, from Aslam Dostain’s Balochi novel, Sótkál, giving us a flavour of the hard life in their region, where self-reliance is a felt need for survival. We have mental heath issues woven into this section with Isa Kamari’s translation of his own Malay novel into English, The Throne. We will be running a chapter every month from this novel.
Book excerpts also has a translation this time with Ramananda Bharati’s Bengali travelogue, The Forest of Snow, brought to us in English by Somdatta Mandal. Aruna Chakravarti has reviewed this non-fiction for us. The other excerpt is from Hughes’ The Biscuit Thief, a book that reflects his distinct brand of absurd humour. Keith Lyons’ interview this time features an excerpt from interviewee Jayanthi Sankar’s short story set in Singapore. Mandal has written on yet another translation from Assamese by Ranjita Biswas of Arupa Patangia Kalita’s The Moonlight Saga. Bhaskar Parichha has discussed Rabindranath Tagore: The Myriad-Minded Man, co-authored by Krishna Dutta and Andrew Robinson. He claims that this book is “is indispensable reading for anyone interested in literature, intellectual history, cultural modernity, or the life of a man whose vision of humanity continues to speak powerfully to an increasingly interconnected world.”
This month’s non-fiction section has trotted around the globe. We have Ravi Varmman K Kanniappan’s essay discussing how to redefine norms. His take is a bit different from Flanagan’s. He tells us, using Huck Finn, Terminator and Sangam Literature, people need to ask not, “What is right?” but “How did I come to believe this is right?” Rengin Uçkan’s writes on the need for framing rules that are compassionate for refugees. And Farouk Gulsara with his inevitable gruff humour talks of climate change while stating things as it is: “Climate change not only shrinks our summer beachwear but also makes outdoor living impossible. Additionally, it’s proving to be more expensive to consume anything…” Jun A. Alindogan narrates how typhoons have increased in number in Philippines and how it affects them while Jeena R. Papaadi reflects on her literary journey. Meredith Stephens shares her sailing adventures in Australia with stunning photographs by Alan Noble. And Suzanne Kamata has brought us a flavour of the unique Zine Fest in Kobe, where both groceries and books find a place!
Devraj Singh Kalsi hovers between fact and fiction. He has a musing which seems like a hash of dark fiction but based on his experiences. He has also shared a story that is purely fictional. Yi-jung Chen brings to us a quirky love story set in Taiwan across time and space while Brindley Hallam Dennis tells a tale about a dog who sits at a table and sips drinks with a straw! Jay Samanta gives a narrative about a modern relationship based on social media output. Naramsetti Umamaheswararao has shared a fable that talks of freeing nature. The issue is, can we really?
In Borderless Journal, we hope to create a space which will help reflect not just the times but also look forward to ideas that can move us towards surviving in a happier world, built on the basis of accepting differences, filled with love, kindness and compassion. While this may sound clichéd and repetitive, given the current climes, these values cannot be emphasised often enough and perhaps our content to an extent does reflect that, sometimes with a soupçon of humour. Do pause by our contents page for this August and tell us what you think.
Winding up this issue, we would like to thank our all contributors for their wonderful writings and photographs. Huge thanks to the Borderless team without who this issue would not have been as vibrant. Special thanks to Sohana Manzoor for her fabulous artwork. Thank you all. All of you together make this journal come alive.
Gopi and Raju lived in neighbouring houses in the quiet village of Shivapuram. They studied in the ninth grade at a school in a nearby village and returned home together every evening.
Although they were close friends, they looked at the world differently. Gopi had a gentle heart. He could not bear to see even the smallest creature in pain. Raju, on the other hand, was lively and adventurous. He loved games, excitement and doing whatever caught his imagination.
To the east of the village stretched a beautiful orchard, lovingly cared for by villagers. Tall trees reached towards the sky. Fruit trees stood heavy with seasonal harvests, while flowering plants painted the pathways with colour. Birds filled the air with cheerful songs, butterflies drifted among blossoms, and squirrels darted playfully from branch to branch.
The orchard was more than a garden. It was a peaceful refuge where people came to rest after a day’s work.
Among its regular visitors was Vishwanatham, the village priest. Every evening he walked through the orchard, greeting villagers, admiring the trees, and quietly watching the birds and animals that made it their home.
One evening, after finishing his homework, Gopi went there to enjoy the cool breeze. As he entered the orchard, he spotted Raju silently creeping towards a squirrel climbing a tree.
“Raju!” Gopi called out. “Please don’t frighten it.”
Startled by the voice, the squirrel flashed up the trunk and disappeared into the leaves.
Raju turned with disappointment written all over his face.
“I wanted to catch it just for a little while,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to look closely at the stripes on its back. I even thought of keeping it in a cage.”
Gopi smiled gently.
“Some things are beautiful only when they are free,” he replied. “Come. Let’s see the flowers instead.”
They wandered deeper into the orchard.
Clusters of butterflies floated from flower to flower, drinking nectar in the golden evening light. Gopi watched them with quiet delight.
Raju slipped forward unnoticed and gently cupped a butterfly in his hands.
The tiny creature fluttered helplessly.
Seeing this, Gopi hurried over. “It trusts these flowers,” he said softly. “Please don’t make it afraid.” He carefully opened Raju’s hands. For a brief moment, the butterfly rested on Gopi’s fingers before lifting itself into the air and disappearing among the blossoms.
Raju sighed. “You spoil all my fun,” he grumbled. “First the squirrel… now the butterfly.”
“I only want them to remain happy,” Gopi answered.
Soon they reached a guava tree where a bright green parrot was pecking happily at a ripe fruit.
Raju’s eyes sparkled. “If I catch it,” he whispered to himself, “I can teach it to talk.”Without a word, he began climbing the tree.
Gopi immediately understood. He clapped his hands loudly. With a sudden flutter of emerald wings, the parrot rose into the evening sky.
When Raju reached the branch, it had vanished.
“You scared it away!”
“I did,” Gopi admitted calmly. “Because it belongs to the sky—not to a cage.”
Raju climbed down, still annoyed.
“You never let me enjoy anything.”
Gopi looked around at the orchard glowing in the soft light of sunset. “Look around,” he said. “We came here because nature refreshes us after a long day of studying. The flowers bloom without asking anything from us. The birds sing freely. The butterflies brighten the garden simply by being themselves. Isn’t that enough? Why should our happiness come at the expense of others?”
Before Raju could answer, a familiar voice interrupted them.
“You have spoken wisely, Gopi.”
It was Vishwanatham.
The old priest had quietly witnessed everything. He smiled at both boys before speaking. “Nature is a home we share with countless living beings. We are its visitors, not its owners. Every bird, every butterfly, every squirrel has a place and a purpose. Their freedom is as precious to them as yours is to you.
“When we watch them without disturbing them, our hearts become lighter. We discover that joy does not come from possessing life, but from respecting it.”
His words lingered in the still evening air.
Raju lowered his eyes.
“I understand now,” he said quietly. “I never thought about it that way. I promise I will never try to trap another bird or animal.”
Vishwanatham placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “A kind heart,” he said, “is the finest companion anyone can have.”
The three of them stood silently for a moment.
A squirrel scampered across a branch.
A butterfly drifted lazily over a bed of flowers.
High above, the parrot circled once before disappearing beyond the trees.
The orchard seemed to breathe with quiet happiness.
And perhaps, for the first time, Raju understood that the greatest joy in nature is not in holding it… but in letting it remain free.
From Public Domian
Naramsetti Umamaheswararao has written more than a thousand stories, songs, and novels for children over 42 years. he has published 32 books. His novel, Anandalokam, received the Central Sahitya Akademi Award for children’s literature. He has received numerous awards and honours, including the Andhra Pradesh Government’s Distinguished Telugu Language Award and the Pratibha Award from Potti Sreeramulu Telugu University. He established the Naramshetty Children’s Literature Foundation and has been actively promoting children’s literature as its president.
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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Charudutta Panigrahi introduces us to to the eighteenth century literary giant, Upendra Bhanja, who gave up his crown for the love of words. Click here to read.
Ravi Varmman K Kanniappan highlights the contemporariness of Sangam Literature with discussion about a narrative based on trust and power politics. Click hereto read.
Art by Joseph Mallord William Turner (1775–1851). From Public Domain
Floods, heatwave, hurricanes and storms — wild weather rips parts of the earth. While experts attribute these to El Niño and climate change, one wonders if peace and lifestyle choices could have any impact to reverse the changes on our home planet. Do wars add to our deep distress? We lose people, homes, what we nurtured and loved, the beautiful cities and structures we built, even forests, fields and rivers. The nuclear holocausts, the killing fields of the World Wars, the mined fields of Cambodia and Vietnam which continue to maim farmers… all these should have taught us to avoid wars but now when the television throws up images of war-torn zones, one wonders if those are worse than climate disasters?
In climate disasters we lose lives, homes and cities too — but people can step in to help and rebuild after the disaster. In a war setting, rescue workers are at a risk as bombs mow down terrain and destroys the tenor of daily lives. The disasters born of climate change too can be irreversible — especially with rising water levels, depleting shorelines and warmer climes ripped by storms. Which is worse — wars or climate disasters? What do you think? Could we go back to a pollution free world and reverse the darker impacts of climate change?
Just as history accepted wars and moved on, perhaps the time has come when climate change has to be accepted as a part of the new reality, and we have to find new ways of life. Exploring such stories is a book by Rajat Chaudhuri,The Climate Crossroads: Literature’s Encounter with a Planet on Fire. It has been reviewed by Bhaskar Parichha who tells us: “It reminds us that the climate crisis is not solely a scientific or political problem but also a crisis of imagination. Rajat Chaudhuri demonstrates with remarkable insight that stories are among humanity’s most powerful tools for understanding uncertainty, confronting ecological loss, and envisioning more just futures.” Somdatta Mandal, on the other hand, has brought in more on environment with her discussion of Siddharth Kak’s A Fire over Mount Everest. Andreas Geisbert adds colour to this section with his exploration of Angel Ramon’s Requiem of a Lost Nation. Satya Narayan Misra has reflected on Bhaskar Parichha’s Icons of Odisha – Lives that Shaped a State, a non-fiction whose excerpt tells us much about the journey of the author to bring to us community builders in various streams of life. We also have a bit from Kanupriya Dhingra’s non-fiction about a book bazaar that flourishes despite bookshops finding it hard to survive, The Sunday Book Bazaar: Daryaganj and the Making of a Reading Public in Delhi.
Our interviews this month touch upon environmental issues with Keith Lyons conversing with Helen Townsend, environmental entrepreneur and plant enthusiast who is high on sustainability and earth friendly solutions while Suzanne Kamata has interviewed Lily West who has travelled to all the countries in the world and has put it all down in her memoir, West goes East. Like Kamata, she teaches in Japan now. Kamata has also given us a humorous piece on remote controls. Humour is a sentiment that has also been wrought into our nonfiction with a flourish byDevraj Singh Kalsi too. He writes of his wedding sherwanialmost with a passion like the Dickensian Ms Havisham[1] exhibited for her crumbling wedding gown, except it has a different tone — that of wry tongue-in-cheek irony. Farouk Gulsara has a similar twinge of sarcasm as he muses on uncertainties in the future. Ian C Smith brings in a bit of the weather as he muses on a rainy day while Subramaniam Cheemalapati muses on the star-studded sky, dwelling on his anecdotal childhood experiences. Gowher Bhat introduces us to an aid worker who helps war victims. Meredith Stephens continues on her sailing adventures in Western Australia with photographs by her husband, Alan Noble. The photograph of the pink jellyfish is awesome. Do check it out!
Translations have brought in a shower of poetry with Tagore’s poem on a rainy-day hinting at shared confidences. Professor Fakrul Alam has translated Bengali lyrics Nazrul wrote for his friend and mentor, Rabindranath Tagore. Ihlwha Choi has brought to us a whiff of the Korean summer with his verses and Fazal Baloch has brought to us soulful poems from Balochi by Mohammad Hussain Anqa. Isa Kamari’s translations carry a flavour of Malay life in Singapore, and this set of verses bring to a close his book, The Lost Mantras. We are very privileged to have his entire book translated solely in our pages. Isa Kamari is an eminent literary voice of the Malay Singaporean community.
We have news about our hardcopy poetry anthology. We have had six media coverages in less than three months. Professor Malashri Lal deems: “For those of us who still believe in principles of care and compassion, humanism and amity, Wild Winds is a lifeline to keep afloat…It is especially commendable for wrapping global concerns in the fine tissue of hope.” And Mandal tells us: “Reading through these one hundred poems is indeed a pleasurable experience even for readers with a more prosaic temperament.” We are delighted that the book has had a warm welcome. Huge thanks to our publishers for giving us a hardcopy platform.
Thanks to all our contributors, readers and the fabulous team that make borderlessjournal.com come alive each month with a vibrant soul. Huge thanks to Sohana Manzoor for her fabulous artwork. Do pause by our contents page for the July 2026 issue.
In the forests of Vamsadhara lived many animals. Among them was a young monkey named Durmukhi. She was mischievous, arrogant, and fond of troubling others. She enjoyed playing pranks and laughed when other animals suffered because of her behavior.
One day, the animals went to her parents and complained, “Your daughter is becoming a bad influence on our children. Please help her change and learn something useful.”
A wise pigeon suggested, “The old bear doctor is the only healer left in the forest. Let Durmukhi learn medicine from the bear. She may improve, and our forest will gain a new doctor.”
The animals liked the idea and persuaded Durmukhi to visit the bear.
The bear was a skilled and kind doctor who treated everyone without expecting rewards. It hoped to pass its knowledge on to a worthy student. After hearing about Durmukhi’s behavior, the bear decided to teach her an important lesson.
“To become my student,” the bear said, “bring me something completely useless. Only then will I accept you.”
Durmukhi laughed. “That will be easy,” she thought and set off into the forest.
Soon she met a donkey.
“People often use ‘donkey’ as an insult,” she thought. “This must be useless.”
When she explained her task, the donkey replied, “I carry heavy loads and help people in many ways. Even my milk is valued. I am not useless.”
Durmukhi moved on.
Next, she saw a crow sitting on a tree.
“People complain about noisy crows,” she thought.
But the crow said, “I help keep places clean by eating waste. People even believe their ancestors accept offerings when crows eat them. I am useful too.”
The monkey continued her search and met a cat.
“People accuse cats of stealing milk,” she said.
The cat replied, “I protect homes by catching rats. Many people keep me as a beloved pet.”
Again, Durmukhi had no success.
A little later she came across a cow.
The cow explained, “My milk provides nourishment. People make curd, butter, and ghee from it. My family helps farmers in their fields.”
As the cow walked away, it left behind some dung.
“Surely this is useless!” thought the monkey.
She bent down to collect it.
To her surprise, the cow dung said, “Farmers use me as manure to enrich the soil. People use me in traditional practices and as fuel. I am useful too.”
Durmukhi was shocked.
“Is there nothing useless in this world?” she wondered.
Just then, an elephant came by. The monkey explained her problem.
The elephant listened carefully and then asked, “Every creature and even cow dung has shown you its value. Tell me, what useful thing have you done?”
The question struck Durmukhi deeply.
She thought and thought but could not find an answer.
The elephant gently said, “You have spent your time troubling others instead of helping them. Right now, you are less useful than the things you considered worthless. Go back to the bear. Learn medicine and become someone who serves others.”
Durmukhi finally understood. For the first time, she felt ashamed of her behavior.
She returned to the bear and said, “I searched everywhere but could not find anything useless. Every creature and every object has a purpose. I alone have done nothing useful. Please teach me so that I can become helpful to others.”
The bear smiled.
“Now your eyes are open,” it said. “You have learned the first lesson—humility. I will gladly teach you.”
Durmukhi became the bear’s student. She worked hard, learned medicine, and changed her ways.
Years later, she became a skilled healer. The same animals who once complained about her now respected and admired her. She spent her life helping those in need and became known throughout the forest for her kindness and service.
Moral: Everything in nature has value. True worth comes from learning, humility, and helping others.
Naramsetti Umamaheswararao has written more than a thousand stories, songs, and novels for children over 42 years. he has published 32 books. His novel, Anandalokam, received the Central Sahitya Akademi Award for children’s literature. He has received numerous awards and honours, including the Andhra Pradesh Government’s Distinguished Telugu Language Award and the Pratibha Award from Potti Sreeramulu Telugu University. He established the Naramshetty Children’s Literature Foundation and has been actively promoting children’s literature as its president.
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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Nazrul’slyrics ofMor Ghumogore Elo Monohor (In my Sleep, Came the Enchanting One) has been translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.
Four of his ownMalay poems have been translated by Isa Kamari. Click here to read.
The Heartless, a Balochi story by AbdulQayum Sarbazi, has been translated by Fazal Baloch. Click here to read.
Dragonfly 2 has been composed and translated from Korean by Ihlwha Choi. Click here to read.
Tagore’s poem, Amra Choli Somukhpane(We Look Forward and March), has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty. Clickhere to read.
Pandies Corner
Songs of Freedom: Pink Dreams is an autobiographical narrative by Priyanka, written and compiled by Deeksha Vats. These stories highlight the ongoing struggle against debilitating rigid boundaries drawn by societal norms, with the support from organisations like Shaktishalini and Pandies. Clickhere to read.
Larry S Su, who migrated from a mud cave in Shaanxi province to America, shares his story of the changes he sees during three visits to his home and muses on the gaps he has observed between these two places. Clickhere to read.
Summer, Dune in Zeeland by Piet Mondrain (1872 – 1944)
Time present and time past Are both perhaps present in time future, And time future contained in time past.
‘Burnt Norton’, Four Quartets (1941) by TS Eliot
If we look back in time, we have a better life than that of our ancestors. Though conflicts rage and climate change is a reality that we all dread, it can safely be said, we have progressed beyond the imagination of those who lived a hundred years ago. The fact that some books from the past still reverberate with echoes of what the present holds says much for the outliers or authors who could think out of the box. Despite this complex intermingling of ideas and times, perhaps the world will change more now than before. We do not know anything for sure though experts are always predicting a future that for most of us remains unknown. What we can present is our own estimate of what can be and a definite assertion of what is. Truth as such is a matter of perception. That complicates it further. However, one of the changes that is definitely here to stay is climate change and our changing environment. Given that this is the month that homes World Environment Day, we have a smattering of writings that revolve around nature and also the human spirit that defies age.
We have featured a writer who revels in nature and is an ageless voice that bridges multiple cultures, Ruskin Bond. As he turned ninety-two last month, he published multiple new books. We have an excerpt from one of them, Scenes from the Magic Mountain: Five Seasons in the Mussoorie Hills and Beyond, a brilliant collection of snapshots of his interactions with nature over time — be it frogs, snakes or just trees. Some of the vignettes are humorous and some, as all classics are, thought provoking. Bond puts into words how he chose to work in Landour (a small town in Himalayas) and continued to write from there for sixty years. He talks of the spell the mountains cast on him, “I like to think that I have become a part of this Magic Mountain; that by living here for so long, I can claim a relationship with the trees, wild flowers, even the rocks that are an integral part of this landscape.” The other book excerpt is a contrast to Bond’s, a non-fiction called Burnout Highway by Anmol Diddan. It explores the collective suffering of stress at work where achievements distance humans from nature and a fulfilling life and urges readers to be open to changes.
In keeping with the theme of environment, Bhaskar Parichha has reviewed Stephen Alter’s The Fragrance of Rain: A Brief History of the Monsoon. He tells us: “The Fragrance of Rain is much more than a history of weather. It is a meditation on nature, culture, memory, and belonging… Like the season it celebrates, the book is refreshing, nourishing, and lingering in its impact…” While Rakhi Dalal expresses her delight with Shyam Manohar’s The Cold War of Sadanand Borse, a novella translated from Marathi by Jerry Pinto, Meenakshi Malhotra revels in Giti Chandra’s debut book of poems, Setting Traps for Light.
In translations, Professor Fakrul Alam has captured the flavours of Nazrul’s Bengali lyrics, which also echo of the rainy season or monsoons. Isa Kamari brings to us more of his Malay poems in English and Ihlwha Choi shares a rendering of his Korean poem, ‘Dragonfly 2’, into English. One of Tagore’s poems from Balaka (Flight of the Cranes, 1916) has found its way into this issue after being translated. We also have a touching Balochi story around social gaps from the late Abdul Qayum Sarbazi, brought to us in English by Fazal Baloch.
Hughes has continued sharing his short fables, which are absurd but also, comical! A sensitive story about the natural world mingled with Maori concepts by Keiran Martin seems so much in sync with the oceans while Jeena R Papaadi has woven a strange narrative located in a land that only one man could visit. Plamen Vasilev shares a human-interest story set in Europe and Rabiya Rehman takes us to Lahore in quest of a missing destination! Naramsetti Umamaheswararao’s narrative takes us back to a village that opted for trees, thus enriching the environmental lore in this issue.
We have a real life heart rending story from a young girl in our Pandies Corner, written and related by Deeksha Vats, based on the story told by a victim of familial violations and violence.
Our non-fiction section homes Larry Su’s essay on how his life took him from a rural mud cave in Shaanxi province to the glamour of Chicago. Reflecting on the changes he has experienced on his rare visits to his original homeland, Su muses on the cultural and socio-economic gaps he has observed between the two places. Charudutta Panigrahi – as if in direct opposition — shares similarities between two diverse geographies.
Suzanne Kamata explores a custom which may not be that eco-friendly in her column from Japan. Jun A. Alindogan brings home the impact of climate disasters while dwelling on blessings with his narrative about a narrow escape from the Typhoon Ondoy (2009). While Meredith Stephen writes of sailing to Timor Sea with photographs by Alan Noble, Farouk Gulsara takes us on a cycling adventure around the mountains of Titiwangsa. In another musing, he also explores the idea of good and evil in a sardonic tone while Sai Abhinay Penna dwells on the grandeur and vastness of the universe over his morning jog. Gowher Bhat writes of a man for whom age seems to be just a number as he publishes his debut book at 93! One wonders at the frequency of such occurrences — we have writings about two authors above ninety in the June issue. In contrast, Devraj Singh Kalsi brings in mortal fears while writing of visiting doctors with a soupçon of humour – some of it directed at himself.
Perhaps, laughter is really the best medicine to keep well! Ruskin Bond makes us laugh and writes of nature in a way that touches hearts and makes us forget the contrasting glitzy world, where we suffer stress and burnout. Our environment makes a difference, doesn’t it?
With that we wrap up our June issue. Huge thanks to our fabulous team, especially Sohana Manzoor for her wonderful artwork. To all our contributors, heartfelt thanks — we are because you are. And gratitude to our readers who make it worth our while to write and publish here.
We will next meet you during the monsoon months of South Asia though, near the equator, it rains almost every day and, in the Southern Hemisphere, it will be peak winter!
