Prashanti Chunduri – Borderless

Editorial

We are All Going on a Summer Holiday…Click here to read.

Interviews

In Conversation with Rinki Roy (daughter of legendary director Bimal Roy) about The Oldest Love Story, an anthology on motherhood, edited and curated by journalist and authors, Rinki Roy and Maithili Rao. Click here to read.

Achingliu Kamei in conversation with Veio Pou, author of Waiting for the Dust to Settle, a novel based on the ongoing conflicts in North-east India. Click here to read.

Translations

The Funeral, a satirical skit by Tagore, translated by Somdatta Mandal. Click here to read.

Three Shorter Poems of Jibananda Das have been translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.

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

Fakir Khizmil & the Missing Princess, a Balochi Folktale has been translated by Fazal Baloch. Click here to read.

Pie in the Sky is a poem written and translated from Korean by Ihlwha Choi. Click here to read.

Taal Gaachh or The Palmyra Tree, a lilting light poem by Tagore, has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty. Click here to read.

Pandies’ Corner

This narrative is written by a youngster from the Nithari village who transcended childhood trauma and deprivation. Dhaani has been written in Hindi and translated to English by Kiran Mishra. Click here to read.

Poetry

Click on the names to read

Jared Carter, Sutputra Radheye, Ryan Quinn Flanagan, Antara Mukherjee, David Francis, Alpana, George Freek, Prashanti Chunduri, John Grey, Ashok Suri, Heather Sager, G Venkatesh, Candice Louisa Daquin, Elizabeth Ip, Rhys Hughes, Michael R Burch

Poets, Poetry & Rhys Hughes

In From a Kafkaesque Dream to the Penguin Cafe Orchestra, Rhys Hughes brings out a new strain of tunes that grew out of Jeff Simon’s unusual journey and it continues to persist beyond his life. Click here to read.

Stories

Oliver’s Soul

Paul Mirabile weaves a story of murder and madness in Madrid of 1970s. Click here to read.

The Wallet

Atreyo Chowdhury spins a tale set in Kolkata. Click here to read.

Flowers on the Doorstep

Shivani Shrivastav writes of an encounter with a mysterious child in Almora. Click here to read.

A Riverine Healing

PG Thomas’s narrative set in Kerala, explores a leader’s old age. Click here to read.

Pagol Daries

Indrashish Banerjee creates a humanoid scenario where robots take on human roles. Click here to read.

Musings/ Slices from Life

In Memoriam: Star of the Stage Shines on Screen

Ratnottama Sengupta pays a tribute to famed actress, Swatilekha Sengupta (May 1950- June 2021). Click here to read.

Pizzas En Route to Paradise

Keith Lyons discovers the import and export of desires in Varanasi, one of the oldest cities in the world, beside one of the most revered rivers. Click here to read.

Notes from Japan

In Marathon Blues, Suzanne Kamata talks of pandemic outcomes in Japan in a lighter tone. Click here to read.

Musings of a Copywriter

In Journey of an Ant, Devraj Singh Kalsi explores life from an insect’s perspective. Click here to read.

Mission Earth

In Tuning in to Nature, Kenny Peavy tells us how to interact with nature. Click here to read.

Essays

Kabir & His Impact on Tagore

Mozid Mahmud explores Kabir and his impact on Tagore, which ultimately led to a translation of the great medieval poet. Click here to read.

A view of Mt Everest

Ravi Shankar travels in the freezing cold of Himalayan splendour and shares magnificent photographs of Mt Everest. Click here to read.

The Good, the Bad, and the Benign: Back across Bass Strait

Meredith Stephens shares a photographic and narrative treat from Tasmania. Click here to read.

The Observant Immigrant

In Season’s in the Sun, Candice Louisa Daquin explores what intense positivity can do to people. Click here to read.

Book Excerpts

Excerpt from Tagore’s Gleanings of the Road, translated by Somdatta Mandal. Click here to read.

Excerpt from Waiting by Suzanne Kamata. Click here to read.

Book Reviews

Meenakshi Malhotra revisits Harsh Mander’s Locking down the Poor: The Pandemic and India’s Moral Centre. Click here to read.

Indrashish Banerjee reviews Keki N Daruwalla’s Going:Stories of Kinship. Click here to read.

Gracy Samjetsabam reviews Pronoti Datta’s Half-Blood. Click here to read.

Bhaskar Parichha reviews Deepti Priya Mehrotra’s Her Stories –Indian Women Down the Ages — Thinkers, Workers, Rebels, Queens. Click here to read.

THIS CITY I know of a tiny city by the sea whose tread is a little slower than Father Time's. Its womb is the one I grew up in and it's old-school heart beats in tandem with mine. In this city, we write letters by hand and read the words out loud, rounded by the warmth of our tongues. We let our nibs explode ink onto the paper and with it, our love, our laughter, our tears. I don't know how it works in the cities which have left us behind, but here, we hold hands when we fight. We let our rage sink into our skin, in real-time, so that when it scabs over, it does so with grace. We paint portraits that preserve the caress of paint instead of selfies that evaporate by the minute. We develop photographs in the dark room and slip them into albums, labelled and dated, but most, we carefully preserve them behind our eyelids. We eat with our fingers in this city of mine, let the juices drip down our wrists, nary a care about etiquette. The moans and groans of pleasure that accompany chilli powder and turmeric stained-fingers are worth more than Michelin stars, says mother. Sometimes, we forget our GPS at home, and let our senses guide us, as in the days of old. We pick up less-than-perfect bouquets of wildflowers, a little brown at the edges but signed carefully with love, so that no fancy florist knows to set up shop here. I hear you worry about my untrimmed edges, a little wilder -- but a lot less weary -- than the world as it flashes by. But worry not, I am more than fine, with this old-school heart of mine. ODE TO MY NOSE I come across a strange meaning to words I thought I knew because when I ask my brain about life, she leads me by the nose. I The first scent that drapes itself over me as I toddle around on wobbly feet is the yellow scent of summer mangoes caressed by the burning fingers of Indian summers and here, I find the fragrance of my conscience. II The black miasma of new asphalt as my city grows taller than me. My nose is forced to cradle cement dust but I long for the pollen, allergies and all. III But thankfully, home is smaller than my city, infact, it is the five-by-five of my mother's kitchen, for it houses the aromas of roasted chillies and garlic, caramelised onions and curry leaves in hot oil. IV But once again, I renew my definition of home as the twin caves of my sign board lead me to another. I lose myself in the musty aisles of libraries, the minty walls of bookstores, the scent of paper and ink -- a forever home I can carry with me. V I find home easily enough now in the cherry blossoms that still fight to rise above the asphalt. My leaking pens sing me lullabies on paper, the old family recipe book that is more whiff than words. VI And I trust that I will never lose my way back to my homes, for they gift my nose a piece of themselves so that I can always Hansel and Gretel it back