Tag: Rhys Hughes

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Review

In the Waiting Room of Hell…

Book Review by Andreas Giesbert

Title: The Devil’s Halo

Author: Rhys Hughes

Publisher: Elsewhen Press

Imagine standing at the gates of hell only to be told that you are not one of the clear cut cases that immediately get a circle of hell assigned. As the judgment of a life is “morality, not calculus”, this process can take some time. Not less than 24 Aeons in the case of our morally ambiguous protagonist. Quite a long time in the waiting room that is at least better than boiling in hell. His first task is getting to his place in line. As his name is Montgomery Zubris and the waiting spots are in alphabetic order, it’s only a matter of 380.5 years of walking. Thus our poor Monty invents a number of contraptions to hasten his journey. 

Hughes paints a surreal but somehow plausible image of an endless waiting room with its own logic. It is up to Montgomery to understand its innerworkings: the hatches that deliver food and drinks and the rules that the ever-watching angels enforce. “This afterlife is a riddle.” And even if death itself is of no danger anymore, “the afterlife [still] contains risks. People who say that the dead have no more troubles are talking nonsense. There are worries down here too, lots of them. Worries are one of the fundamental constants of the universe, just as photons and neutrinos are.”

The endless room itself and the unsettling surreal angels aren’t what make for the core of the book though. It is the stories that his chance encounters have to tell. As time is abundant and entertainment scarce, the inhabitants of this limbo indulge in storytelling. “Everyone tells tales down here. It’s a compulsion.”

The ten chapters are in some way a short story collection connected through the overarching theme of afterlife’s waiting room and how its inhabitants ended there. The range of stories is quite impressive. They range from the silly to the serious and all convincing by playing out a core idea to its full consequences. For instance, we have a fire fighter who sees fire as a living being and kindles it like a pet; an abbot who becomes a rocket scientist or the struggles of a migrant in a world that’s no longer welcomes those that cross borders. And then there is Marcus Fakus Aurelius, a perfect Stoic robot and of course in the end, awaits the devil himself …

In addition to a shared theme, the stories intersect. We learn different perspectives on the same stories and get to know characters that are part of other stories. It’s entertaining literature that is lightened up by occasional philosophical observations but mostly shares a humorous level of surreality. It’s safe to say that Hughes is a master of taking words and phrases literally. Whenever he catches an odd phrase he hoboes the train of thought and shovels deep for its meanings. That technique leads to a humorous and creative set of somehow surreal stories. The prolific author is truly one of a kind. His books are driven by a genius ability to connect dots between ideas that seem far apart and create a unique story by being blended together.

I have to admit though, that somewhere in the last third, I lost interest in some of the stories as I was looking for some deeper revelations. The last few pages do not disappoint in this regard, but it takes some time to get there and the stories don’t necessarily contribute to it. This is my subjective experience of a technically very well written and designed entertaining book though. With Hughes you get an original author with the unique ability to play out the surreal of our world, even if that means stretching the inner workings of our reality by some lengths. That’s no  issue though as Monty clarifies at the start: “If some of this seems unlikely or even a little silly, please bear in mind that you haven’t really yet questioned the fact I am dead and wandering through the astronomically long Waiting Room of Hell, and if you can accept that, then you should be able to accept anything.“ Welcome to a journey beyond our imaginative restrictions!

Andreas Giesbert is a reviewer of speculative fiction, board games and more based in the Ruhr Valley. He mostly writes for online magazines such as www.zauberwelten-online.de and  Lovecrafter-Online.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

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Contents

Borderless, April 2025

Art by Sohana Manzoor

Editorial

Seasons in the Sun?….Click here to read.

Translations

An excerpt from Tagore’s long play, Roktokorobi or Red Oleanders, has been translated by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.

Tagore’s essay, Classifications in Society, has been translated by Somdatta Mandal. Click here to read.

Poems of Longing by Jibananada Das homes two of his poems translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.

Four cantos from Ramakanta Rath’s Sri Radha, translated from Odiya by the late poet himself, have been excerpted from his full length translation. Click here to read.

An excerpt from Syad Zahoor Shah Hashmi’s Nazuk, has been translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch. Click here to read.

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

Roadside Ritual, a poem by Ihlwha Choi  has been translated from Korean by the poet himself. Click here to read.

Tagore’s Pochishe Boisakh Cholechhe (The twenty fifth of Boisakh draws close…) from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty. Click here to read.

Poetry

Click on the names to read the poems

Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, Thompson Emate, Pramod Rastogi, George Freek, Vidya Hariharan, Stuart McFarlane, Meetu Mishra, Lizzie Packer, Saranyan BV, Paul Mirabile, Hema Ravi, Ryan Quinn Flanagan, Rhys Hughes

Poets, Poetry & Rhys Hughes

In Three Gothic Poems, Rhys Hughes explores the world of horrific with a light touch. Click here to read.

Musings/Slices from Life

The Day the Earth Quaked

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

Felix, the Philosophical Cat

Farouk Gulsara shares lessons learnt from his spoilt pet with a touch of humour. Click here to read.

Not Everyone is Invited to a Child’s Haircut Ceremony

Odbayar Dorje muses on Mongolian traditions. Click here to read.

From a Bucking Bronco to an Ageing Clydesdale

Meredith Stephens writes of sailing on rough seas one dark night. Click here to read.

Musings of a Copywriter

Stay Blessed! by Devraj Singh Kalsi is a tongue-in-cheek musing on social norms and niceties. Click here to read.

Notes from Japan

On Safari in South Africa by Suzanne Kamata takes us to a photographic and narrative treat of the Kruger National Park. Click here to read.

Essays

Songs of the Adivasi Earth

Ratnottama Sengupta introduces us to the art of Haren Thakur, rooted in tribal lores. Click here to read.

‘Rajnigandha’: A Celebration of the Middle-of-the-Road

Tamara Raza writes of a film that she loves. Click here to read.

‘Climate change matters to me, and it should matter to you too’

Zeeshan Nasir writes of the impact of the recent climate disasters in Pakistan, with special focus on Balochistan. Click here to read.

Bhaskar’s Corner

Ramakanta Rath: A Monument of Literature: Bhaskar Parichha pays a tribute to the late poet. Click here to read.

Stories

Jai Ho Chai

Snigdha Agrawal narrates a funny narrative about sadhus and AI. Click here to read.

The Mischief

Mitra Samal writes a sensitive story about childhood. Click here to read.

Lending a hand

Naramsetti Umamaheswararao takes us back to school. Click here to read.

Conversation

Ratnottama Sengupta talks to filmmaker and author Leslie Carvalho about his old film, The Outhouse, that will be screened this month and his new book, Smoke on the Backwaters. Click here to read.

Book Excerpts

An excerpt from Anuradha Kumar’s Wanderers, Adventurers, Missionaries: Early Americans in India. Click here to read.

An excerpt from Snigdha Agrawal’s Fragments of Time (Memoirs). Click here to read.

Book Reviews

Somdatta Mandal reviews Sheela Rohekar’s Miss Samuel: A Jewish Indian Saga, translated by Madhu Singh. Click here to read.

Gracy Samjetsabam reviews Tony K Stewart’s Needle at the Bottom of the Sea: Classic Bengali Tales from the Sundarbans. Click here to read.

Bhaskar Parichha reviews Raisina Chronicles: India’s Global Public Square by S. Jaishankar & Samir Saran. Click here to read.

.

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

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Categories
Editorial

Seasons in the Sun?

Offerings during Qing Ming Jie, a festival honouring ancestors
Songkran(Thai New Year) Celebrations
Festivals in April: From Public Domain

April is a month full of celebrations around the world. Asia hosts a spray of New Year festivities. Then there are festivals like Qing Ming Jie, Good Friday and Easter. All these are in a way reminders of our past. And yet, we critique things as old fashioned! So, where does tradition end and ‘outdated’ or ‘outmoded’ start? Meanwhile we continue to celebrate these festivals with joy but what happens to those who have lost their home, family and their living due to war or climate disasters? Can they too join in with the joie de vivre? Can we take our celebrations to them to give solace in some way?

In our April issue, we have stories from climate and conflict-ridden parts of the world. From Bangkok, Amy Sawitta Lefevre gives an eyewitness account of the March 28th Earthquake that originated in Myanmar. While in her city, the disaster was managed, she writes: “I’m also thinking of all the children in Myanmar who are sleeping in the open, who lost loved ones, who are feeling scared and alone, with no one to reassure them.” As news reels tell us, in Myanmar there have been thousands of casualties from the earthquake as well as shootings by the army.

From another troubled region, Pakistan, Zeeshan Nasir gives a heartrending narrative about climate change, which also dwells on the human suffering, including increase in underage marriages.

Human suffering can be generated by rituals and customs too. For instance, if festivals dwell on exclusivity, they can hurt those who are left out of the celebrations. Odbayar Dorje muses along those lines on Mongolian traditions and calls for inclusivity and the need to change norms. On the other hand, Devraj Singh Kalsi hums with humour as he reflects on social norms and niceties and hints at the need for change in a light-hearted manner. Farouk Gulsara makes us laugh with the antics of his spoilt pet cat. And Suzanne Kamata dwells on her animal sightings in Kruger National Park with her words and camera while Meredith Stephens takes us sailing on stormy seas… that too at night.

Art is brought into focus by Ratnottama Sengupta who introduces artist Haren Thakur with his adaptation of tribal styles that has been compared to that of Paul Klee (1879-1940). She also converses with filmmaker Leslie Carvalho, known for his film The Outhouse, and his new novel, Smoke on the Backwaters. Both of these have a focus on the Anglo-Indian community in India. Also writing on Indian film trends of the 1970s is Tamara Raza. Bhaskar Parichha pays tribute to the late Ramakanta Rath (1934-2025), whose powerful and touching poetry, translated from Odia by the poet himself, can be found in our translations section.

We have an excerpt from Professor Fakrul Alam’s unpublished translation of Tagore’s Red Oleanders. It’s a long play and truly relevant for our times. Somdatta Mandal shares with us her translation of Tagore’s essay called ‘The Classification in Society’, an essay where the writer dwells on the need for change in mindsets of individuals that make up a community to move forward. A transcreation of a poem by Tagore for his birthday in 1935 reflects the darkness he overcame in his own life. Two poems expressive of longings by Jibananada Das have been translated from Bengali by Professor Alam aswell. From Balochistan, we have an excerpt from the first Balochi novel, Nazuk, written by the late Syad Zahoor Shah Hashmi and rendered into English by Fazal Baloch. Among contemporaries, we have a short story by Bitan Chakraborty translated from Bengali by Kiriti Sengupta, a poignant story that reflects on gaps in our society. And a Korean poem by Ihlwha Choi rendered to English by the poet himself.

Our poetry section celebrates nature with poetry by Lizzie Packer. Many of the poems draw from nature like that of George Freek and Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal. Some talk of the relationship between man and nature as does Stuart McFarlane. We have a variety of themes addressed in poems by Thompson Emate, Meetu Mishra, Saranyan BV, Paul Mirabile, Pramod Rastogi, Ryan Quinn Flanagan and many more. Rhys Hughes brings in both humour and social commentary of sorts with his poem. And in his column, Hughes has shared three gothic poems which he claims are horrible but there is that twinge of fable and lightness similar to the ghosts of Ebenezer Scrooge’s world[1]— colourful and symbolic.

Stories sprinkle humour of different shades with Snigdha Agrawal’s narrative about mendicants and AI and Mitra Samal’s strange tale about childhood pranks. Naramsetti Umamaheswararao takes us back to schooldays with his narrative. We have a fun book excerpt from Agrawal’s Fragments of Time (Memoirs), almost in tone with some of her stories and musings.

An extract from Anuradha Kumar’s latest non-fiction making bridges across time and geographies. Called Wanderers, Adventurers, Missionaries: Early Americans in India, the book is an intriguing read. We have a review by Professor Mandal of Sheela Rohekar’s Miss Samuel: A Jewish Indian Saga, translated by Madhu Singh. Highlighting syncretic folk traditions, Gracy Samjetsabam has discussed the late Tony K Stewart’s translation of oral folklore in Needle at the Bottom of the Sea: Classic Bengali Tales from the Sundarbans. Parichha has written about a high-profile book that also hopes to draw bridges across the world, Raisina Chronicles: India’s Global Public Square, by S. Jaishankar and Samir Saran.

This issue has been made possible because of support from all of you. Huge thanks to the team, all our contributors and readers. Thanks to Sohana Manzoor for her fabulous artwork. Do pause by our contents page as all the content could not be covered here.

Perhaps, world events leave a sense of pensiveness in all of us and an aura of insecurity. But, as Scarlett O’ Hara of Gone with the Wind[2] fame says, “After all, tomorrow is another day.” 

Looking forward to a new day with hope, let’s dream of happier times filled with sunshine and change.

Enjoy the reads!

Mitali Chakravarty

borderlessjournal.com

[1] A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, 1843

[2] Gone With the Wind, a novel by Margaret Mitchell, published in 1936

Click here to access the contents page for the April 2025 Issue

READ THE LATEST UPDATES ON THE FIRST BORDERLESS ANTHOLOGY, MONALISA NO LONGER SMILES, BY CLICKING ON THIS LINK.

Categories
Poets, Poetry & Rhys Hughes

Three Gothic Poems



THE CLOCK DEMON

The demon in the clock
haunted the early hours
of the heir
to an estate
so old that
all the hate
of countless generations
had faded
to a murmur in the walls.

The face behind the dial
was as melancholy, vile,
as the iron
crocodile
in the room
below the
passage where the gloom
had grown
much louder than a shout.

But this demon was silent
throughout the long nights
of winter
when the
freezing
mansion
reversed a grim expansion,
wheezing
in a manner not displeasing.

The clock: it is a guardian,
charged by aeons archean,
to chime
to death
the heir
bearing
ghoulish responsibilities
nowhere
without ceremonial fury.

They claim the creature
trapped there, not daring
to beware
will stare
at forever
resentfully
until those who truly care
decimate
the new legions of eternity.

And still the hours pass,
the demon tries a laugh,
cascading
the shades
of certain
odd hues
into a tone that you alone
will adore
if cosmic doors slam shut.

 
THE BEGGAR

The beggar
remembers a time
when he drank the rarest
wine from a goblet
and sprawled
on a couch, eyes hooded.

Then one day
an uninvited guest
arrived at his house, worn out,
a man in rags,
eyes ablaze, his tongue hanging
like a vast flatworm
from the lower lip of a blistered
mouth: or like a flag
drooping from a derelict ship
one evil afternoon.

The stars had shuddered
over him: the moon had juddered
high like the jawbone
of a slain man, crescent shattered
by a twisted club
and hurled into the sky.

The rich man spilled his wine
and demanded
without quite knowing why:
Are you me? A future vision
of what I will become?

And the stranger answered:
No, you are me. The future image
of what I will be
when I am no longer just a beggar
but the subject
of nostalgia: the figure in a memory.
When you become
a beggar yet again, the circular path
that pretends to be
a shady lane
may reveal itself to be a spiral chute
leading to the centre
of a brute tormentor’s awful domain.

This paradox is painful, the irony
stabs the beggar’s side
like the barbed tip of a javelin.
From rags to riches
and back to rags:
pain, bliss, and then more agony,
tragedy, comedy,
an inevitable turn of the axletree.

And so he sips his cheaper wine
philosophically,
hunched in the inadequate
shelter of the leaning tombstone
he now calls home.


 
THE ROTTEN DUNGEON

The dungeon rotted away:
stones crumbled,
iron rusted,
slime evaporated,
heavy keys in grim locks
melted: even
the sense of despair faded
until nothing
was left but stubborn bones.

And the archaeologists say:
there is nothing
here worth excavating.

But the screams
still radiate, propagate,
through the interstellar dust
between nebulae:
extinct at source, of course
they persist elsewhere,
swirling unknown particles
in waves of fear.

The dungeon,
a sullen impression, appears
to have done its work well:
degradation
broadcasting itself as a type
of Hell among
the brimstone constellations.
From Public Domain

Rhys Hughes has lived in many countries. He graduated as an engineer but currently works as a tutor of mathematics. Since his first book was published in 1995 he has had fifty other books published and his work has been translated into ten languages.

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

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Categories
Poetry

Lagoon Boss by Rhys Hughes

Photograph by Rhys Hughes 

Lagoon Boss:
We will pull it off.
That’s what he
said as he mopped
his forehead
with a damp cloth.

Pull off what?
I wanted to know.

The Boss replied:
The disguise worn
by the Creature from
the Black Lagoon.

Then he sighed
and seemed rather
sad. I was just glad
he didn’t cry. It was
too soon for that.

He was very upset
and I bet the issue
with the eerie chill
waters of that geographical
feature (the Lagoon
where the Creature
lurks in the light
of the reflected full moon)
had made him sweat
more than the tissues
in his coat pocket
could cope with. Hence the
handkerchief pressed now
to his brow.

My next question was
inevitable: How
was he aware
that the Creature liked
to wear a disguise?

Because one night,
he said solemnly,
I turned over in bed
and saw that the face
of my wife had fallen off
in her sleep: and I knew
immediately that she
was really a monster.
Yes, she was a demon
from the deep, and not
Mrs Boss, as I’d always
believed. I can’t say
I was relieved to discover
this squamous fact. No,
it rather rattled my nerves.

Those were his very words
and I believed him.

The Creature from the Black Lagoon
had clearly decided
it preferred a bedroom
to the slimy bottom of a grubby lake.
There are no snakes
in ordinary houses, no crocodiles,
alligators or toxic frogs,
and even if the style
of the furniture is quite passé
on any given day
it’s still better to dwell in peace
than cavort with leeches
and torment one’s thoughts with
the strange dangers
that exist in a legendary Lagoon.

The Boss shrugged his shoulders
and made a statement
bolder than any uttered so far:

He was duty bound
to pull off the monster’s disguise
in public and shame
the soggy villain to such a degree
that it would agree
to depart the region forevermore.

But I had my doubts
about the wisdom of this
strategy. I said:
What if the Creature doesn’t feel
any shame? What if it
refuses to accept the blame? The
game will be lost.

The Boss glared at me
as if I was trying
to trick him or take the monster’s
side. He snarled
and lifted a gnarled fist and cried:

I am the chief of this town
and my frown
is feared by all and sundry.
If I crease the
skin above my eyes, don’t
be surprised at
the fuss it might create. I
am sure the bravest men
in the vicinity
will help me in my quest,
whether they walk about
bare chested
or prefer to wear a vest.

While waiting for infinity
to finally arrive
we are inclined
to be a little petty. I sighed
and volunteered
to join the band
of volunteers he proposed
to assemble. Not because
I wanted to help
the Boss unmask the beast,
but simply for
the lily-lagoony experience.

But I knew deep down
that love is mysterious
and that the Boss
was secretly pleased he had
married a monster
who liked to tease him
by pretending
to be his devoted wife.

Life is strange:
the Boss is stranger,
he thrives on danger,
and when he plays his nose
like a flute, the tune
he elicits will be sure
to attract her back to him.

His scaly underwater spouse
will leap into his arms
from the gloom of the Lagoon:
houseproud but dripping,
his awfully web-handed wife.

Rhys Hughes has lived in many countries. He graduated as an engineer but currently works as a tutor of mathematics. Since his first book was published in 1995 he has had fifty other books published and his work has been translated into ten languages.

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International

Categories
World Poetry Day

Raindrops, Roses and Pandas…

Art by Sohana Manzoor

World Poetry Day falls in March — the same month that houses the World Wildlife Day. Our beautiful planets’ flora and fauna, impacted by the changing climate, might have to adapt or alter. Part of the land masses are likely to return to rest under rising tides. And humanity, how will we respond or survive these phenomena?

We have here responses in poetry from our newly-minted section on Environment and Climate. We celebrate with poetry on our home and hearth, the Earth.

From Public Domain

We start with poetry on fires that seems to have razed large parts of our planet recently…

Fires in Los Angeles by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal. Click here to read.

Wildfires in Uttarakhand by Gazala Khan. Click here to read.

Hot Dry Summers, covering the fires in Australia, by Lizzie Packer. Click here to read.

We move on to more extreme weather phenomenons like heatwaves, droughts and floods.

Extreme Drought or California Dreaming by Ron Picket. Click here to read.

Hurricane Laura’s Course by Jane Hammons. Click here to read

This Heatwave by John Grey. Click here to read.

This Island of Mine by Rhys Hughes. Click here to read.

And yet some weep for things we take for granted, for the pollution and the rapacity exhibited by our species.

Unanswered by Vernon Daim. Click here to read.

Under the Rock Crags by Peter Magliocco. Click here to read.

The New Understanding by Peter Cashorali. Click here to read.

Art by Gita Viswanath

Meanwhile, we continue to want to celebrate nature as we did of yore…and some just do continue to turn to it for inspiration.

Eco Poetry by Adriana Rocha. Click here to read.

Green by Mark Wyatt. Click here to read.

Sunrise from Tiger Hill by Shamik Banerjee. Click here to read.

Whistle & Fly by Shaza Khan. Click here to read.

Seeds Fall to the Ground by Ryan Quinn Flanagan. Click here to read.

Quietly by Ashok Suri. Click here to read.

Carnival of Animals by Rhys Hughes. Click here to read.

Categories
Contents

Borderless, March 2025

Happy Birthday Borderless… Click here to read.
Art by Sohana Manzoor

Editorial

Celebrating a Borderless World… Five Years and Counting… Click here to read.

Translations

Jibanananda Das’ poems on war and for the common masses have been translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.

A Scene with an Aged Queen, a poem by Ihlwha Choi  has been translated from Korean by the poet himself. Click here to read.

Tagore’s Esho Bosonto, Esho Aj Tumi (Come Spring, Come Today) has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty. Click here to read.

Pandies’ Corner

For Sanjay Kumar: To Sir — with Love has been written for the founder of pandies’ theatre by Tanvir, a youngster from the Nithari village where pandies’ worked with traumatised victims. Over time, these kids have transcended the trauma to lead fulfilling lives. The late Sanjay Kumar passed on this January. This is a tribute to him by one of his students. It has been translated from the Hindustani original by Lourdes M Surpiya. Click here to read.

Poetry

Click on the names to read the poems

Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, Kiriti Sengupta, Ryan Quinn Flanagan, Snehaprava Das, Stuart McFarlane, Arshi Mortuza, George Freek, Jyotish Chalil Gopinathan, Ahmad Al-Khatat, Michael Burch, Bibhuti Narayan Biswal, Mark Wyatt, Owais Farooq, Adriana Rocha, Rakhi Dalal, Rhys Hughes

Musings/Slices from Life

Nobody Knows…

Farouk Gulsara muses on the dichotomies in life exploring beliefs that shape our world. Click here to read.

Beachcombing on the Abrolhos Islands

Meredith Stephens goes beachcombing in a thinly inhabited island. Click here to read.

As Flows the Gomti: A Monument of Tranquility 

Prithvijeet Sinha takes us to the past of Lucknow. Click here to read.

Musings of a Copywriter

In All Creatures Great and Small, Devraj Singh Kalsi talks of living in harmony with nature… is it tongue in cheek? To find out, click here to read.

Notes from Japan

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

Essays

Take One

Ratnottama Sengupta takes stock of women in Bengali cinema over the last fifty years. Click here to read.

Drinking the Forbidden Milk of Paradise…

Meenakshi Malhotra explores the past of poetry and women writers. Click here to read.

Where have all the Libraries Gone?

Professor Fakrul Alam writes of the loss of libraries as we knew them. Click here to read.

Stories

In the Realm of Childhood

Paul Mirabile gives us a story set in Scotland. Click here to read.

The Appropriate Punishments

Naramsetti Umamaheswararao gives a fable set in a forest. Click here to read.

Eyes of Inti

Swati Basu Das shares a lighthearted flash fiction. Click here to read.

‘Solitude is a Kind of Freedom…’

Munaj Gul gives an introspective story set in Balochistan. Click here to read.

Why I Stopped Patronising that Cheese Maker’s Shop…

Zoé Mahfouz shares a humorous vignette of Parisian life. Click here to read.

Conversations

Ratnottama Sengupta discusses the famous actor, Soumitra Chatterjee, with his daughter, Poulami Bose Chatterjee. Click here to read.

Keith Lyons interviews Malaysian author and editor, Daphne Lee. Click here to read.

Book Excerpts

An excerpt from Frank S Smyth’s The Great Himalayan Ascents. Click here to read.

An excerpt from Rhys Hughes’ The Devil’s Halo. Click here to read.

Book Reviews

Somdatta Mandal reviews Tsering Namgyal Khortsa’s non-fiction, Little Lhasa: Reflections in Exiled Tibet and fiction, Tibetan Suitcase, together. Click here to read.

Malashri Lal reviews Rachna Singh’s Raghu Rai: Waiting for the Divine. Click here to read.

Bhaskar Parichha reviews Sandeep Khanna’s Tempest on River Silent: A Story of Last 50 Years of India. Click here to read.

Vignettes from a Borderless World… Click here to read a special fifth anniversary issue.
Categories
Editorial

Celebrating Borderless… Five Years and Counting…

Emerging by Sybil Pretious

Drops of water gather to make a wave. The waves make oceans that reshape land masses over time…

Five years ago, on March 14th, in the middle of the pandemic, five or six of us got together to start an online forum called Borderless Journal. The idea was to have a space that revelled with the commonality of felt emotions. Borderless was an attempt to override divisive human constructs and bring together writers and ideators from all over the Earth to have a forum open to all people — a forum which would be inclusive, tolerant, would see every individual as a part of the fauna of this beautiful planet. We would be up in the clouds — afloat in an unbordered stratosphere— to meet and greet with thoughts that are common to all humans, to dream of a world we can have if we choose to explore our home planet with imagination, kindness and love. It has grown to encompass contributors from more than forty countries, and readers from all over the world — people who have the same need to reach out to others with felt emotions and common concerns.

Borderless not only celebrates the human spirit but also hopes to create over time a vibrant section with writings on the environment and climate change. We launch the new section today on our fifth anniversary.

Adding to the wealth of our newly minted climate and environment section are poems by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal on the LA fires, Green by Mark Wyatt and Ecopoetry by Adriana Rocha in our March issue. We also have poetry on life in multiple hues from Kiriti Sengupta, Ryan Quinn Flanagan, Snehaprava Das, Stuart McFarlane, Arshi Mortuza, George Freek, Ahmad Al-Khatat, Jyotish Chalil Gopinathan, Michael Burch, Bibhuti Narayan Biswal, Owais Farooq and Rakhi Dalal. Tongue-in-cheek humour in poetry is Rhys Hughes forte and he brings us just that in his sign poem.

 Devraj Singh Kalsi with a soupçon of ironic amusement muses on humans’ attitude to the fauna around him and Farouk Gulsara lays on a coating of sarcasm while addressing societal norms. Meredith Stephens brings us concerns for a green Earth when she beachcombs in a remote Australian island. Prithvijeet Sinha continues to familiarise us with his city, Lucknow. Suzanne Kamata, on the other hand travels to Rwanda to teach youngsters how to write a haiku!

Professor Fakrul Alam takes us to libraries in Dhaka with the hope that more will start writing about the waning of such paradises for book lovers. Other than being the month that hosts World Environment Day, March also homes, International Women’s Day. Commemorating the occasion, we have essays from Meenakshi Malhotra on the past poetry of women and from Ratnottama Sengupta on women in Bengali Cinema. Sengupta has also interviewed Poulami Bose Chatterjee, the daughter of the iconic actor Soumitra Chatterjee to share with us less-known vignettes from the actor’s life. Keith Lyons has interviewed Malaysian writer-editor Daphne Lee to bring to us writerly advice and local lores on ghosts and hauntings. 

Our fiction truly take us around the world with Paul Mirabile giving us a story set Scotland and Naramsetti Umamaheswararao giving us a fable set in a Southern Indian forest. Swati Basu Das takes us on an adventure with Peruvian food while sitting by the Arabian Sea. Munaj Gul gives a heart-rending flash fiction from Balochistan. And Zoé Mahfouz shares a humorous vignette of Parisian life, reflecting the commonality of felt emotions.

Celebrating the wonders of the nature, is a book excerpt from Frank S Smyth’s The Great Himalayan Ascents. While the other excerpt is from Hughes’ latest novel, The Devil’s Halo, described as: ‘A light comedy, a picaresque journey – like a warped subterranean Pilgrim’s Progress.’ We have reviews that celebrate the vibrancy of humanity. Bhaskar Parichha writes of Sandeep Khanna’s Tempest on River Silent: A Story of Last 50 Years of India, a novel that spans the diversity that was India. Malashri Lal reviews Rachna Singh’s Raghu Rai: Waiting for the Divine, a non-fiction on the life and works of the famous photographer. Somdatta Mandal discusses two book by Tsering Namgyal Khortsa reflecting the plight of Tibetan refugees, a non-fiction, Little Lhasa: Reflections in Exiled Tibet and a fiction, Tibetan Suitcase.

One of features that we love in Borderless is that language draws no barriers — that is why we have translations by Professor Alam of Jibananada’s short poems on the impact of war on the common masses. We have a small vignette of Korea from Ihlwha Choi’s self-translated poem. And we have a translation of Tagore’s verses invoking the healing power of spring… something that we much need.

We also have a translation by Lourdes M Supriya from Hindustani of a student’s heartrending cry to heal from grief for a teacher who faced an untimely end — a small dirge from Tanvir, a youngster with his roots in Nithari violence who transcended his trauma to teach like his idol and tutor, the late Sanjay Kumar. With this, we hope to continue with the pandies corner, with support from Lourdes and Anuradha Marwah, Kumar’s partner.

Borderless has grown in readership by leaps and bounds. There have been requests for books with writings from our site. On our fifth anniversary, we plan to start bringing out the creative writing housed in Borderless Journal in different volumes. We had brought out an anthology in 2022. It was well received with many reviews. But we have many gems, and each writer is valued here. Therefore, Rhys Hughes, one of our editorial board members, has kindly consented to create a new imprint to bring out books from the Borderless Journal. We are very grateful to him.

We are grateful to the whole team, our contributors and readers for being with us through our journey. We would not have made it this far without each one of you. Special thanks to Sohana Manzoor for her artwork too, something that has almost become synonymous with the cover page of our journal.  Thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

Wish you all happy reading! Do pause by our content’s page and take a look at all the wonderful writers.

Best wishes,

Mitali Chakravarty

borderlessjournal.com

Click here to access the contents page for the March 2025 issue

Happy Birthday Borderless… Click here to read.

Vignettes from a Borderless World… Click here to read a special fifth anniversary issue.
Categories
Poetry

Warning Archery by Rhys Hughes

Photo Courtesy: Rhys Hughes 
Warning Archery, Bowmen of Gower
please keep to footpath
that orbits the tower
and have a nice bath
after your ten arrows strike the target,
wash off each frown
and glower in a sour juice of flowers.

We don’t want grimy archers
sitting at the table
if they are able to scrub off the mud
that must accumulate
on trousers and boots
when taking root in a meadow next
to a dark slimy lake
and twanging bowstrings like lutes.

The truth is that Fate
likes to make the souls of maids ache
by giving them work
they don’t need, cleaning up
after filthy archers who trample dirt
happily into rugs
and smugly blow
their noses in old flapping tapestries.

Who is hurting?
The targets that look like porcupines
or the domestic staff
toiling in the castle: are they riff-raff
to be treated so badly?
Sadly, the archers don’t care:
just for a dare
they jump on the table, dance while
still able, trample
lumpy puddings
and cakes until they are flattened to
slatternly shadows.

They regard themselves as belonging
to a privileged elite
who by divine right are always neat,
no matter how stained
their attire: I rapidly tire of the pains
the fellows inspire.
Dishevelled like wet dogs made from
old socks, they pulse
and steam from the hearth-fire’s heat
like scheming brains.

Bowmen of Gower,
grim was the day you learned the way
to strap on a quiver
and sew the sky
with arrows one after another, until a
passing raincloud
was stitched too tight for a bright sun
to break through.
What should we do? Lurk in a gloom
forever because
you decided to score points in the air?

It’s not fair on the rest of us.
We serve you cider
and ale while you laugh without fail
at jokes that wrap
anecdotes like cloaks,
keeping score and
spilling while swilling your furious
brews, until we break
the news that you fixed: these rickety
tricks of desire
have pernickety fires at their core.

The whippletree of destiny
distributes the load
unevenly on the backs of our souls
like uncertain rhymes.
Bowmen of Gower,
nobody knows how to encode
your arrows’ marrow:
bones in flight, a skeletal sight
for sword eyes.
Please choose another pastime!

Rhys Hughes has lived in many countries. He graduated as an engineer but currently works as a tutor of mathematics. Since his first book was published in 1995 he has had fifty other books published and his work has been translated into ten languages.

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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International

Categories
Excerpt

The Devil’s Halo

Title: The Devil’s Halo

Author: Rhys Hughes

Publisher: Elsewhen Press, 2024

The Devil said, “Look here, old chap, we are still going through your paperwork and it’s more complicated than you suppose. There are very few clear cut cases when it comes to judging a person’s life. You assume there is only one question to be asked. Was he good or bad?”

“Isn’t that what it boils down to?” I asked.

The Devil winced. “I wouldn’t make any references to boiling yet. And no, it can’t be reduced to such a simple question. Just using ‘good’ and ‘bad’ as the only two variables in the equation isn’t a workable approach. No, it’s not. There isn’t even an equation, not really.”

“I am astonished to learn this,” I answered.

“People who come here often are. And it’s the same in the other place. Lots of deliberation is necessary. Listen, I enjoy mathematics but this is morality, not calculus. The issues at stake are intricate. There are many philosophical aspects in any consideration of how an individual is morally rated. Investigations must be thorough and you appear to be a fellow of ambiguous character. For every act of grace, you have a malign one.”

“What am I supposed to do now?” I cried.

“Wait,” came the crisp reply, “in the Waiting Room that has been prepared for cases such as yours.” Then the Devil’s voice became less formal again. With a nudge of his elbow in my ribs, he added, “The Waiting Room isn’t so awful. It is certainly better than Hell itself.”

“How long do you think my case will take?”

He shrugged. “Twenty-four.”

“Hours?” I was alarmed that a whole day would pass in whatever limbo lay in wait for me behind those doors. He shook his horned head and I gasped, “Days?” but he kept shaking and a horrible prospect opened up before me. “Weeks? Months? Years?” I felt hot and cold at the same time. “Centuries?”

“Aeons,” he said. And then he yawned. I blinked. His forked beard was so oily it gleamed in the dim light of the cavern. He took me by the arm, and while his tail lashed from side to side, he guided me to the double doors that appeared to be made from pocked granite.

“Just through here,” he said, as he propelled me with a little push. I lost my balance and tumbled into the igneous doors. They swung open to admit me and I rolled on the floor. Before they shut again, I heard him add, “Plenty of waiting chaps inside you can make friends with. The millennia will seem to fly by, trust me. No restrictions on amusements.”

I wasn’t reassured by his words, which were abruptly cut off by the closing of the granite portals. I knew they wouldn’t open from this side. I was bruised a little on my elbows and knees. But I stood and regarded my surroundings. I was in a chamber so vast there was no visible end to it. There were chairs, sofas and divans of all kinds arranged haphazardly. Some of them were occupied. I licked my lips and took a few paces forward.

“Newcomer, huh?” said a man on a rocking chair.

I nodded. “That’s right.”

“What else could you be? Pointless question. But I asked it anyway. That’s how I pass the time. Infinity,” he added after a pause, “is the heaviest weight on the shoulders of a dead soul.”

“You have been here for a long time?”

“Not really. One hundred years, a century. A grain of sand on the shifting dunes of Forever. But I am getting used to it. Tedium can be stimulating if you don’t take it too seriously and–”

“There are better amusements here,” said another voice, more strident, low in register, and I turned to see a fellow frowning at me from a very comfortable armchair. He was dressed smartly and my intuition told me that he was one of those minor sinners, an embezzler or fraudster, someone who would probably be consigned to a less painful Circle of Hell. Once his paperwork was done, that is. His frown continued. I asked: “Such as?” and I realised my voice was a croak.

“Telling stories,” he said.

He leaned forward, although in the luxurious depths of his particular chair he looked just as stuck as when he was sprawled almost horizontal. “Let me say that I prefer short tales, the briefer the better. Thrills without frills. Long stories annoy me. I seem to lack patience.”

“A major disadvantage in a place like this,” commented the first man, then he chuckled and the shaking of his body made his rocking chair oscillate. With a sigh, the second man continued: “I have only been here for a few months. I am still in full possession of my senses. The decay of my mind hasn’t begun. I will tell you a story and I suggest you tellme one in return.”

At a loss for words, I simply stood there, and my failure to respond quickly enough seemed to irritate him.

“It doesn’t have to be a major epic,” he snapped.

“But my mind is blank.”

He threw up his hands, exasperated. “Then you ought to clear off. It’s far better to be where you belong.”

“Wherever that might be,” said the first man.

“Not near here, I hope,” snarled the man in the armchair, and he scratched his head with unwarranted ferocity. “Well, I don’t care if I don’t get any story in exchange. I intend to tell mine.”

I found this rather mystifying and was about to say so, but he was clearing his throat and preparing to speak. The first man was still chuckling and rocking, but more quietly and less vigorously, and soon he settled back into quietude. At the same moment, the smartly dressed fellow fixed me with his piercing eyes, a gaze too intense for such a casual moment, and then a stream of words came out of his mouth. I was vaguely alarmed.

About the Book: In death, as in life, paperwork is hell. The paperwork for the recently deceased Monty Zubris needs to be examined and deliberated upon. So, meanwhile, the Devil has consigned him to the Waiting Room of the Afterlife. It is ordered alphabetically, so he is compelled to make his way to his designated zone, which is, of course, near the very end of the chamber. On this voyage of enormous length, he meets various dead individuals, many of whom wish to tell him their remarkable stories.

A light comedy, a picaresque journey – like a warped subterranean Pilgrim’s Progress.

“Only Rhys Hughes could have written The Devil’s Halo!”
– IAN WATSON, European SF Society Grand Master 2024.

About the Author: Rhys Hughes began writing from an early age. His first book, Worming the Harpy, was published in 1995 by Tartarus Press, and since then he has published more than fifty other books, and his fiction has been translated into twelve languages. His work encompasses genres as diverse as fantasy, gothic, experimental, science fiction, magic realism, comedy, absurdism, thrillers and westerns, and he is known for his invention, imagination and wordplay. He recently completed an ambitious project that involved writing exactly one thousand linked short stories. He also writes plays, poems and articles.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Amazon International