The year 2023 seemed to have been hard on all of us. Wars in the post-pandemic world, weapons and armies that destroy innocent civilian lives have taken the centre stage, vying with climate disasters, refugees, senseless shootings and unrest. Amidst this gloom and doom, we need hope — a gleam of light to help us find solutions towards a peaceful world. Let us give the newborn 2024 a fair chance towards its own wellbeing with cheer and laughter. Let’s laugh away our troubles and find the inner strength to move forward towards a better future where people live in harmony… perhaps to hum and recall Paul Mc Cartney’s wise words in ‘Ebony and Ivory'(1982)…
We all know that people are the same wherever you go There is good and bad in ev'ryone We learn to live, when we learn to give Each other what we need to survive, together alive
.... Amidst this wave of conflict, In the haze of the games you script, I will swing towards my own dream.
Let the breeze blow off the lamplight, Let storms thunder in the sky — Every moment in my heart, I can sense your footfall. In darkness, I strive to find my stream.
In that spirit, we look inward not just to find our dreams and materialise them, but also into the treasure chests of Borderless Journal to find writings that bring a smile to our lips. Tagore, translated by Fakrul Alam and Somdatta Mandal, leads the way as we start with humour and wonder in poetry and meander into a few prose pieces that evoke laughter, at times upending our current stream of thoughts or values. We move on to our three columnists, Rhys Hughes, Devraj Singh Kalsi and Suzanne Kamata, who bring laughter and uncover the nuances of the world around us on a monthly basis. Included also are the pieces by our travelling granny, Sybil Pretious, whose spirited travels prove that age is just a number. Capturing the spirit of diversity with a tinge of laughter, let us usher in the new year to a more hopeful and sturdy start.
Poetry
Giraffe’s Dad by Tagore: Giraffer Baba (Giraffe’s Dad), a short humorous poem by Tagore, has been translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.
Humbled by a Pig: Farouk Gulsara meets a wild pig while out one early morning and muses on the ‘meeting’. Click here to read.
Leo Messi’s Magic Realism: Sports fan Saurabh Nagpal explores the magic realism in famous footballer Messi’s play with a soupçon of humour. Clickhere to read.
I am a Jalebi: Arjan Batth tells us why he identifies with an Indian sweetmeat. Click here to read why.
A Day at Katabon Pet Shop , a short story set amidst the crowded streets of Dhaka, by Sohana Manzoor. Click here to read.
Keith Lyons converses with globe trotter Tomaž Serafi, who lives in Ljubljana. Click here to read.
Translations
Barnes and Nobles by Quazi Johirul Islam has been translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Clickhereto read.
Cast Away the Gun by Mubarak Qazi has been translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch. Click here to read.
One Jujubehas been written and translated from Korean by Ihlwha Choi. Clickhere to read.
A Hymnto an Autumnal Goddess by Rabindranath Tagore, AmraBeddhechhi Kaasher Guchho ( We have Tied Bunches of Kaash), has been translated by Mitali Chakravarty. Click hereto read.
Dr. KPP Nambiar takes us through his journey of making a Japanese-Malyalam dictionary, which started nearly fifty years ago, while linking ties between the cultures dating back to the sixteenth century. Click hereto read.
We know him variously — a man whose face and form appear on currency notes in India and on stamps, as statues and as art, internationally. He was known as a pacifist, one who inspired the likes of Nelson Mandela, Martin Luther King Jr, Obama and many more leaders. And yet, he was a tiny, frail man, rather adamant and uncomfortable to live with and with food choices that many might find difficult to digest. This man was called Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi.
Born on October 2nd 1869, in Porbandar, Gujarat, he became an internationally renowned figure for all of us. Like all great leaders, he impacted the world in ways more than one but he had some idiosyncrasies, for example, he had no faith on the film industry though a number of films have been made on and about him. Highlighting that is an essay from Shantanu Ray Chaudhuri. Gandhi affected people and much of the writing in this edition goes to show how he or his ideas impacted them. Ratnottama Sengupta comments and translates parts of the episode from the biography of eminent Bengali writer, Nabendu Ghosh, her father, as well as a short story by him, to focus on Gandhi’s impact on India’s Direct Action Day (16th August 1946). A poem by contemporary Santosh Bakaya about the same incident make one wonder why suddenly there is so much focus on this part of history.
Here’s to unraveling the mystery and celebrating Gandhiism in spirit—
Gandhiji, a short story by Nabendu Ghosh, has been translated from Bengali by Ratnottama Sengupta. Click here to read.
Magic of the Mahatma , Ratnottama Sengupta shows the impact of Gandhi and his call for non-violence on Nabendu Ghosh as she continues to emote over his message of Ahimsa and call for peace amidst rioting. Click here to read.
Gandhi in CinemaShantanu Ray Chaudhuri explores Gandhi in films and also his views on the celluloid screen. Click here to read.
MAGIC
Lo! I saw a magician last night.
A slender silhouette -- almost half-naked.
Was the night at its tricks once again?
Was the frail figure about to pull rabbits out of his hat?
Magicians do have this incorrigible habit of pulling rabbits from hats.
But this magician defied all stereotypes. Where was his hat?
Where the rabbits?
I looked at the calendar, and gasped. It was 16 August 1946.
How bizarre! The stars outside had a fickle glow.
There was chaos, there was confusion. There was hatred.
The graffiti on the mildewed walls screamed:
Direct Action Day!
Piercing the cacophony, a soft, feathery voice
fell on the turbulent crowd.
Not a rabble rousing voice, but a magical one.
“I have come here to serve Hindus and Muslims.”
A hush fell. Louder – louder – louder grew the hush.
Then I saw the half-naked figure walking away.
All alone – but in sync with 'Gurudeb's words
'Ekla chalo Re*’.
But lo and behold! There was more magic!
The pages of the calendar fluttered in the breeze.
With great ardour, swayed the trees.
I was amazed; the calendar now showed the year 2023.
I peeped through the window.
Birds perched on bowers were singing, impromptu songs.
The folds of their yellow-green-blue-wings hid musical notes.
Then I again saw the half-naked figure.
Walking alone, but in sync with 'Gurudeb's words,
'Ekla chalo Re,' ringing in his ears.
But lo and behold! There was more magic!
The One Man Army was no longer alone.
The trickle had become a deluge.
Music poured from every tree.
A multi-layered song was being sung in every tone,
every tenor, every pitch, pouring love melodies.
The sun of a new morn smiled from above.
The heady scent of freshly hewn lawn spread in the air.
Megalomaniacs had fallen pathetically silent.
The muted falling of a leaf creating a quiet turbulence.
An invisible drummer was beating his drum.
“Back to nature --Back to peace --Back to love.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth will make the whole world blind.
Blind-Blind-Blind.”
The surroundings resounded.
The boughs seemed to be swaying to the beat of myriad stringed instruments
Queedle queedle -queedle hoo- ah hoo- hoo- hoo kleek kik ik ik ik .honk honk
koo- ookoo hoooooooo…
Birds sang from every branch-- high pitch – low pitch, contralto cadences,
chirruping notes, and even hoarse, grating rattles and loud caws.
Magic again happened-- creating a soul-- soothing symphony
of eclectic pitches and rhythm.
“He belongs to me, he belongs to you.
He belongs to the man in the street.
He belongs to the coward and the bold.
He belongs to the strong and the effete.
He belongs to the one shivering on the pavement.
He belongs to me, he belongs to you.
"He belongs to the man whimpering under the awning.
Hoping for something good in the coming morning.
He belongs to the bruised and the battered.
And the one with unshed tears and clothes tattered.
"He belongs to the one who lives by his labour.
And even to the one who does not love his neighbor.
The spunky woman bending in ceaseless toil.
And the youngster whose blood is on the boil.
"He belongs to the one with the frown.
He belongs to the white, black and brown.
The one with a swagger in his gait.
The one who suffers viciously at the hands of fate.
"The bird fluttering helplessly in the cage.
The youth struggling with road rage.
Those engrossed in ego tussles
and the one flaunting his muscles.
He belongs to me, he belongs to you.”
With a revolutionary fervor, every leaf was shaking.
A symphony of love and peace was in the making.
The pilgrim was no longer alone
Love had injected every bone.
Faces glimmered with hope -- there was no mistaking.
*Gurudeb means Teacher and refers to Tagore in this case. 'Ekla Cholo Re' (Walk Alone) is a well known song by Tagore.
Santosh Bakaya, PhD, poet, essayist, novelist, biographer, TEDx speaker, has written twenty-three books across different genres, Ballad of Bapu, and Only in Darkness can you see the Stars [Biography of Martin Luther King Jr]. have won international acclaim. What is the Meter of the Dictionary? is her latest solo book of poetry.
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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
In conversation with Isa Kamari, a celebrated writer from Singapore, with focus on his latest book, Maladies of the Soul. Click here to read.
Translations
A Hunger for Stories, a poem by Quazi Johirul Islam, has been translated by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.
A Hand Mill, a story by Ammina Srinivasaraju, has been translated from Telugu by Johny Takkedasila. Click here to read.
Kiyya and Sadu, a part of this long ballad on the legendary lovers from Balochistan, has been translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch. Click hereto read.
In Tintin in India, Rhys Hughes traces the allusions to India in these iconic creations of Hergé while commenting on Tintin’s popularity in the subcontinent. Click hereto read.
Meredith Stephens shares the response of some of the Californian community to healing after the 2020 forest fires with a narrative and photographs. Click hereto read.
No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.
‘Moment’ by Margaret Atwood
With an unmanned mission reaching the moon — that moon that was chipped off the Earth’s surface when Theia bashed into the newly evolving planet — many feel mankind is en route to finding alternate biomes and perhaps, a solution to its housing needs. Will we also call moon our ‘Homeland’ and plant flags on it as we do on Earth? Does the Earth — or the moon — really belong to our species. Do we have proprietary rights on these because of lines drawn by powerbrokers who say that the land belongs to them?
These are questions Margaret Atwood addresses in her writings which often fall into a genre called cli-fi. This is gaining in popularity as climate has become uncertain now with changes that are wringing fear in our hearts. Not all fear it. Some refuse to acknowledge it. While this is not a phenomenon that is fully understood by all of us, it’s impact is being experienced by majority of the world — harsh stormy weather, typhoons, warmer temperatures which scorch life and rising water levels that will eventually swallow lands that some regard as their homeland. Despite all these prognostications, wars continue to pollute the air as much as do human practices, including conflicts using weapons. Did ‘climbing a hill’ and ‘planting the flag’ as Atwood suggests, ever give us the rights over land, nature or climate? Do we have a right to pollute it with our lifestyle, trade or wars — all three being human constructs?
In a recent essay, Tom Engelhardt, a writer and an editor, contended, “Vladimir Putin’s greatest crime wasn’t simply against the Ukrainians, but against humanity. It was another way to ensure that the global war of terror would grow fiercer and that the Lahainas of the future would burn more intensely.” And that is true of any war… Chemical and biological weapons impacted the environment in Europe and parts of Afghanistan. Atom bombs polluted not only the cities they were dropped in, but they also wreaked such havoc so that the second generation’s well-being continues impacted by events that took place more than seven decades ago. Yet another nuclear war would destroy the Earth, our planet that is already reeling under the impact of human-induced climate change. Flooding, forest fires and global warming are just the first indications that tell us not only do we need to adapt to living in changed times but also, we need to change our lifestyles, perhaps even turn pacifist to survive in a world evolving into an altered one.
Critiquing the darker trends in our species which leads to disasters is a book by an eminent Singaporean writer, Isa Kamari, called Maladies of the Soul. He too looks for panacea in a world where the basic needs of humans have been satiated and they have moved on towards overindulgence that can lead to redundancy. In a conversation, he tells us how he hopes his writings can help towards making a more hopeful future.
This hope is echoed in the palliative poems of Sanket Mhatre from his book, A City full of Sirens, excerpted and reviewed by Basudhara Roy. Bhaskar Parichha’s review of Samragngi Roy’s The Wizard of Festival Lighting: The Incredible Story of Srid, is a tribute also from a granddaughter to her grandfather celebrating human achievements. Somdatta Mandal’s discussion of fiction based on history, Begum Hazrat Mahal: Warrior Queen of Awadhby Malathi Ramachandran not only reflects the tenacity of a woman’s courage but also explores the historicity of the events. Exploring bits of history and the past with a soupcon of humour is our book excerpt from Syed Mujtaba Ali’s Tales of a Voyager (Joley Dangay[1]), translated from Bengali by Nazes Afroz. Though the narrative of the translation is set about ninety years ago, a little after the times of Hazrat Mahal (1820 –1879), the excerpt is an brilliant introduction to the persona of Tagore’s student, Syed Mujtaba Ali (1904-1974), by a translator who describes him almost with the maestro’s unique style. Perhaps, Afroz’s writing bears these traces as he had earlier translated a legendary work by the same writer, In a Land Far from Home: A Bengali in Afghanistan. Afroz starts with a startling question: “What will you call someone who puts down his profession as ‘quitting job regularly’ while applying for his passport?”
In non-fiction, we have Devraj Singh Kalsi’s funny retelling of his adventures with a barber while Hughes‘ essay on the hugely popular Tintin makes us smile. The patriarchal past is reflected in an essay by G Venkatesh, whereas Suzanne Kamata from Japan talks of women attempting to move out of invisibility. Meredith Stephens and Candice Louisa Daquin both carry on the conversation on climate change. Stephens explores the impact of Californian forest fires with photographs and first-hand narrative. Vela Noble draws solace and strength from nature in Kangaroo Island and shares a beautiful painting with us. Madhulika Vajjhala and Saumya Dwivedi discuss concepts of home.
Two touching tributes along with a poem to recently deceased poet, Jayanta Mahapatra, add to the richness of our oeuvre. Dikshya Samantrai, a researcher on the poet, has bid a touching adieu to him stating, “his legacy will continue to inspire and resonate and Jayanta Mahapatra’s name will forever remain etched in the annals of literature, a testament to the enduring power of the poet’s voice.”
Our translations this time reflect a diverse collection of mainly poetry with one short story by Telugu writer, Ammina Srinivasaraju, translated by Johny Takkedasila. Professor Fakrul Alam has introduced us to an upcoming voice in Bengali poetry, Quazi Johirul Islam. Ihlwha Choi has translated his own poetry from Korean and brought to us a fragment of his own culture. Fazal Baloch has familiarised us with a Balochi ballad based on a love story that is well known in his region, Kiyya and Sadu. Our Tagore translation has attempted to bring to you the poet’s description of early autumn or Sharat in Bengal, a season that starts in September. Sohana Manzoor has painted the scene depicted by Tagore for all of us to visualise. Huge thanks to her for her wonderful artwork, which invariably livens our journal.
Profound thanks to the whole team at Borderless for their support and especially to Hughes and Parichha for helping us source wonderful writings… some of which have not been mentioned here. Pause by our content’s page to savour all of it. And we remain forever beholden to our wonderful contributors without who the journal would not exist and our loyal readers who make our existence relevant. Thank you all.
The Woman in the Dabb*
Rub –a- dub- a- dub, one woman on the dabb*.1
Absently, she gives her Pinocchio nose a rub.
Is she waiting for some mouth-watering grub?
The belligerent woman smug in the snug dabb.
That woman always strikes a quarrelsome pose.
A contemplative finger perched on her nose,
conferring with cacophonously cawing crows
sitting on the boundary wall in rows and rows.
Nay, I plead guilty to the crime of mendacity.
But, no way am I refuting the crows’ garrulity.
Then, there were no walls etched with bellicosity.
Those times were marked by back-slapping hilarity.
But, my kid brother was a very mischievous sort,
raising a hue and cry when in the slips caught.
This budding cricketeer with everyone fought,
Saddled with a sharp tongue and a temper hot.
Not friends with the shrewish woman in the dabb
who had one eye cocked towards our respected Bub*.2
Brother’s sixer caught the woman’s nose in the dabb.
Profanities followed from the woman in the snug dabb.
Cursing the ball, the boy and the corollary disgraced,
she flailed her pheran-clad arms, singing her own praises.
She had a penchant for evocative Kashmiri phrases,
a rich vocabulary of intriguing phonetic cadences.
Alas, the ball had created a dent in her Pinocchio nose.
Kashmiri expletives freely flowed; belligerent her pose.
Now, Naseem, the woman, was ready to come to blows.
She rolled up her pheran sleeves, bracing to give a dose
Of her tongue to my brother, who had dented her nose.
In a fiery temper vile, no longer could she lie in repose.
Salman, his buddy, said, “You should try giving her a rose.
Quipped my brother, “Will she accept it despite a broken nose?”
Strange but true, after hours two, the team was in her dabb.
Rohit, Sarju, Ashok, Kuku, Salman, Irfan and a doting Bub,
breaking bread; of cherry chuckles, the dabb was now a hub.
Kandurvaan ki roti*3and kehwa*4 and mouthwatering grub.
Down below, the houseboat-dotted Jhelum happily roared.
Over bellicosity and grudges, love had once again scored.
From the pine tree the golden oriole its melody poured.
Grudges and spats had once again been wisely ignored.
The languorous traffic swirled on the ancient Kani Kadal.* 5
Soon, some little folks and a woman were in a group huddle.
Suddenly a cry of ‘Howzat?’ went up like a lilting song.
The woman smiled, her voice ringing like a dinner gong:
“Gobra*6, thankfully, you broke my nose, not my heart.”
Eyes twinkling, she said with a chuckle, a hand on heart.
Now, my kid brother mends hearts, does not break noses.
Violence, and heartlessness, this cardiologist heartily opposes.
With a smile, he often recalls that woman in the dabb.
He grins as he glimpses her giving her Pinocchio nose a rub.
The woman is now history; for my brother it is a mystery
whether she really carried a torch for our beloved bub.
That affectionate pheran-clad woman in the snug dabb.
*1 Dabb*: A mini balcony with a protruding ledge in old houses in Kashmir.
*2 Bub: An affectionate term for an elderly person, [short for Babuji]
*3 Kandurvaan ki roti: Baker’s Bread.
*4 Kehwa: Milk less tea garnished with cardamom, crushed almonds, and cinnamon powder [[saffron optional]
*5 Kani Kadal: The name of a bridge in Srinagar, Kashmir
*6 Gobra: A Kashmiri term of endearment for a child.
Dr. Santosh Bakaya is an academician, poet, essayist, novelist, biographer. She has more than ten books to her credit , her latest books are a biography of Martin Luther King Jr. (Only in Darkness can you see the Stars) and Songs of Belligerence (poetry). She runs a very popular column Morning meanderings in Learning And Creativity.com.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Let’s dream of a new world with laughter and move towards a vision we treasure — of a world that we can build together with poetry, peopled with strange imaginary creatures who bring a smile to our lips or perhaps evoke laughter…
As the old year winds up, we wait for the new year in anticipation… We wait to see how the new born blossoms as each year takes a unique form. This year, while we strengthened the population with vaccines, other kind of politics set in, which finally found fruition in a war that has perhaps been one of the saddest events of human history — people made homeless, towns erased, lives lost, nature polluted with gunpowder and shreds of machinery along with the ultimate threat of nuclear weapons erupting every now and then. What could possibly give hope amidst the darkness of the receding year with price hikes, the threat of looming hunger, joblessness, more conflicts and fear?
The fact that we have survived for more than 200,000 years in our current form is heartening. That we have lived through wars, plagues and disasters without being erased out of existence only highlights the resilience of our species to adapt to all kinds of contingencies. Perhaps, with the current crises, we will move towards new world orders…perhaps, we will find hope in creating and evolving new ways of living in consonance with nature and more by our need than greed.
With that hope in heart, we wish you a wonderful start to the New Year with a few interesting pieces from our journal, including a highly entertaining piece by Suzanne Kamata on how the Japanese traditionally, literally make a clean start each New Year and Michael Burch’s fun poems and a translation of Tagore’s adaptation of the traditional year-end Auld Lang Syne. We have sprinkled more humour in poetry by Rhys Hughes and Santosh Bakaya and, in prose, by Tagore, translated by Somdatta Mandal, Ruskin Bond and Devraj Singh Kalsi. Laughter at the this juncture will hopefully give us a year with more shades of happiness.
Shantanu Ray Chaudhari converses with writer Gajra Kottary, a well-known writer of Indian TV series, novels and stories. Clickhereto read.
A discussion on Samaresh Bose’s In Search of the Pitcher of Nectar, a book that takes us to the heart of the Kumbh Mela, a festival recognised by the UNESCO as an Intangible Cultural Heritage, with the translator, Nirmal Kanti Bhattacharjee. Clickhere to read.
Translations
Nazrul’s Why Provide Thorns has been translated by Professor Fakrul Alam. Clickhere to read.
Mercy, a story be P. F. Mathews, has been translated from Malayalam by Ram Anantharaman. Clickhere to read.
Songs of Freedom: Vikalangta or Disability is an autobiographical narrative by Kajal, translated from Hindustani by Janees. These narrations highlight the ongoing struggle against debilitating rigid boundaries drawn by societal norms, with the support from organisations like Shaktishalini and Pandies. Clickhere to read.
Paul Mirabile explores James Joyce’s Stephen Dedalus and his passion for words keeping in mind the hundred year old Ulysees & the even older, A Portrait of the Artists as a Young Man. Clickhere to read.
Book Excerpts
An excerpt from Radha Chakravarty’s translation of Tagore’s Farewell Song. Clickhere to read.
An excerpt or two short narratives from Rhys Hughes’ Yule Do Nicley. Clickhere to read.
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