In winters, birds migrate. They face no barriers. The sun also shines across fences without any hindrance. Long ago, the late Nirendranath Chakraborty (1924-2018) wrote about a boy, Amalkanti, who wanted to be sunshine. The real world held him back and he became a worker in a dark printing press. Dreams sometimes can come to nought for humanity has enough walls to keep out those who they feel do not ‘belong’ to their way of life or thought. Some even war, kill and violate to secure an exclusive existence. Despite the perpetuation of these fences, people are now forced to emigrate not only to find shelter from the violences of wars but also to find a refuge from climate disasters. These people — the refuge seekers— are referred to as refugees[1]. And yet, there are a few who find it in themselves to waft to new worlds, create with their ideas and redefine norms… for no reason except that they feel a sense of belonging to a culture to which they were not born. These people are often referred to as migrants.
At the close of this year, Keith Lyons brings us one such persona who has found a firm footing in New Zealand. Setting new trends and inspiring others is a writer called Harry Ricketts[2]. He has even shared a poem from his latest collection, Bonfires on the Ice. Ricketts’ poem moves from the personal to the universal as does the poetry of another migrant, Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, aspiring to a new, more accepting world. While Tulip Chowdhury — who also moved across oceans — prays for peace in a war torn, weather-worn world:
I plant new seeds of dreams for a peaceful world of tomorrow.
Fiction in this issue reverberates across the world with Marc Rosenberg bringing us a poignant telling centred around childhood, innocence and abuse. Sayan Sarkar gives a witty, captivating, climate-friendly narrative centred around trees. Naramsetti Umamaheswararao weaves a fable set in Southern India.
A story by Nasir Rahim Sohrabi from the dusty landscapes of Balochistan has found its way into our translations too with Fazal Baloch rendering it into English from Balochi. Isa Kamari translates his own Malay poems which echo themes of his powerful novels, A Song of the Wind (2007) and Tweet(2017), both centred around the making of Singapore. Snehaprava Das introduces Odia poems by Satrughna Pandab in English. While Professor Fakrul Alam renders one of Nazrul’s best-loved songs from Bengali to English, Tagore’s translated poem Jatri (Passenger) welcomes prospectives onboard a boat —almost an anti-thesis of his earlier poem ‘Sonar Tori’ (The Golden Boat) where the ferry woman rows off robbing her client.
We have plenty of non-fiction this time starting with a tribute to Jane Austen (1775-1817) by Meenakshi Malhotra. Austen turns 250 this year and continues relevant with remakes in not only films but also reimagined with books around her novels — especially Pride and Prejudice (which has even a zombie version). Bhaskar Parichha pays a tribute to writer Bibhuti Patnaik. Ravi Varmman K Kanniappan explores ancient Sangam Literature from Tamil Nadu and Ratnottama Sengupta revisits an art exhibition that draws bridges across time… an exploration she herself curated.
We have a spray of colours from across almost all the continents in our pages this time. A bumper issue again — for which all of the contributors have our heartfelt thanks. Huge thanks to our fabulous team who pitch in to make a vibrant issue for all of us. A special thanks to Sohana Manzoor for the fabulous artwork. And as our readers continue to grow in numbers by leap and bounds, I would want to thank you all for visiting our content! Introduce your friends too if you like what you find and do remember to pause by this issue’s contents page.
Wish all of you happy reading through the holiday season!
Flowers of Binjai Binja or White MangoFrom Public Domain
A SONG OF THE WIND
I surrender my body and soul to smoke, steam, and mist, which I gather with one last fibre of strength. Listen to this lonesome song, for the sun is envious of my existence. This life yearns for separation; frailty is only human. Ballads after ballads you would know. An honest young man is always chided for his age. The unending love of parents sometimes makes them act as dictators. If you feel life as silkworms dreaming of freedom, just remember your wings have broken the moment you willingly accept the smoothness of silk. If the clouds are too heavy for the roof of your home, call the wind, summon the earth. Then you would taste the sweetness of charity. But remember, a barren land sometimes is best left barren, for art also seeks justice. Proclaim, but do not claim, for your worth is still in a balance. As life is a bountiful gift, be discreet in giving alms, but you must be brave to challenge, although it means you have to burn a piece of love letter. For God is closer than your jugular vein. I come to you from a dusty journey where I gather smiles from smoke, steam, and mist. Listen to this lonesome song for a while, for I am envious of the ensuing dusk.
MOTHER
Oh, Allah, I know of your Love from the binjai which she craved for— a slice from the only fruit plucked by a neighbour. I know of your Mercy from the warmth of the womb that protects a soul, a frail presence in want of a mouthful of rice mixed with soy sauce and fried fish, under the thick foliage of the tree of Time, offering shade to the unfolding age. The moment she left to meet You, the tree of Hope fell; the kingdom of the Hereafter shook in my soul. Parting will ultimately lead to meeting again. Only to You I surrender, begging for your love for Mother— a straight path tracing her footsteps; asking for your mercy for Mother— which overrides your wrath over my life astray; seeking your gentle affection, as warm as Mother’s fingers.
TWEET
The chirping has escaped the cage. The chirping is free; the trap is empty. The chirping is returned and received. The chirping is delirious on the rotten branch. Your tail searches for the nest, Your claws clench the twigs, Your wings sift the wind, Your beak catches the worm, Your eyes survey the rainbow. Hey you, the bird which has escaped! Hey you, the bird which is free! You bring along the cage in your flight. The trap awaits your return. If your tail is not guided by faith, If your claws are not holding on to good deeds, If your wings are not spreading grace, If your beak is not chirping gratitude, If your eyes are not seeking redemption— Your song is a caged cry, Your tweet is a prisoned anguish. The resplendent feathers that you show off are hiding a sadness as wide as the sky.
THE TRAIN
The door will close. If religion is the track, it does not determine the path and destination for commuters. They board and alight at different stations, not the one, not the only one, not the same always. Religion is like a map; it does not make life boring, does not block a journey, shows the path anywhere you go, not the one, not the only one, not the same always. We are not carriages that do not have choices. Just make sure the meandering path is fun and secure, the last stop safe and peaceful. The door will close. The One awaits there, wherever it is.
The inside of a binjai mango. From Public Domain
Isa Kamari has written 12 novels, 3 collections of poetry, a collection of short stories, a book of essays on Singapore Malay poetry, a collection of theatre scripts and lyrics of 3 music albums, all in Malay. His novels have been translated into English, Turkish, Urdu, Arabic, Indonesian, Jawi, Russian, French, Spanish, Korean, Azerbaijan and Mandarin. Several of his essays and selected poems have been translated into English. Isa was conferred the S.E.A Write Award from Thailand (2006), the Singapore Cultural Medallion (2007), the Anugerah Tun Seri Lanang (2009) from the Singapore Malay Language Council, and the Mastera Literary Award (2018) from Brunei Darussalam.
He obtained a BArch (Hons) from the National University of Singapore in 1989, an MPhil (Malay Letters) from Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia in 2008 and is currently pursuing a PhD programme at the Academy of Islamic Studies, Univeristi Malaya. His area of research is on the problem of alienation and the practice of firasat (spiritual intuition) in selected Singapore Malay novels.
The Lost Mantras is a collection that blends spirituality, Malay cultural heritage, and universal human experience. First published as part of Menyap Cinta (Love Greetings, 2022, Nuha Books KL), these poems are like a bridge between mysticism and everyday life, where traditional images (betel, jasmine, kris[1], oil lamps, setanjak[2]) are woven with Qur’anic echoes, prayers, and existential questioning. The collection carries a Sufi resonance—always circling back to longing, humility, surrender, and beauty as signs of God. The poems are not only lyrical but also function as cultural memory: they preserve Malay traditions, communal practices, and village life, while situating them in a cosmic framework of faith, sin, and redemption. The use of Malay customs, rituals, and objects is powerful: it asserts that spirituality is not abstract but embedded in heritage. This makes the collection uniquely Southeast Asian despite its universal in appeal.
Hey, the morning breaks! Hey, the faithful sun! Hey, the disappearing dew! Hey, the layered air! The breath desires, the soul asks: Who do you greet? Have you pondered, sons of Adam? Death awaits, life prolongs. Have you realised, progenies of Eve? The earth is impregnated and layered by purpose. The one that you welcome is the morning, The one that you coax is the sun, The one that you touch gently is the dew, The one that you breathe is the air. The gift of death, life fulfilled, accompanies the inevitable: morning, sun, dew, and air. A breath dissipates, a soul obliterates. Nothingness. Gone. Hey!
THE FIELD
The green grass is a mother’s heart, the velvet of love for her children. Although stepped upon by mischief and transgression, she distils dews of hope that her children would grow with the sun. The earth is the preparation of a father: soil and compost for his children where character would be rooted. Barren or fertile, he digs into his responsibility and self-worth, as long as the rain nourishes his age. Grass flowers are the children who only know the joy of the wind for as long as their dreams have not landed on earth and kissed the grass.
MOLTEN EARTH
This moment, we’re walking in the rain, accompanied by a bluish rainbow and red birds with purple blood. If they’re heading towards the dais, we have yet to embrace the longing. When the moon is in tears, it’s just ill-suited for us to sail on the orange henna sea. In truth, we verily love the eagle that flies in the desolate morning. If not for ravens like you, our forest would be infested with rabbits. Give us white wings; we want to fly with blue birds that return to reciprocate love. We want to taste milk. Is it for us only urine, the manifestation of love by dogs? Sound your prayer call in our shacks so that our tears are not just to bear the pain and bitterness of a plate of rice. If your pensiveness is just to reminisce the sufferings of night longing for day, our tears have flowed from the earth’s molten belly, which are stepped upon by saints like you and them who have cast curses upon us wretched souls.
POTPOURRI
The screw pine thrives on damp soil, next to the swampy pond. It spreads its green in the wild; roots clench the earth we tread upon. The jasmine grows on the lawn, marks the boundaries of property. Sturdy branches, leaves flourish; petals open, greet the clouds. The sliced screw pine in a receptacle, the jasmine blossoms spread on the tray, perfume sprinkled to enhance the scent: the potpourri of bunga rampai welcomes guests. The ceremony officiated by the qadi, the couple duly married, customs and culture celebrated in fragrance, religious laws honoured on the dais. The shaving of the baby’s head, first steps on the soil, the coffin carried to the grave— the potpourri of bunga rampai adorns every domain, binding firmly entire life’s moments.
Bunga rampai — fresh flower potpourri used in Malay festivities and funerals. From Public Domain.
Isa Kamari has written 12 novels, 3 collections of poetry, a collection of short stories, a book of essays on Singapore Malay poetry, a collection of theatre scripts and lyrics of 3 music albums, all in Malay. His novels have been translated into English, Turkish, Urdu, Arabic, Indonesian, Jawi, Russian, French, Spanish, Korean, Azerbaijan and Mandarin. Several of his essays and selected poems have been translated into English. Isa was conferred the S.E.A Write Award from Thailand (2006), the Singapore Cultural Medallion (2007), the Anugerah Tun Seri Lanang (2009) from the Singapore Malay Language Council, and the Mastera Literary Award (2018) from Brunei Darussalam.
He obtained a BArch (Hons) from the National University of Singapore in 1989, an MPhil (Malay Letters) from Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia in 2008 and is currently pursuing a PhD programme at the Academy of Islamic Studies, Univeristi Malaya. His area of research is on the problem of alienation and the practice of firasat (spiritual intuition) in selected Singapore Malay novels.
The Lost Mantras is a collection that blends spirituality, Malay cultural heritage, and universal human experience. First published as part of Menyap Cinta (Love Greetings, 2022, Nuha Books KL), these poems are like a bridge between mysticism and everyday life, where traditional images (betel, jasmine, kris[1], oil lamps, setanjak[2]) are woven with Qur’anic echoes, prayers, and existential questioning. The collection carries a Sufi resonance—always circling back to longing, humility, surrender, and beauty as signs of God. The poems are not only lyrical but also function as cultural memory: they preserve Malay traditions, communal practices, and village life, while situating them in a cosmic framework of faith, sin, and redemption. The use of Malay customs, rituals, and objects is powerful: it asserts that spirituality is not abstract but embedded in heritage. This makes the collection uniquely Southeast Asian despite its universal in appeal.
I bow to you, King. I bear the torment of your sadness in the embrace of my sleep. May it transform into glad tidings for the days of your people. This exploration is to find your throne, which has disappeared from our hearts. For my love to you, King.
JASMINES
Earth jasmines, sky jasmines, a string of jasmines encircles the heart, jasmines poured with water from the hills, jasmines sprinkled by a pinch of compost. Seven rivers, seven clouds— rain pelts onto forlorn petals. Beauty is in the form, beauty to the eyes, beauty is the hand that tends to the soil, beauty is the fingers that caress the leaves, beauty is the cut on the arms of the gardener. The scorching sun, the shade from the foliage, bountiful is the soul of the tree that delivers, witness to a life devoted to hard work, with the laws of nature as the axis. Strong roots clench the earth, shoots look up high to the sky. Stand firmly, the soul sings. Blossoms waft fragrant dreams. Earth jasmines, sky jasmines, bloom in the early morning. Say your prayers, introduce yourself.
BETEL LEAVES
To be at the top is to function at the bottom, upholding responsibilities and trust, strengthening shared roots. The fragile branches are free to stretch, the green leaves spread wide. Wild betel, untouched betel, covers the soil, climbs the trellis. To be at the peak in essence is to grow shoots, carrying fertile hopes and dreams, giving way and space to grow, to climb each posting energetically, to qualify for the position when seasons change. Lofty betels, heavenly betels, reach for the stars, greet the clouds. To be in the ceremonial receptacle in essence is to uphold tradition, surrendering to the preservation of culture. Typically chewed with lime, slicing problems, mature-red in speech, tracing the lives of roots and shoots. Wild betel, untouched betel, lofty betel, heavenly betel, courtship betel, customary betel, weaving values and the essence of leadership entrenched in tradition.
HOME
Free souls wouldn’t be easily bored by mentoring and demands, for it’s the stable self that gives rise to liberation. And that’s called freedom — it isn't about release without aims, just like city folks, released from home or work, wander aimlessly at shopping malls, seek excitement from novelty and transience. It isn't that Life doesn’t require variety, or it isn't that the soul doesn’t long for fun. It’s just that we who claim to be free are easily entrapped in useless pettiness that we spread in the city without ever realising that we haven’t returned to the doors of our hearts, although we’ve stepped afoot onto the compound of the house.
Isa Kamari : A foremost Malay writer from Singapore: Photo provided by the poet.
Isa Kamari has written 12 novels, 3 collections of poetry, a collection of short stories, a book of essays on Singapore Malay poetry, a collection of theatre scripts and lyrics of 3 music albums, all in Malay. His novels have been translated into English, Turkish, Urdu, Arabic, Indonesian, Jawi, Russian, French, Spanish, Korean, Azerbaijan and Mandarin. Several of his essays and selected poems have been translated into English. Isa was conferred the S.E.A Write Award from Thailand (2006), the Singapore Cultural Medallion (2007), the Anugerah Tun Seri Lanang (2009) from the Singapore Malay Language Council, and the Mastera Literary Award (2018) from Brunei Darussalam.
He obtained a BArch (Hons) from the National University of Singapore in 1989, an MPhil (Malay Letters) from Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia in 2008 and is currently pursuing a PhD programme at the Academy of Islamic Studies, Univeristi Malaya. His area of research is on the problem of alienation and the practice of firasat (spiritual intuition) in selected Singapore Malay novels.
The Lost Mantras is a collection that blends spirituality, Malay cultural heritage, and universal human experience. First published as part of Menyap Cinta (Love Greetings, 2022, Nuha Books KL), these poems are like a bridge between mysticism and everyday life, where traditional images (betel, jasmine, kris[1], oil lamps, setanjak[2]) are woven with Qur’anic echoes, prayers, and existential questioning. The collection carries a Sufi resonance—always circling back to longing, humility, surrender, and beauty as signs of God. The poems are not only lyrical but also function as cultural memory: they preserve Malay traditions, communal practices, and village life, while situating them in a cosmic framework of faith, sin, and redemption. The use of Malay customs, rituals, and objects is powerful: it asserts that spirituality is not abstract but embedded in heritage. This makes the collection uniquely Southeast Asian while still universal in appeal
Title: Boats in a Storm: Law, Migration, and Decolonization in South and Southeast Asia, 1942–1962
Author: Kalyani Ramnath
Publisher: Westland/Context
The legal frameworks established during the period from 1942 to 1962 in South and Southeast Asia played a crucial role in shaping migration patterns and influencing decolonisation processes. This era witnessed significant changes as countries in these regions sought to redefine their legal systems in the wake of colonial rule, which in turn affected the movement of people across borders.
Migration patterns were influenced by various factors, including the aftermath of World War II, the struggle for independence, and the establishment of new national identities. Additionally, the decolonisation processes during this time were marked by the emergence of new legal frameworks that aimed to address the complexities of post-colonial governance and the rights of migrants. Understanding the interplay between these legal frameworks, migration trends, and decolonisation efforts provides valuable insights into the socio-political landscape of South and Southeast Asia during this transformative period.
Boats in a Storm: Law, Migration, and Decolonization in South and Southeast Asia, 1942–1962 authored by Kalyani Ramnath is a thoroughly researched work. This book is part of the series South Asia in Motion and was originally published by Stanford University. Ramnath serves as an Assistant Professor of History at the University of Georgia and has conducted extensive research on migration.
Says the blurb: “For more than a century before World War II, traders, merchants, financiers, and laborers steadily moved between places on the Indian Ocean, trading goods, supplying credit, and seeking work. This all changed with the war and as India, Burma, Ceylon, and Malaya wrested independence from the British empire.”
This captivating book is set against the backdrop of the tumultuous post-war period. It delves deeply into the legal struggles encountered by migrants who are determined to maintain their traditional ways of life and cultural practices. The narrative highlights their experiences with citizenship and the broader process of decolonisation. Even as new frameworks of citizenship emerged and the political landscapes of decolonisation created complexities that often obscured the migrations between South and Southeast Asia, these migrants consistently shared their cross-border histories during their engagements with the legal system.
These narratives, often obscured by both domestic and global political developments, contest the notion that stable national identities and loyalties emerged fully formed and free from the influences of migration histories after the fall of empires.
In her book, Kalyani Ramnath draws on archival materials from India, Sri Lanka, Myanmar, London, and Singapore to illustrate how former migrants faced legal challenges in their efforts to reinstate the prewar movement of credit, capital, and labour. The book is set against the backdrop of a climate marked by rising ethno-nationalism, which scapegoated migrants for taking away jobs from citizens and monopolising land.
Ramnath fundamentally illustrates in the book that the process of decolonisation was marked not just by the remnants of collapsed empires and the establishment of nation-states emerging from the debris of imperial breakdown. It also encompasses the often-ignored stories of wartime displacements, the unexpected consequences that arose from these events, and the lasting impacts they have had on societies.
This perspective highlights the complex and multifaceted process of decolonisation, demonstrating how it was shaped not only by significant political transformations but also by the personal narratives and experiences of individuals who faced the challenges of conflict and displacement.
An excellent book to read! .
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Bhaskar Parichha is a journalist and author of Cyclones in Odisha: Landfall, Wreckage and Resilience, Unbiased, No Strings Attached: Writings on Odisha and Biju Patnaik – A Political Biography. He lives in Bhubaneswar and writes bilingually. Besides writing for newspapers, he also reviews books on various media platforms.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
It is always refreshing when trust can be established online without any face-to-face interaction. Social media is filled with scammers, making it challenging to trust individuals based solely on their stories. This becomes even more complicated when the relationship starts at a time when the internet was not easily accessible. In these situations, you have to rely only on the person’s words. Sincerity is difficult to gauge, even with the use of emotive and abstract language in any physical correspondence.
Many years ago, I found myself in a situation where I met a woman through physical correspondence, as encouraged by a friend. He advised me to introduce myself to the lady and share about my work teaching at the seminary, providing English tutorials for Koreans, and assisting a church in a suburban foothill. As it turned out, she was part of a Christian NGO based in the US, along with a few other senior citizens. The organisation’s mission was to provide funds for seminary scholarships, livelihood support, books, conference fees, further studies, and toys.
Our relationship was purely based on trust as we did not know each other personally and yet for a number of years, she supported me financially as she learned of my journey. She preferred to write her letters on an electric typewriter and on blue-coloured stationery with a lovingly short note of affirmation. She took my every word at face-value although at times, I sent her photos of myself and church activities to support my stories that she sometimes quoted in her monthly newsletter.
When a missionary friend detoured to the US prior to her Colombian street kids’ programme, she visited the organisation’s garage cum office and brought my gift of a passenger jeep replica made from the ashes of a previous volcanic eruption, which she greatly appreciated. The organisation’s resources were donated to a graduate-level seminary in the US, that included her book, Pilgrims and Strangers Seek The City Not Made with Hands, upon her demise and all her colleagues.
Words only have meaning when they are used in a relational context; otherwise, they are simply meaningless.
Years before the internet became readily accessible, I used to write letters to two friends who worked as domestic helpers in Singapore. Despite having college degrees, they were unable to find relevant jobs in our country due to its political turmoil. I myself was jobless for two years, and like many new college graduates, I succumbed to depression and questioned my faith and self-worth. The struggles were compounded by stress from family and friends. I found a way to vent my issues to these Overseas Filipino Workers (OFWs), who also had their fair share of misery and homesickness. My letters were selfish. Over time, the correspondence gradually faded, along with the photos that sometimes accompanied their stories. One migrated to Canada and the other one is retired and lives with her sibling who has a physical disability in a suburban locality. All my letters from my benefactors and friends were washed away in an unexpected catastrophic flood that swept my residence. Up to this day, the loss is still palpable.
I lost two aunts during the pandemic, who were the last of my father’s siblings. The younger one passed away in her late 70s, while the older one died in her early 90s. Both were based in the US and worked as medical professionals. Every Christmas, I make sure to send them individual greeting cards through the mail, along with a few personal thoughts. They lived separately in the same village in the US, and I believe they appreciated these physical cards for their nostalgic value. They didn’t usually respond to emails or cards, as technology can be bothersome for the elderly.
My older aunt once told my eldest brother, who also lives in the US, that my emails were too long and tended to put her to sleep. I also send them thank you cards for the occasional holiday cash they send. My relationship with my aunts is mainly through written correspondence, with only a few rare occasions of meeting in Manila. Despite this, they never fail to remember me and my younger sibling, sending us thoughtful notes. My dad passed away at 60, and my aunts fondly told me that I look like my father. Perhaps this resemblance was one of the catalysts that kept our correspondence going, even in its irregularity. Stories, however trivial, matter to them.
Letter writing can be tedious, especially when done by hand. However, it is also tiring to write letters on computers and share both trivial and significant stories to send by post, as we are not certain if our experiences matter to our recipients. Nevertheless, physical personal correspondence brings about a certain degree of warmth that is often lacking online. It takes more effort to scribble than to type. It is also more spontaneous compared to digital writing, where you can effortlessly edit and revise through AI tools. Sometimes, the physical paper used says a lot about the sender and receiver. I am particularly fond of lined stationery with religious quotes and maxims on recycled paper. The envelope is of equal value as well because it must similarly match its properties.
At times, I also use plain paper to write letters. I remember writing letters of regards and sharing personal news with a college classmate and friend who was stationed on one of the most remote islands in the country for a kids’ mission. She replied to me, but her letters took a long time to reach me through the mail. Both her letters and mine were written in longhand. We were able to reconnect through letters because there were no mobile phones or internet at that time. The distance and physical absence made our words more meaningful and profound.
They say that the post office is in its dying stage, but time and again, it has proven itself to still be relevant in the internet age. Not everyone is connected, especially in areas where there is no access to electricity.
In one of the upland villages in my municipality, which is just about a two-hour drive from the city, they have not had electricity for years. This is because streetlights have to be paid for by the consumer. If the area has rugged terrain, it will require a good number of posts to be erected to bring electricity. This is a common scenario in agricultural and upland villages. While solar power is an option, procuring panels can be quite expensive as the government has not taken any measures yet to bring the cost down. To connect, villagers go to stores that offer WiFi for a minimal fee. Mobile signals are not available in many remote locations, so the gap is still widespread despite technological tools. We must accept the fact that technology is limited. Physical correspondence is here to stay.
From Public Domain
Manuel A. Alindogan, Jr., also known as Jun A. Alindogan, is the Academic Director of the Expanded Alternative Learning Program of Empowered East, a Rizal-province based NGO in the Philippines and is also the founder of Speechsmart Online that specialises in English test preparation courses. He is a freelance writer and a member of the Freelance Writers’ Guild of the Philippines (FWGP).
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL.
Title: Raisina Chronicles: India’s Global Public Square
Author: S. Jaishankar & Samir Saran
Publisher: Rupa Publications
Raisina Chronicles: India’s Global Public Square by S. Jaishankarand Samir Saran commemorates a decade of the Raisina Dialogue, India’s flagship geopolitical and geo-economics conference. The book reflects on the journey of the Raisina Dialogue and its impact on global discourse. It brings together contributions from leaders, thinkers, and diplomats, scholars, and policymakers worldwide, offering insights into addressing global challenges through collaboration and dialogue.
S. Jaishankar has been India’s External Affairs Minister since May 2019 and represents Gujarat in the Rajya Sabha. He was the Foreign Secretary from 2015 to 2018 and has held ambassadorial roles in the U.S., China, and the Czech Republic, as well as High Commissioner to Singapore. He authored notable books like The India Way: Strategies for an Uncertain World and Why Bharat Matters. Samir Saran is the President of the Observer Research Foundation (ORF), a leading Indian policy think tank. He has enhanced ORF’s influence in the U.S. and the Middle East and provides strategic guidance at the board level. Saran curates the Raisina Dialogue, co-chairs the World Economic Forum’s Global Future Council on Geopolitics, and serves on the Board of Governors of The East West Centre in the US. He has written five books, edited key monographs and journals, and contributed to numerous academic papers and essays, appearing in both Indian and international media.
The book brings together voices from across the world—of leaders and thinkers reflecting on the Raisina Dialogue’s impact on how we may navigate global challenges and create solutions that work. Putting India at the forefront of leading the change, the effect of these Dialogues is felt across policies and projections.
The editors emphasise that diversity, dissent, discord, and divergence of opinion make for the necessary ingredients for a sustainable future, shaped and owned by all. Ten years since its inception, the Raisina Dialogue has become the paramount platform for bringing together cultures, peoples and opinions. It is now India’s flagship geopolitical and geo-economics conference and has truly become a global public square—located in New Delhi, incubated by the world.
It emphasises the importance of diversity in thought, approaches, beliefs, and politics. It highlights how pluralism and heterogeneity contribute to resilience and societal evolution. Raisina Dialogue serves as a platform for inclusive participation, welcoming voices from underrepresented geographies and institutions.
While it showcases India’s emergence as a global leader in addressing development challenges and fostering international cooperation, it reflects the philosophy of Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam (the world is one family) and its efforts to harmonise local solutions with global needs.
Through initiatives like the G20 Presidency, India has shared transformative models such as digital public infrastructure (e.g., India Stack), offering templates for financial inclusion and tech-enabled development globally.
Alongside the carefully organised discussions, Raisina Chronicles examines the evolution of the Dialogue and presents its audience with a comprehensive volume that offers deep insights and an unwavering optimism for achieving shared solutions to worldwide issues.
As the globe approaches significant structural and historical transformations, the core aspiration of this work is to ensure that the voices of the populace are prioritised in global politics and policymaking, echoing through influential circles and reaching the broader community. For leaders to effect change, it is essential for society to unite and take a decisive step forward in the right direction.
Raisina Dialogue is also portrayed as a crucial venue for bridging divides in a fractured world. It fosters open discussions among diverse stakeholders—diplomats, scholars, business leaders, civil society members—to discover shared futures and solutions. The book underscores the importance of dialogue over polemics and inclusivity over exclusivity in shaping global policies.
Contributions from high profile global leaders such as Kyriakos Mitsotakis (Prime Minister of Greece), Mette Frederiksen (Prime Minister of Denmark), Penny Wong (Australian Foreign Minister) and others enrich the book with perspectives on international cooperation, climate goals, defence partnerships, and multilateralism.
The book serves as both a retrospective of the Raisina Dialogue’s achievements over ten years and a forward-looking guide for navigating global challenges. It positions India at the heart of global conversations, highlighting its role in fostering equitable dialogue and creating solutions that resonate across borders.
This volume is not just a collection of essays but also an intellectual testament to the transformative power of dialogue in shaping a sustainable future for humanity.
Bhaskar Parichha is a journalist and author of Cyclones in Odisha: Landfall, Wreckage and Resilience, Unbiased, No Strings Attached: Writings on Odisha and Biju Patnaik – A Political Biography. He lives in Bhubaneswar and writes bilingually. Besides writing for newspapers, he also reviews books on various media platforms.
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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Title: Return to Sri Lanka: Travels in a Paradoxical Island
Author: Razeen Sally
Publisher: Simon & Schuster India
Sri Lanka’s culture is characterised by several paradoxical aspects that reflect its rich history, diverse population, and the complexities of contemporary society. Here are some notable contradictions: Home to various ethnic groups, including Sinhalese, Tamils, and Muslims, each has its distinct languages and traditions. However, there is a prevailing sentiment among some that prioritises Sinhalese culture over others, leading to tensions and conflicts regarding national identity and rights.
While Sri Lanka has a history of female activism and women hold significant positions in politics (e.g., former President Chandrika Kumaratunga), gender inequality persists in many sectors. Women often face societal pressures that limit their roles despite their contributions to the economy and community. The tiny country has made strides in economic development and infrastructure, yet significant poverty remains, particularly in war-affected regions like the North and East. This disparity highlights the uneven benefits of economic progress across different communities
The island is also known for its religious diversity, with Buddhism, Hinduism, Christianity, and Islam practiced by its citizens. However, this coexistence is often marred by sectarian violence and discrimination, particularly against minority groups during political upheavals.
As Sri Lanka embraces globalization and modern influences, there is a tension between adopting new lifestyles and preserving traditional customs. This cultural clash can lead to generational divides within families and communities.
Razeen Sally’s book, Return to Sri Lanka: Travels in a Paradoxical Island, explores these complexities and contradictions. The memoir combines personal narrative with historical and political analysis, offering readers an immersive journey through various regions of Sri Lanka—from the bustling capital of Colombo to the tranquil beaches and verdant hill country. Sally reflects on his childhood experiences while addressing the island’s tumultuous history, including its colonial past and the long-lasting effects of civil war.
Razeen Sally, the son of a Sri Lankan Muslim father and a Welsh mother, was raised in Colombo and educated in the UK. After teaching at the London School of Economics, he now teaches at the Lee Kuan Yew School of Public Policy in Singapore. In his early forties, he felt a strong urge to return to Sri Lanka for the first time since childhood and has spent the past ten years exploring the island.
Sally viewed Sri Lanka as a paradise during his childhood, but conflict soon disrupted their lives, fracturing his family’s connection to the island. Return to Sri Lanka tells the story of his journey towards reconciliation in the twenty-first century, as Sally, now an academic and political adviser, revisits his birthplace. This travel memoir addresses significant political issues and is rich in beauty and profound reflections, written by someone who feels like both a local and a visitor.
The words, “Paradoxical Island”, in the title encapsulates the duality of Sri Lanka, where hospitality coexists with high rates of violence and societal divisions. Despite interactions among ethnic groups like Tamils and Sinhalese, underlying tensions often surface, revealing deep-seated issues regarding rights and representation.
Sally provides insight into how historical events, such as the policies of successive governments and the impact of colonialism, have shaped contemporary Sri Lankan society. He discusses significant political figures and movements while critiquing policies that have led to economic challenges, including a brain drain among educated youth.
The book highlights Sri Lanka’s diverse cultural landscape, examining how various religions and ethnicities contribute to both its charm and its conflicts. Sally emphasises the importance of understanding these dynamics to appreciate the island’s true essence.
Return to Sri Lanka is not just a travelogue but a profound exploration of a nation grappling with its identity. Sally’s reflections offer hope for reconciliation and progress, urging readers to engage with Sri Lanka’s complexities while appreciating its inherent beauty. These paradoxes illustrate the complexities of Sri Lankan culture, where historical legacies continue to shape contemporary realities, creating a vibrant yet challenging social landscape.
Bhaskar Parichha is a journalist and author of Cyclones in Odisha: Landfall, Wreckage and Resilience, Unbiased, No Strings Attached: Writings on Odisha and Biju Patnaik – A Political Biography. He lives in Bhubaneswar and writes bilingually. Besides writing for newspapers, he also reviews books on various media platforms.
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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
King Lear, Act I, Scene I (Cordelia’s Farewell) The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Pianting by Edwin Austin Abbey (1852-1911) From Public Domain.
DESPERATE LEAR
against all winds that blow and all the rains that pour, Old Lear still sought home as we all do sooner or later—
home is where the heart is— cardiac surgeons locate hearts but the homes seem elusive lost perhaps among the veins and the pulse beats which sound okay to all intents.
thus to be without home ported lustlessness; perhaps for some despair too close for comfort too close to acknowledge,
And so I roam without a home. return to the heart, the heart of all things, and I realise and learn, my heart is here with me. inside and pretty safe, despite some odd beats hardening who knows what,
home is where the heart returns after all the wandering finally settling all debts owed by the stomach in desperate circumstances,
Old Lear challenged the gods but the duel was one-sided no one wanted him as he wrestled Nature desperately needing Cordelia,
sometimes our Cordelias die before they’re properly born-
I know for my Cordelia died before she could be born--
she still struggles to learn knowing its totally futile.
after all only in rare miracles do we resurrect from the dead,
farewell, my sometime girl, perhaps we shall meet somewhere in our dreams and realise all was a nightmare!
POOR HAMLET
Poor Hamlet forgot poor Cordelia in another realm also where deceit, cunning and corruption ruined innocence, purity and brought hell to bear.
these poor players whose destinies pry and fathom deep sores, some known only alone, challenge our premises, contentment, pride, joy and much else besides—
but who are we to probe and pry and wonder? think and cry and ponder when it's the same yonder and everywhere?
in my stillness, my friend you who smile all the time and beguile love will never know anguish nor the Joy of being humanly correspondent despite all hints and references, nor in the byways of escape and neither in the grasp of knowing and suffering will you understand, know and appreciate value and truncated joy.
in the end, nothing much matters more than smug satisfactions of owning even in this simple way,
forgiveness can be all!
Hamlet. From Public Domain.
Kirpal Singh is a poet and a literary critic from Singapore. An internationally recognised scholar, Singh has won research awards and grants from local and foreign universities. He was one of the founding members of the Centre for Research in New Literatures, Flinders University, Australia in 1977; the first Asian director for the Commonwealth Writers’ Prize in 1993 and 1994, and chairman of the Singapore Writers’ Festival in the 1990s. He retired the Director of the Wee Kim Wee Centre.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Lya Badgley’s life reads like an exotic adventure book you can’t put down, but she writes plot-driven suspense about women overcoming life-changing odds, against a backdrop of global conflict. In this interview, she shares her views about creativity, courage, persistence and resilience.
You’ve had an interesting life – how often do people say that to you? How do you tell the story of your life in a short elevator pitch?
I’ve been very lucky to have had choices – many do not. That said, being born in Myanmar to Montana parents, was a good start. From Seattle’s arts scene to documenting war crimes in Cambodia and opening a restaurant in Yangon, my life experiences fuel my creativity. I’ve been a mother, a former city council member, and an environmental activist and now write novels drawing deeply from my lived experiences.
So, you were born in Yangon, Myanmar. How did your parents from the Rocky Mountains come to be in Burma? What are your first memories from there?
My parents discovered the wider world when my father was stationed in northern Japan during the Korean War. They fell in love with Asia, and he went on to dedicate his life to academia, earning a doctorate in political science. They first arrived in Burma (Myanmar) in the late 1950s. One of my earliest memories is coming home from kindergarten in up-country Burma and telling my mother that all the children spoke English in class. Astonished, she accompanied me to school the next day, only to find that the children were speaking Burmese. I had simply assumed it was English. To this day, I love languages.
What kind of environment did your parents create which encouraged your creativity?
My mother was a true artist, always encouraging me to find beauty in everything around me. My father sparked a deep curiosity about the world, especially about the lives of everyday people. Our dinner table conversations were always lively, full of challenges and excitement, fueling my imagination and intellect. I was never allowed to leave the table without sharing something interesting and eating all my vegetables.
In 1987 what changed your life? How does Multiple Sclerosis affect you today?
In 1987, I developed a persistent headache that wouldn’t go away. Within two weeks, I lost vision in one eye. The diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis came swiftly. I’ll never forget the mix of terror and wonder as I looked at the pointillistic MRI image of my brain, and the doctor casually said, “Yep, see those spots? That’s definitely MS,” as if he were ordering lunch. Strangely, that diagnosis liberated me—after all, what’s the worst that could happen? Now, as I age, the disease may slow my body, but it hasn’t dimmed my spark.
In what ways has being a musician/poet/writer/artist been a struggle and challenge? Do you think that is part of process and it in turn fosters innovation?
The struggles of being an artist—whether overcoming rejection, creative blocks, or balancing art with daily life—are definitely part of the journey. But there’s also magic in that process. There’s something almost alchemical about wrestling with a challenge and, through that tension, creating something entirely new. It’s in those moments of uncertainty that the most unexpected ideas emerge, as if they’re waiting for the right spark. The struggle doesn’t just foster creativity—it transforms it, turning obstacles into opportunities. And the joy comes from watching that magic unfold, as your vision takes on a life of its own.
When did you return to Southeast Asia, and how did you come to work as a videographer on a clandestine expedition interviewing Burmese insurgents, and later helping document the genocide cases in Cambodia?
The short answer is — a boyfriend! In the early ’90s, I returned to Southeast Asia, driven by a deep connection to the region and feeling uncertain about what to do next after a failed marriage. Through a friend I met during Burmese language studies, I stumbled upon an unexpected opportunity to work as a videographer on a covert mission, documenting interviews with Burmese insurgents. That intense experience then led to my role in Cambodia, where I worked with Cornell University’s Archival Project. There, I helped microfilm documents from the Tuol Sleng Museum of Genocide, preserving crucial evidence that would later hold war criminals accountable. Both experiences were life-changing and cemented my passion for telling these vital stories.
You were among the few foreigners to open businesses in Burma in the 1990s. What hurdles were there to opening the 50th Street Bar & Grill Restaurant in Yangon, Myanmar? How was Burma at that time?
Opening the 50th Street Bar & Grill in Yangon in the mid ’90s was a real adventure, and I take great pride in being part of the first foreign-owned project of its kind at that time. Myanmar was just emerging from decades of isolation, with very few foreigners and even fewer foreign businesses. Navigating the bureaucracy was incredibly challenging — layers of red tape, and we often had to rely on outdated laws from the British colonial era just to get things moving. It took persistence, creative problem-solving, and a lot of patience. I had the advantage of understanding the culture and speaking a bit of the language, and I never worked through a proxy. I handled even the most mundane tasks myself—like sitting for hours in a stifling hot bank, waiting to meet the manager, who was hiding in the bathroom to avoid me!
Basic infrastructure issues like inconsistent electricity and unreliable suppliers were ongoing challenges. But despite all the hurdles, Yangon had a special energy then. The people were incredibly warm and resilient, and there was a palpable sense that the country was on the cusp of major change, even though it remained under military rule. Looking back, I’m proud to have been part of something so groundbreaking during such a unique moment in Myanmar’s history. It’s heartbreaking to see the return of darker times.
When did you first start writing and what has kept you writing?
In the ’80s, I began writing song lyrics for my music, which eventually evolved into poetry. It turned out I had more to say, and my word count steadily grew from there. I write because I have no choice; it’s an essential part of who I am.
Your first novel, The Foreigner’s Confession, out in 2022, in the middle of the Covid-19 pandemic, weaves together one person’s story and a country’s painful history. How do you integrate in the legacy of the past, a personal journey, a war-torn country and the themes of loss and regret?
In The Foreigner’s Confession, I explore the interconnectedness of personal stories and a nation’s history. I like using conflict zones as backdrops for my protagonist’s inner turmoil. These settings highlight the psychological landscape shaped by war and trauma, reflecting the chaos within the character. I’m fascinated by the notion that evil exists in each of us, and under the right circumstances, we’re all capable of bad things. This theme resonates throughout the narrative, as the characters grapple with their moral choices amidst the turmoil surrounding them. As Tom Waits[1] beautifully puts it, “I like beautiful melodies telling me terrible things” — that juxtaposition is central to my writing, illustrating how beauty and darkness can coexist and inform our understanding of the human experience.
When it comes to writing are you a planner or a pantser? What’s your process for writing, particularly when you want to bring in the setting, the history of a place, and authenticity?
I’m a pantser all the way! Just saying the word “spreadsheet” makes me break into a sweat. I wish I could create meticulous diagrams and beautiful whiteboards filled with colorful, fluttering sticky notes, but that just isn’t my style. For me, the story unfolds as I write. I refer to myself as a discovery writer. It’s a slow and sometimes tedious process but discovering what I didn’t know was going to happen is truly amazing. I draw from my personal experiences to provide authenticity.
Does writing suspense/mystery help make a novel more compelling because it has to be well-crafted and cleverly constructed?
I write the story buzzing in my brain and then try to determine the genre.
What do you think about the power and potential of a novel to reach readers in a different way, for example as a vehicle to give insight into the situation in Cambodia or Myanmar, the wider/deeper issues (like geopolitics/colonialism), and the present reflecting a troubled past?
Yes, yes, yes! Novels have the potential to foster empathy and understanding, challenging readers to confront uncomfortable truths. Can we humans please stop being so stupid? It’s doubtful, but we can only hope.
Last year your second novel, The Worth of a Ruby, was launched, and you’ve recently been in Myanmar. What’s been your impression of the place in 2024, still suffering under the coup and with not such good prospects as in the 2010s? Could you ever go back there to live?
Sitting in the Inya Lake Hotel in Yangon as I write this, I can see that the people here carry a veil over their eyes that I don’t recall from my previous visits. Nevertheless, the cyclical nature of oppression has persisted here for a long time. My husband and I would move back in a heartbeat if there were opportunities and adequate healthcare for my situation. This country remains a part of my identity, and I dream of a future where I can return to help contribute to its recovery.
Your current/recent visit to SE Asia has taken you to what places? What have been the most memorable experiences?
I’m in Yangon until mid-October and will then spend a few days in Singapore, slogging my books to the shops there. As always, the most memorable experiences are renewing the deep connections with the people I care about.
Both your books feature people/countries having to confront their past/dark side. How do you think a novel can help navigate through the complexities and nuances of situations, or at least show that nothing is as black and white as first thought?
That’s a complex question, and any answer can only touch the surface. Both of my novels explore people and countries grappling with their pasts and confronting their darker sides, but the truth is, no single story can fully capture the complexity of these situations. What a novel can do, however, is open a window into the nuances and shades of gray that exist beneath the surface. By diving into characters’ personal struggles and the layered histories of their countries, readers can begin to see that nothing is as black and white as it might seem. A novel helps illuminate the hidden motivations, moral ambiguities, and emotional complexities that are often overlooked, offering a more profound understanding of the tangled web of human experience.
Your work-in-progress novel is set in Bosnia. What themes will that explore?
The themes in my work-in-progress novel set in Bosnia will continue to explore the complexities of personal and national histories, much like my previous work. However, this time I’m weaving in elements of magic realism, drawing inspiration from the Sarajevo Haggadah and Balkan folktales. These mystical elements will add a new layer to the narrative, deepening the exploration of identity, memory, and the ways in which the past haunts the present. The use of folklore will allow me to delve into the region’s rich cultural traditions while keeping the focus on the enduring human themes of loss, resilience, and transformation.
Where is ‘home’ for you now? How do you think living in other countries has influenced your outlook and personality?
I am wildly curious, and home is the room I’m sitting in. Though we pay a mortgage on our condo in Snohomish, home has always been more about where I am in the moment than a fixed place. Living in different countries has profoundly shaped my outlook and personality. It’s given me a deep appreciation for diverse perspectives and a sense of adaptability. I’ve learned that people’s values and struggles can be both uniquely local and universally human. Experiencing different cultures has also sparked my curiosity and influenced the way I approach storytelling, allowing me to blend personal and global themes into my work.
What do you think are your points of difference/advantages that you bring to your writing?
One of the key differences I bring to my writing is my unique upbringing. Growing up in Myanmar with parents who encouraged both critical thinking and creativity gave me an early appreciation for the complexities of the world. I’ve lived in many countries and experienced firsthand the way cultures can both clash and blend, and that depth of perspective is something I try to infuse into my stories. Navigating a chronic disease like multiple sclerosis has also shaped my writing. It’s taught me resilience, patience, and how to find beauty in challenging situations. I think these experiences allow me to write characters and narratives that explore the shades of gray in life—the areas where pain, perseverance, and hope intersect.
Why do you think that a high proportion of expats/students/backpackers/digital nomads are from the Pacific Northwest and find themselves living and working in Southeast Asia? (I know three people from Snohomish who live in Asia).
It’s an interesting phenomenon, and I think the Pacific Northwest has some unique qualities that make it a breeding ground for wanderers. Growing up on the edge of the continent, facing west, there’s always been a sense of curiosity about what’s beyond the horizon. The region’s creative spirit—fueled by its music scene, constant rain, endless coffee, and a long history of innovation with computers and tech—fosters a mindset that’s open to exploration and new ideas. People from the PNW are used to thinking outside the box, and there’s a certain resilience that comes from enduring gray skies. This drive for adventure and discovery seems to naturally extend to places like Southeast Asia, where expats, students, backpackers, and digital nomads can experience a different pace of life while still tapping into their creative or entrepreneurial sides. Though, it blows my mind that you know three people from my little town of Snohomish living in Asia!
For aspiring writers and creatives, and for readers of Borderless, what’s your advice?
My advice for aspiring writers, creatives, and readers of Borderless is simple: always take the step, go through the door you don’t know. The unknown is where growth, creativity, and discovery happen. Don’t be afraid to embrace uncertainty and take risks in your work and life. Whether it’s starting a new project, exploring a different idea, or venturing into unfamiliar territory, those leaps often lead to the most rewarding experiences. Stay curious, keep pushing boundaries, and trust that the act of creating—no matter how daunting—will always teach you something new.
Keith Lyons (keithlyons.net) is an award-winning writer and creative writing mentor originally from New Zealand who has spent a quarter of his existence living and working in Asia including southwest China, Myanmar and Bali. His Venn diagram of happiness features the aroma of freshly-roasted coffee, the negative ions of the natural world including moving water, and connecting with others in meaningful ways. A Contributing Editor on Borderless journal’s Editorial Board, his work has appeared in Borderless since its early days, and his writing featured in the anthology Monalisa No Longer Smiles.
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