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Borderless, November 2026

Art by Sohana Manzoor

Editorial

What & Where is Home?……Click here to read

Translations

Manush (Human), a poem by Masud Khan has been translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.

A dozen Deehis, a form of Balochi folk poetry, have been translated and introduced by Fazal Baloch. Click here to read.

Chapter 4 of Isa Kamari’s novel, The Throne, has been translated by the author from Malay. We will be running the whole novel as serial through the year. Click here to read.

Ostrich, a story by Kizzy Tahnin, has been translated from Bengali by Rajib Mahmud. Click here to read.

Indifference, a poignant Korean poem has been written and translated by Ihlwha Choi. Click here to read.

Cholonto Kolikata (Calcutta on the Move), a poem by Tagore, has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty. Click here to read.

Poetry

Click on the names to read the poems

Ryan Quinn Flanagan, John Swain, Shamim Akhtar, Jim Murdoch, Prithvijeet Sinha, Ian Fitzgerald, Md Mujib Ullah, Jim Bellamy, Jeena R Papaadi, Ron Pickett, Pramod Rastogi, William Miller, Saranyan BV, Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

Poets, Poetry & Rhys Hughes

In The Geography Journal & Socks for Bigfoot, Rhys Hughes shares two satires in poetry. Click here to read.

Musings/Slices from Life

Making Home

Keith Lyons muses on what makes a home. Click here to read.

Sepia-toned Memories

Farouk Guslara indulges in nostalgia with old black and white prints. Click here to read.

Secrets in Stone

Meredith Stephens writes of her exploration in Enderby Island with photographs by Alan Noble. Click here to read.

Vignettes of an Immigrant

Ian C Smith recalls his move from England to Australia. Click here to read.

Earth, Wind, and Fire

Jun A. Alindogan writes of calamities and resilience in Phillipines. Click here to read.

A Story of Roots, Hard Work and Dreams

Snigdha Agrawal shares an immigrant’s story. Click here to read.

Musings of a Copywriter

In Linguistic Acrobatics & Orangutans, explores the human passion for big words. Click here to read.

Essays

Naruto, My Home

Odbayar Dorj writes opts to redefine the idea of a home. Click here to read.

Walking on the Razor’s Edge

Quazi Johirul Islam discusses prosody. Click here to read.

Nana Patekar: The Presence That Stays

Charudutta Panigrahi shares a tribute to the actor. Click here to read.

Stories

Loneliness

Umair Khan shares a story set in Karachi. Click here to read.

The Lit Window

Jay Samanta explores nightmares and loneliness. Click here to read.

Zara

Gowher Bhat narrates a sensitive story about a woman regaining her self worth. Click here to read.

A Change of Heart

Naramsetti Umamaheswararao shares a story set in a school. Click here to read.

Feature

An interview with Suzanne Kamata about her life and her recent book, Owls in Ginza and other Stories from Life in Japan, which has been introduced and reviewed briefly. Click here to read.

Book Excerpts

Excerpt from Shibram Chakraborty’s Those Boyhood Years, translated from Bengali by Niladri R. Chatterjee. Click here to read.

Excerpt from Ruslan Mavliashev’s The Political Unmanifest: Or How to Break Out of the Vicious Circle. Click here to read.

Book Reviews

Meenakshi Malhotra reviews Nayantara Roy’s novel, The Magnificent Ruins. Click here to read.

Bhaskar Parichha reviews Meena Arora Nayak’s The Blue Lotus: Myths and Folk Tales of India. Click here to read.

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Click here to access Wild Winds: The Borderless Anthology of Poems

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

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Published from Singapore, ISSN: 2737-4688.

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Editorial

What & Where is Home?

“…home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit answered to, in strongest conjuration…” – Charles Dickens, Martin Chuzzlewit (1843-44)

Art by Sohana Manzoor

In Nomads: The Wanderers Who Shaped our World, the author, Anthony Sattin, professed that his narrative “traces the shifting relationships between people who move and those who were settled”. He showed how the ‘nomads’ — perhaps people we could now see as migrants or immigrants — shaped world history. With the advent of climate change, more frequent natural disasters and displacement due to political interference, other interventions and war, people have willingly moved or, at times, been forced to find new homes, even change countries. Have these seekers of refuge been accepted fully as part of the new community they called home? Often, when they are left without the option of returning to their birth land, they are referred to as refugees. Will such people ever find a home? Or even those who moved willingly? Our November issue has several narratives on migrants and exploring the idea of a home.

We have featured Suzanne Kamata, a modern-day migrant who shuttles between two very different cultures and her memoir, Owls in Ginza and other Stories from Life in Japan. Perhaps, she can be called a global nomad. Though in the interview, she professes she wants to split her time in equal portions between her birth land and adopted country, she starts her book with an incident in her home in Japan (where she has lived for the last thirty seven years) that highlights a dilemma that is not unheard of among migrants:

“The other day, a door-to-door salesman rang my bell. When I opened the door, he peered around me and said, ‘Isn’t there anyone at home?’ As if I were invisible, or temporary. As if I didn’t belong.

“‘I’m here,’ I said. I might have added, ‘I am one of you, and I’m not going anywhere.’”

In our non-fiction section, we have Ian Smith recounting his family’s move from England to Australia post the Second World War. Snigdha Agrawal writes of a second-generation Polish immigrant who has opted to live in Canada. The question such moves throw up — is do they have a home in the country they adopt, especially the pioneering generation that initiates the move? Farouk Gulsara nostalgically glances at the home he left behind, though he just moved cities within Malaysia. Keith Lyons returned home after scouring some of the world and yet, he muses on the idea of a home, quoting Charles Dickens, that “home is a name, a word … stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit answered to, in strongest conjuration.”

Odbayar Dorj on the other hand opts to redefine the idea of a home, talking of her own spiritual oneness with her chosen city. We have also more to offer in non-fiction — travels in Australia from Meredith Stephens with photographs by Alan Noble. Jun A. Alindogan writes of calamities and resilience in Philippines.

Devraj Singh Kalsi takes us on a spin about words and their usages in a humorous vein while Quazi Johirul Islam discusses words, imagination, ornamentation and emotions performing a balancing act in prosody. Charudutta Panigrahi pays a tribute to a man who was known mainly as an actor, Nana Patekar, but he tells us when he met the famed artiste, “He [Patekar] spoke of programmes and people, of what works in a village and what only works on paper, of the farmer and the land. He spoke of ‘his work’ in agriculture, and there was not a grain of boast in the phrase.” So, here was a man who saw himself as of the farming community and the money from his awards often went to fund farming projects.

Patekar’s stance is reminiscent of Tagore’s own stance towards developmental work, as showcased by Uma Das Gupta in A History of Sriniketan: Rabindranath Tagore’s Pioneering work in Rural Reconstruction. He used his Nobel Prize money to fund Sriniketan, his rural reconstruction project. Tagore wrote in a letter sent to Elmhirst (who helped him set up Sriniketan) in 1939: “My path, as you know, lies in the domain of quiet integral action and thought, my units must be few and small, and I can but face human problems in relation to some basic village or cultural area. So, in the midst of worldwide anguish, and with the problems of over three hundred millions staring us in the face, I stick to my work in Santiniketan and Sriniketan hoping that my efforts will touch the heart of our village neighbours and help them in reasserting themselves in a new social order. If we can give a start to a few villages, they would perhaps be an inspiration to some others—and my life work will have been done.”

Our book excerpts host Ruslan Mavliashev’s The Political Unmanifest: Or How to Break Out of the Vicious Circle in which he looks for a change in our current polities. He tells us, “This is not a manifesto for the left or the right. It is an attempt to look beneath both—and ask what kind of human and institutional architecture a more mature politics would require.” The other is an extract from the late well-known Bengali humourist Shibram Chakraborty’s Those Boyhood Years, translated from Bengali by Niladri R. Chatterjee. Reading the translation, one realises how much a translator’s interpretation can impact the narrative. We have a review from Meenakshi Malhotra of Nayantara Roy’s debut novel, The Magnificent Ruins. And Bhaskar Parichha discusses Meena Arora Nayak’s The Blue Lotus: Myths and Folk Tales of India, dwelling on the commonality that exists despite the differences among the varied cultures of India. He writes: “There is something timeless about myths and folk tales. They survive generations, cross geographical boundaries and transcend religious affiliations, carrying within them the collective memory, imagination and wisdom of communities.”

And perhaps, the fables by Naramsetti Umamaheswararao do exactly that — rely on the wisdom of communities to highlight the resilience of humanity in a world of doddering values. In fiction, we have such a story based in Southern India by Umamaheswararao and a narrative set in Kashmir by Gowher Bhatt showcasing a woman who finds resilience. Jay Samanta plays with migration, home and resilience as he dwells on a nightmare while Umair Khan writes a poignant tale about an old rickshaw driver in Karachi, highlighting the need for compassion.

Highlighting the need for compassion is a Bengali poem by Masud Khan that has been translated by Professor Fakrul Alam. The same need for kindness and consideration has been echoed by Ihlwha Choi in his self-translated Korean poem on a beggar child. Isa Kamari’s narrative from Malay this time highlights the end result of a highly mechanised society where drugs can break families. In contrast to the bleakness portrayed in the aforesaid pieces, we have a translation of Tagore’s fun poem on a mobile Calcutta. More humour has been translated from Bangla by Rajib Mahmud with Kizzy Tahnin’s narrative about an ostrich and an old lady! A form of Balochi folk poetry, rendered often by women, has been translated and introduced by Fazal Baloch.

Our poetry section homes variety as usual with poems from Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, John Swain, Prithvijeet Sinha, Ian Fitzgerald, Md Mujib Ullah, Jim Bellamy, Jeena R Papaadi, Ron Pickett, Pramod Rastogi, William Miller and Saranyan BV. Ryan Quinn Flangan’s poem highlights Pablo Neruda’s attempt to help Spanish refugees in 1939 while Shamim Akhtar imagines the start of time or is it the universe… Jim Murdoch sprinkles wry humour into his lines while Rhys Hughes has managed to make us laugh in his poems on a future post global ice melts (and more) in a style that only poetry can muster… and perhaps, Hughes himself.

Do pause by our contents page to savour the whole issue.

Huge thanks to all our fabulous contributors and our readers. That the journal would not exist except for the love shown by all of you is a reality which we truly appreciate. Huge thanks to our wonderful team for their input.

Enjoy the reads and hope you look forward to our early bird edition this December.

Cheers,

Mitali Chakravarty

borderlessjournal.com

CLICK HERE TO ACCESS THE CONTENTS FOR THE NOVEMBER 2026 ISSUE

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Excerpt

The Visible Form of an Invisible Condition

Title: The Political Unmanifest: Or How to Break Out of the Vicious Circle

Author: Ruslan Mavliashev

Chapter 1

The Visible Form of an Invisible Condition

The state has buildings, laws, official positions, flags, procedures, budgets, ministries, courts, parties, elections, and official documents. All of this creates the impression that the state exists primarily as an external structure—as a system of institutions, norms, and powers.

But form does not act by itself. It passes through the human being: through the way they see the world, through their attitude toward truth, power, freedom, responsibility, and another human being. The same political form can therefore produce entirely different results. A parliament can be a place of representation, or it can become a machine for approving decisions made in advance. A court can be a space of justice, or it can become an instrument of pressure. A law can protect the shared space, or it can become an obstacle to be circumvented or used against another person.

A political failure rarely begins where it becomes visible. By the time it manifests itself in institutions, decisions, leaders, laws, or public reaction, its source already exists at a deeper level—first within the individual, and then in enduring conditions of society. If the source is distorted, the form it fills becomes distorted as well.

If society fears freedom, it will seek the order of a strong hand.

If society does not trust rules, it will turn the law into an obstacle to be circumvented.

If society lives through resentment, it will call for revenge justice.

If society thinks in terms of “us versus them,” it will use the state as an instrument for its group.

If society cannot withstand complexity, it will demand a simple culprit and a swift gesture.

This is how the inner becomes the outer. Not immediately. Not mechanically. Not as a straight line from one emotion to one political decision. But gradually—through language, elections, media, public expectations, styles of leadership, staffing decisions, responses to crises, attitudes toward mistakes, and habits of governance—the invisible condition of society takes political form.

The state is not only an apparatus of power. It becomes the visible form of what society considers normal, permissible, just, strong, dangerous, or desirable.

The problem therefore cannot be reduced to bad politicians. A politician of the old type draws strength where their language finds a ready response. Such a politician does not speak in a vacuum. They find a ready point of entry in the collective condition: fear, resentment, fatigue, confusion, the desire for a simple answer, the need for punishment, the dream of regaining control.

Old politics knows these points of entry well. It rarely begins with understanding. It begins with emotion. First comes anxiety, anger, a sense of injustice, a loss of control, or fatigue with complexity. Then that emotion is given a short formula. The formula sounds like a solution, although in reality it merely packages the condition.

Fear receives a slogan.

Resentment receives an enemy.

Confusion receives a simple rule.

Anger receives a promise of punishment.

Fatigue receives the gesture: “Enough.”

The loss of control receives a promise to “restore order.”

At that moment, politics ceases to be a way of understanding reality and becomes a way of rapidly relieving society’s inner tension.

This is how political imitation arises: there is movement, but no change; there are words, but no mechanism.

This does not mean that emotion must be denied in politics. Emotion is often the first signal to society that a real problem exists somewhere. It may indicate a threat, injustice, humiliation, fatigue, chaos, or a loss of trust. The problem does not begin when society feels. The problem begins when feeling becomes a substitute for thought.

Mature politics must be able to hear emotion without submitting to it. Its task is not to suppress the condition of society or use that condition as fuel, but to lead it through understanding: to separate the signal from the reaction, the cause from the culprit, and a just measure from the desire for immediate relief.

Immature politics does the opposite. It does not translate emotion into understanding. It turns emotion into a slogan.

This is precisely why the condition of society becomes the central political question. Not because institutions are unimportant. But because institutions work only to the extent that society is capable of filling them with mature content.

The political Unmanifest is not abstract philosophy. It is the level of causes that makes it possible to see why some societies turn forms into functioning institutions, while others turn them into mere stage scenery. Why some reforms become a process of change, while others become yet another campaign. Why some states learn from mistakes, while others repeat them under new slogans.

What becomes visible in politics begins long before it takes external form.

Humanity does not lack wisdom.

The central tragedy lies elsewhere: wisdom has been accumulated, but not absorbed. It exists in culture, but this does not yet mean that it exists within the human being.

A book can transmit a text. But it cannot do the inner work for a person.

A law can prescribe behavior. But it cannot by itself create respect for the law.

An institution can establish a procedure. But it cannot automatically produce maturity in those who must follow that procedure.

This is precisely why civilization can possess an enormous store of wisdom and still reproduce the same errors again and again. Knowledge remains at the level of memory, speech, education, and symbol, but does not become a mode of perception.

The political Unmanifest therefore cannot be understood merely as a set of ideas or values that society declares. What matters is not only the words society speaks. What matters is the source from which they are spoken.

The same concepts can serve different conditions. Freedom can be an expression of responsibility, or it can become a justification for arbitrariness. Justice can seek a proper measure, or it can become the language of revenge. Order can protect the shared space, or it can justify repression. Patriotism can express care for the quality of one’s country, or it can become the worship of symbols and hatred of outsiders.

Words do not save by themselves.

Even a great word, once it enters an immature condition, begins to serve immaturity.

This makes it clear: the central political question is not only which ideas society proclaims.

The central question is what condition fills those ideas with life.

About the Book

Why do societies change leaders, parties, laws, and reforms—only to reproduce the same political failures?

The Political Unmanifest argues that the answer begins before politics itself.

Behind institutions, elections, ideologies, and political movements lies a less visible layer: the fears, resentments, habits of thought, expectations, and levels of responsibility through which people understand power, freedom, justice, and one another.

When that underlying state remains unchanged, new political forms can become containers for old behavior. Emotion becomes a slogan. A slogan finds an enemy. A gesture replaces a decision. Political performance replaces measurable change—and the cycle begins again.

This book develops an alternative framework built around political psychology, political engineering, human capital, and verifiable institutions. It asks how societies can move from blame to diagnosis, from slogans to mechanisms, from promises to measurable results, and from dependence on leaders to systems capable of learning from their own mistakes.

This is not a manifesto for the left or the right. It is an attempt to look beneath both—and ask what kind of human and institutional architecture a more mature politics would require.

The book can be accessed at this link.

About the Author

Ruslan Mavliashev has been a lawyer and business owner, a courier, a waiter and a hotel worker. His path ran through more than seven countries, a war, refugee camps and a homeless shelter. Instead of one social circle, he ended up with a sample. Across all of it he saw the same thing: people react not to what happens, but to what they decide it means—and that decision is made so quickly that it goes unnoticed.

His book, A Fight Out of Nowhere, explores this at the level of a person; The Political Unmanifest, at the level of a society. He is developing The Practice of Judgment, a training programme in everyday judgment, and is the author of the concept for Migration. Layers of Reality, an international exhibition now seeking a partner for its first realisation.

More at politicalunmanifest.org/en/

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Click here to access Wild Winds: The Borderless Anthology of Poems

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