Categories
Poetry

Tomorrow We Will See

By Owais Farooq

Tomorrow we will see
When my solitude barks
And dances, the gift I’ll give,
To my awaited self.

It’ll be a small bouquet
Of tears stitched with a string,
Wrapped in the world’s eye.

Without your insisting, we will
See the house in which,
Next to memory’s sparrows,
Someday I will die.

Today, inside me the pigeons
Are dying, and I wonder
Who will gather their bones,
For the ultimate doomsday?

Between today’s dying
And tomorrow’s death we will
Watch the grand comedy,
On life’s psychiatric screen.

We will hear the laughter
To claim the evanescent tragedy,
And bury our unblinking,
Eyes in our hands.

Dr. Owais Farooq is an aspiring writer from Kashmir currently based in Delhi. He has done his PhD on the poems of Agha Shahid Ali from the University of Delhi.

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Review

A Captivating Narrative Spread across Five Decades of Changes

Book Review by Bhaskar Parichha

Title: Tempest on River Silent: A Story of Last 50 Years of India 

Author: Sandeep Khanna

Publisher: Niyogi Books 

From sipping Campa-Cola to buying only half a loaf of bread from TV serials like Hum Log [1]to the phenomenon of Tendulkar[2],  Tempest on River Silent – A story of Last 50 Years of India, takes you on a nostalgic and exhilarating journey through India’s transformative decades. 

Sandeep Khanna, a graduate of the Faculty of Management Studies and Shri Ram College of Commerce at the University of Delhi, conceived the idea for this novel during his extensive travels. His trips allowed him to explore the captivating socio-cultural diversity of India and the world while also recognising the commonalities that unite humanity. 

Devavratt and his companions embark on a remarkable journey through the swiftly evolving landscape of their native land, a journey that encapsulates the essence of a nation in transition. Their story begins in the vibrant hallways of schools and colleges during the 1970s and 1980s, a time marked by youthful idealism and a burgeoning sense of identity. In these formative years, the group, full of dreams and ambitions, navigate the complexities of education, friendships, and the socio-political climate of India. The classrooms buzz with discussions about the future as they grapple with the ideals of nationalism and cultural pride, often inspired by the rich tapestry of their heritage.

As they move into the 21st century, the energetic corporate workplaces becomes the backdrop for their evolving aspirations. The transition from the academic environment to the corporate world is both exhilarating and daunting. Devavratt and his friends find themselves at the intersection of tradition and modernity, where the values instilled in them during their school days clash with the fast-paced demands of contemporary life. The corporate landscape is rife with opportunities, yet it also presents challenges that test their resolve and redefine their understanding of success.

Throughout their journey, the characters engage in sincere discussions and lively debates that reflect the socio-economic transformations sweeping across India. They explore the impact of globalization, the rise of technology, and the shifting dynamics of class and privilege. These conversations are not merely academic; they are deeply personal, as each character grapples with their place in this changing world. The weight of their aspirations is often lightened by light-hearted antics and fond reunions, moments that remind them of the bonds forged in their youth and the importance of friendship amidst the chaos of adult life. 

As they navigate the complexities of love and relationships, the characters also delve into themes of spirituality and self-discovery. The pressures of the corporate world often lead them to seek solace in their cultural roots, prompting reflections on what it means to be truly fulfilled. Through their experiences, they learn that success is not solely defined by professional achievements but also by the depth of their connections with one another and their commitment to their values.

In this rich narrative tapestry, Devavratt and his companions embody the spirit of a generation that is both proud of its heritage and eager to embrace the future. Their journey is a microcosm of India’s evolution, a story of resilience, hope, and the enduring power of friendship in the face of change.

Khanna writes in the preface: “Tempest on the River Silent is a story of India as I have seen since the 1970s till present day. Overlaid on this factual story of India is a fictional account of a few imaginary characters, some of whom are portrayed as my friends. The third thread of the book is the spiritual lessons that I draw from the socio-economic changes in India and the tumultuous journey of my ‘friends’. Perhaps the word ‘spiritual’ is too big for me to use; it would be more appropriate to describe them as lessons of life that I have tried to unravel alongside the growth of a nation and the life stories of my ‘friends. The three threads hang off each other, and I narrate the book in the first person. Thus, the book is both a story of India and a story from India’s last 50 years.”

It’s a captivating work of fiction!

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[1] We People, an Indian TV serial, 1984-85

[2] Sachin Tendulker, Indian Cricketeer and Parliamentarian

Bhaskar Parichha is a journalist and author of Cyclones in Odisha: Landfall, Wreckage and ResilienceUnbiasedNo 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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Review

…My Heart Wanders Wailing with the Restless Wind…

Book Review by Meenakshi Malhotra

Title: Shabnam

Author: Syed Mujtaba Ali

Translator from Bengali: Nazes Afroz

Publisher: Speaking Tiger Books

Shabnam (1960) by Syed Mujtaba Ali is a love story that is set in the third decade of the 20th century. ‘Shabnam’ in Persian means a ‘dewdrop’. The polyglot scholar Mujtaba Ali’s love story becomes a vehicle for articulating the profundities of life which extends beyond the plot and the telling just like that of his teacher, Rabindranath Tagore. To quote the words of another reviewer: “His novel can be compared to a dewdrop which assumes rainbow hues during sunrise as it encompasses not only the passionate cross-cultural romance of Shabnam and the young Bengali lecturer, Majnun, but also shades of humanity, love, compassion set against the uncertainties generated by ruthless political upheavals.” Sweeping in scope, set against the backdrop of the Afghan Civil War (1928-29) and beyond, the novel narrates an epic love story. That this has recently been translated by a former BBC editor stationed in Afghanistan, Nazes Afroz, and published for a wider readership, emphasises its relevance in the current context, where regressive curtailment of human rights and liberties are evident on a daily basis.

Shabnam is a young, upper class and educated Afghan woman, fluent in French and Persian. As we learn in the course of the narrative, she is daring and apparently fearless. She is proud of her Turkish heritage as she invokes it while introducing herself: “You know I’m a Turkish woman. Even Badshah Amanullah has Turkish blood. Amanullah’s father, the martyred Habibullah, realised how much power a Turkish woman—his wife, Amanullah’s mother—held. She checkmated him with her tricks. Amanullah wasn’t even supposed to be the king, but he became one because of his mother.” Given the current context, with its attack on womens’ freedom, it is perhaps difficult to imagine that a woman like Shabnam or anyone with a similar persona or voice could be found at all. She seems at times to inhabit the rarefied realms of her author’s imagination, beyond the earthly realm.

Shabnam’s knowledge of history and the world is extensive. She actively chooses and decides about her surroundings and her own life, which is more than what many women can do in today’s Afghanistan. Characters like Shabnam are also the result of the varied travels of the author Mujitaba Ali, who traveled and taught in five countries. On the power wielded by women, Shabnam offers a rejoinder to her lover/narrator: “In your own country, did Noor Jahan not control Jahangir? Mumtaz—so many others. How much knowledge do people have of the power of Turkish women inside a harem?”

The novel has a tripartite structure. In the first part, is the dramatic meeting of the narrator, Majnun, with the striking and unconventional Shabnam at a ball given by Amanullah Khan, the sovereign of Afghanistan from 1919 to 1929. The novel’s narrative is dialogic in nature and the introduction and subsequent exchanges of the protagonists  are peppered with wit and poetry. The first part concludes with the two of them acknowledging their love for each other.

In the second part of this novel,we witness more developments in their relationship. Shabnam assumes an agential role and makes a decision to marry Majnun secretly with only their attendants looking on. And then later, this decision receives a legitimate sanction since a wedding is organised for them by her father, who does not know they are already married. Despite the xenophobic approach in those times of many Afghans (and other South Asian communities) against marrying their daughters to foreigners, her family decides to marry Shabnam to Majnun as they wanted her out of conflict-ridden Afghanistan and in a safer zone. Her father hopes she will go off to India with her husband. This seems unexpectedly progressive in the Afghanistan of  almost a century ago. But instead, in the third part, she is abducted by the marauding hordes while her beloved attempts to organise their return from Afghanistan.

The last part continues with Majnun’s quest for his beloved. His endeavour leads him to travel, hallucinate and drives him almost insane, reminiscent of the Majnun of Laila-Majnun fame, a doomed union that resonates in and forms a motif in the narrator/lover’s repeated conversations with Shabnam. At the end of the novel, Majnun ascends the physical realm of love. He says: “Now after losing all my senses, I turn into a single being free of all impurities. This being is beyond all senses—yet all the senses converge there… There is Shabnam, there is Shabnam, there is Shabnam.”

The novel concludes with the realisation that “there is no end” (tamam na shud). This feeling seems to echo the idea of  “na hanyate hanyamane sarire”(“It does not die”) in Sanskrit signifying that love is eternal, even beyond the material realm. Both the luminosity and fragility of love is represented in the novel.

Mujtaba Ali’s wide and varied experience is in evidence at several points in the novel, as is his wit and satiric sense, some of which filters through to his created characters.   This can be experienced in the dialogues and descriptions even in its translated form. In order to conceal her identity from the marching and rustic hordes, Shabnam comes to visit her beloved in a burqa. She argues that it is not a symbol of oppression but a self-chosen disguise: “Because I can go about in it without any trouble. The ignorant Europeans think it was an imposition by men to keep women hidden. But it was an invention by women—for their own benefit. I sometimes wear it as the men in this land still haven’t learned how to look at women. How much can I hide behind the net in the hat?”

A valuable addition to the rich corpus of travel writing in Bangla Literature, the book remained unknown to the world outside Bengal despite its excellence as there were no translations. In 2015, Afroz had translated and published this book as In a Land Far from Home: A Bengali in Afghanistan. It was subsequently shortlisted for the Crossword Book Award. That translations can provide a bridge across cultures is eminently clear from this work, which gives us a tantalising glimpse of a culture beyond our own and encourages us, the readers, to recognise that true love transcends borders or boundaries and that the language of true love is the same everywhere.

The novel’s title, Shabnam, is a natural choice, as the intelligent, courageous and beautiful Shabnam is the emotional centre of the novel. To describe her ineffable charm, we could draw upon Mujtaba’s teacher’s words, in Gitanjali (Song Offerings by Tagore):

She who ever had remained in the 
depth of my being, in the twilight of
gleams and of glimpses…

… Words have wooed yet failed to win
her; persuasion has stretched to her its
eager arms in vain.

Song 66, Gitanjali by Tagore

Majnun, the narrator lover is left, in Tagore’s words: “gazing on the faraway gloom of the sky, and my heart wanders wailing with the restless wind.” Romance by its very nature, is fleeting and  transient and romantic love in its literary avatars/depictions acquires a bitter-sweetness when its founded on loss and longing. So it is with Shabnam.

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Dr Meenakshi Malhotra is an Associate Professor of English Literature at Hansraj College, University of Delhi, and has been involved in teaching and curriculum development in several universities. She has edited two books on Women and Lifewriting, Representing the Self and Claiming the I, in addition  to numerous published articles on gender, literature and feminist theory.  Her most recent publication is The Gendered Body: Negotiation, Resistance, Struggle.

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Review

To her Great Grandfather from a Great Granddaughter

Book review by Bhaskar Parichha

Title: Selected Works of Vyasa Kavi Fakir Mohan Senapati

Editor: Monica Das

Publisher: Sahitya Akademi

Fakir Mohan Senapati (1843-1918) is a prominent figure in Indian literature and a key advocate for Odia nationalism. Born in Mallikashapur, Odisha, he faced significant hardships, losing both parents by age two and being raised by his grandmother with limited education.

Senapati is celebrated for his pioneering works, including the first modern Odia short story, “Rebati,” and novels like Chha Mana Atha Guntha (Six Acres and a Third) , Mamu (Uncle), and Prayaschita (Atomement), which address social issues and the lives of ordinary people, emphasizing social justice and peasant struggles.

His impact transcends the realm of literature; he was instrumental in promoting the unique identity of the Odia language during times of external challenges. His literary contributions facilitated the de-Sanskritisation of Odia, thereby rendering literature more accessible to the general public. He continues to embody the pride and cultural identity of the Odia people.

Selected Works of Vyasa Kavi Fakir Mohan Senapati by Monica Das is characterised by its relevance and authenticity. The compilation and editing, originating from Sahitya Akademi, reflect a high level of quality, with the editor having meticulously attended to every detail.

Monica Das is an Associate Professor of Economics at Gargi College, University of Delhi, and a fellow at the Developing Countries Research Centre. Her research focuses on feminist economics, and she is involved with the International Association for Feminist Economics (IAFFE). Her own works include Tales of the Girl Child in India and The Other Woman, which examine the socio-economic impacts of underage marriage and polygamy on gender development. She also produced the film Anwesan, highlighting the life of her great-grandfather, Fakir Mohan Senapati. She oversees the Fakir Mohan Foundation, which promotes Odisha’s cultural heritage and addresses social challenges, particularly those affecting women.

Putting together a collection can be quite a challenge. It has to open up different viewpoints and styles for readers, deepening their grasp of literature and culture. Curators have to also add introductions that give context to the works, making it easier for readers to see the importance of each piece in the larger literary scene. Monica Das has successfully met these expectations. This Selection highlights Senapati’s creations that established a framework in which the ordinary individual became the focal point.

Says Monica in the introduction: “Fakir Mohan Senapati is a giant in the field of Indian literature, who belonged to Odisha. He brought about a revolution in novel writing by departing from romance and writing on social realism. His portrayal of the common man and his concerns predated those of Premchand and Rabindranath Tagore, the other giants of Indian literature.

“His writing had elements which, apart from promoting secular attitudes, helped bring about social changes, to which he also contributed directly as the Dewan of some of the princely states of Odisha in British India. Odisha is the first state in India to have been established on the basis of language, for which he laid the foundation.”

Fakir Mohan distinguishes himself from his predecessors in the field of Odia prose through his unique use of language: “His liberal use of terse proverbs and the folksy style of his writings is what catches the reader’s immediate attention. Besides this, it adds to the rustic wisdom of his characters. In his stories, one cannot miss the underlying concern with social reform. He always took care to depict an honest view of life. Though he takes a didactic stance in his writings, he took care to see that this did not militate against realism and the smooth flow of the narrative. Fakir Mohan’s characters were drawn from ordinary life from among peasants, weavers, barbers, milkmen, revenue clerks and teachers. Very few belong to the higher ranks of the society. He set the tone of the common man. For the first time, ordinary readers were touched by the fact that stories were written about them, about their concerns, their agonies, exploitations and bitter-sweet experiences. Fakir Mohan was indeed a consummate artist with a keen eye for minute details.”

The Selected Works of Vyasa Kavi Fakir Mohan Senapati spans approximately four hundred pages and presents the intriguing perspective of a remarkable individual. He was more than merely a writer; he was a social reformer, a patriot, and a cunning strategist, serving as the dewan of the princely states of Odisha during the period of colonial rule.

Concludes Monica in the book: “It’s a strife-torn world that we live in today. Fakir Mohan’s works, considered unparalleled internationally, hold even greater significance now because of the centrality of humane modes that form the essence of his writings. The compilation in the Selection presents all this and more.”

The volume serves as a comprehensive and curated resource on Fakir Mohan’s literary works, significantly enhancing the current body of literature dedicated to the father of Odia literature.

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Bhaskar Parichha is a journalist and author of UnbiasedNo 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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Categories
In Memoriam

Memories of my Grandfather

By Alpana

From Public Domain

My memories of my Dadaji[1] are numerous — profound, etched and radiant. I lost my grandfather in March of 2023. Therefore, you will witness grief being poured in the garb of this write up. Emanating heartfelt respect and love his grandchildren preserve in their hearts, it is difficult to comprehend grief. Many being young and thriving in their adulthood, all my cousins reminisce the remains of the day he passed.

Being a married, working parent, life does not give much room to stop the grind and think. There is an unsaid, unwritten normative rush to sustain, to survive and to soar high. Nevertheless, the souls do get sun kissed, the rumbling tummies do find solace in a warm home cooked meal and the minds find sheer joy in observing the cheers and jeers of their kids. Amidst the routine hullabaloo, there are moments offering whiff of fresh air and a dash of seasonal fragrance.

March is followed by April. It’s the month of harvest, month of Baisakhi[2], reaping what was sown to make space for the new. That’s how didactic and instructional nature is in its true sense, gradually progressing at a slow and steady pace. Embracing the untimely rains and hailstorms and yet reviving to thrive in the new day. That’s how grief pertaining to the loss of a grandparent might look like. It pulls you back so that you can consciously chart your future trajectory. The force holds you back in order to pierce the sky with your flight because that force makes us move, march and advance. That’s what we learn from our grandparents. Their relentless effort, how small or minute it might be, helps us to garner the courage and thick skin we must develop to remain afloat.

My Dadaji was an old wise man, true to his words, cool headed and had no qualms about people being judgemental or nosey. Always calling a spade a spade, he would make a statement, almost as firm as a sermon, and take leave, without worrying about what turn his children’s responses.

The constant urge to jump to conclusions gives us major disappointments but my grandparents taught us how to lead a life, sans the hurry, the anxiety and the inevitable will to speed up the tasks. I recall an incident when my Dadaji accompanied me to a district level speech competition because my parents were posted in some other town for a certain period. He had never been to a school, didn’t know how to hold a pen and yet agreed to listen to my speech delivered in English in an assembly of teachers, parents and students. I secured third position in that competition but what stole the thunder was how he reviewed my performance before my parents. In his words, “Sabte badhiya boli. Baaki to ruke thi.” (She spoke flawlessly. Others fumbled many times.) The memory of such observation, coming from a man alien to the academics and yet giving feedback so constructive and encouraging, can never be erased. Such is the magic of grandparents, enchanting, uplifting and promising.

[1] Paternal grandfather

[2] Punjabi New Year

Alpana is an assistant professor in English at Pt. CLS Government College, Sec-14, Karnal, Haryana. She completed her higher education in English literature from University of Delhi. When not teaching or reading, she can be spotted collecting fallen flowers from garden with her toddler.  

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Review

Portraying Urban Middle Class Life

Book Review by Meenakshi Malhotra

Title: Aunties of Vasant Kunj

Author: Anuradha Marwah

Publisher: Rupa Publications, India

A well-conceived and captivating take on the lives and circumstances of three different women who happen to inhabit  the same building in the middle class not so ‘posh’ locality in South Delhi called Vasant Kunj, Anuradha Marwah’s   observations  about  class, domesticity and “auntyhood” in the novel are both humorous and accurate. With three novels in her authorial bag, the fourth, Aunties of Vasant Kun,j revisits that time in a woman’s life when she is supposedly teetering on the verge of being middle-aged , somewhat on the wrong side of forty, except that the “aunties” are nowhere near “auntie-dom” understood in the conventional sense. In fact, in the  21st century urban churn, women and men are probably more unsettled than ever before, and often embrace that uncertainty. The subtle or not so subtle tension between traditional gender roles and expectations and the actual lives of urban middle class women is wittily and sensitively portrayed in this extremely readable novel.

The three women are almost wholly different from each other except in the fact that each of them is grappling with their own struggles where they have to juggle multiple  issues. The protagonists are  Shailaja, raw from her recent experience of betrayal by her long-standing boyfriend and facing harrassment at her workplace; Dini, in a demanding job with an international NGO,  a single-parented child, experiencing a half-acknowledged attraction to a handsome grass-roots activist and Mrs Gandhi who has subsumed her identity in the household resulting in a sense of neglect and loss of confidence. Ignored by her husband who seems to spend more time with his secretary  than with his wife, we realise that Sunil “Casanova” Gandhi has not only a roving eye, but is actively  engaged in pursuit of other women. In a clever sleight of hand, Anuradha Marwah turns a slice of life novel focusing on the everyday lives of women into a delicious take on the new modern woman as she navigates the quicksands of desire and domesticity, motherhood, meditation and professional commitments, simultaneously.

Shailaja, a newly single academic whose workplace woes are comparable to her messy not-quite-resolved (are they ever?) relationship with a recalcitrant ex who meanders in and out of her life, moves into Vasant Kunj which also houses the hospitable Mrs Gandhi, and the prickly Dini, who is fierce about guarding her privacy. The latter has also become equally adept at dodging both the hospitality as well as the probing questions thrown her way by the determined- to- be- friendly Mrs Gandhi.  Mrs Nilima Gandhi has her own share of troubles-a difficult mother-in -law, a cheating husband who has a roving eye that preys upon other women, a dismissive daughter who gangs up with her father to demean her mother — all these combine in varying degrees to further lower her already plummeting self-esteem. She is rescued from the throes of self-pity by the timely intervention of Mrs Malhotra and Navneeta Singh who encourage her to adopt the Buddhist practice of chanting as a way to address her problems. Listening to Mrs Singh’s optimistic projections, Mrs Gandhi experiences a twinge of doubt but nevertheless goes about it with single minded determination to transform her life and turn it around. As some things start falling into place for   her, Shailaja and Dini, the three women strike an unlikely friendship which provides a holding structure as they negotiate everyday challenges. Dini ‘succumbs’ to the abrasive charms of Radhey Shyam and Shailaja is able to shake off the vestiges of her previous relationship and take a bold new step forward. Mrs Gandhi is able to regain a sort of equilibrium.

As the women collectively register and celebrate their small and big victories in the course of the novel’s unfolding, we as readers are brought face to face with a relatively new sub-genre in the Indian English novel. It is the story of women by women narrated with both humour and compassion, occupying a niche in popular literature between chick-lit and mature women’s fiction, between popular and literary fiction. It actually challenges taxonomies of ‘literary’ vs ‘popular’ fiction. This is clear from the  choice of a title that is quite a masterstroke. Though it sounds subversive, the title seems to be the choice of an author who refuses to take herself too seriously. The  lightness of tone is sustained as the novel critiques societal attitudes towards single women and the entitled behaviour of men who are never held responsible or called to account within patriarchy.  Perhaps  the  only deviation from the lightness of tone is the autobiographical fragment towards the close of the novel which provides a sort of afterword articulating the impulse and desire to write the Aunties of Vasant Kunj. Post-publication, when the author was asked what impels her to create fiction, she replied that it was the hope of getting a glimpse of all the other lives that she might have lived. Marwah has achieved a fine balance in nuancing all her characters, making their stories at once convincing and identifiable.  

She has depicted the rhythms of everyday life and  nuanced the dialogues to suggest a bilingual sensibility. Cinematic and captivating, Aunties of Vasant Kunj provides plenty of fun and frolic without trivialising the serious concerns and conflicts of the three protagonists. Marwah’s humour is spot on, and she does not miss a beat in capturing the water woes and other roadblocks of quotidian life in the sprawling urban metropolis /megapolis of Delhi. The novel is likely to resonate with many readers in its highlighting of vital aspects of life in the city, along with the varied kinds of crises experienced daily.

The novel narrates the stories of its protagonists with verve and humour and with exactly  the ‘mot juste’ or the right words to irradiate them, creating a smorgasboard of delights for the reader.

Click here to read the book excerpt

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Dr Meenakshi Malhotra is Associate Professor of English Literature at Hansraj College, University of Delhi, and has been involved in teaching and curriculum development in several universities. She has edited two books on Women and Lifewriting, Representing the Self and Claiming the I, in addition  to numerous published articles on gender, literature and feminist theory.  Her most recent publication is The Gendered Body: Negotiation, Resistance, Struggle.

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Categories
Poetry

Let it Flow…

By Anushka Chaudhary

WRITE

When the sun goes down
And the light goes out,
I can walk the lonely streets
Thinking about ways
To deal with pressure,
Waiting for the dawn to crack.
I can shout.
But, instead,
I write. I paint. I sing. I dance.
And I write. Again.
I pour my heart out
When I write.
My body screams words
And my pen screeches.
I let it go,
Let it flow.
Some things hurt only when
You hold onto them.
Death is peaceful.
It is the effort to prevent it
That hurts, isn't it?
Sometimes,
There's so much to say.
But my mouth?
It chooses to remain shut.
No why, how or what.
The pen and the paper empower me.
They are my safe haven
Amidst the battle within,
Companions through
Thick and thin.
They are the retreat for my inner recluse.
Nowhere can I find more peace.
Nowhere.

Anushka Chaudhary is an undergrad student in University of Delhi.  She is also an ardent reader, who enjoys romance and crime thrillers at her leisure. She likes to travel.

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Review

Thus Flow the Verses…

Book Review by Malashri Lal

Title: Nadistuti: Poems

Author: Lakshmi Kannan

Publisher: Author Press

The title plunges us into the sacrality of resonant words, the Nadistuti sukta being a hymn in the Rigveda in praise of rivers. Poet, novelist and translator Lakshmi-Kaaveri equates the flow of the waters with ‘the flow of poetry’, the quiet mingling of streams of remembrance and phrases that shape into lines of verse. Her book is dedicated to Jayanta Mahapatra ‘who lives on’ and an exordium titled ‘Naman’ offers gentle tribute to H.K. Kaul, who was among the founders of the Poetry Society of India and passed away during the recent pandemic. Nadistuti is a brilliant and thought-provoking collection of poems that charts the timeless continuums while being aware of the fragility of human existence.

The book begins with a prayer to the River Narmada (meaning ‘the giver of pleasure’), which divides the north from the south of India. Yet the rippling waters have no boundary—a philosophical observation that I find marks much of this remarkable volume. Remembering Ganga, Yamuna, Godavari, Saraswati, Narmada, Sindhu, Kaaveri, devotees recite the shloka[1] at their morning bath seeking the blessings of the rivers. Though such rituals are mostly forgotten in modern times, the climate crisis should remind us of the consequences of such amnesia. The invisible Saraswati is possibly a metaphor for such “forgetting” simply because of her partial invisibility. Lakshmi Kannan’s vibrant lines recall the disappearance of the river as also of Saraswati’s appearance in another form as a revered Goddess invoked by “students, writers, musicians, dancers, painters”. From the Nadistuti I learned the word— ‘potomologist’—the study of rivers, but the book is far greater than an academic enquiry—it’s a recognition of the civilisational bloodline that is linked to the ancient rivers which  were the earliest cradles of humankind.

Some extraordinary and innovative aspects Lakshmi’s book deserve special mention. First, the remarkable prose- poem called ‘Ponni Looks Back’ which stretches the boundaries of imagination in a charming manner.   Ponni is the name of the river Kaaveri in classical Tamil Literature.  It flows through Tamil Nadu and Karnataka and is always perceived as a woman. Lakshmi tracks Ponni’s autobiography as though writing a Bildungsroman, the education and growing up of an innocent girl and her experiences along the way. Therefore, Ponni is born as a small unobtrusive stream on the Mysore-Coorg border. Then she becomes prominent and significant, and a vital witness to history—the Hoysala kingdom, the classical arts of Belur, Halibid, Somnathpur, then carrying on further to wrap around the islands of Srirangapatnam and Srirangam and so on. I enjoyed the autobiographical voice of Ponni reveling in her centuries of testimony to all the changes she has observed and imbibed—till we come to the new politics that is destroying rivers and society today. Ponni says, “One day I heard different voices floating over my waters…they sit around tables, shout at each other and refer to me dryly as the Kaaveri dispute, wrenching my waters apart”. Like yet another goddess, Sita, she chooses to end her journey. Ponni merges with her mother, the Bay of Bengal —her love and amity having completed what tasks she could undertake towards humanitarian goals. The world of manmade disasters is a chapter River Kaaveri would rather not participate in.

My question here is: “Do poetry and politics merge?…  Can poets continue to be as Shelley called them ‘the unacknowledged legislators of the world’?”  This brings me to another significant aspect of Nadistuti: Lakshmi’s brand of subtle feminism. Predictably, I am drawn to the poems that argue against son-preference, challenge gender stereotypes, and poke gentle barbs at unenlightened men.

Second, I cite a longish poem called “Snake Woman” from the section titled Chamundi, because it combines rituals, dream imagery, gender prejudice and the paradox of son preference. The ritual is called Nagapuja and has strict rules of abstinence from certain foods like snake gourd, and it entails hours of prayer—the chant being:

Please grant me a male child
Oh, King of Cobras
I will name him Nagaraja
In your honour.

Something strange started happening that the pregnant woman could never dare reveal to the world. She dreamt every night of a female baby cobra wearing jhumkies (long earrings) and a jeweled girdle and sporting a red dot on her forehead. Well, the baby born was female—and the happy mother, though a little fearful, called her Nagalakshmi. The mother-in-law showed acute displeasure: “She can have any name.  Who cares!”

Another pregnancy, again the rituals of Nagapuja—more stringent than before. No dreams this time. And an eagerly welcomed boy-child is born, enthusiastically named Nagaraja. And guess what? As he grows up, he ‘hissed at is mother’, ‘bared his fangs at his father’ and ‘spewed venom on his sister’.  These are poet Lakshmi Kannan’s vivid vocabulary for the revered son! And the snake woman sister, what happened to her? She sloughed off her skin seasonally, grew strong, capable and emerged as a “lustrous one”.

I selected this poem for more than just Lakshmi’s clever reversal of gender prejudice. Snakes have a central place in the folktales and folklore of India. The word used, “theriomorphic”,  denotes  situations, where animals and human beings interchange  bodies and identities. Snakes are not evil—they are often the progenitors of good deeds and the shapeshifting happens for many commendable reasons.  The figuration of the snake as exclusively evil does not derive from Indian mythology. Lakshmi’s poem, this one and several others, tread this beautiful territory of humans and non-humans sharing a common abode, the Earth, and there is an implied lament that we have ignored this vital connectivity.  

And finally, I am delving into the emotive, personal poems that end the collection. Called  ‘Fireside’, it invites   memories of WB Yeats’ classic lines:

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book…

Lakshmi addresses many members of her family; they are named, thanked and remembered for their acts of love and compassion. Because Lakshmi believes in history and continuities, as we have seen in ‘Ponni Looks Back’, and the Nagalakshmi reference, these too are poems about lineage, heritage, respect and love—the attributes that make life worthwhile. Lakshmi’s mother (addressed in the poems as Amma) was Sharada Devi, an acclaimed painter in Mysore and Bangalore whom the daughter remembers with her easel-mounted canvas gently acquiring colours, the landscapes emerging from the contours of her imagination. Today, Lakshmi Kannan, the poet of Nadistuti, looks at a blank sheet of paper and compares that to her Amma’s canvas—the words will surely incarnate. Another poem has a redolent title ‘In Search of Father’s Gardens’, upturning African American writer Alice Walker’s book In Search Of Our Mothers’ Gardens, but for me it’s a tale reminiscent of Lakshmi’s early novel Going Home that I had reviewed decades ago. It was a book about ancestral homes and families breaking up. In the reconfigurations over time, Nadistuti’s final section presents poems to members of Lakshmi’s immediate family, named, but not too personalised, making this an exemplary template for those who hesitate to present the private in public poetry.  With beauty, grace, gratitude, humour, irony—each person emerges as a tributary in the flow of the poet and writer we know and love as Lakshmi- Kaaveri. The last poem ‘If You Want to Visit’ is deeply poignant.  It’s not a farewell poem—instead it’s an invitation to an eternal companionship:

Come
Visit me now
I’ll not have a word of complaint
I’ll gather all of these and leave with you.

Here is the confluence of all that Nadistuti says: the day’s prayer in the morning, the Ponni River encapsulating history, the rituals that pass through many generations, and the legacy of a poet’s words embedded in the annals of time. An exquisite and meaningful collection of poems, Lakshmi has introduced concepts of poetic writing that are evocative of the ancient Rigveda and equally provide the guiding lamps for modern choices.

[1] Holy chants

Malashri Lal, Former Professor in the English Department, University of Delhi, has published   twenty one  books of which Mandalas of Time: Poems, and Treasures of Lakshmi: The Goddess Who Gives   are the most recent. Lal has received several research and writing fellowships.  She is currently Convener, English Advisory Board of the Sahitya Akademi.

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Categories
Poetry

‘We bleed for life’

By Anjali Chauhan

BLEEDING

Something has been broken
Some other has been torn
I feel a rush in my veins
There are drops of sweat over my forehead
My eyes are drowsy
Body feels weak
My legs are trembling
I’m bleeding

The blood’s flowing
Between my thighs
I don’t know from where I’ve got cut
But I know
This blood, my blood
Is not the product of wars
Of violence and hatred
It signifies life
Of theirs and mine

I bleed, and they don’t
But they talk of equality
And get silent on differences
Of uniqueness of the women and queer-kind
Some of us bleed every month
Others are made to bleed because they love all colours
Rests of us are mothers
They give birth to babies in a pool of blood

But at the sight of it
They turn faces, they curse us
Are they scared of our blood?
Or are they blind?

And then comes that blood
Which is celebrated worldwide
The blood of outcastes, enemies, powerless
And those who don’t fit in the binaries
The blood with which borders are drawn
The blood for which forests are burnt
And wars are fought and lost countries are bombed
Management of this blood becomes the State affair
Like development
And amid all this
We bleed for life

Anjali Chauhan is a feminist researcher, journalist, and writer based in India. She is currently pursuing a doctoral degree in Political Science at the University of Delhi and working with BehanBox, a feminist media website, as a consultant. 

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Categories
Review

Mahasweta Devi: Writer, Activist, Visionary

Book Review by Meenakshi Malhotra

Title: Mahasweta Devi: Writer, Activist, Visionary

Editor: Radha Chakravarty

Publisher: Routledge

Mahashweta Devi (1916-2016) was a renowned and much awarded writer-activist-translator who was reputed for her close observation and documentation of tribal life and its marginalisation and willed forgetting by dominant power systems. Among the many awards received by her were the Padma Vibhushan, the Ramon Magsaysay, the Jnanpith and the Sahitya Akademi Award. The stated aim of the present volume — in keeping with the overall objectives of the Writer in Context Series — is to present a more rounded, multidimensional image of Mahasweta Devi. This has been admirably accomplished by Prof Radha Chakravarty who is an eminent translator and academic herself.

In the ‘Introduction’, she unpacks the partial truths that underlie the stereotypical image of Mahasweta Devi as an activist. Highlighting the fact that Mahashweta’s representations of different forms of mar­ginality bring together “the aesthetic and the political in ways that demand a more nuanced reading”, she reinforces the need to read Devi’s oeuvre as literature, and not only as “forms of social documentation or ‘wit­nessing’”. She interrogates the stereotype of the activist-writer and opens up the possibility of re-reading Mahasweta Devi’s life and work in “newer, more unsettling ways”. Further, Chakravarty highlights how her (Devi’s) creative writings in particular emerge as “ambivalent texts, simultane­ously imbued with radical potential and a continued reliance on traditional forms of signification”.

Mahasweta Devi’s writings often demonstrate a tenuous divide between fiction and non-fiction. As a matter of fact, she emphasises on “the historical basis for her creative writings”, which is evident in many of her novels like Mother of 1084 (Hazaar Churashir Maa, 1974), and stories like ‘Draupadi’ and many others, which are based on the Naxalite movement.  Simultaneously however, her literary works display a measure of social realism which, Chakravarty contends, is “offset by a visionary quality that enables the imagining of transformative possibilities.” The contents of this volume testify to the varied, diverse and  sometimes “contradictory dimensions of her multifaceted genius”.

The book under consideration aims to set the record straight for readers outside Bengal whose views are based on the “tiny fraction of her Mahashweta Devi’s work available in English translation”. She was an extraordinarily prolific and versatile writer who wrote in multiple genres, including fiction, biography, drama, children’s literature, memoirs, travel writing, and literary criticism. She also occasionally translated her own work into English.

Chakravarty’s introduction and compilations in this volume foregrounds the aspect  of Mahashweta’s political activism and how her writing itself  becomes a form of resistance. Her early  induction into Marxism was also partially attributable to her family background. Her family included Ritwik Ghatak (her father’s brother was a famed film maker) on her father’s side and on her mother’s, Sankha Choudhuri and Sachin Choudhuri, one a well-known sculptor and the other, the founder/editor of India’s foremost social science journal, Economic and Political Weekly, respectively.

Her early contact with Tagore and education at Santiniketan sensitised her to values of “inclusiveness, self-reliance, freedom of thought and expression, social responsibility, and environmental issues”. There, she also imbibed some of the spirit of the freedom struggle. Through her marriage to Bijon Bhattacharya, she grew familiar with IPTA[1] and the left ideologies. Later, she was associated with different radical movements in Bengal, Manipur, Jharkhand, Bihar, and Rajasthan, which find expression in many of her writings (Mother of 1084, ‘Draupadi’).

Her political commitment to these movements is evident in her use of language.  Local vocabularies become central to the style and subject of Mahasweta’s writings. She wrote in 1983: “Since I remain immersed in indigenous myths, oral legends, local beliefs and religious convictions, I find purely indigenous words very potent and expressive.”

She  was critical of writers in the Bangla literary establishment whose experiments with modernist aesthetics led to disengagement with the socio-political context. All the same, her writings evince special “linguistic, textual, and aesthetic strategies that can be compared to the prac­tices of other writers who were experimenting with new approaches”, using non-linear time. Oral traditions fascinated her and she worked closely with Prof G.N.Devy in her later years, to campaign for the recognition of tribal languages.

She also  translated and edited volumes on Indian folklore. In her own writings, she includes elements from the oral traditions, as in the snatches of local lore in Jhansir Rani (The Queen of Jhansi) or the lines from an untranslated Santhal song in ‘Draupadi’. As Chakravarty points out, “Heteroglossia, the use of language as an indicator of social hierarchies in multivocal, polyphonic texts, functions as a potent literary feature in her writings.” Alongside, many of her texts incorporate multilingual elements, as if to indicate the heterogeneities in South Asian societies and cultures.

The book is an comprehensive introduction to and reappraisal of Mahasweta Devi’s life and work. It is imaginatively conceptualised and organised into different sections, each highlighting diverse aspects of her work and the criticism thereon. Section 1 of the book called ‘Spectrum: The Writer’s Oeuvre’, offers the reader in English an overview of the full range of her oeuvre through brief samples of her literary writings across diverse genres to highlight her versatility. These include Jhansir Rani (1956), a fiction­alised biography of Rani Lakshmibai, Queen of Jhansi, which amalgamates historical sources, folklore, and creative characterisation, to show up the contradictions in different ver­sions of the Rani’s life and Hajar Churashir Ma (The Mother of 1084), her powerful novel about the political awakening of a mother after her son is killed by the police during the Naxalite movement of the 1970s, altered the trajectory of the Bengali novel. The extract from the final pages captures, in a style resembling stream-of-consciousness, the dramatic political power struggles in the outer world and the inner drama of the mother’s psyche.

The short story ‘Giribala’ narrates the plight of a girl married off at 14 to a man who sells their own daughters into the flesh trade to pay for the construction of his dream house. The play Bayen uses modern experimental techniques to present the story of a woman from the caste of Doms (cre­mation attendants), who becomes the victim of collective superstition and scapegoating and yet, in a final act of heroic self-sacrifice, saves the very community that has ostracised her. In a complete change of tone and style,’Nyadosh the Incredible Cow’, a delightful piece of writing for children, offers a witty anecdotal account of the devastating exploits of a cow in the author’s home. The extract from Tarasankar Bandyopadhyay, Mahasweta Devi’s English monograph on the iconic Bengali writer, reveals her incisive­ness as a literary historian and critic and also provides a window to her own literary values.

As Chakravarty clarifies, given the vast body of critical readings on Mahasweta’s writings, a comprehensive compilation is beyond the scope of this book. Instead, the selected essays in Section 2 (‘Kaleidoscope: Critical Reception’) offer the reader (in translation) a sense of the paradigm shifts that mark Devi’s critical recep­tion in Bengal, the rest of India, and in the international domain. Ten­sions, debates, and contradictions are highlighted, and overview of her critical reception over four decades –1957 to 1997 in Bengal is discussed by Arup Kumar Das. An essay by Dipendu Chakrabarti analyses the debates and contro­versies around her work. Dilip K. Basu’s account of Hajar Churashir Ma views itas a pathbreaking text that transformed the course of the Bengali novel in the 1970s.

The essays in English by other Indian critics include Sujit Mukherjee’s classic piece on Mahasweta and Spivak, Jaidev’s account of national alle­gory in Douloti, Arunabh Konwar’s comparative analysis of the creative use of fictionalised biography by Mahasweta and Indira Goswami, Shreya Chakravorty’s study of the politics of translation in the work of Spivak and Samik Bandyopadhyay, Anjum Katyal’s account of Mahasweta as a drama­tist, and Benil Biswas’ reading of the transmutations of Mahasweta’s texts via stage and screen adaptations.

International contributions include an important new essay on Pterodactyl by Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, who interprets the rhetorical pointers in the text to speak of it as an activist mediation for the reader to learn about earn­ing the right to intervene. Shreerekha Subramanian’s essay offers a compara­tive study of the discourse on motherhood in novels by three women writers across different languages, locations, and literary traditions: Mahasweta Devi, Toni Morrison, and Amrita Pritam.

Section 3 (‘Ablaze With Rage: The Writer as Activist’) includes some of Mahasweta’s activist writings, such as ‘Tribal Language and Literature: The Need for Recognition’, a passionate demand for the inclusion of tribal languages in official discourse; ‘Palamau is a Mirror of India’, where she critiques what she perceives the failures of the state to address the plight of the oppressed people in post-Independence India; and ‘Eucalyptus: Why?’, a scathing critique of the nexus between local powers and global market forces that have led to the replacement of natural forests in Bengal with eucalyptus plantations that have destroyed the local ecology that sustained human and animal life there. Alongside, in ‘The Adivasi Mahasweta’, Ganesh N. Devy reminiscences about his first encounter with Mahasweta Devi and their subsequent collaborations in activist campaigns and projects. ‘Haunted Landscapes: Mahasweta Devi and the Anthropocene’, by Mary Louisa Cappelli, connects Mahasweta’s activist writings and fiction on the subject of the Anthropocene to indicate the need to take a composite view of her writing and activism as twin manifestations of the same vision.

Section 4, ‘Personal Glimpses: A Life in Words’, includes extracts from Mahasweta’s memoir Our Santiniketan (2022), along with interviews (with Naveen Kishore and Radha Chakravarty) and reminiscences by her family members (Nabarun Bhattacharya, Soma Mukhopadhyay, Sari Lahiri, Ina Puri), friends (writers ‘Anand’ and Anita Agnihotri), and associates (Ranjit Kumar Das ‘Lodha’, Dakxin Bajrange), which highlight different facets of Mahasweta’s life and personality, bringing to life the woman behind the public image.

The book offers a comprehensive overview of Mahashweta Devi’s writing and will be of immense use to students, researchers and to general readers. As Chakravarty reiterates , “New trends in Mahasweta studies continue to evolve, including emphasis on her environmental concerns, ethics, planetarity and the Anthropocene, intersectionality, the use of incommensurate realities and registers of writ­ing, comparative readings, and an emerging focus on her life”.

This is an ambitious attempt to give us an idea of the immense range of her work. While a full biog­raphy and a full bibliography of Mahasweta’s oeuvre is yet to be published, (encompassing the entire corpus of her work, including letters and other unpublished material) this volume is a vital step in that direction. In her excellent Introduction, Chakravarty charts the long-term impact of Devi’s work which continues to resonate in contemporary forms of activism and theatre. Through the actions of the many groups of people she inspired – the women of Manipur whose public protest imitated her fiction, to the per­formances of the Budhan theatre, and the rise to fame of the Dalit Bengali writer, Manoranjan Byapari— “Mahasweta’s impact and influence can be felt in many ways. She survives through the people she struggled to support all her life,”

It is an ironical reflection on our times that a prolific and much awarded Indian writer-perhaps deserving of the Nobel prize, should be excised from the university syllabus of a central university. This move has, perhaps paradoxically, elicited even more interest in Mahasweta Devi’s work and has also consolidated her reputation as a mascot, a symbol of resistance to state violence. A timely intervention, this volume proves yet again that a great writer, in responding to local , regional, environmental ethical concerns sensitively,  transcends his/her immediate context to acquire global and universal significance.    

[1] Indian People’s Theatre Association founded in 1943

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Dr Meenakshi Malhotra is Associate Professor of English Literature at Hansraj College, University of Delhi, and has been involved in teaching and curriculum development in several universities. She has edited books on Women and Lifewriting, Representing the Self and Claiming the I, in addition  to numerous published articles on gender, literature and feminist theory.   Recently, she co-edited The Gendered Body: Negotiation, Resistance, Struggle.

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