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Review

The Essential Ghalib

Book Review by Mohammad Asim Siddiqui

Title: The Essential Ghalib

Author and Translator from Urdu: Anisur Rahman

Publisher: HarperCollins

Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib (1797-1869), often considered a difficult poet by critics, offers both nuggets of philosophical wisdom and sparkling wit in his poetry. He wrote in both Persian and Urdu, but it is his Urdu poetry which has bestowed iconic status on the poet. Presenting a blend of classicism and modernism, a deceptive lucidity and a visible obscurity, playful naughtiness and transcendental raptures and above all an endearing humanism, Ghalib has a range which remains unsurpassed in Urdu poetry. His ghazals always open new possibilities of meaning and interpretation. An important poet in the court of Bahadur Shah Zafar and a mentor of Sir Syed Ahmad Khan, Ghalib has inspired and influenced almost all later Urdu poets.

 Anisur Rahman’s The Essential Ghalib is a welcome addition to many already existing translations and selections of Ghalib’s poetry. But such is the appeal of Ghalib’s verse that he continues to be read, loved and celebrated and there remains a scope for new books on his poetry, especially in English for a wider readership. In this regard Surinder Deol’s arduous task of translating Gopichand Narang’s book as Ghalib: Innovative Meanings and the Ingenious Mind, a study using insights of Indian aesthetics, and Maaz Bin Bilal’s excellent English translation of Ghalib’s famous masnavi Chiragh-e-Dair as Temple Lamp: Verses on Banaras, the best possible paean to the holy city,are admirable efforts. Other better- known academics like Khurshidul Islam and Ralph Russell, translators and editors, Frances W. Pritchett, to whom Rahman dedicates his book, Mehr Afshan Farooqi, who endorses Rahman’s book, have devoted a lifetime to present Ghalib before Anglophone readers.

Anisur Rahman knows that translating all of Ghalib’s ghazals can be daunting, a task which was attempted recently by Najib Jung.  However, as Rahman has not only made a selection of 200 shers[1] of Ghalib, but has also written an insightful commentary on each of them. Admitting that making a selection is always a subjective choice, Rahman has tried to represent Ghalib “in all his thematic and stylistic varieties” by developing his individual methodology, “a linguistic register and a pattern of rhyme and rhythm… that could represent Ghalib”. He also needed his “own diction with a certain echo, deciding on my number of syllables with certain weight and volume, determining the line breaks and their length to ensure their readability in translation, and finally approximating Ghalib’s tone and voice which differed from verse to verse”. Another criterion that he has followed is to select verses which were “translatable ones”, implying that a lot of Ghalib presents an insurmountable challenges for translators.

 A short Introduction presenting important facts of Ghalib’s life and times, which of course have been documented in a number of books, provides a context to appreciate fully the selection and elucidation of verses that follow. A brief timeline of Ghalib’s life and works presents information in a capsule form helping the reader further.

  A distinctive aspect of The Essential Ghalib is its neat and precise organization of verses and their interpretation. A two-line verse extract from a ghazal of Ghalib, which obviously can have an independent existence because of the very nature of the ghazal form, appears in Urdu and Devanagari script on the left side of the page. The page also carries a glossary of the difficult Urdu words and the English translation of the verse. On the right side of the book, the commentary of the verse explains its most obvious meaning as well as the philosophical and figurative layers hidden in the two lines. In other words, like a couplet of a ghazal, each page of the book also stands independently in the book. With his long experience as a university teacher of English poetry, Rahman has seen to it that his commentary of the couplet also does not go beyond a single page and yet it remains complete. A sequential reading of the book is not required, and the reader can open the book on any page, or savour it back and forth.

 Rahman’s selection and translation includes the variety of emotions, tones and themes that Ghalib’s poetry offers. Ghalib’s wit can be seen in the following verse:

Maine chaaha thaa ke andoh-e vafaa se chhuuTuu.
nvo sitamgarmire marne pe bhi raazii na huaa

I had wished to get rid of love’s grief and pain
But that tyrant didn’t even let me die in bane

Ghalib had the rare talent to turn an often-thought idea into a fine poem:

Bas-ke dushvaar hai har kaam kaa aasaa.n honaa
aadmi ko bhi mayassar nahii.n insaa.n honaa


It’s hard to make it easy; past man’s acumen
Just as it is for a man to be a human

Rahman’s short commentary on each couplet is undoubtedly the most important feature of the book. He brings out many layers of meaning of the couplet in a clear and precise prose. Rahman knows that one way of reading poems is to read them in relation to other poems treating the same idea. In his commentary, Rahman often cites a verse from another poet not only to stress Ghalib’s influence on other poets but also to suggest the intertextual nature of poetic imagination. In the following verse Ghalib talks about the oppressive nature of the beloved:

ki mire qatl ke b’aad us ne jafaa se tauba
haai us zuud-pashemaa.n kaa pashemaa.n honaa


She vowed not to be oppressive,
after ravaging me
Ah! Her repentance too soon!
Ah! Her idiosyncrasy!

While explaining this verse, Rahman quotes Shahryar’s verse:

Ham ne to koii baat nikaalii nahinn.n Gham kii/vo zuud pashemaan pashemaan sa kyu.n hai.

(I didn’t utter anything sad/ Why does she look repentant {my translation])

At other places in the book, Rahman quotes the relevant verses of Sheikh Ibrahin Zauq, Siraj Aurangabadi, Firaq Gorakhpuri, Faiz Ahmad Faiz, Munir Niyazi and Parveen Shakir to show the resonance of Ghalib’s poetry.

Such is the beauty of Urdu poetry, of Ghalib’s in particular, that it never loses its relevance and can be cited to refer to many contemporary issues and controversies while Ghalib’s irreverence and “note of impudence” in referring to angels is beautifully captured by the following verse:

pakre jaate hai.n farishto.n ke likhe per naahaq
aadmi koii hamaaraa dam-e tahrir bhi thaa


I am unjustly caught for what the angels
Recorded of me
Was there someone for me to see
What they reported of me

Very proud of his poetry, Ghalib was never known for his modesty. Paradoxically, he can sound both vain and self-deprecating:

Ye masaail e tasavvuf ye tiara bayaan ghali
tujhe ham valii samajhte jo na baada khvaar hotaa


There mystical matters, these sparkles
You bring me, Ghalib
If not a boozer, I would take you
For a saint, Saahib

Simple but not simplistic, scholarly but interesting, The Essential Ghalib is a good introduction to Ghalib’s poetry especially for a beginner.

[1] verses

Mohammad Asim Siddiqui, a professor of English at Aligarh Muslim University, is the author of Muslim Identity in Hindi Cinema: Poetics and Politics of Genre and Representation (Routledge 2025).   

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

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Categories
The Lost Mantras

Four More Poems by Isa Kamari

Poetry and translations from Malay by Isa Kamari

INCENSE BURNER

O, incense from rock and root!
In the name of God and salutations to the Prophet,
I sprinkle you onto the charcoal ember
in the incense burner inherited from Elders.
Ssseesshh! Ssseesshh! Ssseesshh!
Billow across the span of humanity.
Sharpen our senses, elevate our spirits,
as an adornment of prayers for peace,
as an accompaniment of the dead.
Send blessings to the world of jinns and humans.
The doors of servitude open,
the purpose both are created.
You are the balm for tormented souls.
You welcome the mind into the realm of remembrance.
Focus the soul on complete devotion
to the One, the only One.
Those with vague knowledge
only see smoke of superstition,
stupefied as rose water is sprinkled.

Ssseesshh! Ssseesshh! Ssseesshh!

O, this servitude is indeed fragrant!
O, this worship is indeed mystical and intimate
to the One, the Only One.
When the kris blade is smouldered by smoke,
after washed with lime juice,
in the name of God and salutations to the Prophet,
the blade is dried and withstands rust,
preserving inheritance and the calling.
Culture and religion are intertwined,
knowledge and understanding of the sacred realm
that bless the worlds of jinns and humans.
The doors of servitude open,
creatures of the One,
servants of the only One.
O, this servitude is indeed fragrant!
O, this worship is indeed mystical and intimate!
Ssseesshh! Ssseesshh! Ssseesshh!
Allah! Allah! Allah! My Lord!

DEBT

Hey, bestower of pleasure!
Hey, the saving hand!
I think I have been to hell:
My soul is charred by sins,
My mind is bombarded by doubt.
I have rebelled against Me
for fulfilling my desire.
I think I have been to heaven:
My soul is at peace with gratitude.
My mind is still in acceptance.
Everything has its place.
Everything is measured.
I am accepted by Me,
mutual and pure.
But return my will,
return my future,
return my entire me to the world and reality,
from mere illusion, from every expectation.
I want to live.
I want to live.
I want to live in a bit of doubt,
in a pinch of rebellion,
to learn by myself,
to be in place and measured.
Hey, bestower of pleasure!
Hey, the saving hand!
Let me pay my debt in feelings unsatiated.

THE MOUNTAIN
God, smash the mountain
in my soul.
Obliterate the entire me
with your Grace and Love.
I could no longer bear
the sufferings of alienation.

FIRASAT
(Spiritual Intuition)

People nowadays do not know firasat.
People nowadays do not use firasat.
Purity brought down from Elders—
the first intuition without veil,
the stirrings and effects of unity of experience:
Nature, knowledge, and actions unified,
moved by the eye of the soul,
nurtured by the discipline of the mind,
based on strings of reiterative knowledge,
demonstrated by signs from layers of Nature,
validated by proofs in actions and breaths.
The mind, soul, and spirit
moulded in the self and surroundings.
Ever since it is compartmentalised by thoughts
that distinguish object from subject,
dissecting issues to the atom,
limiting conclusions and acceptance,
denying possibilities and visions,
veiling light by separation of knowledge.
Is not this world a mirror?
Is not this universe a sign?
Is not this life a labyrinth?
Is not a problem interlinked?
Science, philosophy, psychology, history, and religion
are only points of view
that need to be reunified,
that need to be rejuvenated as a whole
with stirrings and effects of firasat
that will pierce layers of existence,
that will open secret doors of
the manifest, symbolic, transcendent, and immanent worlds.
Are not all that fall from the sky,
grow on the surface of the earth,
and return to the sky a belief in the unity of everything?
So, the dust that floats in the air
remembers the moment of attesting of the spirit
that is gently blown at the boundaries of seven worlds.
"Am I not your Lord?"
The Malay testifies in firasat:
"Yes, we affirm!"

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.

[1]A dagger

[2] Malay headgear

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

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

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

Categories
Poetry

An Elegy for the Merchant of Hope by Atta Shad

Poetry by Atta Shad: Translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch

Whether morning or eventide,
dawn or twilight—
what remains to be said
of the rainbow and raincloud,
of the scented breeze,
of the beloved earth?
The heart seems withdrawn from all.

The heart, a patient mendicant,
feels and endures each rebuff.
Desire wanders beneath the scorching sun,
a traveler without a destination.

Night falls, (so we’ve heard).
Day breaks, (so they claim).
But who can tell of day and the night?
Both are deemed dead now.
Joy wraps itself in mourning’s cloak.

Love’s springtide
carries the green pulse of bloom.
Yet to slay hope, to shatter a vow,
is a catastrophe enough for any age.
Love and wrath are bound in a single knot.

In the mirror of dreams
the world becomes a marketplace.
And in that marketplace
a shadow falls
over translucent melodies of spring,
over verdant meadows,
over pearl-laden, swaying fields.

Eyes go blind.
Ears turn deaf.
Only wealth gleams,
only riches glitter.

What remains to be said
of the rainbow and raincloud,
of the scented breeze,
of the beloved earth?

In this marketplace
you are for sale.
So am I.

The heart, a patient mendicant
feels and endures each rebuff.
Desire wanders in the scorching sun,
a traveler without a destination.

Atta Shad (1939-1997) is the most revered and cherished modern Balochi poet. He instilled a new spirit in the moribund body of modern Balochi poetry in the early 1950s when the latter was drastically paralysed by the influence of Persian and Urdu poetry. Atta Shad gave a new orientation to modern Balochi poetry by giving a formidable ground to the free verse, which also brought in its wake a chain of new themes and mode of expression hitherto untouched by Balochi poets. Apart from the popular motifs of love and romance, subjugation and suffering, freedom and liberty, life and its absurdities are a few recurrent themes which appear in Shad’s poetry. What sets Shad apart from the rest of Balochi poets is his subtle, metaphoric and symbolic approach while versifying socio-political themes. He seemed more concerned about the aesthetic sense of art than anything else.

Shad’s poetry anthologies include Roch Ger and Shap Sahaar Andem, which were later collected in a single anthology under the title Gulzameen, posthumously published by the Balochi Academy Quetta in 2015. The translated poem is from Gulzameen.

Fazal Baloch is a Balochi writer and translator. He has translated many Balochi poems and short stories into English. His translations have been featured in Pakistani Literature published by Pakistan Academy of Letters and in the form of books and anthologies. Fazal Baloch has the translation rights of Atta Shad from the publisher.

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

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

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Categories
The Lost Mantras

It’s but a Memory… More Poems by Isa Kamari

Poetry and translations from Malay by Isa Kamari

THE BENCH

The melodious magpie on the bamboo twig --
the passing breeze welcomed the chirping.
Sitting on a dilapidated wooden bench,
under the thick canopy of the mango tree,
village folks rested in the shade,
calming the tremors of troubled hearts.
The hardship evident in the sighs,
still hopeful of tomorrow’s dreams,
drying the sweat of weariness.
Honest earnings chased away worries.
A pinch on the thigh, a cry of pain.
Laughter and jokes were shared merrily,
teasing the maiden sitting by the door,
smiling sheepishly, welcoming attention.
Recollecting a slice of an old tale,
fun and camaraderie were reminisced,
firm and amicable bonds were fostered.
It’s but a memory. It’s but a memory. It’s but a memory.
Now alone in a room,
gazing at the handphone screen,
chatting aimlessly in social media—
do we remember and long for the dilapidated bench,
crafting old tales, forging firm and amicable bonds?
Do we remember and pine
for the maiden sitting by the door?



CUSTOMS


Customs are not like banana fritters
coated with rice flour, dipped in hot oil,
served instantly, crispy and delicious, eaten warm,
accompanied by sips from a cup of black coffee.
Customs are like rain
that falls on the whims of the weather.
It’s always there, although infrequent,
temperamental and purposeful,
sometimes an inconvenience— plans thwarted—
but always invigorating
and instils a sense of acceptance.
If received with gratitude,
directed with perseverance,
and tempered with wisdom.
Life is beautiful with droplets of grace.
Life is fertile with the pouring of bounties.
Life is prosperous with love bestowed.
Customs make the earth supple.
Customs make the village noble.
Customs make a people well-mannered.
Once in a while,
relish a crispy banana fritter
and sip warm black coffee
while it rains cats and dogs.
Momentary disruption of plans,
the alleys and roads flooded—
moments of reflection,
moments of appreciation for the day,
is inherent in droplets of grace,
inherent in the pouring of bounties,
inherent in love bestowed.
Shifting of time and signs
the soil is tilled with purpose.
The village gathers and collectively agrees,
the people ready to realise
aspirations of good character
and respected stature.



SMOKE

Like smoke billowing amidst rubbish,
he burns his self-worth,
dances in the flames,
when the fire is meant
to warm breakfast and meals to school.
Now like smoke,
his children are floating,
begging for favours
at tips of cigarettes and cars’ exhaust pipes,
crushed by confusion in the stifling air.
Who would be hungry
if the smoke does not billow in the kitchen,
and for generations,
our humanity returns uncooked to God?



CURSE OF A WARRIOR

Hail the snake and its venom!
Call it a callous and rebellious act!
Shame be endured,
head decapitated!
Surrender not, carry the corpse!
Foolish is the mind,
desperate are the moves.
Let death fulfil the curses.
Let death be executed by the Angel.
Destroy my body, take my soul.
The wooden club hit the coffin.
Pierce my tongue and neck.
Stab my chest, guts dis-embowelled.
Blood spurts, life departs.
The warrior kisses the earth.
Blood turns into pus.
Pus turns into ambers of Hell.
Let me die so you die.
Let us die so everyone dies.
I give you my sin, my hurt, my sadness.
You’ll bathe in blood.


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.

[1]A dagger

[2] Malay headgear

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

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

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

Categories
The Lost Mantras

Four Poems by Isa Kamari

Women wearing baju kurongs and men wearing kain sampings. From Public Domain
OIL LAMPS

We did not taste chicken unless it was Hari Raya.
Mats laid on the corridor floor in front of ten doors—
the barrack houses at the end of Ramadan
decorated by oil lamps at each corner.
The gloomy village turned bright.
Each family brought out trays of varieties of dishes and cakes,
the feast welcoming Shawal.
The call of prayer from the radio,
followed by the hymns to glorify God.
Life in the village was indeed harmonious,
although sprinkled with misunderstandings,
slighted feelings throughout the year.
Exchanging delicious food,
extending congratulatory wishes,
laughter and tears flowed unimpeded.
The young proceeded to the field,
ignited the fuse of bamboo cannons
stuffed with carbide powder fodder.
The new moon was welcomed by blasts, claps, and cheers of happiness.
Flames of oil lamps swayed in the breeze,
resplendent till the morning,
before going to the mosque in groups,
wearing the baju kurung and kain samping.


THE BENCH

The melodious magpie on the bamboo twig,
the passing breeze welcomed the chirping.
Sitting on a dilapidated wooden bench,
the thick canopy of the mango tree,
village folks rested in the shade,
calming the tremors of troubled hearts.
The hardship evident in the sighs,
still hopeful of tomorrow’s dreams,
drying the sweat of weariness.
Honest earnings chased away worries.
A pinch on the thigh, a cry of pain,
laughter and jokes were shared merrily,
teasing the maiden sitting by the door,
smiling sheepishly, welcoming attention.
Recollecting a slice of an old tale,
fun and camaraderie were reminisced,
firm and amicable bonds were fostered.
It’s but a memory. It’s but a memory. It’s but a memory.
Now alone in a room,
gazing at the handphone screen,
chatting aimlessly in social media—
do we remember and long for the dilapidated bench,
crafting old tales, forging firm and amicable bonds?
Do we remember and pine
for the maiden sitting by the door?

CUSTOMS

Customs are not like banana fritters
coated with rice flour, dipped in hot oil,
served instantly, crispy and delicious, eaten warm,
accompanied by sips from a cup of black coffee.
Customs are like rain
that falls according to the weather.
It’s always there, although infrequent,
temperamental and purposeful,
sometimes an inconvenience— plans thwarted—
but always invigorating
and instils a sense of acceptance.
If received with gratitude,
directed with perseverance,
and tempered with wisdom,
life is beautiful with droplets of grace,
life is fertile with the pouring of bounties,
life is prosperous with love bestowed.
Customs make the earth supple.
Customs make the village noble.
Customs make a people well-mannered.
Once in a while,
relish a crispy banana fritter
and sip warm black coffee
while it rains cats and dogs.
Momentary disruption of plans,
the alleys and roads flooded—
a moment of reflection,
a moment of appreciation of the day,
inherent in droplets of grace,
inherent in the pouring of bounties,
inherent in love bestowed.
Shifting of time and signs
so the soil is tilled with purpose,
so the village gathers and collectively agrees,
the people ready to realise
aspirations of good character
and respected stature.

SIN

Sin is the earth,
Sin is the water,
Sin is the air,
Sin is the fire,
moved by a rebellious heart,
whispered by a vile intention.
Yes, Sin is the arrogance.
Yes, Sin is the pawn of power.
Yes, Sin is shamelessness.
Sin is a human,
who is given a will without limits,
without pity, who wants to be the reigning deity,
who wants to be the undeterred devil:
also, a human who chooses to want darkness,
wants to cheat, gorge, and be satiated:
the snake slithering in dark crevices,
the scorpion hiding in an undetected nest,
the leech waiting for prey in wetlands.
But Sin is the smelly compost that cultivates,
the cracked mirror that reflects form,
despondent valleys that look up to the summit,
tumultuous sea flowing from the openness of estuaries.
If the earth, water, air, and fire
are cleansed by seven skies, seven rivers, and seven blossoms,
moved by a modest heart,
whispered by a sincere intention,
Yes, the Sin will change to Repentance.
Yes, the Sin will change to Obedience.
The Sin will become Blissful and Fragrant.
Humanity.

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.

[1]A dagger

[2] Malay headgear

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

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

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

Categories
The Lost Mantras

A Song of the Wind & Other Poems by Isa Kamari

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.

[1]A dagger

[2] Malay headgear

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Poetry

Five Short Poems by Munir Momin

Translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch

From Public Domain
ENCHANTED

As I watched --
She wrapped the rainbow round her finger,
and drifted away -- slowly, ever so slowly.
Yet
The Heavens saw nothing.

EVENING

The wind wanders,
seeking the fragrance of your musk:
My heart and a fading leaf are carried along.

SPRING

The poor larks that returned this year
peck at the scent of your bosom,
still drifting through the footprints
along the path of yesteryear.

JUNGLE

Such terror stirs within,
none dare to face themselves.
The road runs deep with fear—
no one walks it alone.

THE WAIT

Shall I open a window?
Will you come—or the moon?

Munir Momin is a contemporary Balochi poet widely cherished for his sublime art of poetry. Meticulously crafted images, linguistic finesse and profound aesthetic sense have earned him a distinguished place in Balochi literature. His poetry speaks through images, more than words. Momin’s poetry flows far beyond the reach of any ideology or socio-political movement. Nevertheless, he is not ignorant of the stark realities of life. The immenseness of his imagination and his mastery over the language rescues his poetry from becoming the part of any mundane narrative. So far Munir has published seven collections of his poetry and an anthology of short stories. His poetry has been translated into Urdu, English and Persian.  He also edits a literary journal called Gidár.

Fazal Baloch is a Balochi writer and translator. He has translated many Balochi poems and short stories into English. His translations have been featured in Pakistani Literature published by Pakistan Academy of Letters and in the form of books and anthologies. Fazal Baloch has the translation rights to Munir Momin’s works. 

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Categories
The Lost Mantras

More Poems by Isa Kamari

Poetry and translation from Malay by Isa Kamari

DAWN

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.

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.

[1]A dagger

[2] Malay headgear

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Categories
The Lost Mantras

Poems by Isa Kamari

Poetry and translation from Malay by Isa Kamari

THE KING

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

[1] A dagger

[2] Malay headgear

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

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Categories
Review

Heart Lamp by Banu Mushtaq

Book Review by Somdatta Mandal

Title: Heart Lamp: Selected Stories

Author: Banu Mushtaq

Translated from Kannada by Deepa Bhasthi

Publisher: Penguin Random House India

After Geetanjali Shree’s Tomb of Sand, the first novel to receive the International Man Booker Prize in 2022 for a work of fiction written in an Indian language and translated into English, history repeated itself once again when this year in 2025, Banu Mushtaq’s book of selected short stories Heart Lamp, written originally in Kannada and translated into English by Deepa Bhasthi, was recipient of the same coveted prize. It proved that translating from Indian bhasha languages to compete worldwide with other canonical literatures has gained maturity to impress the jury who finally evaluate the prize.

In the twelve stories of Heart Lamp, published originally in Kannada between 1990 and 2023, Banu Mushtaq exquisitely captures the everyday lives of women and girls in Muslim communities in southern India. As a journalist and lawyer, most of the stories are women-centric and in all of them she tirelessly champions women’s rights and protests all forms of caste and religious oppression. As a believer in the highly influential literary movement in Kannada during the 1970s and ‘80s – the Bandaya Sahitya tradition – that started as an act of protest against the hegemony of upper caste and mostly male-led writing that was then being published and celebrated, Banu Mushtaq’s literary career therefore gave importance to dissent, rebellion, protest, resistance to authority, revolution and its adjacent areas at par with the movement that urged women, Dalits and other social and religious minorities to tell stories from their own lived experiences.

The author goes on to highlight several harmful social practices that are still prevalent in the Muslim community and even supported by law, which impede girls including women of all ages, from having freedom to make positive choices, thus hampering them from realizing their full potential. In story after story, the deeply patriarchal structure of Muslim society is depicted in such a manner that it is not only applicable to the Muslims living in villages and town in south India but can be applicable elsewhere too. She shows how child marriage is still in practice and mentions the suffering and trauma women experience because of legally sanctioned polygamy which causes social and financial insecurity and hardship for women and their offspring. The curse of teen talaq[1]and the practice of issuing multiple fatwas[2] which are deliberately aimed at constricting women are urgently in need of being addressed legally.

In the very first story, ‘Stone Slabs for Shaista Mahal’, we find Iftikar’s too much effusive declarations of love for his wife Shaista vanish into thin air immediately after her death and he soon marries a young girl leaving all his children to be looked after by his eldest daughter. The ‘Fire Rain’ has mutawalli[3] Usman Saheb heading the community and making hundreds of decisions for others, but when her sister comes begging he refuses to give her the legitimate share of his ancestral house. Whereas the ‘Black Cobras’ has the mutawalli saheb refuse to help a woman whose husband has deserted her for giving birth to three daughters and provide any support for her youngest sick daughter who dies without any treatment. The story ends with a focus on female revolt when his own wife decides to go and have an operation to stop childbirth. In an interesting story ‘A Decision of the Heart’ the author narrates the plight of a man called Yusuf who is unable to balance the love between his wife and his mother and finally decides to arrange a nikah for his mother Mehaboob Bi.

One story that delves deep into Muslim customs that we generally are not aware of, is entitled ‘Red Lungi’. It tells us about a mass circumcision programme at the mosque for the poor where a young boy Arif undergoes the procedure and is cured in due course. His plight is then contrasted with Samad, the son of a rich man who remains weak and unfit despite the elaborate festivities for his circumcision and the gifts.

The titular story ‘Heart Lamp’ centres around Mehrun who is left to fend for herself as her husband falls for another woman. When she goes to her parents’ house for support, her brothers send her back. Leaving the responsibility of her children upon her eldest daughter Salma, she attempts to burn herself to death. The scene where her daughter begs her to stop and so finally, she aborts her suicide attempt, is extremely moving. The depiction of rural Karnataka comes out very clearly in ‘Soft Whispers’. The story narrates in detail the childhood antics of an eight-year-old girl visting her grandparent’s house in Mabenahalli village. Her young playmate, Abid, who would join her to play tricks, turns into the supervisor of a dargah[4]. When he comes to invite her to join the festival, he keeps his head lowered and does not even meet her eye.

Despite mentioning serious social issues pertaining to the average middle and lower-middle class Muslim families, Mushtaq’s stories are laced with a sense of wry humour and pathos. For instance, in ‘High-Heeled Shoes’, Niaz Khan envies his sister-in-law who comes from Saudi Arabia wearing gorgeous high-heeleded shoes and, in the end, manages to buy a pair for his pregnant wife Arifa which does not fit her at all. The difficulty in walking with those shoes on, and the interaction she has with her unborn child in her womb takes this story to a different level altogether. ‘A Taste of Heaven’ has Bi Dadi, who turns into stone after her ja-namaz [5]is soiled, gaining solace by drinking Pepsi and thinking it to be aab-e-kausar, the nectar from heaven, and starts living in a delusory world of her own in the company of her long-lost husband. In ‘The Arabic Teacher and Gobi Manchuri’, the young Maulvi Hazrat’s penchant for eating “gobi manchuri[6]” is the comic fulcrum on which the story turns. Again, Shazia’s desperate attempts in ‘The Shroud’ to locally procure a kafan[7] and sprinkle it with the holy zamzam water from Mecca after having callously forgotten to bring one for poor Yaseen Bua from her Hajj pilgrimage, makes her grief and being conscience-stricken rather ludicrous.  

In the 2025 International Booker Acceptance Speech Mushtaq said: “This book is my love letter to the idea that no story is ‘local’ – that a tale born under a banyan tree in my village can cast shadows as this stage tonight…. [It] was born from the belief that no story is ever ‘small’ – that in the tapestry of human experience, every thread holds the weight of the whole.”

Her observation power is indeed very strong. Muslim women have been victims of deprivation and discrimination in various matters owing to a dearth in education and awareness. To bring a change in the family, a change in mentality is very crucial. The last story of this collection, ‘Be A Woman Once, Oh Lord!’ is a typical tale of male chauvinism, where deprived a dowry, a man throws out his sick wife and children to get married again.

A woman must construct her own identity besides being someone’s daughter, somebody’s wife or someone’s mother. Only education and self-dependence can establish a woman as a human being beyond her religious and family identities. But as her translator rightly points out, it would be a disservice to reduce Mushtaq’s work to her religious identity, for stories transcend the confines of a faith and its cultural traditions. So, she should not be seen as writing only about a certain kind of woman belonging to a certain community, that women everywhere face similar, if not the exact same problems, and those are the issues that she writes about.

Before concluding, a few words need to be written about the translator and the translation too. In the Translator’s Note, titled ‘Against Italics’, Deepa Bhashti reiterates that the “translation of a text is never merely an act of replacing words in one language with equivalent words in another: every language, with its idioms and speech conventions, brings with it a lot of cultural knowledge that often needs translating too.” She mentions that she was very deliberate in her choice to not use italics for the Kannada, Urdu and Arabic words that remain untranslated in English. She believes that italics serve to not only distract visually, but more importantly, they announce words as imported from another language, exoticizing them and keeping them alien to English. She also mentions that there are no footnotes used at all.  

In her separate International Booker Prize Acceptance Speech, Bhasthi also tells us how through the work they could bring out what would otherwise be unread, uncelebrated texts to a new and very different sets of readers. She stated how the story of the world was really a history of erasures. It was “characterized by the effacement of women’s triumphs and the furtive rubbing away from collective memory of how women and those on the many margins of this world live and love.” Therefore, the stories in this collection are recommended for reading not by reducing Mushtaq’s work to her religious identity, but by transcending the confines of a faith and its cultural traditions.

[1] It’s an Islamic practice in which a Muslim man could divorce his wife by uttering the word “talaq” (divorce) three times.

[2] An Islamic law

[3] Manager of a Muslim charity organization

[4] Tomb or shrine of a Muslim saint

[5] A Muslim prayer mat

[6] Manchurian cauliflower

[7] Shroud

Somdatta Mandal, critic and translator, is a former Professor of English at Visva-Bharati, Santiniketan.

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