PAINT STRIPPER
This corrosion, for better bearing, ended,
stench of solvent above the flower box
flavours distended, unwatered, to demise.
I once feared being pounced on,.
people doing other than eating.
Minding their business, chatting to content.
Esoteric art hangs on the wall.
Selling for an orchestra, singing well,
enjoying the radio mumbling overhead.
Looking out on the cycle path, saying prayers
against the river's deluge, a fractured coursing
still only in one direction, catching fire.
The sun dances on various monuments,
sinking drinks al fresco, eating ad nauseum,
memoirs of the stony dead staying regardless.
Sweet wild flowers inhabit the tables,
scent bred out for better bearing
allergens eaten to hold for dear life.
A portmanteau life, an ersatz existence,
eat and somehow leave, bereft of information
imparted, sightseeing for dear life.
Patricia Walsh was born and raised in the parish of Mourneabbey, Co Cork, Ireland. To date, she has published one novel, titled The Quest for Lost Eire, in 2014, and has published one collection of poetry, titled Continuity Errors, with Lapwing Publications in 2010. She has since been published in a variety of print and online journals across Ireland, The UK, USA, and Canada. She has also published another novel, In The Days of Ford Cortina, in August 2021.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Title: Whispers of the Heart – Not Just A Surgeon: An Autobiography
Author: Dr Ratna Magotra
Publisher: Konark Publishers
A noteworthy incident occurred at Northcote Nursing Home that garnered attention in my favour. Dr L.H. Hiranandani (widely known as LH), was an acclaimed head and neck surgeon. He was known internationally for his expertise in performing radical neck resections and for the remarkable speed with which he conducted surgeries. He wielded significant influence in both medical and social circles, and routinely performed surgeries on his private patients at Northcote.
One day, a highly distinguished lawyer from Madras (Chennai) underwent a neck cancer operation at Northcote, with me assisting LH during the procedure. As was his practice, LH completed the surgery swiftly and left for his clinic. Meanwhile, the patient had been transferred to his private room, while I was tending to my remaining duties on the floor. As part of my routine, I made rounds to check on the patients who had undergone surgery.
Upon entering the lawyer’s room, I was taken aback by the sight of him struggling to breathe. His hand felt cold and clammy, and his pulse was feeble. Although he remained conscious, he appeared extremely restless even as I tried to reassure him. It became evident that he was choking, and I realised that unless something was done, his life would slip away. Unfortunately, I was uncertain about the specific course of action needed to save him. While the nurse had attempted suction and increased the oxygen supply through a face mask, these measures appeared ineffective. The patient’s breathing grew shallower, and his lips and nails began to turn blue. It became increasingly obvious to me that blood clots were obstructing his airway, and simply increasing oxygen flow would not suffice. Private patients received distinct treatment compared to those in public hospitals. In this setting, resident doctors were not authorised to make decisions independently and were required to follow the consultant’s instructions.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t afford the delay involved in contacting the consultant, as the process would have entailed routing the call through the telephone exchange, involving operators at both ends and resulting in a significant loss of valuable time.
I recalled reading about tracheostomy (creating an opening in the windpipe) during my undergraduate studies, though I had never witnessed the procedure being done (ENT surgeons usually performed tracheostomies). Acting on instinct and without hesitation, I reached for a scalpel from the emergency tray and made a decisive incision in the middle of the patient’s neck. There were substantial blood clots surrounding and compressing the trachea. As soon as this pressure was released, there was a dramatic transformation in the patient’s condition, and his breathing improved considerably. I carefully removed the blood clots both from within and around the trachea using suction before inserting a tracheostomy tube. To my immense relief, there was significant improvement, and the patient’s lips and nails regained their natural colour. He was soon breathing comfortably, and so was I. Assured of his well-being, I promptly requested blood from the blood bank and decided it was time to inform LH, the operating surgeon.
The patient had stabilised, narrowly escaping from the clutches of death. Now, I had to confront the repercussions of my actions because I had essentially performed a minor operation without obtaining permission from the consultant. Additionally, I had neither informed the patient’s family about the procedure, nor had I obtained their written consent. The list of mistakes was growing longer, and LH’s reputation in the city was significant enough to potentially impact my future prospects in Bombay.
In the midst of this emotional turmoil, I made a call to LH. His clinic was situated near the Regal Theatre, in close proximity to Northcote. He arrived swiftly at the hospital. LH was known for his predilection for taking the stairs rather than the elevator, and I could distinctly hear his brisk footsteps and booming voice as he inquired, ‘What happened? Who did this?’ I, as the sole resident doctor and with no alibi, not that any was necessary, stood there, anxious and unsure of what would transpire next.
When LH entered the room, the lawyer, now fully conscious and aware of the ordeal he had gone through, managed a weak smile. I expected LH to explode, and I stood there with a numb mind, waiting for the inevitable. To my astonishment, LH rushed towards me and, to my surprise and that of others, nurses and hospital personnel gathered there, embraced me in his characteristic, effusive manner. He repeatedly and profusely thanked me for displaying presence of mind during the crisis, which could have cost the lawyer his life. He appreciated that his patient had been saved. Overwhelmed with relief, I could have collapsed, but there was still work to be done.
The patient was swiftly transported to the OR, where we located and ligated the bleeding vessel responsible for the incident. We also revised and secured the tracheostomy, this time by a qualified ENT surgeon, LH himself. Subsequently, the patient was shifted to his room. As he was leaving, LH discreetly handed me an envelope in my hands containing crisp currency notes. Sentimental as I was, I left the envelope and its contents untouched for several years. I knew that two lives had been saved that day!
Word of the incident spread quickly to Nair Hospital, where LH held an honorary professorship in ENT surgery. Several consultants from Nair Hospital, who regularly operated at Northcote, inundated me with congratulations. I had every reason to be pleased. The incident had generated immense goodwill.
(This excerpt from Dr Ratna Magotra’s ‘Whispers of the Heart – Not Just A Surgeon: An Autobiography’ has been published with permission from Konark Publishers, New Delhi)
About the Book
This book provides a captivating glimpse into the journey of a cardiac surgeon, illuminating the story of a small-town girl who, as an outsider, struggled to get a foothold in an intensely competitive field. Her eventual triumph serves as a poignant representation of an earlier generation of Indians post-Independence, showcasing their resilience through both triumphs and tribulations.
Throughout the narrative, the author shares her personal philosophy on the practice of medicine and addresses the evolving landscape of societal norms, encouraging readers to pause and reflect. While she doesn’t make exceptions for being a female cardiac surgeon in a predominantly male speciality, her narrative serves as a powerful source of motivation for women aspiring to break barriers in any field.
This book also sheds light on the transformation of healthcare in contemporary India, with the author playing a significant role in its development. Additionally, it delves into facets of her life beyond the medical realm, including her enriching travels and impactful social activism.
About the Author
After completing her MBBS at Lady Hardinge Medical College in New Delhi, Dr Ratna Magotra pursued Master’s degrees in general surgery and cardiothoracic surgery from Bombay University (now known as University of Mumbai) while working at BYL Nair Hospital in the city. She further honed her skills through training at Guy’s Hospital in the UK and the Texas Heart Institute in Houston, USA.
Dr Magotra’s illustrious career led her to become a professor and head of the Cardiovascular and Thoracic Surgery Department at the prestigious GS Medical College and King Edward Memorial Hospital in Mumbai. Despite her demanding role, she remained committed to issues beyond medicine, both as a department head and as a practising paediatric cardiac surgeon. Her outstanding contributions to the field have earned her numerous accolades, including the Lifetime Achievement Award from the Indian Association of Cardiovascular-Thoracic Surgeons in 2017, a testament to her exceptional expertise.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Most passengers got down from the bus at Alor Setar, Kedah, north Malaysia. Binaya, my travel companion, shifted to the front seat of the double decker and later I followed him. It was after eight thirty in the evening and the road had become narrower. After driving on the six lane E1 expressway for most of the day, the narrower road looked confining. Traffic had also reduced. We got an excellent driver’s eye view of the road. One of the benefits of a double decker is the opportunity that you can pretend to be the driver. Malaysia’s northern most state of Perlis seemed different from the larger ones to the South. It was around nine-thirty at night when we reached the Kuala Perlis bus terminal. It was a short walk to our hotel near the jetty.
The Deepavali holidays had just begun and the exodus from Kuala Lumpur to various hometowns was in full swing. The expressway was packed with cars and our drive north was a slow crawl. The InterCity bus service (a private bus operator) used a double decker for this trip though the lower deck had been stripped of seats and used only for luggage and cargo. The seats were comfortable and the drive smooth though extremely slow due to the traffic.
Next morning, we had a traditional Malay breakfast of nasi lemak (rice cooked in coconut milk), fried anchovies and kueh (traditional cakes) along with teh tarikh (boiled and frothed tea). Pouring tea from a great height from one mug to another is a traditional South Indian way of cooling the drink and generating a thick head of foam. Tea shops do this with an extravagant flourish. We walked around the jetty and waited for our midday ferry to Langkawi.
The process of boarding the ferry was smooth and organised. We were seated right at the front. Roro ferries that could carry cars were approaching Kuala Perlis from Langkawi. The sea was calm, and the islands of Langkawi appeared after half an hour. The ferry went round the island and eventually approached the town of Kuah. Kuah is the district headquarters of Langkawi. There is the iconic Langkwai eagle statue near the jetty. The jetty was modern, and we took a taxi to our hotel located near Cenang Beach (Pantai Cenang in Malay).
Cenang Beach
The main island of Langkawi is surprisingly large, and taxis are the main means of transport. Cenang beach is popular with travellers. We were staying at the Cenang Langkwai House near Cenang beach. The room was spacious and well-equipped. Considerable thought had gone into the arrangements, and we had a pleasant stay. The first day I had noodles with prawns for lunch, and I was pleasantly surprised by their freshness and taste. Sea food was plentiful and enjoyable. Binaya was not comfortable with sea fish and preferred freshwater delicacies. I could understand his perspective as I always preferred sea fish and found freshwater fishes not very much to my liking. We dined in a large restaurant that was a few minutes’ walk from our hotel. One evening I tried mussels (delicious) while on another occasion I had laksa (Laksa is a spicy noodle dish popular in Southeast Asia. Laksa consists of various types of noodles, most commonly thick rice noodles, with toppings such as chicken, prawn, or fish).
My good friends, Naveen and Sunil, had recommended that we take the island-hopping tour. We booked the tour for the next morning. Langkawi is also famous for duty-free shopping and Binaya wanted to purchase a suitcase. The prices, however, were not lower than those in KL. Eventually I ended up purchasing some excellent chocolates at the Cenang Mall. Our stay was made sweeter!
Early next morning we walked down to the main thoroughfare to have roti canai is a South Indian flatbread dish popular in Malaysia). We waited on the white sands of Cenang Beach for our transportation to the tour jetty. Each boat had about 24 passengers and was well organised. Everyone had to wear life jackets while on the boat. We had our photos taken and this was our introduction to this Langkawi custom. The tour lasts for around four hours and covers three main islands south of the main island. Our first stop was the Pulau Dayang Bunting, where we entered a geopark to hike up the hills to a lake. The trail was well maintained. Humidity was the main problem. After the mandatory photo, we continued to the lake. The tiles on the water, like elsewhere in Langkawi, were made of a floating material stays afloat on lakes and seas but depresses slightly under your weight. Both of us were quiet and we were missing the energy and dash of Sunil, our friend from Monash University, Malaysia.
Island Hopping
We continued to Pulau Singa Besar to watch eagles feed from boats. Pulau means island in Malay though it brought images of the fragrant rice dish to our minds. We continued to Pulau Beras Basah and the sandy beaches and the turquoise waters took me back in time to one happy island, Aruba. There were colourful beach huts and paragliding was available for more adventurous souls. The ride back to the main island was short and we could see a docked cruise ship in the distance. Our photo had been converted into a souvenir (a small plate on which the photo was printed). We had lunch at our morning restaurant. Binaya had nasi goreng (fried rice) while I had the all-day breakfast. This was a good deal and consisted of two pieces of toast with butter, two fried eggs, a chicken sausage, and baked beans. Binaya tried out different geographical varieties of nasi goreng from Pattaya to Cina to USA.
After lunch we went to the Underwater World. The aquarium has themed sections like tropical rain forest, subantarctic climate, and marine life sections among others. The main attractions were the seal show and the penguins. The seal performed a variety of tasks and received a treat after completing each successful task. This is mentioned as the largest aquarium in Malaysia. The one at KL has a spectacular underwater tunnel and you can watch marine life swim by all around you.
Langkawi means reddish brown eagle in the Malay language and is believed to be the place of Garuda. The islands have been a part of the Kedah sultanate for over two millennia. The islands have a geological history going back to over 550 million years. Langkawi is thought to have been cursed for seven generations in the early 18th century by Mahsuri, a woman who was falsely accused of adultery and executed unjustly. Langkawi was occupied by the Kingdom of Siam and became a part of Malaysia after the Anglo-Siam treaty. The islands were a sleepy backwater and were developed into a major tourist destination by Dr Mahathir Mohamed.
The next morning, we travelled to the cable car toward the north of the island. The Deepavali holidays brought many to the island. The tourist infrastructure’s good, and we did not experience crowds and long waiting times. The Langkawi sky cab provides an aerial link from the Oriental Village at Teluk Burau to the peak of Gunung Machinchang, which is the location of the Langkawi Sky Bridge. The total length is 2.2 km, with a journey time from the base to the top of around 15 minutes. It was officially opened in 2003. We were comparing this to the Manakamana cable car in Nepal. This one is longer and steeper. The elevation between the base and the middle station is said to be the steepest in the world. There were delightful views of the bay and the surrounding islands as we moved slowly toward the top. The Skybridge is a major attraction and is among the longest free span and curved bridge in the world. There are a few glass sections that allow you to look down into the valley. The views were majestic, and the bridge is around 660m above sea level. There is also a sky glide option with a comfortable cabin style vehicle that carries visitors from the top station to the sky bridge.
We took a taxi to the Langkawi Wildlife Park. Malaysia has some delightful animal parks and the one at Langkawi offers close encounters with animals. The animals are used to visitors and there are plenty of opportunities to touch, pet and feed them. Trained handlers were at hand. I was reminded of ‘Farm in the City’ at KL constructed around a similar theme. The covered walking path meanders through animal enclosures and the peafowls reminded me of the KL Bird Park. Feeding the small birds, the tortoises, deer, and the rabbits is a highlight of the visit. Like at other attractions there is a mandatory photo, and the exit is always through a duty-free shopping complex. That evening we had a spectacular thunderstorm. Being to the north the rains may be more seasonal at this tropical paradise.
The next morning, we had to depart back to routine life. We reached very early for our flight back to KL. We watched passengers boarding Air Asia, Malaysian Airlines and Scoot flights to Penang, KL and Singapore. Air Asia is a dominant player in the Southeast Asian market. The flights are cheap and usually fly on time. The aircrafts, however, may be older and the leg space is limited.
We had a pleasant break at one of Malaysia’s major tourist destinations. There are many attractions here that we are yet to experience. Time was limited and we did not want to rush ourselves from attraction to attraction during a leisurely break. We plan to return one day to the oldest land in Malaysia, 550 million years in the making as proudly proclaimed by the site Naturally Langkawi!
Dr. P Ravi Shankar is a faculty member at the IMU Centre for Education (ICE), International Medical University, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. He enjoys traveling and is a creative writer and photographer.
.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Around the early ’70s, in my village home in Bangladesh, we kept ourselves far away from anything spelled “ghost or jinn.” I grew up hearing my Grandma saying, “Shh. Don’t even utter the word ‘bhut (ghosts) or jinn’ because words have power, and they might feel the vibe as an invite.” However, every Halloween is a culture shock for me after coming to Massachusetts, USA, when the celebrations of haunted houses, witches, ghosts, and spirits occur. My late Grandma might turn in her final resting place if I could message her, “Ghosts and witches are subjects of colorful celebrations, Grandma.”
Thoughts rewind to life with the villagers in Bongaon, when the fan-palm trees — taal gach — were supposed to be favourite places for ghosts and jinn. Myths held that ghosts and spirits lived as invisible souls among visible humans but liked to live on the trees. The trees they wanted to inhabit were trees standing beautiful and tall. Yet the beautiful sight was pregnant with danger. The long fonds looked like fingers beckoning passersby. The fan palm had delicious fruits called taal. The trees sent alarming vibes to the villagers. But getting the fruits from the tree was challenging and had to be done during broad daylight when ghosts were supposed to be non-active. The fan palm was not the only tree that welcomed them. The tamarind tree was also avoided, especially after sunset. Not just the trees, but their shadows spelled trouble too, and people avoided stepping in the shadows. The advice to weary souls was, “Don’t let the bhut get on your shoulders.” It seemed that the chosen place was the shoulder. It was different for the ghosts; they didn’t get into the victim’s head like other spooks.
Whenever I passed near our tamarind tree, I imagined a possessive spirit jumping down from the tree and landing on my shoulder. I would run for life faster than a deer when I passed one of them. Ghosts were known to haunt their victims for the rest of their lives if they got a chance to get on the shoulder. I ran home; I did not want to be possessed for the rest of my life.
According to the people in Bongaon, nighttime was the favourite time for ghosts and evil spirits. Starting from the late evening to the descent of darkness, no one walked without a flaming torch made from kerosene-drenched cloth on a thick stick. Much as darkness spelled fear and mystery, fire was the force to power the evil over to burn and destroy—similar to fantasy stories of modern times. In life, it seems we are connected like a spider’s web. A person suspected to be possessed by a spirit sought help from special prayers and charms. Some of the healers had harsh methods and had the victims smell burning dried chilli — supposed to clear the mind. And others sprinkled holy water around the person and the house.
Theories on haunting spilled beyond the trees and dipped below the waters surrounding my village. The water lilies in the rainy season bloomed in abundance in the swamps — haor, ponds, and the water-clogged areas around the town. The seeds and stems of the water were gastronomical delicacies for us. The stems cooked as curries and the grains got toasted over the fire. However, evil spirits and jinns were said to roam around swamps at night, and no one tried to pick these up in the dark. Growing up, I wondered if the whole thing around the evil supernatural was to keep people safe because plenty of water snakes coiled around the lily stems, and people were likely to get bitten. Often, people invented ghost stories when logical explanations failed or, perhaps, to safeguard without having to give lengthy answers.
The sweet shops and their connections to supernatural beings baffled me then and to this day. Few charming shops sold traditional deserts, like rosogolla, cholchom and kalojam; the display trays were usually well stocked. It was well known among people that if you entered the shops after the Muslim evening prayer, the Maghrib, the sweets would be gone from the trays. The good jinn were supposed to like the sweets and, on their way back from the mosque, feasted on them. Our village did not have electricity, and there was no refrigerators to preserve these. So, when fresh sweets were replaced on trays the next day, there was no explanation given for the disappearing trayful until the maghrib prayer. No customers came because they wanted to avoid jinn altogether since they could change from good to bad ones. The disappearance of the sweets at a particular time remains a mystery added to many others in my lifetime.
The people in Bongaon believed there were two kinds of jinn: good and evil. Good jinn were with the steady and truthful people who prayed regularly. If the good people, especially women, happened to walk with loose hair in the evening or night, they were exposed to danger of being possessed by the evil jinn. There were dos and don’ts, right and left, for women to keep themselves safe from evil jinn and ghosts. As far as I remember, men were almost excluded from the “wanted list” of the feared beings. How was that possible? The male-dominated society of the early 70s seemed to set boundaries for the ghosts and jinns. In the modern digital world, men and women have found some common ground, and even spirits no longer come only for female humans. Now that we have electricity, in the village scenario, women are smarter with computer skills; in reality, male dominance gets veiled. I am pretty sure the tamarind or the fan palm trees have their versions of the surreal world. However, the deep-rooted world of the spirit world still chains many, especially around the nighttime.
Nighttime and darkness seem to hold endless mysteries, and most are shrouded with danger in many cultures as they did in Bangladesh society. But was the dark so scary? Sleep at night came with dreams and nightmares. To be fair to the darkness, I would often sit on the porch and take in the night sky with its unique, moving life. The sky was never the same, moonlit or with the new moon. Clouds played hide and seek over the moon on rainy days. And the stars, their endless games of winking at me made me as happy as a child every time I looked up at them.Some nights, an owl would greet me with the “Twoo, twoo,” and I would whisper my hello back. I was sure the night bird heard me loud and clear; if it could see at night, why not hear at night, too? Whenever the owl called, thoughts winded to village childhood days, days when village myths held beliefs captive. Whenever we listened to owls’ hoot, we were urged to say, “good”, because if there were something ominous, the power of our words would take that away.
Halloween in Massachusetts digs into memories of my childhood’s haunted and ghost-ridden world in a Bangladeshi village. I was scared then, but now it’s more about exploring life. Life balances fears and hopes, sorrow and joy; between it all, ghosts, jinns, fairies, and angels hold me spellbound in real life. I relish every magical moment of it. I am not scared of witches, black cats, or ghosts that roam around my hometown during Halloween. The ghosts on the tamarind tree and the fan palm were kind to me, and I guess the evil spirits here will also be.
In my present, the black cat on the shop window, the witch on the broom, or the masked stranger are said to spell danger. There are clubs and social groups that share experiences and do not avoid them like we did back home in Bangladesh. I stand in between cultures, wondering at the reality that connects the spooks I grew up with and the ones I grew into in my adopted world.
.
Tulip Chowdhury is a long-time educator and writer. She has authored multiple books, including Visible, Invisible and Beyond, Soul Inside Out, and a collection of poetries titled Red, Blue, and Purple. The books are available on Amazon, Kindle, and Barnes and Noble. Tulip currently resides in Massachusetts, USA.
.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
In childhood I recall getting my coveted membership to Save Our Seas. I loved the sea and marine animals, and this seemed a meaningful way of helping from a child’s perspective. I recall reading Rachael Carsons famous books Silent Spring and The Sea Around Us at the same age and wondering how a book written in the sixties could be so prescient and why the subject was still under debate? If a ten-year-old can understand the message Carson had, of indiscriminate application of agricultural chemicals, pesticides, and other modern chemicals polluting waterways, damaging wildlife populations and causing health problems for humans, then why not adults?
It’s easy for a child’s mind to think those simple questions, not understanding the intricacies of what’s at play. Not least; politics, big business and money. These more than anything has dictated international policy, and it’s not science that sways policy, it’s influence. Vandana Shiva, an Indian environmentalist, is another such example of a prescient activist whose truth has been stifled in the march toward profit. Shiva, both physicist and social activist, founded the Research Foundation for Science, Technology, and Natural Resource Policy devoted to developing sustainable methods of agriculture. Shiva is contended; “Justice and sustainability both demand that we do not use more resources than we need. Uniformity is not nature’s way; diversity is nature’s way. We are either going to have a future where women lead the way to make peace with the Earth or we are not going to have a human future at all.”
Sadly, Shiva’s work is less known than companies like Monsanto who are responsible for mass destruction due to putting profits before conscience in the selling of GMO[1] seeds that caused widespread bankruptcy, suicides and irreversible environmental damage. In 1995, the United States Environmental Protection Agency, EPA, listed Monsanto among the top 5 lethal corporations dumping toxic waste, as it was recorded dumping nearly 37 million tons of toxic waste, through air, water, and land. . It is unfathomable why such blatant atrocities should be permitted but our global history is littered with them.
Scientists have warned since the 1800s, where experiments suggesting that human-produced carbon dioxide (CO2) and other gases were able to collect in the atmosphere and insulate Earth (or its reverse) were met with more curiosity than concern. By the late 1950s, CO2 readings would offer some of the first data to corroborate the global warming theory. That it’s not if, but when, climate change will alter the way humans experience life on this planet, let alone wildlife and nature.
At one extreme we have the eco warrior who has valiantly tried to campaign and actively fight against human encroachment; in the middle, we have the skeptic who points to fluctuating weather patterns going back millennia and at the other extreme, there are the climate deniers who despite having children seem not to be concerned about the earth those children will inherit. There is proof that “Dating back to the ancient Greeks, many people had proposed that humans could change temperatures and influence rainfall by chopping down trees, plowing fields or irrigating a desert.”
If I sound biased it is because it’s a generally accepted fact that the earth isn’t just heating up, it is changing. The only issue under debate now is who or what is responsible, if anyone is, and how long do we have before things get really bad. Twenty years ago, people still mulled over whether climate change was happening, many believing it was just cyclical and sometimes it was, but there have been enough giant seismic changes in the last 40 years to put that doubt to rest. “Scientists have pieced together a record of the earth’s climate by analysing a number of indirect measures of climate, such as ice cores, tree rings, glacier lengths, pollen remains, and ocean sediments, and by studying changes in the earth’s orbit around the sun. This record shows that the climate varies naturally over a wide range of time scales, but this variability does not explain the observed warming since the 1950s. Rather, it is extremely likely (> 95%) that human activities have been the dominant cause of that warming.”
Now if you turn on the TV, the nightly news is as much about weather as it is other things. Weather dominates our lives more than ever. Perhaps it’s ironic that ancient man would live or die by weather and we are now doing the same. The heyday of calm weather may have been slightly exaggerated but most people over 50 can attest that things weren’t quite as dramatic all the time, every year, as they appear to be now.
The harbinger of our behaviour in terms of polluting the environment has speeded up, something that may have been inevitable but could possibly have been avoided. The hardest part being that ‘developed’ countries such as America and Europe asked ‘developing’ countries to reduce their carbon and other emissions without really reflecting that they were as if not more guilty, relatively speaking, before they ‘saw the light’. To ask developing countries to leapfrog ahead in their development for the sake of the environment is coming from a position of privilege, having already polluted the world themselves first.
On the other hand, developing countries may struggle to reduce emissions because they are gaining traction in terms of improving quality of life for most of their population but are not there yet in terms of having the luxury to reduce emissions. It takes a lot of money, effort, commitment and determination to do this and for a country that is trying to improve its lot for its citizens this isn’t always their first priority, not to mention the patronising tone of developed countries demanding this be done. It is important to see this relationally which means understanding the difference in countries development and that some of those countries were abused and depleted of resources and kept ‘poor’ by conquering overlords who reaped the benefits and left them poor as a result. Those counties will struggle to climb out of the post-colonial model and that should be considered when judging them.
But we don’t have time. Despite know this beforehand, we did not do enough. In the late 1800’s, Swedish chemist Svante Arrhenius [1859-1927] wondered if decreasing levels of CO2 in the atmosphere might cool Earth. To explain earth’s ice ages, he considered if decreased volcanic activity could lower CO2 levels globally. Those calculations evidenced that if CO2 levels were halved, global temperatures may decrease by about 9 degrees Fahrenheit. From this, Arrhenius investigated if the reverse were also true; investigating what would occur if CO2 levels doubled. His results suggested global temperatures would increase by the same amount.
By the 1980s global temperatures were going rapidly higher. So, climate-based experts use 1988 as a critical turning point when events placed global warming in the spotlight with extreme weather and increased public interest. Scientists, the UN and many others warned we were heading to a point of no return.
Turn on the news today and we seem to be there.
Even if we did everything right as a planet from now on, it would still be too late to repair the biggest climate change consequences. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try but it’s alarming to imagine we’ve let it become too late, though not surprising when you consider the apathy of world leaders to come together and make this happen.
UN Secretary-General António Guterres’ remarks to the General Assembly in March 2022 illustrates this: “Just last week, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change issued an alarming report that showed climate impacts are already devastating every region of the world, but particularly developing countries and small island States. The session considered the irreversible impacts of the climate crisis, which could render some parts of the earth uninhabitable.” What does it mean for us? For the future generations if there are to be any? It means things we took for granted will change. Just as more animals are going extinct than ever before we also must look to history to give us an idea of what we might face in the near future.
Look how many times there have been huge seismic shifts in the earth? One example in particular is quite interesting. The Storegga Slide happened in approximately (600-BCE) and was the largest Paleo tsunami to hit Europe in the (Paleo) era. It altered the geography of Europe massively, causing England to break off from continental Europe from where Scotland was attached to Scandinavia. This was lost beneath the sea as a huge part of Scandinavia broke off and caused giant waves that poured over this fertile land and swallowed it whole.
Climate deniers use these types of stories to explain away climate change as being a natural phenomenon but that’s inaccurate. Whilst significant and damaging things have occurred throughout history and will continue to, as scientists warned, it’s the number of disasters and changes occurring that count, not that they happen but that they happen with such regularity and severity. It’s been this hot before, but has it been this hot consistently and throughout the world for as long before? I was born in a year where there was freak heatwave but that’s just it, it was a freak heatwave.
Such things are natural in nature but not if its progressive or things keep happening one after the other. People assume if there is a cold winter then climate change can’t be real but that’s the funny thing, it’s the extremes of weather as much as heat, that are indicative of climate change. For every extraordinarily hot summer and burning Hawaii, there are extreme weather events in winter too as the planet falls out of a healthy cycle and is slowly losing its ability to nurture life like it used to.
Does it mean we will become extinct? Or just that life will become harder and less places habitable? And hasn’t that happened before? Well, it has, in so much as once Africa was a grassland without drought and Europe was covered in ice. But when a planet first forms it’s likely to have extreme weather. As long as humans have been churning out chemicals that pollute the seas and mining the earth for its ore, we’ve accelerated and exacerbated those disasters. And just as it is believed a meteor killed off the dinosaurs and a virus might have killed off the Neanderthals it’s possible our actions will hasten our demise and at very least make life more unbearable.
How? Along with viruses being more omnipresent than previously and antibiotic resistance, UV exposure and higher radiation have increased. The average human has more chemicals and formaldehyde and plastics in their body than at any other point in history. It affects our health, our reproduction and our longevity. Cancers hit the young more than ever before. We’re either over medicated or not able to afford medication. If global temperatures rose by 11 or 12 degrees, more than half the world’s population, as distributed today, would die of direct heat. The disparity between the ‘haves’ and the ‘have nots’ have exaggerated like in the feudal past. The idea we’re all middle class is a myth borne on ownership for technology rather than quality of life, which for many working two or three jobs to sustain their lifestyle, is hardly enviable.
The world is heading for a collision, and we are propagating this by a lifestyle we don’t seem capable of changing. If we label those who care about the environment as eco terrorists and pay football players millions whilst leaving nurses and teachers underfunded? Our priorities must be reflected in these things to have a trickledown effect in the future. If we can’t educate our children to understand that saving the planet isn’t just a day every year or a whim but must be a full-time effort, then what hope does the future possess?
ActNow is the United Nations campaign to inspire people to act for the Sustainable Development Goals and many other organisations like it fight against misinformation and seek to actuate these goals, but they’re often drowned out by lobbyists for special interests, such as the car industry, gas industry, fossil fuel industry, nuclear industry etc.
Just like in the fight against cancer, we need science to lead the way, that science which is not the influenced by special interest groups, like in the case of cancer, big-pharma and big-business. We need to take profit out of research and make it objective rather than tied to business, so it can be unimpeded to do what’s necessary. With cancer research, profit has stymied progress and stalled any meaningful change, instead people believe cancer is being cured by pharmaceutical promises, whilst more people than ever are getting cancer. Contrast this to climate change and if we don’t do the research into sustainable alternatives and ways to live into the future, there may be no future worth living for.
All hope is not completely lost of course. We always find ways, maybe one of them will be to go off world whilst another would be to live in Antarctica when it melts, provided the sea doesn’t swallow it. But what of the towns and cities by the coasts? What will that look like in 50 years? Maybe less. I think in my life time it is predicted that many of these places will be unliveable, beneath water, and whilst this has happened before it hasn’t happened to this degree. Yes, Venice has always been sinking and maybe NYC wasn’t built on the best land but everywhere else? And what will the displaced do? And how is space travel possible without a healthy earth?
Those old enough can attest that the world seems to be burning and statistically with more people than ever on an already burgeoning planet in terms of resources. We seem to be wasting more food, yet more people are hungry in certain pockets of the world. We are growing hotter in some parts, colder in others, heatwaves represent an increasing threat to cities in both the Northern and Southern hemispheres. And it’s shifting agricultural production. Heatwaves are affecting colder countries too. A study states: “As illustrated by the example of Quebec, rising temperatures and heatwaves are an increasing hazard in countries of comparably cold climate as well as in warmer climates. According to a report published by UN Climate Change, higher temperatures due to climate change cause heatwaves which affect human health. For example, in Germany alone, the heatwave of 2003 resulted in nearly 7,000 deaths and many heat-related illnesses due to heat stroke, dehydration, and cardiovascular disease.”
Realistically many places in the planet are harder to live in, firstly because prices are pushed artificially high by unrelenting inflation but slower wage increases, people are often underemployed or expected to work longer hours for less pay if you consider the cost of living 50 years ago to now and relate that to increase in wages. On another level, people’s standards of living seem to improve in some areas, but again this is hard to gauge when you consider the divide between the very wealthy elite and the rest.
In America at least, displaced people’s flood through the borders and are hopefully given shelter and housing and opportunities but are they really better off than from the places they have fled? In some circumstances invariably, but for others, they may earn more but that money is swallowed by the higher cost of living; so, they’re not really better off. It’s an illusion to consider America as the land of the free or the American Dream, with so many living below the poverty line or just above it, which is negligible when you consider you may have slightly more money but you are thus not eligible for social assistance so you end up being as poor or poorer than those who do qualify for social assistance. This all relates to climate change because what incentive do people who are struggling to survive have, to help save the environment? Can you blame them? Shouldn’t we blame if we are to allocate blame, those who perpetuate poverty and turn a blind eye to its outcomes? Like former colonial countries who once having raped the land, decry its poverty, even as it’s the direct result of such pillage? Haiti being a great example of that.
Meanwhile the war machine grinds on and we pour money into that, to the detriment of climate change. Climate change is left for summits about but little changes. Countries make pledges but few are actuated and that’s without considering the lies that abound, or the cover ups of environmental disasters that are hushed up but have caused immeasurable harm. In 2017, the US Air Force used USD$4.9 billion worth of fuel; also, that year, the US military was responsible for 59 million tons of CO2 which is the same as total emissions of some industrialised countries like Switzerland or Sweden.
If we don’t even get the actual truth, how can we know the true extent of damage and our real part in it? Think of the nuclear disasters? That said, it’s understandable countries seeking to free themselves from fossil fuels would consider nuclear power, but how tenable is that when it depends upon people to function, what if those people were lost? Would the sites go critical and kill all survivors? Where do we safely store radioactive nuclear waste when it takes thousands of years to degrade even slightly? Just like those toxic super-dumping sites dotted throughout the planet, filling the seas with plastic and debris, we don’t think about the consequence of such dumping, only the immediacy of needing air conditioners.
Eventually fossil fuels will run out, but we haven’t found a tangible replacement. Electric car batteries don’t do well in heat, they also aren’t as durable in distance driving, cost a lot in using electricity which is still using resources, are prohibitively expensive and likewise with solar energy and wind energy. It seems there are downsides to all we’ve come up with so far, and whilst some progress is made with desalination of water to ensure clean drinking water and terraforming of previously uninhabitable land, is it enough to ward off the inevitable or does it mean those who already are rich, will be somewhat protected from the first consequences of planet earths deteriorating climate, whilst those without, will be the first to pay the price?
We’ve had so many canaries in the coal mine warnings from long before now, that none of this is news but people still en mass prefer not to think of it. When polled, voters in America usually do not put climate change in the top five concerns they have. The last few years this has changed, and that might signal a positive shift to taking climate change seriously, but it’s a bit late. Things can be done to shore up some of the fragile resources, but it will take a sustained commitment. How can that happen if majority of politicians’ are more focused on power and money than true change, renewable energy that works and a consensus that if we do nothing, we only have ourselves to blame? We have to change politics, policies and education if we hope to have a meaningful impact long term.
If we replace jobs with AI and technology as we are doing, how will people afford to improve their lives and make significant change? Everything is interconnected, it all matters, but we have to care, and being distracted by technology and super stars isn’t the answer. Why can’t an eco-warrior be a hero as much as a basketball player? We must keep trying. As Dr. Vandana Shiva is quoted as saying; “I do not allow myself to be overcome by hopelessness, no matter how tough the situation. I believe that if you just do your little bit without thinking of the bigness of what you stand against, if you turn to the enlargement of your own capacities, just that itself creates new potential.”
Candice Louisa Daquin is a Psychotherapist and Editor, having worked in Europe, Canada and the USA. Daquins own work is also published widely, she has written five books of poetry, the last published by Finishing Line Press called Pinch the Lock. Her website is www thefeatheredsleep.com
.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
AHILYA PARK
Three monkeys
with their babies
romped merrily in the park,
gambolled and jumped from one branch to another.
Twice, the group of monkeys crossed my path,
Preventing me from walking forward.
Three children swung on the swings.
On the adjoining the pillar,
squirrels, sparrows and sandpipers
shared food together with glee.
All this added to my joy of
walking in the park.
The park is not just an assemblage of trees,
plants and creepers,
but a rendezvous for
men, animals, birds and trees
and together they exist,
happily and blithely.
Sagar Mal Gupta, educated at the University of Edinburgh and the University of Hawaii, earned his Ph. D. in Linguistics from the University of Hawaii USA. He has fifty-six years of teaching experience of English language and Literature in India and abroad. He has published four books of poetry in English and his poems have been published in a number of national and international journals of repute.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Title: The Greatest Indian Stories Ever Told: Fifty Masterpieces from the Nineteenth Century to the Present
Editor: Arunava Sinha
Publisher: Aleph Book Company
The Indian subcontinent has had a long tradition of storytelling that is referred to as ‘contes’ or tales, by the French. ‘Kathasaritsagar‘ by Somdev in Sanskrit compiled in the 11th century CE is a great example of this. Flavourful folk tales can also be found in renditions after the 11th Century CE — like the ‘Singhasan Battisi’[1].
Various Indian languages soon adopted this genre, gaining popularity throughout the country. Over the past 150 years, hundreds of memorable and popular stories have been written in more than 20 different languages. There are many ways in which they have become cultural cornerstones. Even those who do not read books often quote from a Premchand story or refer to a Tagore character in conversation. There are more people who know about our recent history as a result of Manto’s stories than any other history book published.
The Greatest Indian Stories Ever Told: Fifty Masterpieces from the Nineteenth Century to the Present edited by Arunava Sinha, is a welcome addition to the genre.As an English translator, Sinha specialises in translating Bengali fiction and non-fiction from Bangladesh and India into English, including classic, contemporary, and modern works. More than seventy of his translations have been published so far in India, UK, and USA. He has twice won India’s top translation prize, the Crossword Award for translated books. He teaches at Ashoka University, where he is also the co-director of the Ashoka Centre for Translation.
This anthology contains stories that draw inspiration from a wide range of Indian regional dialects, languages, literature, and cultures, and includes early masters of the form, contemporary stars, and brilliant writers who came of age during the twenty-first century.
Among these authors are some of the most revered in Indian literature and have, between them, won almost every major literary award, including the Nobel Prize for Literature, the Jnanpith Award, the Sahitya Akademi Award as well as numerous other honours at the state, national, and international level.
There is a plethora of literary delights in this collection, from Tagore’s evocative prose to Amrita Pritam’s emotional depth, from Ruskin Bond’s enchanting stories to Mahasweta Devi’s thought-provoking stories. It is a treasure trove of narratives translated to or written in English. If all these weaving the colours of the diversities in India are to be savoured across all the Indian states with diverse languages, they need to be in English. Collections of some of the best literary short fiction written by Indian writers began to emerge in the country at the end of the nineteenth century. And now in the twenty first century, the trend has been retained by this collection.
A must-have for any Indian literature enthusiast, The Greatest Indian Stories Ever Told provides a literary journey that explores space and time, which makes it a precious collector’s item that will become a valuable over time. Anyone who is interested in India’s rich cultural heritage as well as the rich tapestry of Indian storytelling should definitely read this anthology in order to gain some insight into the country’s rich cultural heritage. It promises to be an exciting and enticing literary feast, leaving readers awe-struck and enriched by the depth and beauty of Indian storytelling whether you are familiar with these eminent authors or are new to them, regardless of whether you know their work or not.
.
[1] Collection of ancient Indian folk tales; Literally, 32 tales of the throne, compiled after the 11th century CE
.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
In your final rest
on a rope-cot,
were you still dreaming
of a piece of bread?
Beloved one,
we the people
of this country,
of that country,
can make anything
but a piece of bread
for you.
--Evening with a Sufi: Selected Poemsby Afsar Mohammad, translated from the Telugu by Afsar Mohammad & Shamala Gallagher, Red River Books, 2022.
These lines send shivers down the spine and recreate an empathetic longing for immigrant souls in search of succour. They also swiftly draw an image laced with poignancy — a loss, a regret, the economics that deny innovative young men their keep and force immigration in search of sustenance. Would the poet have been one of them?
Travelling from a small village in the South Indian state of Telangana, Afsar Mohammad has journeyed across continents and now teaches South Asian Studies at the University of Pennsylvania. Known as a trendsetting poet and literary critic for post-1980s Telugu literature, Afsar has brought out five volumes of poetry, one collection of short stories and two volumes of literary theory essays. He is also a distinguished scholar of Indian studies and has published extensively with various international presses, including Oxford and Cambridge. He is currently working on a translation of Sufi poetry from Telugu to English. In this interview, we trace his growth as a writer and editor of the webzine, Saranga, which now seems to be transcending linguistic barriers to give voice to multiple cultures…
Tell us about your journey as a writer. When and how did it start?
It’s a long story, but to cut it short — the beginnings were somewhat puzzling… Inspired by Shakespearean sonnets, I first wrote some sonnets in English, and then switched to free verse. Since most of my friends in my high school started pushing me to write something in Telugu, I had to migrate to Telugu. Quite surprisingly, I was first published in English, and then it took me a while to get something published in Telugu. I had hard time getting published in Telugu due to its newness in expressions and most editors felt that there was nothing “Telugu” in that kind of writing. So, my early writings quite naturally found their home in some English journals!
Your poetry rings with the pain of distance, the pain and struggle from others’ suffering transcending your own self. What is the source of your inspiration — is it your past or your present?What affects you more — your being an immigrant or a Sufi?
We’re distanced by many things — not just physically! We live in many shattered and scattered worlds, and sometimes we fail to reflect on those worlds. I feel like I’m a constant immigrant — despite my formal citizenship and legal boundaries. Sufism is merely a segment of this expansive realm. Both past and present define our destiny, right?! Of course, I try to live in the present rather than in the past, but never deny the baggage of the past.
Why do you subscribe to the Sufi school of poetry? What is Sufism all about?
I come from an extremely local rural setting where such Sufi mystical practices openly defined my everyday life. It’s not about the technicalities and theories or institutionalised Sufi schools of their philosophies, this is more about what I learned from my childhood, and its physical surroundings dotted by several hybrid shrines. I’ve described this cultural setting in my 2013 Oxford University Press publication, The Festival of Pirs: Popular Islam and Shared Devotion in South India. This version of Sufism has more to do with everyday life rather than a spiritual domain.
You have lived away from your country for long, and yet the past seems to still haunt you. What is the identity you seek as a poet? Is it necessary to have a unique identity or can one be like a drop that flows and moulds as per the needs of the vessel?
In a way — physically– I’m away from my birth place, but in many ways, I’m also closer to my homeland than in my past. When I moved away from the actual picture, I see many dimensions from a new lens. Each dimension contributed to my rethinking and reconsidering the idea of India. As I wander around and meet totally different places and people, I learn more about my birthplace and moved a little closer to it. I totally understand this as a process to reconcile with the past and connect it to a new present intensified by many factors, not just personal. We’re living in a virtual world, which also looks like “real” in its sounds, colours and words. Every moment it makes me realise that I’m actually not that far. On the other hand, I also see the people in my homeland who are far more removed by their immediate reality and everyday experiences. We need to read this conditionality more in terms of perspective rather than physical distance.
You are fluent in Telugu, Urdu and English. You started writing in English and then moved to Telugu. And all your poetry collections have been in Telugu. Why? Would the outreach of English not have been wider? What made you pick Telugu over English?
Great question! My literary graph is neither linear nor simplistic. When I look back and reflect on it, it’s a quite messy roadmap — actually, there’s nothing like a map to get its contours. Yes, I started writing in English and then suddenly stopped sending out the poems to magazines. In fact, I write more in my personal journals rather than in print journals. Theoretically, I saw poetry as a personal diary for my experiences for many years. Due to financial concerns within my family, I had to start working very early on and left most of my journals at home. Then, my friends found them by chance and put them together that became my first collection of poems in Telugu. The collection was an instant success for its innovative style and then that opened up my career in Telugu rather than English which was my first language of literary expression.
You are now bringing out a bi-lingual online magazine, Saranga? What made you think of a magazine in two languages?
Before entering into teaching career, I worked as an editor of the literary supplement and Sunday magazine for a largest circulated Telugu newspaper. When we moved to the USA, I thought it would be better to have some outlet to engage with my home language and literature. In the early phase, Saranga was primarily a Telugu webmagazine. When I started teaching South Asian literature, then I realised the importance of making Indian literary texts available to contemporary generation in the USA. That was just one reason, but there’re were many factors as our team saw a rise in the Indian diaspora writings in the new millennium. Luckily, we got wonderful support from writers and poets in various Indian languages. The humble beginnings have actually ended up as a rewarding experience.
What is it you look for in contributors from two languages? Is it the same guidelines or different?
We’re still learning how this works! As it appears now, these two sections require two different approaches and guidelines. Since the English section has been now attracting writers from various languages, it’s moving more towards a multi-lingual base. We’re trying to accommodate more translations into English from different Indian languages. We still need to do lots of work there.
Is the journal only aimed at South Asian diaspora or would you be extending your services to all cultures and all geographies?
Saranga, as we see it right now, is more about South Asia and its diaspora. As you know, we need more such spaces for South Asia and its diaspora. Not sure about its future directions at this point, however, if the situation demands, we will extend its services further.
You have number of essays and academic books in English. But all your creative writing is in Telugu. Why? Would you be thinking of writing in English too because proficiency in the language is obviously not an issue?
Most of my academic writing came out of my teaching experience. As I started teaching new courses, I then realised that we need more material from South Asia. I started focusing on producing such materials primarily for my courses and then gradually, they became useful for many academicians elsewhere too. I still believe creating writing as a more personal space — that enables me to articulate more about myself. However, the publication of Evening with a Sufi, brought a new change — as I’ve been getting more requests for more writing in English for the last two years. As you know pretty well, I’m an extremely slow writer.
How do you perceive language as a tool for a poet?
I see language working many ways since I dwell in multiple languages. I started my elementary education in Urdu, and my middle school was in Telugu, and the subsequent studies were in English. Through the last day of her life, my mother was extremely particular about me learning Arabic and Farsi. So, I believe that helped me so much to understand how language works in a poem. When I published my first poem in Telugu, the immediate critique was it was a not a “Telugu” poem. Telugu literary critics labelled me as a poet who thinks either in Urdu or English, then writes in Telugu. Of course, most of them were also fascinated by the new syntax of my Telugu poems and the new images and metaphors—that totally deviate from a normative or mainstream Telugu poem of those days. The uses of language in a poem varies for each poet. If you’re reading, writing and thinking in just “one” language, that might be a safe condition. A contemporary or modern poet, however, belongs to many languages and cultures. We also migrate from one language to another in our everyday life.
Do borders of nationalism, mother tongue and geographies divide or connect in your opinion? Do these impact your writing?
The response to this question might be an extension to the above conditionality of a person. Anyway, I’m not a big fan of those ideas of nationalism, mother tongue and singular geographies. They don’t exist in my world. Most of my writings both creative and academic contest such boundaries and borders. To describe this in a single term- borderless. In fact, I believe we’re all borderless, but unfortunately, many boundaries and borders are now being imposed on our personalities.
(The online interview has been conducted by emails by Mitali Chakravarty)
Title: Behind Latticed Marble: Inner Worlds of Women
Author: Jyotirmoyee Devi Sen, translated from Bengali by Apala G. Egan
New Delhi: Niyogi Books
The very mention of the name of Jyotirmoyee Devi (1894 – 1988) brings to our mind the strong feminist Bengali writer, author of the famous Partition novel, Epar Ganga Opar Ganga (The River Churning), mainly depicted the lives of the women in Bengal who bore the burden of this communal divide, their bodies being inflicted with sexual violence, rape, and social exclusion as a consequence to the former two. Owing to the dearth in the literature that records such gruesome atrocities that were inflicted upon women, till date her work is extremely important. This present anthology however focuses on a totally different perspective of the writer where she tells us interesting stories about the life of the women and little girls of Rajasthan, and the discriminatory gender and caste norms that policed and defined their existence.
Jyotirmoyee Devi was born in Jaipur in an upper-caste and economically well-off family. Her grandfather, who had emigrated there from Bengal during the British Raj, rose to occupy a high administrative position as the dewan or prime minister to the Maharaja of Jaipur. Thus, Rajasthan had a profound impact on her writings in the later years. Not being given an opportunity for formal education, her sole means to establish a relationship with reading became her grandfather’s library where she, along with her sister, were assigned to arrange newly arrived books and magazines. Therefore, even though she was a little girl, she attempted to make use of her multiple privileges that could help her access books and writing material. Married at the age of ten and widowed at twenty-five, she returned to her parents’ home along with her children and became a prolific writer during her long period of widowhood.
The ten fictional narratives in this anthology are all set in Rajasthan, and they create an elegant tapestry amidst the backdrop of Rajput grandeur and chivalry. Based on an eyewitness account of life in royal harems, these stories describe the very human interaction between men and women in this milieu. They highlight power play, disinheritance, and the threat of assault, which are perennial concerns for women. These include fascinating narration about the machinations that went on inside the royal households, as well as stories which tells us the plight of the veiled women in different strata of society. For instance, in “Beneath the Aravalli Hills,” a young village girl Dhapi disappears in the city where her father sold her for two hundred rupees. She is kept in a harem and punished for entering the festive hall without permission, she ends her life in prison. In “Frame Up” when the king dies, there is a heavy pall of suspicion in the kingdom that the queen had murdered him. Two decades later, when she is on her deathbed, she calls her son to tell him that the harem housekeeper and the chief eunuch had hatched a plot to kill his father but the young king walks away without acknowledging his mother’s innocence. In “The Child Bride” we read about the plight of a young widow Kesar whose jewellery is unlawfully snatched from her by the in-laws and she spends the rest of her life in poverty by serving like other destitute widows in the Govindji temple at Vrindavan.
Women-centric issues also recur in a story called “The Queen and the Concubine” where despite having plenty of riches befitting the Rajput royals, the ladies muse secret sorrows since their husbands, seldom, if ever, visited them. They spent their time in their sumptuous villas by holding pageants, dance dramas, and musical soirees. It tells the story of how the protagonist Kesar moved to the king’s harem upon his desire, metamorphosed from a mere maid to a courtesan, till she was burnt to death in the end. As per the rules of the state, sons of courtesans and concubines also lived luxurious and leisure lives, but somehow there always existed a fine dividing line between these men and the real heir to the throne. “The Taint” tells us of the king’s youngest son Samudra, who after receiving college education decides to take up a simple job in the British Indian army while his father arranges for his marriage with plenty of dowry albeit without his consent.
The human side of man is beautifully expressed in “Ungendered” where the royal eunuch decides not to have an heir and lets two young boys live a normal man’s life. Several other stories reiterate tragic tales of women in purdah and how many of them reach unfortunate ends when they try to escape from the strict socially imposed patriarchal norms that keep them totally voiceless. “The Princess Baby” (Beti ka Baap or Father of a daughter) calls for attention towards the evil of female infanticide by feeding them with an overdose of opium and focus on the limited social interactions allowed to young women. Though sometimes repetitive, the stories overall try and tell us about the miserable plight of women in Rajasthan, whether they were commoners or part of the royalty.
Before concluding, a few words about the translation. This anthology contains ten stories, each of which had been translated and published in different journals abroad (nine in different American journals and one in Turkey) before collating them into this present volume. The translator, residing in the USA, obviously had the western reader in mind and sometimes several complicated and difficult words and phrases are used probably to remain politically correct to the original text. But what this reviewer finds problematic is the introduction by the author. Who are the targeted readers? In her introduction, she mentions at random women’s issues from around the world and in different ages one wonders why the context of the stories translated here is not provided at all — except for giving us a bio-note of Jyotirmoyee Devi which is briefly included in the back flap cover. Also, the page-long bibliography provided at the end of the rather out-of-context introduction seems totally redundant. Apart from this lacuna of course, the volume will interest those readers who marvel at the eyewitness accounts of life of women and men, common and royal alike, in Rajasthan in the first few decades of the twentieth century.
Somdatta Mandal, author, academic and translator, is former Professor of English at Visva-Bharati, Santiniketan, India.
.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL.
Title: Greening the Earth: A Global Anthology of Poems
Editors: K. Satchidanandan & Nishi Chawla
Publisher: Penguin Random House
Preface
Humanity’s power to degrade the environment has become unprecedentedly dangerous. In fact, we have already changed the environment irreversibly, and suicidally so. What we call nature is no longer nature in its pristine glory. Human intervention has transformed it into something sub- rather than semi-human: a combination of climate, topography, the original environment and the effects of the long history of human intervention. If it was agriculture that had transformed the landscape once, it is now urbanization that has affected the broader areas of our environment. Managing the environment is becoming a practical rather than a theoretical problem. It is not enough that we create theme parks or conserve a select few areas. ‘Museumizing’ nature and landscape will not be enough. Several animals and birds are on the verge of extinction; the list is growing, and human beings can easily be next in the at-risk list. What we require today is not isolated action, but concerted action at the global level. Techno- fascism that leads to eco-fascism—both have their roots in human greed and aggression—is one of the inevitable fall-outs of blind and unsustainable patterns of development.
While a few poems in this anthology offer a perspective on how humans can respond to the reality of extinction, others give us an awareness of how we can struggle to keep what we still have. Some poems share earnest insights into our own evolution, and others offer grim warnings or raise voices against the imminent threat of extinction and the fate of our planet. Some poets spin interconnected incantations and weave healing nature through their blood, and others honor it by connecting the sustainable with their personal poetic bones. The environmental theme of most poems can inspire meditation as well as a commitment to apocalyptic action. The poets anthologized here offer landscapes of beauty and joy, of rustic retreat, of communion with our natural world, against the larger looming questions of human survival, of spurring towards conservation and preservation, of recognizing our ancestral knowledge, of a complicated pact and a complex impact. The anthology, in short, is our kind of shock tactic to the glaring lacunae within our urbanized, post-industrial society. What distinguishes us further, is that our anthology is a global chorus of poetic voices. We cannot stress enough the ‘sustainable’ route felt in the ‘sustainable’ poetic voices of our anthology. Along with our conscious eco warrior poets, Greening the Earth is our kind of responsible activism.
Extinction
Maren Bodenstein
here
on the prairie we measure
the years
by the extinction of insects
that visit our porch lamps
the brittle
longhorn is gone
for a while now the giant
stick insect no longer flares its scarlet wings even
the bluewhite chafers have succumbed
to the heat
by day we dwell in the creek
my sisters and I
one of us pregnant
but I keep forgetting
if it is me
look I am full term now
I tell them stroking my flat belly
on the horizon
a fire roars
through the grasses and over
the houses it marches
the last army of insects
into the bellies of storks
a confusion of vehicles
full of belongings flees
towards us
Ma in her car
with the poodle
comes rushing at us
get in she shouts
misses the bridge
plunges deep
we must rescue her
I tug at the metal
but my sisters
heavy with chatter
do not hear
Ma broken mermaid sneezes
opens her blue-eyes
happy
to see me
Beholden
Erin Holtz Braeckman
I come to you as Crow. But not before you first come to me. My bones are left like tinder in the dark ashes of my feathers when you find them. Crouching low in the crisp clutch of Spring the way the grandmothers once did, you speak words of ritual from the cave of folk memory you’ve walked right into without knowing. And you ask—before you hear my totem call from the pines high overhead; you ask before you slip one of my bones into your pocket. Because wrapped inside the song of that old teaching circle you stepped within was this telling: what you collect, you become the caretaker of. Not the thing itself, but its living story. Those crystals on your altar? You are the steward of their mountains. Those shells lining your windowsill? You are the custodian of their oceans. The pressed petals and dried acorns and vials of sand—the bones; in them there are entire fields and forests and feral ones of whom you are a curator. Which is why I come to you this time, a cackle-caw of shade-shifters stalking through your sister spruces. The others fly when you near, leaving me below in the corner fencing, the wing you took the bone from a tangle of black shadow throwing back the light. I feel the moment you are beholden, Crow-Keeper; how you fold the wild beating of my body into your hands, placing me like a stone on a cairn into the bracken beyond; how those grandmothers come to braid feathers into your hair.
(Excerpted from Greening the Earth: A global Anthology of Poetry, Penguin Random House)
About the Book:
Greening the Earthis a rare anthology that brings together global poetic responses to one of the major crises faced by humanity in our time: environmental degradation and the threat it poses to the very survival of the human species. Poets from across the world respond here in their diverse voices-of anger, despair, and empathy-to the present ecological damage prompted by human greed, pray for the re-greening of our little planet and celebrate a possible future where we live in harmony with every form of creation.
Editors:
K. Satchidanandan is a leading Indian poet He is also perhaps the most translated of contemporary Indian poets, having 32 collections of translation in 19 languages, including Arabic, Chinese, Japanese, English, Irish, French, German and Italian, besides all the major Indian languages. He has 24 collections of poetry, four books of travel, a full length play and a collection of one-act plays, two books for children and several collections of critical essays, including five books in English on Indian literature besides several collections of world poetry in translation. He has been a Professor of English, and also the chief executive of the Sahitya Akademi, the Director of the School of Translation Studies, Indira Gandhi Open University, Delhi and National Fellow, Indian Institute of Advanced Study, Shimla. He is a Fellow of the Kerala Sahitya Akademi and has won 52 literary awards from different states and countries, including the Sahitya Akademi award, India-Poland Friendship Medal from the Government of Poland, Knighthood from the Government of Italy and World Prize for Poetry for Peace from the Government of the UAE. His recent collections in English include While I Write, Misplaced Objects and Other Poems, The Missing Rib: Collected Poems, Not Only the Oceans, Questions from the Dead and The Whispering Tree: Poems of Love and Longing.
Nishi Chawla is an academician and a writer. She has six collections of poetry, nine plays, two screenplays and two novels to her credit. Nishi Chawla holds a Ph. D. in English from The George Washington University, Washington, D.C. USA. After teaching for nearly twenty years as a tenured Professor of English at Delhi University, India, she had migrated with her family to a suburb of Washington D.C. She has taught at the University of Maryland from 1999 until 2014. She is now on the faculty of Thomas Edison State University, New Jersey, USA. Nishi Chawla’s plays get staged both in the USA and in India.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Borderless 