Categories
Editorial

Clinging to Hope

I will cling fast to hope.

— Suzanne Kamata, ‘Educating for Peace in Rwanda

Landscape of Change by Jill Pelto, Smithsonian. From Public Domain

Hope is the mantra for all human existence. We hope for a better future, for love, for peace, for good weather, for abundance. When that abundance is an abundance of harsh weather or violence wrought by wars, we hope for calm and peace.

This is the season for cyclones — Dana, Trami, Yixing, Hurricanes Milton and Helene — to name a few that left their imprint with the destruction of both property and human lives as did the floods in Spain while wars continue to annihilate more lives and constructs. That we need peace to work out how to adapt to climate change is an issue that warmongers seem to have overlooked. We have to figure out how we can work around losing landmasses and lives to intermittent floods caused by tidal waves, landslides like the one in Wayanad and rising temperatures due to the loss of ice cover. The loss of the white cover of ice leads to more absorption of heat as the melting water is deeper in colour. Such phenomena could affect the availability of potable water and food, impacted by the changes in flora and fauna as a result of altered temperatures and weather patterns. An influx of climate refugees too is likely in places that continue habitable. Do we need to find ways of accommodating these people? Do we need to redefine our constructs to face the crises?

Echoing concerns for action to adapt to climate change and hoping for peace, our current issue shimmers with vibrancy of shades while weaving in personal narratives of life, living and the process of changing to adapt.

An essay on Bhaskar Parichha’s recent book on climate change highlights the action that is needed in the area where Dana made landfall recently. In terms of preparedness things have improved, as Bijoy K Mishra contends in his essay. But more action is needed. Denying climate change or thinking of going back to pre-climate change era is not an option for humanity anymore. While politics often ignores the need to acknowledge this crises and divides destroying with wars, riots and angst, a narrative for peace is woven by some countries like Japan and Rwanda.

Suzanne Kamata recently visited Rwanda. She writes about how she found by educating people about the genocide of 1994, the locals have found a way to live in peace with people who they addressed as their enemies before… as have the future generations of Japan by remembering the atomic holocausts of 1945.

Writing about an event which wrought danger into the lives of common people in South Asia is Professor Fakrul Alam’s essay on the 1971 conflict between the countries that were carved out of the 1947 Partition of the Indian subcontinent. As if an antithesis to this narrative of divides that destroyed lives, Luke Rimmo Minkeng Lego muses about peace and calm in Shillong which leaves a lingering fragrance of heartfelt friendships. Farouk Gulsara muses on nostalgic friendships and twists of fate that compel one to face mortality. Abdullah Rayhan ponders about happiness and Shobha Sriram, with a pinch of humour, adapts to changes. Devraj Singh Kalsi writes satirically of current norms aiming for a change in outlook.

Humour is brought into poetry by Rhys Hughes who writes about a photograph of a sign that can be interpreted in ways more than one. Michael Burch travels down the path of nostalgia as Ryan Quinn Flanagan shares a poem inspired by Pablo Neruda’s bird poems. Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal writes heart wrenching verses about the harshness of winter for the homeless without shelter. We have more colours in poetry woven by Jahanara Tariq, Stuart MacFarlane, Saranyan BV, George Freek, G Javaid Rasool, Heath Brougher and more.

In translations, we have poetry from varied countries. Ihlwha Choi has self-translated his poem from Korean. Ivan Pozzoni has done the same from Italian. One of Tagore’s lesser-known verses, perhaps influenced by the findings of sensitivity in plants by his contemporary, Jagadish Chandra Bose (1858-1937) to who he dedicated the collection which homed this poem, Phool Photano (making flowers bloom), has been translated from Bengali. Professor Alam has translated Nazrul’s popular song, Tumi Shundor Tai Cheye Thaki (Because you are so beautiful, I keep gazing at you).

In reviews, Somdatta Mandal has discussed The Collected Short Stories of Kazi Nazrul Islam, translated by multiple translators from Bengali and edited by Syed Manzoorul Islam and Kaustav Chakraborty. Rakhi Dalal has written about The Long Strider in Jehangir’s Hindustan: In the Footsteps of the Englishman Who Walked From England to India in the Year 1613 by Dom Moraes and Sarayu Srivatsa, a book that looks and compares the past with the present. Bhaskar Parichha has written of a memoir which showcases not just the personal but gives a political and economic commentary on tumultuous events that shaped the history of Israel, Palestine, and the modern Middle East prior to the more than a year-old conflict. The book by the late Mohammad Tarbush (1948-2022) is called My Palestine: An Impossible Exile.

Stories travel around the world with Paul Mirabile’s narrative giving a flavour of bohemian Paris in 1974. Anna Moon’s fiction set in Philippines gives a darker perspective of life. Lakshmi Kannan’s narrative hovers around the 2008 bombing in Mumbai, an event that evoked much anger, violence and created hatred in hearts. In contrast, Naramsetti Umamaheswararao brings a sense of warmth into our lives with a story about a child and his love for a dog. Sreelekha Chatterjee weaves a tale of change, showcasing adapting to climate crisis from a penguin’s perspective.

Hoping to change mindsets with education, Mineke Schipper has a collection of essays called Widows: A Global History, which has been introduced along with a discussion with the author on how we can hope for a more equitable world. The other conversation by Ratnottama Sengupta with Veena Raman, wife of the late Vijay Raman, a police officer who authored, Did I Really Do All This: Memoirs of a Gentleman Cop Who Dared to be Different, showcases a life given to serving justice. Raman was an officer who caught dacoits like Paan Singh Tomar and the Indian legendary dacoit queen, Phoolan Devi. An excerpt from his memoir accompanies the conversation. The other book excerpt is from an extremely out of the box book, Rhys Hughes’ Growl at the Moon, a Weird Western.

Trying something new, being out of the box is what helped humans move out from caves, invent wheels and create civilisations. Hopefully, this is what will help us move into the next phase of human development where wars and weapons will become redundant, and we will be able to adapt to changing climes and move towards a kinder, more compassionate existence.

Thank you all for pitching in with your fabulous pieces. There are ones that have not been covered here. Do pause by our content’s page to see all our content. Huge thanks to the fantastic Borderless team and to Sohana Manzoor, for her art too.

Hope you enjoy our fare!

Mitali Chakravarty

borderlessjournal.com

Click here to access the  content’s page for the November 2024 Issue

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READ THE LATEST UPDATES ON THE FIRST BORDERLESS ANTHOLOGY, MONALISA NO LONGER SMILES, BY CLICKING ON THIS LINK.

Categories
Editorial

A Sprinkling of Happiness?

A Pop of Happiness by Jeanie Douglas. From Public Domain

Happiness is a many splendored word. For some it is the first ray of sunshine; for another, it could be a clean bill of health; and yet for another, it would be being with one’s loved ones… there is no clear-cut answer to what makes everyone happy. In Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince (JK Rowling, 2005), a sunshine yellow elixir induces euphoria with the side effects of excessive singing and nose tweaking. This is of course fantasy but translate it to the real world and you will find that happiness does induce a lightness of being, a luminosity within us that makes it easier to tackle harder situations. Playing around with Rowling’s belief systems, even without the potion, an anticipation of happiness or just plain optimism does generate a sense of hope for better times.  Harry tackles his fears and dangers with goodwill, friends and innate optimism. When times are dark with raging wars or climate events that wreck our existence, can one look for a torch to light a sense of hope with the flame of inborn resilience borne of an inner calm, peace or happiness — call it what you will…?

It is hard to gauge the extreme circumstances with which many of us are faced in our current realities, especially when the events spin out of control. In this issue, along with the darker hues that ravage our lives, we have sprinklings of laughter to try to lighten our spirits. In the same vein, externalising our emotions to the point of absurdity that brings a smile to our lips is Rhys Hughes’ The Sunset Suite, a book that survives on tall tales generated by mugs of coffee. In one of the narratives, there is a man who is thrown into a bubbling hot spring, but he survives singing happily because his attacker has also thrown in packs of tea leaves. This man loves tea so much that he does not scald, drown or die but keeps swimming merrily singing a song. While Hughes’ stories are dark, like our times, there is an innate cheer that rings through the whole book… Dare we call it happiness or resilience? Hughes reveals much as he converses about this book, squonks and stranger facts that stretch beyond realism to a fantastical world that has full bearing on our very existence.

Poetry brings in a sprinkling of good cheer not only with a photo poem by Hughes, but also with more in a lighter vein from Ryan Quinn Flanagan, Michael R Burch, Arshi Mortuza, Jason Ryberg and others. Sanjay C Kuttan has given a poem dipped in nostalgic happiness with colourful games that evolved in Malaysia. Koiko Tsuuda, an Estonian, rethinks happiness. George Freek, Stuart MacFarlane and Saranyan BV address mortality. Nilsa Mariano and G Javaid Rasool have given us powerful migrant poetry while John Grey, Craig Kirchner, Jane Hammons, Nia Joseph, Noopur Vedajna Das and Adeline Lyons refer to climate or changes wrought by climate disasters in their verses.

A powerful essay by Binu Mathew on the climate disaster at Wayanad, a place that earlier had been written of as an idyllic getaway, tells us how the land in that region has become more prone to landslides. The one on July 30th this year washed away a whole village! Farouk Gulsara has given a narrative about his cycling adventure through the state of Kashmir with his Malaysian friends and finding support in the hearts of locals, people who would be the first to be hit by any disaster even if they have had no hand in creating the catastrophes that could wreck their lives, the flora and the fauna around them. In the wake of such destructions or in anticipation of such calamities, many migrate to other areas — like Ranu Bhattacharya’s ancestors did a bit before the 1947 Partition violence set in. A younger migrant, Chinmayi Goyal, muses under peaceful circumstances as she explores her own need to adapt to her surroundings. G Venkatesh from Sweden writes of his happy encounter with local children in the playground. And Snigdha Agrawal has written of partaking lunch with a bovine companion – it can be intimidating having a cow munching at the next table, I guess! Devraj Singh Kalsi has given a tongue-in-cheek musing on how he might find footing as a godman. Suzanne Kamata has given a lovely summery piece on parasols, which never went out of fashion in Japan!

Radha Chakravarty, known for her fabulous translations, has written about the writer she translated recently, Nazrul. Her essay includes a poem by Tagore for Nazrul. Professor Fakrul Alam has translated two of Nazrul’s songs of parting and Sohana Manzoor has rendered his stunning story Shapuray (Snake Charmer) into English. Fazal Baloch has brought to us poetry in English from the Sulaimani dialect of Balochi by Allah Bashk Buzdar, and a Korean poem has been self-translated by the poet, Ihlwha Choi. The translations wind up with a poem by Tagore, Olosh Shomoy Dhara Beye (Time Flows at an Indolent Pace), showcasing how the common man’s daily life is more rooted in permanence than evanescent regimes and empires.

Fiction brings us into the realm of the common man and uncommon situations, or funny ones. A tongue-in-cheek story set in the Midwest by Joseph Pfister makes us laugh. Farhanaz Rabbani has given us a beautiful narrative about a girl’s awakening. Paul Mirabile delves into the past using the epistolary technique highlighting darker vignettes from Christopher Columbus’s life. We have book excerpts from Maaria Sayed’s From Pashas to Pokemon and Nazes Afroz’s translation of Syed Mujtaba Ali’s Shabnam with both the extracts and Rabbani’s narratives reflecting the spunk of women, albeit in different timescapes…

Our book reviews feature Meenakshi Malhotra’s perspectives on Shuchi Kapila’s Learning to Remember: Postmemory and the Partition of India and Bhaskar Parichha’s thought provoking piece on Malvika Rajkotia’s autobiographical Unpartitioned Time: A Daughter’s Story. While both these look into narratives around the 1947 Partition of the Indian subcontinent, Rakhi Dalal’s review captures the whimsical and yet thoughtful nuances of Namita Gokhale’s Never Never Land. Somdatta Mandal has written about Upamanyu Chatterjee’s latest novel, Lorenzo Searches for the Meaning of Life, which is in a way a story about a migrant too.

When migrations are out of choice, with multiple options to explore, they take on happier hues. But when it is out of a compulsion created by manmade disasters — both wars and climate change are that — will the affected people remain unscarred, or like Potter, bear the scar only on their forehead and, with Adlerian calm, find happiness and carpe diem?

Do pause by our current issue which has more content than mentioned here as some of it falls outside the ambit of our discussion. This issue would not have been possible without an all-out effort by each of you… even readers. I would like to thank each and every contributor and our loyal readers. The wonderful team at Borderless deserve much appreciation and gratitude, especially Manzoor for her wonderful artwork. I invite you all to savour this August issue with a drizzle of not monsoon or April showers but laughter.

May we all find our paths towards building a resilient world with a bright future.

Good luck and best wishes!

Mitali Chakravarty

borderlessjournal.com

Click here to access the content’s page for the August 2024 Issue.

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READ THE LATEST UPDATES ON THE FIRST BORDERLESS ANTHOLOGY, MONALISA NO LONGER SMILES, BY CLICKING ON THIS LINK.

Categories
climate change

Landslide In Wayanad Is Only The Beginning by Binu Mathew

Landslide at Wayanad: Photo Courtesy: Countercurrents

On the morning of  July 30, a huge landslide occurred at Mundakkai, in the mountainous district of Wayanad, Kerala, India. 282 people have been confirmed dead and many hundreds are still missing. It is the worst landslide in the history of Kerala and perhaps one of the worst in the history of India. A whole village was washed away in the flood and the flow of earth and rocks. A government higher secondary school and a bridge also got washed away. The rescue operations are still going on.

According to data released by India Meteorological Department Wayanad district received as much as 7% of its entire seasonal rainfall in 24 hours (from Monday morning to Tuesday morning). The Mundakkai region received 572 mm of rainfall in the past 48 hours prior to the landslide. This clearly points to an extreme climate change-induced disaster.

Experts like Madhav Gadgil are saying that it was due to the environmental degradation that the disaster occurred. The fact of the matter is that the landslide happened inside a deep forest which was not affected by human intervention.

The disaster area belongs to the Western Ghats, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, which is a very fragile ecologically sensitive area. This is also a region prone to frequent landslides. The Western Ghats starting from the Southern tip of the Indian subcontinent to the Konkan region is home to about 50 million people. In the parts belonging Kerala alone at least 5 million people live. Human habitation has caused a lot of ecological damage to the region. After the liberalisation of Indian economy, tourism has become a major industry in the region. Lots of tourist resorts have come up in the last 30 years, leading to stone quarrying in a major way. The stones from Western Ghats are used to build new roads, bridges, houses even in the lower land area and even the Adani port in Vizhinjam, Trivandrum.

If you look at the history of the Kerala part of Western Ghats, it was the Britishers who started huge tea, coffee and rubber plantations starting from late 19th century. It has caused huge environmental degradation in the region. Tata and Harrison Malayalam are the big planters now in the region. They behave like feudal lords, giving paltry sums in lease to the government and even encroach government lands to plant monocrops. The landslide affected Mundakkai also is a tea estate area owned by Harrison Malayalam company.

The farmers migrated to Wayanad and other parts of the Western Ghats of Kerala during the independence period due to the acute famine of that time. The government also promoted the migration of farmers. It is the descendants of these farmers who are killed by the landslide. They are the unsuspecting victims of unchecked development model and climate change caused by the Global North.

No place can withstand the kind of rain that was received in the landslide area. Yes, of course, wrong development model and environmental degradation has contributed to the disaster but it is not the root cause. It is the climate change caused by global warming for which the Global North is primarily responsible.

Present CO2 level in the atmosphere is 421 parts per million (ppm), which is similar to the CO2 level of Pliocene Epoch was a period in Earth’s history that lasted from 5.333 million to 2.58 million years ago. During the Pliocene epoch, CO2 levels in the Earth’s atmosphere were between 380 and 420 (ppm) during the warmest period.  The global mean sea level during the early Pliocene Epoch was around 17.5 ± 6.4 meters which means that we are locked in for a sea level rise of at least 6.5 meters, 17 meters being the upper limit. Also CO2 levels in the atmosphere are rising 2.9 ppm per annum.   This also means that we are moving into an unchartered territory in the climate crisis.

Most of our coastal cities will be under water very soon. Kerala which has one third of the landmass very close to the sea will be submerged under water.  As the ocean warms more and more drastic climate events like Mundakkai will be a regular phenomenon. As Himalayan glaciers melt, the rivers originating from the Himalayas will dry up. Most of North India will be a desert. As the permafrost melts in the Arctic, Methane which is 28 times more potent than Carbon Dioxide will be released into the atmosphere and we will lead to a feedback loop, meaning more and more greenhouse gases will be released into the atmosphere without any human intervention. Another dangerous scenario is that as the permafrost melts, viruses and bacteria buried millions of years ago will be released into the atmosphere causing pandemics like COVID. Forest fires will be a regular occurrence in the dry seasons.

Do you think that climate change would be just weather events? No. Not at all. It will spread into social relations and human relations. We might see water wars, famines, and even civil wars in the name of nationality, ethnicity, language etc. Do you think that the present population of 8 billion people will survive the coming climate catastrophe? I think it will not. Many researchers are saying that we are in the middle of the Sixth Great Extinction.  The sixth great extinction, also known as the Holocene extinction, is an ongoing mass extinction event that is caused by human activity. It is thought to be the sixth mass extinction event in Earth’s history, following the Ordovician–Silurian, Late Devonian, Permian–Triassic, Triassic–Jurassic, and Cretaceous–Paleogene extinction events. 

Courtesy: Countercurrents

In the beginning of the 20th Century, the human population was only 2 Billion. Now we are 8 Billion. The huge spike in population growth that we saw recently is an aberration in human history. Nature will correct itself. That means we are going to see millions or even billions of deaths, if not in our lifetime, definitely in the lifetime of our children and our grandchildren. That means thousands of Mundakkai events will play in a loop in front of our eyes! What is most devastating is that there would be some of our dear and near ones too.

What happened in Mundakkai, Wayanad is not an aberration. It’s the new normal. It’s the beginning!

Binu Mathew is the Editor of Countercurrents.org. He can be reached at editor@countercurrents.org. This article was first published in Countercurrents.org.

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Disclaimer: The opinions expressed are solely that of the author and not of Borderless Journal.

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Categories
Slices from Life

Wayward Wayanad

Narratives and Photographs by Mohul Bhowmick

Chembra stands out imperceptibly in the background as the mist descends over its northern side. The driver of the rickety auto-rickshaw in which I make the topsy-turvy trip from Kalpetta settles to drop me at the backpacker’s hostel at Chembra’s foothills for 500 rupees. A vast tea estate stretches out for as far as the eye can see, and it is only when one edges closer to the property’s north-western precipice is any semblance of Wayanad encountered. 

Originally a hospital set up by the British in the 1920s, the hostel is a renovated colonial-style structure with a vast corridor that runs parallel to its rooms. I learnt much later that the tea estate that houses the hostel is spread over 700 acres. The fall to the northwest is spectacular, with hills in the lower range of the Western Ghats basking in the late evening sun as it makes its way down to the low-country orbs of Mysore and Chamarajanagar.

It is no surprise that one has to cross Bandipur to reach Wayanad in the first place; any easier and one would have been tempted to think that one was within the anonymity of civilisation.

*

Earlier in the day, the elephants that I spotted from an unobtrusive window on the bus from Mysore seemed triumphant and exultant — for what I did not know. The egret that sat contentedly upon the shoulders of a rather guileless water buffalo winked at me as I struggled to bring my camera out of the mishmash that my backpack had become. I was reminded of an older boy with whom I never got along in school and who often bullied me for the pancakes my mother painstakingly packed. 

*

I am forced to snap out of this reverie when my hostess reminds me that elephants were spotted at the southern expanses of the property a few days ago. She asks me to not step out after dark. In the common area boasting of a sit-out on a makeshift tree house, a motley crew from all hues of life rejoice at what appears to be a joint venture launched by a businessman from Bangalore and an engineer from Bombay. I join the pack and am welcomed by a loud cheer.

John, a chartered accountant who rode all the way from Coimbatore on his imported motorcycle, recounts having seen a leopard when turning in one of the several snaking curves when climbing from Kalpetta. He slurs as he articulates and his eyes appear bloodshot; I know only too well to separate the wheat from the chaff. Advait, a veterinarian from Anantapur, rebuffs everything that John says and vociferously advocates for an early dinner. He is, quite promptly, turned down.

*

The trek towards the peak of Chembra is made through the heartland of the eponymous forest range. Langurs peer out inadvertently while a flying squirrel makes an appearance from its cosmic abode. Catching sight of me and my companions’ incongruously sunscreened visages, it jumps shyly onto the double-storied Bo where it has made its home. Murali, the young forest officer who accompanies us jokes with Estelle, the German lady who quite fortuitously chooses to trek in her Birkenstock footwear, about sightings of bears in the vicinity but restrains himself when she turns ashen white. 

The heart-shaped lake peeks with unabashed curiosity as we huff and puff our way up to the midway point of the trek. To our great consternation, this is where we have to end our trip as the summit of the peak is sealed off by the government. A few years ago, Murali tells us, a group of nincompoops who made it to the summit lit a couple of cigarettes to celebrate. They did not, however, stub them when they were done. What happened next is well documented — a forest fire of gargantuan scale that wiped out about 60 hectares of forest land and claimed the lives of hundreds of wild animals. The summit has been off-limits to travellers ever since. 

The parched outcrops that surround the lake by no means diminish the panorama that lies to the west. A faint countenance of the vast fields of tea and paddy which fortify the district of Wayanad is visible through the mist. It is almost noon, but my companions and I find no reason to shed our coats. Specks of Mohit Chauhan’s Phir Se Ud Chala[1] fill the air; it feels as if Chembra herself has come to life. 

It is not exactly wise, but we surrender to the lure of lying down on the grass and bask, cocooned by the benevolent gaze of Chembra. Dark clouds brew overhead but Begum Akhtar reassures us in her palliative voice, and it is not before the first drops fall on my forehead that I alert the others over our predicament. Unsurprisingly, I find that most of my friends had nodded off, obliged by the exercise and the accompanying iridescent breeze. 

*

The descent, as always, is trickier than the climb, and we take refuge from the rain under a giant rock midway. The shelter is insubstantial for a group of ten, and we end up getting soaked to the skin anyway. Murali, rather ingeniously, offers his service raincoat to Estelle. Much to his chagrin, she declines, and continues unabated in her soaking t-shirt, Nike track pants and Birkenstocks. Someone mentions a childhood spent in the Bavarian Alps…

Dry leaves fall from the trees — these untimely showers ensure that they are not held on to their material comforts for long — and the fauna we encountered on the way up seemed to have disappeared. The langurs call out occasionally, but the mynahs respond in dulcet tones of their own. 

Drenched to the core yet alive beyond measure, the rain loses significance as we meander down the trail. Consciousness makes itself felt in every cell of my body as I lumber past the sludge and try to find a foothold on the wet tracks. Awake to the moment and mindful of not slipping — essentially holding my life in my hands — I experience a pacifying sense of tranquillity that I normally associate with timing a straight drive back past the bowler on a cloudy afternoon at the Gymkhana.

Damp pathways mark our way back to the hostel. On the way, an appetising breakfast of puttu and kadala curry[2] is sought to calm our nerves. A gulp of tea, brewed from the plants of the estate on which our hostel stands, soothes and brings some warmth back into our bodies. After that, we sleep all afternoon. The 1980s restaurant at this point serves as a reputable hotbed for the exchange of accounts as fellow travellers make their way upcountry for further investigation. Krishnagiri, Edakkal, Banasura and even Ooty, among other places, feature on their itinerary. Buses out of Meppadi take the circuitous route towards Sultan Bathery via Kalpetta. A few companions remain as I make the hike back to the hostel. 

Last vestiges of the raindrops from earlier in the day cling on with pride on the tea leaves. Seen from a distance as we walk up the bend onto the track that leads to the hostel’s gates, it appears as if the leaves have shed tears of their own. 

The sky turns a dull shade of orange, almost as if playing testament to friendships made and attachments uncovered. I am content enough to watch the sunset over the lower Western Ghats as another pre-monsoon drizzle wafts in. Someone mentions a fresh batch of pazham pori[3] being made in the kitchen. I scramble down the tree house to beat the rush.

[1] Song from Bollywood movie, Rockstar. Translates to: He flew again

[2] Local fare. Rice cake and spicy chick pea curry

[3] Banana Fritters

Mohul Bhowmick is a national-level cricketer, poet, sports journalist, essayist and travel writer from Hyderabad, India. He has published four collections of poems and one travelogue so far. More of his work can be discovered on his website: www.mohulbhowmick.com.

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
Essay

The Saga of a Dictionary: Japanese-Malayalam Affinities

By Dr. KPP Nambiar

Can anyone say for sure, when Japan and Kerala or, for that matter, Japanese and Malayalam languages, came into contact for the first time? No, it is all buried in the chronicles of yore! This is so, in spite of the legendary Bodhidharma travelling from somewhere in the South-West part of India (Kerala?) to China on its way to Japan in AD 520, albeit still disputed!

With the arrival of the Portuguese in Southern Japan from Cochin(?) during AD 1543, there was obviously a possibility of Malayalee priests or laymen including ‘horse trainers’ and cooks, reaching Japan along with Portuguese navigators. But records of such visits are yet to be made public, being either in Portuguese, Chinese or Japanese archives.

However, according to Takako Mulloor, a daughter-in-law from Japan living in Kerala for the past half a century, such obscurities need not always be the case.  She remembers the story of four Japanese youths who happened to visit Quilon and from there to North Kerala, sometime during the reign of Ōtomo Sōrin (1530-1587).

Sorin was one of the few feudal lords of Japan (Daimyo), to embrace Catholicism under the influence of Portuguese missionaries. Originally known as ‘Fujiwara-no-Yoshishige’, he was very powerful at the time, ruling most of Japan. Apparently, he thought it apt to ascertain the ‘truth’ behind the new religion that was spreading fast in his domain. Thus, he is said to have deputed four Japanese youths to Rome and Europe – a new world — to meet the Holy Pope and report back to him.

These youths, after completing their mission successfully, landed in Quilon, on their return voyage. Quilon was a flourishing port of that period. Due to some unknown reasons, they proceeded further north towards Cochin by local crafts, called ‘Kettuvalloms’. Unfortunately, one of them caught malaria and died somewhere on the way and was buried.

According to personal communication from Takako, such records are available with the NHK ( Nippon Hōsō Kyōkai) Brodcasting Corporation of Japan. She remembered that a TV team from NHK had visited Kerala sometime in 1979-80, to make a documentary on these youths and to locate the grave of the one who had lost his life. Takako was their interpreter on this mission, being fluent in Malayalam, Japanese and English.

While I was in Japan from 1965 to 1969, very little information was available in Kerala about Japan. Prior to leaving India, except for some writings by the renowned author MT Vasudevan Nair, the knowledge of Japanese language or culture was scanty.

On joining Osaka University of Foreign Languages (Ōsaka Gaidai), I was fascinated by the general manners of people in and out of the university. They were always kind, polite and willing to help especially students and others from abroad. 

Despite having an advanced ‘Language Laboratory’ and excellent faculty, my language proficiency was mostly strengthened by the people on the street or in the villages of the Osaka suburbs. From the very beginning, I was also struck with an inexplicable quality in their language, with its unaccented delivery and melodious intonations that always reminded me nostalgically, of Malayalam!

Amazingly, both these languages were similar in several respects such as the order of alphabets, vowels and structure of sentences that usually didn’t end in a consonant.

We foreign students had to learn some special topics namely ‘Things Japanese’ that included Flower arrangement (Ikebana); Japanese theatre traditions Kabuki, Bunraku and the oral Rakugo and so on. In general, most of them including folk arts, proverbs, and day to day practices, reminded me of the village life in Kerala.

For instance, ‘banishing’ evil spirits from home was just the same as practiced in villages here. Above all, I could also recognise a few Japanese words more or less similar in meaning and pronunciation, synonymous with Malayalam!

That was when the idea of a Japanese-Malayalam Dictionary germinated in me. But, back in Tokyo University after completing six months’ language course, my attention was mainly focused on research, to earn a doctorate. Still, I was able to hone my Japanese speaking skills by constant interaction with the local people who were always enthusiastic about teaching foreigners, their language.

During the second year in Tokyo, unexpectedly one day, the Indian Embassy in Tokyo called me to enquire if I could teach a few senior Japanese government officials, Malayalam.

Didactic skill being not my forte with Malayalam, my first response was a polite ‘no’, despite the attractive remuneration offered. But the potential pupils would not be dissuaded. Thus started my part-time job as ‘Malayalam Teacher’, in Tokyo. Nearly three years of teaching came to an end on my completing my doctoral research, so as to return home.

Contacts with my erstwhile students were soon reduced to almost nil. One exception was an exchange of communication with a Shyoichi Itoh, who retained his interest in Malayalam as also Kerala. Occasionally, he used to write to me in Malayalam to my great delight, for comments and correction. He had also written some articles on Kerala in Japanese journals, on topics of interest to Japanese readers, based on his experience.

The unique Writers’ Co-operative of Kerala (SPCS) was one of such topics covered. Similarly, at my request and as suggested by the editor M T Vasudevan Nair, he wrote an article for the Malayalam weekly, Mathrubhoomi, focusing on the ritual suicide of the famous Japanese writer Yukio Mishima, in 1970. He had also written a guide book for Japanese students interested in learning Malayalam entitled ‘Malayalam for Beginners’.

Subsequently in 1974, Itoh made a surprise visit to me in Poona where I was working at the time. In fact, he came with the happy news of joining The Tokyo University of Foreign Studies (TUFS) as Professor and Head of the Department of Malayalam. That was a deserving recognition of his dedication to the study of Malayalam. His Malayalam for Beginners is still in use in the University and elsewhere.

My last meeting with Prof. Itoh was during early 1982, when he visited my official residence in Tokyo, with his dear daughter. At that time, I was on a government of India assignment (1981-’85), renewing old contacts as well.

Sadly, Prof. Itoh passed away rather prematurely, in 1998.

After taking superannuation from my employer — an international organisation at that time – at the beginning of the current millennium, I settled down in Cochin, India. Still, the dictionary dream was alive and efforts for bringing Japanese and Malayalam closer, was always a passion!

During the early nineties, despite being immersed in professional activities, I had undertaken the translation of Nobel Laureate Yasunari Kawabata’s [1]novel, Yama no Oto or ‘Sound of the Mountain’ (1971) directly from Japanese to Malayalam as Malayute Shabdam.

Published by Current Books (Trissur) in 1994, the translation was well received by Malayalee readers, resulting in more editions. Considering the fact that such translations are usually based on the English version due to language constrains, my work, directly from the original Japanese, is thought to be the first of its kind, in Malayalam.

However, the dictionary project could not be taken up immediately even after retirement, due to personal preoccupations. Ultimately, work on this long-awaited project was started in 2002, two years after retirement, in right earnest.

An old dictionary of Japanese-English-Japanese format, brought along from my ‘student’ days in Osaka was used as the first reference source. Published in 1950 by the Obunsha Company of Tokyo, it was the only one available for me at that juncture.

Following untiring work, the first draft was ready in two years. It was prepared in the Japanese-English-Malayalam format covering some 2000 foolscap pages and nearly a hundred thousand head-words. The meaning of each word and phrase was given in English and Malayalam with Japanese pronunciation in Malayalam fonts. The entire manuscript was compiled in long hand, without using a typewriter or computer!

Thereafter, attempts to get a competent publisher in Kerala was futile mainly due to the non-availability of Japanese fonts for printing. As a final solution, it was felt necessary to obtain fonts from Japan. However, the impasse was broken finally when my old friend and great historian Prof (Dr.) M.G.S. Narayanan introduced Toshie Awaya, a faculty member of the TUFS, as a conduit for assistance from that university.

While discussing various possibilities with Awaya, it was a pleasant surprise to know that late Prof. Itoh, my ‘old student’, used to be her Malayalam Professor!

Subsequently, on visiting Japan with my wife, a meeting was arranged with the late Indologist and renowned historian, Prof. Noboru Karashima, whom I knew during Tokyo University days. He was living in Kamakura, and Awaye took us to his very impressive residence for discussion.

On that occasion, as he suggested, it was decided we meet Prof. Jun Takashima and Prof. Makoto Minegishi engaged in dictionary-related research, in TUFS. They were attached to the Institute of Languages and Cultures of Asia and Africa (ILCAA). Established in 1964 within TUFS, this institute was engaged in promoting academic exchanges between Japan and other Asian-African nations, having been recognised as competent to carry out that task.

The two Professors during a meeting that ensued in the Institute, were amazed to see the sample manuscript of the dictionary that was shown to them. Firstly, use of ‘long hand’ instead of typing or computer printing, seemed out of this world to them.

Another fact, of more importance, was that the dictionary used as reference source material was outdated. It was pointed out that in view of the fast-evolving nature of languages with the addition of new words incessantly, the earlier work had become redundant.

While agreeing to discard the manuscript, we decided to start afresh using a latest dictionary as source to digitalise the new version with the help of a software developed by Prof. Takashima! It was also agreed that the manuscript thus produced with my data would be arranged in a ‘camera-ready’ copy at the ILCAA, that could be suitably published in Kerala.

After several exchanges of visits from India to Japan and Japan to India followed by umpteen number of corrections and revisions, the promised ‘final’ product was ready by the end of 2018.

Then, it was a matter of finding a qualified publisher. The Kerala State Institute of Languages, Thiruvananthapuram, that readily agreed, was found to be the most appropriate one to accomplish that task, in an excellent manner.

The formal release of the beautifully printed and bound Japanese-Malayalam Dictionary of some 1500 pages was formally carried out in the presence of the ILCAA Professors, by Kerala State Cultural Minister A.K. Balan.  Hideki Asari, Minister and Dy. Chief of Mission, Japanese Embassy, New Delhi and several other dignitaries were present on the occasion in Thiruvananthapuram on March 8, 2019.

With such a happy finale of a hard work put in during some sixteen years of my post-retirement years, the dictionary may represent a milestone in the annals of Japanese-Malayalam affinities.

During the half a century that elapsed from the time of my first landing in Japan and the release of the dictionary, major changes are manifested in the ethos of Japan-Kerala interactions. Exchange of visits by artists, academics, writers and common people, resulted in the publication of several travelogues, translations, studies, and so forth enabling people of these two parts of the world to come closer, as I dreamt in the 1960s.

Several literary works from Japanese were translated into Malayalam by eminent writers from Kerala including M.K. Menon (Vilasini), K. Kunhikrishnan and others!  General studies were also published about Japan, in Malayalam. An in-depth study of Kerala-Japan cultural relations is available in the remarkable book, ‘The Throne of Chrysanthemums’ by the gifted writer and artist, K. Asok Kumar.

In addition to such developments, many professionals from Kerala are now finding gainful employment in Japan, something unheard of a few years back.

In conclusion, it has to be emphasised that the age-old affinity between Japanese and Malayalam needs to be studied afresh by our linguists and historians, in the light of significant evidence emerging from various new studies.

When Rev.(Dr.) Robert Caldwell (1814-1891) postulated the theory of possible origin of Japanese and Tamil languages from the same root, there was no mention of Malayalam, in particular. So also Japanese professors – Akira Fujiwara (1981) and Susumu Ohno (2007) — who revived that hypothesis recently, were also not referring to the Malayalam connection.

Meanwhile, some of our erudite linguists such as Prof. Naduvattom Gopala Krishnan, were able to prove the ancient origin of Malayalam, from the same root as modern Tamil, proving eligibility of both these languages to be included in the ‘Classical Languages’ category, already accepted officially.

According to Prof Gopala Krishnan, the very fact that some ‘Malayalam only’ words were identified in ‘Sangam Literature’ of 300 BCE- 300 ACE, reaffirms its classical position. Even epigraphical evidence from the Edakkal Caves of Wayanad (Malabar), that go back to 6000 BCE, are said to be supportive of ancient origin of Malayalam, together with Tamil.

As such, there is an urgent need for a relook into our perspective of the gamut of Japanese-Malayalam affinities!

[1]  Yasunari Kawabata (1899-1972) was the first Japanese to win a Nobel prize in 1968

Dr. KPP Nambiar, formerly a Consultant/Technocrat at the UN Food and Agriculture Organisation, is the author of many scientific papers and books, including a 1500-page Japanese-Malayalam dictionary.

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