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Borderless, September 2026

Art by Sohana Manzoor

Editorial

Because We Are… …Click here to read.

Translations

Nazrul’s lyrics of Mor Ghumogore Elo Monohor (In my sleep, came the one who won my heart) have been translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.

Chapter 2 of Isa Kamari’s novel, The Throne, has been translated by the author from Malay. We will be running the whole novel as serial through the year. Click here to read.

A Tiny Piece of Homeland, an autobiographical narrative by Kallol Lahiri in Bengali, has been translated by V. Ramaswamy. Click here to read.

Walking Together, a poem, has been written and translated from Korean by Ihlwha Choi. Click here to read.

Swopno (Dream), a poem by Tagore, has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty. Click here to read.

Poetry

Click on the names to read the poems

Mary Pomfret, Ananya S Guha, Jim Bellamy, Veerashetty Aurad, George Freek, T. Manjunath, Ron Pickett, Hassan Ismail Adekunle, SR Inciardi, Subramaniam Cheemalapati, John Zedolik, Shazia Khatoon, Richard D. Houff, Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Poets, Poetry & Rhys Hughes

In Emily’s Ghost, Rhys Hughes gives us an elusive story poem. Click here to read.

Musings/ Slices from Life

Switching Sails for Saddles

Meredith Stephens writes of a camel ride in Australia with photographs by Alan Noble. Click here to read.

We Come with Nothing…

Farouk Gulsara muses on the importance of getting rid of belongings collected over time. Click here to read.

Anchors

Shruti Keskar responds to changes in her life. Click here to read.

Musings of a Copywriter

In  Art, Artist & a Copywriter , Devraj Singh Kalsi visits an art museum. Click here to read.

Essays

Kazi Nazrul Islam: Bringing the Ghazal Home

Shantanu Ray Chaudhuri shows how cultures can intermingle to enrich and create a unique fusion as in Nazrul’s lyrics and style. Click here to read.

Harmonising a Symphony

Yatish Kumar S explores what One World means to him. Click here to read.

Rise, You Magnificent Mess

Charudutta Panigrahi writes with the hope of transcending the darknesses of our times. Click here to read.

Stories

Small Town Journal Entry: The Red Wagon and Red Robin

Jonathon Ferrini tells a poignant story about a child and an injured bird. Click here to read.

The Weight She Carries

Gowher Bhat brings a vignette of a young girl’s life in the hills of Kokernag. Click here to read.

A Family Wedding

Fiona Sinclair writes of family interactions during a wedding. Click here to read.

A Clever Verdict

Naramsetti Umamaheswara Rao gives a story set in Southern India. Click here to read.

Feature

A conversation with Kanupriya Dhingra with a brief introduction to her book, The Sunday Book Bazaar: Delhi’s Book Street and the Making of a Reading Public. Click here to read.

Book Excerpts

An excerpt from Teresa Rehman’s Her Hajj Story: Travel Diaries of Women Pilgrims from Assam. Click here to read.

An excerpt from Shubha Apte’s When the Road Becomes the Teacher. Click here to read.

Book Reviews

Somdatta Mandal reviews Omair Ahmad’s Homecoming. Click here to read.

Mudassar Javed Baryar reviews Saima Begum’s The First Jasmines. Click here to read.

Meenakshi Malhotra reviews Romila Thapar’s Just Being: A Memoir. Click here to read.

Bhaskar Parichha reviews Shanta Gokhale’s Of Ancestors and Friends: A Life with Books. Click here to read.

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

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

Categories
Editorial

Because We Are…

We have started feeling the impact of climate change with a bevy of natural disasters this August. Glacial ice melts, peat fires, haze, rising seas, more storms, warmer climes and fires wiping out greenery are just a few that come to the mind. But, long ago, our ancestors — without the support of technology — survived climate events. Göbekli Tepe (Turkey), an ancient human settlement, more than 11,000 years ago was lush and green. People moved as it turned arid. Humankind was nomadic then. They moved with shifting riverbeds. In Europe, humans survived the last glacial age, about 20,000 years ago. Then, now when we are faced with the reality of climate change, why is it we tremble with trepidation? We even have technology in hand. Ideators and writers like Asimov found solutions. In Caves of Steel (1954), Isaac Asimov had humanity move underground to survive unfriendly surface conditions. He created a huge city underground for humanity while some moved into other planets. Perhaps, the time has come for us to think out of the box. And that is what we hope all of you will join to do in Borderless.

September has thrown up varied content. We have non-fiction which reflects on how changes are a part of human lore and how diverse cultures can co-exist to enrich each other. Shantanu Ray Chaudhuri dwells on this idea while talking of Nazrul’s approach to the Persian Ghazal. He writes, the poet through his adaptation of this form “showed how a culture can absorb another culture without losing itself, and how, in the process, both cultures can become something larger than they were before.” And perhaps from that largeness of thought will emerge a one-world community — that Yatish Kumar S espouses. Maybe from people who think beyond borders, we will find the solution to tackling and adapting to climate change. We have an essay from Charudutta Panigrahi where he attempts to arouse the survival instinct in humans. Young Shruti Keskar writes of how she finds a new lease to life by accepting and adapting to changes while Farouk Guslara philosophises on living and possessions. We have Meredith Stephens adding to the vivacity of non-fiction with a recount of her sailing adventures with wonderful photographs by Alan Noble. And Devraj Singh Kalsi brings in sardonic humour with his piece on art and artists.

Humour is woven into poetry with ‘Emily’s Ghost‘ by Rhys Hughes. We have poetry on rain and silences by Ananya S Guha and SR Inciardi. Ron Pickett explores nature as does T Manjunath. Diverse themes resonate in poems by Jim Bellamy, Veerashetty Aurad, George Freek, Hassan Ismail Adekunle, Mary Pomfret, Subramaniam Cheemalapati, John Zedolik, Shazia Khatoon, Richard D. Houff and Ryan Quinn Flanagan. We have a translation of a Korean poem by Ihlwha Choi that reflects how putting aside differences and walking together can make for a happier world, thus reflecting themes from our non-fiction section. Perhaps, the best illustration of this idea is in Nazrul’s Bengali lyrics translated by Professor Fakrul Alam.

A story-poem by Tagore, Swopno (Dream), has also been brought to us in English. An interesting memoir by Kallol Lahiri centring around his childhood in Bengal has been translated by V Ramaswamy. Translations offer fiction from Isa Kamari. He has transcribed in English the second chapter of his Malay novel, The Throne. The novel focussing on psychological torment is being serialised in Borderless.

Our stories trot around the world with a narrative about a wedding by Fiona Sinclair. While she talks of a world where the basics of life are taken for granted, Gowher Bhat brings to us an account about a young girl who has to work hard to have her daily needs met. Jonathon B Ferrini on the other hand shares a tale about a young child, using the epistolary technique. Naramsetti Umamaheswara Rao narrates a tale of two brothers.

In this issue, we seem to have gathered a number of reviews and excerpts based on memoirs. Teresa Rehman has shared women pilgrim’s narratives in Her Hajj Story: Travel Diaries of Women Pilgrims from Assam and in the excerpt we carry, we have her reflecting on how she gathered these gems. The other excerpt is from Shubha Apte’s memoir, When the Road Becomes the Teacher.

Bhaskar Parichha has reviewed a rare book-centric memoir by Shanta Gokhale. He tells us, “Of Ancestors and Friends: A Life with Books is an unusual kind of literary memoir. It is neither a conventional autobiography nor a conventional work of criticism. Instead, it occupies an intimate space between the two, tracing a life’s intellectual and emotional history through books.” Meenakshi Malhotra has discussed the renowned historian Romila Thapar’s memoir, Just Being, a book that reflects not only her own journey but the freedom and outreach that privilege and capability can bestow on women in South Asia. On the other hand, Mudassar Javed Baryar refers to the plight of birongonas, war time widows during the 1971 conflict that birthed Bangladesh, while discussing Saima Begum’s The First Jasmines. He reflects: “Begum’s profound innovation is to turn the narrative back not just to these women’s trauma but to their ‘humanity, resilience and heart’, depicting them as ‘architects of family and community’.” Somdatta Mandal has praised Omair Ahmad’s novel, Homecoming.

We have also featured Kanuprya Dhingra, who has written a book on a unique book bazaar. In a candid exchange, she tells us her non-fiction, The Sunday Book Bazaar: Delhi’s Book Street and the Making of a Reading Public, “is for the reader in Singapore, or Mumbai, or London, or Lahore who has their own version of this informal, unruly, necessary space and sees it reflected here. It is a book about books, the people who read them, and the people who make that possible…the book is for everyone.” It’s an interesting read almost inviting you to stroll into the serendipitous democratic reading space full of local colour and stories.

We would like to thank not only Dhingra but all our contributors for their wonderful work. Huge thanks to the fabulous Borderless team for their input and to Sohana Manzoor for her artwork. Thank you all — without all of you and our wonderful readers, it would be difficult to have a journal. In the spirit of ubuntu, heartfelt thanks.

Do pause by our September content’s page. And let’s look forward to the hope for happier climes and times.

Best wishes,

Mitali Chakravarty

borderlessjournal.com

CLICK HERE TO ACCESS THE CONTENTS FOR THE SEPTEMBER 2026 ISSUE

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Essay

Harmonising a Symphony

By Yathish Kumar S

Somewhere between the borders drawn on maps and the divisions carved into human minds, an ancient truth has been quietly waiting to be remembered: the world is one. Not one in the trivial sense of sharing a planet, but one in the deeper sense that every human being, every culture, every living thing is woven from the same fabric of existence. The recognition of oneness, the understanding that “I” and “the other” are not fundamentally separate. It’s not merely a spiritual ideal but the single most practical foundation for building a happy, peaceful, and sustainable world.

Division, by contrast, is the root of nearly every form of suffering humanity has inflicted upon itself: war, exploitation, prejudice, ecological destruction, and the quiet loneliness that plagues even the most prosperous societies. If the world is truly one, then healing it does not require inventing something new; it requires remembering something old.

Human beings are born into a world that immediately teaches them to see in categories. We learn our name, our family, our nation, our religion, our race and with each label comes an invisible boundary. These boundaries are useful for organising social life, but they become dangerous when we mistake them for ultimate reality. We begin to believe that our group’s survival, prosperity, or pride depends on being separate from, and often superior to  another group. This is the illusion of separation, and it is the psychological seed from which most human conflict grows.

History offers endless evidence of what happens when this illusion hardens into ideology. Colonial empires justified centuries of exploitation by convincing themselves that colonised peoples were fundamentally different, lesser, and therefore fair game for domination. Wars have been fought over religious identity, national identity, and racial identity each side certain that the other was so essentially different that violence became not just permissible but necessary. Even in peacetime, this illusion shows up in economic systems that treat the poor as disposable, in social hierarchies that treat certain lives as worthless, and in environmental policies that treat nature as a resource to be extracted rather than a body of which we are a living part.

Yet science itself has quietly dismantled the illusion of separation even as culture continues to reinforce it. Physics tells us that everything in the universe emerged from the same cosmic origin and is composed of the same fundamental particles, endlessly recombined. Biology tells us that all life on Earth shares common ancestry, that the boundary between “self” and “environment” is porous. We breathe the same air, drink water that has cycled through oceans and clouds for millions of years, and carry within our bodies more microbial cells than human ones. Ecology tells us that ecosystems are not collections of separate organisms competing in isolation, but interdependent webs where the health of one part depends on the health of the whole. Even neuroscience suggests that the boundaries of the self are far less fixed than we assume, shaped by relationship, language, and culture from the moment of birth. Modern knowledge, in other words, converges with ancient wisdom traditions on a single point: separation is a useful intellectual map, but it’s not the territory.

Long before modern science offered its evidence, the world’s spiritual and philosophical traditions arrived at the same insight through direct contemplation of experience. In the Indian civilisational tradition, the Upanishads declare “Ekam Sat, Vipra Bahudha Vadanti” — Truth is one, though the wise call it by many names. The Vedantic vision of “Tat Tvam Asi” — “Thou art That”, points to the identity of the individual self (Atman) with the universal self (Brahman). The Bhagavad Gita speaks of the wise seeing “the same in all beings,” neither elevating nor diminishing anyone based on external distinctions.

This is not a uniquely Indian insight. In Buddhist philosophy, the doctrine of dependent origination (pratityasamutpada) teaches that nothing exists independently; everything arises in relationship to everything else. The Christian mystical tradition speaks of all humanity as members of one body. Sufi poets, like Rumi, wrote of the lover and the beloved as ultimately indistinguishable, using the language of romantic union to point toward a deeper metaphysical unity. Indigenous traditions across the Americas, Africa, Australia, and Asia have long understood the human being as inseparable from land, ancestors and community, a relational selfhood utterly different from the isolated individualism that modern economic life often assumes.

The philosophical concept of Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam — “the world is one family” — captures this spirit precisely. It does not deny the difference; it does not ask us to erase the beautiful diversity of language, custom, cuisine and belief that makes human culture so rich. Instead, it asks us to hold that diversity the way a family holds the differences among its members: as variation within belonging, not as grounds for exclusion. A family does not stop being one family because its members have different tastes, temperaments, or talents. Diversity and oneness are not opposites;

If oneness is true at the level of physics, biology, and spiritual insight, it also turns out to be true at the level of practical psychology. Modern research into human wellbeing consistently finds that happiness is not primarily a function of individual accumulation of  wealth, status, possessions, but of the quality of our relationships and our sense of connection to something larger than ourselves. People who feel isolated, even when materially wealthy, report lower life satisfaction than those embedded in strong communities, regardless of income. This is not a coincidence. Human beings evolved as intensely social creatures; our nervous systems are wired for connection, and chronic disconnection registers in the body as a form of stress that erodes both mental and physical health.

A worldview built on separation is, in this light, self-defeating. It tells us to compete rather than cooperate, to accumulate rather than to give, to defend rather than to open. It produces short-term gains for individuals or nations at the cost of long-term wellbeing for everyone, including the “winners.” A world of walled nations and gated communities is not a happy world, even for those inside the walls, because the psychological cost of maintaining separation, vigilance, suspicion, fear of the other is corrosive to the very peace it claims to protect.

Oneness, by contrast, offers a coherent foundation for sustainable happiness because it aligns our inner orientation with the actual structure of reality. When we act from the understanding that another person’s suffering is not truly separate from our own wellbeing, compassion becomes not a moral obligation imposed from outside but a natural expression of clear seeing. Generosity stops feeling like sacrifice and starts feeling like common sense, because what benefits the whole ultimately benefits the part. This is why every contemplative tradition that has taken oneness seriously has also produced ethics centred on compassion, non-violence and service not as rules to be obeyed, but as the natural behaviour of someone who has stopped mistaking the part for the whole.

Nowhere is the practical urgency of this vision more visible than in the ecological crisis now facing humanity. Climate change, biodiversity loss, pollution, and resource depletion are not separate problems to be solved by separate nations acting in isolation; they are symptoms of a single underlying error, the belief that human beings stand apart from and above the natural world, entitled to extract from it without consequence. A river does not recognise a national border; a warming atmosphere does not respect a treaty line. The planet itself is demonstrating, in the most literal and consequential way possible, that separation was always an illusion. What happens in one place is now measurably connected to what happens everywhere else.

The only responses capable of matching the scale of this crisis are those built on a recognition of interdependence: shared responsibility, shared sacrifice, and shared benefit. Nations that continue to act as though their own prosperity can be secured at the expense of the planet’s shared systems are, in effect, still living inside the illusion of separation and the consequences of that illusion are now measured in extreme weather, mass displacement, and ecological collapse. The idea of ‘one world’, one that understood its own unity, would treat the atmosphere, the oceans, and the biosphere as commons to be tended together rather than resources to be seized competitively. This is not utopian idealism; it is simply what the physical reality of an interconnected planet requires of a species intelligent enough to notice it.

It is not enough to affirm oneness as an abstract truth; it must be translated into the texture of daily life and public policy. On the personal level, this means cultivating the practice of seeing beyond the labels that separate us, learning to recognise our shared humanity even if  language, religion, or politics differ sharply from our own. It means choosing curiosity over contempt when we encounter differences, and remembering that every person we meet is fighting a battle we cannot fully see, shaped by circumstances as real to them as ours are to us.

On the social level, it means building institutions that express interdependence rather than domination: economic systems that measure success not only by growth but by the wellbeing of the most vulnerable; educational systems that teach children to see themselves as citizens of the world as much as citizens of a nation; media systems that resist the temptation to profit from outrage and division, and instead cultivate genuine understanding across difference. It means recognising that international cooperation on climate, public health, migration and peace  is not a diminishment of national identity but the mature expression of a species that has finally understood its own unity.

At the spiritual level, it means returning, in whatever language or tradition speaks to us, to practices that quieten the noise of the separate self: meditation, prayer, service, silence, art and honest self-reflection. These practices do not manufacture oneness; they simply remove the obstacles of fear, greed, resentment, pride  that prevent us from seeing what was true all along. A world of individuals who have done this inner work, even imperfectly, becomes a fundamentally different world from one populated by people who have never questioned the walls their minds have built.

Skeptics will rightly point out that talk of oneness can become an excuse for erasing real injustice, a comfortable spiritual bypass that tells the powerful and the powerless to simply “see themselves as one” while existing inequalities remain untouched. This objection deserves to be taken seriously. Genuine oneness is not a call to ignore difference or injustice; it is, if anything, the opposite. To recognise another person as truly not separate from oneself is to feel their suffering as one’s own concern, which makes it impossible to remain indifferent to exploitation, discrimination, or cruelty. A oneness that excuses injustice is not oneness at all; it is merely separation in disguise. True oneness demands action precisely because it refuses to let us hide behind the excuse that “their” suffering is not “our” problem.

Others will argue that difference and competition are natural, even necessary, drivers of progress, and that a world without boundaries would collapse into sameness or chaos. But oneness, properly understood, is not the demand for sameness. It does not ask nations to dissolve, cultures to merge, or individuals to abandon their particular gifts and identities. It asks only that these particularities be held within a deeper recognition of shared belonging, the way notes in a symphony remain distinct while contributing to a single piece of music. Diversity is not the opposite of oneness; the erasure of relationships is.

The claim that “the world is one” is not a slogan for a greeting card or a convenient sentiment for moments of crisis. It is, on the evidence of physics, biology, ecology, psychology and the converging insight of nearly every major school of philosophy in human history, simply an accurate description of reality, one that human culture has spent millennia obscuring behind walls of ego, power, and tribe. The suffering these walls have produced is not incidental to human history; it is, in large part, human history. War, exploitation, ecological collapse and the quiet epidemic of loneliness in even the wealthiest societies are all, at root, symptoms of forgetting what was never actually true. We were ever truly not separate to begin with.

To build a happier world, then, is not primarily a matter of inventing new technologies, new economic systems, or new political ideologies, though all of these may help. It is primarily a matter of remembering individually and collectively that the boundary between self and other has always been thinner than it appeared. When enough people remember this, compassion stops being an effort and becomes an instinct; cooperation stops being a strategy and becomes an expression of common sense; and the happiness we have spent so long chasing through accumulation and competition becomes available, quietly, as the natural condition of a mind no longer at war with itself.

The world is one.

Living as though we know this is, perhaps, the only path to a world worth living in.

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Yathish Kumar S is a postgraduate student and a volunteer at the One World One Family Foundation. He is deeply interested in promoting the values of unity, compassion and global responsibility. His vision is to create awareness about the importance of recognizing that we all belong to one world and therefore, share a collective responsibility to contribute to the happiness, well-being and welfare of all people.

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

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

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