tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57130261531399974372024-03-12T20:32:15.814-04:00Do you see?Because seeing is believing...Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger206125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5713026153139997437.post-17163032931201596302011-01-31T20:00:00.007-05:002011-01-31T20:28:35.473-05:00FOOTPRINTS IN THE BAJRA a "first in Indian writing in English"<div>INDIAN LITERATURE (IL, 259), the flagship journal of Sahitya Akademi (national academy of letters, India) recently published a nice review to my book "FOOTPRINTS IN THE BAJRA". The book completed one year on Jan. 20 and so, this bit came as a good gift.</div><div><br /></div><div>The attempt made by FOOTPRINTS, said the reviewer, "it seems, is a first in Indian writing in English and must be considered very seriously..."! Nice.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 15px; "> </span></div><div>There is no online version. So here are not so good jpegs of the scans:</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6BkInTvQDBwIzoiqEj3CFHg7gf66fjrYRGRIx44aJXLnphc_fPXiehiFP0VuwXhcDfn08xxeYvvb0j02TkSAKmP6owuAgiKPFajsq1KKVQFAGjp9EYcdAEyrcuyyORnfm9fjO3TpnREa_/s1600/IL-Review1+%25281%2529.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 283px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6BkInTvQDBwIzoiqEj3CFHg7gf66fjrYRGRIx44aJXLnphc_fPXiehiFP0VuwXhcDfn08xxeYvvb0j02TkSAKmP6owuAgiKPFajsq1KKVQFAGjp9EYcdAEyrcuyyORnfm9fjO3TpnREa_/s400/IL-Review1+%25281%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568523862652658258" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLRMucmjcelSYJRW8AiYpQOjxFtZgwyEQMrIykkKNX6xQlsitWr-N7yJ1E9DrMnbdxSpfpdceGGBTGANde4ypkLv1SuIqIIrvbLibvRwMge5jw7AXZ9B87tQG0VFbt73jVuOOUpFamVlKG/s1600/IL-Review+2+%25281%2529.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 283px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLRMucmjcelSYJRW8AiYpQOjxFtZgwyEQMrIykkKNX6xQlsitWr-N7yJ1E9DrMnbdxSpfpdceGGBTGANde4ypkLv1SuIqIIrvbLibvRwMge5jw7AXZ9B87tQG0VFbt73jVuOOUpFamVlKG/s400/IL-Review+2+%25281%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568523564383242098" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div>But good people are more in number in this world. So, here is a link to <b><u><a href="http://www.sabornaroychowdhury.com/39422.html">Saborna Roychowdhury's blog</a></u></b> where she posted the pdfs of the same review. The two tiny links above the article are those pdfs, yes.<div><br /></div><div>While at all this, I also urge you to read another review of FOOTPRINTS on <b><u><a href="http://hansda-s-s.blogspot.com/2010/12/fills-in-lacuna-my-view-on-nabina-dass.html">Hansda Sowvendra Sekhar's blog</a></u></b>. Very detailed, very astute.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>You should check out both the blogs for more literary fare. Good stuff for new or 'old' writers.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5713026153139997437.post-33524260129413022602010-12-05T23:38:00.003-05:002010-12-05T23:49:50.555-05:00Sketch Poems in FULL OF CROW<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif1qYaeITaAZCTfaz-bId4mRoHZ9P5oYwLd2CQU3q_N20LxJX-9Nkz6P9JU1DGD-fhIMHqvKj-fd0ZLb17T0uK4fpUsLysCorNOV5fH3P7KH8nh4d9saKzGvYJoumMIfJpXk57_FF2Mg3k/s1600/small-microw4ebookicon-202x300.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 202px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif1qYaeITaAZCTfaz-bId4mRoHZ9P5oYwLd2CQU3q_N20LxJX-9Nkz6P9JU1DGD-fhIMHqvKj-fd0ZLb17T0uK4fpUsLysCorNOV5fH3P7KH8nh4d9saKzGvYJoumMIfJpXk57_FF2Mg3k/s400/small-microw4ebookicon-202x300.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547426762630081842" /></a><br />If you haven't yet, go check out this cool online journal called <b><a href="http://www.fullofcrow.com/microw/2010/11/microwwinter2010/#more-58">FULL OF CROW</a></b>, Winter issue 2010, <b>VOID</b>. Lots of good writing -- both poetry and fiction -- and beautiful sketches.<div><br /></div><div>I have three sketch poems that editor Michael Solender loved (he did, I know!). You will too, hopefully. See them in the downloadable journal <a href="http://www.fullofcrow.com/microw/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/MiCrowWinter3ebook1.pdf">here</a>.</div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5713026153139997437.post-70968022373534502442010-11-24T00:31:00.005-05:002010-11-24T00:47:57.930-05:00Reviews by me -- Sudeep Sen and Abha Iyengar's collections<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6N9B3uKfL_ZBqLLpRtxMNJLLKKxnsyQNGno042Ubtg1GjqfIQtPW6Ff-nCBZ3TFihUfIMMADvyd5J722oEyxj7dsVBuYqv1J95RO4-V9SumtfS0ojZow8QoyYMiz5Xz8ewU2WA2BLPsc2/s1600/pf+music.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 225px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6N9B3uKfL_ZBqLLpRtxMNJLLKKxnsyQNGno042Ubtg1GjqfIQtPW6Ff-nCBZ3TFihUfIMMADvyd5J722oEyxj7dsVBuYqv1J95RO4-V9SumtfS0ojZow8QoyYMiz5Xz8ewU2WA2BLPsc2/s400/pf+music.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542987873868878482" /></a><br />Two poetry collection reviews of mine are up on <b>Mascara Literary Review</b> and <b>Pirene's Fountain, </b>both very sophisticated literary journals.<div><br /></div><div>Sudeep Sen's collection of translation poetry "Aria" is an astute piece of work. The range covers from Hindi, Bengali and Urdu poetry to Hebrew, Greek and Persian. It's been a long time that I enjoyed poetry in translation, delicate work that made me want to read the original and marvel at the music of the created work. Read the review <b><a href="http://mascarareview.com/article/297/Nabina_Das_reviews__Aria__translations_by_Sudeep_Sen/">HERE</a></b>.</div><div><br /></div><div>Also, I reviewed Abha Iyengar's first poetry collection "Yearnings". Abha writes with the ease of a shaman or a clever lover, adept at splitting open emotions of her subjects and planting her own desires within the lines. Read this review <b><a href="http://www.pirenesfountain.com/reviews-etc/reviews.html#n1">HERE</a></b>.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5713026153139997437.post-28549771190498665532010-10-24T22:57:00.004-04:002010-10-24T23:09:55.420-04:00Featured poem in "Durable Goods 28"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL-LoxBco7vrj7mXuwI6vydKXIn2gX_tnpBHOx8pzvwe-JWQe1rEANyZI08-uCoT2yn9S8DRHAfjfqKE7h4M1Ipoe4-zo-dlGHjNEahBKpyLncWElDIzAEYzQ5RMrGyRqCIm1c_K1wOoBu/s1600/decor+-+Copy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 334px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL-LoxBco7vrj7mXuwI6vydKXIn2gX_tnpBHOx8pzvwe-JWQe1rEANyZI08-uCoT2yn9S8DRHAfjfqKE7h4M1Ipoe4-zo-dlGHjNEahBKpyLncWElDIzAEYzQ5RMrGyRqCIm1c_K1wOoBu/s400/decor+-+Copy.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531815101111370050" /></a><br />EVENING THINGS is featured in <b>Durable Goods</b> issue 28, published by Aleathia Drehmer, poet and publisher from Upstate NY.<div><br /></div><div>I think a lot about the home we left behind in Guwahati, Assam. My parents moved from there, and with it a large chunk of our childhood and growing up years.</div><div><br /></div><div>DG 28 is only in print. Read the poem below:</div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"><b><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; color:black">Evening Things</span></b><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"><b><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; color:black">By Nabina Das</span></b><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";color:black"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; ">5 p.m. The trees invite blue china clouds</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; color:black">They forget the sun cannot light the lamp<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; color:black">5 p.m. You are drinking tea with honey<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; color:black">Inside a penumbra by the Radhachuda tree<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; color:black">You can wait, then bring the oil lamp out<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; color:black">Circumnavigate the non-existent tulaxi<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; color:black">The Namghar’s 5 p.m. silence will soon erupt<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; color:black">Its tranced kortaal dueting with the khol<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; color:black">5 p.m. You will know that time has struck<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; color:black">Gooseberry dreaming the shadow of a home.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; ">NOTE: I realize there are some words in the poem that are not from the English language and hence need explaining. However, I don't like giving glossary.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align: justify;line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; color:black"><i>Image from my photo album</i></span></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5713026153139997437.post-27186554135250778232010-10-15T20:28:00.005-04:002010-10-15T20:40:18.063-04:00Non-fiction Piece published in BAP Quarterly<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk_PDg7f5HWNsVRfS2fLW42wrX9a3NvjSdQGVISqTr-Ss5F1k2i0kjMg5O6nDo3W9PAy1_TnyaI3BTqUfuSc8ZPKEHWDXtIqQQnuxZeAPnFRo7aHxdHGHoaLef7d6ZGxsyqmGKC4EiEqZC/s1600/cover_worship-me.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk_PDg7f5HWNsVRfS2fLW42wrX9a3NvjSdQGVISqTr-Ss5F1k2i0kjMg5O6nDo3W9PAy1_TnyaI3BTqUfuSc8ZPKEHWDXtIqQQnuxZeAPnFRo7aHxdHGHoaLef7d6ZGxsyqmGKC4EiEqZC/s400/cover_worship-me.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528436844938028738" /></a><br />When I wrote it down recently, I thought this non-fiction piece of mine read more like a story. It is one no doubt, considering how dramatic real life could get for some people. And I find myself going back to such themes again and again, whether in essay or poetry -- the quest for defining borders, the urge to un-map oneself and the discovery that confines are within our own minds.<div><br /></div><div><b>THE WATER GIVER</b> is published in the current issue of <a href="http://www.bapq.net/">Bosphorus Art Project Quarterly</a>. The theme for this edition is "New York City". Exciting, innit!</div><div><br /></div><div>Here's an excerpt:</div><div><br /></div><div></div><blockquote><div>"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri, Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; ">He had seen us through the crowd. Lunch time. A 15-course buffet and the smell of mustard oil I cannot miss. Jackson Heights is an ant hill of colors – white, brown, black. White faces, black arms, brown legs. The United Colors of Humanity flag flapping in the glee of an autumn New York breeze of 2007.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri, Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; ">He has worked under the roof of this un-glitzy Bangladeshi restaurant for decades now. He has hummed <em>Amar Shonar Bangla</em> in the beginning over cauldrons of boiling oil or milk, dreamed of dazzling green paddy, and then slowly forgotten everything. His education was meager, not enough to earn him a stable job back home in a newborn nation. But the money to the middleman “bhai” was just what he could pay for a better life as a New Yorkistani. After all, there was no family, no ties. Why even stick around to be prodded by the police and hear comments from the neighborhood <em>maulavi</em> for not having grown his beard long enough?</span>"</div></blockquote><div></div><div>Hope you have fun reading it. For the direct link, go <b><a href="http://www.bapq.net/fall-10/nonfiction_the-water-giver.asp">here</a></b>.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Image: BAP Q cover "Worship Me" by Farras Abdelnour</i></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5713026153139997437.post-42994114984194862322010-10-07T21:52:00.006-04:002010-10-07T23:27:56.485-04:00"Redness" wins a prize<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEkI7AlG9oJr_guVrXkeXzE7ktaYYhLwweb-3Ci3R7DLw33SfXO2Sca1S4DON4P2c5EuKR3oMXJuSuuJNZtujCW5RPsW0HnuzlNr-vFnM_162GPJaKCHz73If9FwKJfLzLd1R0YutaM42X/s1600/red-flag-abstract-expression-pop-art.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 293px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEkI7AlG9oJr_guVrXkeXzE7ktaYYhLwweb-3Ci3R7DLw33SfXO2Sca1S4DON4P2c5EuKR3oMXJuSuuJNZtujCW5RPsW0HnuzlNr-vFnM_162GPJaKCHz73If9FwKJfLzLd1R0YutaM42X/s400/red-flag-abstract-expression-pop-art.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525490564504884722" /></a><br />It was nice to know I was awarded the 1st prize for my entry "<a href="http://www.unisun4writers.com/winners-2009-10.pdf">REDNESS</a>" by the <a href="http://www.unisun4writers.com/home.php">UNISUN-Reliance poetry contest</a>. That poem is special to me.<div><br /></div><div>Here's the text:</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, helvetica, sans-serif; "><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">Redness</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; "> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">The summer storm bloomed on an eastern sky</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">the west looked red</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">roses of anger heaped on a bush stuck in its thorns</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">smarting faces, hatred.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">**</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; "> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">You were watching <i>Caché</i> in the living room TV</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">blood squirting from slashed up necks</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">headless chickens scattered in an ungainly race</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">backwards, forward, again back.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">**</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; "> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">My finger touched a tomato skin shedding light</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">of a red ink, darklike –</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">wasn’t this what my father’s revolutionary friends</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">brought in, a newspaper wrapped tight</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">**</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; "> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">So not everyone would know how words tumble</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">red and angry on our roads?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">I thought I saw a word flutter open again, a hue,</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">not a name or mundane things like odes.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">**</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; "> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">You thought we’d lost our tongues, our attitude</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">piled under the redness of shame</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; font-size: 11pt; font-family: sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">peripheral to storms, deaths, news of constant ruse</span></p><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">and I realized, a color doesn’t need a name.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, helvetica, sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; "><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, helvetica, sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; ">(By the way, someone asked with chagrin why I enter contests and I said, "To pay my bills". That is partly true. I want to break even one day and take a cruise somewhere. Is that bad? At least I don't want my poetry to be just read in tiny groups that'll only say "awww". I want poetry to sit in the bazaar and yell and gesture at passers-by... Ah, okay.)</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, helvetica, sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; "><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, helvetica, sans-serif; "><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt; "><i>Image from Internet: pop art</i></span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5713026153139997437.post-92077660330681710392010-09-16T14:27:00.007-04:002010-09-17T00:36:05.985-04:00Director Onir on "Footprints..."!!<div><div>It makes me immensely happy to receive this comment below on my novel "<a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Anticlock-films-pvtltd/111208782230447?v=desc#!/pages/Footprints-in-the-Bajra/282439543306?ref=ts">Footprints in the Bajra</a>" from one of the best known young directors of Indian Cinema. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Onir">Onir Anirban</a> is definitely the most pertinent new face of film making in the Subcontinent today. The <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Am_(film)">I AM</a> series directed by Onir promises to break new grounds in cinematic approaches.</div><div><br /></div><div>I met Onir first at Cornell University, Ithaca, NY, in 2009, where he showed us the work-in-progress version of his first I AM series -- "Omar". Soft-spoken and passionate about the topics at hand that he is, the film came across as a new take on LGBT issues, at once sympathetic and questioning.</div><div><br /></div><div>I thought it would be rather unfortunate if I did not send my book to Onir. He's a busy director, and this is the only way I could send him a gift! So, this is what he said, after reading "Footprints...":</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-size: 13px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; "><span class="UIStory_Message"><blockquote>"Finally managed to read Footprints in the Bajra. Compelling reading, lovely drama and great texture. Enjoyed reading very much. Thank you for giving me your book to read."</blockquote></span></h3></span></div><div><br /></div><div>Yes, I am happy!</div><div><br /></div><div>Here's a poster -- I AM OMAR -- from Onir's new series:</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk1oTuwzsP76FbNJm-S6e3AVv-3XZIeIOgXzJGyXnuUqW5PNb6Zh4nPV0Rjj8KYIk1cRwrN8mGD8yulCIXFrBkw2EpiNPsvhJ7yosxyapBIhpZYYdN1otWz_x39Lm1fx2jo2_8tRO24REL/s1600/Omar.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 279px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk1oTuwzsP76FbNJm-S6e3AVv-3XZIeIOgXzJGyXnuUqW5PNb6Zh4nPV0Rjj8KYIk1cRwrN8mGD8yulCIXFrBkw2EpiNPsvhJ7yosxyapBIhpZYYdN1otWz_x39Lm1fx2jo2_8tRO24REL/s400/Omar.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517584140919527122" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5713026153139997437.post-26986496594096382262010-09-14T23:58:00.002-04:002010-09-15T00:02:04.597-04:00Waiting on the MFAWhat's going on these days? Well, I am in an MFA Poetry program at Rutgers-Camden. Two poetry workshops, one fiction workshop and one pedagogy class. Plus teaching two sections. That pretty much sums up my life. Writing? I am writing, a little bit. Revising more because i want to take the advantage of my workshops for all the pile of writing I have done for the last three years.<div><br /></div><div>Sitting in my residence hall room where I share the kitchen with two Law students, I can only wonder what new writing will emerge from my pen. Others are watching, and so am I.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5713026153139997437.post-16292381133800476272010-09-05T23:00:00.003-04:002010-09-05T23:03:25.360-04:00"Footprints" review in Business World magazine<div>Another review appeared in May this year in the top Indian biz mag <a href="http://www.businessworld.in/bw/2010_05_17_Life_In_Red.html">BUSINESS WORLD</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>"T<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; color: rgb(35, 31, 32); line-height: 16px; ">his is bitter-sweet, if a rather longish tale of a modern-day Maoist revolution and the seeds of destruction and betrayal that lie embedded in it.</span></div><div><a href="http://www.businessworld.in/bw/2010_05_17_Life_In_Red.html">http://www.businessworld.in/bw/2010_05_17_Life_In_Red.html</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5713026153139997437.post-49418083774863423872010-08-17T11:29:00.008-04:002010-10-27T00:01:02.404-04:00SURFACES Poetry Reading & Chapbook Launch<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2yZo6NKnrlxxqJqhRjmWOZzjwKw9HCVlB6tLSwkkJWhCWFnR_H5KV2Y7zQnJc18CzLCk8SY24GJuKACjJ-DXMBNwZ-Po9zBZ4qe4IHI_y_PW4-IMT7yisj_nwKyWJ9b2OWTrtgCdSCPw/s1600/nitoo3.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2yZo6NKnrlxxqJqhRjmWOZzjwKw9HCVlB6tLSwkkJWhCWFnR_H5KV2Y7zQnJc18CzLCk8SY24GJuKACjJ-DXMBNwZ-Po9zBZ4qe4IHI_y_PW4-IMT7yisj_nwKyWJ9b2OWTrtgCdSCPw/s400/nitoo3.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506408668331777346" /></a><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Below are some of the poems I read on Aug 9, at Sarai Cafe, CSDS, Delhi, for the </span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">SURFACES Poetry Reading with Three English and Three Hindi Poets & Chapbook Launch</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> (moderated and curated by Vivek Narayanan).</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Apart from the couple that have been published, the rest have been written during my Associate Fellowship at Sarai-CSDS, 2010. The residency spanned July-August. The poem "AHALYA'S WISH" is included in the SURFACES chapbook, a handmade art collection boasting the work of co-fellows of mine.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman'; font-size: medium; ">**</span></p><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></i></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><h2 style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Tea with Reza<o:p></o:p></span></span></h2> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">By Nabina Das<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Little glasses warmed by steam<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Posing ballerinas pirouetting in silver holders<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Glassy eyes too from steaming tears in<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Tea-colored eyes<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The kettle whistled Reza said, like<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The train whizzing past his little<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Iranian township that sang<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <h3 style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Khoshbakhtam, khoshbakhtam</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">!<o:p></o:p></span></span></h3> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Where poplars grew tall, very tall<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Reza’s arms ceramic and<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Bent bow-like from his time in jail<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">In a dark cell where he wasn’t given<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Books to read or<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Newspapers but just lashes and blows<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Now and then for reading Marx<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">At the university<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">His tealeaf eyelids brimming up<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">With that memory …<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">He handed us glasses on silver holders<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Held them tender, candles during prayer<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The Revolution was not for my<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Heart and soul, Reza cried<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">O my dear comrades, O my friends…<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I came to be with you for freedom<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">And manifestos and democracy<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Talks showering morning’s calm<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">On poplars I loved, my friends loved<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Friends who were lost and gone<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">For singing </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The Internationale</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Their arms bent too, cracked ceramic<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Backs scarred, resting in unknown graves<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Sometimes letters from prison came<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Once a year, till they stopped, mentioning<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The smell of tea freshly brewed<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Just like this, verses of aroma<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Coiling over us during our tea<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">With Reza one nineties evening…<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">He still waits in exile.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">First published in Mad Swirl</span></span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"></span></span></i></b><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></i></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">**</span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Waiting on the News<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">By Nabina Das<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Come Aitaa<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">we must discuss before time if we want radishes in this year’s garden<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">green gourds climbing a common fence, sure, you can have some<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">also coriander to sprinkle on the </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">pitika</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> for a late afternoon meal<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">bhoot-jolokia</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> that no one will eat, the army fancies it now we know<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">the newspapers have it all, the tea shops get their fortune told<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Come Aitaa<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Let’s talk about the one-legged pigs and calves born this year<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">the ducks that won’t stop chasing the hens even if you yelled,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">about the corner-shop Bipin I’m not sure, his ma died crying<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">for he was gone in the forest, they say, to become an insurgent,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">but the mother said… to find the old dog Gela of the mangy coat--<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">to those stories Aitaa, my answers are slippery feet on oil<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Come Aitaa<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Let’s walk down the paddy lanes just till the town bus stand<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">While you wait for aunt Moromi; I’ll tell you why Aslam won’t sell<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">His fish cheap even if you swear on the hungry-mouthed floods<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">forsaken huts and the fungal pots pans we won’t ever throw away<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">but if you wonder why the one-eyed Harekrishna didn’t return<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">from the big market of Ganeshguri, no ID, no whereabouts<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Aitaa, I swear on my loveless luck I’d have to invent a new fairytale.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <h1><i><span style="text-decoration:none; text-underline:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">This work is supported by Sarai-CSDS, Delhi, under an Associate Fellowship</span></span></span></i><span style="text-decoration:none;text-underline: none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></h1><div><i><span style="text-decoration:none; text-underline:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></i></div><div><i><span style="text-decoration:none; text-underline:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">**</span></span></span></i></div> <b><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></u></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><h1><span style="text-decoration:none;text-underline:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The Woman from Both Sides<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></h1> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">By Nabina Das<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">When they came home they praised<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Her for her naked room, the swiped floor<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Kantha</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">-stitched cushion covers and a neat<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Tulsi plant doing a </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">dhamail</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> in the breeze<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">When they arrived at the garden gate they<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Marveled at the roses she grew after meals<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The verandah with old cane stools dozing<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Before evening gods would arrive for alms<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">When they were asked to say a few words<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">They saw her brass urns glint on shelves<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Filled with partition stories, re-invented,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Re-told with new metaphors washed clean<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">With her starched chemise in this side’s sun<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">They wept to see her calmer than usual<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">So, they sat down by her body’s silence<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">When they looked at her all wrapped in white<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Sandal scents holding on tight to a gray lock<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Tucked behind the right ear, they also saw<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Her fingers soiled from that side, maps of tales.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">This work is supported by Sarai-CSDS, Delhi, under an Associate Fellowship</span></span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"></span></span></i></b><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">**</span></span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">After the Show<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">By Nabina Das<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">We were on the paddies<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">we walked gingerly<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">toes to toes to heels<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">against toes<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">they said someone<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">might be following us<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">We were on<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">the rails of words<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">we spoke less<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">just squeezed<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">proverbs like stress balls<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">or mother’s hand<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">We were inside night’s<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">armory where<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">owls sharpened our<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">verbs of anxiety<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">skunks clawed at rising<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">codas of our breaths<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">We were sweaty<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">after our show<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">each one of us done<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">with our roles<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">entering a new theater<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">with the summer mist<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">where our faces<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">were terracotta<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">against the thuds<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">of rifle butts someone<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">said would follow us<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">till the journey’s end<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">We were deep<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">inside a language<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">whose dialogues<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">rang in a darkness<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">bright as the ancient<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">demon’s teeth<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">its beastly innocence<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">shone through our flak<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">There were flowers<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">red and green<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">there were the gods<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">fallen face down<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">songs about how<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">they all became<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">absent mannequins<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">also songs the grain-<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">thrashers sang<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">in the split of<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">old war stories<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">then we rehearsed<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">another new scene.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">This work is supported by Sarai-CSDS, Delhi, under an Associate Fellowship</span></span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"></span></span></i></b><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></i></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">**</span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Ahalya’s Wish</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">By Nabina Das<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Her visit made everyone run</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">fetch her special seat, water glass<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a separate special plate, later scoured<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">separate, after her after-work snack<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">We kids ran in a tumult to see if<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">her teeth were different in number<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">than the last time, slurpy betel<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">juice soaked, scary monster-red<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Mother made chitchat, served her<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">coconut candies in summer<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">black sesame sweets in winter<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">with jaggery or handmade bread<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Aunts poured her water slowly<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">careful not to spill, not to mop<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">once she cleaned the outhouse<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a relic from an unknown rural life<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Once she cut the shrubs, weeded, threw<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">the dead skunk in a ditch and cleaned<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">up, we kids asked her to pick a name that<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">she’d like to be in her dreams so she<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">could be allowed to play with us<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">make us clay dolls of earthly shapes<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Her dark forehead gleamed, no sindoor<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">the sari-end bunched at her sagging breasts.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Her instant candor still rings in my head:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">“I’d like to be made flesh, don’t know the name,”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">she said. “Feet first, I will touch everything.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">This work is supported by Sarai-CSDS, Delhi, under an Associate Fellowship</span></span></i></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">**</span></span></i></b></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5713026153139997437.post-43180491957072087552010-08-15T11:00:00.003-04:002010-08-15T11:05:16.950-04:00Book Interview in THE SENTINEL -- All About "Footprints"<div>KARUNAMAY SINHA's <a href="http://www.sentinelassam.com/sunday/melange_cover_story.php?sec=7&subsec=0&id=431&dtP=2010-06-20&ppr=2#431"><b>interview about my work and book FOOTPRINTS IN THE BAJRA </b></a>in THE SENTINEL. Please read and air your comments! Personally I am happy to re-connect with The Sentinel where I had worked as a cub sub editor and reporter once upon a time :)</div><div><br /></div><div>The paper copy has some nice photographs I had sent them. The e-paper has this ordinary layout.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5713026153139997437.post-86966745601568754032010-05-23T23:02:00.005-04:002010-05-23T23:27:10.077-04:00Review of "Footprints..." in THE STATESMAN<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsSmfgH897_pIUlWH9XyJ0OvVm-XvdnI7T0I2ybNHtBTbN2PYt4hTQwe-Tj6e__KzcO91JA2LuvYRxWEi2R-VxWQYajUrNhT4fG8EKL3V15mIIooKmjWF0y5ns7XG-aCF9GbUJ15W1021w/s1600/statesman.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 223px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsSmfgH897_pIUlWH9XyJ0OvVm-XvdnI7T0I2ybNHtBTbN2PYt4hTQwe-Tj6e__KzcO91JA2LuvYRxWEi2R-VxWQYajUrNhT4fG8EKL3V15mIIooKmjWF0y5ns7XG-aCF9GbUJ15W1021w/s400/statesman.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474666941274819890" /></a><br />THE STATESMAN, Sunday Supplement "8th Day" of May 16, 2010, has these words about "Footprints in the Bajra".<div><br /></div><div>'<b>"If you misrepresent you, they'll abduct and kill you," says Muskaan, our hostess, who swats my attention as though it were a distracted fly bumbling over a new odour"" goes the first line with which Nabina Das settles everything about her novel -- style, subject and pace... Excellent plot line; wonderful detail. A beautifully crafted book.</b>"</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5713026153139997437.post-38065738890774828302010-04-29T17:16:00.008-04:002010-05-12T15:09:40.386-04:00My Father Tells a Story -- poem in "Indian Literature" (Sahitya Akademi)<div><div>"MY FATHER TELLS A STORY" is another poem from the four recently published in <b>"Indian Literature"</b> from Sahitya Akademi, the national academy of letters in India. I thought of putting this up on my blog especially because the question of roots, origins, and nationality always interest me a great deal, and a recent rendezvous with Edouard Glissant's talk and a documentary film about his <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px; font-family:sans-serif;font-size:13px;"><b>Poétique de la Relation. (Poétique III; Paris: Gallimard, 1990)</b></span> fanned some more introspection in this regard. For the strategization of language and identity to be either a linear entity or a parallel to a certain historical/atavistic notion is something all of us tend to seek. But stories are different as you inadvertently <i>have </i>to peel the layers, often subconsciously. For a 'colonial to a post-colonial' identity, a poem such as this cannot be seen as an exercise in a uni-dimensional "root" adherence. The "story" -- told many times over through someone to my father to me and to others who have experienced similarly in diverse histories, not just the Subcontinent -- lends itself to further re-telling, an enhancement in terms of linguistics and historicity.</div><div><br /></div></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgssOWwoYqMFnelnDYeQJi_dSa5YcPsuTesrmhE02DZNyN5_CGZtB3CRp5THSmd5piyWhsfx4385znVdB4yFLDEyV-42KKYjElJ7wzxJ8haAbz6oGUiMzn-VBxMoBXtPVX0vGVjSnM2L5A9/s1600/jamini.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 340px; height: 285px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgssOWwoYqMFnelnDYeQJi_dSa5YcPsuTesrmhE02DZNyN5_CGZtB3CRp5THSmd5piyWhsfx4385znVdB4yFLDEyV-42KKYjElJ7wzxJ8haAbz6oGUiMzn-VBxMoBXtPVX0vGVjSnM2L5A9/s400/jamini.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465680522300701842" /></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:-webkit-xxx-large;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-weight: normal;font-size:16px;"><br /></span></span></b></span></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><o:p><b>MY FATHER TELLS A STORY</b></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><o:p>The young girl in a sari</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Was walking to the library</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">She naturally didn’t see</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">The truck creep up behind her</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Stuffed with soldiers wearing</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Leafy helmets, false implants in</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">The heart of that shell-shocked</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Macadamized Bengal town</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">**</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Her face a sorry storybook</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Quite a few pages torn</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">When they found her by</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">A garbage dump, stared at</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">By the ancient panhandler</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">The poor bastard refused arrest</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Shouted abuses, got suitably</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Thrashed by the police</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">**</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">The young man whispered</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Show me your palm your</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Red henna peacock from</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Last night’s festivities</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Then she read him a poem</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">About crocodiles in snare</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Until they fell asleep in</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Each other’s arms, dreaming</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">**</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">There was a river, grass and</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Flowers shrouding its banks</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Its depth unknown, but easy</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">For the rebels to swim</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">The same night Yahya Khan</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Made quick plans to strike</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Universities where students</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Danced to songs of Tagore</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">**</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">That was a night when nervous</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Sirens screamed on, his</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Would-be bride was picked up</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">And thrown. Folding up</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Maps that fooled, didn’t show</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">A country of hearts, he left</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">A peacock mourned for her</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">And him. No country yet for them.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">**</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><i>Image from the Internet: Jamini Roy, Untitled; gouache on paper.</i></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5713026153139997437.post-86741646563925584772010-04-28T15:39:00.007-04:002010-09-09T21:27:11.655-04:00"Footprints in the Bajra" reviewed in Pioneer newspaper<div><b><a href="http://www.dailypioneer.com/251417/Reform-of-a-Maoist.html">PIONEER, a newspaper from Delhi,</a> </b>has the latest word on my novel FOOTPRINTS IN THE BAJRA.</div><div><br /></div><div>In case it opens up, here is the PDF or the e-page on the <b><a href="http://epaper.dailypioneer.com/Thepioneer/Pioneer/2010/04/25/index.shtml">"Books Agenda" page</a></b>. You might have to scroll for the page.</div><div><br /></div><div>A six-column review, it says a lot of things. However, I must add as a comment that I am not <i>per se</i> interested in the "reform" of a Maoist and that was not what I intended in my book with the protagonist Muskaan. The end is, in my opinion, more nuanced than what prevalent political interpretations are whenever it comes to topics on Maoism and the parties engaged against the ideology or in solidarity with it.</div><div><br /></div><div>If you so not wish to see the link, read the review below:</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" border-collapse: collapse; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family:Tahoma, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:12px;"><span id="ctl00_MasterHomeCPH_lblStoryContent"><span class="links4" style=" font-weight: normal; color: rgb(204, 51, 0); text-decoration: none; font-family:Tahoma, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:12px;"><b>Reform of a Maoist</b></span><br /><br /><span style="color:624B49;"><b>Footprints in the Bajra</b><br />Author: Nabina Das<br />Publisher: Pustak Mahal<br />Price: Rs 175</span><br /><br /><b><i>Shwetank Dubey</i> says Nabina Das ably recreates the milieu of Maoist-infested regions of India</b><br /><br />Reform is always good, especially when it concerns someone who has been misled, used, lied to and then forsaken by those who she thinks are her well-wishers. The only thing that such a person can do is give back what she got, albeit with much more intensity. Everyone has to wake up some day or the other and smell the coffee, and that is what Muskaan, the protagonist in Nabina Das’ novel Footprints in the Bajra, did. After feeling betrayed by her mentor, she finally took refuge in the advice given by her student-activist friend from New Delhi and decided to chart her own life, for once.<br /><br />For anyone who comes from the rural areas of Bihar, Chhattisgarh and parts of West Bengal, Maoism is nothing new. It has been there as a part and parcel of their lives since decades. Illiteracy being a common curse in such regions, it plays a very important part in helping Maoist rebels build an army to fight against the administration and the Government. The simple villagers are made to believe that they are better off fighting the Government than supporting it. And that is what the main villain in the novel, the village teacher, Suryakant Sahay aka Comrade Suraj, cashes on. With the help of his second in command, Nirav Saxena alias Comrade Avadhut, they perform the most unsaintly acts of attacking and killing the Chaudharys of Chabutara, the upper class village, as well as devising strategies against the Government.<br /><br />Since time immemorial, landlords have been touted to be major oppressors so much so that the divide created by the upper castes has led to even a greater help to the Maoists. As Nabina Das puts it in her novel, with the help of the Internally Displaced People (IDP), Maoists built a strong army. Such IDPs were made to fight for the “cause” and inducted in the Red Army. After a lot of investigative journalism, as well as the changed stance of the Government, it has now become common knowledge about how uneducated people in rural areas, especially those living in places where the Government and administration takes a lot of time to reach, have been cheated by the Maoist brigade since decades, in the promise of a better life and “revenge” from their erstwhile oppressors. Added to this is the fact that farming also underwent a drastic change wherein grain crops were replaced by poppy fields. This turned into a major funding device for the Maoists. All this has been quite prominently woven into the story by Nabina Das.<br /><br />Everything undergoes change, and so does Muskaan’s life. The various upheavals in her life, right from being a child soldier, being held captive by the Chaudharys, being kept in a safe house, to joining the non-Government organisation Shaktishalini and pursuing higher studies and, finally, of closing the entire chapter by being an “emancipator” of the masses, are few things to be reckoned with.<br /><br />Being betrayed is a very heart-breaking feeling and Muskaan faces this throughout her life, till she decides to hold the reins herself. Her first lover, Palash, decides to break up with her after she is abducted by the Chaudharys after an attack by the so-called Hunting Brigade formed by the upper castes with the help of the administration to quell the Maoist menace, the details of which are revealed much later in an emotional outburst to Nora.<br /><br />Nirav and Sahay use her for their own interests in furthering their cause. After their group is disbanded, they find it in their best interests to tie-up with the Maoist brigade from across the border in Nepal. They realise the Red Brigade in India is mismanaged and there is no common thinking or a leader. Moreover, for their cause to survive, they decide that the best option is to adopt the stance taken by the Nepal Maoists — take to politics. Muskaan plays a very important role in this (as a pawn for Sahay and Nirav) after she joins Shaktishalini. The NGO is hacked by Nirav for his tie-up with the Nepal Maoists, while Rehana (who runs the NGO) thinks that she has found the perfect mentor for her cause of upliftment of women.<br /><br />Nabina Das has chosen the first person account of narrating a story from the main characters of the novel, Nora the sheherwali (urban dweller), Muskaan the rebel, Suryakant Sahay the crafty clandestine planner and Avadhut the frontrunner of all the operations. While the narratives are quite detailed when read from the perspective of it being a scholarly article (footprints of good education and reading prowess among the main protagonists are inadvertently displayed), there are various other details that could have been made clearer. The motive of people like the headmaster and the businessman for joining such a cause is a bit muddled.<br /><br />However, the book deals with something that no urban resident is bound to know on his own — the life and times of people living in Maoist infested areas and why do they give in to the temptation provided by the Red Brigade.</span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5713026153139997437.post-60218947329583554022010-04-21T18:04:00.007-04:002010-04-21T18:28:35.553-04:00SIX-MILE-CREEK: A Postcard-Poem<div>Former Tompkins County Poet Laureate Katharyn Howd Machan, also a poetry instructor at Ithaca College, had organized an "arts for all marathon" at the <a href="http://www.csma-ithaca.org/">Community School of Music and Arts</a> in 2009. The idea was to engage area poets on a common project and to raise funds for CSMA programs that would mainly benefit children and youth.<div><br /></div><div>The Arts for All Marathon was a 26.2-day postcard-poetry project. Great fun and immense education.</div><div><br /></div><div>"<b>Six-Mile-Creek</b>" was chosen by Katharyn and has been printed on a postcard along with poems from other writers. This one was a favorite of mine as soon as I wrote it down! While I write letters to friends on the poetry-postcards (I have two sets so I can keep one bunch all for myself), read the poem below:</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGuZjn2a4-wxosz6R4xrL6gf0vOcyDR-srhOcgK5s0OeiCDp1moTNKp9GEoV3_G94_fcjsNwtomtg_xcBjJZZoaXA1shyphenhyphenodePRW-XOfQkWIA7-D6NJztH5wrr7tep4NuoaifYpzys_evZp/s1600/six-mile-creek-ithaca-john-clum.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 303px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGuZjn2a4-wxosz6R4xrL6gf0vOcyDR-srhOcgK5s0OeiCDp1moTNKp9GEoV3_G94_fcjsNwtomtg_xcBjJZZoaXA1shyphenhyphenodePRW-XOfQkWIA7-D6NJztH5wrr7tep4NuoaifYpzys_evZp/s400/six-mile-creek-ithaca-john-clum.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462717457699950642" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><b>SIX-MILE-CREEK</b></div><div><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal">Sleep is a sharp river bend<br />Geology too, on a face-smooth rock<br />One that climbs up the banks</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">From the creek that flows<br />Behind my hill on a cascading street<br />Called water, silent at night</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">They say the trout should<br />Flock after this neon winter passes<br />And now only sprigs float</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Below the dam after six miles<br />Where half-nude youngsters jump into<br />The liquidy sheet ignoring signs</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">That say “don’t”. They still do<br />With their sudden laughter waking up<br />Us who sleep on the rocky shore.</p><p class="MsoNormal">**</p><p class="MsoNormal"><i>Image from the Internet: Six-Mile-Creek, Ithaca, a painting by John Clum</i></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5713026153139997437.post-73565350472306206382010-04-15T09:40:00.007-04:002010-04-15T09:51:53.382-04:00Reading from "Footprints in the Bajra", April 17, 4-5 p.m.<div>I shall be reading from my first novel <a href="http://www.pustakmahal.com/book/book/bid,,9531C/isbn:9788122310993/index">FOOTPRINTS IN THE BAJRA</a> on Saturday, April 17, 4-5 p.m. at Buffalo Street Books in downtown Ithaca. See the event details <b><a href="http://www.facebook.com/?ref=home#!/event.php?eid=109588182402883&ref=ts">here</a></b>.<div><br /></div><div>If you are in the area, please come for the reading. See a review of <b>Footprints</b> in <i><a href="http://dansemacabre.art.officelive.com/FootprintsintheBajra.aspx">Danse Macabre journal</a></i> (USA) and a book interview in <i><a href="http://digital.dnaindia.com/epaperpdf/28032010/27sunday-pg10-0.pdf">Daily News and Analysis (DNA)</a></i>, Bombay.</div><div><br /></div><div>I must mention, my neighbors at Maplewood Park, a Cornell University housing area, where I have lived for 7 long years because Mr. M did his PhD here, have been very sweet to invite the residents to this reading. They even made a poster of the event!</div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifA1pRTTjGdN3MlpU0tHWydyN8A0_Y_lTDWrrjvYORU98El6aHdHPorl9kw_cOQQ0LBLR6vzTApqDsxpOf8SAwzReW3FVjKdRy-9SazRnNQMv8o_y85DpOrTMABh2seSFwLPOXP-UBmwOK/s1600/JPG+Book+Reading+Nabina+Das.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifA1pRTTjGdN3MlpU0tHWydyN8A0_Y_lTDWrrjvYORU98El6aHdHPorl9kw_cOQQ0LBLR6vzTApqDsxpOf8SAwzReW3FVjKdRy-9SazRnNQMv8o_y85DpOrTMABh2seSFwLPOXP-UBmwOK/s400/JPG+Book+Reading+Nabina+Das.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460360431243056066" /></a><br /><div><i>Photo courtesy: Maplewood Park staff Priyanka Bangale.</i></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5713026153139997437.post-3879231466686600532010-04-09T17:48:00.007-04:002010-04-11T15:30:38.114-04:00"Wood-Story Before the Millennium and Now": New Poem in DM 34<div>Brand new poem on <b>DANSE MACABRE XXXIV</b>'s all-poetry April issue "<i>Belles-Lettres</i>".<div><br /></div><div>This is from a series I am writing under my <a href="http://fleuve-souterrain.blogspot.com/2010/02/sarai-csds-associate-fellowship-2010.html">Sarai-CSDS fellowship "The Migrant City"</a>. You can read it <a href="http://dansemacabre.art.officelive.com/Villanuspoetica.aspx">here </a>or below:</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmHOOIb5DMlIjlBfN1metLg0_8eQ_KVlO-s8oe8-Si9B8g-LUGLIDUmzN3DLoINrWObu3E0GA0P4KXrqFZqqQUwNnDzlufWkgQU_6Z9Tsbgo8wUNGK64yIcdjmfOh6DvH4jaYFBfXME5RT/s1600/DM.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmHOOIb5DMlIjlBfN1metLg0_8eQ_KVlO-s8oe8-Si9B8g-LUGLIDUmzN3DLoINrWObu3E0GA0P4KXrqFZqqQUwNnDzlufWkgQU_6Z9Tsbgo8wUNGK64yIcdjmfOh6DvH4jaYFBfXME5RT/s400/DM.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458262404029894802" /></a><br /><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;font-size:13px;"><div><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;font-size:180%;"><b>Wood-Story Before the Millennium and Now</b><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;font-size:85%;"> </span></span><br /></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "> </p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">This is a table where we used to keep a glass vase in the nineties</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">the sun a syruping gooseberry often tumbling out of it reckless</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">a wooden table, smooth-plank body of a tree dressed for our</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">weekend dinners. Some clutter as it happens with faces clustered</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">coats of varnish and heavy-lashed lacquerware, dead-white ceramic</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">this will still be the same surface where we will spill the gravy</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">push the sparkling tea across, lick any fallen crumbs with thumbs<br /></span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">**</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">Keep the fast, it gives long life</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">to your husband, those elderly</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">women will implore and</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">let the table carry ornate</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">plates of offerings you won’t easily touch</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">only after the moon does first</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">its shadow on the water on your silver tray.</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">And then the table can sing like a cricket</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">all that crockery clattering</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">we will eat everything before</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">the moon-shadow devours the mind</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">ignoring what the women say.</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">In fact, you will know, I only cared</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">about just crickets because they</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">love the blackness of soul just as I do.<br /></span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">**</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">When I close my eyes I see my aunt lissome and dark with her braid</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">long like those thick twines for hauling country boats to shore</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">she smiles and shows a tooth we were told is of the elephant, rare.</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">I see her on her back on the bed tossing a red plastic ball over her chest</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">lob and drop and lob and show the <i>gajadanta</i> smile while my uncle</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">sits two feet away on a table, the one they never dined on, used as a shelf</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">for things, littered for the most time. He dangling his black-shoed feet as</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">if he is a kid watching the unbelievable enchantress woman’s trick</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">of lobbing a red-desire ball high up; the head of the old-fashioned bed</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">preventing him to leap forward, also because I zip into the room</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">looking for my cousin as uncle shifts, legs undangle, the table creaks.<br /></span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">**</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">The life story of woods</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">when they come from</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">forests of greenness</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">tells of more lines and stars</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">than found on our palms.<br /></span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">**</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">I don’t remember when Habib Tanveer or Gangubai the siren throat died</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">when was it bringing home wads of cash that quick dirty jobs paid was cool</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">money for home, food, electronics, but no song or lines; but I do remember</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">rehearsing one afternoon with Habib for a play we would perform in a street</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">where racketeers and launderers ran their shops; they watched, we stood</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">on the dust as if on breadcrumb crusts strewn on a table top, hewn uneven</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">because no one cleaned; a china cup stayed back, the old tea leaves telling</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">a tale of the millennium as they should, like all things emancipated and sweetly old.</span></p><p align="justify" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "> </p></div><p align="left" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;font-size:78%;"><em>This work is supported by <strong>Sarai-CSDS</strong>, New Delhi.</em></span></p><p align="left" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;font-size:78%;"><em><br /></em></span></p><p align="left" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;font-size:78%;"><em><br /></em></span></p><p align="left" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;font-size:78%;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: normal; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:16px;"><i>Image from Danse Macabre literary journal</i> </span></em></span></p></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5713026153139997437.post-75086546065117517092010-04-01T21:41:00.005-04:002010-04-03T13:51:27.680-04:00Interview: Footprints in the Bajra is a portrait of Muskaan, a Maoist rebel from the age of 13<div><b>Daily News and Analysis (DNA)</b>, a prominent financial newspaper from Bombay, published my book interview in their Sunday Mag, March 28. You can go to the digital link <b><a href="http://www.dnaindia.com/lifestyle/interview_footprints-in-the-bajra-is-a-portrait-of-muskaan-a-maoist-rebel-from-the-age-of-13_1364243">here</a></b> or see the PDF page <b><a href="http://digital.dnaindia.com/epaperpdf/28032010/27sunday-pg10-0.pdf">here</a></b>. Or read the interview in full here below:</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:100%;color:#888888;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 16px;font-size:11px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:130%;color:#000000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: normal;font-size:16px;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><b>Footprints in the Bajra is a portrait of Muskaan, a Maoist rebel from the age of 13</b></div><div><br /></div><div>By Uttara Choudhury</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(34, 34, 34); line-height: 19px; font-family:verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"><i>In her debut novel, Nabina Das writes about an India where social divides stand taller than multistoried shopping malls. </i><em style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><b>Footprints in the Bajra</b></em><i>, inspired by what she saw while touring the interiors of Bihar as part of a travelling theatre group, inquires into why the Maoists have an influence over a large section of Indian society. Das talked to Uttara Choudhury in New York about her book, and its protagonist Muskaan.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:100%;color:#222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 19px;font-size:13px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(34, 34, 34); line-height: 19px; font-family:verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"><strong style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">What prompted you to take up such a complex issue in your debut novel?<br /></strong><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(34, 34, 34); line-height: 19px; font-family:verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:13px;">On a primary level, my interest in socio-political movements with a current portent, especially in India, goaded me to tell this story. The complexity is not regarding Maoism per se, but the state’s inability to offer a cohesive system for its people.<br />On a deeper level, I am interested in lives. The novel is really just a slice of life story, about Muskaan the young Maoist rebel, and Nora, her friend from the city. Maoism is mentioned in the background only to paint these lives. In no way is the book a primer on Maoist philosophy.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(34, 34, 34); line-height: 19px; font-family:verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(34, 34, 34); line-height: 19px; font-family:verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 19px; ">As a journalist and NGO worker, I have had access to lives affected by Maoism and the state’s actions. Bloodshed and killings were the only gains these people came home with. Those stories stayed with me as examples of harsh reality outside the TV screen and disposable newsprint. I felt compelled to let these characters speak in my book.</p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 19px; "><strong style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">Your novel delves into the life of a Maoist recruit — a teenage girl named Muskaan. Did your research for the novel point to the fact that young women are drawn to the Naxalite movement?<br /></strong><br /></p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 19px; ">It is a fact that in ‘modern’ India young people from regions with little development find themselves on the sidelines. Their anger with the system has percolated upwards. The recent mining claims in Orissa sparked off huge protests, not just in the villages but also among city folk who until recently had no idea about the Kondh people — Dongria, Kutia and Jharania — and their ways.</p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 19px; "></p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 19px; ">Generations of caste and class atrocities together with government apathy has helped mobilise ranks on the side of the extreme left. Sometimes these young rebels don’t know what being a Maoist means. I had once asked a person in jest who proudly called himself a Maoist, whether he was happy not to be called a Stalinist. He promptly said if being a Stalinist helped avenge his people, he’d happily be one.</p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 19px; ">These are my characters in Footprints. They live in Durjanpur, Banka or Patalgarh — names that are linear views, hence negative in connotation.</p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 19px; ">For the marginalised, the situation is stark. Muskaan is a Maoist recruited as a child soldier at 13. She is an example of how these ‘renegade’ movements use young people as a staple for propagating their adventurist tactics. We have examples of such far-left movements in other parts of the world, like the Shining Path in Peru.</p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 19px; "></p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 19px; "><strong style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">Would you say the Maoists are a greater threat to India than global or cross-border terrorism from Pakistan?<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "><br /></span></strong></p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 19px; "><strong style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; ">Sadly, what gets lost in the debate is the plight of a huge chunk of people. Maoism or Naxalism does appear to be an option for the disadvantaged, especially Dalits and tribals, although I am aware of people who are striving for alternative movements away from guns and gore.</span></strong></p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 19px; ">When it comes from the government, the word “threat” certainly is the key operative here. Whether Maoists are delighted at that labeling I have no idea, for I’m not a practitioner of the movement. But calling Maoism a “threat” helps situate the public view about this far-left movement. Threats justify the forming of counter-attack groups and human rights negligence. This precludes any investigation into how the poorer swathe of India eats, works, sleeps and dies.</p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 19px; ">The threat works well for the government in distracting the people. Meanwhile, deaths and displacements continue in the middle plane whether in Kashmir, Manipur, Orissa or Chhattisgarh.</p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 19px; "></p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 19px; "><strong style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">Do you think American audiences will be able to relate to Muskaan and a story about a slice of rural India?<br /></strong><br /></p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 19px; ">American writing is rich and diverse. Jhumpa Lahiri, Junot Diaz and Nam Le have successfully drawn readers into worlds outside their own familiar confines. Muskaan’s India may not be familiar to a lot of readers even in wealthy, urban India.</p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 19px; "><strong style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">Since you live two lives, shuttling between the US and India, will your second novel be cast in India or America?<br /></strong><br /></p><p style="padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 19px; ">I plan to work on a book based on Assam, my home state, and the upheavals it has witnessed. Tentatively, it’s called “The Boatman of New York.” It would be a generational story across continents.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5713026153139997437.post-2278686520880915052010-03-31T00:16:00.003-04:002010-03-31T00:27:12.223-04:00Snoetry Video on Crisis Chronicles Online LibraryMy <b><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Snoetry</span> Video</b> is up on <a href="http://library.crisischronicles.com/2010/03/30/nabina-das-reads-at-snoetry-a-winter-wordfest--1162010.aspx">Crisis Chronicles Online Library</a> curated by poet and spoken-word artist John Burroughs.<div><br /></div><div>We went up to Erie, PA, on Jan 16, for the <i><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Snoetry</span>: A Winter <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Wordfest</span></i> (see <a href="http://fleuve-souterrain.blogspot.com/2010/01/reading-at-snoetry-winter-wordfest-2010.html">entry and photos here</a>) where more than 40 poets had gathered from many US states. I was one of the featured poets.</div><div><br /></div><div>You can also see the video <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hUCaNeR6U6o&feature=player_embedded">here</a> on You Tube.</div><div><br /></div><div>The poetry, music and bonhomie took place in Last Wordsmith Book Shoppe, formerly owned by Megan Collins, another friend. John made all the videos on behalf of Lix and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Kix</span> Productions.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5713026153139997437.post-67254488330142498022010-03-26T12:10:00.010-04:002010-03-27T07:44:41.433-04:00Luit On Our Tongues -- One River-Story Poem in Print<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUErvtr7gdBhafo4z-gdGZ8fT9ZalFfHZhttT_G-WjEdTJUpqaPXMPz4PlT8Bu5OsRD0q3SHXxU53cLIIijzTR3vSqlctGkOzPu8IkRtJKDmArhbmRMoQ-XA9xW4aevGNvZijud6s_XwRf/s1600/Picture+053.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUErvtr7gdBhafo4z-gdGZ8fT9ZalFfHZhttT_G-WjEdTJUpqaPXMPz4PlT8Bu5OsRD0q3SHXxU53cLIIijzTR3vSqlctGkOzPu8IkRtJKDmArhbmRMoQ-XA9xW4aevGNvZijud6s_XwRf/s400/Picture+053.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453004194071178786" /></a><div>Four poems are out in the latest issue of <b>INDIAN LITERATURE</b>, the flagship journal of <i>Sahitya Akademi</i> (the national academy of letters in India). You have seen some of these poems workshopped here and there...</div><div><br /></div><div>My river-stories are not always pastoral. Having grown up in an Assam that has seen much strife and struggle, the Luit (Brahmaputra) is my man-river in different roles -- a friend, a cradling solace, or an injured mad god (how could a god be injured you may ask, but I bring my poetic entities to live my life, ergo, a <i>human</i> life...). </div><div><br /></div><div>Read this river-story:</div><div><br /></div><div><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN"><br /></span></b></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN">Luit On Our Tongues<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN"><br /></span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">We were five or six, men and children<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">in a tempo, that rackety raucous vehicle</span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN"><br /></span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">With three capricious wheels heading</span></p> <p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">towards Sonitpur, our vacation, where</span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN"><br /></span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">Mangoes had ripened summer’s belly with</span></p> <p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">the monsoon’s heavy showering grace</span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN"><br /></span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">The usual route was flooded, abandoned</span></p> <p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">Luit had licked it wet, fungal, even after</span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN"><br /></span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">The water receded; this was our Old Luit</span></p> <p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">father kept telling me how the Red River</span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN"><br /></span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">Has its liquid name from the colour red</span></p> <p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">after a battleaxe washed itself, lots of blood</span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN"><br /></span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">Now there are bridges that drown currents</span></p> <p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">hurrying us in buses and cars in a riverine flow</span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN"><br /></span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">The Bodo teacher sitting just next to us said</span></p> <p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">the river does actually speak the curious hue</span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN"><br /></span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">In gurgles by his village sweeping in a chant:</span></p> <p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN">Bhullum-buthur.</span></i><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN"> He smiled. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Bhullum-buthur</i></span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><br /></span></i></span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; ">Bubbles in the head, the mad water’s dance</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">the Brahmaputra in news and TV he knew</span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN"><br /></span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">It still gurgles day and night, another man said</span></p> <p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">like human voices when slashed, when spent</span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN"><br /></span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">Gasps <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">bhullum-buthur</i> in river tongue, the dead</span></p> <p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">so did our Luit, took stories along and lives</span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN"><br /></span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">Between conversations from the diverted route</span></p> <p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">we saw the faraway river gone red-eyed with mud</span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN"><br /></span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">The blood all faded, perhaps the colour of the red-</span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">ness entrenched like the leftover evening sun.</span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN"><br /></span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN"><br /></span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">The other titles published in IL are: "</span><span lang="EN-IN"><b>No Country, No Names</b></span><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">"; "</span><span lang="EN-IN"><b>Gandhari's Eyes</b></span><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">", and "</span><span lang="EN-IN"><b>A She-Ghost can only call Names</b></span><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">".</span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN"><br /></span></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><br /></p><p style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;background:white"><span lang="EN-IN"><i>Image from my computer: Setting sun on the Luit (Brahmaputra), Assam</i></span><span lang="EN-IN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-IN">.</span></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5713026153139997437.post-10589591141016605142010-03-17T19:27:00.006-04:002010-03-17T19:44:24.387-04:00Sketch-poem in Graffiti Kolkata Broadside, March 2010<div><div>My sketch-poem is in <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_CTy___PKvkQ/S59-VMOXUbI/AAAAAAAAAOk/4UdLr-lAmgg/s1600-h/MARCH-ISSUE-web.jpg">GRAFFITI KOLKATA BROADSIDE</a> (March 2010) published by poet-artist-bookstore owner friend Subhankar Das.</div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjol5UIg8CKUUvheVDcRYpW4wt-OxTlAD7Xaq-QfPwQN2iAD4ezEeaVRge8B2714GiCtN4jZ1em6ZIw_QSlW4kr4yw3SvmGDIixtAxXxgz8QaoqrWgeufxg7njNZk8SEgCraiWc9fzxZaaB/s1600-h/GKB.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 282px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjol5UIg8CKUUvheVDcRYpW4wt-OxTlAD7Xaq-QfPwQN2iAD4ezEeaVRge8B2714GiCtN4jZ1em6ZIw_QSlW4kr4yw3SvmGDIixtAxXxgz8QaoqrWgeufxg7njNZk8SEgCraiWc9fzxZaaB/s400/GKB.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449749638314353362" /></a><br /><div>Subh believes in poetry as a movement and makes all effort to take it to every nook and corner of the city of Kolkata where he resides. To every sidewalk, to all alleyways, to each market place. Personally I find the broadside to be an innovative venture. It embodies art, songs, protest, music and that wonderful uniqueness of being that comes from understanding that poetry is voice.</div><div><br /></div><div>You can see my poem <b>DOORS VS. DARKNESS</b> and the accompanying sketch in the top right corner. Also read it in its original form among the other sketch-poems I wrote <a href="http://fleuve-souterrain.blogspot.com/2009/10/poetry-in-our-times-four-sketch-poems.html">here</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>The one published above is slightly altered:</div><div><br /></div><div><b>DOORS VS. DARKNESS</b></div><div><br /></div><div><i>Silent waters upon door frames of words:</i></div><div><i>the choice is the clarity of shards that</i></div><div><i> pierce</i></div><div><i>My face splatters like meters: a welcome</i></div><div><i> chant in verse</i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5713026153139997437.post-55926047386880896202010-03-14T20:49:00.011-04:002010-03-15T10:12:45.385-04:00"Disgrace" & "The Kite Runner": What the Body Brokers<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio2TlvNqIofFYbvINEZm70pe2z88Ls3aCPyu5cqWwtS6QgVXjNZcrv0ZE7dtFQirGt3a5ybn11ZKh9HsadPuRg9hEURhRs4_C9_GjHZ7TsLMkgSlP8aMU7oXHdiMqbYoLEK4f-zV3yjKt6/s1600-h/kite-runner.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio2TlvNqIofFYbvINEZm70pe2z88Ls3aCPyu5cqWwtS6QgVXjNZcrv0ZE7dtFQirGt3a5ybn11ZKh9HsadPuRg9hEURhRs4_C9_GjHZ7TsLMkgSlP8aMU7oXHdiMqbYoLEK4f-zV3yjKt6/s400/kite-runner.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448674394667110322" /></a>Quite a few movies this last week and the weekend. Not a binge, but it is something that happens once a while. You need the wide screen of human happenings to take over your senses. There was a time when I used to sit down and write about each and movie I'd watch, whether at the cinema theater or on the TV screen. That urge has become selective. And after this recent movie-melange, the two that stuck to my mind are THE KITE RUNNER and DISGRACE.<div><br /></div><div>Not apparently similar, the two movies slammed me with their overtones of violence, a proximity of ideas. Violence on the human body. As a means of change, as a means of indicating change or forcing change.</div><div><br /></div><div>The little Hazara boy being raped/sodomized by the teenaged Pashtun Afghans is a motif carefully nurtured in <i>The Kite Runner</i>. Identity and nation is the subject of "change" here. Ironically, it is the Hazara -- perceived as ethnically the "other" -- who stays back in a Kabul ravaged by first the Soviet-Afghan war and then by the excesses of Taliban, and struggles to bring up a family until he is killed. Most other Afghan characters, the 'accepted and identified' ones, reside either in Pakistan or the US, having run away from the nation's all-pervasive infamy. The protagonist's reclaiming of the offspring of the Hazara character (the protagonist's half-brother -- see how the kinship links gray the 'identity' canvas?) through his father's illicit affair with the servant's wife, completes the circle of acceptance and closure.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Disgrace</i> is more complex I think. The arrogant and suave (definitely elderly) professor's seduction of his young student, the resulting suspension from his university, and the generational disconnection to his surrounding (other than his own passion in Romantic Poetry) in a post-apartheid South Africa followed by his country-settled, lesbian daughter's rape by three young Black boys, again point to the ideation of the still-troubled nation. Its supposedly recognizable signs, its noncommittal position of identity formation (the daughter gets pregnant from the rape), and the relative notion of shame or disgrace.</div><div><br /></div><div>The professor finally seeks a closure with his surrounding, that too by euthanizing stray dogs, dogs that he is so used to set upon the "other", the Blacks who have become the 'new' owner of their own nation. Before that he has been on his knees asking for the forgiveness of his aggrieved student's family. All this while, having no qualms about prostitutes of color on their knees imparting him the sexual favors.</div><div><br /></div><div>South Africa, Afghanistan, post-Apartheid, post-colonial, post-war, mixed-race, multi-ethnic. The stage evolves.</div><div><br /></div><div>Pretty much like the peace brokered between the violated-daughter (which one, you ask, the White or the "cappuccino") with either a marital contract with her Black neighbor or with the race-symbolism of a college play. It could even be the freedom to fly and run kites, with roles reversed.</div><div><br /></div><div>**</div><div><br /></div><div>In other thoughts, there's this joke about "paternity accidents" I heard the other day. Americans have great interest in tracing back their ancestry (probably common elsewhere too). And that mostly by paternity. One could be a descendant of the King of England or the Arch Duke of Prussia, but no one exactly knows what might have happened on the Mayflower to momma dear. The topic came up during a dinner and movie (it happened to be my birthday, March 13). I was mentioning a "family tree" scroll that my father has in his possession. More about that later!</div><div><br /></div><div>Image from the Internet: from <i>The Kite Runner</i></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5713026153139997437.post-64075527005300093082010-03-08T19:08:00.005-05:002010-03-08T19:52:42.946-05:00"The Limbo" -- Essay Published in Troubadour 21<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;font-size:-webkit-xxx-large;"><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; font-weight: normal; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; font-size:13px;"><span class="UIStory_Message"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The Migrant City</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, my writing project supported by an Associate Fellowship from Sarai-CSDS (Centre for the Study of Developing Societies) is a collection of essays and poetry.</span></span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; font-weight: normal; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; font-size:13px;"><span class="UIStory_Message"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; font-weight: normal; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; font-size:13px;"><span class="UIStory_Message"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Most recently, the essay </span></span><a href="http://www.troubadour21.com/essays/nabina/dilligaf-the-limbo/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">"The Limbo" is published on TROUBADOUR 21</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">...<br /><br />Under the series titled DILLIGAF (I know, I know!), it is set in Delhi -- the city of djinns and jagged edges ...!</span></span></span></h3></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeTQ9UTwRMLFIkTCKGxb3YTlwIz6pllH7ontFL5jftt5tfM_Txv7jeU88InnBHKmk2NGL9CSNcOU8YEVF3SkLoUFffzvMoYi0622prUn6U2tiD8983E3X8FaMg9xpugQyeyiFP3cnMyflo/s1600-h/Delhi+traffic.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeTQ9UTwRMLFIkTCKGxb3YTlwIz6pllH7ontFL5jftt5tfM_Txv7jeU88InnBHKmk2NGL9CSNcOU8YEVF3SkLoUFffzvMoYi0622prUn6U2tiD8983E3X8FaMg9xpugQyeyiFP3cnMyflo/s400/Delhi+traffic.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446427957351391538" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;font-size:11px;"><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" ft="{"type":"msg"}" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; font-weight: normal; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Here's a teaser:</span></span></h3><blockquote><div><span class="UIStory_Message"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">"</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The Ferris wheel sways up and down in a maverick fashion. Faces bob and bait me. Men in kurtas, humid tees and even unwashed shirt collars. Women a multitude of colourful heads – pink, red, ochre – covered with sari pallavs or transparent salwar-kameez veils. Kids walk between adult knees. Flower petals fall down crushed in fervent hands and the invisible vermillion powder in the hot air suffocates me. The auto sputters, barely moves.</span></span></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 18px; "><p style="margin-top: 15px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">“I need a smoke,” says my driver. “But someone might be offended.”</span></span></p></span><div><span class="UIStory_Message"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I contemplate walking down but remember what happened once. Devotees pushing; someone’s hand in my pocket quickly scrounging for material items; another hand even on my butt, pressing and persuasive. But all this should be Maya. Or magic. You can’t see who does it and how.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">"</span></span></span></div></blockquote><div><span class="UIStory_Message"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"></span></span></span></div><div><span class="UIStory_Message"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Read it in full </span><a href="http://www.troubadour21.com/essays/nabina/dilligaf-the-limbo/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">HERE</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="UIStory_Message"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="UIStory_Message"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="UIStory_Message"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Image from the Internet: Vehicles on Delhi road.</span></i></span></span></div></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5713026153139997437.post-43143898585752119722010-03-07T14:40:00.003-05:002010-03-07T14:51:34.433-05:00First "Footprints" Review Published<div>A review of my novel "Footprints in the Bajra" has been published in <a href="http://dansemacabre.art.officelive.com/FootprintsintheBajra.aspx">DANSE MACABRE XXXIII</a> by <a href="http://somethinginpassing.blogspot.com/">Priti Aisola</a>, author of "See Paris for Me" (Penguin India 2009).</div><div><br /></div><div>Also, <a href="http://dansemacabre.art.officelive.com/FootprintsintheBajra.aspx">excerpts </a>are up on that literary journal for you to sample.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here's a portion from what Priti writes:</div><div><br /></div><div></div><blockquote><div>"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Garamond, serif; font-size: 13px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; ">The book has a very assured beginning that draws you into it rapidly. The very first image where Muskaan ‘swats my (Nora’s) attention as though it were a distracted fly bumbling over a new odour’, gives ample evidence of the writer’s confident craft as she adeptly thrusts you forward through the sharp turns in her story. Set against the backdrop of the bajra fields for a large part, these fields become a major multi-faceted character in the story – with a singular voice, mood and an eventful terrible history. While the bajra provides <i>nourriture</i>, it also hides death. It is life-sustaining; it is treacherous. It harbours miscreants and also gives refuge to the wounded. It is green; it is blood-stained. It is ‘verdant’; it is ‘murky’. It is ‘a sea of murmur’, ‘a dark green flood.’ It is alive – it breathes ominously; it murmurs, whispers, rustles, speaks of bloody insurgents, their unrelenting armed struggle, killings, and equally heinous reprisals by the landowners. Yes, it is ‘the bloody bajra fields where life and death overlap each other’, collide with each other. </span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Garamond, serif; font-size: 13px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "><span style="font-family:Georgia, Garamond, serif;">The bajra field is a ghastly ‘womb’ which brings forth only noxious fruit. Yet, it will change. It has footprints of those who chase, hunt out and those who fall prey. Yet, it will change by and by. It will bear other footprints (not traitorous ones) and yield a more wholesome harvest, we hope. Nabina Das delineates all this beautifully in the complex symbolism of the bajra fields. There are other fields of action too – New York, Delhi, Patna, and two or three villages – and in each of these the characters leave their footprints. Hopefully the ugly ones will be effaced. The Delhi chapter is called ‘Footprints in the Sun’ – a fresh, evocative image. </span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; "> </p></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Garamond, serif; font-size: 13px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "><b><i>Footprints in the Bajra</i></b> is a serious book that moves at a smart uncontrived pace. It voices deep concerns about how and why the deprived and the marginalized in certain parts of our country join the Maoist ranks; how they adopt desperate and often terrible measures to wrench justice and to make their voices heard. And this sets in motion other reactions, often violent and punitive. Personally, I liked the first half of the book better because it is more imbued with atmosphere. The second half is more theatrically eventful. Dialogue is Nabina’s forte. Written with relaxed ease, it is true to life and character. This novel will lend itself wonderfully, readily, to a script for a movie, serious and engrossing at the same time, with the right mix of ideology, romance, friendship, murder, retribution, artful scheming and social welfare, to make it a good watch.</span>"</div></blockquote><div><blockquote></blockquote></div><div>Hope you can get a copy of FOOTPRINTS IN THE BAJRA for yourself. Right now available on <a href="http://books.rediff.com/book/nabina-das/footprints-in-the-bajra/ISBN:9788122310993/85459784">Rediff</a> for ordering in India and on <a href="http://www.pustakmahal.com/book/book/bid,,9531C/isbn:9788122310993/index">Cedar Books' parent company website</a> for international purchase.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5713026153139997437.post-46126133596544152392010-03-03T15:02:00.002-05:002010-03-03T15:05:40.879-05:00Holi Hullabaloo!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAsiBdxtzBVvlNJsEz4EoBMYQOEIH7K6evV3njWOFWLcVEKdahGRlz_CsGsyr78mc3smAssGK-VqaRJolVj_I64noedfDasqPORc8L8NDz_J5-2vYM_wNM4-SIL6uCxbsRh4BJR_XJYHBD/s1600-h/holi.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 295px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAsiBdxtzBVvlNJsEz4EoBMYQOEIH7K6evV3njWOFWLcVEKdahGRlz_CsGsyr78mc3smAssGK-VqaRJolVj_I64noedfDasqPORc8L8NDz_J5-2vYM_wNM4-SIL6uCxbsRh4BJR_XJYHBD/s400/holi.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444500928017185202" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">March, one morning. Spring festival on my university campus. Holi. Colors -- powder, water balloons, water guns, even buckets of colored water...! Friends finish a quick breakfast and rush out to meet on the Jhelum Lawns. On the open stage teams are assembling to sing and parody -- it's the "Chaat Sammelan" (sorry, no translation!). We've already had the traditional bhaang drink from the kitchen staff who'd soon take the day off, and we're getting high with the riding sun forcing open flower buds. Someone's got sweets from home. We eat. We throw colors on friends and even a few strangers. We sing. Loud, boisterous. Clap and dance too. The lawn becomes a pink-red-yellow-green cloud. We float on it. It's spring, so some loves are sworn. Some are spurned too. Later, our group flocks to professors' quarters to wish them. We get more colors and some more snack to nibble on! By late afternoon, we want to shower and sleep. One lone guy, still high on the cannabis, sits under a tree and beats a drum.<br /><br />Even I can't stop humming : <i>Chalat musafir moh liyo re // pinjrewali muniyaa // udd udd baithi panwadiya dukaniyaa // beedey ka sara ras le liyo re pinjrewali muniyaa //...!!</i><br /><br />A song about the 'muniya' bird enticing travelers, pecking off on sweets and coloring its beak with the taint of 'paan' -- double entendre all the way!</span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i>Image from the Internet: Brent Lewin</i></span></span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0