Literary Vibes - Edition XCIV (13-Nov-2020)
(Title - Winter - Picture courtesy Latha Prem Sakhya)
Dear Readers,
Welcome to the 94th edition of LiteraryVibes. We are back with lots of interesting poems and fascinating stories. Hope you will like them.
In today's edition we have two new brilliant writers who are acknowledged leaders in their professional field. Dr. Ramesh Chandra Panda, a retired civil servant and a former Judge in the Central Administrative Tribunal, lives in Bhubaneswar and devotes his time to the pursuit of spiritualism and Indian Cultural Heritage. He has been kind enough to agree to share his interesting, thought provoking articles on the twelve Jyotirlings with us. After today's introductory piece there will be a series on the individual Jyotirlings in the forthcoming editions of LiteraryVibes. We are grateful to Dr. Panda for sharing his articles with us. Dr. Gangadhar Sahoo, a well known Gynaecologist with national and international credentials, is currently the Dean of Studies at SUMS Medical College and Hospital at Bhubaneswar. He has written a touching piece on his reminiscences. It is a wonderful article combining glimpses of professional commitment and personal empathy. How I wish more doctors and other professionals among the readers of LiteraryVibes share such gems with us. If we don't do it now, when will we do it?
That brings me to invite all of you to enjoy the very nostalgic article of Dr. Pradip K. Swain from his days at Mercy Hospital, Altoona, Pennsylvania, USA in the eighties of the last century. Also to be noted is a beautiful video of an yesteryear's Ballerina Marta C Gonzalez getting emotional at Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake and breaking into spontaneous hand movements, unable to resist herself. When I posted the video in the LV WhatsApp group it prompted our brilliant, inexhaustible, adorable poet Prabhanjan Kumar Mishra to pen an excellent tribute to her. That, dear readers, is the incredible power of music and of poetry. Long live the spirit of art, music and literature in human heart! Do enjoy the video and the poem at http://www.positivevibes.today/article/newsview/355 I can assure you it will be an exhilarating experience.
Our heartiest congratulations to Prof. Molly Joseph on the publication of her Collection of Poems "Water Sings Over the Stones". Reading the book is an enchanting experience - the poems speak of beauty and joy, faith and love. It is poetry at its best. An excellent review of the book by Prof. Queen Sarkar is at the end of this LV page.
On Tuesday afternoon, browsing through the messages in my WhatsApp groups, I picked up the following stories. I had read them earlier, as many of you must have done. But I enjoyed them again. I think the true worth of literature is its abiding permanence, the ability to entertain and inspire over ages. Couple of these stories gave me goosebumps, some brought tears to my eyes. I smiled as I tried to judge which one was better than the others. What more can one expect from a combination of a few words in the magical hands of a story teller!
1 - First Important Lesson - Cleaning Lady.
During my second month of college, our professor gave us a pop quiz. I was a conscientious student and had breezed through the questions until I read the last one: “What is the first name of the woman who cleans the school?" Surely this was some kind of joke. I had seen the cleaning woman several times. She was tall, dark-haired and in her 50's, but how would I know her name?
I handed in my paper, leaving the last question blank. Just before class ended, one student asked if the last question would count toward our quiz grade.
"Absolutely, " said the professor. "In your careers, you will meet many people. All are significant. They deserve your attention and care, even if all you do is smile and say "hello."
I've never forgotten that lesson. I also later learned her name was Dorothy.
2. - Second Important Lesson - Pickup in the Rain
One night at 11:30 p.m., an older African American woman was standing on the side of an Alabama highway trying to endure a lashing rain storm. Her car had broken down and she desperately needed a ride. Soaking wet, she decided to flag down the next car. A young white man stopped to help her, generally unheard of in those conflict-filled 1960's. The man
took her to safety, helped her get assistance and put her into a taxicab.
She seemed to be in a big hurry, but wrote down his address and thanked him. Seven days went by and a knock came on the man's door. To his surprise, a giant color TV was delivered to his home. A special note was attached. It read:
"Thank you so much for assisting me on the highway the other night. The rain had drenched not only my clothes, but also my spirits. Then you came along. Because of you, I was able to make it to my dying husband's' bedside just before he passed away. God bless you for helping me and unselfishly serving others."
Sincerely, Mrs. Nat King Cole.
3 - Third Important Lesson - Always remember those who serve.
In the days when an ice cream sundae cost much less, a 10-year-old boy entered a hotel coffee shop and sat at a table. A waitress put a glass of water in front of him.
"How much is an ice cream Sundae?" he asked.
"Fifty cents," replied the waitress.
The little boy pulled his hand out of his pocket and studied the coins in it.
"Well, how much is a plain dish of ice cream?" he inquired.
By now more people were waiting for a table and the waitress was growing impatient. “Thirty-five cents," she brusquely replied.
The little boy again counted his coins. “I'll have the plain ice cream," he said. The waitress brought the ice cream, put the bill on the table and walked away. The boy finished the ice cream, paid the cashier and left. When the waitress came back, she began to cry as she wiped down the table. There, placed neatly beside the empty dish, were two nickels and five pennies.
You see, he couldn't have the Sundae, because he had to have enough left to leave her a tip.
4 - Fourth Important Lesson - The obstacle in Our Path.
In ancient times, a King had a boulder placed on a roadway. Then he hid himself and watched to see if anyone would remove the huge rock. Some of the King's wealthiest merchants and
courtiers came by and simply walked around it. Many loudly blamed the King for not keeping the roads clear, but none did anything about getting the stone out of the way.
Then a peasant came along carrying a load of vegetables. Upon approaching the boulder, the peasant laid down his burden and tried to move the stone to the side of the road. After much pushing and straining, he finally succeeded.
After the peasant picked up his load of vegetables, he noticed a purse lying in the road where the boulder had been. The purse contained many gold coins and a note from the King indicating that the gold was for the person who removed the boulder from the roadway. The peasant learned
what many of us may never understand!
Every obstacle presents an opportunity to improve our condition.
5 - Fifth Important Lesson - Giving When it Counts...
Many years ago, when I worked as a volunteer at a hospital, I got to know a little girl named Liz who was suffering from a rare & serious disease. Her only chance of recovery appeared to be a blood transfusion from her 5-year old brother, who had miraculously survived the same disease and had developed the antibodies needed to combat the illness. The doctor explained the situation to her little brother, and asked the little boy if he would be willing to give his blood to his sister.
I saw him hesitate for only a moment before taking a deep breath and saying, "Yes I'll do it if it will save her." As transfusion progressed, he lay in bed next to his sister and smiled, as we all did, seeing the color returning to her cheek. Then his face grew pale and his smile faded.
He looked up at the doctor and asked with a trembling voice, "Will I start to die right away?"
Being young, the little boy had misunderstood the doctor; he thought he was going to have to give his sister all of his blood in order to save her.
What are the lessons from these stories? Live life with no regrets, treat people the way you want to be treated, work like you don't need the money, love like you've never been hurt, and dance like you do when nobody's watching.
Please enjoy and share LV94 with your friends and contacts. The link is at http://www.positivevibes.today/article/newsview/356
All the previous 93 editions of LV are available at http://www.positivevibes.today/literaryvibes
Take care, smile and be safe.
Wish all of you a very happy Deepavali.
Warm regards
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
Table of Contents:
01) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
EVEN THE DYING LEAVES…
02) Haraprasad Das
A SUN’S BRILLIANCE (SURYA)
03) CHILDHOOD MEMORIES
a. A CASHEW-FLAVOURED CHILDHOOD - Sulochana Ram Mohan
b. THEN AND NOW - Latha Prem Sakhya
c. MELTING MISTS - Geetha Nair G.
04) Dilip Mohapatra
THE COIN TOSS
LIMERICKS
05) Pradip K. Swain
BLESSINGS
06) Lathaprem Sakhya
GLORIOSA SUPERBA
07) Dr. Bichitra Kumar Behura
IN YOUR HEART
08) Dr. Ramesh Chandra Panda
GLIMPSES OF OUR HERITAGE - JYOTIRLINGAS
09) Prof. Dr. Gangadhar Sahoo
CUP OF TEA
10) Madhumathi H
HE TRANSLATES THE UNSPOKEN...
OF PETALS, TEARDROPS, AND COLORS OF LIFE...
11) Sunil Biswal
SIGNS OF LIFE IN AN ISOLATION WARD
12) Hema Ravi
ANOTHER DOLL TAKES OVER...
LEAD US ON ....
13) Supriya Pattanayak
AUTUMN BLUES
14) Setaluri Padmavathi
LIGHT
15) N. Meera Raghavendra Rao
DEEPAVALI SHOPPING
16) Pradeep Rath
MUSINGS IN LONESOME HOURS
17) Ravi Ranganathan
BETWEEN LINES
18) Abani Udgata
KARTIK AND AMITABH BACHHAN
19) Mihir Kumar Mishra
THE LONELY LAMENT
20) Niranjan Barik
MY MOM, THE BEST!
21) Dr. Aparna Ajith
ENDEARING EZHIMALA
22) Dr.Thirupurasundari C J
SIMPLE MAGICAL EMOTION
23) Ashok Kumar Ray
KREMLIN
24) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
ABANDONED
A SMALL LIE
Book Review
01) Dr. Queen Sarkar
Beyond Fears and Hates: Reading Molly Joseph’s Water Sings Over the Stones
Even the dying leaves look glorious,
their golden wisdom burning in autumn years
into time’s eternal ash.
The flippant wind pauses
before striking them down.
They will fall away, be blown about
and trampled under the youth’s buoyant feet.
The first rain will permeate the earth
with their fragrance and the proud feet
will be stilled in mid strides.
The mind will ponder over each coil of aroma.
The scorching gaze of the tyrant youth
will be subdued by their soothing haze.
Their fertile ash will bring the youth
to their truant knees to worship the earth,
and rejoice at the warmth left to smoulder
in the bramble of their foreheads.
(Won the JIWE Poetry Prize)
Prabhanjan K. Mishra writes poems, stories, critiques and translates, works in two languages – English and Odia. Three of his collected poems in English have been published into books – VIGIL (1993), Lips of a Canyon (2000), and LITMUS (2005).His Odia poems have appeared in Odia literary journals. His English poems poems have been widely anthologized and published in literary journals. He has translated Bhakti poems (Odia) of Salabaga that have been anthologized into Eating God by Arundhathi Subramaniam and also translated Odia stories of the famous author Fakirmohan Senapati for the book FROM THE MASTER’s LOOM (VINTAGE STORIES OF FAKIRMOHAN SENAPATI). He has also edited the book. He has presided over the POETRY CIRCLE (Mumbai), a poets’ group, and was the editor (1986-96) of the group’s poetry magazine POIESIS. He has won Vineet Gupta Memorial Poetry Award and JIWE Poetry Award for his English poems.He welcomes readers' feedback at his email - prabhanjan.db@gmail.com
Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra
The dense foliage has no room
for even a lance to penetrate,
what of the sunrays?
Sweat glands do not ooze a drop,
they keep their alchemy insular!
Blue or red blood, not known,
no cuts of veins to bleed,
royals insulated from commoners.
The famed teacher of archery
even in sleep
on his austere grass-bed,
keeps hidden his esoteric key
in the crook of his thumb
like his ancestors over generations.
But a pair of curious eyes,
lusting after his esoteric art,
the art of archery, furtively watches
from behind a distant bush
at the great teacher,
training his royal pupils.
The boy is hardly aware,
he will expose a landmark rift
in the lute of the glorious
lore of his land, Bharat.
A dozing leaf in the foliage
asks its neighbor,
“Has the sunshine
penetrated our insularity?”
A sweat gland asks another,
“Has any of us, of late,
oozed a giveaway drop?”
A vein enquires
of its neighbouring vein,
“What goes on, bro?
Will our blue blood ever join
the sea of red blood?”
The intuitive teacher,
senses the boy’s intense eyes;
crooks a finger
with a ‘come hither’ signal.
The rest is history -
the boy’s brilliance
blazes like the sun;
the myth of Eklavya!
Mr. Hara Prasad Das is one of the greatest poets in Odiya literature. He is also an essayist and columnist. Mr. Das, has twelve works of poetry, four of prose, three translations and one piece of fiction to his credit. He is a retired civil servant and has served various UN bodies as an expert.
He is a recipient of numerous awards and recognitions including Kalinga Literary Award (2017), Moortidevi Award(2013), Gangadhar Meher Award (2008), Kendra Sahitya Akademi Award (1999) and Sarala Award (2008)”
CHILDHOOD MEMORIES
1. A CASHEW-FLAVOURED CHILDHOOD
The house holds pride of place
In my childhood memories.
Manderely like, it stands majestically
Amidst acres of wild land.
Reaching Kozhikode for the first time,
My father was thrilled he found the house so soon.
It showered magic on the family too
All were enamoured,
Love at first sight, no doubt.
The garden had run amok,
Weeds everywhere, trees overgrown,
But exotic flowers peeped in between,
Sleeping beauties slumbering till we touched them!!
The backyard was a spread,
All fruit trees were there, you name it, I find it,
That was the first game we kids played.
Mango, jackfruit, papaya, jamba, gooseberry, neem,
And lo and behold, a mangostein!
We could not identify that, it was not a native.
A hedge enclosed the yard,
but beyond that too the orchard continued,
Hordes of cashewnut trees,
Bearing orange yellow fruits
that plopped down and squashed to pulp when overripe.
Childhood in Kozhikode
is pickled in the aroma of cashew fruits
the bitter sweet juices flowing down the chin as you sucked on them,
the crackle of the nuts as mother fried them with sand,
the raw ones used in ethnic curries adding exotic taste,
Kozhikode was then the land of parankimanga,
A constant reminder of the Portuguese era.
Growing up and reading Rebecca,
I turned it into a twin of Manderely,
Waiting for secrets to be unveiled,
Love, lost and found.
But what we were to lose
was the house itself
Transferred back to South Kerala
Father let go of the magical place
Just as I let go of my childhood naivety.
Looking back, I realise, how we changed after that,
How lost we were without the hold the house had on us.
Sulochana Ram Mohan writes in both English and Malayalam, her mother tongue. She has published four volumes of short stories, one novel, one script, all in Malayalam. Writes poems in English; is a member of “Poetry Chain” in Trivandrum. Has been doing film criticism for a long time, both in print and visual media.
Scene ONE
The slate was clean.
The chubby girl drew a pond.
A man stood fishing.
"Amma look at this."
"Go on with it, it is good;
" Let me finish my chores".
Scene TWO
Other side of the slate,
A circle filled with strokes.
Waited patiently for Amma.
Hearing no movements
Amma came in search.
Girl immersed in thought.
" What is it darling?"
"Finished drawing, Amma."
"Let me see;" pointing to the chalk mark
"What is this? Water?"
"Water, pond."
"Where is the man?"
"Plop, he fell into the pond,
Fish swallowed him".
Amma couldn't help laughing.
Gliding summers
Waxing and waning life
Girl now a grandma.
"Child colour this picture;
Let me finish my chores".
"Paattie, these hens and chickens?"
"Yes dear, I will soon be back."
"Paattie, I finished."
"So quickly?"
"Let me look,"
"Here, look,"
A blotch of black stared back.
Where are the hens and the chickens, sonny?
"Hush, Paattie, I hid them,"
"Why?" whispered Paattie,
"When you left me,
The bad wolf came prowling,
And I hid them under the black colour."
Paattie stood tongue tied.
Life has changed,
World has changed,
No more the innocence
Even in a child's mind.
Survival, the goal,
Even of the little ones.
The bad wolves everywhere.
Prof. Latha Prem Sakhya, a poet, painter and a retired Professor of English, has published three books of poetry. MEMORY RAIN (2008), NATURE AT MY DOOR STEP (2011) - an experimental blend, of poems, reflections and paintings ,VERNAL STROKE (2015 ) a collection of? all her poems.
Her poems were published in journals like IJPCL, Quest, and in e magazines like Indian Rumination, Spark, Muse India, Enchanting Verses international, Spill words etc. She has been anthologized in Roots and Wings (2011), Ripples of Peace ( 2018), Complexion Based Discrimination ( 2018), Tranquil Muse (2018) and The Current (2019). She is member of various poetic groups like Poetry Chain, India poetry Circle and Aksharasthree - The Literary woman, World Peace and Harmony
Someone had stolen the land
While I slept!
There was nothing outside the moving window!
White , only wide sheets of white.
"Mists," Amma said, holding me close-
The first new word of this strange new world-
"They will melt away soon."
I hid my face between her breasts
as the blue train puffed on
higher, higher.
Later, I woke to see
Far, far below, toy cars and a toy bus moving sedate along a grey ribbon.
Nearer, the trees were beckoning,
the flowers too, like the ones I coloured,
Brightest red and darkest blue.
The air was peppermint.
A new feeling in my little limbs; I shivered.
"Chill."
He rose and smoothed warmth
over my head and around my arms. "Jersey".
Cigarettes and gingelly oil ,
The strange smell of him;
This stranger with a wounded leg, a dark green uniform and loud Kashmir tales,
Whom Amma slept next to, now.
And as I sat there,
on his rough lap,
The sun came to view
like a huge dosa,
Filling my brand new world.
Geetha Nair G. is an award-winning author of two collections of poetry: Shored Fragments and Drawing Flame. Her work has been reviewed favourably in The Journal of the Poetry Society (India) and other notable literary periodicals. Her most recent publication is a collection of short stories titled Wine, Woman and Wrong. All the thirty three stories in this collection were written for,and first appeared in Literary Vibes.
Geetha Nair G. is a former Associate Professor of English, All Saints’ College, Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala.
You made me flip the coin
and toss it into the air
and as it descends
you snap it up
and close your palms around it
the coin on your left palm
and your right palm on top.
The minutes tick by
in tandem with the heart beats
and you are yet to reveal the result
and then you say that
you can change the destiny
and turn your palms
in a flick
now the coin on your right palm
and the left palm on top.
Then you slowly open the palm
and show me the head
with a grin
while I try and remember
the fine print that you had drafted:
heads you win
and tails I lose.
There was this girl who was a Tuscan
Who was very fond of her pet toucan
Her boyfriend was Hans
Who didn’t know how to dance
She said if I can cancan you too can.
There was this guy with the face of a pug
But his wife was totally enamoured by his mug
They made a fine pair
one was dark the other fair
When one was the tanker the other was the tug.
" I can’t stand you or anyone else standing high and tall,
I just can't see the world moving at your beck and call,
Everyone sucks, I'm the best
How can you be better than the rest?
I may not measure up to your knees, no one pulls my legs after all!"
This is about a confused nurse,
sister Hoyle
Who one day was in a state of embroil
The patient was howling
And she was scowling
She was supposed to just prick a boil !
Corona Virus has created havoc despite its size
But we also learnt a lot, for your guesses no prize
Seal your lips when she asks
With the latest designer masks
But learn to smile with your eyes
nee smize !
Dilip Mohapatra (b.1950), a decorated Navy Veteran is a well acclaimed poet in contemporary English and his poems appear in many literary journals of repute and multiple anthologies worldwide. He has six poetry collections to his credit so far published by Authorspress, India. He has also authored a Career Navigation Manual for students seeking a corporate career. This book C2C nee Campus to Corporate had been a best seller in the category of Management Education. He lives with his wife in Pune, India
AN EMERGENCY ROOM PHYSICIAN GIVES THANKS
Rarely do I sit down and count my blessings, but as I am getting older, I’m doing it more and more. During these 15 years, there have been moments of mercurial exuberance and there have been moments of Sisyphean fatigue--the emotional roller coaster of one minute feeling the elation of the “great save” and the next minute the acknowledgement of my limitations and consoling the grief.
During this Thanksgiving holiday, as I celebrate my 15th anniversary in emergency medicine, these are some of the blessings that keep me going day-by-day and they represent some of the highlights and reasons I have lasted this long.
I am thankful for:
- The elderly widow patient of limited means but limitless gratitude, who for 15 years has not forgotten my birthday, Father’s Day, Easter, Christmas or my children’s Christmas.
- The timid child who forgivingly hugs me farewell after I have restrained him, given him the dreaded novocaine shot and put a few stitches on his face and generally been a necessary villain in the treatment protocol.
- The once-treated patient who occasionally drops off a box of doughnuts during the early hours of the morning in remembrance of kindness showed him that has long since been forgotten by the emergency room staff.
- The editor of the Altoona Mirror who understands that my writing is a form of stress debriefing and not only takes time to read my manuscripts but publishes them as well.
- Automobile accident victims who wear their seat belts, not only saving their lives but their faces.
- A loving forbearing wife and three patient children who understand and deal with not only my physical absences, but my mental lapses as well, because my mind constantly drifts back to the emergency room.
- Young, talented physicians who are coming to take my place and who will be there to take care of me when my time comes.
- The emergency room nurses, moving with quiet grace, speaking softly in a caring voice, soothing and reassuring, comforting the relatives anxiously waiting, watching the monitors and giving medications.
- The emergency room secretaries and technicians, who make countless runs to the lab with specimens, clean innumerable stretchers and make them ready for the next patient and make them ready for the next patient, and serve as invaluable public relations advocates when I don’t have the time to do these necessary tasks.
- The paramedics, risking their lives, bring me a crushed patient from an upside-down car, covered with oil, glass and jagged metal in the pouring rain with two IVs running wide open, high-flow oxygen and heart monitor.
- The state trooper who did not give me a speeding ticket when he knew someone’s life was on the line, and, instead, took me in his cruiser, with lights and siren, right to the emergency room door, and said, “Hey Doc, I might need you to save my life someday.”
- The department coffee pot, which not only provides me with the alertness to do my job but also provides me the kind of warm solace for the bereaved and the impatient when mere words no longer work.
- Busy times which make the shift go faster.
- Slow times which allow me to catch my breath and reflect that I am thankful for being an emergency room physician, in spite of my constant bouts of burnout, disappointment and recrimination. Some higher power has molded me to deal with the crisis with the unpredictability of emergency work and then kindly created a job for me to fill. I still find what I can do deeply exciting and as creative as I choose to make it.
For this, I am truly thankful!
Dr. Pradip K. Swain, a medical graduate from SCB Medical College, Cuttack in 1965, moved to the U.S. In the seventies after a six years stint in the University of Glasgow, Scotland. He was Director and Chairman of Mercy Regional Health System, Altoona, Pennsylvania, USA, from 1981-1998. An Emergency Care Specialist he also worked as a Professor, Instructor and Perceptor at the Saint Francis College, Pennsylvania (1980-1998). Among many distinguished positions held by him, his stint as a Director in the Board of Directors of American Heart Association (1980-1984) and Instructor, Basic Life Support, American Heart Association (1979-1998), Regional Medical Director, Southern Alleghenies Emergency Care (1980-1998) are noteworthy. Recipient of numerous awards for exemplary service in the field of medicine and emergency care, he was a familiar face in American television in the eighties and nineties of the last century, talking about Trauma, Lifeline, Advanced Cardiac Life Support, Toxicology, Heat Emergencies, Frostbite, Hypothermia etc. He has also published dozens of articles on these topics in newspapers and journals. After his retirement from active medical services he lives in Falls Church, Virginia, USA, along with his wife, Dr. Asha L. Swain, who is also a Physician with a distinguished service record. They can be reached at alswainmd@aol.com
Gloriosa superba indeed
I met you outside my gate
In our own triangular plot
We did not wall in leaving it aside
For future expansion of the road.
Yet a place for all my extra plantlings
To grow wild and untented
A miniature forest.
Where only I dare to enter.
It was my wild area corresponding
To the inner wilderness within me.
A corner for tortoise to breed
Where, occasionally the lesser whistling
Lays her egg close to the tiny stream.
One day I saw you blooming
Years back, as I was rushing to college.
I admired you and hurried off
Forgetting all about you.
Occasionally I see you and on some days
Glimpsing you limply hanging
Flailing your tendrils seeking support
I help you to climb on my stout croton.
And you gift me with flaming flowers
Always a heartwarming sight.
With your warm colours
I mistook you for an orchid.
We called you our wild orchid.
Once I even tried to uproot you
To tend you in my home
A corner where you can bloom
Under my loving care.
But I didn't get your roots
I dug and dug but you had your rhizomes
Buried deep inside the earth.
As if to discourage me, aware of yourself.
I gave up and you continue blooming still.
You are known by common names
The village folk call you flame lily
Climbing lily, creeping lily, glory lily,
Gloriosa lily, tiger claw, and fire lily
But they never entertain you near their homes.
My village friend with a wry smile once said
"Yes she is beautiful but equally dangerous,
Keep her away from, man and animals
From her tender tendrils to her roots,
She is poison incarnate, your Gloriosa superba!"
Prof. Latha Prem Sakhya, a poet, painter and a retired Professor of English, has published three books of poetry. MEMORY RAIN (2008), NATURE AT MY DOOR STEP (2011) - an experimental blend, of poems, reflections and paintings ,VERNAL STROKE (2015 ) a collection of? all her poems.
Her poems were published in journals like IJPCL, Quest, and in e magazines like Indian Rumination, Spark, Muse India, Enchanting Verses international, Spill words etc. She has been anthologized in Roots and Wings (2011), Ripples of Peace ( 2018), Complexion Based Discrimination ( 2018), Tranquil Muse (2018) and The Current (2019). She is member of various poetic groups like Poetry Chain, India poetry Circle and Aksharasthree - The Literary woman, World Peace and Harmony
I am always there
All around,
Everywhere,
Before your eyes
In the garden,
Among the flowers,
Within the breeze
Caressing your tresses
Kissing your lips
With utmost care.
How can you miss
My morning wish
In the tender sunshine,
On the dew drops,
Dazzling so bright ?
You’ve ignored my songs
Rendered through birds,
Remained unmindful of me
While I traversed inside
As regular breaths.
Even during dark night
When you are lonely
And looking for light
I am there
Up above the sky
With the twinkling stars
Cheering you up
To conquer the world.
Love me or not
Doesn’t not matter,
Enough if you feel
My presence
In some corner
of your heart.
"Dr. Bichitra Kumar Behura passed out from BITS, Pilani as a Mechanical Engineer and is serving in a PSU, Oil Marketing Company for last 3 decades. He has done his MBA in Marketing from IGNOU and subsequently the PhD from Sagaur Central University in Marketing. In spite of his official engagements, he writes both in Odia and English and follows his passion in singing and music. He has already published three books on collections of poems in Odia i.e. “Ananta Sparsa”, “Lagna Deha” & “Niraba Pathika”, and two books on collection of English poems titled “The Mystic in the Land of Love” and “The Mystic is in Love “. His poems have been published in many national/ international magazines and in on-line publications. He has also published a non-fiction titled “Walking with Baba, the Mystic”. His books are available both in Amazon & Flipkart.". Dr Behura welcomes readers' feedback on his email - bkbehura@gmail.com
GLIMPSES OF OUR HERITAGE - JYOTIRLINGAS
“Saurashtre Somanathamcha Srisaile Mallikarjunam|
Ujjayinya Mahakalam Omkaramamaleswaram ||
Paralyam Vaidyanathancha Dakinyam Bheema Shankaram |
Setu Bandhethu Ramesam, Nagesam Darukavane||
Varanasyantu Vishwesam Tryambakam Gautameethate|
Himalayetu Kedaaram, Ghrishnesamcha shivaalaye||
Etani jyotirlingani, Saayam Praatah Patennarah|
Sapta Janma Kritam pApam, Smaranena Vinashyati||”
Somanath in Saurastra, Mallikarjuna in Shri Saile, Mahakala in Ujjaiyana and Parameshawara also manifested as Omkara. Kedara in Himavat and Bhima Shankara in Dakinya. Vishewaswara in Varanasi and Trayambaka in side of Gautami. Vaidyanath in ChitaBhumi and Nageshwara in forest of Daruka. Rameshwara in Setubandha and Ghusmeshwara in Shivalaya. These names of twelve Jyotirlingas who recites in morning, he gets freed from all sins and is eligible to get all Siddhis.
Lord Shiva – the supreme reality
The above Sanskrit shloka (cantos) lists the twelve Jyotirlinga temples and praises Lord Mahadev, and the divine aura and the holiness of all the twelve Jyotirlingas. A Jyotirlinga / Jyotirlingam is the embodiment of God Shiva - a divine devotional object in the form of Lingam. “Jyoti” means 'radiance' and “lingam” means the 'Image or Sign' of Shiva. Therefore, Jyotirlinga means the radiant symbol of the almighty devo-deva Mahadev Shiva. There are twelve traditional Jyotirlinga shrines in India.
It is considered that Lord Shiva is the supreme reality ... is infinite, pure consciousness, eternal, changeless, formless. He is Omnipotent, Omniscient, Omnipresent, all pervasive, beginning-less, ever pure, and ever perfect. He is not limited by space or time. He is Sat Chit Ananda. Lord Shiva is God of infinite love for mankind. Lord Shiva pervades the whole world by His Shakti. In fact, He works through His Shakti and she is the conscious energy of the Lord. She is the very body of the Lord Himself. Lord Shiva is the first cause of the world; Shakti is the instrumental cause and Maya the material cause for it. This is best understood by an example of a potter. The potter is the first cause for the pot. The stick and the wheel are the instrumental causes while the clay is the material cause for the pot. Shakti (nature of chaitanya) acts as an intermediate link between Lord Shiva (pure consciousness) and matter (pure unconsciousness). He assumes the form of a Guru. He helps to liberate individual souls from the earthly bonds. The five activities of the Lord are called Pancha Krityas.1.Srishti (creation); 2.Sthiti (preservation); 3.Samhara (destruction); 4.Tirobhava (veiling) and 5.Anugraha (grace).
According to Shiva-Mahapurana once Brahma (the god of creation) and Vishnu (the God of Preservation) had an argument over supremacy of creation and to solve the issue Shiva pierced the three worlds appearing as the Jyotirlinga (a huge Infinite Pillar of Light), which later cooled into the Holy Mountain Annamalai (on which the temple of Arunachaleshwara is located at Thiruvannamalai of Tamil Nadu). Vishnu and Brahma were put to test by Shiva to find the end of the light. They were sent in two different directions viz. Vishnu to downwards and Brahma to upwards respectively to find the end of the light in either directions. Brahma told a lie that he found out the end, while Vishnu conceded his defeat. This lie of Brahma angered Shiva who cursed Brahma that he would not be worshipped even though he is the creator. The Jyotirlinga shrines are Temples where Shiva appeared as a fiery column of light.
It is believed that originally there are 64 Jyotirlingas but later it has been accepted that 12 of them are considered to be very auspicious and holy. Each of the twelve Jyotirlinga sites take the name of the presiding deity, each considered a different manifestation of Shiva. In these sites, the primary image is lingam representing the beginning less and endless Stambha or pillar, symbolizing the infinite nature of Shiva. This jyoti swarupa of God exists in all the Shivalinga forms. These are prominent abodes across Indian subcontinent, where the Lingam is in a splendid form and are renowned as dwadas Jyotirlingas or 12 Jyotirlingas. Two on the sea shore, three on river banks, four in the heights of the mountains and three in villages located in meadows; the twelve Jyotirlingas are those spread out in different divine places, every place has been described in glorious words. Many of us who go to these temples, receive the holy blessings of the Lord, and come back happy, peaceful and blessed. This in indeed depends on one’s devotion.
These are held at much great esteem since the ancient pre-historic times and the devotees have been getting attracted towards these divine abodes due to the divine presence of Shivalinga. Worship of Shivalinga is considered the primary desire for the devotees. The significance of the Shivalinga is that Lingam is the resplendent light (flame) form of the Supreme - solidified to make the worship of Shiva easier which represents the real nature of God - formless essentially and taking various forms as Lord wills.
It is popularly believed that those who chant the above shlokas or prayer will attain salvation and enlightenment and be released from this cycle of human existence with all its travails. The devotees of different castes, creeds and colour have belief that by worshipping the Jyotirlingas they would be freed from all difficulties and by eating the holy offering (Naivedyam) one would be rid of all the sins. As a matter of fact, we do the darshan of the Jyotirlingas as a part of our daily life. Sun, fire and light etc., are indeed a part of that great Light. “Om tatsavituvarenye” these magical words of the Gayatri mantra or chant invokes this Supreme light only. By chanting this powerful mantra, humans can obtain divine power to their life-light or Atma-jyothi. The aura of the Sun rays and the various benefits that can be derived there from is indeed a difficult task to describe. This gorgeous life-light is the only thing that is responsible for the activity in the universe. The life force “agni” or fire is a great light. For all the activities on the earth, “fire” is the pivot. Deepajyoti or light and its greatness, is known to all of us, and we offer our prayers. Let us celebrate the glory of light. Light is offered a place of pride at the welcome celebrations and on all auspicious occasions. This light removes the darkness from the lives of one and all. Darkness means ignorance and is destroyed by this light. The light of God makes all our wishes come true, when we take darshan of it. Thus, by taking a darshan of these twelve Jyotirlingas, the auspicious air surrounding them and the holy pilgrimage, will bring happiness, peace and satisfaction to all the devotees.
Dr. Ramesh Chandra Panda is a retired Civil Servant and former Judge in the Central Administrative Tribunal. He belongs to the 1972 batch of IAS in Tamil Nadu Cadre where he held many important assignments including long spells heading the departments of Education, Agriculture and Rural Development. He retired from the Government of India as Secretary, Ministry of Heavy Industries and Public Enterprises in 2008 and worked in CAT Principal Bench in Delhi for the next five years. He is the Founder MD of OMFED. He had earned an excellent reputation as an efficient and result oriented officer during his illustrious career in civil service.
Dr. Panda lives in Bhubaneswar. A Ph. D. in Economics, he spends his time in scholarly pursuits, particularly in the fields of Spiritualism and Indian Cultural Heritage. He is a regular contributor to the Odia magazine Saswata Bharat and the English paper Economic and Political Daily.
My mother was staying with me ever since my father fell ill, from 1996 to October 2018.
It was in Burla. I was staying in a Government quarters with my family. I used to proudly tell everyone, "Here is a rare family where four generations are staying happily, my mother, myself & my wife, son & daughter in law and my Natuni (Grand Daughter) Trishna".
It's my habit since childhood to get up early in the morning. I go to bed by 10 pm and rise as early as 4.30 am. But I don't fully enjoy the three consequential benefits: healthy, wealthy and wise. I am not healthy even if I look so, I am a store house of many diseases; I am not wealthy though nor poor either, I don't think I'm wise but I am certainly not a fool.
I finish my routine morning work within half an hour and prepare myself to review the previous day's work and start to read some important chapters from recent advances or from text books.
By that time my mother will be standing with a cup of tea in her hand. She gives me that cup and sits beside me. In the busy life of her son as a renowned Gynaecologist and a practitioner, she finds only this time as the free time to talk. She talks about my health, about the serious patients I have treated or operated, asks about the delivery of Modi babu's wife, a professor of Electrical Engineering and a family friend of mine. You will be surprised to know that my mother had more friends than mine. So did my father. He was so sociable that if he had stood for MLA or MP election he would have easily won.
After all these interactions she will tactfully ask me if I was taking care of her four daughters, if I have paid them their traditional dues and gifts. After that she will put her hand on my head as a gesture of blessing, take the empty cup drained of the tea I had finished by the time and would go away to her room. This was a daily routine for her.
That cup of tea??
To prepare that cup of tea, she would be waiting for me to wake up. She could sense when I woke up. Her biological clock was so active, I was surprised at it. If by 5 am I was still on the bed then her alarm would ring, "Banku (my pet name ), it is 5 o'clock. Wake up." Then I get up.
By that time she must have kept all the ingredients for the tea ready, sugar, tea , elaichi, tejpatta, ginger, pepper and a cup of milk. She never mixes water to it. When the world is in deep slumber she will be ready with a ready made special cup of tea for me.
After I finish the cup I feel it's just not an ordinary cup of tea, it is a divine cup of AMRUTA (Nectar) with all ingredients of her blessings. The taste is different, the flavour is special and the satisfaction is optimum.
After taking that tea I feel so energized that I finish my reading within no time, I do all the hard work of the day without the slightest hindrance.
Every day was a new day, taste of the tea was different but the outcome of the day's work was same i.e. 100 % success.
The cup of tea and the pat on my head was the eternal blessing from her to the son can be expected a loving and caring mother.
Actually because I rise early I am reasonably healthy, wealthy and wise.
So I used to get up early and and got her blessings when she was with me. Now I am missing it. The same cup is there, the same tea is there but the taste of her love is missing.
Prof Gangadhar Sahoo is a well-known Gynaecologist. He is a columnist and an astute Academician. He was the Professor and HOD of O&G Department of VSS MEDICAL COLLEGE, Burla.He is at present occupying the prestigious post of DEAN, IMS & SUM HOSPITAL, BHUBANESWAR and the National Vice President of ISOPARB (INDIAN SOCIETY OF PERINATOLOGY AND REPRODUCTIVE BIOLOGY). He has been awarded the BEST TEACHER AWARD of VSS MEDICAL COLLEGE,BURLA in 2013. He has contributed CHAPTERS in 13 books and more than 100 Scientific Articles in State, National and International Journals of high repute. He is a National Faculty in National Level and delivered more than 200 Lectures in Scientific Conventions.He was adjudged the BEST NATIONAL SPEAKER in ISOPARB NATIONAL CONVENTION in 2016..
There are so many lakes, and rivers
Plenty of boats, ships and sailors
But only he believed
When she said
The water has a voice...
The ripples, and waves are poetry, and
The wind sings to her soul...
She has a sea hidden in her eyes
Waiting for the paper boats, from the pages of his heart
To blot the brine...
OF PETALS, TEARDROPS, AND COLORS OF LIFE...
Every life
Has its own story
In colors
Brimming with a palette of emotions
Flowing words
Frozen silences
Vibrant
Faded
Blending
Contrasting…
Creating rainbows
Dissolving in the rain
And
Sometimes
Disappearing in the storm
Leaving behind
The shadows of pigments
And inexplicable scents
That never matches
With any memory
Leaving us wondering
Regretting
If all the colors, and
All the flowers
Are born to wither...
Before it is too late
Before the unexpected dusk
Let the colourless teardrops
Have listeners
Hands to hold them softly
Let love gently speak
In all its glorious hues
Let its voice
Water the parched souls
Planting
Seeds of smile
Saplings of hope…
Slowly
Gardens would blossom
In the eyes
That were once deserts…
Giving, a little more
Every life
Will have stories
Of
“Been loved by…”
In a million healing colors…
Madhumathi is an ardent lover of Nature, Poetry(English and Tamil), Photography, and Music, Madhumathi believes writing is a soulful journey of weaving one's emotions and thoughts, having a kaleidoscopic view of life through poetry. She experiences Metamorphosis through writing. Nature is her eternal muse and elixir. Poetry, to Madhumathi, is a way of life, and loves to leave heartprints behind in gratitude, through her words. She strongly believes in the therapeutic power of words, that plant love, hope, and enable a deep healing. Madhumathi loves to spread mental health awareness through writing, breaking the stigma, and takes part in related activities, too.
Madhumathi's poems are published with the Poetry Society India in their AIPC anthologies 2015, 16, and 17, the multilingual anthology 'Poetic Prism' 2015(Tamil and English), Chennai Poets' Circle's 'Efflorescence' 2018, 2019, India Poetry Circle's 'Madras Hues Myriad Views'(2019) celebrating the spirit and glory of Madras, in the UGC approved e-journal Muse India, in IWJ-International Writers' Journal (2020), and e- zines Our Poetry Archive(OPA), and Storizen.
Blog for Madhumathi's Poems :https://multicoloredmoon.wordpress.com/, http://mazhaimozhimounam.blogspot.com/?m=1
SIGNS OF LIFE IN AN ISOLATION WARD
I spotted a white penguin walking past my bed. I yelled at her “Sister! Please Sister!!”
Penguin stopped and turned in my direction and said “I am the ward boy, uncle!!! Not sister”.
“Oh sorry, you all look the same, like a white penguin, in that PPE, can you tell what day is today?” I said.
“It is Saturday uncle” he said and moved on.
Saturday!!! That means I have been here for about seven days!!!
In normal times I would have been offended at being called “Uncle”, but today I myself was worried, puzzled and clueless about everything around me. I could not blame him. I ran my fingers through the stubble rich chin and imagined how my hair would be looking without a coat of “black natural dye”. Under the circumstances “Uncle” is a natural reaction from the penguins moving about in the CORONA Ward.
I could remember myself gasping for breath at home and when I came to my senses I had found myself in this isolation ward.
I had no idea of the number of days I was admitted in the isolation ward of the covid hospital. The state of the art CORONA WARD of the hospital had no opening to outside world. No window that let in the sun’s rays. There was no TV, no Radio, no Newspaper. My mobile was deposited with the hospital staff during my admission into the ward. The ward had ten beds scattered sufficiently apart from each other in a hall big enough to accommodate at least thirty hospital beds. The nearest fellow patient was 20 feet away and made any interaction nearly impractical. The ward was illuminated round the clock by LED lights. The only sound was from the air-conditioning ducts and the beeps from the medical equipment that was hooked to some critical patient.
“Jails might be better off than this rotten place”, I thought to myself.
I ate the food, slept, ate more food, looked at the white ceiling and then slept, took medicine , then slept, ate food, could not sleep, took medicine, put on oxygen, then slept, ate food, then slept. It was a continuous cycle of food, medicine, staring at the roof, sleep. I did not know if it was day or night outside the ward. I did not know if it was Sunday or Monday or any other day. It didn’t matter. I had lost count. The food looked enticing, but I had no way to tell how they tasted, as I had no sense of smell or taste. I took medicines given to me and lied down on bed, looking at the white roof.
The ward was scrupulously clean, penguins went around the ward wiping, spraying, and washing the ward. There was no way of telling who was behind that PPE kit, if it was a doctor? Or a nurse? Or a ward boy? They all looked same, like penguins.
At the moments I was seized with a sense of uneasiness and I was unable to assess the reason of this feeling. Then it dawned on me, this sense of vacuum was because of lack of my regular dose of “pan” the exotic stuff I indulged in every hour of the day. Since last seven days I didn’t have any and the colours of my life had gone. If only I could get one pan to chew, my life would become full and meaningful. But how do I get one pan in this prison like place?
“Hello brother, shh!!!” I called at the PPE clad staff just passing by my bed.
“yes, what is it?” a female voice answered.
“Am sorry sister, I was wondering… I actually have one small request ..” I looked at the nurse .
“Yes tell me sir, is anything bothering you” She asked.
“Didi, I am dying to chew a pan” I finally laid bare my desire.
“Are you serious sir!!! Do you know your condition? You were one of the most critical patients we had. And you wish to chew a pan? That might be the reason how you got infected in the first place. Please neither ask me nor try to pursue such dangerous habit when you are released from this hospital sir” She quickly, clearly, spoke and moved away hurriedly.
On the day I was released from hospital, I was feeling drained of energy but physically better. As my vehicle passed the street leading to my house I could see a lot of pan shops and was thrilled to see them, felt excited to stop and buy one and stuff my mouth with one and chew it for the heavenly taste. But the nurse’s words rang in my ear “that might be the reason of how you got infected” and thought against it. My vehicle stopped at my house.
Er.Sunil Kumar Biswal is a graduate Electrical Engineer and an entrepreneur. He is based in Sunabeda in Koraput District of Odisha. His other interests are HAM Radio (an active HAM with call sign VU2MBS) , Amateur Astronomy (he conducts sky watching programs for interested persons/groups) , Photography and a little bit of writing on diverse topics. He has a passion for communicating science to common man in a simple terms and often gives talks in Electronic media including All India Radio, Radio Koraput. He can be reached at sunilbiswal@hotmail.com
Toys, toys, Toys!
Teddies, bunnies, furries all over...
Her indispensable paraphernalia
at loggerheads with the life-sized folks
vying with each other
to take the coveted space on the twin bed
Burgeoning numbers... No family planning!
Despair and tantrums even if one child went amiss.
The ragged one, the new one,
the one with missing eyes,
The cherubic girl
had the prime spot among them all!
Having lived beyond their time
The frayed, the one-eyed,
Prickly, Sulky , Shiny et al
Long sojourn until
History repeated-
Toys, toys, Toys!
Teddies, bunnies, furries all over!
The night is dark, and I am far from home;
Lead thou me on….
Lead Kindly light, amid the encircling gloom
was Bapu’s favourite hymn
as were the Three Monkeys
that symbolized
See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil".
The values of truth and non-violence
The path of righteousness
Are they all gone?
Is the shore lonely and barren?
Human existence, is it without purpose?
Such thoughts continued to haunt
until the second of October when I watched
Three Gen -Alpha children
dressed in Bapu’s attire
let out the clarion call with confidence and conviction:
"An eye for eye only ends up making the whole world blind.
Where there is love there is life.
In a gentle way, you can shake the world."
In my heart a silent prayer-
Bapu, Lead us on in that path.......
(First published as video recording in the Setu Bilingual as part of the poetic tribute to the Mahatma)
Hema Ravi is a freelance trainer for IELTS and Communicative English. Her poetic publications include haiku, tanka, free verse and metrical verses. Her write ups have been published in the Hindu, New Indian Express, Femina, Woman's Era, and several online and print journals; a few haiku and form poems have been prize winners. She is a permanent contributor to the 'Destine Literare' (Canada). She is the author of ‘Everyday English,’ ‘Write Right Handwriting Series1,2,3,’ co-author of Sing Along Indian Rhymes’ and ‘Everyday Hindi.’ Her "Everyday English with Hema," a series of English lessons are broadcast by the Kalpakkam Community Radio.
Ravi N is a Retired IT Professional (CMC Limted/Tata Consultancy Services ,Chennai). During his professional career spanning 35 odd years he had handled IT Projects of national Importance like Indian Railways Passenger Reservation system, Finger Print Criminal Tracking System (Chennai Police),IT Infrastructure Manangement for Nationalized Banks etc. Post retirement in December 2015, he has been spending time pursuing interests close to his heart-Indian Culture and Spirituality, listening to Indian and Western Classical Music, besides taking up Photography as a hobby. He revels in nature walks, bird watching and nature photography.
He loves to share his knowledge and experience with others.
A laidback Sunday afternoon,
With endless cups of hot brew,
Relaxing with a cosy vibe,
I procrastinate and strive.
To keep the lethargy at bay,
And step closer to nature’s sway,
An amble down the tree lined trail,
seemed, a bright idea to prevail.
As I walk beside the river,
Lost in thoughts, past and future,
A chilly wind keeps company,
The world shivers along with me.
Heaps of fallen autumn leaves,
Deep pile carpet shrouds brims,
Rustling, rushing or wedged,
with rain, dew or many treads.
Reflected hues of waning sun,
as it travels further upon,
taking with it, bright balmy rays,
leaving in its wake, cold, dark days.
The fading light casts a shadow,
Creating drama in the vivid decor,
Peering through gnarly branches,
Revealing the hidden nest traces.
I hear the church bells toll,
What do they herald in this pall?
In pursuit of fresh air and vigour,
I discover the harbinger of winter.
A deep melancholic sigh escapes my lips,
I turn, with heavy footsteps retreat,
The warmth of hearth and kin beckon,
A cocoon to tide over this transformation.
Supriya Pattanayak is an IT professional, based in the UK. Whenever she finds time, she loves to go for a walk in the countryside, lose herself among the pages of a book, catch up on a Crime/Syfy TV series or occasionally watch a play. She also likes to travel and observe different cultures and architecture. Sometimes she puts her ruminations into words, in the form of poetry or prose, some of which can be found as articles in newspapers or in her blog https://embersofthought.blogspot.com/ .
Are you able to see the light?
The light beneath your eyelids
The dazzling sun rays amidst trees
The motherland holding with care
and spreading equally everywhere!
Are you able to see the light?
The light through the windowpane
The dim light through thatched huts
The homeless kids holding with love
and teaching the value of darkness!
Are you able to see the light?
The light from the darkened sky
The light from the twinkling stars
The mothers holding it with a wish
and filling their babies’ glittering eyes!
Are you able to see the light?
The light from the gentle tidal waves
The light from the moonlit bright sky
The fishermen holding it for a cause
and showing the sailors the right path!
Are you able to see the light?
The light from an educated person
The light from the core of his heart
Rich not, poor not, the only human, he
who spreads the light of wisdom everywhere!
Mrs. Setaluri Padmavathi, a postgraduate in English Literature with a B.Ed., has over three decades of experience in the field of education and held various positions. Writing has always been her passion that translates itself into poems of different genres, short stories and articles on a variety of themes and topics.
Her poems can be read on her blog setaluripadma.wordpress.com Padmavathi’s poems and other writes regularly appear on Muse India, Boloji.com and poemhunter.com
I noticed a flurry of activity with Deepavali approaching and women going on shopping spree, with their spouses accompanying them. It was done in instalments, COVID not making any difference. The first round I guess was more of window shopping followed by comparison of notes among women regarding the range and prices offered by various shops. Then the actual shopping began with them thronging shops mostly situated in T Nagar, the hub in chennai, braving a stampede, and coming out, or rather pushed out, looking all dishevelled and confused, tightly clutching large packets close to their chest and trying to put their masks on at the same time.
Not one so adventurous as to survive a stampede and not risking the dreaded visitor , I chose a nondescript shop which was almost empty to pick up my deepavali sari. I was out within minutes having purchased a beautiful salmon pink sari which was within my budget and headed to the nearest shop to pick up a shirt for my husband , and thankfully the shop was not crowded.
The next on the list was picking up some sweets for the festival and I chose one of the reputed shops and the long queues there alarmed me. I knew I had to spend a minimum of half-an-hour if my turn had to come. I proceeded to try out another one and found the scene was no better. My experience at the third shop was worse because the door was slightly opened for people to exit and only then other customers were allowed to enter.
I decided to call it a day and not venture again and waste my time sweet meat shop hopping.
Back home I thought it was best to prepare whatever sweets I could and managed to produce some shapeless, formless pure ghee sweets. I reasoned to myself that a sweet is a sweet and giving it a name was not important.
Aye, what a pretty saree you are wearing? Where did you pick it up from, asked my niece who came along with a few of her friends to greet us. Before I could answer, she reeled out two or three names of leading shops and I did not care to answer her. Soon they were making a guess at the price, it could be not less than Rs 5,000, said one. No, it could be even more, said another. Meanwhile, a few friends trooped in to greet us with sweet packets.I offered my home made sweets a little apologetically but was happy they all relished them saying taste was more important than appearance!
N. Meera Raghavendra Rao, a postgraduate in English literature, with a diploma in Journalism and Public Relations is a prolific writer having published more than 2000 contributions in various genres: interviews, humorous essays, travelogues, children’s stories, book reviews and letters to the editor in mainstream newspapers and magazines like The Hindu, Indian Express, Femina, Eve’s Weekly, Woman’s Era, Alive, Ability Foundation etc. Her poems have appeared in Anthologies. She particularly enjoys writing features revolving around life’s experiences and writing in a lighter vein, looking at the lighter side of life which makes us laugh at our own little foibles.
Interviews: Meera has interviewed several leading personalities over AIR and Television and was interviewed by a television channel and various mainstream newspapers and magazines. A write up about her appeared in Tiger Tales, an in house magazine of Tiger Airways ( jan -feb. issue 2012).
Travel: Meera travelled widely both in India and abroad.
Publication of Books: Meera has published ten books, both fiction and non-fiction so far which received a good press. She addressed students of Semester on Sea on a few occasions.
Meera’s husband, Dr. N. Raghavendra Rao writes for I GI GLOBAL , U.S.A.
Sometimes past in
creeps into my mind
in lonesome hours
in silent foot steps
of a cat
and I shudder in fright.
Blame the failings
to Karma
as I chased phantoms
in mindless dusks
and lost
dreams in idle yawns.
Dozed when they fought
in battlefields
and spilt their blood,
held back
in wiping the tears,
offering solace.
As youth
withered away
now quiver like a leaf
in the patterns of wind
and pray for
another chance
to gaze deep
into hues
of rainbows
and mingle in
angelic smiles
of babes.
Pradeep Rath, poet, dramatist, essayist, critic, travelogue writer and editor was born on 20th March 1957 and educated at S. K. C. G. College, Paralakhemundi and Khallikote College, Berhampur, Ganjam, Odisha. Author of ten books of drama, one book of poetry, two books of criticism, two books of travelogues and two edited works, Pradeep Rath was a bureaucrat and retired from IAS in 2017. His compendium of critical essays on trends of modernism and post modernism on modern Odia literature and Coffee Table book on Raj Bhavans of Odisha have received wide acclaim.He divides his time in reading, writing and travels..
Clouds are just wading birds in winter branches
The trees come alive in glowing sunshine
I try to tell her growing hypocrisy of my living
I know she cares because she shades
Aligning with her I can realign my life...
Seeing snapshots are just not enough
I must recline with the cloud when it cascades
Like those birds with supple movements
Mine are mere words lacking in verve
It takes more than a resolve to sync with the swerve...
May be I am on threshold; evening may yet bind me
Nature is never dumb, never on edge
Patience its watch word, Peace its pledge
When will I learn to overturn turmoil?
When will I ever learn to read between lines? ...
Ravi Ranganathan is a retired banker turned poet settled in Chennai. He has to his credit three books of poems entitled “Lyrics of Life” and “Blade of green grass” and “Of Cloudless Climes”. He revels in writing his thought provoking short poems called ‘ Myku’. Loves to write on nature, Life and human mind. His poems are featured regularly in many anthologies. Has won many awards for his poetry including , Sahitya Gaurav award by Literati Cosmos Society, Mathura and Master of creative Impulse award by Philosophyque Poetica.
Snowfall on the tv screen
like a white-fibre rain
had started long ago.
Unending stories glide down
his lips framed by snow-white
light beard below black-rimmed glasses.
I love to take a walk in the evening bazar
as the slight foggy darkness nestles
against my knees like a pet dog.
Street lamps with drowsy eyes
ruminate over things past.
The moon, a widow on ritual
fast in the holy month, indecisive:
neither it can set nor hope to rise,
let alone soar above like a kite.
With dead-fish eyes empty shells
of green coconut stir in the vacuous
surge of the waves on sea-shore.
Kartik, like the other seasons also
is an itinerant hawker of cheap trinkets,
it’s chant of hymns of sin and virtue
melt in to thin air.
Snowfall ceases on the tv screen.
Amitabh becomes a white Santa Claus
Or a prosperous gargoyle !
( P.S.- The famous game show offering a jackpot runs in the month of Kartik, the holy month of abstention, fasting and prayer. Image : Wikipedia)
Abani Udgata ( b. 1956) completed Masters in Political Science from Utkal University in 1979. He joined SAIL as an Executive Trainee for two years. From SAIL he moved on to Reserve Bank of India in 1982. For nearly 34 years. he served in RBI in various capacities as a bank supervisor and regulator and retired as a Principal Chief General Manager in December 2016. During this period, inter alia, he also served as a Member Secretary to important Committees set up by RBI, represented the Bank in international fora, framed policies for bank regulations etc.
Though he had a lifelong passion for literature, post- retirement he has concentrated on writing poetry. He has been awarded Special Commendation Prizes twice in 2017 and 2019 by the Poetry Society of India in all India poetry competitions and the prize winning poems have been anthologised. At present, he is engaged in translating some satirical Odia poems into English.
Days spent in deep slumber
Know not how long my sojourn
My sweet evening buried deep
In the heart of a fading memory.
May buy time to gleefully ignore
The itinerary of my destined dawn.
Emotion, clinically paranoid
Seems thriving on nasal feeding
Monitored by decadent values
Inherited mechanically sans decoding.
Conflicting ideologies, sponsored commotion
Shatter every prospect, every notion.
Values tested crumble in erosion
When relationships float on auction.
A biting loneliness faithfully haunts,
Unaware, all and sundry
Though crowdy days greet life
Enveloping like a thick fog ever and anon.
Tailored smile fails to rob
The emptiness bubbling within
With bee-hive growth of frustration
Fake cordiality, hypocrisy genuine
Let death serve an irreversible order
Exercising its absolute right Divine.
A status quo on my secured slumber
Bereft of pretentions, falsehood pure
As no urge to protest or to surrender.
I opt for an escape from the quagmire
In to another world, unknown, afar
With darkness but difference clear.
Born on 14th August 1960, Shri Mishra is a post-graduate in English Literature and has a good number of published poems/articles both in Odiya and English. He was a regular contributor of articles and poems to the English daily, 'Sun Times' published from Bhubaneswar during '90s. As the associate editor of the Odiya literary magazine Sparsha, Mishra's poems, shared mostly now in his facebook account are liked by many
Somebody asked me, “who among them is more beautiful?”
There was the contest and competition
Among young ladies in fashion
A beauty pageant.
Prompt came the reply
All of them are damsels
Beauty must learn from them
Charm, Grace and Gait
Appeal the eyes bright
But the most beautiful is my Mother!
Simplicity, Serenity and Beauty, all rolled into one in her,
She wears a crown in my heart, without even a single contestant being there!
There on the other side, may be the air is clean,
The roads shine fresh and neat
The buildings, the architectural marvels blow the mind,
A silent competition among them to kiss the sky and the moon,
Men and women greet known and unknown dans la rue
In malls or flea-markets, in cruise or sea or air planes,
With smiles as broad as they can
How do you do, an address or an invariable innocuous question,
How do you do, goes the answer as an automation,
Life is fast, no time to rest
No time to know how, who are you or from which neighbourhood you really are!
Here the air is filthy
Roads are dumpy and pathways unhealthy
Houses are clumsy
Even Gandhi may not stand straight
In a tri-juncture, on a pedestal showing cracks
But peoples’ hearts are broad and time unlimited
They ask about your kith and kin,
If they could be of help for health, in Pandemic or no Pandemic
Ever ready to lend a helping hand
Even not for asking
They signal you to switch off the bike front light
That something may show you in bad light in broad day light
It is their supreme pleasure to alert you that “They are there”,
The men in Khaki ensuring law, doing a helmet check
Or asking for a pollution free paper
People are here really so dear
To caution you before you reach the danger!
True, the other side of the mountain is greener, honey and nectar,
Countries of so-called fresh air
The competing sky-scrappers
But nothing compares with my sweet Mother!
My sweet Motherland!
So strong in social capital
So strong in its soft-power!
Sare Jahan Se Accha
Hindustan Hamara !
Dr. Niranjan Barik is a retired Professor of Political Science from Ravenshaw University, Odisha and is currently attached there on teaching and research on an ICSSR project. He is passionate about literature and writes poems, short stories.
(Picture Courtesy - Anakha Ajith)
In the endearing land of seven hills,
There arises the echo of daring drills.
The invincible nature leaps in its cadence,
Oyez, the bountiful nature is in sheer valence.
The burning and misty eyes crave for a coy romance,
the rifted hemispheres of the mind yearn for a chance.
In the enchanting Mushika dynasty’s capital,
the ebullient josh makes one radical.
A land to esteem and to explore,
A land of oceans to adore its shore,
In the silent reproach of mountains one conquers,
the enduring ship of life anchors.
In the hush of one’s eventide,
verdant and waterless hues subside.
The vagrant days float in nature’s seasons,
hopeful and hopeless for myriad reasons.
How can one not fall for thy beaming beauty?
How can one fail in one’s disciplined duty?
When endearing Ezhimala brims in awe,
the vastness of nature makes one draw.
Ezhimala became a part of someone’s history,
And that someone made me a part of his story!
Dr. Aparna Ajith is an academician as well as a bilingual writer who loves to dwell in the world of words. She was awarded PhD in English from Central University of Rajasthan. Her area of specialization is Comparative Literature and Translation Studies. Her interest lies in Creative writing, Gender, Diaspora, Film and Culture studies. She holds a Master degree in English Literature (UGC- NET qualified) from University of Hyderabad (2012) and Post Graduate Diploma degree in Communication and Journalism from Trivandrum Press Club (2014), Kerala. She has presented papers in national and international conferences. She has published articles in journals and edited anthologies of national and international repute. She serves as the honorary representative of Kerala state in the advisory council of Indian Youth Parliament, Jaipur Chapter since 2015.Being a freelance journalist, she has translated and written articles for the Information and Public Relations Department, Government of Kerala. Her creative pieces have found space in ezines and blogs. She is an avid reader and blogger who dabbles in the world of prose and verse. Having lived in three Indian cities and a hamlet, she soars high in the sky of artistic imagination wielding out of her realistic and diasporic impressions.
World of Rightist, leftist and centrist,
Mask all shades of grey,
Too many scuffles fought within,
Gentle reminder!
Are we the only one facing?
Relocate our inner focus,
From ourselves to others,
Best adhesive to be prevalent globally,
To iterate togetherness,
Too many barricades,
Simple concern can crash them all!
Gush of oxytocin,
Heart physically and emotionally strengthened.
Strike a conversation with a stranger in help,
Prayers from him may help you too!
World of uncertainties’,
Simple greeting, sweet gesture,
Soothing look, consoling presence,
Lovely embrace, warmth of love,
A smile with kindness,
Does this all cost?
Sow kindness like a seed,
Reap it! As much as you sow,
Seed quality and the soil matters too!
Kindness towards children, elders, differently abled,
Kindness in work place, dining zone, business,
Kindness in donations, be it money, blood or organs,
Kindness during volunteering,
May not work the same!
Will kindness work when people forfeit rules?
Especially during this pandemic!
Act wise! Be conscious!
Learn to forgive, be selfless,
Kindness showered at the right place,
Fosters happiness everywhere.
We may be frail or impoverished or ineffectual,
But may be an anchor in someone’s gusty life,
Cultivate kindness,
Heal the broken heart.
Should deprivation of anything make you kind?
Apologise with self–respect,
Can remain dignified, courageous and powerful too,
To understand the miracle of being kind.
Let curses, complaints and negative criticisms take a back seat,
Infuriated words like sharp-draggers,
will it help anytime ?
Evil, sinful thoughts crushes the spirit,
Bring kindness to limelight.
Spread positive vibes,
Meditate, care your health,
Acknowledge your achievements,
Self-respect, self-compassion, self-worth,
Self-care is kindness too!
Bless someone with a kind word today,
Everyone deserves to be happy!
Dr. Thirupurasundari C J (Dazzle) is an avid researcher in the field of Biochemistry and Molecular Biology. Her university rank and gold medal in her Bachelors and Masters respectively, fetched her state and national level fellowships for Doctoral studies. A doctorate from University of Madras; started her research and teaching experience at Dr A. Ramanchandran’s Diabetes Hospital. She is known amongst her students as somebody who teaches with passion. She took this ethos to a school and also excelled as Assistant Professor in a reputed University, Chennai and then for a brief stint at the Vector Control Research Centre, Puducherry. She has participated in national and international scientific conferences and has published her research findings in peer-reviewed journals. She has prolific knowledge in the fields of Cancer, Diabetes and Horticulture. The last of which is being put to use currently at the Indian Institute of Horticultural Research, Bengaluru. Her other passions include yoga, sudoku, poetry, sketching, gardening and experimenting new cuisines. Besides a science content writer, an editor for “Science Shore” online magazine, she draws inspiration from others and is always cheerful!
It was our pleasure trip to Russia in August 2019. Summer season was continuing. Our sightseeing in Saint Petersburg came to an end. On one fine morning, we left for Moscow by a high-speed train ( bullet train). The rail distance was 650 kilometers. Speed of the train was 250 kilometers per hour (maximum). The train was running ahead leaving behind St.Petersburg, the cultural capital of Russia. But the splendor of its architectural marvels was alive in my mind .
The weather was fine with it's long bright days, cloudless blue sky, light evenings and balmy temperatures of 21- 25 degree celsius. Day time was around 16 hours(4.35 am to 8.35 pm). It was the best time to visit Russia. There was no chilling cold nor ice covered landscape nor heavy rain. The air, water, wind, river, woods, plants, trees, leaves, flowers, cities, villages, hamlets, people were in their best to please and satisfy the tourists.
While traveling, we were enjoying the natural beauty of the landscape through the transparent glass wall (window) of the bullet train.The typical sceneries of Russia were mesmerizing me
The train was moving silently. The scenic beauties were going back quietly while the train was moving ahead. Sound of neither wind nor train was entering our compartment through the soundproof glass wall. Except looking at the natural beauties dumbfoundedly, I had no other option. Of course, I was spellbound by the spectacles of Russia.
Our co-passengers were smart, smiling, cordial and good-looking. We did not have any conversation with them. Neither we knew their Russian language nor they knew English nor our language. Almost everything was written in Russian. Language was the stumbling block for us. We could neither talk nor read anything. We were strangers. Body language was the medium of communication. However, we hardly faced any difficulty. They helped us and we liked them. Silence was smiling. We were enjoying the sound of silence.
Breaking the silence, a Russian baby came running to me and uttered some words smilingly. He might be about 2 years of age or below. Though I could not understand anything, his loving words, smiles and charming looks enchanted me. His voice was sweet. His eyes were captivating. His language was universal. I took him to my lap. He sat smiling as if he knew me since long. Unfamiliarity was foreign to him. He knew no language, no country, no religion, no ethnic group. His smartness, lovely appearance, beautiful smile, sweet words had stolen my mind and attention without my awareness. Love and affection knew no bounds. His smile touched my heart. My soul touched his soul and vice versa. Body language was efficient and sufficient enough to bind each other. His mother came to me and saw her son familiar with me. She told me something in Russian. I told her in English. We could not understand each other. She felt - Her son was happy with me. She smiled. I reciprocated. Smile is a universal connection between hearts.
The small baby was busy slapping me, pulling my hair and talking to me in his typical language. My response was of course pleasing him. All other co-passengers including his mother were enjoying the heavenly love and affection between the two unknown souls. His mother called him. But he refused and confidently sat on my lap. To satisfy her untold doubt about my identity, I showed her my visa written in Russian. The mother became happy, but the baby threw away my passport (including visa) as an unnecessary thing. For him, love was the only passport to the World. He did not know the complicacy of the man-made World. His mother sat on a vacant seat beside me, lest something might happen to his beloved son.
I realized - No identity proof is required to live in the World. I was born without it (ID) and will die without it. Now the baby, his mother were friendly and familiar to me without any conversation. Our smiles were indicative of our satisfaction with each other. Cordiality knew no differentiation. The baby was so enchanting and fascinating to me in his child-like simplicity and activities that I couldn't know- when and how our travel time passed away. We arrived at Moscow railway station. When we departed from each other, the baby was not willing to leave me. The pangs of separation were sorrowful to me. Really, love is a feeling. It knows no nationality, no language, no country, no religion. It is universal. It touches heart and soul. No one knows - how it happens.
In the meantime our English speaking Russian guide welcomed and received us. He knew both English and Russian.We went to a hotel for our accommodation. We stayed in Moscow three nights / four days and traveled by a luxury bus. Under the guidance of the guide we explored the beauty, weather, climate, culture, tradition, polity, economy of Moscow and Russia. He managed everything. He gave us an idea about Russia and Moscow.
Russia is a transcontinental country in Eastern Europe and Northern Asia. It is the largest county of the World with a population of around 140 million. Its religion is christianity. It is a semi-presidential Constitutional Republic. There are mostly two seasons: Winter and Summer. First snow usually falls in November and stays till early April. The average temperature is minus 10 degree celsius in Winter. It is 20-25 degree celsius in Summer. India (time) is 2 hours 30 minutes ahead of Russia.
Moscow is the capital. The Kremlin is the citadel of power. Both are so inextricably connected with each other that it is also called the Moscow Kremlin. It is the largest city of Europe and Russia with a population of 12 million. Moscow (Moskva) is on the Moscow ( Moskva) River. In the World it is the only city named after a river. In Russian Moscow means Moskva.
Next day onwards, we enjoyed sightseeing. We visited the Kremlin, Kremlin Wall, Red Square, Mausoleum of Vladimir Lenin, Saint Basil's Cathedral, Cathedral of Christ the Savior, Alexander Garden,Tsar Bell, etc. The Kremlin is a fortified complex in Moscow built by the Tsars on Borovitsky Hill rising above the Moscow (Moskva) River in the center of the city. It stands to the West side of the massive bricked Red Square which serves as a gathering ground and festival place. Lenin's mausoleum lies along the Kremlin side of Red Square.The Kremlin Palace was the Tsar's Moscow residence before the Russian Revolution. Now it serves as the official residence of the President of Russia. The Soviet government and capital moved from Saint Petersburg to Moscow in 1918. The Kremlin, Red Square, Saint Basil's Cathedral are UNESCO World Heritage Sites.
We asked about Lenin.
The Russian guide went on speaking emotionally - 'Lenin ( pseudonym) was the Founding Father of the Russian Republic. He taught - If to die, die with honour. Don't die like cats and dogs. He is the soul of the struggling and toiling masses. His life was a bundle of struggles. Vladimir Ilich Ulyanov (Lenin) was born in 1870 into a well educated, enlightened, elite family that was against any form of oppression, suppression, tyranny, autocracy, monarchy. His father, an inspector of schools, was threatened compulsory retirement for his revolutionary thought. When his beloved elder brother was executed (hanged) by the Tsar for revolutionary activities, he was stunned. None had seen his tears, his eyes turned red in anger and revenge. His hairs stood up. His fists and hands looked like hammers. His legs took him away from the college campus. He was also kicked out of the college. At an young age of 17, the brilliant student was transformed into an invincible, hardcore revolutionary till the end of his life. He was arrested, exiled, tortured by the Tsar. Bullets could not kill him. He wandered across Russia and Europe incognito under pseudonyms. He organized the Bolshevik Revolution that finished Tsardom and established Russian Republic. But his struggling, tired and jeopardized body could not bear the brunt of nervous exhaustion that brought an end to his life. He died of an incurable and unknown disease in 1924 at a premature age of 53 years under mysterious circumstances (1870-1924). He came alone and died alone without a peaceful life, a blissful conjugal life and a child. His body is preserved on a bed of red silk in an ornate glass sarcophagus in the mausoleum in Red Square since his death. It is still lifelike, though all the internal organs have been removed leaving only the skeleton and muscles behind.'
Hearing his emotional speech, we felt proud of Lenin, the unrivaled revolutionary leader of the World. Our hearts were filled with honour, respect, reverence for him and our hands spontaneously saluted the departed leader.
We cruised on the Moskva River. It was an ideal way to enjoy Moscow's beauty while avoiding the noise and hassle of traffic. Its water level was maintained for navigation. It's a popular tourist destination.
Moscow City-International Business Center is famous for its iconic buildings. We enjoyed Russian circus, which has not lost its previous charm to attract thousands of visitors every day.
We went to Moscow State University. It is the largest university building in the World. Russian State Library at Moscow is the biggest in Europe. Russia is famous for literature and proud of writers like Leo Tolstoy and Alexander Pushkin.
We traveled in the Moscow Metro train. It was a marvelous underground journey. Many stations were looking like palaces. It is a tourist attraction in itself. Its route length is around 400 km. Victoria Park is the deepest station. It is located 84 meters below the ground with the longest elevator of 126 meters. While traveling in the metro, the guide informed us that the Trans-Siberian Railway is the longest railway of Russia with a length of 9289 kilometers from Moscow to Vladivostok.
Victory Park at Poklonnaya Hill was created in honour of the sacrifices and sufferings of soldiers who achieved victories in the Great Patriotic Wars in 1940s against Hitler of Germany. The Triumphal Arch commemorates victory over Napoleon. Gorky Park is famous for its greenery, arts and culture. Bunker 42 is a 65 meter deep underground hideaway built in the 1950s to protect soviet leadership. The guide said - 'Had we not defeated Napoleon and Hitler, the present situation of the World would have been different. We stopped World War II by defeating Hitler.'
One of my friends tried to withdraw money from one Russian ATM, he could not get money, but Rs 15000 was deducted from his account. He felt sorry. Of course, the amount was credited back to his account later.
To have a Russian shopping experience, we went to some shopping malls in Russia. The cost of goods and services are not so high, rather almost similar to that of India. Though we did not have Russian currency, Ruble (1Ruble=Re 0.95), there was no difficulty since they were accepting American dollars. The behavior and approach of sales girls were very cordial and pleasant. They were beautiful also. Due to language problems, transactions were made through body language. Misunderstandings were solved through smiles or through our Russian guide. Everything was taken humorously. We purchased goods smilingly in a funny mood. Really, our shopping was done humorously. It was a memorable experience. Russians are cordial, friendly, helpful, emotional, funny and humorous. Thanks to their cultural greatness.
The Museum of Cosmonauts offered us a fascinating look into Russia's space exploration from its Soviet-era satellites to today's International space research programs. Here we found a collection of memorabilia and artefacts, displays of cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin, rocket engines, space suits and exhibits on moon and solar system research.
From our school days, we were curious about Yuri Gagarin. When we saw his replica in the museum, we asked the guide to enlighten us with more information.
The guide told us -'In 1961, people of the World felt proud of Yuri Gagarin, the first human cosmonaut in space who orbited the Earth. People did not know the danger he faced on his return journey. His special re-entry craft came into the Earth's atmosphere on a ballistic trajectory. Soviet engineers had not perfected the braking systems that would slow the craft to land safely. Life of Yuri Gagarin, we boast of, was in jeopardy in the sky. No alternative was left with him except going to Heaven or ejecting from the re-entry capsule. Finding no other way, he rejected at a height of 20,000 feet above the Earth. By parachuting he landed near the River Volga around 1000 kilometers away from Moscow. The people of the area were terribly horrified to see him, because they were not aware of any cosmonaut nor the typical spacesuit nor the parachute.They thought him to be an alien. However, his precious life was saved. He was awarded the 'Order of Lenin'. But alas ! Yuri Gagarin, who had conquered space, perished in the sky 7 years later in a fighter aircraft crash in 1968 at a young age of 34 (1934-1968). It's a mystery. Only his ashes were found and preserved near the Kremlin Wall honourably.'
His emotional narration was so sorrowful and melancholic that it overwhelmed us. With the end of the life-story of Yuri Gagarin, our pleasure trip in Russia came to an end
While seeing us off at the airport, we thanked the Russian guide for his guidance, cooperation and profound knowledge. We left for India from Sheremetyevo International Airport, Moscow by Air-India flight
The sweet and incredible memories of the Kremlin, Lenin and Gagarin remained in my heart and mind ever after.
Sri Ashok Kumar Ray a retired official from Govt of Odisha, resides in Bhubaneswar. Currently he is busy fulfilling a lifetime desire of visiting as many countries as possible on the planet. He mostly writes travelogues on social media.
The night, moonless,
silently looks on,
as the mighty mountains weep
and shed copious tears
for the little me
that used to climb
their steep backs.
Many a times
they had shared my frugal lunch
and heard me
shouting my heart out.
They know me to be a nobody
who wanders around the town
tapping at abandoned lamp posts,
wishing the lights would be back,
watering the withered trees
to wait for the return of the leaves,
giving speeches to non-existent crowds
exhorting them to wake up.
The silent town,
my beloved town
sits sadly below the mountains
lamenting the loss of its soul
to noise, filth and grime
the animals in human form
eating away its innards.
And I, the lonely warrior
moving with a bucket of water
to clean up its soul.
When the silent, moonless night
descends into the sleepy town,
the mountains wake up
and start weeping for me
hiding in a dark corner
defeated and dejected,
alone and abandoned.
- Maa, you have to tell me why you named me Baatyaa. My class mates make fun of me in the school. When I enter the class some of them shout - Run away, Cyclone is coming. There is even one boy who makes a sound like a storm blowing!
Mandakini would smile and say,
- Achha! Show me how?
Baatyaa would make a face at her mother, but just to humour her she would bring her lips together, pucker them and let out a loud Shoo...shoo......sound.
Mother and daughter would roll in laughter.
But Baatyaa would return to her question again,
- Tell me naa, why you named me Baatyaa?
- Why do you bother about these small things? You are the best in your class in studies, you are the teachers' pet, all your friends adore you because you help them in studies. Why do you bother if some naughty boys are making fun of your name? Don't you realise they do it because they are jealous of you?
- Maa, you have already told me all this so many times, I am good in studies, I am kind hearted like my father, other students are bound to be jealous of me and all that. But, but tell me why you named me Baatyaa? Does anyone name her daughter 'Cyclone?'
Mandakini smiled at her daughter. She looked at Baatyaa's eyes, the deep expressive eyes, the thick eyebrows, the small forehead - an exact copy of her father! How can she tell this innocent ten year old what the name means to her mother?
She was soon lost in her wistful memories. The mind often plays these tricks - here in one moment and jumps back to the past the next moment. How can she forget that dreadful night, the night when her life crested so many waves, taking her to the pinnacle of ecstasy and then crashing her down with a cruel sleight of hand!
The year went down in Odisha's history as the year of super cyclone. No one in living memory had seen anything like that in their lives.
The day had dawned with heavy rains lashing their small house. Two years back Arjun had put a concrete roof on their two-roomed house, secured the doors and windows with good latches. Theirs was one of the five pucca houses in the village, three kilometres from Kujanga in Cuttack district. Arjun had done it in preparation for his marriage. After all, he was the most eligible bachelor in the village, having secured the job of a laboratory attendant in a Government College at Cuttack, the big town, seventy kilometres away.
A year after building a pucca house, he got married to Mandakini and found her to be his perfect soul mate. She agreed to stay back in the village to look after his widowed mother and he visited home every Saturday evening, returning to Cuttack on Monday morning.
The day the cyclone hit the state, Arjun was not supposed to come home. He had not visited for more than a month. Something or the other kept him back, marriage of a friend from the mess he used to share with three others, extra class for the students who needed the use of the lab for two continuous weeks and a minor mishap in the lab where there was a gas explosion leading to duty at the hospital. All these kept him away from home and his beloved Mandakini.
The news of the impending cyclone gave him the perfect excuse to ask his boss Bichitrnanda Sir for three days off. When Sir agreed Arjun was mad with joy. He reached home in the evening, giving a huge surprise to his sweet wife and loving mother. The wind had reached deafening noise, rain was pounding the village like never before.
After an early meal Arjun was eager to spend time with his demure wife. When Mandakini finally came after cleaning the vessels and pressing her mother-in-law's legs. Arjun was running out of patience. The moment she entered the room, he got up, locked the door from inside and scooped her up in a tight embrace. She was trying to tell him, wait, wait, Maa is awake, she is sitting on the bed and chanting mantras. At least wait till she goes to sleep. Arjun simply said, a mother knows when her son is hungry, she will understand.
The howling winds, the raging storm, the wildly swinging trees and the trembling windows were witness to a crescendo of steaming passion in the room. Both knew that there will never be a night like this in their life again, there might be many more nights of consuming love, but there would not be a storm like this to go with it and there might be many more storms, but no passion to match tonight's.
Afterwards, Mandakini told him in mock anger,
- Why were you making so much noise, what will Maa think? Such a shameless son?
Arjun had no words left, he simply stroked her cheek and looked at the ceiling.
She wanted to talk.
- I was waiting for you with so much longing in my heart. What if I get pregnant?
Arjun caressed her face in the darkness,
- We will name the baby Baatyaa.
She giggled,
- Baatyaa? What kind of name is that? Does anyone name a child Baatyaa? And if it is a boy?
Arjun whispered in her ear,
- The wind outside is no ordinary storm, it's a cyclone, a Baatyaa. Boy or girl, we will name the baby Baatyaa.
She suddenly sat up,
- Someone is knocking at the door. No, no, not one, I hear many voices. Let me see who is there, you go off to sleep, you are so tired!
Arjun held her back
- How can I let you open the door to unknown people on this dreadful night? You wait, let me see.
Maa had also come out of her room. The moment Arjun unlatched the door it flew open. In the darkness outside he could see six people, all young men from the village. Madan and Suresh were his class mates in the local middle school a few years back.
One of them said,
- Arjun, please come with us. The water in the big tank is rising. The embankment guarding the village may not hold for long. Already villagers are working on strengthening it. You have bags of sand and stones left from your construction. Please allow us to take them and come with us. We want all able bodied young men to come and help.
Arjun immediately agreed,
- Yes, take the four bags of cement also. There are ten bags of sand. Let's us carry all of these. Just give me two minutes, I will put on a half-pant and a shirt and come.
Mandakini was standing by her mother-in-law's side, all tiredness gone, the ecstasy of the past hour forgotten. She knew it would be futile to try to stop Arjun. He was a proud son of the village. Nothing could stop him from trying to save his village. With a silent prayer to the Gods, she touched his arm and asked him to return early.
The rains grew, to keep pace with the rising winds. Later they would learn the wind reached a speed of more than two hundred kilometres. Water started seeping into the rooms. Mandakini, her mother-in-law and about fifty other villagers who had come to Arjun's pucca house to escape the fury of the storm and climbed onto the roof, never knew whether it was hundred kilometres or two hundred. All that they knew was almost all the thatched houses had lost their roof and water had entered into them upto the waist. They had no choice but to rush to the five pucca houses in the village hoping that at least these houses can withstand the fury of the cyclone.
Meanwhile the men working at the tank embankment were fighting a losing battle. The river, a kilometres away, had probably breached and water was rushing into the tank at astonishing speed. They had put all the sand bags, stones, cement bags they could muster from the village. The embankment appeared to have got stronger. But at four in the morning there was a deafening noise. The tank breached, water rushed out with a mighty force and before the men on the embankment could gather their wits, they were all swept away. Only five of the thirty men survived, they swam into the village and broke the news.
Mandakini and her mother-in-law fainted on the roof, as did six others whose husbands had lost their life to the ravage of a hitherto unknown enemy - a super cyclone which took more than ten thousand lives and wrought unprecedented havoc on the hapless people of coastal Odisha.
Mandakini survived and gave birth to Baatyaa nine months later. Life was a struggle, but a look at her daughter's face brought back the memory of the most unforgettable night of her life - a night of intense passion and immense tragedy.
And today when Baatyaa again insisted to know why she was given an unusual name, Mandakini finally told her about the super cyclone, and her brave father who gave his life trying to save the village. She told Baatyaa that she was born in the year of the cyclone and it was her father's wish that she should be given this name. But she could not bring herself to tell her ten year old innocent daughter that she got her name a full nine months before her birth, on a night when the storm outside their room was no match for the storm of passion raging between her loving parents.
Mandakini knew when Baatyaa grows up, she will find out that the year of her birth was nine months after the super cyclone. But she will understand and forgive her mother for a small lie.
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(This story had earlier appeared in the XV edition of LV in May 2019)
Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi is a retired civil servant and a former Judge in a Tribunal. Currently his time is divided between writing short stories and managing the website PositiveVibes.Today. He has published eight books of short stories in Odiya and has won a couple of awards, notably the Fakir Mohan Senapati Award for Short Stories from the Utkal Sahitya Samaj.
BOOK REVIEW
Beyond Fears and Hates: Reading Molly Joseph’s Water Sings Over the Stones
(Assistant Professor, University Department of English, Ranchi University)
No sooner than I started reading Water Sings Over the Stones, Molly Joseph’s recent collection of poetry, did I want to read it out loud to the nearest person who would listen. The intensity, depth, and the broth of imagery in the poems wrapped with clear conscience provide a fascinating insight into the human psyche. Meticulously divided into seven sections, there are ninety-eight poems in this collection, and each poem bursts with resounding voices of introspection, rage, fleeting memories, and hope. The shades of light and dark are balanced in this collection which in turn evoke the spirit of the age, celebrate democracy, and also capture the frivolous whims often shrouded in mystery.
From the uncertainty of the contemporary time of pandemic crisis, when we are reeling with massive cultural and psychological shifts, captured through distorted reflections, green sensitivities, planetary crisis, and landslides, to going “Beyond Fears and Hates”, the collection explores the relations between nature, human emotions, real and imagined journeys – oscillating between topographical description, political discourse, and democratic system. Joseph crafts poems that mirror the society we live in. The blend of certainty and uncertainty, voice and verse, emotions and moods, encapsulate the journeys of the real and imagined characters, their fragmented voices, and a wide geographical arc. To quote a poem titled ‘Isn’t the World Large Enough?’ (36-39):
there stands the
old woman
on road
people call hag
in motley,
laughing,
crying
into the air
shouting out
vague things...
Much like flash photography, the poems in this collection present life’s experiences. The visionary power is further enhanced by the melange of lyrical and romantic moments, evocative lines, and simple yet striking raw images. Joseph creates unexpected metrical moments and fills them with the interstices of lives. While the themes are local in their setting, their concern is global. Poems like ‘Solemn Shores’, ‘Waiting’, ‘Serenity’ take us to a world where hope reverberates in the sky, the music of the night enriches the soul, and the instances of violence, molestation and death rhetorically constitute subjectivity. The collection demands absolute submission and shines throughout with an intent that is pure, serene, and raw.
The first section titled ‘The Contemporary’ is instilled with sensibility. At first glance, the titles of the poems seem rudimentary but as soon as you start reading the poems from this section, an audacious expressivity, unsettling sensation and a blood rush of urgency start running through the veins.
After all,
how can we live on
in a world
where two innocent
daughters of yours
are molested
in front of your eyes?
(Stifled Cries... who Cares... p. 56-57)
The next section takes you inside the tenebrous spiral world of pandemic crisis, of coronavirus, which has invaded the entire world like a dark shadow and continues to ravage countries across the world. Morbid, stirring, and disturbing images of death, distress, and agony burst into pages, leaving us cluttered. This is a very smart and complex section: where the images of life and death, hope and hopelessness, love and hate, keep the readers onside and engrossed. The sheer terror of experiencing death, and communicating human emotions are captured painstakingly in this section. To quote a poem titled ‘Accidental’ (126-127):
how it devours life
the fragile gossamer thread...
how quick an epidemic can
paralyse the life around...
It falls, it falls,
with the random flash of a touch, or breath...
Molly Joseph’s true worth as a good poet is revealed in her ability to capture the multiple chords of love – love for life, people, flora and fauna, home, festivals, journeys, dreams, and friends. For every individual, Joseph has written something. The poems in this section hold several unadorned confessions, reminding us to treasure what we have. In this section “love flows”, “love dwells”, and love “rises”. Like the finely spun thread, the various strands of emotions and relationships run throughout this section. As Joseph writes in the first poem of this section titled ‘Love Never Ends’ (133) :
love splashes, abrupt
the flicker out of veneers
that kept it hiding...
...
love flows, unconditional,
unbothered, about getting
back what you gave
...
love dwells with a
charming assurance
a safe deposit
invested in a heart
One of the most remarkable sections of Water Sings Over the Stones is ‘Navras’ which strings together the nine rasas of life. The metaphorical representations of Navras- the nine emotions is unique in its appeal. The lyricism and eclectic imagery in this section give solace to many. The poetic persona here evolves as a wanderer, who is soul-searching with her nine companions – ‘Love’, ‘Laughter’, ‘Compassion’, ‘Anger’, ‘Courage’, ‘Fear’, ‘Disgust’, ‘Surprise’ and ‘Peace’.
Let us turn out, to be the supporting staff
to lean on each, sharing
shoulders,
to carry on the climb...
the climb that thrills
while it taxes.
(Compassion, p.175)
The world we inhabit is the recurring theme of the fifth section of this collection. This section titled ‘Nature’ conjures different forms of planetary crisis- climate, nature, and pollution. The confluence of the murkier realms of society, along with the sense of “being here, on earth” captures our deepest fears and anxieties. In this time of triple planetary crisis, deaths, anxiety, and terror, the poems emerge as a metonym for the fecund celebration of diversity and interconnectedness. This section also makes us visualise our innocence and wonder for the world and also reconnects us with our long lost memories. As Joseph expresses in ‘Nature, my Teacher’ (187):
My family tree sustained, soulful with grandkids...
my life mate hale and hearty, still my support,
yet, time fleets...
loving faces of friends, their smiles cheering...
time fleets...
If you love to travel, then the sixth section of Water Sings Over the Stones is going to give you wings. The first poem of this section titled ‘Gandhi Jayanti at KISS Bhubaneswar’ will take you to the world’s first and only university exclusively for tribal students- Kalinga Institute of Social Sciences (KISS) to pay tribute to Mahatma Gandhi. Amidst the enchanting natural beauty of the campus, one could hear Mahatma Gandhi’s favorite bhajan “Vaishnavo Janto...” pulsating through the white space. After K.I.S.S Bhubaneswar, Joseph gives you a ticket to enjoy the pilgrim town famous for its golden beaches- Puri. The sun-kissed beaches wet your feet and amaze its visitors (readers). The stretch of fine golden sands, roar of the water from the Bay of Bengal allures the readers. And when you are in Odisha, how can you miss the pinnacle of Odisha temple architecture and a UNESCO world heritage site- The Sun Temple at Konark! Built in the 13th Century, the Sun temple at Konark is a monumental representation of the sun god Surya’s chariot.
OH! KONARK!
Magnificent monument
of Kalinga architecture!
how well you showcase
art that is immortal.
Joseph writes with such lucidity and unwavering realism that her poems become truly compelling. The final section titled, ‘Religious’ suits the overriding theme of spiritual search with a little irony. Joseph shares her metaphysical vision through these poems. The beautiful selection of phrases, faithful representation of desires, metaphorical description of longings amidst “distress”, “tears”, and “darkness” give a bitter-sweet intensity to this section.
The linguistic variation, inventing strands of emotions, imaginative escape into the past, intimate domestic scenes, and the symbolic representation of reality showcases Joseph’s talent for adapting to various forms and voices. Rather than focusing on the externalities, Joseph’s poems are more of an exploration of the human psyche. One of the highlights of this collection are the series of images wrapped with startling visual imagination. Water Sings Over the Stones presents a twisted but amusing poetic tale and makes you experience everything that defines a life: love, memories, journeys, emotions, disappointment, forgiveness, anxiety, and hope.
Dr. Queen Sarkar is a multilingual poet, an academician, a reviewer and translator based in Ranchi, Jharkhand, India. She is currently working as an Assistant Professor in the University Department of English in Ranchi University. She has also been empanelled as an Academic counselor in IGNOU. Sarkar has done her Ph.D. from IIT Kharagpur on Contemporary Indian English Poetry - ‘A Poetics of Cosmopolitanism: Contemporary Indian English Poetry and the Shared Global Poetic Imaginary’. Her research areas include- poetry, translation, cross-cultural communication, cultural studies, adaptation, and appropriation. Her review articles, poems, and research papers have been published in reputed international journals and anthologies including Inner Child Press, USA, MuseIndia, Kistrech Theatre International, Atunis Galaxy Poetry, Amaravati Poetic Prism, Poetcrit, Setu: Bilingual Journal published from Pittsburgh, USA. Her poems have also been translated into Spanish, Arabic, and Gujarati. She is also a member of the Prize Nomination Committee of The Ekphrastic Review. Sarkar has been invited to moderate a session on “Exclusion, Displacement and Adaptation” in the KFLC: The Languages, Literatures, and Cultures Conference- University of Kentucky, Lexington, USA.
Sarkar has been appointed as the “Ambassdeur of Good Will Seeds of Youth XXI Century, India by United Nations of Letters- Uniletras”. She is also the Ambassador of Peace for Switzerland/France. Sarkar is also the bonafide member of World Nations Writers’ Union Kazakhstan.
Email: queensarkar.08@gmail.com
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