Monday, May 20, 2024

June-July 2018

Suvankar Ghosh Roy Chowdhury Salman Rushdie, the British-Indian novelist, gained prominence with his second novel Midnight’s Children way back in 1981. An exponent of history and merging it with fantastic elements, Rushdie emerged as an author who spoke on socio-political disparities of modern times, particularly in India, with utmost clarity...
GALLERIES IN THE NIGHT Abandoned by all kindly lights To gnash their teeth In penumbras of their own making, What half-bitten talk Peoples the dark galleries Between masterpiece and masterpiece, Restrained from lawless combat By gilt-edged police Or the garth of mortar? The greatest allegories of art Are secret journals kept By that gossip Night Whom no historian of art consults As they...

Josh Dale

Haiku 1 The flowers have bloomed and the locusts devour any sign of life. 2 Oily dressing with the pit-marked spinach leaves on my baby-blue plate. 3 A doe has died on the searing blacktop. It still continues to smile. 4 My gaze, downward, with all the plastic faces here; coffee stains shirt brown. 5 Break up in tiny distinct pieces. Now, your heart is not the same. 6 Please and...
Pinakbet A dish I watched my grandma cook with zest. I was six or seven. Bitter gourd because I’m diabetic, my yearns for sweets squash-yellow. Canola oil sizzles, the air adorned with garlic expressions, wafts of red onion. Drizzles of black pepper, and I wonder if this spice will let me live longer. Eggplant will tell me if...
Sanctification The pimples on my face seem to have an identity of their own. As if, those are my sins penalized to be worn. However, they make me look a graceful lesser mortal. Thankfully unattractive like Sycorax. A rose infested by fungi. Oddly, they seek a lot of attention: Hormonal imbalance? A digestive disorder? A passion pimple! A dispassionate cycle? Innumerable diagnosis followed...
wisdom fire burning to coals poet looking past embers seeing distant world before existence of light coming of god untitled poet on edge meds not refilled lost in black silence static white noise echoing around skull deafening suffering soul seriously considering ways to kill himself answer me telephone without voice no caller id broken-hearted poet wondering if ex-lover quietly bagging shrink routine family counseling necessary before divorce doctor’s dark office framed degrees on the...
BROKEN WAVES Some place where waves are broken I’m still like a rock at the bottom of the sea. It’s the only way you’re found: where you’re missed and found again. I watch from a bubble — hushed thirsty breathless—you, becoming a newborn; a noisy drifter. I’m envious. But I love you best this way. Yes—me. The sinker. The...

Joan Leotta

The Widow’s Nights “Days are not so bad. My volunteer work. Lunch with friends. Gardening. All of these fill the daytime hours. But it is the nights— they are so long, so very long.” I don’t know how to respond. We smile at each other in a moment of silence. Then, she adds, “If you have any alterations you need done, bring...

Ananya S Guha

BLOOD 1 I see the blood in hands of others faces of others smeared like fog or smog, I lift myself from clouds a thin line wavers as I walk into the existence of blood 2 I ask questions the voice is silent asks questions can you rape an eight year old, six months the voice is silent of course, only at the cost of blood 3 I saw a...

Manu S Kurup

Tarmac Labyrinth Have you ever forgotten a road only to travel through it years later? The old smell of it coming back, the same branches leaning towards same shadows designing it weaving nets The same emptiness and potholes. Doesn’t it make you reminisce about the things you passed? Left behind? Glanced at and Ignored? If you haven’t tried to recollect the stops you made...
Title: England, England Originally published: 27 August 1998 Author: Julian Barnes Page count: 272 Publisher: Jonathan Cape Genres: Satire, Farce Nominations: Booker Prize Reviewed by Abhijit Acharjee The eighth novel of the Booker winner (2011) author Julian Barns is woven around the lives of a cluster of characters in a corporation that is lead by an entrepreneur and ‘ideas man’, Sir Jack Pitman....

The Man

Raja Chakraborty It was a hot day. Stiflingly so. An unforgiving midsummer sun blazed from the cloudless sky, burning everything in its wake. Few blades of grass, brave enough to struggle still, was slowly turning to brown from a dull yellow. Cracks opened up in the parched earth, like dried wounds...