Speak up, Poets You are a poet, don’t be silent, lives are lost under cover of silence.Speak up, read a couple of lines, read us verses, keep talking to us. — Mir Taqi Mir(translated by Ranjit Hoskote) On April 3, 2025, the Supreme Court upheld an earlier verdict of the Calcutta High Court and invalidated…

An Essay by Anshuman Singh Painting by Sampa Saha This is not a discourse on the intricacies of Hindi poetry. The latter is a vast subject with a history, poetics, and criticism that cannot be encapsulated within the confines of a single puny essay. I am a lover of English literature and came to Hindi…

An Essay on Vinod Kumar Shukla by Baby Shaw “The world, the universe, is like a well.A small child has climbed and perched there,Though I’m unsure how.I didn’t call out, fearing he’d startle and fall.Silently, slowly, I moved, lifting him into my arms.That’s it! I remained quiet, moved slowly,And departed, silently, gently.” (Duniyajagat, Kavi ne…

Translated from Bengali by Sayandeb Chowdhury Painting by Debasish Saha One Birth For a long time we would Not be seeing each other;Then, one day, we shall meet,And confer to each other howFor a long time weHad not seen each other. And just as it is, days will pass, And so will the years, Till…

Translated from Bengali by Kingshuk Sarkar Painting by Sudeshna Majumdar A Yellow Bird A yellow bird sits on a branch bent over water.Below, its yellow shadow shimmers. To see the absoluteI need to turn away from fickle yellowto that which does not move. I’ll go. I’ll leave the yellow beneathand go towards thatwhich is yellow.   …

Painting by Debasish Saha Rising Rhythm Sometimes, you just want to bethat bird swaying lazily on a tree. The indolent rhythm enters your verse, rocking it gently as the metaphors slide into place; you see the hasteof the aspiring anapaest, rising, soaring, winging, on song,occasionally lulled by a sweet diphthong. Amber Light I’m parked between…

Translated from original Bengali by the poet Painting by Debasish Saha To the Inventor of the G-spot, Dr Grafenberg Sometimes it feels like men perceive everything from the surface.They notice pretty woman’s saree, but fail to understand why she chose the shade of a pensive blue on a festive day.They look at the waves of…

Painting by Sri Mahadeb There, in my garden There where tomatoes cry, there inmy garden where potatoes dry,there in the soil where roots do rot,there where corianders die, yes there I plant a seed. There I hope atleast it will sprout, the bloody thingwill sprout, only to see sprouts, athousand weeds that thrive merrily. There…

Painting by Sampa Saha What’s Left in the World of the Dead? Memories that dear ones cherishMemorabilia that are not moved out soonerJournal notes, snapshots, poking at recall buttonsTexts, pictures and moving images on Email, WhatsApp, Facebook, Insta reelsWhat’s left of the vibrant existence but a moment agoNow gone invisible, incognito somewhereTo sneak back in, as…

Painting by Sri Mahadeb Field Glass Vision While travelling on a trainat night time a lightning strike splits the sky into long slitsof red hued remnants of the day. Each schism an open blindfrom which peeps the lorgnette eyes of women of the other worlds,seen only for a moment. And then all turns back to…

Painting by Sampa Saha Four O’clock Prophecy A bird tapped on the glasswhen the teacher said transnationalism,and it tapped twicewhen he said acculturationI, distracted, looked impatientlyat the bird, tapping on the glass.It flapped its wings and shook its head,four o’clock rain is inevitable,it gestured to let the rain clouds in.I heard the teacher still speaking…

Translated by Nirendra Nath Thakuria Painting by Debasish Saha The Window I open the doorwhen you are not beside me In your absencethrough the windowI see colourful butterfliesin the garden outside The beauty of that gardenyou won’t see without me The window remains shutwhen you’re beside me In your presencethe garden in the closed roomis…