Life is a story we tell ourselves over generations

In early 2025, "Tara Walker stepped on stage amidst resounding applause to receive The Academy Award for best director of Once Upon A Summer." A few minutes later she walked up to the stage again to collect the Oscar for leading actor for portrayal of the female protagonist in the film. Tara Walker dedicated the Award to her mother, grandmother and her great grandmothers before her mother, a string of tremendously gifted women and their lives which finally culminated to the Award- Winning film. 

Cut to 1959. Alfred A. Alleye is sitting on a lonely chair lamenting to a photograph of his wife Rose, who has recently and suddenly past away, after their fifty years of partnership. 

 Alfred A. Alleye met Rose on SS Alexandria, the ship taking passengers from the port of Aden to America, the two travelling there, each seeking a new life in the country of possibilities. They fall in love and are married off on the ship, with much celebration thrown in by the ship's Captain. 

 At this point the story takes a turn to a series of flashback, taking the reader to the early 20th century, 1895 onwards, the years of the British Raj in India.  

Between 1895 to 1906, Azeem, the male protagonist, born in an upper class family in Rannpur, is met with personal tragedy, in which his parents and the entire family is killed and he is admitted in an orphanage in abject poverty to study. Azeem with a keen love for horses, finally moves to Saharanpur, where he trains to be a syce, and has now found employment with Norman Evans, who with his wife, Martha and daughter Madeline, are visiting Nainital, the beautiful and cool North Indian hill station. Norman Evans is employed with a British Company, while his wife and daughter have travelled from Middlesbrough, England, to spend time with him, in his station, Jaunpur.  

Our female protagonist, Madeline Evans, is an exceptionally brilliant and gifted woman, with extraordinary skill to pick up languages. She already speaks six foreign languages and has embarked on learning Hindustani while she is in India. When her mother and she return to England, Madeline is set to join Oxford University. But alas, this plan is derailed as Madeline and Azeem fall desperately and passionately in love, with each other. This happened behind Madeline 's parents back and the two lovers make plans to marry and elope to a country where they can live happily thereafter. 

More easily said than done, but the star of good luck favour them and while Madeline is on ship returning to England, she escapes from the vessel to meet Azeem midway, who has travelled over from India to Baluchistan and into Arabia, on horse and camel back, having stolen the British Identity Card of his Army Chief, uniform and money to meet his lady love in Port Aden. 

In her latest romance novel, Once Upon A Summer, author Manjul Bajaj, takes the reader on a journey of the most powerful love story covering almost one hundred twenty five years starting in the British Raj. A love story so intense that the main protagonists of the story are willing to give rebirth of their identity, just to survive the harsh circumstances to keep the fire of their love, alive. 

The love story between Azeem and Madeline is not an ordinary one, as it breaks barriers of caste, community and race, to abound in not only devoted love but a learning exchange of language and literature. Not to forget the inclusion of Christian hymns sung by Madeline 's ayah, Mariam. The book spans across northern Indian towns and hill station, like Nainital, Jaunpur, Rannpur, Saharanpur, Lucknow, although the latter towns have not received much descriptive attention, except for Nainital, which takes the reader to the most beautiful hill station experience with picturesque description.

Indicative of extremely strong writing skill in English, that the author possesses, the long paragraphs are a joy to read, without any need to use a dictionary. She explores Hindustani, Urdu through her characters unfolding the rich heritage of these languages in India. It is evident that an enormous amount of research has gone into the writing of this book. 

What is adorable too is the inclusion of birds, animals, trees and plants, as if their presence and communication is as human as the people themselves. This has been quite a regular feature in Bajaj's writings, from the time of her book, In Search of Heer. 

Finally, it is that gene that travelled through the generations to give Tara Walker the Academy Award and Oscar, for the best actor which was revealed to her by her grandmother after she handed her the gift, coming down from one generation to the other, of women with immense talent like her grandmother, great grandmothers all concealed in the book Tales from Around the World, the Atlas and Umrao Jaan Ada. The tale of Madeline and Azeem. 

 About the author Manjul Bajaj grew up in Lucknow and graduated in economics from Delhi University. She passed out with a master’s degree in rural management and another in environmental science. She worked in the field of environment and rural development before she became a writer. She is the author of Come, Before Evening Falls (2010), Another Man’s Wife (2012), In Search of Heer (2019), The Book of Bullah (2024). In June, Harper Collins India published her book Once Upon A Summer. She has also written two books for children—Elbie’s Quest (2013) and Nargisa’s Adventures (2016). Manjul’s work has been shortlisted for various literary prizes over the years. She currently lives in Goa with her husband, her two sons having flown the best. Catch Manjul Bajaj on Facebook 

Author interview 

Publisher Harper Collins Publisher India 

Date: 27th June, 2025 

Title Once Upon A Summer 

 Author Manjul Bajaj 

 Price : Rs 499 

PP: 368

A Review of The Book of Bullah, the revolutionary, passionate Sufi Punjabi poet

To the Bullah in my reader, a thousand salaams

And the Bullah in me, I bow again and again.

 The kafi-styled Punjabi poems by the Sufi mystic poet and philosopher Bullah/Bulleh Shah (1680-1758) of Kasur (now in Pakistan), performed in both traditional and contemporary modes, continue to be immensely popular, particularly in the subcontinent. My first brush with his lyrics was as a teenager, belting out and swaying vigorously to disco queen Runa Laila’s rendering of Dama Dam Mast Qalandar (a famous qawwali composed by the 13th-century Sufi poet Amir Khusro in honour of the Sindhi Sufi saint Lal Shahbaz Qalandar, and later modified by Bullah Shah). We threw our arms in the air and danced with abandonment. 

 Among the many diverse translations of Bullah Shah’s Punjabi songs into English, one recently found its way to my home: The Book of Bullah by Manjul Bajaj (AMARYLLIS Publishers``). Unique to this translation is the artwork created for each lyric, often sharing the page with the verses. Beautifully augmenting the poetry, these illustrations by Donette Gomes provoke much contemplation too, as they support the words yet offer their own narrative trajectory. An elegant, subtle cover in soft colours invites the reader to enter, and the visual device of small footprints is deployed, to ‘walk’ and ‘wander’ with the reader like an intimate companion from page to page, beginning to end. The lyrics are deceptively simple but must be read several times to grasp the deeper meaning. Here is just one example:

 I know only myself 

Nothing other than the Self

Nothing greater than the Self

Who then is that I see watching me? [p. 5] 

A renowned scholar of Persian and Arabic, Bullah Shah was an Islamic theologian before encountering his spiritual Master, Shah Inayat (1643-1728) of the Qadri Sufi order, in Lahore. That meeting was the turning point in his life. Bullah fell in love with his Master, whose presence and teachings opened the floodgates of his heart and soul to an altogether higher plane of consciousness. The songs he composed after this radical transformation of his being are suffused with intense adoration, desire and longing. However, differences arose between teacher and disciple, and Bullah was forced to return to Kasur where he lived for the rest of his days. The extreme agony of separation from his Master and incessant craving for reunion, passionately expressed in sensual and nuptial metaphors, recurs in song after song:

 Let me merge in you

Make me one with you.

 You are the one 

Who awoke this love 

Now hold my hand

And take me through [p. 83]

 

Don’t forsake Bullah now

His worship is true

Be with me

Till the veil is removed

And I have seen my bridegroom. [p. 85]

 Yet Bullah’s lyrics are as powerfully universal and social as they are personal: he calls to people to abandon their fixations on temples, dargahs, scriptures, priests and rituals, and to come together as one human race, with Love as its common language. For example:

 Look beyond this world's duality

There is a river there

where everyone swims

He is here, there, everywhere

The servant the master

Bullah, such is his game

He does everything

He does nothing.(p.221)

 

A simple truth ends the matter

 Forget your calculations

Stay away from doubt

Dismiss thoughts of hell and heaven

Banish imaginary concerns

Truth enters a clear mind (p 183) 

 The Book of Bullah will be appreciated by all who love poetry and Sufi philosophy. Bullah Shah’s potent, timeless celebration of the Divine has taken a fresh stride into the contemporary through the adept collaboration of translator and illustrator.

 To the readers of this review, a million salutes. May Bullah touch your lives too. 

 Title: The Book of Bulla

Author: Manjul Bajaj

Publisher: Amaryllis An imprint of Manjul Publishing House Pvt. Ltd. Noida www.manjulindia.com

Pages: 234

 

About the Author: Manjul Bajaj writes novels, short stories, children’s fiction and poetry. Several of her works have been shortlisted for literary awards and prizes. She lives in Goa.

 

                                                            

 

 Note: Thanks to my friend, Smriti Vohra, I am adding this short note for the reader, which is not part of Manjul Bajaj’s Book Of Bullah.

“As noted by scholar William C. Chittick (Sufism: A Beginner’s Guide, 2009), “From about the thirteenth century onwards, few themes play as important a role in Sufi teachings as love. Historians have commonly spoken of a gradual development of Sufism that began in a mysticism of asceticism and fear, slowly changes to an emphasis on love and devotion, and then turns to knowledge and gnosis. . . [of the] large numbers of authors who wrote on divine and human love, Ibn Arabi [d. 1240] and Rumi [d. 1273] can be considered the two greatest masters of the tradition. . . The Persianate world, from Turkey to India, looks back upon Rumi as the greatest spiritual poet of history, just as the whole Islamic world considers Ibn Arabi the greatest Sufi theoretician” (74, 76). For Sufis, God is the true beloved; and as “God created the world through love, so love produces the multiplicity that fills the universe” (79). In the words of Ibn Arabi: “None but God is loved in the existent things. It is He who is manifest within every beloved to the eye of the lover – and there is no existent thing that is not a lover. So, the cosmos is all lover and beloved, and all of it goes back to Him. . . no one worships anything without imagining divinity within it. . . No one loves anything but his own Creator, but he is veiled from Him by love for [. . .] everything loved in the world… God [is] hidden beyond the veil of forms” (82). And in the words of Rumi: “All the hopes, desires, loves, and affections that people have for different things – father, mother, friends, heavens, earth, gardens, palaces, sciences, deeds, food, drink – all these are desires for God, and these things are veiled. When people leave this world and see the Eternal King without these veils, then they will know that all these were veils and coverings and that the object of their desire was in reality that One Thing” (82). 

For Sufis, true love “depends on discernment”; people with “faulty knowledge”, who think “that lightning is the sun”, are ever veiled in illusion (Chittick, 84). The theoretician-poet Bullah, in his critical register, calls upon to abandon our innumerable social and psychological “veils”, including caste prejudice, religious bigotry and embedded fixations on temples, dargahs, scriptures and rituals; he appeals to us to come together as one human race, with Love as its common language: “

Introspecting the Possibility of Aversion Therapy used by Buddhists

 " Nibbana is a realisation about the frailty and transience of beauty, the body, and emotions like desire, grief, anger, and attachment to anything that binds one in this life. Nibbana thus means to 'blow out' all emotions that lead to desire and attachment."  Snigdha Singh,  pg no. 263, Of Thieves and Theris, Potters, and Pativratas, Essays on Early Indian Social History for Kumkum Roy, the book presented to Prof. Dr. Kumkum Roy, on her Felicitation on 9th November 2022. 

In her scholarly and profoundly interesting article,  Dr. Snigdha Singha goes on to explain how the Buddhist Theras and Theris, monks, and nuns were guided to achieve Nibbana by practicing detachment following certain teachings/notions around the body per se and especially that of women. This is described in the Theragatha and Therigatha, poems composed by the senior monks and nuns.

Before I quote from her essay any further, let me remind my readers that I was taught, that The Buddha himself wrote nothing. All texts are the interpretation of his teaching by His disciples and thus must be allowed the concession of 'as they heard, seen The Buddha speak or do'. It is quite possible that The Buddha said something in some context, but his disciple heard and interpreted otherwise. Leave that as it may, we readers of such texts must be allowed the freedom to introspect on the Buddha's words as interpreted/inferred by his disciples. 

A few examples below should suffice:

" The Buddha says to Sundari - Nanda,

As with this body, so with thine, as with,

Thy beauty, so with this --- this shall it be 

With this melodious, offensive shape, 

Wherein the foolish only delight."

It is apparent from this verse that drawing attention to the body in Buddha's eyes was merely foolish, as this body does become a 'foul compound, diseased, Impure!' Hence, 'compel thy heart to contemplate'. 

If the position is such that the body must be viewed as loathsome, for the mind to single-mindedly pursue the path of Nibbana, then, we can infer that this is a strategy used by the Buddha to prove that the body is transient/impermanent. So, for this life to be meaningful, only the permanent must be sought after, which is Nibbana. 

In his discourse, the Buddha has used death and decay as a potent reason to seek a life above all changing matters. The problem arises when examples of decay are bodies of women and not men. The objectifying of women's bodies to drive home a point may cause a man to fight his desire for a woman, in search of that which never changes or decays, but the point remains that in both Theravada and Therivada poems the use of women's body as against the reference to men's bodies as also gross, bloating, changing and dying is never used in the same manner. Bringing our argument to a necessary query - 

- these references make us wonder about the patriarchal nature of Buddha's teachings which must be investigated further.  What is even more strange is both Theris and Theras indulge in degrading their bodies, men on women and women on themselves literally to escape the circle of death and birth by achieving Nibbana. My question is, why are the Theris not speaking the same way about male bodies as ugly, decomposing, deforming bodies which meet death as well, just as women do?

The point of introspection thus lies in this question - 

- if Theragatha is a collection of poems written by male disciples of The Buddha, is the Therigatha in some way edited by Theras and is not totally poems written by Theris only? Is there a male point of view woven into the text? 

The Buddha had only a male monastic order until under the request of his favorite disciple, Ananda, he admitted his foster mother Mahaprajapati Gomtami into the monastic order for females. And it continued after the Mahaparinirbanna of The Buddha. Even then, the female order came under the male order. It is only probable then, that the texts too could have been whetted out/ interpretations of the Theras which has made the patriarchal divide more prominent - the male body kept away from degenerative references, while the women have been exposed as the least desirable. 

Psychologists use what is called Aversion Therapy to de-addict a person from a substance of abuse by making the person associate the substance of abuse with something unpleasant in thought and visually thus creating an aversion to the substance. 

The Buddha is a Master Psychologist but could it be that so much of what is assigned to be his saying, might have been a Manusmriti authored by his Theras? 

Snigdha Singh teaches history at Miranda House, University of Delhi. Her article titled Beauty, Body, and Desire Gendered Voices in Buddhist Monastic Tradition, Chapter 13 can be found in Of Thieves and Theris, Potters, and Pativratas, Essays on Early Indian Social History for Kumkum Roy,

Note: Views expressed in this article are entirely mine, Julia Dutta 

Forever Friends

Vibhuti with her grandchildren (facebook)

A lonely pigeon feather has traveled back with me from Porbandar, from the balcony of my school friend, Vibhuti. Her neighbor's flat has pigeons who have nested there and fly across to hers, in vain, her balcony is covered with a net.

My New Year 2023 was the best ever, at least in a long time. I traveled from Narmadapuram to Mumbai, the city that never sleeps, and met my lovely friends Shals Mahajan and her partner, Chayanika Shah, both authors and activists in the Women's Movement.  And then I was at my dearest Debika's flat for 2 nights, the 31st being one of them. 

Debika lives with 2 cats, Auto, and Rick, and her nephew Anish in a cozy well kept flat with large windows through which her cats stare out, and eve's drop on conversations her neighbors have. When couples fight, Auto listens with added interest, even trying to peep into their flats. 

I was given the large cat's bed beside Debika in the bedroom. You can imagine what happened next! As night fell on at 12 midnight hour, the cats began to crawl around landing finally on their beds, one lying on my head, the other at my feet.

On the 31st night, as the clock struck 12, Mumbai burst into colors and crackers, loud sounds of jubilation filling the air. Sound, light, and stars were displayed in the brightly lit sky as we all also fell into a hug, the cats on Debika's lap. And the house resounded with Happy New Year!

I left for my destination the next day. Porbundar is a small town, partially lying in the recesses of yesteryears when Porbundar was a major port where ships trading between east and west thrived. Now the city remained active during the day and night, with shops selling every possible good you might want. 

In the midst of the ancient buildings, the bazaar is Mahatma Gandhi's birth house. Just behind that is Kasturba Gandhi's house. As would be the norm in those days,  marriages happened between people families knew and were usually in the neighborhood. 

I met Vibhuti in school in Mumbai. She was a boarder and I was a day's scholar, in different classes but we connected easily and bonded for a long time. Spanning the years, we have written to each other and shared photographs of our families, and even visited each other in Mumbai. Now she lives in another country, away from India, and visits India with her husband. They have a beautiful house and home in Porbandar where I was a lucky guest for 3 days. Bringing back with me the pigeon feather, sealed my New Year with love and friendship from both of us. 

The friendship has lasted through school friendship, pen-friendship, meetings at different stages of our lives, and now, via Facebook and WhatsApp. 

It binds us now for the next years we have on this earth. 

We may be at different stages of our lives, but what lies strong as school friends outlive anything else. 

                                                                

The gorgeous Vibhuti in the school days

Click Here or the Porbundar Pictures

                                                          

The Orange Celebration

On 20th November 2022, we received a communication which read- 

 "Ganga Prem Hospice has lost one of its staunchest and most spirited supporters today. Swami Sarvamangalananda of Sivananda Ashram, Rishikesh, breathed her last at Ganga Prem Hospice on the morning of November 19, 2022. Mataji had not kept well for a long time, still she did not miss an opportunity to tell her friends and contacts about the hospice and seek their support. She would make a trip to Ganga Prem Hospice in Raiwala from Rishikesh, whenever she got a chance. Phone calls to the GPH team were a regular feature of her day. 

 We will miss Swamiji terribly and think of her with fondness and great respect." 

 I didn't really know her but from Kanchana, who was a good friend of hers, I got to know her in bits and pieces. 

 Swami Sarvamangalananda of Sivananda Ashram, Rishikesh was an air hostess with Swiss Air, when she met her Guru, Swami Chidananda on flight. This meeting became the turning point in her life and as soon as she could take a voluntary retirement from her job, she did so to travel to India to be with her Guru. As long as Swami Chidananda lived in his body, she stayed close to him as his nutritionist, the Swami having a very weak stomach. She even travelled with him whenever he went to places, in India and abroad. 

 When Swami Chidananda left his body she continued to live in the Divine Life Sivananda Ashram in Rishikesh. By now, in fact, after a long and difficult struggle, she had even taken on the Indian citizenship. She dedicated her life to the work of Swami Sivananda in mainly the publication, making herself very useful in the Library. 

 She had in the meantime developed heart problems, which were being taken care of. With age, the problems became more difficult to manage, and on the morning of 19th, November, 2022 at 8.30 a.m or thereabouts, she finally left her body gracefully and with ease and peace. 

 Two nights before that, she had fallen twice in her room. The helper and his wife who assisted her, bringing her meals from the community kitchen, slept with her in her room. At 4 p.m., the next day, due to detoriating health conditions, it was decided that she would be shifted to Ganga Prem Hospice run by a kind sannyasin lady of British origin, called Nanima. Next day, Sarvamangalananda woke at 5 a.m. and was quite joyful and happy. However, at around 8.30 a.m., she felt a flutter in her heart and it beat slowly till it stopped. There was no pain or discomfort. 

 Swami Sarvamangalananda had slowly moved into a space beyond time. 

 Her body was brought back to the ashram, accompanied by two Swaminis and laid in the accompanying room in the hospital attached to the Sivananda Ashram at Rishikesh. A congregation of Swamis and Matajis in orange clothing, sat in vigil around her body, chanting mantras, her ears were so accustomed to hear. Loads of people came to have the last darshan of the Mataji who had now left her body. 

 Everyone was waiting for Swami Sarvamangalananda's son to arrive from Gurgaon, near Delhi and as soon as he came, the Swamis moved together to a waiting boat which would take Sarvamangala's mortal remains deep into the Ganga, where her body would finally be immersed in the water to float and sink in a free fall.. 

 As soon as her son completed the aarti on his mother, the sanyasini was taken away in the boat with her son and other Swamis. After rowing along a distance, Swami Sarvamangalananda finally immersed in the water and the wayfarers returned to the Ashram. 

 We never knew each other, except that we saw each other now and then in the Samadhi Hall. She enquired after me to Kanchana, asking what I, Yulia, as she pronounced my name, was doing and how I was passing my time. The answer was the same - that I liked cutting vegetables in the community kitchen and doing my own work in the room. 

 Alas! I will never hear her voice nor ever get an answer to a question that intrigues my mind - Why do people from the first world come to India, and stay on to become attached to ashrams and gurus? What is it that makes them leave their privileged life there and follow a life of hardships just to be on their Chosen Path? 

 On 4th December, 2022, is her Shodashi, which is the 16th day after her passing on. A lamp must be lit in my house to signify that she is now The Light, Knowledge, merged with THAT which never is born nor ever dies. 

(Disclaimer: Views expressed in this article are totall6 the auther's)

For an out-pouring of condolences and appreciation click HERE on facebook

Swami Sarvamangalananda Facebook Page

A lamp was lit in our home on 4th December 2022 

#BookReview: Crochet – The Gordian World of Tahir Khan by Raman Agarwal

The fact is everyone and his uncle is talking about it. Yet most are afraid of it: worse, in denial of it when it comes to themselves. Indeed, depression may be the new normal, but really it has been there much longer. Schizophrenia, is a still more dreaded word implying much worse mental conditions, but it has been aclose cousin of depression. And the two are best friends to a host of people who go undiagnosed due to lack of knowledge or reasons of stigma associated with both. It was therefore refreshing to read Raman Agarwal’s debut novel, Crochet – The Gordian World of Tahir Khan, which deals with both the above mentioned subjects, in a matter of fact manner. He weaves a complex story of Tahir Khan,who lives in Delhi's Jahangirpuri, where a number of families found refuge when they chose to be in India leaving their homeland in Pakistan. The story runs asa trail of failed love, indeed, one after another, drive Tahir to become a complete recluse. And alone. But his aloneness is not singular to him only. It has a history, running from past to present. The book is a reflection of three lives who are pulled into the well of loneliness, his grandfather, his father,and of course Tahir himself. The cause of this state is even identical. Given this background, Agarwal, weaves a story that challenges facts around these people, whose vision is clouded by fictional characters and conversations with people and circumstances, that don't really exist. But the reader is never lead to the facts until they reach the last part of the book. No wonder for the life of me, I couldn't understand who were Saachi or Ghazal. But I think I understood who Mscavity, the black cat with green eyes was, who kept Tahir Khan company even if all else, deserted him. Written with tender loving care, there is no judgement cast on the characters. As a book on mental health, I would say, Raman Agarwal has done an extremely fine job, with the story. He took ten years to complete the book, which is a lot of time really. The reader can see it coming alive. Tahir is obsessed with his mother, her green scarf being his most beloved security blanket, which he preserves and treasures. His grandfather who lost his wife at childbirth of his only son, Azar, who is Tahir’s father, is devastated and loses his mind in grief. But the same fate is meted out to his son too, but Azar must keep a strong front, because strong man never cry. The emotional overload is palpable, as we readers journey through Tahir’s life. The 280 pages book is very absorbing but way too long and needs editing. The gory details of mental health of Tahir’s grandfather at the end of his life, can be structured differently, incidents in Tahir's own life need to be viewed and edited once again. The super-long descriptions of failed relationships can do with cut-to-size text to deliver the point only. All in all, the book is profound but eats into the reader's time. Therefore, may fail to hold attention, of reader who like it short and crisp like a Jahangirpuri to HUDA City Centre Delhi Metro journey, like one hour forty five minutes, during which if a reader is able to crack the quiz of who is Saachi and Ghazal, in the book, then he’d have got to the crux of the story. Pssst! Ask Mscavity's Tahir’s green eyed cat for help. Publisher: Notion Press (Indie) Pages: 280 Price: Rs. 300 Author: Raman Agarwal Cover: Sanjay Subramanian,

Book Review - Paper Tigers and their preys by Wise Owl

Picture Credit HERE

There has to be a method in this madness!

There is no other reason why a book of such length with two murders, one at the beginning and one at the end, may not be considered a book about crime by any standard. But it is in fact, not termed as one, although you can see the design and the reasons why there is the making of crime fiction in the pages, especially, because it is related to an industry that can make or break the political power of the country or the innocent lives of some.

Let’s start from the end, first.

A young girl, Sanjukta, fresh in the publishing industry has been sent to a workshop on sexual harassment, all expenses paid, by her employer at News Today, Rajinder Kohli. The workshop is run by a well-known person in the profession running an NGO focused on doing work in this area. However, it appears that the Leader of the NGO, in fact, has a problem, that being, alongside the classes on sexual harassment, he practices what he preaches! The young girl is caught in between, aggressive persuasion leading up to rape, where she has been enticed by this man in power, who happens also to be a good friend of her mother’s too! Sanjukta, has not been able be clear about her discomfort at these advances, and has now, with the help of her boyfriend and family, been able to lodge an FIR, First Information Report, with the police, who are sluggish to act. Rajinder Singh, her own employer, who had sent her to the workshop in the first place, has shut himself out from this and has commanded his Office, not to participate or support the girl in any way.

For his decision to do so, he must face the consequences in the most brutal manner by his own employee.

Woven in the pages of the book, Paper Tigers and their preys, is the life of our protagonist – Amit Gupta, from a middle-class family, with passion for sports journalism. It is very lucky that the Newspaper he grew up reading called Timeline, has absorbed him, straight out of college as an intern. After being shuffled around doing multiple jobs as a ‘sub’, by a fluke of chance, he is absorbed in the area of his interest – Sports. He dreams of foreign trips and meeting sports stars, he had only read about. However, soon his dreams will be dashed as he learns that all foreign trips are pre-planned and go to those who are well connected abroad with fellow journalists, so while reporting, the copy may just as well be a collection of paras gathered from different quarters and strung skillfully together, while the journo on foreign soil, has a fair holiday, with wine and love interest thrown in.  

Still, Amit Gupta, does get small joys, traveling out to cities within the country. Amit is also under considerable pressure that he hasn’t received his salary for a long time. Rumour abounds that the Newspaper will be sold out to a fat business baron and so, salaries may regularize then. Amit carries on although he is gradually disillusioned by the profession. He falls in love with his colleague, Lilly, but unable to voice his feelings to her in time, he loses his opportunity. Slowly, he is engaged to Shanta, but there too, just as his marriage date is fixed, his father dies and the marriage is broken. Amit leaves Timeline to join News Today. Love beckons again but his love goes for another toss as his lady, Ranjana is caught in intra-departmental politics which sideline Amit and makes the editor leave the newspaper. The paper folds up. Amit returns to the old News Today, where he finds balm to his yet again broken heart in Sanjukta. Amit is about to meet her ever-busy parents, when, Sanjukta is sent to the workshop on sexual harassment which takes an ugly turn causing a turn of events that will make Amit wait to marry Sanjukta, as her life now takes on a different trajectory as does his. So, the double whammy, apparently, unlucky in love and disillusioned with the life of a journalist, Amit, is about to open up the pandora’s box of vile and guile that go to make the most powerful industry in the country – Media. 

Wise Owl, the nom-de-plume of the author of the book, Paper Tigers and their preys, has drawn up an engrossing story around Amit Gupta, following his life from a boy with a fine intellect and love of books, entering the world of power, the barons that make up the world of media. They have in their hand the most powerful weapon, the pen, far mightier than the sword, which is used as a vehicle in the hands of political power, in the country, the very power, the pen/keyboard, has helped to bring to power. This is the irony of the situation.

The gloss and the grit of the life of a journalist is brought out with extraordinary skill and compassion, as Amit travels through these corridors of mammoth business houses engaged in the state-of-the-art of generating opinions and discussions over truth and (un)truth that they publish for consumption. The late nights, drinks and dinner on the house, including cozying up with a colleague in sly corners of the office, till wee hours of the morning next day, the ‘work-family’ often dislodging the real family, as night after night, journalists slog to put out the news that the masses consume the next day. It is the story of media mafia who grow fat and wealthy, by selling ‘packaged truths’ that determine whom they will wine and dine with and who will lick their shoes, during election times.  Amit reveals with candid reality, the inside story of Paper Tigers roaming around preying on innocent lives, or using them to further their interest in the accumulation of wealth. 

To me as a reader and a feminist, the stinking realities of this industry, threw open, yet another wolf in sheep’s clothing – the highly sophisticated media barons, who can’t take no for an answer, or who will show off their power by the size of their cars and the length to which they can go, wielding their ‘power’ in their pants. And I am happy that it is one among their own gender who finally kills a symbol of patriarchy showing its worst face in support of the system. I am therefore, not writing about the murder at the very start of the book, which the reader must find out, by reading the book.

The language is impeccable and the book is easy to read as in, the conversations between different characters tell the story. You can sit back and read especially if you are one of those who love a long story winding its way through your mind’s nooks and corners.  

Personally, I would have preferred a tighter manuscript - a book, which I could start to read at Rajiv Chawk Metro Station in New Delhi, and finish it by the time I have arrived at HUDA City Centre in Gurgaon, which is exactly one hour twenty minutes flat! 

Finally, let me not leave the book without the mention of the cover and the title of the book. Paper Tigers and their preys is an apt title with visual that in fact cleverly summarises the whole book. It is provocative and no one can miss the predator at all. Wise Owl, @hutomp on Twitter, who is the author of the book says, Brush Stroke/ @newbrushstroke on twitter, the gifted brilliant illustrator, loves her mouse, keyboard and colours. Isn’t that so cute? Besides, for both the author and the illustrator, this is their first attempt to showcase their work in book format.

 

 

Print Length: 445 pages

Kindle eBook File Size: 1795 KB

Available on Kindle eBook format  

Buy

First published in: Shillong Times, Sunday, 19.07.2020 http://theshillongtimes.com/2020/07/19/paper-tigers-on-the-prowl/#

Book review: Shadow Men by Bijoya Sawian # Short-listed in the Rabindranath Tagore Literary Prize 2020

Photo credit HERE

Protagonist Raseel Singh needs a break from Delhi, where her parents have been murdered by the trusted man-servant in the house. She has planned with her giggly school friend Aila from Shillong to visit the hill station town for a few days. Aila is touring China with her businessman husband, Aibor, and would return just in time to be with Raseel. However, the latter has arrived a couple of days earlier than planned, and much to her dismay has become witness to another murder at Aibor’s house in Shillong where Raseel is a welcome guest. The gardeners, from Bihar, called Suresh and Ravi, living in the cottage outside the main bungalow, have been attacked by three miscreants. The two other occupants of Aibor’s bungalow, Robert Nongrum, a cousin and the lady caregiver and mother figure Kmie U Flin, apparently is not aware of the incident, until the next morning. Kmie U Flin is naturally shocked. The book then proceeds to nab the killer. As this procedure develops, Raseel is now caught, despite herself, in the whodunit herself and suspects that people around her know much more about the murder than they are willing to share with her. So what is the reason behind this gross act upon a man, who has left his home in Bihar to find work in Shillong? The answer is not as simple as whodunit it seems, because, in the next few chapters which are short and extremely crisp, the author, Bijoya Sawian, opens up an entire pandora’s box full of issues that are ailing the small town of Shillong, in northeast India.

In Bijoya Sawian’s short-listed in the Rabindranath Tagore Literary Prize 2020 book, Shadow Men, insurgence by the local Khasi tribe and occupants of Shillong, against the so-called ‘outsiders’, people from other states of the country, who are settled in Shillong, is at boiling point and as an election is forthcoming, it might once again become the agenda on which winning rests. Besides, the age-old system of matrilineal and matriarchal structure of the Khasi society itself is being hugely contested, and the question of inheritance exclusively of women and the angst of the men about their children taking lineage from the mother continues to ail society. 

In this background, where, corrupt politicians mix and match the greedy demands of businessmen, who would like to fill their pockets at any cost, a willing killer, for cash is not hard to find. The outsider problem is still boiling as Sawian points out, through the characters Strong and Ksan, due to unemployment and opportunities of the youth leading them to all sorts of crime. Will this be an issue in the forthcoming elections?

While the reader is trying to hurry through the pages to find that out, who killed Suresh, the author, skillfully, takes the reader away to a soul-stirring beautiful and rich tapestry of natural beauty and social customs, culinary extravaganza which the British called, Scotland of the east – Shillong. In 1972, Shillong became the capital of Meghalaya.

“The Sanskrit name Meghalaya, Abobe of the Clouds, was suggested by the linguist, Dr. Suniti Kumar Chatterjee.” It is a collection of three hills, Khasi, Jaintia, and Garo hills. God’s picture-perfect little town, sits at an elevation of 1, 525 m above sea level, its terrain painted green, with stretches of green grass, lakes, little rivulets, gigantic waterfalls, tall monsoon grasses and a sky, forever, changing colours, from thick grey skies, laden with clouds to crystal clear blue skies, its weather, warm in the day time and cool at nights, in summer, and biting cold in winter. The entire terrain is spotted with flowers, of the temperate kind, Maple Leaf, Rose, Pomegranate, Lotus, Iris, Knapweed, Sunflower, Tulip, Chrysanthemum, Cherry Blossom, Golden Wattle, Kowhai, asanias, roses, forget-me-nots, daisies, dahlias, pansies, and even datura. Hills and dales undulate to make for the constant ups and downs of the roads, never ever, really giving a respite from climbing up or down.

An assortment of flavours meet the nostril and the tongue – partly British, and mostly typical Khasi cuisine, like jadoh, boiled cabbage, and beef, mutton chops mixed with pork pickles made with Khasi herbal masala. A musical race, the Khasis play multiple instruments and often music becomes their livelihood too.

Hard to believe that the wrath of the angels hound their minds and killing can become their source of livelihood too.

If the plot of the story has been laid on a town so beautiful, any review will be incomplete without praise to the storyteller. Bijoya Sawian has dealt with a story of crime, without spilling a single drop of blood on the pages of the book. There are no gory descriptions and the words are chosen and strung together like a bouquet of flowers, the language perfect and simple. Not once, does the reader have to open a dictionary to look for the meaning of a word.

However, a glossary of names of the persons in the book, followed by their relationship with other characters in the book, would have been good for the reader, unfamiliar with the region. Second, if the reader is new to Shillong, then the details of food and culture and history can be overwhelming. Thirdly, the political and social issues faced by the people in Shillong, may not gel well with the reader, who is looking for a crime thriller. But, then, without that background, it is hard to cull out the killer either.

Finally, to quote the author, "This is not a typical whodunnit. I chose this genre so people would read the book and learn about the region and also the dire consequences of unemployment, the pitfalls of the blame game and the futility of violence."

Name of the book: Shadow Men

Publisher: Speaking Tiger Books

Author: Bijoya Sawian

No. of pages: 98

Price: Rs 179

Click HERE2BUY

Click HERE to know more about the author.

Alvida!

Chorda (March 01, 1952 - Feb 1, 2020)

Dhanmama passed away one cold winter morning in Shillong. He had been ill for a long time, and always wanting to die in Shillong. He returned from Bombay, where he ran his own business. Existence had heard his plea and granted it.

The eldest son and first child of the scholar, Late Shrish Chandra Gupta and Srimati Suhasini Gupta, Dhanmama was a product of prayers and manath to the Gods for a child, two before him having died at childbirth.

God, as man, Dhanmama was kind, gentle, soft-spoken and compassionate. His passing away at age fifty-one, caused immense instability in the lives of his wife, Mamima, his two sons, Borda and Chorda, who suddenly had to take up the duties of looking after their mother and themselves, financially.

I was holidaying in Shillong, from boarding school, when this happened. I remember clearly, both Mamima and Borda, left asunder, with the passing of Dhanmama and with the fact that Chorda, was still in Bombay at the final year of his graduation. Alas, he had to complete it six months later, because, he had to rush to Shillong to be with his mother and elder brother.

I don’t remember Chorda very well when he came to Shillong. But Borda and I had struck up a great friendship as brother and sister, what with the additional and sudden appearance of Cupid, striking the hearts of Borda and my close friend at school, Chhaya. In the midst of the grief, love blossomed, as if putting a healing balm of their hearts. Soon Chorda arrived and the love seems to have expanded, spreading its wings towards Chorda as well. While Borda was more of a doer, Chorda burst into passionate poems, recited from well known western poets and some poems flowing out of his own heart.

The spring of joyous love was broken for me when I returned to boarding school. Mamima and Chorda and Borda returned to Bombay.

For a long time, I heard nothing of them at all, until, for the winter holidays I started to visit my Mashi, in Bombay. We would then visit them at their beautiful Mayur Pankh house, in Diamond Garden, Chembur and spend a few days there. It is, however, only in 1973, when I moved to Bombay, to continue my schooling and higher education did a re-association with Borda and Chorda start all over again. I went to Mayur Pankh house and stayed there for one or two weeks during the short holidays. We were a great family and if I had found brothers to rely on, they had found a sister in me, whom they cherished as much.

However, again from 1985 onwards, this connection was again broken, as life speeded up and I left Bombay with a partner, first back to Shillong to stay and do business there for a year. Hence, our family, consisting of Mejo, my mashi, Mesho, her husband, and other people spread across the country, were not aware of Chorda’s marriage to Shoma baudi.

Sometime in 1986-87, Mejo moved from Bombay to Poona because I lived there. One day, as I was coming up to our flat, in Poona, I found a postcard from Chorda. The card was addressed to Mejo, my mashi, the content of which was so sad, that as soon as she read it, she threw herself on the bed, weeping miserably. The boy, whose birth she had seen with her eyes, had passed away. Borda, had died of liver cirrhosis, leaving us all, his younger brother and mother. It was shocking, to say the least!

Mejo, dashed to Bombay, after a brief call with Chorda. This began the long unbroken relationship with Chorda, Mamima, and the two additions to his family – his wife, Shoma and their lovely and cute daughter, Almitra.

In the absence of his brother, Chorda, primarily, held on to me, for a confidante. This bonding grew stronger as times passed and I too got close to the family. When, Mejo, left for Kolkata, from Poona, to settle down there, I thought that the best thing to do for me now was to move to Bombay, because Chorda and baudi were there. I bought a small tiny flat in Vasai, with much help from my baudi, emotionally, and took that step to relocate to Bombay, not a city I loved most, but a city, where my brother lived. I felt, safe and secure, although he and I lived quite a distance from each other, yet, we were in the same city and that was a great solace to me.

In Chorda, I found a listener, a friend, a strategist, and a confidante. I could tell him everything. My baudi took it upon her to help me settle down in Bombay. She was a rock of Gibraltar, for me. I found my backbone once again, in a city, which was so large; I had to re-discover it once again. In the process, it helped me rediscover myself as well. I made new friends and banked on the family for emotional support.

But then, I moved again. Like a wheel, in constant movement, my next destination was Delhi.

I flirted with the idea of returning to Bombay, many times, but every time, I came close to that decision, I also ran away from it. It was my need to stay in a new city to write a new story for myself. It is still fulfilling itself.  

It is truly said that, unless you burn your bridges behind you, you can never move on.

There is nothing to look back upon now – the final connection having died at 4.23pm, on 1^st, February 2020. And although I knew the end was neigh, I never thought, it would be so fast.

Alvida, my dearest older brother, Chorda, like leaves drop from trees because they are weary, you too have gone, but will surely return, when, the journey you have embarked upon, from earth to an unknown destination, comes to the bivouac of afterlife, you will return like Khalil Gibran's continuation of life – Almitra.

Until a new beginning……

Do click on this LINK to read Khalil Gibran

Book Review - In Search of Heer by Manjul Bajaj

Photo Credit HERE

In a modern re-telling of an ancient story, first told by Damodar Gulati in the 16^th century, author Manjul Bajaj, joins the many versions of the same story told over the years, by many authors and poets. However, this time, the distinctive pen which is the author’s mark, is written in the 21^st century with an engaging, often, addictive method of narration. Having done this, Manjul Bajaj joins an illustrious group of writers and poets, filmmakers who have written on the same theme, Heer and Ranjha. 

In Search of Heer is a simple tale, starting with the love story of Heer, the beautiful daughter of Mihir Chuchak, a rich landlord of Jhang Syal , and Ranjha, the spoilt and handsome son of an affluent landlord in village Takht Hazara, who are destined to meet and fall in love and marry with the support of Heer’s father, in somewhat of a concealed manner, unlike a big, fat Punjabi wedding, with relatives, from far and near thrown in. The secret is found out by Heer’s paternal uncle, Kaidu Langra, and all hell breaks out as he connives with Heer’s mother, and weds her off to Saida, of the Khera clan, equally, wealthy. But the reader must find out what happens to Heer in this marriage. 

In the meantime, Ranjha has realized that he has lost Heer, and must now find the balm to his broken heart by embracing the spiritual path. A flutist, whose music has a soul, Ranjha is well nigh liberation but is again pulled back by the appearance of a crow, which reveals to him, that Heer is waiting for him and so he must waste no time but proceed immediately to where Heer is. Ranjha leaves with his flute totally naked of any other desire but to find his Heer.

In a strange twist of events, Heer finds a friend in her marital home, who is her sister in law, with no less a hidden love story in her heart and the reader is allowed a peep into what might happen next. Breathe easy. You are about to commence into another rough ride with many twists and turns.  

This said, In Search of Heer, is much more than just a story re-told. There are many lessons to learn from the many voices that narrate the story – crows, pigeons, goat and each is has a unique voice, I most loved to engage with. A humungous amount of research has gone into telling the reader more about each of these animals and birds so that the reader is enriched in many other ways, understanding the nature of these creatures. Research has also gone into the life of an ascetic and someone in search of a spiritual life, which gives solace.  

However, for me, the most endearing parts were the role of Heer as a feminist icon. She exudes courage, valour, willfulness, and is stubborn and outspoken, uncompromising. Yet, vulnerable and receptive to love and longing. Her questions are relevant to our times, and many of us can hear our own voice in her words.

No less enchanting was the spiritual side of the book, without being religious. It calls the reader to conclude that there are no short cuts from sex to super-consciousness, except by actually living it. And the way out is through. The symbolic crow is the id in Sigmund Freud’s psychoanalysis as it were. Love lived in totality may well be the eternal transcendence we seek as humans.

The book is a living testimony of a skillful hand at work and an astute intellect that can gather the story from many quarters and reproduce a new version which appeals to the modern, 21^st century reader and their understanding and engagement with love in its many facets.

The Politics of Laugh Jihad

Hardly had we recovered from the shock of HRD Minister, India, Sri Ramesh Pokhriyal, stating that premier institutes in India, like NIT and IIT, must focus their research much more on our ancient Indian science because, after all, it was not Sir Isaac Newton who discovered gravity, but our science already knew all about it much before the western world became aware of it even. But even before we had time to cogitate over it, his colleague, Minister of Railways Sri Piyush Goyal had proved Sri Ramesh Pokhriyal wrong by stating that it is indeed, Einstein who discovered gravity. Many trolls followed on Twitter

In the face of two very ‘scholarly’, RSS cadre members of the ruling party in India, naturally, recent news that in fact there was no Aryan invasion in India, because in Rakhigari, Hariyana, the lead researchers of this soon-to-be-published study — Vasant Shinde and Neeraj Rai, said that DNA tests on the Rakhigari human skeleton established the knowledge ecosystem in the Vedic era was guided by “fully indigenous” people with limited “external contact”. This has seriously dislodged the Aryan invasion theory which holds forth that a set of migrants came from Central Asia armed with superior knowledge and arms and invaded the existing settlements to establish a more sophisticated civilization in India and pushed the original inhabitants down south. (Read ET article here)

Having said that, we now are faced with a very big question, as to who then are our brothers and sisters of another religious background? 

Please to note, we have quoted so-called ‘scholars’ in the above article and hence, we must now visit the Uttar Pradesh, Chief Minister’s Blog.

My growing fascination with the writings of author, activist, Jaya Sharma, has raised my eyebrows which refuse to return to place, after she has quoted the sannyasi Chief Minister of UP, Sri Adityanath Yogi, to say in his blog, “We have decided that if they take one Hindu girl, we’ll take a hundred of theirs. If they kill one Hindu, then we’ll kill a hundred of them.”

Let us pause here, to think who the CM is referring to. If the Rakhigari human DNA has proved that there has not been any invasion from the Central Asian countries, then, who are the ‘they’ in Sri Adityanath Yagi’s blog? If they are indigenous, as the researchers seem to prove, then, the CM’s statement seems null and void – “We have decided that if they take one Hindu girl, we’ll take a hundred of theirs. If they kill one Hindu, then we’ll kill a hundred of them.” All they, theirs, them, are, unfortunately, indigenous only, and there does not seem to be anyone else. So, Sri Yogi, must research his article and make necessary changes, having connected with Vasant Shinde and Neeraj Rai, of the aforesaid discussion published in Economic Times. 

The honourable CM, is further quoted to state in his blog, and I quote – 

“A system where a girl surrounded with fragrance is enticed into a stinking world; where the girl leaves her civilised parents for parents who might have been siblings in the past; where purity is replaced with ugliness; where relationships have no meaning; where a woman is supposed to give birth every nine months; where the girl is not free to practice her religion; and if the girl realises her mistakes and wants to be freed, she is sold off”. 

The concept of ‘dirty’, ‘stinking’, ‘ugliness’, are all part of Manusmriti which as scholar and researcher, Sreyashi Ghosh, writes in her article here “MANUSMRITI HAS BEEN SINGLE-HANDEDLY RESPONSIBLE FOR THE DEROGATORY POSITION ACCORDED TO WOMEN IN THE POST-VEDIC PERIOD.”

Thus, we can assure that the CM of UP, who must be a hard-cast, post-Manusmriti, patriarchal sannyasi, who has preferred the natural sexual energy to be restrained and controlled in order to not 'pollute' himself, by ejaculation in intercourse, and divert the same energy ‘upwards’ towards God-realization, but, may fall short of final liberation, due to extreme hate for women. 

What you can’t get, you never forget and since longing may not be reciprocated, bitterness is the extreme one tends to feel, thus, writing, speaking, emoting bitterness. Just like Manu in fact, who is noted to be a woman-hater. 

Coming back to the article by Jaya Sharma, What the fantasy about Kashmiri “girls” reveals about men of Hindutva published in CounterCurrents(dot)Org, we must dispel all notions that Sri CM, UP, who is a sannyasi, has any experiential proof of what is sexual, leave alone, sexual fantasy. Hence, his expressions on his blog, maybe pure quotations from Manusmriti and we must as educated, sexually active women, no matter where in India we live, or the world for that matter, take it with a pinch of salt. As the author herself, points out, there is no dearth of virile Kashmiri men, that their women, need to look at ‘other men, of Hindu origin. Having said this, I must again reiterate the scientific report, about the Rakhigari human, that there are only indigenous men and women in India, hence, they, theirs, them that Sri CM, UP, India, refers to are perhaps all one single community.

Sri Piyush Goyal and  Sri Ramesh Pokhriyal, are an encyclopedia of knowledge, of ancient science, as they themselves have proved, to resounding hilarity on all social platforms, like facebook, twitter, etc, which Sri CM, UP, must learn from and change the content of his blog, so that he does not appear to be like his colleagues, very poorly intellectual. Before Ms. Mahua Moitra takes this matter up on the floor of the Parliament, causing more hilarity across the world, it is best to rectify, than to regret.

NOTE: And before I am arrested for writing this post, I wish to say that, the opinion expressed here are personal and the author has tried to maintain what the researcher Sheyashi Ghosh has quoted from Manusmriti by Patrick Olivelle, translation of a “good woman” and is bursting at the seams with loud laughter, rocking her already voluptuous, hungry and angry for sex body.