Showing posts with label 202208E. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 202208E. Show all posts

New Lens: a review 'When Jaya met Jaggu'

Reviewed by: Sutanuka Ghosh Roy


Title: When Jaya met Jaggu

Author:  Annapurna Sharma

Page: 187

ISBN: 978-93-91431-35-8 (Paperback)

Edition: (2022)

Price: ₹ 400 * $ 14.99.

Published by Hawakal Publishers, Kolkata, New Delhi, India.


A Annapurna Sharma
      Annapurna Sharma is a nutritionist by profession and a writer by passion. Her maiden book of poems Melodic Melange has been awarded for Excellence 2019 by Pulitzer Books. When Jaya met Jaggu is her latest collection of short stories. There are nine stories in this collection based on the complex theme of love. Life, love, and art blend so delicately in this collection. The stories are from small towns and the themes are principally contemporary – child labor, displacement, east vs west, Alzheimer’s and human fragilities, the conflict between man and nature, etc. Sharma has embraced the middle-class and the mundanity.

The opening story “Jasmine Maid” is a realization story of a child maid that catches the readers unawares. Malli the little girl works as a maid “when her mother fell sick, she took over the job like it was sarkari naukari”. The juxtaposition of Indian words with English is a clever ploy of the writer to make it feel more at home. Indian writers writing in English have come a long way and have been using the English language very effectively in the Indian context and there have been warm-hearted global acceptance. Malli’s connection with the ‘black idol of Krishna’ is intricate and with each passing day, the bond becomes intimate. Sharma has deftly brought out how Malli is doubly marginalized as a child maid and also as a girl child. The little girl understands the ways of the world in a bitter-sweet way. “When alone, she opened her fist. There were three chocolates soaked with the sweat in her hand. On her way home, she threw them in the dustbin, the big one, where no one, even Baba or Madam could find the Coffee Bites. The sweetness oozed into her and spread like venom”. Coffee Bites for Malli associates memories of fear, sexual assault, forbidden desire, and other turbulent emotions. The readers are at once moved with empathy for the subaltern.

Sutanuka Ghosh Roy
      “Coffee Pleasure” the next story written in an epistolary form sets the tone of realism and humanism that shaped short stories and their proponents in modern times. The titular story “When Jaya Met Jaggu” symbolizes a Dickensian universality in an old lady’s (Jaya) contentious relationship with the world around her as she gropes for her identity. “Her lips curled credulously. She wanted to meet him. Nice man, she thought and turned around to leave the cage. She called the room a cage. She was often surrounded by men and women dressed in white from head to toe. They never allowed her to move freely. She missed home and the warm sand castles she made on the beach”. Her memory is elusive like many others who suffer from Alzheimer’s. The world around her is what Sharma draws her creative sustenance. Jaya at 55 forgot every other thing in her life --“her memory hanged in the air as fragile as a balloon with holes”—she did not even remember her son Amar however she somewhat remembered her childhood friend Jagadeesh—Jaggu and expresses her wish to be with him. This embarrasses her son who quickly wears the gauntlet of moral police—“She is 55 years old. What will the society say?” Sharma seems to suggest that life must transcend the self to celebrate ‘life’ through life’s fugitive moments and not confinement. Yet the realist residing in the idealist warns of the visceral violence that a loss of memory can lead to. All finite ambits—the individual, her community, mind, and matter—are transcended in a striking humane denouement. The end of the story feels like the embrace of a sentient universe. “Even after six months, Jaya didn’t remember Jagadeeesh’s likes or dislikes. She trailed him the whole day, just as iron pieces, negligible yet attracted to a magnet”.

      In “The Lame Mango” Sharma seems to have mastered the art of dealing with ultra-sensitive narratives and adapted and directed the story into a moving piece of drama. The narrative of Ajay, Pratibha, Mahuya, Sravan, and others is propelled by an efficient and easy-flowing language that does not loosen its grip even for a moment. Sharma has done a great job as a storyteller who finds expression in the way the story bends to diverse rhythms. “Alka darted like a bushy tailed squirrel and pointed to two saplings planted on either side of the axed mango tree. A house crow landed on the axed mango tree, glancing right and then left at the baby plants. Tears dropped endlessly”. “Gods without inquest” leaves the readers groping with emotions. The characters of Ranga and Rangi stand for two distinct world orders rather than becoming dense and appear to be jerky since “there is no place for greed in their lives”. The story assumes a different kind of storytelling, stitching together the fragments of their lives. “Ranga was intoxicated with selling toddy. Rangi loved red: redness of sky, redness of love, redness of truth, redness of the deity, redness of her fingers”.

  Sharma has depicted the clash of culture between the east and the west in her next story “The Temple under the Tamarind Tree”. The journey from Bengal to Boston remains a search for roots and food is a powerful tool for retrieval for Partho the protagonist of the story who “spent most of the time at the university teaching South Asian Literature”. His mother’s dreams of the fading shapes of God make Sharma’s narrative seem suspended amidst nothingness. The sense of otherworldliness can perhaps be attributed to the distance—of class, lifestyles, realities—that separates the readers from the subject. Myth, tradition, religion, and belief are woven as a continuous loom and Sharma has her reader in thrall with the art of fashioning her narratives with refreshing air. She writes, “tradition never claims lives. It merely holds all beings in a close circle, not the vicious web of spider, but the gossamer of love”.

     When Jaya met Jaggu is one of those books which leave you asking for more. Sharma through her intuitive artistic language and in her quiet way has succeeded in interrogating our established views of love and life as a whole.

 


Freedom and other things

Sunil Sharma
“My religion is based on truth and non-violence. Truth is my God. Non-violence is the means of realising Him.”

---Mahatma Gandhi

 
August comes with the hint of fall in Canada. 
A season of change.
A wonderful period of transition!
Change is life.
So is the idea of freedom.
A notion that has motivated people to resist old regimes and usher in changes.
A sacred idea that is foundational to civilizational and individual growth from constraining conditions.
August carries these echoes.

Setu celebrates this mood in the present edition.

It is also the month when India celebrates its freedom from the imperialist British Raj, specifically on 15th; a day of great joy and hope for its almost 1.4-billion people.

This year the largest democracy marks the 75th year of freedom from the oppressive foreign rule---and its onward march towards progress and development. Independence Day was celebrated with joy across the country---and the world via its strong diaspora, North America being no exception. 

In America and Canada, parades were taken out to express the pride and joy of a powerful immigrant community, confirming the pull of the roots for the articulate and mobile Indians, in their adopted lands. The cheering crowds along the routes confirmed the love of the native country and an assertion of hyphenated identity and heritage in settings multi-lingual and truly cosmopolitan.

The successful and confident diaspora embraces both the realities of their current identities---a dualism characteristic of every immigrant's life and existence anywhere in the world. It demonstrates both integration and unbreakable connections with the homeland of a resilient people in the vanguard of change.

Setu too invited noted artist-poet Meenakshi Mohan to join us in our homage to the idea of freedom. She came up with poems and paintings for us.

Similarly, the theme of the special edition is Freedom only. Guest-edited by young poet John Maurer, it brings in a selection of voices that explore this notion poetically, in-depth, sincerely for the discerning audience.

Trilingual poetry---another milestone of craft, vision, linguistic prowess and talent---by Nirmal Jaswal, noted poet of Hindi and Punjabi, along with translation of Hansa Deep, another major Hindi writer, and, collaboration between eminent poets Paul Brookes and Jerome Berglund are some other significant highlights.

Author of the Month is the senior satirist and bilingual poet Dharmpal Mahendra Jain whose wit and idiom are much appreciated in Hindi and English.

Arthur Broomfield, poet-academic from Ireland, is another pure delight. He discusses many things with Zara Browne in an interesting conversation.

Thanks to the readers and the authors for their love and support for making us reach 3,112,337 page views so far.

Without the combined patronage, this milestone would not have been possible.

The bilingual journal aims to keep on evolving in coming months.

Please do write in your suggestions and views.

We conclude with the classic Rumi instruction, so uplifting as a motto:
Don’t be satisfied with stories, how things have gone with others. Unfold your own myth.
 
Sunil Sharma
Editor, Setu (English)
Toronto, Canada

Contents, August 2022


Setu

Volume 7; Issue 3; August 2022


Setu PDF Archives

Editorial

Poetry

Exclusive

Critical Concerns

Author of the Month

Conversations Literary

Translation: Hindi to English

Short Fiction

Special

Special: Indigenous Historical Fiction

Creative Collaborations: Split Sequence Poetry

Cultural Roundup

Setu Initiative: Setu Series of Virtual Readings

Special Edition: Freedom

Guest Editor: John Maurer


Guest Editorial: John Maurer

John Maurer
Clearly, the meaning of freedom has evolved, and continues to evolve. We live in a time when the meaning of freedom, or democratic freedom, must be considered not only in national terms, but in global terms as well. Freedom must be considered as more than simply the basic state of not being imprisoned. Understanding freedom requires us to elevate the concept beyond autonomy to include the right to a voice and the right for that voice to be heard. We are beginning to recognize that freedom isn’t something endowed entirely upon everyone equally, even in democratic societies. It is more complex than just a law or a system of government. Laws can be written, but that doesn’t mean they are always upheld, let alone enforced without bias. And in places where everyone has the right to vote, not everyone has the same access to the polls. At a time when so much divides us, even our interpretations of the democratic system pull us apart. Some claim that anarchy is the only true freedom. Others would say a direct democracy, such as that in ancient Athens, is the truest form of democracy and freedom. While others prefer the American model of a republic in which elected officials vote on behalf of their constituents.

While India celebrates its 75th birthday and year of independence this very month, Ukraine is simultaneously fighting to maintain its democratic freedom in the Russo-Ukrainian War. We are at a global crossroads where we can see both the beauty of a blooming democracy and the resilience of another that is under attack and threatened with a loss of freedom. Where India achieved its freedom through peaceful protests directed at the British Empire, Ukraine has been forced to defend its freedom by repelling a Russian invasion. We are seeing the different circumstances where freedoms are withheld or threatened, as well as seeing the different ways that different groups of people respond, or are forced to respond, to these threats. We’ve come to see that freedom is delicate, fragile, and precarious; that the places where democratic freedom exists are places where people have had to fight for it, in one way or another, in more and more instances. 

More than all of this, freedom extends well beyond just the political construct. It is a multi-faceted word that means different things to almost everyone. Some search for psychological freedom, to be free of worry or anxiety or other thoughts that restrain them. Others search for financial freedom to rescue them from the monotony of their daily lives, from their jobs, household chores, and worry for the future. Everyone has things in their life that they feel are holding them back, bad habits or being too busy or a lack of resources, financial or other; but everyone is searching for greater freedom within society, within themselves, and within our governments. Though our interpretations may differ, we all share in the desire for autonomy and freedom.

In this issue, the editors of Setu and I wanted to bring together poetry, prose, and visual art that spoke to all these facets of freedom, and perhaps others as well. I’ve curated a collection of writing and art from a diverse set of artists and writers; old and young, experienced and amateur, from a variety of countries, and with a variety of perspectives.  Though all these artists and writers are from different backgrounds and have had very different life experiences, you will likely find that their ideas of freedom are far more similar than they are different. Though we may have different ideas of how to get there, we all are headed for the same destination, to a place of greater freedom for ourselves and others.

It has been a privilege and an honor to have had so many writers and artists share their work with me, as well as having the opportunity to guest edit this issue on a topic that is near and dear to my heart. 

“Freedom, in any case, is only possible by constantly struggling for it.”—Albert Einstein

John Maurer
Guest Editor, SETU, August 2022, Special Edition on Freedom

Bio: John Maurer is a 27-year-old writer from Pittsburgh that writes fiction, poetry, and everything in-between, but their work always strives to portray that what is true is beautiful. When not writing, they enjoy spending their time playing basketball, making music, and taking long contemplative walks through the woods. They have been previously published in Setu Bilingual, The Bitchin’ Kitsch, Thought Catalog, and more than a hundred others. @JohnPMaurer (johnpmaurer.com)

Special Edition: Freedom
Featured Authors

1. Jass Aujla
2. Pallavi Baruah
3. Don Carpenter
4. Alice Chains
5. PS Conway
6. Kellasandra Ferrara
7. David Garcia
8. Athena Kaiman
9. Sasha Lauren
10. Frances MacGregor
11. George Miller
12. Maria Perez
13. Giselle Phillips
14. Steven Ross
15. Crow Rudd
16. J.A. Savage
17. Angela Thompson
18. Samra WaHeed
19. Antonia Wang
20. Cassondra Windwalker



Jakiela, Newman, Matcho and Catello Pack the Brillobox

John Maurer

-John Maurer

Standing room only is a rare sight at a poetry event. But such was the case the evening of August 4th, 2022, as dozens of people convened on the top floor of the Brillobox Bar and Restaurant in Lawrenceville for a four-author book launch. The size of the audience truly spoke to the impact of the featured poets. The night of poetry was emceed by Phelan Newman, daughter of two of the presenting poets of the night (Lori Jakiela and Dave Newman), who warmly welcomed the audience to the reading. She followed this by introducing the first poet of the night and her “best friend,” Cilia Catello, who read a selection of her work.

Catello, filling in for Kareem Tayyar, read a selection of poems and a short story, Lucky Lotto, which was a story set around modern themes but relatable to all generations. The story depicted a group of teenagers loitering outside a convenience store chiding each other into having the confidence to walk in and try to buy cigarettes without being carded. Catello’s associative and referential skills were clear in lines of the story such as her reference to a pack of Marlboro Reds as being “the Gucci of cigarettes.” After the reading, in conversation, when asked if she had any upcoming publications, Catello responded by saying, “not right now, I’m just focusing on finishing high school.” There is no doubt that Catello is an up-and-coming poet to watch here in Pittsburgh.

Brillobox Bar and Restaurant
Next to take the stage was Adam Matcho who read a selection from his latest book, Ask Your Undertaker, the cover of which was illustrated by Ms. Newman. In his poem, Petra from Work, Matcho conveys the way we work next to people for years, people we do not intend to become close to, but over time we learn their entire life story. What is so captivating about Matcho’s writing is that it does not read like narrative poetry, but by the time he reads the last line, you realize you’ve arrived at the end of a narrative arc you did not even notice. Matcho is also able to inject poignant and resonant lines through character dialogue, such as a conversation had with his wife in this poem, where his wife says, “Kindness is helping someone who can do nothing for you.” When asked why he chose to focus his poems on the topic of retail work, Matcho replied, “I think it’s something everyone can relate to; we all work.”

Dave Newman
Next, Dave Newman did something unusual for any poet, let alone a poet of his caliber and level of accomplishment; he stepped onto the stage and read just one poem. Before starting his reading, Newman said, “I’m old, I’m sensitive, I’m reading about a friend who’s dead. I apologize if I get really emotional.” To which Jakiela responded from the audience, “You said you weren’t going to cry.” Newman responded, “I know, I said I wasn’t going to cry. I’m such a fucking pussy.” (A comedic exchange which juxtaposed the serious and challenging subject matter of the poem to come.) The audience sat captivated through the longer narrative poem and quickly understood exactly why Newman felt he did not need to read any other poems alongside it. His poem told a heart-wrenching story about watching a friend struggle with drug and alcohol abuse, going on a bender, and arriving on his couch where his wife offers to make him food. It is a story of being witness to a loved one in a vicious cycle and wanting to help them but not being able to when they cannot recognize their own problem.

Lori Jakiela
The last poet of the evening was Lori Jakiela who sat down at the microphone with the sense of comfort and calm one would expect from a poet of her experience and achievement. Before beginning her recitation of poetry, she prefaced it by saying, “A lot of what I write about is death…but it’s funny.” She read a number of poems from her newest collection, How Do You Like It Now, Gentlemen?, a title that leaned on an Ernest Hemingway quote. When asked why a quote of Hemingway was used as the title, as well as being inserted between poems in the collection, Jakiela said “because he’s the fucking best.” She started off with a poem from her collection titled, Former 90s Super Model Cindy Crawford Says People Shouldn’t Worry About Aging, a poem about how we perceive our own aging as compared to the media. It was about a number of photos of Crawford that showed wrinkles and scars, something many reacted to with joy as it made them feel more confident in their own skin; only to have those pictures turn out be fake and for Crawford to post pictures of herself still looking as unattainably flawless as ever. After the show, Jakiela was asked about another poem from her collection, In Line at the Drive-Through Pharmacy, in which a man was screaming obscenities at her and her daughter while they waited for her daughter's medicine. If her daughter wasn’t with her, she said, "I would've got out of my car and fought him." This answer may seem unexpected, but certainly show’s Jakiela’s Hemingway-like bravery and the concise and direct voice with which her poetry speaks.

Overall, the evening was filled with as many moments of uproarious laughter as it was with groans of heartbreak and moments of contemplative silence. This slate of poets delivered poetry that was set in Pittsburgh, a setting seen, understood, and shared by every audience member, making all the poetry feel more relatable and grounded within this topical constant. Beyond just sharing their work, every author shared a great deal of themselves, staying after their reading to talk to every audience member who wanted to speak to them as well as signing autographs of their own books.

Poetry: Emalisa Rose

Emalisa Rose

To wear wings

 

Outside our window

sunup to sundown

they keep singing

while nesting and courting

eating seeds, leaves and berries

and doing those bird things

birds do.

 

“What do they sing for,”

he asks.

 

“Perhaps for world peace

or for climate change

for Jesus or Buddha

or for clouds to make rain.”

 

“Pick your hypothesis.”

 

“Or maybe they sing, just to sing

to make us look up

and soften the edge

off the woes of this world.”

 

“Irregardless, I wish I wore wings.”

***

 

 

A trio of blues

 

They offer no answer

nor semblance of meaning

on this fog impaired morning

as wanton leaves wander.

 

And I pick up a trio

held close in my hand

as if they make up

for your stark disappearance.

***

 

 

Rain redundancy

 

The rain plays redundant

sketching then fading

drowning your likeness

on the womb of my window

wearing the sting

of your sudden departure.

 

And I posture with plentitude

hands over eyes, to conjure the clouds

and evoke of your image

 

never known, had you existed

at all.

***

 

 

The night brush

 

With a stroke of the brush

all we’d created

from morning to midnight

resonates on the kindness

of crosswinds and happenstnce

hypotheticals suns to return

and wishes on waterfalls

 

as we bow to the gifts of this day.

 

Unsure of tomorrow,

for now we exhale.

***

 

To wear wings

 

Outside our window

sunup to sundown

they keep singing

while nesting and courting

eating seeds, leaves and berries

and doing those bird things

birds do.

 

“What do they sing for,”

he asks.

 

“Perhaps for world peace

or for climate change

for Jesus or Buddha

or for clouds to make rain.”

 

“Pick your hypothesis.”

 

“Or maybe they sing, just to sing

to make us look up

and soften the edge

off the woes of this world.”

 

“Irregardless, I wish I wore wings.”

***

 

 

A trio of blues

 

They offer no answer

nor semblance of meaning

on this fog impaired morning

as wanton leaves wander.

 

And I pick up a trio

held close in my hand

as if they make up

for your stark disappearance.

***

 

 

Rain redundancy

 

The rain plays redundant

sketching then fading

drowning your likeness

on the womb of my window

wearing the sting

of your sudden departure.

 

And I posture with plentitude

hands over eyes, to conjure the clouds

and evoke of your image

 

never known, had you existed

at all.

***

 

 

The night brush

 

With a stroke of the brush

all we’d created

from morning to midnight

resonates on the kindness

of crosswinds and happenstnce

hypotheticals suns to return

and wishes on waterfalls

 

as we bow to the gifts of this day.

 

Unsure of tomorrow,

for now we exhale.

***

Bio: When not writing poetry, Emalisa Rose enjoys crafting with macrame. She volunteers in animal rescue and walks with a birding group on Sundays. She lives by the beach, which provides much of the inspiration for her art. Her latest collection is “On the whims of the crosswinds,” published by Red Wolf Editions.


Poetry: Chayanika Saikia

Chayanika Saikia
Skyscraper’s Dream


I dream, sitting inside a dream

that wants you to dream high,

off the ground, closer to the

clouds than the grasses

 

The dream mirrors dream

reflects one into manifold,

projects me into multitude,

distorting at the end, leaving me

dreamless, groundless

 

I practice dreaming a dream

of walking in the rain that

touches ground with a ‘tappak’

sound making ripples of nostalgia

that overpowers petrichor

 

I dream the dream of the plants

inside the terrarium jar, thriving,

dreaming in own world, with roots

that would never know

the real taste of soil

 

I should learn to dream

the dreams waiting behind

the stacks of windows bottom

to top, curtained or kept open,

with light, in dark

 

-not of the things

down on the ground,

humanoids, dwarf trees

green appearing blues

 

beyond vision

beyond imagination

their thoughts

their dreams

all getting blurred

 

The acrophobic frangipani

in the sun-baked porch

tells me to dream blooming

albeit being out of the world.

************************************

 

 

A sketch of evening rain

 

I saw gold tinted sky in west,

dark clouds setting up a

moody affair in south

A flock of bird was returning home,

in a perfect V with their evening song,

abruptly splitting, flew past my window

escaping lightening, thunder would follow

 

Dark clouds invaded west sky

wind took up the speed of storm

rain would come from south

rain should come from south

 

Trees in the woods have gone mad,

a bird from the flock lost it’s track

free-falling, wings flapping, falling

 

rain would come now

rain should come now

from south?

from west?

 

Humidity has possessed the head,

I’m sketching rain in my notebook,

the rain is not taking a shape

 

Wind screaming louder

thunder hammering hard

finally, the silence struck heart

and then the rain came,

 

from the west

from somewhere

words fell upon my page

 

Later, a raindrop landed

on my sketch of evening rain,

signed it with an amber stain.

**********************************

 

 

 

 

 

Shape of a home

 

I remember those halcyon days of

being at home, when it used to be

 

a place, an address, things used to be

so simple, when home was a

serene sense to breath in.

 

I don’t remember from when

that sense became a strain

that shape became amorphous

the home lost all it’s dimensions,

 

and I inherited it’s shapelessness

to dwell in an empty space,

without address

without belongingness

 

home became the pain to

breath in breath out

home became the voyage

 

into unsettled wharf

into home-shaped hearts

into a ponderous detachment

 

Now I roam from mountain

to plain, ocean to terrain,

gathering woods, stones, sand,

gathering love, warm attachment

for a firm basement

 

Now I roam in search of a home

in the shape of

my soul to fit in,

 

-till I sense that place,

nothing more, nothing less.

******************************

 

 

 

 

Summer senses

 

A day-long thought

is getting dilated

in the chimera eyes of mind

 

I was at ease taking siesta

inside my cocoon,

donating eyes to streaming screens,

body to the forbidden couch

 

Should I be concerned

with the sudden commotion?

 

Words bursting from

the cotton trees,

drifting humming

in the light breeze

 

The season is perfect for

plethora of sense and serendipity,

burgeoning feelings of fecundity

 

Evening sky is musing

dazzling with words,

should I be concerned

 

 

when stars are falling,

sunsets fading,

inside heart who’s calling?

 

Summers are perfect

for opulent thoughts,

chasing will-o’-the wisp

delirium of phantasy plots

 

What made me to choose

not-to-be-told saga to booze?

 

words are leaking

words are kicking

 

words

words

words

are seeking to burst

and come alive

 

Not at ease,

on words I’m high.

 

Words are my dopamine.

**************************

Poet’s Biography

Dr. Chayanika Saikia is a geoscientist by profession working for a national oil company & lives in Noida. Her recent works are published in anthologies like ‘Poetry Unites’, 'The Kali Project', 'Antargatha', 'Ismat' etc. and journals like Hakara, New York Parrot, Indian Periodical etc. She is the founder & editor of Assamese e-magazine 'Katha-kanchan'.

E-Mail : chayanika_saikia08@gmail.com

Instagram handle: cherishables_by_chayanika