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| Satbir Chadha |
** ISSN 2475-1359 **
* Bilingual monthly journal published from Pittsburgh, USA :: рдкिрдЯ्рд╕рдмрд░्рдЧ рдЕрдоेрд░िрдХा рд╕े рдк्рд░рдХाрд╢िрдд рдж्рд╡ैрднाрд╖िрдХ рдоाрд╕िрдХ *
Glass Doors - A Melange of Emotions
Special Edition: Pankajam Kottarath
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| K Pankajam |
Pankajam Kottarath (Diaspora Dual Identities)
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| K Pankajam |
If leaving homeland is about loss and
longing that linger
It’s also about the riches it brings in,
not to counter.
It’s not alone the sense of loneliness or
alienation intrinsic to migrants
It’s the journey from non-acceptance to
acceptance that matters.
It’s not the loss of identity or hostility
in a new place that matters
It’s about bridging the gaps between
countries and cultures.
It’s not the feeling of rootlessness or
fragmentation one fights against
It’s about the success story becoming one
with the global state.
It’s not the cultural clash, gender or
race biases one confronts
It’s about the experiences passed on to
generations consequent.
Digging deep into ethnic bonds, Indomania
or Indophilia might ascend
as nostalgia can’t nosedive, nor can
newfound urges nullify niceties of native land.
Mantle of migration offering mines of
fortunes manifold, one has to yield
and shuttled between identities, the quest
for a new one wins at the end.
Note: Indomania/Indophilia - refers to
love for India and its culture, history, cuisine, and religions.
Nostalgia
Nostalgia has no sense of time
It enters anywhere, anytime
Even at the most inopportune time
Still a welcome guest, I spread a red
carpet to it.
Riding me through lands of longing
where rushing reminiscences
behave like long lost friends
I’m in its tight embrace.
The vessel of it floats somewhere in my
head
cruising through the webs of memories
those sleep like babes half-fed
and it brings smells and sounds of the
past.
Grandma’s tales I hear, she smiles at me
with betel-stained tooth, couple of them
missing.
Her elongated ears dangle from side to
side
lolacks in them whisper romantic tunes to the
ears.
Smell of palappam and pazhampori
invade my nostrils
I inhale it with a ‘mmm’ sound, gulp down
saliva with a satisfied sigh.
Taste-buds budging I become a babe again.
In this far-away land, I dream of that
yummy breakfast.
My pupils shrink as the light rays appear
like loyal workers.
Let not the light encroach into my dreams
nor put a stop to my enticing train of
thoughts.
Let them have their field day over my
ruminations.
Notes:
Palappam- Kerala
Palappam is made with soaked and ground rice and coconut milk. These lacey
appams make a delicious breakfast.
Pazhampori- A delicious snack in Kerala made out of
ripe banana slit lengthwise after peeling and dipped into a flour batter mixed
with salt, turmeric powder and sugar, and then deep-fried in oil until golden
brown.
Lolacks- In ancient days it was a fashion
statement for older women in Kerala, to get their ears elongated and wear big
studs in them called lolacks.
A
Silent Shift
Speed
breakers are there in hearts too
Some
painted, some plain and unseen
behind
the fogged and fermented thoughts
existing
with diverse degrees of insensibility.
There
are memories to come back to
some
hiding in the folds of forgetfulness
others
shy away from conscious thoughts
all
wait wanting to get fondled, some day.
Feeding
on silence, hearts grow cold
Aloofness
sets out to seek acceptance
Sunset
days mind munches moments of past glories
Sharing,
a need so forceful, too hard to neglect.
Old age
homes enjoy increased patronage.
No
caste, no creed, no gender.
Money,
mindset, market,
all
when meet in straight lines,
a
silent shift in health care takes place
a
crucial change in commitments
an
undefined set of rules in familial inheritance
besides
a digression in people’s perspectives.
Special Edition: K Pankajam
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| K Pankajam |
Poetry: Pankajam Kottarath
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| K Pankajam |
K Pankajam (Women and Spring)
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| K Pankajam |
Pankajam Kottarath (Voices Within 2023)
Pankajam
Kottarath is a bilingual poet and novelist and an author of more than
40 books. Her poems, book reviews, short stories and articles have been
published in many national/international journals and anthologies. One of her
poetry collections has been translated into French. Three books on literary
criticism discuss her works in detail. A book of critical essays and research
papers on her poem titled “Poetic Oeuvre of K Pankajam” has also been
published. She is the recipient of many awards.
Like Ripples on
water…
Uttering an unreceptive word
knowingly or unknowingly
create ripples of gloom in
affable hearts
while stirring emotions bring
bouts of tears.
You may forget all about it
quick
But its pulls and burns
intensify
inside my heart
that never expects such flagrant
disgraces
make it spin tales of invented
impacts
inflated at times, not to
dispute
and it acquires strife
much like a pebble dropped in
the water
making little waves circling and
circling
that grow bigger and bigger
slowly and steadily
to create strong waves,
unprecedented.
No way to stop them
nor find out the point of
consummation
and the water turns turbulent
losing its peace
much like humans perhaps
yet the river quickly regains
its stature
but I can’t.
Maybe this disappointment and
despair
make my heart learn to accept
adversities
paving the way for mustering
courage.
That is when I realize there is
nothing to lose,
and I enjoy total freedom.
Between Light and
Shadow
Daunting shadows on a moonlit
night
pause as dancing puppets,
guided by invisible threads.
Shadows have a promise to keep,
an unwritten affirmation to
light
to be always on its side, or
stay behind.
When the moon peeks through my
window
darkening sky wears a deafening
silence
echoes of which resonate
throughout life.
Fight your silence, I plead;
Great things command constant
pains to crack.
Looking beyond I realize
something is hidden from my
sight
Still, I can see the glow of
life emerging bright
between light and the shadows.
Perhaps a hide and seek game is
on
in nature’s patio, perfectly
synchronized.
Who am I to barge in or shove
through.
Maybe one’s inner light can
guide.
Until the hazy wings of darkness
veil me permanently
let me choose to illuminate my
path
not allowing obscurity to gain
might
suppressing the shadows of doubt
beneath
for the in-between path is open
and free.
Behind the Mask
This smile is my unique mask
to hide away all my miseries
pains, tears and fears that rip
at my gut.
It’s a conscious veil I wear,
opaque
that allows to show no signs of
flaws.
It doesn’t denote disguise,
deception or defense.
Neither it carries fetid intentions
to con
nor a tryout to justify faults.
You may label it as a perennial
sin, but not
for it’s a means effective,
apparently plain though,
to gel and perfectly fit in the
assemblage.
There hides a child in me
wanting to be heard,
have fun, dance around fire and
weave fantasy tales.
Hiding cheeks or shading eyes is
not in its aim
But the adult in it outgrows to
suppress its innate ways.
It’s the best ornament I ever
own and wear
to hide away my hurts and
sidestep barriers.
To quell my fears, a loving
glance is enough
and when your arms envelop me
tight
I need to discard this mask,
PANKAJAM KOTTARATH, INDIA
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| K Pankajam |
Poetry: K Pankajam
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| K Pankajam |
The Powerful Dominion
Small glass jars with
colourful powders sit majestic
crowned with smiles they make people crave for food
They are like cosmetics that make an average girl
elegant.
Their smell leaps and twirls, makes my kitchen
aromatic.
Sambar splashed with mustard, fenugreek and curry
leaves
with red chilly in coconut oil make one gasp deep,
stir appetite.
Simple rasam with pepper, cumin and turmeric
keeps corona under check.
But be aware, spices can also mask the taste of rotten
foods.
The humble ravakesari is delicious in
taste and smell,
cardamom plays the magic, drowning tongues in a sea of
saliva.
Jaggery banana chips with dried ginger powder is great
to munch
So also pazhampori, the king of snacks, don’t
miss to taste it.
My grandma using firewood cooked mouth-watering dishes
in earthen pots
My Mom challenged our taste buds using iron kadais on kerosene stove
But my culinary skills can’t match with those dainty
dishes even with modern machines.
I fear the future generations might do away with
kitchen for processed foods.
Life fast, costs high, sustenance hard, work time
longer, no time to live,
Adulteration, fast foods and junks snuff out lives untimely
Wish people realize this and be contented with least
comforts, no luxuries .
And awareness bring light to the people to consume healthy
food.
What goes down our gullet decides our health and
welfare
Not too spicy, not too oily, the cook is the king of
the dominion.
The art of cooking is like the art of living, and kitchen,
the throne.
To take the good and drop the bad is for us to decide.
Ravakesari = made from rava, sugar, cardamom, ghee, saffron and dry fruits.
Pazhampori = prepared from ripe banana just like bajji.
A Smacking Snack
If
one has to blame my taste buds
please
wait; I bet, the sight
of
the crispy orange delicacy
just
makes my mouth watery
invites
me to try its tang
and
you can’t blame me
if
my hands try to grab it.
What a pleasure to munch it
that makes one’s taste buds
content!
Besan flour with green chilies
form a delicious blend
to make one salivate.
Forget your medical charts for a
while
Ms. Pankajam K, India (Winging through Gloom: Poetry of Hope and Recovery)
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| K Pankajam |
Revisit: What's New, What's Old? (Pankajam Kottarath)
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| K Pankajam |
The Fuel of Hope
Women Poetry: Ms. Pankajam K, India
Exclusive: Women Poetry: Edited by Padmaja Iyengar-Paddy
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| K Pankajam |
The World Hero
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| K Pankajam |
Pankajam Kottarath, INDIA
Exclusive: Best of Women Poetry: Edited by Padmaja Iyengar-Paddy
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| K Pankajam |
Caged birds crave for freedom to court
They don’t chortle or sing, but snort
to say protection is not by prisoning.
Their mumbling moans reach my ears.
Make me a crow to cleanse the society of all filths,
an eagle to strip away humanity’s stinking sores
or an owl to stay awake during nights to evade evils
and then I will sing like a cuckoo to celebrate life.
Words are my soul’s romance with God.
Wish I use it with purpose and positivity.
They tell me they can do much more
than I think what they can.
Thoughts are the batons
to cross the ocean of ignorance
Let’s find out our own batons and rise
like a phoenix from the ashes of our dreams.
A squeaking fledgling gets fed first
Like a crying child, milk.
Women, we are born to live, not just to exist.
Let our voice be loud and clear.
If sorrows are our cousins
Joys are our soulmates,
let them come and go as guests
they can’t be staying with us for long.
Pankajam Kottarath, retired from BHEL as Dy Manager/Finance, is a bilingual poet and novelist living in Chennai. She has to her credit, 19 published books including 11 books of poems, one translated into French, 3 fictions in addition to poems, book reviews, short stories and articles published in journals/anthologies. Three literary criticism books discuss her poetry viz., ‘Femininity-Poetic Endeavors’ by Dr VVB Rama Rao; History of Contemporary Indian English Poetry-An Appraisal’ by PCK Prem; Socio-Cultural Transition in Modern Indian English Writing & Translation by RK Bhushan Sabharwal. She is a recipient of awards such as Rock Pebbles National Literary Award 2019, Cochin Litfest Poetry Prize 2019 and ISISAR International Essay Competition Award.
Best of Women Poetry -2020 :: Setu, March 2020


