Monday, September 5, 2022

The womb

 As the first grains of rice

cooked in the free range cow's milk, 

aromatic with the saffron from Pampore

were put in the baby's tender mouth,

Everyone joined in to congratulate

the beaming parents. 

The men patted the broad shoulders

of the exultant father, 

who gave away sweets to everyone.

And, the women hugged the mother, 

as she sat with little Ganesha, 

a veritable Parvati, 

resplendent in a coral colored saree 

on which golden peacocks danced 

in their full Kanjeevaram glory. 

The euphoric grandmother sat amidst 

the older ladies with hoary and dyed heads 

singing folk ditties to bless 

the little piece of their hearts. 

The mausis and Buas vied to outperform each 

other in Bollywood and classical dance. 

The guests having their bellies filled

with savoury and sweet delicacies

lazed and talked about

how beautiful the mother looked 

and how healthy the baby.

They complimented each other's sartorial sense 

and whispered about many people's lack of it.

They talked about the mouth melting moong dal halwa

but hinted at the absence of gulab jamun, a favorite of many. 

But, no one paid any attention 

to the thin woman with red eyes and stoic face 

who wore cheap imitation jewelry, a wilted gajra 

 sat in a corner trying to cover her leaky blouse 

with the anchal of her polyester saree.


- Neha Bansal


(Published in "Mosaic of poetic musings : contemporary women poets from India" edited by Seema Jain and published by Authors press)






Thursday, May 5, 2022

Death in Nicobar : An article written by me in Dec 2016

 ( Copied from the blog : thenicobardiaries.blogspot.com )

Kakana village 

4th November 2016 was a sad day. The sky wept and cicadas sang a sad requiem for the death of village Kakana’s 1st captain, Sh. Gabriel, a very noble soul and a very enterprising leader amongst his fellow villagers. Having spent time in Nicobar, we have been witness to the fun and frolic during festive times, a very merry and dulcet Christmas season, the energy filled canoe races which are a sight to behold against the myriad blue-green hues, the alacrity to participate in song and dance events in even the other communities’ religious festivals, the slow pace of life which celebrates the rhythm of Nature, but it is the poise and grace with which the Nicobarese deal with their grief that struck me so deeply. Unlike the noisy cacophony which we often find in certain parts of our country, these people internalize it and stand in silence, praying for the man’s last journey, paying floral tributes one by one without trying to assume unnecessary importance silently and in the most disciplined manner. Being close to Nature they understand the rhythm of life and understand the human seasons too which makes them seemingly stoic to the death. But they also remember their dead every day as their loved ones have become the part of the nature around them, every year on All Souls’ Day (2nd November) they decorate the graveyard with ixoras, mussaendas and light candles and incense sticks on the graves. At tsunami memorial too, floral wreaths are laid down and candles and incense are lit in the memory of those who perished in the gigantic sweep of the cruel tsunami of 2004 on 1st november every year.
decorating the graves. photo courtesy : greatheart nicobari
another view of the ritual on All Souls' Day on 2nd Nov

Thursday, April 7, 2022

Review of Tahir Shah's "In Arabian Nights"

Every once in a while, one comes across a book in which every word is to be savoured, stories and anecdotes which are to be played and replayed on our 'inward eye', the lilting cadence of the poetry to be harmonised with the self and when such a book comes, one feels great pride and satisfaction in having read it. The author's quest of story in one's heart through the labyrinthine travels across Morocco and an excellent and detailed observation about the beauty of orient, celebrating its differences with the occident makes this book truly a treat to read. If time is short or you are too distracted or simply you find oral wisdom nothing but mumbo jumbo, u may skip it, but for a deeper appreciation of an ancient culture that mirrors our own, and a better understanding of self, read it slow.... soaking in the underground streams of wisdom that crisscross not only this kingdom but also the book.



Review of "At Night All Blood is Black" by David Diop

 The book that won the international bookers prize 2021 (spoilers ahead)


It was indeed a privilege to have read this book. It is about the horrors of war, its dehumanising effect, the use of racial stereotypes by the dominant race to further it's cause (in this case by instilling the fear of the savage barbarian in the heart of the European enemy), the unraveling of the mind when one has seen the death of a near one. In this book, the protagonist descends into madness as he fails to mercy kill his soul brother (his "more than brother") when he begs him after being badly wounded. So agonised is our protagonist that he starts killing the blue-eyed enemy in crazy act of rare daring and collects their hand as trophies. Initially admired for his reckless courage, the fellow soldiers begin to avoid him as they see his bravery as sorcery or something thing that would bring them a certain death leading the captain to give him a month's break. During this time we see him descend further in to insanity as flashbacks reveal his parental history of loss, his relationship with his soul brother and the night of love he spent just before he left for the war. The last chapter are the most troublesome as they become almost incoherent and appear untethered reflecting his own crazed synthesis of reality. Brilliantly he parallels his story with that of a sorcerer-prince and ugly saviour warrior. 

I found the novel to be scintillatingly brilliant with almost all lines so pregnant with meaning and the brutality metaphorised with the tenderest objects. His Senegalese heritage takes a lilting rhythm of its own which would have been lost twice(once from Wolof/Fula to french and then to English) but for the skillful craft of the translator. Words and phrases are often repeated almost like a song and I found the most moving sections in the description of his mother and father( "he was immobile as a baobab tree, she was the daughter of wind"). The constant comparison to war trenches as woman's sexual organs foreshadows the sexual violence with madamoiselle francoise in contrast to the sweet lovemaking by the river under the ebony trees of the pre-war time. The author constantly also talks about the futility of the ability to reach the true meaning as he constantly reminds us how "each thing is double" something he enunciates later when he says "to translate is to risk understanding better than other that the truth about a word is not single, but double, even quadruple, or quintuple. To translate is to distance oneself from God's truth, which, as everyone knows or believes, is single", making it a classic study of many truths and meanings that would be given as the author dies and the reader is born. 

The last chapters are the most difficult to understand, much less explain but can be better understood if seen in the light of the original french title, "Frère d'âme" or the soul brother as he sees himself as his soul brother Diop, the one he couldn't kill. 

The book is written in stream of consciousness style and the final crescendo in to madness is as much reflected in words as in style in which they are written. 

#bookreview #bookerprize #africanliterature #translatedbooks