domain and rule by sada mukhtasar Sada Mukhtasar is a Mumbai-based writer of short stories and poems dealing […]
From Chapter 17
The soldiers formed a firing squad on Shaukat’s order, waited for the officer to be clear of the scene as they had been ordered, and emptied their rifles into the prisoners.
‘Sir? Wasn’t this night a complete waste?’
Shahbaz had been watching the soldiers dump the bodies into the river. The ones from inside were brought out and also thrown in.
‘Fifteen Muktis a waste?’ Shahbaz said. ‘Nights like this are what we need.’
‘I understand, sir, but – ’
‘You want to keep telling what’s better and what’s not?’ Shahbaz’s head turned slowly.
‘No sir, of course not.’
‘Did you know that in a nuclear holocaust the only living survivors would be cockroaches?’
‘I didn’t know this, sir.’
‘It’s true. The determined, nasty little bastards will survive it all. That’s what these Muktis are. That’s what their race is. They’re nasty little bastards, meant to be crushed, but you can’t get rid of them if you think they’ll just go away, disappear, die on their own. The only good thing is that these Bengalis are flesh and blood humans, and those we can get rid of.’
Shaukat allowed the convoluted analogy to sink in. Offered a cigarette, he accepted it with a quick glance at Shahbaz. Shahbaz’s attention was still pinned on the soldiers’ activities. Shaukat lit his cigarette and felt the wave of the momentary release wash over him.
“Diana, can you hear me?”
There was no response.
“Diana?”
Stephanie’s voice echoed through the house. The little glass dome hanging in the corner of the kitchen glowed with pink light. Stephanie put the shopping bags on the marble countertop and sighed. Diana had been sluggish for about a month now, and whenever she was queried about her slow responses, would simply reply, “I recommend that you update my operating system. I assure you that it will greatly improve my ability to serve.”
As compelling as that argument was, Stephanie had been reluctant to comply. Yes, a fully upgraded Diana would provide her with more help, and some of her new features sounded good. Okay, she didn’t understand what they were exactly, as they had names like the Oneiric Satiation Module or the Phronesis Budget Calculator, but she had to admit that they literally sounded impressive. But there was a part of her that took a spiteful glee at saying “no” to Diana, which was odd considering how hard she had pushed Jason to purchase her when they first bought the house.
Reviewed by Mitali Chakravarty
Title: State of Emergency
Author: Jeremy Tiang
Publisher: Epigram Books, 2017
Number of pages: 245
Jeremy Tiang’s State of Emergency won 2018’s Singapore Literature Prize (SLP) for fiction. Kate Griffin, one of the judges for the award, wrote in an article, “Erasing Histories” (https://nationalcentreforwriting.org.uk/article/erasing-histories/): ‘State of Emergency, Jeremy Tiang’s beautifully written first novel, highlights a lesser known side of Singaporean history, exploring the leftist movements and political detentions in Malaysia and Singapore from the 1940s onwards, through the stories and memories of an extended family.’
Focused mainly within the local and Malayan Chinese community, the Communist movement found refuge in the jungles of Malaysia. The novel traces the development and then the quelling of this movement through the stories of three generations of Jason Low’s extended family. Jason’s wife, Siew Lee, chooses Communism over her family and leaves for the jungles of Malaya, partly to save herself and partly to live by her beliefs. Jason loses his sister in the 1965 Konfrontasi terrorist bomb blast in MacDonald House where she worked in a bank. The Konfrontasi was an Indonesian reaction to oppose the colonial decision for the formation of a separate Malaysia (of which Singapore remained a part till August 1966). These political movements in the ASEAN rip through the fabric of the Low family, tearing it apart. Though his daughter continues to work as a Singapore government official, his son leaves him to immigrate to the United Kingdom and Jason Low finds himself in a ‘C’ class geriatric ward.
(From Publishing Perspectives. Link to the complete article given below) Having opened on December 10, a concept bookstore […]
(From Korea Times. Link to the complete article given below) The past couple of years have been eventful […]
Reviewed by Dr Faustina Pereira
Title: Not Elegy, But Eros
Author: Nausheen Eusuf
Publisher: NYQ Books (US) and Bengal Lights Books (Bangladesh)
Pages: 88 (NYQ); 94 (BLB)
It has been at least two decades since my university days that I made time to go through a poetry collection as mindfully as I have recently. It is no accident that it is the newly published collected works of Nausheen Eusuf, Not Elegy, But Eros, that helped me emerge out of my doldrums on the poetry front. The title certainly played its part in drawing me to this new work. It was not long before I delved into it properly, that the full spectrum of what was on offer became apparent. Here was a fresh new voice of a global citizen who stirs up emotions against a universal backdrop which nevertheless reverberate at an individualised, atomic and primal level. Who would not be able to identify, in their own way, with, for example, the language of the trees that ‘held court with the birds, and drowsed at noon with the dragonfly’ or marking the passage of time through a thousand moons that ‘fattened and fell’?
Let me clarify at the outset that when I learned that the poet was born and raised in Dhaka, Bangladesh, I was intent on picking up deshi points of attachments from the get go. Part I, which barely contained the reference points I was looking for, initially almost disappointed. Then, of course, I came to “Ubi Sunt”, which chants an ode to the ‘ordinary sacraments’ of everyday life that are at once deeply personal and yet inherently universal. A poem woven intricately through shiny red seeds of sandalwood and garlands of jasmine freshly fallen after a night of rain, assures us of a continuity with all those who have gone before us and reminds us that sometimes the answer we are ‘hoping to find, if not what I seek, at least something that might suffice.’ “Ubi Sunt” is quickly followed by other gifts of homely indulgences – from the dining room and its many flourishes in “Musee Des Beaux Morts” to the almost delicious smell of Kiwi shoe polish and the rich feel of stiff-bristled horsehair brushes in “Shining Shoes”. What I found interesting in this particular clutch of poems is a quiet elusiveness of the poet herself. If it is by design, then it is pulled off cleverly – to invite the reader to such an intimate sanctum, yet remaining just beyond the line of visibility.
Monik despised procrastination, that sneaky little pilferer of time and opportunity. Besides, she liked a project. Her love of projects had caused her to walk down the aisle on two occasions because she couldn’t resist planning a new phase of life after the sad demise of a husband. It was time, however, to look to the needs of others.
Natalia needed a man.
At the novena the following week, there was the usual shuffling monotony about everything. Then a voice from the recesses of the church: “For all those who are lonely. We petition Thee, O Heavenly Father, to look upon them with pity. Saint Anthony Wonder Worker, pray for us.”
Could it really be? After all these years? It did sound a bit like him.
It was. Mathias Faleiro had returned.
After the service, he came up to her. “My dear Monik…”
“Mathias, how absolutely wonderful! When did you get back? Is it for good?”
“A week ago. Ah yes, we’ve returned at last to glad Goa.”
Glad? A man who smelt of camphor and old coats probably turned every celebration into a happy requiem. Still, here was a man. But just a coconut-plucking moment. “We’ve returned? You mean you got marri…?”
“Oh, no, no.” Mathias looked at his toes. “I mean Barkis, my trusty canine friend, and I. I retired from teaching five years ago. Then we lost Galileo, and it was a little too painful to stay on. Besides, the ancestral place here was falling to pieces.”
“Galil…?”
“My parrot.”
“Oh.”
“I promise to drop by sometime, Monik, as soon as I can get my place fit for habitation.”
Poor, ignorant man. He had no idea that he was going to be dragged to Villa Rosa. On-a-leash.
“Mathias, do. Please.”
It is that time of the year again – the threshold – a time to look back and a time to look ahead, to take stock and to plan. This is the time when the publishing world turns to scores of year-end lists for readers. At Kitaab, we have turned the gaze inwards.
Much has been written on Kitaab’s pages in the past 12 months: reviews, interviews, fiction, essays (though we could do with more on that page), curated articles from across Asia… We have spread the ground to publish writing from Tibet, Korea, and a lot of Singapore this year.
Asian writing in its diversity and rich heritage has found its way into two powerful anthologies from Kitaab’s books publishing division – The Best Asian Short Stories 2018 and The Best Speculative Fiction 2018 and into the pages of kitaab.org. We have interviews from some of the best writers across the continent, powerful poetry, fiction and book reviews that have covered almost all ‘genres’ of writing. We have kept our promise of sharing our platform with debuting writers and independent publishers. What we have in return, is the gift of a profusion of voices, styles, themes and subjects from writers exploring their skills to those who have already proved their mettle.
As we wrap up the year, we would like to thank all of you who have contributed to Kitaab’s wealth of literature with your poetry, stories, reviews, essays and interviews; we are grateful to the writers and poets who have taken time out to engage in conversation with us.
Much remains to be done, but for now here’s the best of Kitaab, 2018:
In conversation with
Hannah Kim
Kamila Shamsie
Monideepa Sahu
H.S. Shiva Prakash
Sudeep Chakravarty
Nayomi Munaweera
Bhuchung D Sonam
Nayomi Munaweera – Sucharita Dutta-Asane
Charles Ades and Smita Sahay – Shikhandin
Dr Mohammad A Quayum – Shikhandin
Bhuchung D Sonam – Shelly Bhoil
Sudeep Chakravarty – Shikhandin
Siddharth Dasgupta – Pervin Saket
Anjum on Bergman – Zafar Anjum
Saubhik De Sarkar – Dolonchampa Chakraborty
H.S. Shiva Prakash – Kamalakar Bhat
Kamila Shamsie – Sucharita Dutta-Asane
Gopi Chand Narang – Rahman Abbas
Hannah Kim – Mitali Chakravarty
Felix Cheong – Mitali Chakravarty
Zafar Anjum and Monideepa Sahu – Sucharita Dutta-Asane
(From the New York Times. Link to the complete article given below) HONG KONG — Ma Jian, an […]
