From the Editor’s Desk

It is late afternoon. the light
wraps itself into everything it touches.
the riverbark, the templed lake.
a language of eyes and shoulders and cadence and pitch.
as the leaves fall there’s a music underneath
of bells. then a flock of tiny birds. or,
not a flock, maybe three, maybe two small voices. moving. tree to tree.
looking up, how like seamstresses they seem. making this, making that.
songlines. elemental. as if to wake each leaf.
the story has a smooth-ish, sensical skin, a lettering.
a body, reflected.
a note held. then still. as a picture of things.
or a window in. branch to branch. knotting air to shadow.
making room. a kind of sound-beingness.
—but can it stay? can a word ever BE itself? simple, pure?
—or, so filled with naming, can we only ever hear the barest traces of ourselves?

These lines from William Barnes’ poem, Subtext (featured in this issue of TBR) deliberates on the texture of our May issue rather vividly. Summers in the sub-continent are scorching and harsh, but as much an act of the mind as the sweat and dust on the road. And so, we turned to Indian classical poetry from the 4th & 5th century - Kalidasa’s poems. TBR May presents a special feature with Abhay K‘s wonderful translation of the luscious and vibrant poetry from Kalidasa’s Ṛtusaṃhāra and Meghadūta – wonderfully illustrated by Vishnu Prasad. In other work, do check out A Strange Tale from a College Campus by Seth Kristalyn in flash fiction or the vivid essay by Shannon LeBlanc titled Final Account: The Repeat and Rise of a Dangerous Past where she other than discussing the film also recounts the effects of the Holocaust on her students - as they discuss conflict and the understanding of boundaries, along with the sway of personal biases, while delving into footage from Stanley Milgram’s Shock Experiment.

Butchers and Marigolds by Architha Narayanan in flash Fiction, will take you into a bustling atmosphere. Also in this issue, a diplomat poet’s interview, and book recommendations from Jayashree Kalathil.

TBR is delighted to present to its readers, a rather vibrant May. Dive in!

Maitreyee Bhattacharjee Chowdhury
Managing Editor, The Bangalore Review

Specials

TBR Recommends – May 2022

Every month, The Bangalore Review recommends a reading list, also mentioning in brief why each book must be read. This month’s list has been compiled by writer, Jayasree Kalathil.

Specials

Translations from Ṛtusaṃhāra and Meghadūta by Kalidasa

Kālidāsa was a Classical Sanskrit author who is often considered ancient India’s greatest poet and playwright. His plays and poetry are primarily based on the Vedas, the Rāmāyaṇa, the Mahābhārata and the Purāṇas. His surviving works consist of three plays, two epic poems and two shorter poems.

Specials

TBR Interviews Abhay K.

Our editor interviews Abhay K. about his poetry collection, Monsoon, and his translations of Meghadūta and Ṛtusaṃhāra.

Featured Works

Poetry

Subtext

a window in the greenroom. a garden of trees. the opal sky. fractals of gold and violet, both. two salamanders suspended above the formless dark. liquid. speaking.

Fiction

Cassie’s First Day

The new entrant teacher was her mother’s friend, Mrs Prendergast. Tall and loud, she wore two thick, long plaits that cracked through the air like whips when she moved suddenly. She moved suddenly a LOT. Along with her mother, Mrs Prendergast believed that children should be seen, but not heard. Tolerated. Just.

Poetry

Having Lost a Cowrie Shell

Madness is when the warrior god calls the initiates to the altar stone in a masquerade to play with death to prove their mettle

Non-Fiction

Final Account: The Repeat and Rise of a Dangerous Past

The author discusses the documentary, Final Account; the aftermath of January 6 Capitol Riots and Milgram’s Shock Experiment videos.

Poetry

Sanctum

What if this belly was where you buried your sorrows nestled into disappointment shame and fear. What if this belly resisted expectation conformity like the time you refused to stand and pledge allegiance.

Fiction

We Were Already Deep in the Song

But then, there he was again, outside at the mall entry, near where the jacarandas line the footpath down the street. He was getting money out of the ATM just as the red and white truck drove into the nearest of the trees. Blind clumsy driving. There was no reason to drive into it.

Poetry

War

Words were eliminated from dictionaries— bridle, ruin, barricade, lapidaries, famine, clay, sparrow, genocide and yarrow—

Fiction

Nurturing

She bent close to him. Errant strands of white hair sprouted from his mostly bald, age spotted head. She kissed it, her insides recoiling. His eyes were closed. She moved his tray and checked his supply of diapers and drinks. She tiptoed toward the door. “I’d like to think you got your love of wildflowers and gardening from me.”

Poetry

My mother, in the hospital—

My mind won’t place me there, not today, or tomorrow, or those four days in December, when the drive became a ritual and in the evenings, after the nurses said enough, it’s almost Christmas go home, sleep in your beds, not hunched over like a burlap bag of coffee beans on a storeroom floor;

Non-Fiction

Cut

Remember the gulf between who you are on the outside and who you are in the privacy of your skull? Yes, yes, you try to assimilate as best you can but you’re never quite…enough. While you know this is the case for most people, somehow, it causes you more problems than you will admit, perhaps because you’ve been raised to believe they’re character deficits and you can’t accept they define you.

Fiction

A Few Good Weeks

Mrs. Rivera will take care of you and Marie, he assured Kalista. Leave the logistics to her. Mrs. Rivera was a premature widow of forty with pale Spanish skin and an air of puzzled resignation. Her husband, an engineer, had been killed in an accident at Richard’s mine.

Fiction

A Strange Tale from a College Campus

I watched him climb over the splintered railing of the bridge and stand on the short planks on the other side. When he saw me on the bank, he let go and waved at me. I wanted to tell him not to jump, but when I stood up and tried to yell, I could not remember the words.

Non-Fiction

The Disappearing Cat Chronicles

Their catnaps were high-speed energy recharges. On cool days, they slept in either of two baskets alone or together. Most days, they found sunny or shady corners around the house. We once discovered them entwined to resemble a heart. They had a favorite conjoined twin pose where they slept with their heads against each other.

Fiction

Butchers and Marigolds

You wade through the swarm of people, automobiles, and animals and find a clean spot to display your wares. Nobody looks at what you have to offer. There are too many things to buy here, you see. You slip under the radar, and somewhere you are thankful for it.