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Ubaidullah Pandit

Ubaidullah Pandit


I with my Love sin among the lush green trees,
Unbeknown to Him, we break the divine sanctity.
Naked, looking across the verdant verdure,
We lie beneath the tree, the knowing.
Image of God faded, our Selves took over,
Ah, the envy of God our Union is! 
Ashamed, the serpent slithers away,
‘Where do I find my lost angelhood?’ Cries.
I with my Love meet again at the horizon,
Out of our sinful Union we shine galore.
Withered once, the tree knowing conceives,
Joyous once, the tree living turns barren.


Envious curtains refuse to be drawn across,
As the eyes of the walls seek to get a glimpse 
Of the long awaited Oneness of us the Lovers.
Shame be known and absolved,
I with her venture into the fields of hate,
Only to be lit by the lonesome yet full Moon,
To be seen by the skies and God the Glorious.
Vying to shelter and shower, the plumes of love
Keep seeking out the fragrance of us the twain.
The dew wet greenery we lie upon finds a hope
Of spring that brings flowers in full bloom,
New life, new rays, new pastures, new universe.

Picking up the receiver of Love,
I dial God, Pleasure and Happiness.
The lamenting dial tone eagerly waits 
So as to turn mellow to the hopeless ears.
Through the mouthpiece of Beelzebub,
I send my supplications along the line of whores.
Sorted in the switching center of brothels,
They go through mosques and shrines of hate.
'It's a long-distance call, too long to get across.
The called party is asleep after a long orgy, 
The calling party, you, seems drunk.
Please dial the toll free Pain, Nice Day!'

I lost my wallet while wandering between 
The pillar of despair and the post of hope.
It’s colored dark, switching ever between 
White and black, pain and relief.
Made of sinful desires, it's damp
With the sweat of immoral earnings.
Would that you, the one sharing in my soul, 
Find it, never return it please. 
Too long it's been with me now, 
Send it along through your routes.
It contains cries and sighs of mine, 
Meant to be dispatched to Eternity. 
In the smallest pocket is my lost Identity
Which they will demand at the Entrance.
In the middle of the fold is God,
Who'd been asleep when I lost it.
The pocket beside contains Emptiness,
Which is ever awake, waiting thirstily.
O the finder, never return it please,
Send it along through your routes.
Is anyone of you travelling to Happiness? 
I haven't been there lately, do intimate please.
For a while, happening to be forever, 
I've been here, waiting for a passer-by 
To take me along, with the caravan
Bound for Happiness, leaving behind signs 
Of smiles, hopes, rewards and rest.
I know no routes that lead there,
But I'm hopeful as I see no marks yet.
I'll wait for the caravan, do intimate please.
I'll wait out the winds, live off the land,
Look ever for you to pass, do intimate please.
Would that I be found, I’ll hold the beacon
Beneath the changing skies and raging rains,
Hearken ever to rustling leaves, just intimate please.

Wafting through air comes Hope,
'Rise, rise, rise,' whispers it in my ear.
Leave despair and be the one of hopelessness,
Hold me high for if you do, you live,
Live in me for if you do, you never die.
Never be despondent over what you lost,
My succor will bring joy to your life.
Let not dejection haunt you,
Let not your sob deafen you.
Open your eyes and let me be in you,
For you shall be born anew.
Pant after me for you need me,
Let me be the one who soothe you.
Seek solace in me, see a ray of sunshine,
Rise, rise, rise, live in me and I, in you.

Bare bosom and sandalwood worn,
She leads the prayer
And blesses the rug with her feet.
In the niche her virtues play,
Reflecting the light and enlivening darkness.
Sublimely she hides God in her cleavage
And calls upon the Devil for a drink.



Charanjeet Kaur

Nirendranath Chakraborty - In Discussion with Aju Mukhopadhayay
Rajni Tilak - In Conversation with Anjali Singh

Charanjeet Kaur – “The Partitioning of the Sub-Continental Mind”
Dilip Jhaveri – ‘Voices from Persia and Ireland’
Kamla Bhasin – ‘Roots of Patriarchy’

Aditya Kumar Panda – ‘Determinants of Translation’
Kamayani Kumar – ‘Mediating Partition narratives through Visual Culture’
Madhvi Lata – ‘Girish Karnad’s “Naga-Mandala’
Rachana Pandey – ‘Men in Theatrical Performance’

Book Reviews
Ananya Sarkar – ‘Halfway Up A Hill’
Jaydeep Sarangi – ‘At the Crossroads of Culture and Literature’
KV Raghupathi – ‘My Friendship with Yoga
Lakshmi Kannan – ‘Encounters with People and the Angels of Hope’
Pratibha Kumari Singh – ‘A Gift of Goddess Lakshmi’
Revathi Raj Iyer – ‘In Other Words’
Srinivas Reddy – ‘Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling’
Sunaina Jain – ‘The Tree with a Thousand Apples’
Usha Kishore – ‘The Ending of Arrogance: Ksemendra’s Darpa Dalana’

Ambika Ananth – ‘Editorial Note’
Ashfaqh Hasan
BR Nagpal
Jim Wungramyao Kasom
Leena Sharma
Malcolm Carvalho
Md Ziaul Haque
Nitya Swaruba
Nuggehalli Pankaja
Prem Kumar
Madhabi Das (Trans. Subhasree Chatterjee)
Sunaina Jain
Ubaidullah Pandit

U Atreya Sarma – ‘Editorial Musings’
Ashok Patwari – ‘Padma’
Bodhisatwa Ray – ‘Kway Teow’
Chaganti Nagaraja Rao – ‘The Donor of Books’
Jindagi Kumari – ‘On the path of duty’
Lopa Mukherjee – ‘Through the lens of a camera’
Niyantha Shekar – ‘Shiva Park’
Rajarshi Banerjee – ‘The Mannequin’
Revathi Raj Iyer – ‘Tempest’
Sharath Suryan – ‘1800 Seconds’
Sridhar V – ‘Simply Baffling’

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