- Editorial: Bhaswati Ghosh
- Through Her Face by Devika Mathur
- The Neighbour: Rainer Maria Rilke translated by Donald Mace Williams
- The Song of Home by Kartikeya Vikram Krishna
- Two Poems by Simin Akhter
- Slough by Binu Karunakaran
- A Name As Sweet by Carol D’ Souza
- Two Poems by Aranya
- To My Friend Abhiram by Joel Jyothis Tom
- Bring Back the Music by Kavita Ezekiel Mendonca
- Iron Voice by Sreya Sarkar
- Refugee Song by Gayatri Lakhiani Chawla
- Three poems by Paromita Goswami
- Memory by Purabi Bhattacharya
- Inherited Music by Sarah Das Gupta
- Cassette of Love Songs by Sufia Khatoon
- A Note of Discord by Afsar Mohammad
- Thought and Sound by Gurupreet Khalsa
- Three Poems by Shikha Malaviya
- Tears on a Breeze by Lopamudra Basu
- Jalsa by Shibani Phukan
- The Rhythm of the Raga: A Haibun by Gargi Mehra
- Two Poems by Pooja Garg
- My Mother, Our Mother by Sardonyx Herald Mylliemngap
Editorial: Bhaswati Ghosh
On those nights when sleep eludes me, which, unfortunately aren’t all that few, I turn to Spotify’s Calm station. As if they were a mother’s hand stroking my head, soft, kindhearted notes glide me into sleep.
Our world is insomniac now too, one might argue. Sleep has long been eluding children in Palestine, mothers in Ukraine, vegetable sellers in Lebanon…the list is exhaustingly long.
Music, from Old French musique (12th century), is defined as the science of combining sounds in rhythmic, melodic and harmonic order. When conceiving this issue of Parcham, I thought of the many situations — other than sleeplessness — when music has rescued, kept a vigil on and even cured me. I thought also of the world’s insomnia, not so much a helpless condition, but a stubborn refusal to rest. I wondered if the “harmonic order” — not merely of the octave’s notes, but of gurgling streams, a thrush’s song, the low crackle of keyboard clicks at work — could be the hand that led us back to repose.
While reading the submissions we received, and we’re grateful for the love with which so many contributors sent us their work, I delighted in joining fellow travelers on that road to repose. Reading through this issue, you’ll soak in the ‘therapy of occurring rains,’ find a lonely violin’s night speak to yours, perhaps hear whispers of ‘the songs lovers silently sing in their dreams’ and notice ‘a melody sit on the edge of an eyelash.’ Here we find stories of an accompanist’s indispensable contribution to classical performances, of seeking and finding freedom at a live concert, reconciling with a poet through a woman’s voice and finding music in the unlikeliest of places — the chaos of a metropolis’s university campus, and things — the sound of a siren calling factory workers.
I hope you’ll enjoy the notes and rhythms of this issue as much as I did.
Bhaswati Ghosh writes and translates fiction, non-fiction and poetry. Her first book of fiction is ‘Victory Colony, 1950′. Her first work of translation from Bengali into English is ‘My Days with Ramkinkar Baij’. Bhaswati’s writing has appeared in several literary journals, including Indian Express, Scroll, The Wire, Literary Shanghai, Cargo Literary, Pithead Chapel, Warscapes, and The Maynard. Bhaswati lives in Ontario, Canada and is an editor with The Woman Inc. She is currently working on a nonfiction book on New Delhi, India. To learn more about her publications click here .
Through Her Face by Devika Mathur
Beyond the curtains of my body-
there perches a soft noise of memories and things
what music should I tell you about today?
my maa’s prayer bell
or her loaded laughter with mists.
Veins pure and neck- a jingle
a time of sestina neatly wrapped in her pallu,
she mimics songs too well
a brew of soft noise,
jingles of bangle
and the air
therapy of occurring rains
Is it her voice or her eyes-
what sits and lies time again?
her hands as fresh as a newspaper line.
Devika Mathur resides in India and is a published poet, writer, educator, and editor. Her works have been published in The Alipore Post, Madras Courier, Modern Literature, Two Drops Of Ink, Dying Dahlia Review, Pif Magazine, Spillwords, Duane’s Poetree, Piker Press, Mojave Heart Review, Whisper and the Roar amongst others. She founded the surreal poetry website “Olive Skins” and writes for https://myvaliantsoulsblog.wordpress.com/ She recently published her book “Crimson Skins” and her five poems were also published in Sunday Mornings River anthology .
The Neighbour: Rainer Maria Rilke translated by Donald Mace Williams
Violin, stranger, are you following me?
How many distant cities must there be
where your lonely night spoke to mine?
Do hundreds play you? Does just one?
In all great cities do there reside
such as, if they did not have you,
would have lost themselves in the tide?
Why is it with me that it has to do?
Why am I always being the neighbor
of those who in terror make you sing
and to say that life is heavier
than the weight of all earth’s things?
Donald Mace Williams is a retired newspaper writer and editor with a PhD in Old English prosody. His poetry book The Nectar Dancer was published in 2023 and his iambic translation Beowulf: For Fireside and Schoolroom in April 2024. He lives in Austin, Texas, U.S.A.
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