Indian Review

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Bandhavgarh: From the Ship of Golden Memories | Partha Pratim Dube

In the middle of March, clouds are getting together in the sky. After gazing at the heaped dark clouds for some time, Ramdin Baiga, the experienced guide of Bandhavgarh forest, said in a low tone by provoking the theory of possibility, "Sir, this is the ideal environment to see tigers, leopards and bears." In the suddenness of words and in the thoughts of the future to come, Rumki, the youngest member of our team, swallowed quite a bit of water. We have come in search of situations of the Bandhavgarh tiger victims in Madhya Pradesh. Now, hoping to see tiger and respecting the conventional system followed by the travelers, we, a team of five persons, ride a zip safari in the Tala zone of Bandhavgarh National Forest. The National Forest Department has divided the Forest into three zones; Tala, Magadhi and Khitauli. Now, at the time of entrance we get to rest awhile as the security officers of the Forest are checking the requisite papers. [Read the rest...] “Bandhavgarh: From the Ship of Golden Memories | Partha Pratim Dube”

August Rains | Roudri Bandyopadhyay

“At the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world sleeps, India will awake to life and freedom. A moment comes, which comes but rarely in history, when we step out from the old to the new, when an age ends, and when the soul of a nation, long suppressed, finds utterance.” – Jawaharlal Nehru, independent India’s First Prime Minister Red Fort, New Delhi, August 1947 [Read the rest...] “August Rains | Roudri Bandyopadhyay”

A plague on all our houses: Pandemics and plagues in literature | Mozid Mahmud

Jack London had written his The Scarlet Plague thirty-three years before Camus’s famous The Plague. One could call it an excellent example of proto-post apocalyptic fiction. It recounts the story of the “Red Death” in America, which has depopulated most of the region, following the lives of people in San Francisco sixty years after the plague. [Read the rest...] “A plague on all our houses: Pandemics and plagues in literature | Mozid Mahmud”

Virginia Woolf Showed Me How the Language of Trauma is Silence | Loren Kleinman

“When I cannot see words curling like rings of smoke round me I am in darkness—I am nothing.” ? Virginia Woolf, The Waves.

Under the weight of goose down and split spine, I lingered in Orlando. How true it was that nothing “thicker than a knife's blade separates happiness from melancholy.” [Read the rest...] “Virginia Woolf Showed Me How the Language of Trauma is Silence | Loren Kleinman”

The Walking Man | John Richmond

The neighborhood- for a long time- had been relatively health conscious with quite a few people jogging and cycling, so, it came to be that almost no one paid any particular attention to a man walking. Well, at least, not right away. He first appeared at the beginning of summer- three years ago- simply walking- though intently and purposely- but, still, just walking down the street. [Read the rest...] “The Walking Man | John Richmond”