Contemporary Literary Review India
February 2014
CONTENTS
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| Poems | ||
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The Rain
Acted Raindrops on Roses Doing Laundry at Midnight The Mouse, the Frog and the Kite by Mandal Bijoy Beg Not in Vogue Don’t Look for a Romantic Story The Shatter of Innocence by Sharvani H S Too Late for the South Kissing The Invention of Shadows |
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| Arts | ||
| Arts by Dwarakanathan Ravi "The earth laughs in flowers.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson | ||
| Stories | ||
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Ferrari
Spider by Kersie Khambatta The Couple in the Tonga by Ronny Noor Fate by Tayeb Bouazid |
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| Interview | ||
| Khurshid Alam Interviews Md Feroz Qureshi an Emerging Film Director and Producer par excellence | ||
| Book Criticism | ||
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Nataša Miladinović Reviews Susheel Kumar Sharma’s The Door is
Half Open by Nataša Miladinović
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| Criticism | ||
Valmiki’s
Joothan and Nasrin’s Lajja as Literature of Protest by A. Temjenwala Ao and
N. D. R. Chandra
Valmiki’s
Joothan and Nasrin’s Lajja as Literature of Protest by A. Temjenwala Ao and
N. D. R. ChandraRethinking William Shakespeare by H. N. Prasad 
Women Resisting
Patriarchy and Colonial Oppression: A Study of Mahashweta Devi's "The
Hunt” by Dr. Nazneen Khan
Women
Resisting Patriarchy and Colonial Oppression: A Study of Mahashweta Devi's
"The Hunt” by Dr. Nazneen Khan
The
Stream of Consciousness in James Joyce’s Novels: A Study in Sentence Lengths
by Dr. Sukanya Saha
The Stream
of Consciousness in James Joyce’s Novels: A Study in Sentence Lengths by Dr.
Sukanya SahaIn Quest of Quietus by Sukriti Ghosal |
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Book Review
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Rob Harle Reviews Vinita Agrawal’s Words Not
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Announcement
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Call for Submission
7th International Poetry Fest- 2014 (19th and 20th September,
2014)
Check for details at: Announcement
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Call for Submission
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| Submission to CLRI is open year-round. CLRI seeks only previously unpublished submission in poetry, stories, arts, photography, designing, modeling, film reviews, book reviews, essays, criticism etc. For details, check at: CLRI Submission. | ||
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CLRI 2013 Annual Print Edition
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Sunday, February 23, 2014
CLRI February 2014
Saturday, February 22, 2014
Poems by A.J. Huffman
Poems by A.J. Huffman
The Rain Acted
like a spotlight, focused in
on the abysmal litter of her life.
Her cosmic footprint: an old teapot,
mismatched coffee mugs, a hammer,
no nails, but a crowbar. She wondered
if she was using any of them properly.
She didn’t sleep, couldn’t hang
a single memory on barren walls.
Haunting failures, echoing along
with the tap tap tap of drops
against the sill. She curled herself
into a ball in the corner of an unsheeted bed.
Closed her eyes and prayed
for lightning to strike.
Raindrops on Roses
amplify the intensity of colored petals.
White echoes inside itself, mournfully wallowing
in the hollow depths of innocence. Red erupts in
excruciating simulations of fire’s fierceness.
Yellow
vibrates the tangible code of mediocrity, clings
to the medial line of tempered rebuke, the sting
of unrequited terminology, the bastard label
of friend.
Doing Laundry at Midnight
Because my mind will not stop
running itself in circles, I take
up basket and bleach, begin
to sort: whites, darks, colors. The numbing
of such chores is soothing. Slowly,
I begin to decompress. By the time the spin
cycle stutters to a stop, my head
has grown temporarily hollow,
granting my eyes permission to finally close.
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A.J. Huffman
has published seven solo chapbooks and one joint chapbook through various
small presses. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee, and the winner of the 2012
Promise of Light Haiku Contest. Her poetry, fiction, and haiku have appeared
in hundreds of national and international journals, includingLabletter,
The James Dickey Review, Bone Orchard, EgoPHobia, Kritya, and Offerta
Speciale, in which her work appeared in both English and Italian
translation. She is also the founding editor of Kind of a Hurricane
Press. www.kindofahurricanepress.com.
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The Mouse, the Frog and the Kite by Mandal Bijoy Beg
Aesop's fable retold
Once two rivals - a mouse and a frog
Engaged themselves in an argument, so hot,
On who was the master of the fen
And many a fiery fights they fought.
Hiding beneath the grass the crafty mouse,
Upon his enemy sudden attacks he'd make
Hiding beneath the grass the crafty mouse,
Upon his enemy sudden attacks he'd make
Oft puzzling the frog at a disadvantage
Who once forc'd his foe a challenge to take.
Gladly accepted the summon the mouse,
And the two champions on the appointed day
With a point of a bulrush each armed
Entered the field with faces beaming and gay.
A kite chanced to be hovering overhead,
Saw the silly creatures in a fight engaged
Swooped down in a wink, seized 'em both
With talons and to her young were carri'd.
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Mandal
Bijoy Beg (MBB) is a poet, writer, author, editor, publisher and patron
of literature and human endeavour in life. Author of two books of poems That
Man (1997) and Evergreen Mirthfest (1998). He is a founder of The Home of
Letters, India.
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Poems by Merlin Flower
Poems by Merlin Flower
Not in Vogue
decapitated in
conditioning the
noises arrive,
conclusive
the warnings seem tiny
a series of
finagling chances
like a dragon
divided among ants
same scruffiness
fashionable
endurance
bored indulgence
idle lookabout,
captain
a finisher is fast
and rich.
Don’t Look for a Romantic Story
I tore the page of him from the life, now what?
The images flicker......lovingly
The sound echoes.....fleetingly
The smile flows........freely
All with him in
They torture me like crows masquerading as doves and
smiling at
Hmmm
Mmmm
Shhh
You know, this scene will continue till
I die
Tuned on, tuned off
The subject, though, may change-should.
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Merlin
Flower is an independent writer and artist.
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print edition has ISSN 2250-3366.
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The Shatter of Innocence by Sharvani H S
The Shatter of Innocence by Sharvani H S
To my dear Papa, from your Munni,
Yesterday I was lost.
He said we weren't, but I know
Far from home was his home
so empty and peaceful, so nice
He was so nice: Just like you Papa
He laughed like you and walked like you.
But then... He hugged me
and wouldn't let go!
He hurt me, Papa.
I felt bad, but he seemed happy
Was he happy that he hurt me?
He carried me home in his arms
Just like you, Papa.
But why did he hurt me?
I asked Mama but she only cried
Do you know why he hurt me?
 |
Sharvani
H S is studying an engineering course. One of my short stories was
published in The Reading Hour while some poems have appeared with many online
literary journals such as Kritya and The Enchanting Verses etc.
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Poems by Tatjana Debeljacki
Poems by Tatjana Debeljacki
Too Late for the South
Too Late for the South
It seems that we're late.
There was no need to hurry.
The branch was thin and it shook all down to the trunk.
The cars rushed
down under. The snow covered everything. All of a sudden,
a turtle-dove
moved as if about to fly, and then it fell down under the
wheels of a
limo.
The frozen male swayed on the branch
Kissing
Die of beauty
You devil’s Emperor,
From merciful sin
Kiss these May cherries
Green apples
Pollen lips.
You start kissing.
Kiss white merry buttocks
hips, navel, tip of the nose
palms that clasp
You start kissing.
Kiss closed eyes
Bitter tear
Child of dawn, women of night,
You start kissing.
Kiss the moon of soul
Kiss, emperor
Kiss at the fifth side of the world.
The Invention of Shadows
If love is just deception then it is really perfect.
I am not able to describe that to someone who
Has never tasted something like that.
LOVE is the animal appetite. Now I have a different view
on that.
His cigarette was burning, ashes falling on the floor, his
hands were
trembling when he poured the tea. His eyes glimmered like
the eyes of the
stuffed bird. I laid my hand on his shoulder. He twitched.
I can't make recollection of one single moment which
lasted through
eternity.
You loved me once?
You have good memory
You do not want that I stop loving you.
It is winter, the snow is constantly falling.
All the words were in vain, I looked as if I desperately
needed a hug.
I was scared.
The pain became trivial.
Your counterpart now owns your soul.
Who am I now?
Both of things you are now.
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Tatjana Debeljacki writes
poetry, short stories, stories and haiku. She is a Member of Association of
Writers of Serbia, UKS since 2004. She is Haiku Society of Serbia- Deputy
editor of Diogen. She also is the editor of the magazine Poeta. She has four
books of poetry published.
|
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— journal that brings articulate writings for
articulate readers.
CLRI is published online per month, in digital
versions occasionally, and in print edition (planned to be quarterly), its
print edition has ISSN 2250-3366.
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subscribers receive CLRI digital copies directly into their Inbox, get print
copies free of cost whenever they come out during the subscription period,
and are waived off any reading fee towards our print editions.
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Arts by Dwarakanathan Ravi
Arts by Dwarakanathan
Ravi
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| "The earth laughs in flowers.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson |
Dwarakanathan has
a deep passion towards capturing moments and cherishing the details in it.
In this picture a flower vendor along
the roadside has a basket full of flowers, but none for herself. She takes
one flower and pushes it inside her grey strings of hair. But her smile was
more beautiful than her flower: she was content with the way her day went.
|
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— journal that brings articulate writings for
articulate readers.
CLRI is published online per month, in digital
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print edition has ISSN 2250-3366.
Subscribe to our CLRI online edition. Our
subscribers receive CLRI digital copies directly into their Inbox, get print
copies free of cost whenever they come out during the subscription period,
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Ferrari Spider by Kersie Khambatta
Ferrari Spider by Kersie Khambatta
“Hey...mum...I’ve got a Ferrari Spider.”
“Hey...mum...I’ve got a Ferrari Spider.”
Nathan bounded up the stairs.
“What’s a Ferrari Spider? I don’t want no
creepy-crawlies in my house!”
“Mum... Oh.....mum........you don’t know what a
Ferrari is?........”
“No! What is it?”.
“It’s a super-car, mum! It’s great! Come and see
it! I’ll take you for a ride! Come on, mum.....come on...”
“I’m doing the cooking. I can’t come now!”
“Just turn the stove off,....... you can do it
later.”
“All right! Okay!
I’ll come. Give me a minute!”
Anna closed the stove, and stepped out, wiping her
hands on her apron.
She was shocked when she saw the shining,
blood-red car with an open top.
“This is an expensive-looking car! Where did you
get it from, eh?”
“ My dream come true! I’m so excited!”
“I asked you where you got it from, didn’t I?”
.“No, mum, no! I haven’t stolen it......if that’s
what you’re thinking.”
“Cause if you have, I will skin you,....I
will....”
“My friend gave it to me”.
“Your friend gave it to you, eh? You sure you are
not lying to me, eh?”
“No mum no. I wouldn’t ever do that. I swear!”
Nathan had to lie!
His father had died (from cancer) ten years ago.
His mother had struggled through the years.
They rented in a high-density area in Sydney.
He was the only child. His friends were rich.
He dreamed of a Ferrari Spider.
What was the quickest way to make big money?
He would borrow for a start, and make the money
grow.
He went to the nearest Westpac branch, and
demanded to see the manager. The receptionist at the counter was not impressed.
She asked him what he wanted. He said:- “Money. I’ve come to borrow some
money”.
She gave him an ugly look, and waved him to the
sofa.
He crossed his legs confidently.
After a while, a smartly-dressed woman, with heavy
make-up, and grey hair, old enough to be his mother, came up to him, introduced
herself politely, and invited him into her cabin.
He felt a wee bit nervous. A vague feeling that
this wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought it would.
“Now, what can we do for you, sir?”
“I want to borrow two hundred thousand dollars”.
She winced for the fraction of a second, but kept
a straight face. She was superbly trained.
“Sure. But we lend on security, you know”.
“What’s security?”
She raised her eyebrows. This fellow was too
young.
“People have houses, cars, they pledge as security
for a loan. Do you own a house?”
“Nope, I live with my mum”.
“Well then, let’s see. Do you have an income?”
“Na”.
She was hungry,......and this stupid boy was keeping her from her
lunch.
“Not working?”
“Nah! I just finished school”.
“Well then, you can get a student loan from
government for University.”
“Nope. No way!
I don’t want to go to University. I want
a Ferrari”.
“A Ferrari? Those cost a lot, you know! We don’t
lend money to buy Ferraris.”
“I’ll try elsewhere then”.
He got up abruptly, hot under the collar.
He quickly walked out. He could feel her glaring
at his back.
He went home dejected.
He sat with his head in his hands, feeling very
sorry for himself. He wanted that Ferrari.
He decided to ask one of his very rich friends for
the money. He had tons of it.
That fellow lived in a mansion, with a swimming
pool.
“Hey mate! I want to buy a Ferrari. Can you lend
me the money?”
“How much?”
“Two hundred thousand dollars”.
“Fine! That’s no problem. How are you going to
repay it? And when?”
“Well, say, in about a year’s time. I will earn
the money”.
“You going to earn two hundred thousand dollars in
a year? How?”
“I don’t know how! But I will do it”.
“Well then.....let’s see. Let me think........will
you work for me, eh? Do what I say?”
“Yeah. Yeah. I’ll do anything. Just tell me what”.
“Okay. I’ll ring you in a day or two.”
The call did come.
“Sunday morning. Be at the international airport at
9am,... stand just outside the
Air France counter. Take a suitcase
with a few clothes. Someone will come to you. Just do what he says. And,.....
go now, and get me a few passport-sized photos.
You will be
given a passport.”
“But am I going overseas? I’ve got to tell my
mum”.
“Tell her what you want! Just be there. You will
be back in a couple of days. Your trip will be paid for!”
What was he going to tell his mother? Where was he
going? When was he coming back? Why was he going?
He lied that he was going on a short trip overseas
with his friends. She was not too concerned. She had her own problems.
But he did not go with anyone. He went alone. He
was given a return ticket to New
Caledonia, a packet to carry, warned not to open it,
and ordered to hand it over to a person who would collect it from him at the
destination.
It was the first time in his life that he went out
of Australia.
He quite enjoyed it.
He spent the next many months going, all expenses
paid, to different places he had never even heard about. Not to large countries
or big cities.
Always to small airports, with little or no
security.
“Have you driven a Ferrari before?”
“I’ve driven a Holden, mate.”
“Idiot! Don’t you know the difference between a
Ferrari and a Holden? A race-horse and a cart-horse? We will go for a long
drive. Get in”.
On the deserted, desert road, the sleek vehicle
hit speeds of over two hundred kilometres an hour.
He was thrilled.
“Can I drive? Please, mate! Just for a short
while. On the open road.”
They went through small towns, slowing down a bit,
but not enough to go un-noticed by the radar-equipped, black cars, parked in
side streets.
The message travelled ahead of them. The number
and the description of the vehicle were relayed to the national computer.
Fortunately the block where he and his mother
lived had a lock-up garage, and he kept the Ferrari in it for the night. He
could not sleep. He was so excited. He kept admiring it, saying to himself:-
“My dream come true! My dream come true!”.
He could not wait for sun-rise. He took it out
while it was still fairly dark, wanting a fast drive on empty roads.
He did not even notice the flashing lights in the
rear-view mirror, so lost was he in his own thoughts.
“Ah ha, son, nice car! Pretty expensive, eh?”
“Yes, sir”.
“Got a driving licence?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Give me the keys. Just sit quietly while I check
the registration”.
He was scared. Why had he been pulled up? He had
been within the speed limit.
“This car has been registered to some else. Not in
your name. Mind telling me who the owner is?”
He hesitated. He was not sure whether he would be
doing the right thing by telling the officer who the car belonged to. But then
he decided that the officer must already know that, so he did tell him.
“You just drive quietly ahead of me to the address
of the owner. I want to find out whether he gave you permission to take the
car.”
“Yes sir”.
They parked in the driveway, and the uniformed
officer knocked softly on the door. It was opened slightly, and then banged
shut abruptly.
The officer called for back-up. But a loud screech
of tyres from the back of the house proclaimed very clearly that the occupant
or occupants did not want to talk to the police.
He was taken to the police station, and
interviewed by plain-clothes detectives. They knew all about his overseas
trips. They had the hard evidence of his involvement.
They had not taken him in, as they wanted the big
fish.
They produced him before the court, and he was
given bail.
Weeks later, they took him to the police station,
showed him a familiar face through a one-way glass, and asked him to identify
him. He had no choice but to do so. They knew anyway.
The stern, lady judge looked down at him through
half-glasses, cleared her throat, and said:- “Young man, you have broken the
law. That is a crime. You have to be punished. The evidence produced before me
shows that there are others who are clearly the main culprits. They will get a
more severe punishment if they plead guilty or are found guilty. I would have
sentenced you to a term of imprisonment, but for your youth and your lack of
previous convictions. I have come to the conclusion, on hearing both
prosecution and defence, that in your case, a sentence of home detention is the
least restrictive outcome, considering the deterrence aspect, and the
mitigating factors. I hereby sentence you to a term of nine months home
detention, at your mother’s house, which has been found suitable by probation
for electronic monitoring. There will be the usual post-detention conditions.
Lastly, let me tell you this.a fool and his Ferrari are soon parted! You may
stand down!”
Kersie
Khambatta, a semi-retired lawyer in New Zealand, is a part-time
writer of articles and short-stories. His writing is recognizable by his
simple style, with short sentences and appropriate words. He has a diploma of
Associateship of the British Tutorial Institute, London,
in English, Modern Journalism, and Journalism in India,
and a Certificate in Comprehensive writing awarded by the Writing School
(Australia and New Zealand).
His pieces have appeared in publications in Canada,
New Zealand, U.S.A., India, and other countries.
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Subscribe
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— journal that brings articulate writings for
articulate readers.
CLRI is published online per month, in digital
versions occasionally, and in print edition (planned to be quarterly), its
print edition has ISSN 2250-3366.
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subscribers receive CLRI digital copies directly into their Inbox, get print
copies free of cost whenever they come out during the subscription period,
and are waived off any reading fee towards our print editions.
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