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- Climate
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‘The umbrellas are on a protest march': Bishnu Mohapatra's poems on rain for a desolate May
It is May. And May has its darling buds. Palash and hibiscus. Zinnia and marigold. But this May is not the month of flowers in the Indian plains. It is a parched month of pining. For compassion. And for the rain. The open beak of the sparrow and cuckoo, the dry petals of marigolds and zinnias, the paws of cats and the dogs, and the desert of the mind and the heart all wait, panting for the rain to descend. So do the poems of Bishnu Mohapatra's book, Rain Incarnations. It is rain in its many (in)carnations - the euphoria, the nostalgia, the awakening of the rain, as it arrives, as it seeps in, as it sponges in and caresses the soil and all life nestled within. Paeans to rain and the monsoon are not new in the subcontinent. Kalidasa's Ritusamhara offers resplendent rhymes to rain, a Sanskritic canon that Rabindranath Tagore was very fond of. His early work Bhanusingher Padabali carries clear signs of how immersed he was in both Kalidasa and the rains. In between these two maestros of monsoon came the mythologies of rain, the rhymes and the lores, and the poetry of Mas'ud Sa'd Salman, Mirabai, Surdas, Kabir and even Mirza Ghalib. When Tansen sang Megh Malhar and Desh, he could bring rains to the dry and wry lands of the northern plains, it is said. In recent years, one can remember Arundhati Roy's The God of Small Things invoking, in her way, the wetness of Kerala; or Alexander Frater's Chasing the Monsoon, which the critic Rukun Advani called 'a literary monsoon mania' which made 'a religion of rain'. Rain is in our music, our food, our travels, and indeed, in our tongues. Clearly, no one – no poet, no wanderer, no romantic, no raconteur – could be immune to the subcontinental samhara of the monsoon. Mohapatra, who is a senior professor of politics at Krea University and an acclaimed Odia poet, is the latest literary devotee of the rain. Rain Incarnations is his elegantly published volume of mostly short poems translated eloquently by Aparna Uppaluri and are accompanied by a set of minimalist, mostly monochrome, atmospheric, abstract art by Gauri Nagpal. It is a petit volume in every sense of the French word. A note on the original Odia volume, Barshavatar, by Uppaluri perhaps best captures the mood of the original. The rain of Barshavatar, she writes, is 'the rain of the ordinary man, the ordinary woman, it is the rain that ripens mangoes; here, rain is a witness, rain is time…lost love,…God's gaze; rain dances, sleeps, transforms, glides, flies and sinks'. In keeping with the mythical origins of the title, we see, among others, the dancing rain in 'Raasa Leela', and the departed rain in 'departure'. Then there is the troubadour-like lonely rain with whom a chance meeting is valued on a deserted night on the street; or the shifting relationship with the rain during the pandemic, or when one is faced with the idea, if not the actuality, of death. In 'Blame', probably the most touching poem of the volume, rain bears the cross of all human adventures. These themes are perhaps to be expected in the lines of a poet who invokes the rain as muse. But what is genuinely telling are the poems in which the political scientist in Bishnu peeks from the behind the poet in him, in poems like 'Rain thinks of Socrates' or 'Rain in the Footsteps of Ambedkar' – in the first, rain 'representing' the suicidal thirst for knowledge, and in the second, the source of ablution. Most poems in this wonderful volume would call for a reread; the first time to comprehend, then to soak in them. In this country of the present, without the slightest touch of compassion, dry in heart and isolated in hate, may rain inundate us all. As it should. This May. Blame Tonight the moon's youth is squandered. For this, we can blame the rain. The salt of love we hoarded for years, has been washed away into the ocean For this, we can blame the rain. The black mole on my lover's breast slips slowly to her belly. For this, we can blame the rain. Flouting all orders, the umbrellas of the city are out on a protest march. Demands, slogans, and speeches fill the streets, police break their barricade. Even for this, we can blame the rain. In the Irani café in Bandra, Sarveshwar while cleaning the tables, remembers the moist eyes of his mother. A few drops of his tears fall into a teacup. For this, too, we can blame the rain. Rain thinks of Socrates I am not an imitation, nor an image of my own being. I am not a diminished body, nor its broken reflection. You will not find me, even if you look for me. My ideal form is not in your heaven. I have wandered for long around the world, fatigued, with muscles tired, heels cracked and broken, soles of my feet, drenched in blood. I have walked the world. Whether you know it or not, I live life caught in my own questions. From the womb of my answers, questions emerge like dark butterflies and scatter across my sky. That day, you drank hemlock surrounded by your friends, your disciples, your lovers. Your feet, then fingers, then your thighs and your abdomen, finally your heart – slowly turned to stone. I loitered in the city-square for a long time, everything was quiet – only the untimely cawing of the crows. Your toga came flying, a pack of street dogs tore it to shreds. I rolled over those tatters till they moistened and mingled with the earth. I will tell you a truth. I too intoxicated the young. Made and unmade known and unknown Gods. Like you, I know Life is familiar – Death, intimate. Raasa Leela Look, look – at that ecstatic dance of rain, like Sri Ramakrishna swaying, or avadhootas with ashen bodies whirling in abandon. Rain appears still, at times – like a note held in raag Malhar, or like Manguli the peasant, rapt in love for his wife. Rain, an unruly cow in the city forages, feeding on everything. Torn clothes, pajamas, hawai chappals, polythene bags, crumpled newspaper, computer CDs, condoms, and old bottles of homeopathic remedies. Everything whisked together and gulped. Still, much remains – like the broken arm of Jesus in Kandhamal, like severed limbs of workers of Kalinganagar, or the duplicity of our statesmen. The deep sad sigh of those whose lands are taken by force, their bulging anger, our blind intolerance and the torso of broken dreams. In these turbulent times, the times of war – Where does the rain get such courage? To dance wildly on the high streets of the City? Rain – melting moonlight pearl fallen off the stars horses let loose from the stable dove flown away from its coop first touch and the stirring of breasts intimate flicker unseen face of the world rumble of drums naked water lily green melody. 'Rain does not deceive, has no alibi' Who says this? Who flatters rain? Look, look, again – at this ecstatic Raasa of Rain Its Leela And the wild laughter of its sycophants all around. Sayandeb Chowdhury teaches literature at Krea University, Andhra Pradesh.
The Hindu
26-05-2025
- General
- The Hindu
Developing bhakti
Poet Kalidasa is famous for quoting with examples. In his work Raghuvamsa, he said that like sastras following the Vedas, the wife of King Dhileepa followed the sacred cow, Nandhini, gifted by sage Vasishta to worship to get progeny. He had no formal education. Even today, studying Kalidasa's works is mandatory for Sanskrit students to enrich their knowledge of the language. How, then, did Kalidasa acquire such vast knowledge and poetic ability? Sri Muralidhara Swamigal said in a discourse that the poet showed a deep devotion to Goddess Kali, whose divine grace transformed him from an ordinary to a great poet. In one instance, the Goddess said Kalidasa was no different from her. To help a poor household who felt shy that she did not have anything to offer for the Acharya's daily alms-seeking, the great saint Adi Sankara composed 'Kanakadhara Stotra' on Goddess Mahalakshmi, whose grace rained gold and made the household rich. Another Acharya Periavachanpillai, who had written commentaries to Nalayira Divya Prabhandam, took pity on one of his disciples, who was dull-headed. He transformed the disciple into a prominent scholar through his blessings. Acharya refers to someone who obtains the highest knowledge in sastras. The term Desika denotes a person who has expertise and performs rituals with devotion and adherence to rules. A disciple of Adi Sankara, who was not a renowned scholar, became great with the Acharya's blessings. He composed hymns on the Acharya and used the lines 'Bhava Sankara Desika Mey Saranam.' It is chanted even today by the followers of Adi Sankara. Moksha is God's sole property. Out of compassion and pity, He will give us a part of His property. The only consideration is to develop Bhakti towards Him, chant His name and praise His qualities.
The Hindu
25-05-2025
- Climate
- The Hindu
News in Frames: Chasing the monsoon
The southwest monsoon, which kick-starts the agrarian economy of India every year, has inspired poets, filmmakers and artists, with a literary work as ancient as Kalidasa's Meghdoot describing its arrival. Gusty winds and the repeated pattern and direction of coastal waves are strong indications for a fisherman to gauge the arrival of the rains. However, the India Meteorological Department (IMD) has a certain set of criteria to follow before declaring the onset of the southwest monsoon, which usually hits the Kerala coast roughly between May and June every year. Specifications such as the amount of rainfall, wind speed and direction, and the outgoing longwave radiation (OLR) recorded by satellites have to fall in a range for a specific period of time for meteorologists to declare the onset. This year, there has been a significant shift in the weather pattern. Unlike previous years, pre-monsoon rain has caused havoc in some South Indian cities. Bengaluru has witnessed a flood-like situation with all its major roads waterlogged for days. In the past, the city has seen similar floods and extremely heavy rain during peak monsoon or the post-monsoon period. However, this is the first time the city got flooded during pre-monsoon rain. Parts of Tamil Nadu, mainly Chennai, Puducherry and Karaikal, have received light to moderate rain, bringing relief from the summer heat, and conditions have remained favourable for an early onset of the monsoon in the State for over a week. The upper cyclonic circulation over the coast of Andhra Pradesh is attributed to the advancement of the monsoon in the State, resulting in moderate rain that continued in Visakhapatnam with dark clouds covering the skies throughout the week. The low-pressure system over the Arabian Sea has also favoured an early onset and advancement of the monsoon in the State. 'The onset phase is going to be vigorous, and we are expecting continuous very heavy to extremely heavy rainfall in most of the districts of Kerala in the next three days. The prevailing La-Nina-like condition in the Pacific Ocean should also give good rain this monsoon,' says Neetha Gopal, scientist and Director of IMD, Thiruvananthapuram. Some meteorologists predicted a rare occurrence of monsoon onset in Kerala and parts of Karnataka simultaneously as conditions have remained favourable throughout the week in both the States. 'We were still missing the OLR data which should be below 200 W/m 2 in the range between 5-10° N Latitude and 70-75° E Longitude, the reason why monsoon onset could not be declared in Kerala on Friday,' said Rajeevan K., meteorologist with the Kerala State Disaster Management Authority. On Saturday afternoon, the IMD officially declared the onset of the southwest monsoon, which is eight days in advance of the normal date, thus marking the earliest onset of the monsoon since 2009. Last month, the IMD said India was likely to receive 'above normal' monsoon rainfall, or 5% more than the historical average of 87 centimeters (Text by Nirmal Harindran) Windy day: A man walks along the promenade on the Shangumugham beach in Thiruvananthapuram, a significant entry point of the monsoon on mainland India. Bolt from the blue: A streak of lightning illuminates the sky over a statue of Jawaharlal Nehru on the picturesque Beach Road in Visakhapatnam on May 12. Coastal vibes: Women enjoy the rain, waves and wind on the Puthuvype beach in Kochi on May 22 as the overcast sky portends a heavy spell. Towards shelter: Rescue personnel take stranded people to safety on a dinghy through a flooded street in Sai Layout in Bengaluru on May 19 as overnight showers inundated the city. Slow business: A pushcart vendor taking cover under his umbrella braves heavy rain as motorists whiz past at Minsk Square in the central business district of Bengaluru on May 17. Topsy-turvy world: A boy and girl practise mallakhamb as clouds darken the Mumbai skyline at Shivaji Park on May 20. Grey outlook: Dark clouds loom over the Puthuvype beach in Kochi in Kerala as heavy rain pummelled the coastal city on May 21. Rain song: A man and woman ride through pounding rain on a two-wheeler as pre-monsoon rain lashes Visakhapatnam on May 21. Relaxed mood: A man rests on the beach as waves lap around him while two women enjoy the showers at Kannamaly in Kochi in Kerala on May 24.
India.com
17-05-2025
- Politics
- India.com
From Vijay To Sindoor: How India Names Its Military Operations, What They Really Mean
New Delhi: The names behind India's military actions tell stories beyond strategy. They shape narratives, evoke emotions and define moments in the country's fraught history with Pakistan. The recent Operation Sindoor stands out, not just for its military objective, but for the symbolism packed into a single word. Unveiled with a striking image on social media, Operation Sindoor showed the word 'Sindoor' in bold letters, with the second 'O' spilling vermilion – a vivid emblem of marriage, womanhood, sacrifice and blood. This was not a random choice. According to sources, the name was personally selected by Prime Minister Narendra Modi. It highlighted a shift in how India frames its military responses – emotive but at the same time with poetic resonance. Historically, India's operations have carried names rooted in myth, geography or abstract notions, sometimes deliberately bland to preserve secrecy. Each operation's title carried a message – strength, retribution and victory. Names of previous military operations such as 'Trident', 'Vijay' or 'Safed Sagar' have echoed across decades, each encoding India's stance and the narrative it wants to project. In the shadow of these campaigns lies Kashmir, a region suspended between conflicting histories and ongoing tension. The stories behind these operations reveal how India and Pakistan view the same events through vastly different lenses. Consider 'Operation Gulmarg' of 1947. Records describe it as Pakistan's tribal militias invading Kashmir and forcing the Maharaja to seek India's help, sparking the first Indo-Pak war. Fast forward to 1965. After skirmishes in the Rann of Kutch, India launched 'Operation Ablaze' to mobilise forces. Pakistan responded with 'Operation Gibraltar' to incite rebellion in Kashmir and 'Operation Grand Slam' to support it. India's 'Operation Riddle' pushed into Lahore and Kasur. Each side framed the conflict as defensive; the war ended in stalemate, with civilians paying the highest price. The 1971 Bangladesh Liberation War saw bold codenames like 'Operation Cactus Lily', an air assault aiding Indian troops crossing the Meghna River, and 'Operations Trident' and 'Operation Python', naval missile strikes on Karachi. India portrayed these as tactical and humanitarian victories, while Pakistan saw them as violations and unexpected blows. 1984's 'Operation Meghdoot' took on a poetic form, named after Kalidasa's 'Cloud Messenger', symbolising India's capture of the icy Siachen Glacier – harsh terrain mirroring the challenging political landscape. The 1999 Kargil conflict was marked by 'Operation Vijay' (victory) and 'Operation Safed Sagar' (white sea), emphasising India's resolve to reclaim lost ground. Pakistan's initial denial of involvement added layers to the complex conflict narrative. In 2016, after the Uri terror attack, India's surgical strikes crossed the Line of Control to hit terrorist camps without a formal operation name, signaling a new boldness in its military posture – amplified by media coverage. 'Operation Bandar' in 2019 followed the Pulwama bombing with air strikes in Balakot. India framed it as deterrence; Pakistan called it symbolic. The episode underscored how military actions and their names become tools in a broader war of perception, carrying weight far beyond the battlefield. In every operation name lies a story – a battle not just for territory, but for hearts, minds and the legacy of a conflict that remains unresolved. Through these words, India communicates not only its military might but its cultural and political narrative, shaping how history will remember each chapter in the ongoing Indo-Pak saga.
Indian Express
12-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Indian Express
Mango mania: 5 must-read books that celebrate the King of Fruits
Few fruits stir passion, poetry, and politics quite like the mango. In South Asia, it's more than just a seasonal delicacy—it's a symbol of abundance, heritage, and even seduction. Revered by ancient poets, worshipped by the gods, and dissected by food writers, the mango holds a mirror to the subcontinent's culture and cuisine. Here's a handpicked list of five must-read books that celebrate the mango in all its juicy glory: 1. Mango: A Global History by Constance L Kirker and Mary Newman A scholarly yet accessible passport to mango devotion worldwide Mango: A Global History, Reaktion, 2024, Rs 437 (paperback) A part of the Edible Series, this beautifully illustrated book serves up the mango's journey from sacred symbol to global commodity. It explores the fruit's mythological roots in Hindu and Buddhist lore—Kama's flower-tipped arrow, anyone?—and unpacks how Western commercialization has turned mangoes into shelf-stable shadows of their true selves. A delicious primer for global gourmands and cultural historians alike. 2. Climbing the Mango Trees: A Memoir of a Childhood in India by Madhur Jaffrey A sensory, savory portrait of a Delhi childhood through mango-scented memories Jaffrey, the doyenne of Indian cooking, writes a coming-of-age tale wrapped in the aromas of spiced poori and sweet mangoes. Whether sneaking mangoes with salt and chili from the orchard or reliving family picnics, her narrative blends nostalgia with the Partition's harsh undertones. Bonus: the book ends with thirty heirloom recipes that bring mango memories to your kitchen. 3. The Good Indian Child's Guide to Eating Mangoes by Natasha Sharma A hilarious, irreverent romp through mango-mad Indian childhoods Who knew eating a mango came with so many rules? Sharma's delightfully cheeky book for children (and nostalgic adults) asks: Are you a slice-and-scoop type, or a peel-and-suck purist? With character quizzes, messy illustrations, and mango math, this guide turns tradition into comedy—and makes mango season even more fun. 4. Mangifera indica: A Biography of the Mango by Sopan Joshi The definitive cultural, ecological, and historical biography of mangoes in India This lush new release digs deep—into Vedic rituals, Mughal orchards, colonial trade routes, and modern diplomacy—to map the mango's evolution. Joshi artfully merges science with storytelling, giving readers a panoramic view of how mangoes shaped Indian identity. A mango tree's tale has never been told with such rigor and richness. 5. Shakuntala by Kalidasa A classical detour: where mango blossoms pierce hearts like Cupid's arrows India's classical playwright Kalidasa uses the mango flower in Shakuntala as a symbol of love's awakening. In this fourth-century Sanskrit drama, the mango blossom appears not just as ornamentation but as a weapon of desire wielded by Kama himself. A reminder that mangoes have always been about more than just sweetness—they're about longing, too.
