Book Review, poetry

TQL Reviews Terracotta Dreams ( A Book of Poems and Musings)

“With dawn I followed the dew,
Drops on the green, they dripped,
In concert and the soil quenched.”

“Oh! She has smelled many and more elixirs,
Yes she has smelled of flowers, of perfumes fine,
Of fresh morning breeze to the prayers divine,
Of warm slumber afternoons, to the last dew dusk,
Of night’s cold robe filled with twinkle mass,
But her senses filled only with his essence!”

– Monalisa Joshi

The Establishment: Understanding Editor, Language, and a Poet

Editing is an art that has shaped many great works of literature. The job of an editor becomes more crucial to shape a body of a novel, trimming it down, making a sensible pause here and there, but this art of editing is rare and rare are the editors now in our world, those few who have it and who have known the beauty of pinning themselves down to allow a sinking text to float for the love of literature.

On the other side, editing of a poetry book is neither discussed much or talked about except in workshops or seminars where time is a privilege for those who are able to have a critical look from the eyes of another poet. Out from the institutions of learning, a world of capital market arrives on our face and it does not like poetry because it does not pay or create a serviceable value, and yet poetry is becoming the major force of twenty first century where n number of people are arriving from deeper silences with new curiosity or as first learners in their families without worrying too much about the world of extreme mode of capitalism. It is poetry which speaks when everything becomes unclear and blurry. It allows in that brief space, an encounter with our world as it is and like a magical wand, the poets keep coming with new verve to excite a generation that is hooked on mediums of technology. It is a positive value in times of great mishaps of fact and fiction blur, because when people try to reason out their lives in our contemporary period, poets arrive with an ecstatic feeling of production of texts which are shaping the consciousness of people living through the connected world of digital theatre. Poetry expands our world even if there is a chaotic network of too many things at once.

As I started to write this review about Terracotta Dreams, a poetry book recently published by an Indian woman writer, Monalisa Joshi, I wondered about the role of journals, publication houses who sift through materials to give voice to some at once while keeping behind a log of many others who never make it out in the world with ease. It is hopeful to go back to Susan Sontag and her equivocal hope on breaking the barriers of high and low culture, if one were to see what poetry is doing out in the world. It however also adds a certain dilemma on small presses and journals that have to give wings to others who are not streamlined in the mainstream of letters, while hoping for a financial break out to arrive. In most cases, it does not happen and this lack of support in arts is more prevalent in India where no such government support or outside institutional support has ever existed except in small pockets of privilege, class and older people of literate backgrounds who are tuned into a sense of cultural bias, that is to not allow outsiders or new age people. How can one hope for an intervention in matters of financial support and moral support to such people who want to see a different platform where youth can arrive and speak amid youth and not older people, where no labels are needed of familial reference of elitism. Literature suffers in India because of this reason. The traditional modes of supporting arts and literature through government aid in regional languages as well as English language is a very closeted network of oldness where nothing new has happened in terms of outreach of regional and national literature to a wider audience through mechanisms of public discourses, modern technology, suitable employment of right people in right places. This space is occupied by few and even with modern means of communication, there is no firm support to new age people.

Language and Chores: Indian Women and Writing

Editing is an important art but reviewing a book of poetry is also important. Poetry often finds a small mention along with new featured novels and rarely do they have a proper column dedicated to their art and craft which is the opposite of prose writing. One clear reason is how poetry leads a reviewer to wonder about this art which has had to struggle for its moorings in public imagination and how it has no potential readers because of the lack of interest to understand poetry in the first place. The invention of novel somehow could have led to the epic verse form to go back and let the world of imagination and digression arrives in the form of storytelling. A poem can however speak more than a novel could, but as so the present situations, we have hardly good reviewers for poetry.

To pick this book by a relatively unknown author has made me see the role of language and poetry because a poem or two can be reviewed minutely, but a whole collection is an ardent task at hand, to give justice to the voice of a poet. The work by Monalisa Joshi is not a perfect piece of collection, but I have reasons to review it and one of them is grammatical errors which is why I had to evoke the condition of editing in the publishing industry and the need for celebrating poetry.

Monalisa Joshi is a blog writer on WordPress and BlogSpot. She is currently writing a work of fiction. She is a mother of two young sons and is a woman married to a man who is a silent supporter and observer of her creative penchant, of putting her passion and hunger in writing which has, in her own words, become an uncanny reflection of her world. Terracotta Dreams is her second book of poetry after “Stirring Spoonful of Emotions.” She does her chores of home amid writing activities and is an editor of an online magazine, “Plethora Blogazine.” She is also an active member of an international poetry group known as “The Awakening Poets.”

The book is divided in two portions. One is a collection of poems and the latter part is full of musings. In the preface to this book, she expresses gratitude to her mother who taught her kindness, love, and strength and believes in her artwork through the element of love as she says so:

“it inspires me to write fantasy poems, romance, and love poems, ballads and more. Maudlin emotions also inspire me to write but it is glee when I am most productive.”

The collection of 81 poems is a mélange of romantic love, yearnings, depiction of Indian women, places far and near in a language that is metrical leaving a faint assurance of an old English form of sonnet. She is deeply inspired by Elizabethan poetry and Victorian women poets like Christina Rossetti, from where her deep affection for ballads and folklore poetry arrives. The poems are long and exquisite with their material texture of abstract words used to ponder and reflect on life, but there are errors too in poems. I did not mind them, because one reason I thought was: “it was a quick job to publish it and yet it had known years of silence.” I do not mind mistakes which are grammatical and possibly this shows the state of editing and lack of human resources in the field of literature in India. The most beautiful parts of this collection are the musings as a poet which are brief, fragmented and carry the finest quality of confessional art where there is no need to bother too much about authority and how a poem should be written.

There is a recurring theme of antiquity in her poems of love and yearnings which play open the dichotomy of cage and light while the meaning to drive the point towards both is shown through shadows which are dark, haunting at times, and yet are rooted earthly in expression. It is a gradual release of expression through words that allows a poet the very precise medium where things are collected, nuanced, and understood.

It is the poet who knows how shadow works in showing the light of a poem to impress upon its fabric, its colour, its breath, and its desires. A poet always opens things and in this old ballad inspired poems, Monalisa shows such beauty of restraint and release, in holding a line, surrendering to the art while reflecting on one level how wings do not remain for long and how despite their being gone, the lament is there of what was present around the fall into the void. It is ethereal to see how she weaves back and forth to show the loneliness of it:

“Withered and tattered pieces fell,
From my bare body, emotions melting,
Down my cheeks, in white rivulet,
My eyes swollen red, I hide my face,
I stay behind the doors, a tiny space,
The curtains flow at times when soft,
Gust blows; it soothes me with the scent.”

In this above quoted lines from the poem, “I am not a Goddess,” she later opens up the horror of being lost in a web while telling us how the past always creeps up in loneliness, where the void is questioned, where the doubter in her mind arrives when she says looking back at the grave, a facade where dreams have cracked open and yet there is a strong sentiment to capture the heart, “I am a wingless woman, I have the curves. Yes!” which turns into a yearning for love, an eternal potion of it while flowing endlessly with struggles that were present:

“Go to pilgrimage! Bow my head to whom?
My peace is devoured by you, my darling!
Making love to me still in times of havoc,
Haven’t you been much demanding lately?
Forgetting evermore, that I am not a Goddess…”

There is a seething amount of suffering that arrives from beneath the grave in remembrance of a past that is alive and yet unreachable. This is pertinent feeling that is present in many poets like A.K. Ramanujan who show the nostalgic side of life in suffering, to ease the pain, like her poem, “I Stood a Mannequin” which charts out a hazy description of infancy, youth, war and old age and yet there are constant plays of mirror and shades to describe each emotions that passes through her, when her poems open up the sensual desires carried within and outside to a lover:

“Quivering she took his coarse hands to,
Her heart that thumped loud and swift,
Beneath her supple bosoms, his heart now,
Dancing to the tune of her swift beats.”

This is one of the finest poems in the collection which most of the time evoke the longings of the poet in love. There are other poems, however, where fear is equally emoted about falling into a trap of maze where the urgency to hold someone dear to life is present in a manner which shows how intimately vulnerable we can be as humans without touch, kindness, desires that make us alive as humans and most importantly hope which allows us to cling to it, even though the path is not clear.

The collection of disparate and distinct poems do not go well together most of the time, but if they are seen as independent creations charted over a long period of time, then they make sense of the flowery language that is weighed at times in eighteenth century poets in strictness and at times it flows like a mundane detailing of tea, cups, love, places.

There is evocation of muses, nymphs and fantasies of the poet in many poems which are altogether stitched in other verses where detailing of Indian life as a woman is shown through the chores and silent banging of the kitchen, the spices, the sarees, the bindis, the teas, which altogether reflect the reality of Indian women revered as Goddesses while keeping them behind the closed rooms in chores here and there to bend and bend over and again. One cannot overlook at such heightened reverence given to Indian mothers by men as Goddesses of homes to keep the family unit intact, because these men further the same project of patriarchy while selling her the version of Goddesses to take away her energies which can be spent well in education, emancipation and change. How would Indian women arrive on the roads with pots and pans to show how they live silently weaving their own stories where heroes always are the sons. This is a problem of tradition and rootedness, where a daughter from a normal Indian family learns precisely at a very tender age when she is asked for her help in chores, even if she is being sent to the school.

This gaze is shown in her poem, “Indian Goddesses of the Kitchen,” where she affirms the identity of Indian women as Goddesses of the kitchen while showing the creative energy that flows with her being as a member that holds the family in check, in control while spending that energy in chores. It is a celebration of the endurance of Indian women who cook and rinse and tell stories through silences, but what is evident is that the poem works against itself to show how this image of the women has been sold to her while not providing an equal position in terms of finances, education, and ideation. I am obviously talking about the average Indian women who come from rural towns, cities, village, whose education could have been stopped just after schooling years as if the graduate college is not meant for her to taste what is freedom like.

This theme is best conveyed in “That Long Silence” by Shashi Deshpande, where the lead protagonist, an educated and liberal woman of a middle class family goes through the scrutiny of male gazes and who fights back to not change her name according to her husband, to know how the history of women in India has been written in homes and chores, and to know how with a literature degree the woman understands her place, her identity after contemplating and detailing about her daily life revolving around her parent’s family home, her husband’s home. It is a work of literature that truly captures the heart of India and that is the women who aspire, who struggle and who have to move through the chores and create their own language to speak.

The musings of Monalisa Joshi opens up that aspirational desire to reach out and grab the dream even after knowing that there are setbacks and hurdles:

“I was standing alone on the world’s stage,
The impish sprite laughed from behind,
Mocking more often, I had no horde to hear.”

In all this, however the identity of being shaped by Indian women like mothers, aunts, the poet seems to embrace the peculiar Indianness of these women in whose reflection she follows her craft as a poet while celebrating Indian womanhood:

“Myriad women on the mirror who,
Stood tall, beside their men, my mother,
And aunts, I have seen them all,
And now I follow into their,
Footsteps and feel proud of them all,
The legacy of gracious Indian,
Womanhood continues with me,
And shall with,
Many alike of our reflections.”

This celebration is of agility of being an Indian woman against the face of bleakness, of having an ability to smile through the pain which moreover speaks about them being at the edge of receiving a silent treatment of ignorance, as if whatever the Indian women did was out of love and compassion. Which also begets a series of question as to:

1. What is the price for this compassionate side of Indian women who inhale in their lungs, the spices and aromas as Monalisa describes jubilantly in one of her poems?

2. What are Indian women made of?

3. What is the cost of her tears, her agony, her comparative jealousies, her moribund fears, her need of warmth, her need of solid heart to push through all that the dark days can bring?

4. What makes her wild to desire and dream, to control and release, to understand suffering and happiness equally?

Anais Nin had echoed that it took hundred men to write about a woman because the woman showed a different face to each and which shows how important is to experience life as a woman with myriads of colours unlike a single white colour that absorbs all―if one were to consider the oral narratives which they keep moving in their hearts and minds to teach their children about the world when everything is going down in the drain, when they offer their silent gaze to fight back and take the place that you want as your dream. Is that ability of storytelling known to many?

It is not, because the world of dominant letters pushes back these women to mould themselves like men, while in reality they need not do such a thing but to embrace their womanhood which knows the ability of understanding and transcending the pain of body (menstrual rivers), the world of stories, and the world of magical healing which they bring with them as carriers of words, as silent storytellers because they shape men and women equally through their wild languages and because they know how to raise children with authority and freedom to mould them as free dreamers which no father can give except pushing the need of discipline to berate his children.

This equally, on opposite side, shows the role of Indian mother which has been a constant site that is of the Indian mother who is always the mother of suffering, compassion, and agility. The problem is their typical role which has been caged around chores with a consistent negligence of her role in the family as the provider of warmth and balance to her husband and her children which shows her silent suffering in between dishes, where pleasure of life is bound inside the walls. This is where neither feminism, modern or its different variant, has ever talked about such women who keep churning out the same role over and again, educating her children, helping them believe in their dreams and then she is shunned like a cow as if the metaphor were real: milk the cow and milk the woman, no difference is there in-between. This is a legacy of close-knit system of communities in India, where such woman adjust their lives while equality and education of women is closed to women like her, who are the majority of Indian female populations.

It is so that her oral narrative is also going through amnesia, as she becomes the carer, the giver of the family while financial literacy is far away from her to release her into the world of freedom.

Supposing, if woman could be like the eternal void where on one hand, everything is stored or kept unto them to forget like objects to objectify her appearance or glorify her through metals, diamonds, fabrics, while keeping her at the center to neglect her feelings, her thoughts, her stories, then would it not say enough about the Indian women who are used like a sacrificial matter while throttling them in the homes to be the face of family? This position gives birth to compassion in her while in reality it is she who has been kept asleep deliberately to not know more about the world.

There is a problem of navigating modernity for her through traditions and this role of Indian mother is quite compressed and shown in a poem ‘Morsels of Love’:

“When the whole town was asleep,
Shutting down their doors till evening,
She remained awake, holding a plate full,
with lunch, a plate full of coastal meal,
She fed me with her hands bite by bite.”

The imagery might have changed now in modern India (upper class demographic, because there are many Indias which are in silence), but the essence of the Indian women remains the same as the carer who sacrifices her dreams, her life to uphold the virtue of motherhood.

I knew the book I took to review had its flaws which needed attention, but I took it after a year of ignoring review work for the magazine, because of the notion of not presenting anything with which I could not relate. To read through her work, you can buy her book here:


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Smash Words


Monalisa Joshi
Author of Terracotta Dreams

Fiction, Short Story


Gael sat scribbling in his journal, one fine day in the park. He glanced up at the white sunrays falling on his book, emanating from the black giant star that he had studied was actually yellow. Or was it orange?
The grey pen he was holding, made random patterns on the paper when he heard a soft voice behind him,
Gael turned around to look at the source of the beautiful voice. It was a girl of roughly his age, probably 20, and she had exquisite white skin, and her hair– that appeared black to Gael—was swept back in a bun at the nape of her neck, barring a few silken strands that hovered around her ears.
“Hola,” Gael replied, smiling dashingly. “¿Cómo puedo ayudarte?”
“Actually, I don’t speak a lot of Spanish,” she said, sheepishly. “Do you speak English?”
Gael nodded, getting up from the bench. “How can I help you?”
“Thank god! My name is Amelia, and it’s my first trip to Spain, and I seem to have been separated from my best friend and tour-guide,” she chuckled nervously, and then continued, “and I cannot reach her phone. But can you help me get back to my hotel so that I can call her?”
“Sure,” Gael smiled again. “Which is your hotel?”
She produced a white card from her pocket.
Gael stroked his chin. “It is just a few blocks away. I can accompany you if you like.”
Amelia shook her head embarrassingly. “No, I don’t want to interrupt your writing, I’d feel horrible—“
“Not so much writing as trying to write,” Gael chuckled. “Come along, it’s no problem.”
She blushed, and a rush of grey climbed up her cheeks.
Gael thought it was beautiful.
Amelia picked up her bag and pushed a stray hair behind her ear and took a tentative step towards the exit of the park.
Silence reigned as they walked towards the destination.
“So tell me about your trip,” Gael asked, breaking it.
“I reached here just yesterday and today I am lost,” she replied, shaking her head.
Gael laughed. “You should have learnt some Spanish. Everyone here doesn’t speak English.”
“You do,” she pointed out.
“That is because I studied in the UK for three years.”
“Why is that so surprising?” Gael asked, lifting a brow.
“I live in the UK!” Amelia said a little too excitedly.
“That is interesting.” Gael grinned and looked away.
They slipped into silence again.
Gael berated himself for not thinking about something better to say. That’s interesting? Who says that to a girl this pretty?
Amelia watched him out of the corner of her eye. She couldn’t help noticing his defined jaw, the twinkle in his black eyes, and how her heart fluttered every time he chuckled.
A sudden gust of wind swept past them, brushing a few strands of Amelia’s black hair back onto her face and Gael resisted the urge to touch her cheek.
A few minutes of internal struggling led them finally to their departure point.
“This is it, then,” Gael managed a smile, pointing to a three storeyed black building. “Your hotel.”
“It is,” Amelia nodded, feeling an alarming tinge of sadness. “Thank you.”
Gael nodded, and waited for her to say something.
Amelia felt his eyes gaze at her intensely. She looked anywhere but at him. What should I say?
Gael turned to go, and almost instinctively, she placed her hand on his shoulder, feeling him freeze under her touch.
“Hey,” Amelia said. “I never caught your name.”
Gael faced her and stopped mid-way through his smile.
“It’s Gael—“his jaw dropped open.
Amelia stared at him too, tears forming in her eyes.
His eyes weren’t black. They were blue. An electric blue.
The tree beside her changed colour from black to what she assumed was green.
She could see. She could see the colours. The sun is actually orange, she whispered to herself.
Her hand was still on his shoulder.
For what felt like an eternity, neither of them spoke.
The world was not important. Only they were.
“You have red hair.” Gael’s voice was almost a whisper.


Five miles away from where Gael and Amelia stood transfixed, in love, and teary-eyed, Sebastian—his brother– was gazing at a birch tree, looking at the monochromatic picture he had of her.
Just thinking about her name filled him with trepidation. He had finally plucked up enough courage to ask her to come, meet him.
He’d laid eyes on her for the first last month, and had immediately fallen in love with her.
Life was black and white for half of the earth’s population. Colours were something only the privileged could see.
His thoughts wandered to the millions of people living on earth, and how so many of them chose love over colours. They didn’t care if they couldn’t find their soul mates—it was a big world after all—and had made peace with the fact that the person they loved, was the person they wanted to be with.
His parents were one of those people who didn’t care.
Unfortunately for him, he did.
Sebastian wasn’t a coward. But he was afraid of fate. His fears kept him from accidentally bumping into her, and see for himself if she was the One.
In my heart, I know she is.
Gael had advised him to just go for it.
He glanced anxiously at the black and white dial of the watch he was wearing. She should be here any minute.
His palms felt sweaty, and his head felt dizzy. He couldn’t bear the thought of letting her go. Maybe, he would just have to wait and see.
In the last one month that he had known her, their conversation had been limited to waving hands, and they had often texted.
To the best of his knowledge, she still had not stumbled upon her soul mate.
The thought was encouraging.
He heard a rustling behind him, and turned in time to see Mariana walking through the clearing, with a smile on her face.
The white sundress she was wearing ruffled along with the wind. Maybe I will find out the actual colour of the sundress today.
“Hey,” Mariana said shyly.
“Hi,” Sebastian breathed. “So we finally decided to meet, huh?” He asked with a chuckle as he wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans.
“Yes, we did,” she laughed. The sound was like the twinkling of bells.
“These are for you,” Sebastian presented her with a bouquet of lilies. They had been taught that the lilies were originally white. No deception there. Sebastian hoped that Mariana would see the symbolism.
She buried her nose in them for a brief second, and gave him a dazzling smile.
Sebastian felt his cheeks grow warmer.
“Why don’t we sit down?”
They walked around and sat on the carefully placed mat that Sebastian had laid for them in the clearing.
For a few seconds, he let the fact that he was sitting here with the woman of his dreams sink in.
Then he asked the question he had dreaded this last one month.
“Can I see the tattoo on your hand?”
She smiled, looking at him with a strange expression. “Of course.”
She handed him her hand, and with the briefest of touches, he held it gingerly, and let the feeling sink in.
He closed his eyes before he could see something else.
Her hand feels so perfect in mine.
He took a deep breath, and exhaled shakily. She had become very still.
His eyes fluttered open.
His heart elated.
The world had colours.
“Mariana,” his voice was a whisper. “I knew it. See? Everything’s so beautiful.”
He felt euphoric. His heart leaped inside his chest with an intensity that it could jump out at any moment.
“See what? Everything is black and white.”

Years later from that fateful day, Sebastian could still hear his heart shattering into a million pieces.
Gael made things better. Amelia, his wife, was a lovely woman. Their kids were lovelier.
It was everything Sebastian had wanted, and yet never gotten.
The one thing he was grateful for though was that now he could see the colours. He had been, for fifteen years now.
One would expect him to get over it—but how do you get over something you never had?
He reflected on this while he sat on the porch outside Gael’s house, sipping his tea. He had been living with them since forever.
He turned as he heard Gael’s footsteps behind him. A hand touched his shoulder.
“What’re you thinking about?”
Gael sighed. “Seb, you shouldn’t—“
“Honey,” Amelia chimed as she joined them, and gave Gael a look. Sebastian knew the look well. It translated to you-have-no-right-to-say-anything-about-his-feelings-for-Marianna look.
Gael sighed again, and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, burying his face in the crook of her neck. Both smiled blissfully.
Sebastian looked away.
A loud shrill of the phone ringing inside the house drew Amelia back in, Gael trailing behind her.
“¿Hola?” Amelia spoke. “Si, esto es Amelia.”
Gael smiled as he watched her speak. She’d taken his advice and learnt Spanish.
Amelia’s expression however, changed from pleasant, to horror.
Gael raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?” he asked, as he watched her shaking hands, put the phone down.
On the porch, there was a crash of a certain teacup shattering.
Amelia and Gael rushed outside.
Sebastian had gone very still.
“Seb,” Amelia barely whispered. “It’s Marianna, she—“
“I know,” Sebastian said. “The world’s black and white again.”

Story By: Mahima KhetiyaFB_IMG_1521222178179


Photographic Memory

 story by Mahima Khetiya



“I have a photographic memory,” the old man living in the tiny, stinky studio apartment on 5th Avenue used to say to people. He said he remembered the engraved date on an old Picasso painting that he had once seen in an art gallery. He remembered every phone number he had dialled. He also remembered the day he had seen snow for the first time when he was a child.

Not that people cared. People hardly cared about him. He had no one, except his own mind and a diseased cat that he had named Minnie.

The old man loved taking a walk at 2 in the afternoon, when there were lesser people on the road and he could take pictures without people staring at him. He almost felt like people had never seen an old photographer. Maybe they really had never.

People used to think for quite some time that he liked using the phrase “photographic memory” because he was a photographer. But then again, that didn’t make sense and they didn’t care enough to give it a thought.

On one of his afternoon walks, he clicked a picture of a little girl on her orange bicycle, cycling furiously on the road. She had a bouquet of lilies strapped to her back, and for some reason, the contrast of white and orange attracted Jerry enough to capture it into his camera. He headed back home, transferred the pictures onto his computer—a piece of junk that seemed like a blow of wind would shake the mainframe and shatter the machine.

Flipping through the pictures of last week and re-checking his mail once more to make sure that he had no reply from the company where he had gone for an interview a few days ago, he came across a picture he didn’t recognize.

It was of an old lady, munching on some bright pink candy floss just around the corner of his neighbourhood.

Another unrecognisable picture. A sparrow twittering in the early morning smog, perched on a pine tree.

Another one. The girl with the orange bicycle—except this one was taken three days ago.

Jerry almost ran to the police station. He claimed that someone had been taking pictures from his camera.

The officer made him sit, offered him a glass of water, and flipped through the unknown pictures.

He then flipped through the set of pictures that Jerry knew he had himself taken. He asked about the girl with the orange bicycle. Jerry shrugged and mumbled something about it being artistically pleasing.

The officer was intrigued by the man who looked like a homeless person, was an old photographer with no job and no family, and how his utmost concern was that someone was taking pictures from his camera that he could, otherwise, have passed off as his own and that would have landed him a job. He suggested the same thing to Jerry.

When Jerry walked home that evening, and checked his computer, he saw a new mail notification, but before he could go over and click on it, his cat let out a sick moan and scratched its ear with a dusty paw. Jerry noticed a rash, and checked the cob-webbed jar in which he used to store money.

Only three cents.

Sighing, he decided that it would do Minnie some good if she had some fresh air.

It was night when he returned, and he drank a bottle full of water, and called it a day.


Miles away from his studio apartment, the officer was sitting on his desk, inquiring the little girl with the orange bicycle.

The girl said she delivered flowers to people, and that she passed by that same route everyday at 2 to deliver a fresh bouquet of lilies to the widowed lady on the street across from where the old man lived. She claimed that she had no idea that the old man had ever taken a photograph of her. She definitely didn’t know Jerry so she surely did not know about the stranger taking photos, too.

Scratching his beard, the officer stepped out into the night’s crisp hair, and tried to understand how it was possible that a stranger sneaked into Jerry’s house, took photos and went away– without even deleting them. And such beautiful photos they were. Jerry even remembered the exact timing of every photo he had taken, and so he seemed pretty sure his photographic memory had no memory of the unknown photos. The officer believed his sincerity.

Yawning, he retired for the day. He concluded that Jerry must have taken his advice and would make some money out of the unknown photos.


Next morning, Jerry woke up, sat flipping through his photos, having some leftovers for breakfast, scouring the streets with his diseased cat, and randomly striking up a conversation with some homeless people in the dark alley behind his apartment. He told them how he remembered the engraved date on an old Picasso painting that he had once seen in an art gallery. He remembered every phone number he had dialled. He also remembered the day he had seen snow for the first time when he was a child.

He went home, refreshed his mail, awaiting the reply from the company, ignoring the mail he had received yesterday. He put it in the spam folder.

Flipping through the pictures of the last week and re-checking his mail once more to make sure that he had no reply from the company where he had gone for an interview a few days ago, he came across a picture he didn’t recognize.

It was of an old lady, munching on some bright pink candy floss just around the corner of his neighbourhood.

Another unrecognizable picture. A sparrow twittering in the early morning smog, perched on a pine tree.

Another one. The girl with the orange bicycle—except this one was taken four days ago.

Jerry almost ran to the police station. He claimed that someone had been taking pictures from his camera.

The officer leaned back, as realization dawned on him.

He asked Jerry what he was doing the day those photos were taken. He said he was sleeping.

And yet later that day, when the officer talked to the old lady who was photographed eating candy floss in the unknown picture, she gave a toothless smile and said how Jerry had asked her to pose that morning, and how she pitied him for not remembering things, how he had been like that for years, how she had been secretly taking his sick cat to the vet so she wouldn’t die and leave him all alone with his forgetful mind.

When the officer nodded sympathetically, thanked her and was about to leave, she touched his arm with her wrinkled hand, and told him, “Officer, do let him live under the impression that he has a photographic memory. That is the only thing he constantly remembers.”
Mahima Khetiya is a writer from Mumbai, India. A 20 year old English Literature student, blogger and bookstagrammer she has a passion for reading, writing short-fiction, novels and a little bit of poetry. She always reads more than she writes, and buys books more than she reads them. Currently co-authoring a novel to be published the following year by Bombaykala Publications. She likes looking at white flowers, aesthetic things, and old buildings.



TQL Interviews: In Conversation with Pam Munter

Theme : Questionnaire Interview (Open / Closed Format)

1. Hello Pam. How are you?
I’m fine, thanks. Hope you are, too.

2. How is the weather?
Beautiful – in the 80s here today.

3.What time is it?
It was early afternoon when I began but early
morning the next day as I’m finishing it.

4. Are you busy with something?
This, fully engaged in the process.


TQL: Pam, what colour is your mental shelf? (Influence of Books, Visuals, Music)

Pam Munter copy

Pam Munter: I’m not in an office, but in my home with filled floor-to-ceiling bookshelves adorning nearly every room. The titles are varied but almost all nonfiction. My favorites involve the lives of others, complex and layered, much the way I see myself.

TQL: What led you to arrive at a point to contribute now as a psychologist, Becoming a Legend while tracing your history in this memoir piece charting out personal dreams against the era of 1950s hollywood? What is with the title of the piece?

Pam Munter: After many years of writing biographical pieces about other people, I decided it was my turn. “Becoming A Legend” is one of 21 in a memoir (to be published, I hope) and one of my personal favorites. The title’s intention is to blend the young Pam with the more informed one, putting myself back into childhood while adding the perspective that only comes with age. Much of my work blends a seriousness of purpose with a tongue-in-cheek approach. I wanted to memorialize a bygone era, both in society and in my own history. It meant something different to be a child and a teenager then than it does now. I would like to think there’s a universality in memoir, which can apply to any life, any generation. We all have secret fantasies as children but not many write about them much less act upon them.

TQL: You live in New York, United States. How long have you been living here and how have you been able to adjust and experience different shades of America, from a coastal town of Los Angeles to several rural and urban counties as a performer and finally to a major cosmopolitan city as a clinical psychologist? Moving through colourful fabrics of America, how do you see America now?

Pam Munter: I have lived in many places but only in New York for months at a time, when I performed there. For nearly 30 years, I lived in Portland, Oregon before moving to my current home in Palm Desert, California in 2002, a return to my Southern California roots. Palm Desert is a suburban oasis, its beauty, peacefulness and contemporary architecture serving as a soporific alternative to the chaos that seems to be enveloping our national political landscape just now. I travel often to urban environs, though, – to New York but more frequently to Los Angeles, just a few hours away. You can’t take the girl out of the city for long.

TQL: Consider, America which was predominantly welcoming for many different migrants and which is closing its borders by creating different geopolitical stereotypes against few middle east nations, while also burning out an issue with its neighbor downwards in regard with boundaries? You have explored breadth and depth of America. Following your answers on the demographic make-up and its diverse experiences as the most modern democracy in the world, I would like to know more as I too arrive from an oldest democracy in the world that is India. Let us observe cinema, the show business around which you were brought up in a coastal town Pacific Palisades and which leads you and me here for this interview. In 2001, there arrived a movie Crazy / Beautiful shot in your hometown, starring Kirsten Dunst and Jay Hernandez. It showed dynamics of racial and dominant white experiences building up tragically triggered, romantic and realist frames with ambitions, aspritations, love of a mexican youth Carlos (Hernandez), sub-culture of drugs, alcoholism, and alienation of a white american youth Nicole (Dunst), political power and real societal battle of individualism of Nicole’s white father. Drawing back to a recent exposure of similar themes of racial tensions and sub-cultures of addiction leading to an investigative crime miniseries The Night Of in 2016 starring John Turturro, Riz Ahmed, Bill Camp, Michael K. Williams, we saw how the problems pertaining to racial discriminations in a dominant narrative leads us back to what America is as a super image in the world countries that is unable to deal with colour, even though it has better and advanced methodologies to embrace others in respect of other world countries like England, South Africa, and Australia while having an embracing attitude of plurality like India and Canada. In your immediate environment in New York, how do you see diversity moving in lanes and bends from your window office? How and what America is looking at you if you would press upon your diverse experiences through rural America which is now the heat of the contemporary politics that changed the narrative bringing Trump in White House while showing us how you grew up in your childhood years to become a legend in your own way later through failures, mistakes, and learning? This is a shade we haven’t read in your memoir piece, hence an elaboration would do justice to the later parts too.

Bay Theatre, 1948

Pam Munter: You’ve set out a huge landscape to traverse here! First, the Pacific Palisades of my youth was much different that it seems to be today. In my public schools, it was unusual to find a person of color. I didn’t realize the inequity of this until I went away to college, fracturing the cocoon. I’ve long been a member of the ACLU, which advocates very strongly for inclusion, civil liberties and now against the provincial and cruel policies of the current administration in Washington. Immigrants have been responsible for the growth of America, allowing it to flourish providing progress and innovation. It both saddens and angers me that parts of our society live in fear and paranoia. In the Palm Desert area, there is more diversity and acceptance since a large percentage of our population is Hispanic and another large percentage are gay and lesbian. This brings a plethora of ideas, beliefs and cultures to the table, a feast, really. I haven’t seen the films to which you refer. The Palisades today is more diverse, as I understand it. I still read the hometown paper and even wrote an essay last year about visiting my childhood home. Some connections never die. My essays seldom deal with political issues, which is ironic given how involved I have been in politics and social justice since my teenage years. Perhaps I’ll write something at some point. It’s a crowded field in the literary world.

bob bailey
Bob Bailey

TQL: Do you think surrounded by people from different walks of show business somehow curtailed your dreams in-between like an over exposure to events and people related to it? Could it have thwarted your dreams indirectly if you were to remember your short and cold visit to CBS Studio with a radio actor, Bob Bailey as your neighbour where you performed off his traditional script to other actors present there?
PM: I opted to write about the show bizzy aspects of my childhood in this essay because that was the most magical part. But our neighborhood was populated mostly by blue collar families much like my own, completely outside the sphere of the entertainment industry. Few had education beyond high school, the women didn’t work, the men carried lunch pails every day. My dreams were fueled in part by the celebrities with whom I came in contact. As I said in the essay, I was surrounded by possibility even if one step removed. The Bob Bailey episode points out what I thought was true – that all I would have to do is read for a part and I’d be “discovered.” Of course, that didn’t happen but it didn’t stop me. It was exciting just to be in a radio studio.

TQL: In another incident later, a neighbour called Pete allowed your family to visit Oscar winner Edmond O’Brien’s dark woody home from where you found and copied Ida Lupino’s number off a Rolodex device when you could not find Doris Day’s number. You were young enough to have been exposed to such a larger-than-life setting. Is it around this time, the lifelong affectation for Doris Day started for you while your own dreams were moving in a backseat as a quirky adolescent teen?

Doris Day
Doris Day

PM: I still can’t believe I had the nerve to do all the things I wrote about in the essay. I became enamored with Doris Day very early, probably under the age of 8. She was a role model, for the career I envisioned, a way to escape my quotidian life. Of course, I had no idea who she was, only who she seemed to be. My own dreams were never far away. I imagined myself in her roles on the screen, singing the same songs. As a “quirky teen,” my dreams were often all I had to believe in. Adolescence is such a time of loneliness and alienation. I’m aware that my strong belief in myself, a conviction that I could accomplish most anything with hard work, was most unusual at that time of my life.
TQL: Consider if you were the Pam, dreaming about a career in movies living in a different neighbourhood without any people from show business, then it would have led you to see things from outside because here you were near to inside and yet remained on the fringe which is always the case that we see in different world industries of entertainment business, where such people who are surrounded by these industries, are subdued and their dreams thwarted while making them strugglers forever in their lives. It is true from Hollywood to Bollywood and other such industries. The opposite is also true considering your career. Your case is substantial enough for a teenager who would look for advice and run here to there with no ease. You made your own path through mistakes which many cannot do and it is great that you took a different turn after many stumbling blocks of career aspirations at such a perplexing age as a teenager, checking one thing out of another from the list of show business at a very early age. What would you tell them now, if you were to go back into your shoes and offer them light and perspective about making right and wrong choices while steering the wheel of life one one’s own?
PM: Life is one big, grand experiment. Following one’s dreams is one way to discover who we are. For me, the key to living a creative, productive life has been to develop a strong sense of myself, knowing what matters and what I’m willing to do (or not do) to get it. It’s my life and my responsibility. Sometimes the only way to learn about oneself is to risk making a mistake – learning from that mistake and moving on. My life has been diverse and multi-faceted and there’s little, if anything, I wanted to do that I haven’t been able to do through planning and perseverance. Living around show biz people played a minor but supporting role in my fantasy life. It would have happened anyway because it truly all came from the movies, where I spent so much time. It was a different life than I saw around me and I wanted to be a part of it. Today’s teens need to know it takes a long time to find the right place where they can be congruent and comfortable and to be patient with themselves during that quest.
TQL: In an earlier incident when you had crossed your fourteenth year in life, there arrived a small event which is an event of your look-alike photo arriving in an issue of Screen Stories matched with Doris Day. Does it effect you somehow when you think back on it? Do you think your friend Jacquie did the right thing by inflaming Doris Day affectation which was at its infancy like a crush and did the event really came on to your life “like a fireman shoveling coal in a speeding train?” at that moment? We would like you to answer this as a clinical psychologist, offering your thoughts to our new millenial readers while exploring themes of adolescent psychology and experiential learning mechanism.
PM: Jacquie and I shared an admiration for Doris Day and we encouraged each other, as friends do. An essential part of finding oneself is climbing on the backs of role models. As I said in the essay, there were few adults in my real world with whom I could identify. Movie stars gave me identity fragments I could try on, like a garment. Some of them fit, most did not. Developing an identity is a trial-and-error process but there have to be people present (even fictional ones) against which to measure oneself. One of the subtexts in the essay is the presence as well as the importance of having a passion, something that “inflames” one from within. It was a harmless passion, but one that made me feel truly alive, creating positive aspirations. Today, the mystery and ability to project ourselves upon celebrities is much more difficult. If we want to know something about a famous person, we can Google them. All we knew then was what we read in the movie magazines. It was a different world. And, by the way, I still have that magazine.johari-window.png

TQL: Pam, we would like you to explain a bit more about it, letting our readers know how Johari Window with its four quadrants are helpful for them to negotiate life choices through reflective learning practices. Offer us your experience and allow our readers to know how to deal with it so that they can know learning is an experience of three dimensional aspect where learning, unlearning, and relearning are intertwined together to make them whole from chunks and that they can and must learn to fail while exploring their career aspirations and dreams.
PM: When I was a practicing clinical psychologist, I did not use self-help mechanisms like the Johari Window, Myers-Briggs and such. I find them at best of transient value, merely scratching the surface. “Tests” that categorize personality into boxes tend to trivialize the complexity of the human personality, denying its fluidity, providing meaningless templates and false reassurances. There is no substitute for time alone, reflection and frequent journaling toward self-discovery. Throughout my life, I have also found it helpful to engage in honest, mutually disclosive conversations with a trusted friend. No outside pop-psych tests can truly tell you who you are.
TQL: Our millenial readers would surely imbibe the message you are sending when they are at crossroads to choose which career to follow while being hesitant to take a plunge in the unknown. Now coming back to your early adolescent life when, you wrote film reviews for school magazine and decided to major in music and later as the show business world rubbed itself against you like salt, you did theme-based jazz/cabaret performances with a jazz trio about which we would like to know more as you left us amazed just at the end of the memoir piece. How many years you did theatre performances and what influenced you back then?
PM: I’ve always had an indomitable creative drive. It has taken many paths, some of which I discussed in the essay. I’ve written elsewhere about the questions you raise – the how, why and where of performing. But the concept of performance can take many shapes, not merely the conventional ones. I was a university professor for almost 15 years (teaching political science and psychology), certainly a kind of performance. Readings from my essays in public are another form. And, of course, responding to your marvelously complicated interview questions is still another. It’s important to take an experimental view of life, especially in one’s 20s. Careers selected during that time of life are seldom a good fit because we don’t know ourselves very well yet. We’re still emerging. I would encourage people to lighten up, commit to the tasks in the moment but know when to let go and move on. My goal at this point is to use myself up, to tap every creative facet of myself that is available to me so that when I die, I won’t say, “I wish I had tried to…”
TQL: As we came to read your standalone piece of life experiences, we would like to know how you are working upon this whole memoir project and what a reader can further look towards, if you were to give a glimpse of performances you did and the cultural change that was going around you which later ended as you became a clinical psychologist? You surely have led an interesting life filled with uncertain road map and it would be a pleasure to know more about it.pam doris day

PM: Thank you. Over the past 18 months or so, more than 70 of my essays and short stories have been published., many internationally. I’ve completed a memoir—AS ALONE AS I WANT TO BE—containing 21 stand-alone essays, including “Becoming A Legend” that you were kind enough to publish. It’s possible to parcel out several dominant themes in the memoir, such as that creative drive, the persistent return to music, and a near compulsion to write. Yes, the “road map” has been an uncertain one but there are patterns that make sense and provide a unity of purpose, revealing resilience and calculated risk. Many of the essays are available on my website, There you’ll find writing specific to some of the adventures—attending Doris Day’s 92nd birthday party, recording at Capitol Records using Frank Sinatra’s microphone and sitting in a crowded theatre watching the first movie in which I appeared. Looking back, I can say my intent has been to live a life that both interested and challenged me. As for becoming a clinical psychologist, that’s a whole other story! The decision was made in my mid 20s, a period in which I was surrounded by academics, a world where creativity was more elusive. Perhaps it was an awareness there was more out there, a restlessness that caused me to obtain the necessary university degrees to become a clinical psychologist. That profession was an ideal combination of intellect and emotion and required all of me to be fully present every single day, in many ways a perfect fit.
TQL: Now that you are retired, how do you spend your time?The Bees' Knees Dixieland Band, 2009

PM: The word “retired” always makes me laugh a little. In my parents’ generation, that meant playing golf, going fishing, traveling, doing…well, nothing. The big, energetic push in the show biz career came after I left the practice—the movies, the CDs, the live performances around the country. And all the writing, including obtaining my sixth college degree (an MFA granted just last year), came long after the “retirement” from clinical psychology. Now my days are full of writing along with the business tasks that requires. In fact, I just finished a play, four stories about women “of a certain age” in Hollywood. As with my other paths, I have no idea where this one will take me, but the journey has been a lot of fun. After all, it’s the process that matters more than the outcome.
TQL: We will take a different route to understand show business and we would like to know how you see things in present. Hollywood in contemporary period is dealing with a new digital media where artists have to be self promotional to gain a viewership before charting out to work with Hollywood and it is a platform of diverse cacophony and chaos. Times are changing but back then, Hollywood used to discover, discover in a sense Lana Turner, Clark Gable, Debbie Reynolds, and Janet Leigh among others as you describe early in your short memoir piece while pointing out your own sense of wonder as a plump kid with androgynous characteristics and a different eye sight to look at the world back then among your peers. These actors came from a poor background and were raised around the period of Great Depression and came of age with emergence of new media, do you think such a thing in our post-internet information world has blurred the real cost of struggle, privilege and misplaced identity which back then helped these actors in their popular careers to move away from their traditional familial background considering their parents usually came from working class background?
PM: That’s a great question. In the Hollywood of my day, everything was controlled by the four or five studios run by largely uneducated white men. Today, as you know, it’s no longer centralized. A kid can upload a two-minute spot on YouTube and be famous, at least for a while. Many of today’s actors have more education but less training. The nature of music has morphed into small niches as has entertainment in general, levelling the playing field to all comers. There was a time when we all listened to the same music, went to the same movies. Studios no longer concoct biographies or control the flow of publicity because everyone is on their own and there are few real studios left. The collective attention span is short; we seem to be living in an ADD society. If you’re not a hit right now, there are no second chances, no places to learn one’s craft. The danger is that with the massive corporate consolidation going on, the content will become more homogenized. It has certainly grown more polemical, fractionating the audiences even further. I’ve been told by agents that I need a “platform,” thousands of Twitter followers, to be commercially viable. I have to admit I long for those days when a studio executive could have done all that work for me!
TQL: In a similar vein, Netflix is taking over the traditional spaces of entertainment while also opening doors for new age people from millenial generation and older generation to work together on web based series and movies. It is moving with a global gaze like a multinational uber service or amazon for that matter to move into different cultural entertainment spaces. Would we see more of cross cultural experiences or would the mainstream essence of Hollywood still find an upper hand with closed cultural cues to enlarge and bet upon such a global audience which is primarily hooked on to Hollywood mainstream culture for long with its action-based, dystopian, and rom-com films or would they change the gaze and provide new air to breathe while allowing cross cultural references from one country to another thereby opening the subtle world of art and cinema to come out with new ideas?
PM: Hollywood will be open to new ideas if they bring financial reward. That’s a reality that hasn’t changed. I am encouraged by the fact there are more films starring and/or featuring people of color and more foreign language films reaching our shores. As society becomes more diverse, so will the nature of entertainment. I am also heartened by current social and political movements that cry out where there is injustice, whether it’s “OscarsSoWhite” or the recent controversy over men dominating the Grammys. While there is still a vocal, pathological part of society that wants to return to the “good old days” of white supremacy, it seems to me there’s a strong gravitational pull toward inclusiveness and justice.
TQL: What is Education?
PM: To begin with, it needs to be thought of as a verb, not a noun. To educate is to learn, in every sense of that word, an active process. While I’m very much a believer in formal education, I understand that much of what we learn is from experience and interactions with others. I would encourage anyone who can, however, to go as far as he/she can with formal education. It’s something no one can ever take away from you and it can help build a strong foundation for the rest of your life, both internally and externally.
TQL: What magical thing can you do for another person that would take no more than one minute of your life and which would change something in both for a lifetime to see?
PM: Ah, I wish such a thing were possible. Magic is no substitute for the hard work of developing one’s identity and the capacity for making good choices. Living life authentically takes time and effort.
TQL: Thank you for giving your time for the interview. Have a great day, Pam!
PM: It is my pleasure. Thank you. You too have a great day!Scan 1.jpeg
Pam Munter is a writer, dramatist, clinical psychologist, and former performer from New York, United States. Her memoir excerpt, Becoming a Legend was published in April Edition, 2017. You can know more about her books and her life over here:

This interview appears in our March 2018, Edition, TQL. Stay Tuned. For interviews, drop us an email at:


Verse – Anupreeta Chatterjee

Two Poems

Shaping MIdentity


In midst of dichotomies,
I treasure my identity.

Amidst all obstacles,
I work towards shaping my identity.

My identity is my authority
And I am shaping it for me.

Yes, I am selfish
Yes, I am in my world.

I owe my life the dignity:
Dignity of a woman, my identity as a human.

Dictions and predictions,
Are shaped by my intensity.

I will work towards building my identity.
My identity is my authority.

Desires & Emotions

Desires oozed from within
when he touched my soul with his hands.
Love emerged from wounded sacrifices
which we made to be with each other.

I could feel his flesh, lusting for love
I melted like a candle in his arms.

We met after a long time,
ours a long distance relationship
began which, with instant friendship.

Our desires melted when we kissed
it was pleasurable to close our eyes
and feel the adrenaline rushing through our bodies.

We cuddled each other,
even though nights were weary.

anupreeta chatterjee.pngAnupreeta Chatterjee is a feminist poet from Korba, Chhattisgarh, India. She has pursued her post graduation in Gender studies from Tata Institute of Social Sciences, Hyderabad, India. Her poems have appeared in Ink Drift, Quillopia and elsewhere. Her poems appeared recently in an Anthology “From Spring to Autumn” by Turquoise Publication.

interview, poetry

TQL Nomination for BAP V3: Sneha Dewani and Anushka Pandit

The Quiet Letter is proud to nominate Indian poets for a poetry anthology. These poets were published in TQL’s editions in 2017. The poets are :

Sneha Dewani and Anushka Pandit.

This is an essay explaining the reason behind selecting them and their poems for the nomination process as Indian Poets writing in Indian English.

Sneha Dewani‘s poem Female Genital Mutilation, and Anushka Pandit’s The Question Before Arrival published in The Quiet Letter are nominated for the Bettering American Poetry as Indian Poets.

The poems selected here by TQL reflects thematic issues which concern the publishing guidelines of the editorial section headed by Pawan N Hira, founder and editor-in-chief at The Quiet Letter.

sneha dewani.resized
Sneha Dewani, Indian Poet

Coming back to Sneha Dewani’s poem, Female Genital Mutilation is a poem that speaks to many. It opens up the narrative of women and sexuality while the message of a haunting procedure crosses boundaries to touch the matter of prejudice and perversion of male gaze in the patriarchal world who want to achieve at any cost the deliberate silences of women and to play with sexuality is one such act that is beautifully penned with a beat-like pulse to it by Sneha Dewani, the young poet writing from Raipur, India who is also pursuing architecture degree currently.

This mutilation process of genitals is rooted in the practice of gender inequality and like common problems that are seen today of unequal pay between men and women, sexual and devious power politics in the name of fame by powerful males of such a system like the recent case of Harvey Weinstein in Hollywood which led to the rise of #MeToo campaign and which also picked a momentum later in the Berlinale 2018 where movies concerning the themes on the lines of the campaign issue were met with a mixed reaction in Germany along with issues of refugees and migration shown through movies. This clearly shows how convoluted social media campaign can become where participation on Internet does not result in actual solidarity with the campaign on real ground where gender inequality is practiced in day to day lives of women. The power play of fame and entertainment is a dynamic process where compromise is a given thing that leads to harassment and victimization, and this is obviously seen in two different thought streams, where one side supports the women who are coming from entertainment business and the other who reject the claim saying the picture is not one sided.

There is also harassment and consistent stereotypes of women as mere actors of home-chores to clean and dust each and every thing as if she were a machine multi-tasking and such a gaze is thrown at them consistently by the males who move outside in the world with buddies and plans. The poem, Female Genital Mutilation in such time is a reflection of the threat made to female sexuality which should be celebrated rather than to suffocate it and distort it through power dynamics of societal games because according to UNICEF in 2016 alone 200 million women living today in 30 countries—27 African countries, Indonesia, Iraqi Kurdistan and Yemen—have undergone the procedures. It is typically carried out by a traditional circumciser using a blade, and FGM is conducted from days after birth to puberty and beyond. In half the countries for which national figures are available, most girls are cut before the age of five as per the UNICEF reports recorded on Wikipedia. The poem is shown here:

sneha dewani fgm
It was published in TQL, 2017, August by Sneha Dewani.

The poem equally speaks of the horror of revisiting such a crucial moment later in teenage years when the poetess opens up her mouth foaming with letters to describe it and reaffirm the haunting memory that was unleashed on her without her consent during her childhood. It clearly speaks how the scar remains ever because of the notion of purity against sexuality where the former is always a thought rooted in middle-ages while sexuality is ignored and seen as deviant force rather than liberating force for women. If the first statue of woman Venus of Willendorf depicts exaggerated form of female, a mother goddess of fertility and if the liberating chronicles of Kamasutra and archaeological sites in India with caves carved show sexuality of men and women in ancient heritage, then sexuality as a thought of emancipatory force to open men and women equally is shunned and the brunt of it is mostly faced by women who are subject to the perverse gaze of male patriarchal world of objectification. Female Genital Mutilation as a poem opens that thought and does justice to what women go through in their lives in India especially where women are subjugated in homes and offices.

To select her and her poem for Bettering American Poetry as an Indian Poet, TQL is proud to have selected her as one of the contenders for the award apart from Anushka Pandit. Sneha Dewani’s poems are upcoming further in TQL this year which explore themes similar to this and with an aggression of a woman exploring the darkness of dominance and oppression by men.

Our second nomination, Anushka Pandit

Anushka Pandit, Indian Poet

and her poem furthers our notion to publish voices which matter. Her poem, The Question Before Arrival published in our August edition 2017 reflects a meta poem concerning silences and as an Indian poet, Anushka provides a brief exposure to what it means to look for hope amid darkness and as such she opens up threads of burden which one has to carry in the face of darkness while looking for light to arrive. The poem reproduced below shows the questioning power of the poet who opens up psychological dimensions to ask in probabilities of “maybe” as an uncertain gesture to prod the phase of darkness while leaving us in the end with a haunting question as if even the arrival as a woman would not bring an easy clarity into the mirror of self like the poem, Love after Love of Derek Walcott which describes the elation after struggle to meet the stranger back in the mirror. The ending lines of her poem reads as:

Do I have to take more
Some more pain and fear

It is a question that the young poet is keen to observe while building up the courage to face anything that would arrive because somewhere the poem reflects the life of shades we have to move through now and then. TQL selected three of her poems and this one reflects an Indian poet to establish her point of view while asking the question of what it means to arrive as a person, a poet in the world.

anushka pandit question arrival tql.png
Anushka Pandit, August 3017 Edition, TQL

As a writer from Udaipur, India, Anushka works as the Community Head at Kalaage, a global platform built for writers to come and write together on one platform while engaging publishers and writers of many kinds in one thread which is showing its result in India as of now to bring Indian writers on the forefront. Anushka also handles the unit of Social Media as a Head at Ink Drift, a magazine prominently publishing diverse voices. The Quiet Letter is equally proud to carry her poems and to nominate her and her poem, The Question Before Arrival for Bettering American Poetry.

Now, the nominations for the selected poems and their authors are for:

Bettering American Poetry
Volume 3

What is it?

The Bettering American Poetry is an anthology based project which promotes writers and their craft while being keenly aware of contemporary world of arts and the practice of struggles that goes with it for voices which have a hard time to find a way in the mainstream locus of media arts. In their own words:

“The first Bettering American Poetry project was initiated by Amy King, who gathered together a group of poets with complementary yet distinct approaches to politics/poetics to serve as co-editors of the first anthology project. Bettering American Poetry 2015 was born out of both rage and hope, with an eye toward better publishing practices and the championing of vital artists. The three main curators of BAP are also connected in their individual capacity at Vida, women in literary arts, which is a non-profit feminist organization committed to creating transparency around the lack of gender parity in the literary landscape and to amplifying historically-marginalized voices, including people of color; writers with disabilities; and queer, trans and gender nonconforming individuals.”

Sarah Clark / Amy King / Héctor Ramírez

Héctor Ramírez is an Assistant Director of the CU Boulder Upward Bound program.
Amy King’s latest book, The Missing Museum, is a winner of the 2015 Tarpaulin Sky Book Prize.
sarah clark
Sarah Clark curated Drunken Boat’s folios on sound art, and on global indigenous art and literature titled “First Peoples, Plural.”

What they have to say about the nomination process also exemplifies their commitment to support individual and institution when selecting their roles:

“The BAP Series and its publisher, Bettering Books, curated by Sarah Clark, Amy King, and Héctor Ramírez. As curators of the series, Sarah, Amy, and Héctor supplement the selections made by editors where and if necessary (for instance, in the event that one editor cannot fulfill their duties, or if we simply feel the need to bring more underrepresented voices in the room). However, it is ultimately the role of each anthology’s editorial team to take charge of the content, shape, direction, and aspirations of their project however they see fit, beyond the general mission of the Bettering American Poetry Series.”

The co-editors of the previous Bettering anthology were contemporary poets who have solidified their voices as unique while allowing us to see the emergence of colored poets like a new renaissance slowly developing in our digital world of poetics and seeing them in the process earlier makes TQL happy to nominate Sneha Dewani and Anushka Pandit. The co-editors were:

Kaveh Akbar / jayy dodd / Joshua Jennifer Espinoza / Muriel Leung / Camille Rankine / Michael Wasson

Pawan NH, Editor in Chief @ The Quiet Letter
Poet and Novelist working with Gujarati
and English equally. His poems have appeared in
Kitaab, Parentheses Journal and elsewhere. His
two novels are in limbic space looking for a home
as he starts to work on another.

interview, poetry

TQL Interviews : In Conversation with Robert Okaji

The Interview was conducted through email via an interview booklet and it is known as Digital Interview. Digital Interview defines how we connect through gaps and pauses in our contemporary period of technological renaissance as resources open up and anxiety takes over in the world of gadgets. Now we had come across Robert and his poetry last year when we published his poems in our inaugural April edition, 2017. Eight months later we thought of connecting the authors and readers when the interview space came like a proper thing to know each other. The interview is divided in several sections like a symphony and the tragic part is, it starts with the letters exchanged between us after the interview was finished and we would like to open the interview from the event like an interlude before going towards a prelude with our android message greetings, then with a tempo (short video capture), and finally a lead (interview booklet) towards a conclusion at the end. The whole interview utilizes each medium of our contemporary period, from text to image to audio to visual and hence with our inaugural session for interviews this year, we place before you our interview from The Quiet Letter with Robert Okaji.

I. The Interlude in Past

Robert Okaji

Hello Robert. How are you?
I am fine. And you?

I am fine. How is the weather?
At the moment it’s dry and cool. But this is Texas,
and things can quickly change.

Okay. What time is it?
11:00 a.m.

Are you busy with something?
I’m currently revising a manuscript,
in hopes of getting it in shape
to submit to publishers. It’s going slowly.

II. Tempo (Short Video Capture)

Okaji with Book

TQL: We shall start our interview with you, Robert. As you know it is a digital interview through Internet and also that it is narrative induced, opinionated, and interactive space where each has a separate role in forwarding the tone and the substance of our digital connection while allowing each other an open area of negotiation to place an emphasis on certain questions, while slightly neglecting others, and in overall manner, putting forward our best for the readers. Okay. Before that I would like to say your office is looking great. The books are lovely.

Robert Okaji: Thank you. It’s a small, but comfortable space dedicated to writing.

TQL: That is indeed great. Now we will start with the question zero and after which you can simply write down answers for the questions in the booklet as the video interview ends here now with this question.

RO: Yes.

TQL: Robert, what colour is your mental shelf?

RO: My mental shelf is like a lake – the color changes with the sky – shifting from bright blue to grey to midnight black depending upon life’s circumstances, mostly pertaining to what I’ve been reading (currently Turkish Poetry Today 2017), the background music (today, traditional shakuhachi tunes), and of course daily interaction with people.

III. Lead (Interview Booklet)

TQL: That is what makes you a Poet, Robert, but tell us what does it mean to be called as a poet when the term itself is excruciatingly understood by the writers themselves who are different from other types of artists? Why is it hard to understand poets?

RO: Yes, the term carries a lot of baggage with it, and I don’t concern myself much with which connotations others want to attach to it. I take “poet” at face value – one who writes poems. As for understanding poets, I believe that people often err in attempting to “understand” poetry and poets. It might be easier and more productive to ask how the poem makes you feel rather than what it means. The next question is, of course, why does this particular arrangement of words push those particular emotional buttons. Answering those questions might allow the reader to discover a personal meaning, which, to me, is much more important than what the poet intended.

TQL: You are right and I would like to say it is the reader who sifts through them to find an urgent meaning to his or her life. Now coming back to the process of writing, we would like to know how you write poems from Texas, United States. Is weather an amicable requirement for arrival of certain poems from the deep recess of your mind? We would like to know how a poem arrives, how it breathes, how it is seen at first sight, and how and why it is changed later?

Agave Root.resized

Agave Root – @ Okaji’s Home

RO: Weather isn’t a requirement, but it certainly plays a role in much of what I write. In general, I sit down with absolutely no idea of what I’m going to write about. The weather occasionally frames the words – the way wind bends trees, or the sound of rain striking my shack’s metal roof. Of course I could say that about any external influence. My poems generally begin with a word or brief phrase, perhaps an image or simply a vague feeling. I jot down the word or phrase, or attempt to unearth the image or feeling. In other words, I seldom sit down with a preconceived notion of what will be written. It unfolds before me a word or phrase at a time. Sometimes the poems flow easily, sometimes they struggle to emerge. I don’t question the process, but just follow along. I revise as I write, but also like to let the poems lie fallow for a while, to “marinate.” The marination process may last a few days or even months, but when I look at the poems again, the errors or changes that need to be made are clear. This may be a matter of craft – line breaks, unintended repetitions, or form. Or it may seem that a certain portion is superfluous and needs to be deleted. This isn’t a quick process, but it works for me.


barbed-wire fence-orchards of inheritance.resized
Yes, it is the marination process which takes time and allow a poet to reconsider elements of language with a preciseness like a doctor of language, but your process is similar to what being a poet means even for me as a new poet because I have yet to take the test of marinating poems while they keep assembling themselves like a growth of wine on an electrical pole lying away on the roadside where I live, overlooking a farm and surrounded by orchards of genealogical inheritance of those who seem to like seeing the barbed-wires to not allow anyone to enter except women and men coming from marginal castes still have to find their way, wobbling themselves inside to pick a shade to rest for awhile, or to look at coconuts or mangoes as per the season. I have seen the fall of their kitsch sarees stuck in barbed-wires and I almost feel at times to run and wobble myself too to see what pleasure is it to take on the pain from centuries like an outsider. I want to hug them and I do so when my eyes meet theirs at times when I pass them but we have no language except brief chance dialogue. This could be the reason why I do not like to follow marination process for poems and prose in entirety except I believe in performing at once in a certain weather even if it brings along with it few errors of language because now after years of writing poems in my diary, meaning is becoming more important than syntactical or decorative aesthetic. If it is long then so it be with a deeper breathe that I take and if it is short then so be it like a gentle kiss on the lips of my beloved who lies in distance away from me. I suppose that is what makes each poet a different person in showing us the world as it is and I am glad you write from that distance as I write from here but let us not go there except it is a part of my process because I too have been working on novels which deal with certain thematic issues like I have discussed here, but that allows me to open our interview space more and that is why, Robert, when I tell you that you are the son of an immigrant to the United States, what do you think because I would like to know what does this mean to you and how does your poetry reflect this? Tell us about it.

RO: I have always carried a sense of otherness, of being different and perhaps never quite belonging. This manifests in my interests: in place, in ritual, in borders and gray areas, in the mundane and seldom noticed, and how one accommodates oneself — spiritually, physically, culturally, mentally, politically — in a climate that is not always welcoming to outsiders.

TQL: Thank you for the preciseness over my digression. I too have been an outsider in this society where my identity has been crumbled, distorted and misplaced by categorical infusion of caste and tribe while the issue of class keeps adding more problems for me and I can empathize with you. It allows me to see how education and its liberal culture has been always in the centre of urban spaces. Considering this, tell us about Poetry and Art scene in Texas. Do you go to poetry readings or seminars at public institutions? If so, what kind of experience you have had?

RO: Yes, now I haven’t experienced the Poetry and Art scenes in all of Texas, but from observation I’d say they’re most vibrant in larger urban areas, and almost non-existent in lower populated rural areas, with a few notable exceptions. I attend on occasion readings at public institutions and venues. They’ve almost always been enjoyable experiences, but I often get the feeling that some of the attendees and/or participants are there primarily to be seen, to become “known.” I must say that I prefer smaller, more intimate gatherings, perhaps a salon-type atmosphere at someone’s home, at which the audience is truly there to listen and participate. Those gatherings are, to me, much more genuine, more rewarding.

TQL: Yes it is so because such an intimate gathering always helps in being connected to the normal routine of life with other poets and readers. I think your experiences reverberate here too where divisions of urban and rural seems to have defined what a space of reading and engagement means and with what kind of education one arrives and how it is complemented in the real world, hence I would like to know, whether you are working currently on any poetry book project. I would also like you to briefly share with us, your education and life experiences.

RO: That is a good thing to say. As I mentioned earlier, I’m revising a full-length manuscript, but also have several completed chapbooks in the pipeline, searching for publishers, and am slowly writing a series of letter poems to various friends and writer acquaintances. Other than that, I try to write daily. My education is rather pedestrian: I hold an undergraduate degree in history and have never attended graduate school. But I’m curious and read a lot, and have been known to ask professor-poets for their syllabi or reading lists. My work life has varied over the decades – I served in the U.S. Navy for a short while, owned and managed a bookstore, and was an administrator at a university. All in all, I don’t possess the typical poet’s resume or credentials.

TQL: That means you have followed a non-traditional route towards educating yourself and I can relate to it as many of our readers will be able to relate to our contempoary period where digital publishing platforms like WordPress, Blogger, and Social Media Networking sites like Twitter and Facebook are useful platforms for a person to explore anything that is creative while not worrying about institutional support. The syllabus of highest order can be found through internet archives thanks to Aaron Schwartz. Yet there is a dilemma, because certain prominent publishing platforms such as magazines specify clearly that they do not want to entertain any piece of work that has been published before on blogs or other such services. A certain reality can be that they are unable to understand how such a medium is the only medium of learning for many and how they do not have wider readerships except fellow learners with them. How do you see such things when you submit your work to other magazines?

RO: I believe many newer poets are impatient and push out their work before it’s ready for publication. They’ve not read enough, haven’t put a sufficient amount of time and effort into the work, and the writing reflects that. But they submit, and then get depressed about rejection. This is part of the learning process, but frankly poets who are early in the process might think twice about submitting poetry to publications that publish well known poets. There’s a reason those poets are represented, and newer poets, who simply haven’t written enough, are seldom ready to compete at that level. Also, there’s a difference between posting a piece on one’s own blog and submitting a poem to a publication where an editor chooses what will be published. I don’t consider blog posts to be equivalent to or synonymous with publication, but some do. In my mind, publication requires an editorial hand, even if it is only to say no. Or perhaps especially to say no. Quite a few publications accept pieces from personal blogs, or even previously published work, so I don’t worry about whether something I post on the blog will ever be published. Either it will or it won’t. I know that by posting a poem I’m limiting the possibilities, but there are still many other opportunities out there.

TQL: Yes and that is why seeing you as an example by putting faith in such mediums allows me another question because you have published several chapbooks of poetry through traditional small publication press. Would you care to tell us how you went on to build a credible list with such marginal platforms while informing us about the readership that you get through these channels, the nature of such platforms who have been diligently helping new authors in their individual capacity with limited finances, the sign of personal growth as a poet, and lastly how you see the future of publishing in our contemporary digital world?

RO: I believe the publishing world as we know it is becoming more and more symbiotic. Publishers rely, at least in part, on their authors having already established audiences for their work. A publisher once told me that if he was considering two manuscripts of equal quality, and one had a vibrant online presence, he’d choose the writer with the online presence, because they’d be more likely to sell books. The blogo-sphere and social networking are crucial to this.
To be truthful, I’ve been methodical about publication. I asked myself what would enhance my chances, and came up with this brief list: a) write better poetry, b) find or create a readership/community, c) get individual poems published in as many journals as possible. To reach these goals, I attended a few workshops (helpful, but not essential), created my blog, “O at the Edges,” and began targeting publications, i.e. matching poems I’d written to publications that published the type of poetry I wrote (or thought I wrote). This all took time (nothing happened overnight), but it was time well spent.
My publishers are able to tap into an established readership based largely on my blog, and I, in turn, am able to distribute my poetry through the publisher’s channels – via the printed books being made available for sale, through their assistance in marketing and spreading the word to strangers, and with their personal and publishing contacts.
I like to think that the future of publishing is bright – that technology and art can and will combine forces to continue moving forward. When I first started writing, everything was done via snail mail. The internet didn’t exist, smartphones were only a dream. There was no digital world. Writers now have more publication opportunities and options than ever before, with more on the way.

okaji - pine - interview

Second Part – Cutting Down the Anniversary Pine – TQL 2017

TQL: The technology, art and commerce can go hand in hand except there is a long way to see the future as bright and it should be bright in these times of chaotic network of information on the web. Now pausing here, I would like to take you to another space by evoking memories of my own experiences while trying to chart out a relation here. In Tokyo Story, Yasujiro shows contemporary Japan after the second world war with a subtle hint towards generational differences between young and old while exploring the meaning of warmth. kindness, loneliness, and aloofness through different characters as he does it with most of his movies which are different from his earlier work. He presents a humbled Japan trying to look at modernity while holding traditional beliefs which are rooted in natural world. In your poem, “Cutting Down the Anniversary Pine,” we could sense how spring, summer, winter, and autumn plays an important life and your poem resembles an earthy connection with earth while allowing a reader to experience sorrow. What led you to such a beautiful poem? Will you tell us how it germinated from a seed and expanded on to leave a meaning of time?


Okaji & Bridge
The genesis of this poem (and the others you published) is a bit unusual, in that they were drafted during a fund-raiser for Tupelo Press, in which 8 other poets and I were charged with raising funds by writing 30 poems in 30 days. One of the incentives I offered people, in hopes of enticing them to donate to the press, was to write poems to their titles. This particular title was sponsored by my brother-in-law, and I knew the story of the anniversary tree and have had a 30+ year relationship with him, so tapping into those histories established the poem’s parameters. The passage of time is of course crucial to the piece, as it is in many of my poems. We are such finite beings!

TQL: We are indeed but what about memory like this when you say, “If memory could speak, what would it not say? / Who else has rubbed this dust across his skin?” In this poem, Memory and Closets published in our inaugural April Edition in 2017, you unearth a picturesque memorabilia evoking objects that are lost and found again, which are of little importance except they last forever with us in our memories as writers, as poets. How did the poem arrive? What is memory for you Robert and how it is important for a poet to situate their being and contextualize life with larger ancestral and immediate societal environment in a constant flux?

RO: “Memory and Closets” was another sponsored poem, with the original title of “Cleaning Out Closets in Anticipation of Moving Closer to Children.” I chose an eclectic group of objects, some of which could be found in my house, others from imagination, with the hope of allowing readers to capture the sponsor’s intent and piece together their own stories from this grouping.
Poets have different focuses and means of extracting poems, so I can’t answer your question except from a personal angle: I can’t escape who and what I am, where I live, the various cultures and landscapes I’ve observed or participated in, the books I’ve read, the people encountered, the music and food sampled throughout a lifetime. They all contribute to whatever I produce, even if only in little nudges or micro-currents within larger pieces. I think it is important for poets to take notice of the world outside, to look beyond their personal lives. What they do with that is their choice.

TQL: We would like to hear a poem recited by you which is closer to your heart? (audio file)

RO: “A Word Bathing in Moonlight,” was published in Eclectica in summer 2017. The recording appears on my blog. The poem is:

A Word Bathing in Moonlight

You understand solitude,
the function of water,
how stones breathe
and the unbearable weight
of love. Give up, the voice says.
Trust only yourself.
Wrapped in light, you
turn outward. Burst forth.

TQL: That is a wonderful rendition, Robert and we thank you for providing it. This poem is a beautiful thought depicting forces of struggle and light. I like the texture it provides with the notion of solitude, water, and stone before opening the weight to say those words, Trust only yourself. Yet trust is what moves us as humans to belive in each other. Now moving over to the final two questions, we would like to know first, what is Education?

RO: Education is more than instruction, more than the accumulation of facts, skills and credentials. It is not simply memorization. It is a means by which we learn to analyze data, to draw together pieces of information, and reach theories or conclusions or suppositions. It is not black and white. It is not either/or. It is a constant state of learning, of seeking to learn. Education provides context, helps us frame questions. We should never stop questioning.

TQL: Thank you. Final question. What magical thing can you do for another person that would take no more than one minute of your life and which would change something in both for a lifetime to see?

RO: Sometimes a simple smile or greeting, an acknowledgment of another person’s humanity, can go a long way towards moving mountains.

TQL: Thank you. Have a great day.

RO: Thank you, you too have a great day.
Robert Okaji’s work appears in Boston Review, Vox Populi, Posit, Silver Birch Press, Panoply and elsewhere. You can find chapbooks from Robert Okaji here: