New in the Journal: November Edition
Dear reader,
The Alipore Post Journal is a space where we feature poems, artist showcases, interviews and photography series. We’re delighted to share the work we published in our website this month + a call for submissions (only for 2 weeks) at the end.
Poetry
A Tryst with Destiny by Aishwarya Roy
An amalgamation of science, divorced families, and love
/the universe tends to not care. Disappointment is the side-effect of caring. So she decided to become a dark, cold void, and called it 𝘭𝘪𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘴 (an ache to let things go)/
There's a great distance between Maa and Baba when they sleep on the same bed. I didn't quite understand the reason so I called it dark matter,
— 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘌𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨./the only time the universe ever changes is when something unfortunate happens (the universe is forced to feel something; even 𝘴𝘩𝘦 can’t escape from it)/
Maa picked up 53 moons of Jupiter and Saturn each, and strung them into two individual braids. The cosmos stayed in my hair the entire childhood, till it got combed out and fell like lice on the custody papers.
— 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘵.
/two planets collide, a meteor kills off an entire species, black holes take everything from the universe and give nothing in return/
Love doesn't come easy to the divorced family. It comes with the dirty pink walls of childhood, that look like the inside of my pulsating chest.
Our existence becomes a cosmic glitch of epic proportions. We stop seeing people as they are, we see them as we are,
— 𝘢 𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦-𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴.
I marinate my frozen lips in cheap red lipstick that smells like pickle (𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘔𝘢𝘢. 𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘯). In the crooks of my body my lover finds political resistances, chanting the sound of its holy unit, 𝘰𝘩𝘮 | ॐ.
And when I sunbath everyday with gamma bursts and Baba's leftover aftershave,
He tells me,
"You look so happy."
— 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐'𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶.Soliloquy by Swati Moheet Agrawall
I wonder how many people is a person in a day?
It arouses my curiosity to know the many selves
we inhabit within a day.
Do we masquerade under layers and layers of artificial niceties?
If we could be anything we wanted without consequences
what would we be?
Would we still rely on shelters of money, class and tradition
to save ourselves?
Or drop the veil to reveal the monsters napping inside our heads?
Every waking moment of our lives
we have one foot in the abyss
and the other steeped in fantasy.
Outside the cloistered environs
boundaries cease to exist
no collisions, no silhouettes,
we go on dreaming
just a little longer, just a little longer.
But it’s stifling,
the bottomless abyss, the sepulchre catacomb,
the key turned on us forever.
on this night by Parth Lakhani
on this night
rustling like prairie grass I sit owl-perched
on my window
a familiar book in hand
I read the last poem over and over until its lines
become a prayer
I read this poem that
I've returned to
everytime
days have shut like coffin doors
and then for the briefest of flashes like a candle
before its hushed out
the poem becomes a mirror.
I see the poet reflected
just like me - owl perched on their window sill
I know the poet's hands veined by light
have traced these words just like mine
I know then
these coffin days
have come and gone
in another's life
I know we don't share a homeland or even the same century but
I know that their
heart like mine bursts
with song
I know the poet
in these most fleeting seconds I know the poet
like I know my name
raabta.Ordinary Poem by Pavithra Kumar
It is the most boring time of day.
I sit by my warm desk,
half sheltered by the unmoving curtains,
and try to open a book,
without rubbing my eyes dry.
I can't find a sound to respond to,
not a movement to follow through,
not a person, not a dog,
everyone seems to be away from this hour.
I don't know what else I expected to do,
but I can't stay still anymore.
I flip the pages,
I open the curtains,
I jump out the window,
and land on warm grass.
I don't know what else I was expected to do,
so I lay there half sheltered,
by the extended roof of my home,
and look up at the leaves that bordered my vision.
A bird flies by and sits at the corner of my roof.
My shelter extends,
and I give in to the afternoon.
-how can children bear siestas?Are you the version of yourself
You wanted to be ten years ago?
Did you finally learn to sew?
You must repair torn sleeves and fraying
Hemlines because all the fast
Fashion brands you wanted to
Afford are making women on the
Other side of tracks work 16 hours
A day. And the women still can’t feed
Their children. Sewing wont help their
Children but it will help you turn
Old sarees into curtains. Sheer
Curtains without the stains of hunger
Will make your room look bigger.
Did you learn to cook
For yourself? Please cook only for
Yourself without any leftovers for the
Fridge or for hope that someone might
Just appear to share your bland khichdi
In your apartment filled with pretentious
Art and loneliness. Cooking for yourself
Will help turn loneliness into solitude.
There are many things to fight against,
Food should not be one of them.
Did you learn to grow plants? From a seed
Preserved from an overripe fruit you had no
Intentions of eating? You must understand that
Farming is an art. Not even ‘also’ an art.
Art. Period. When your seed refuses to
Germinate in spite of trying every other
‘Hack’ available online, sit back, drink
Some water and extend solidarity to all
The farmers, growers and nurturers.
Please don't order grown plants online
Later. Plants and trees are not ornaments
Like they taught you in architecture school.
There are many things you can buy, avoid
Putting living beings on to that list.
After three decades of existing on thisDelicate planet, the only assets you
Should have with you are the intangible
Ones, not considered as achievements.
Like the ability to repair, recycle and reuse
Not just materials but relationships too.
They say this is the right to invest and grow
Your money. They are right but 30 doesn’t
mean losing the right to make wrong choices.
You must resist the temptation to be right.
Right is boring. Right is stagnant. Right is
Indoctrination. Be on the wrong or in other
Words, on the left side of the present. You
Are exactly where you are supposed to be
And even if you aren't, there is no way of
Knowing where you should have been?
Art
The Mumbaikar Series: Rachita Vora
Rachita Vora’s The Mumbaikar series pays homage to the iconic magazine covers of The New Yorker.
"I’ve lived in both cities—Mumbai and New York—and to me, in so many ways, they are more similar than they are different. The recent construction and pollution notwithstanding, Mumbai is one of the world’s great cities, and I felt we needed a The Mumbaikar of our own. If not the literature and poetry, then at least the art. When I began working on it, I decided on two things. First, that I wanted to try and capture moments and sides of the city that you won’t find on a postcard or tourist souvenir—no Gateway of India, no auto rickshaws, no Rajabai Tower. And second, that the moments and sides I choose to illustrate, mean something to me and my own history with the city.”
-Rachita Vora
Check out more illustrations from the series here.
Interview
An illustrated interview with UK-based illustrator Laurel Pettitt, whose work constantly puts a smile on my face.
Do you have any warm-up exercises or rituals when it comes to your practice?
Laurel: I’ve tried the Pomodoro technique a few times, which is good for procrastination. I usually warm up by getting a bunch of reference pictures related to the project I’m working on and doodling them, playing with different pencils and pens until I feel relaxed and focussed. I like to have a tidy workspace. I think having something to respond to is a good way to get started, like an inspiring piece of text (a passage from a novel, a poem, a quote, an observation, a part of a conversation) or a photograph or illustration.
Read the full interview here.
CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS | THEME: WINTER
See you before this year ends with a whole lot of new poetry, art, inspiration and our year-end interview series. The Alipore Post is also a weekly newsletter on poetry, art, music, photography and all things creative. Curated with love. Designed to inspire.