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In memoriam Toshio Matsumoto Mk. 2 III / Shift III

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Affairs Mk. 3 LV / Gifzi Iconic Brand

 I. (Cont.)

The subjects will not know, that today Maharaja Birchandra Manikya will take photographs from the verandah of the palace. Today, representatives from each tribe under his dominion will gather at the capital; just the perfect occassion. Recently he brought a new camera from Bavaria, it was marketed as being highly capable of telephoto shots; the King will get to test the new gear out as well.

Some bands have arrived already. To faciliate their hosting, the grand courtyard in front of the palace is ready, with tents and spaces specified according to the royal guests' tribal identities. Each of the present bands was coming forth under the verandahs of the Royal Palace, shouting exaltation in name of the King; before settling into their designated spaces. During this time of tribal induction into the ceremony, there existed no custom for the King to be present amidst; the tribes are functionally pledging loyalty to the palace itself. After the sunset, when the moon of Dashami springs onto the sky, then the King, belonging to the mythical Chandra pedigree, will arrive at the courtyard, standing on a moderate platform to address the head of each tribe and accept their gifts. Registry is not obligatory today. The grand feast's expenditure was arranged entirely from the royal treasury; but no matter how poor these simple tribesmen were, they would not arrive at the King's palace empty-handed. After the induction and reception is through, the King will have dinner with the tribesmen on a giant rosette in the courtyard.

This tradition has been observed officially since time long forgotten: Hasham Feast on the day of Bijaya Dashami. Some like to call it Ashama Feast, weighing towards a more standard language. Among these many tribes, there were many disparities across a large number of metrics and criteria. Almost everyone was below the poverty line and in half-garments; regardless, some of them consider their own to be of a higher caste than some others. There was no social tolerance towards marriages between would-be spouses of different tribes. Just a few days ago, a Chakma dame looking to put garlands on a Halam youth drew the ire of the local Chakma community. Consequently, both of them were chased down and lynched by the angry mob. The Halam community was discriminated against by many others in the region; because they belonged to the slave class and they had no independent livelihood. On the contrary, the Halam proudly state that this grand feast on Bijaya Dashami is actually the Halam Feast. Once upon a time, Tripura military was primarily composed of Halam tribesmen; hence, they are not slaves but first-line servers of the King as his warriors and, exactly due to that reason, the Maharajas of the royal bloodline have observed this annual dinner throughout the ages. Whichever the traditional root might be, and regardless of the prior rules, Maharaja Birchandra Manikya wants to unite all the tribes on this day and, by example of the feast partaken by all, neutralise any kind of perceived discrimination between them. He wants to remind them that each tribe is united under the larger body of the kingdom.

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Nowhere/Nothing XI / When Your Heroin(e) Has Gone

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Melancholia Mk. 2 L / Stranded

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Nowhere/Nothing X / Midnite Crawleers

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In memoriam Ernest Hemingway II / For Whom the Bell Tolls II (Robert and María Under the Smog, Day 3)

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In memoriam Jibanananda Das IV / নির্জন স্বাক্ষর II

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Melancholia Mk. 2 XLIX / Sonder II

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Portraits XII / Cold Lamping

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Melancholia Mk. 2 XLVIII / Geheimnis II

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Portraits XI / Swervedriver

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Luma-Chroma VIII / Winter is Warm, Living is Violet (Alternative Impression from Vashti Bunyan's Winter is Blue #1)

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Ontopology XXXIX / Brightwhiteburnt

 I. (Cont.)

Maharaja Birchandra Manikya however, had no idea about the identity of that young Kuki man who had collapsed to meet his whim. Lal Chokla is a sworn enemy of the royal family and the fact that the king was attempting to capture Lal Chokla's direct descendant by black magic had spread like a wildfire. The tension that could lead to another Kuki rebellion was therefore hanging by a fine thread. Maharaja was deeply confused, despite many reasonings and weighing of factors he could not simply get to the bottom of it. In Sonamura, there was no place for official medical treatment. The locals were simply drinking potions of milk-pushkarini to deter, remedy and even cure all ailments. The nearest option was Kumilla: about five or six miles from the current location. Maharaj knew that there was an esteemed homeopathic physician there. He had mounted Biru Chokla, the then-unconscious Kuki man, on his personal elephant and without any unnecessary prolongation, was on his way to Kumilla. Much to his relief, Biru Chokla had become completely well within just one day.

After that event, Maharaja has entirely abandoned the idea of photographing his subjects.

"How would they know what a photograph is? How many of them have ever even seen their own faces clearly, let alone a photograph? Born into this earth as man, then retraced back to the weavings of the soil without having ever seen themself as man... How tragic..." When the daily meal is uncertain, and the wear as minimal as a single piece of cloth— in such jungle-huts, the mirror is a grand luxury. The women usually see their faces on still waters. The problem, however, is that the stagnant waters are usually tinged; and on the other hand, the crystalline waters of rivers and lakes have too much flow to sustain a clear image. So, the water kept in earthen pots, which is bleached over the span of two or three days become the mirror in the clear sun of the noons. Women look at their reflections in deep hypnosis. The womenkind is much predisposed to beauty and its pursuits. Men do not usually have these concerns. Some behaviours are better suited for women, for men to attempt these is demeaning. If some curious teenage boy happens to glance at these pots kept for reflectory purposes, he is met with scorn from the father figures. Sometimes they even take drastic measures such as subjecting them to tracing their noses across the cold, hard soil. Curious boys and youths like these, if they happen to travel to or simply pass by bodies of waters like a fountain or a lake. Maybe if their sole intention was to drink; having accidentally or intentionally seen their faces, a deeply curious yet mesmerising inquiry rises to the mind: "is this me"?

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Melancholia Mk. 2 XLVII / Kärlek IV

 I. (Cont.)

It takes time to properly photograph. On a tripod, the giant camera must be placed proportionately so as not to introduce movemental blurs. To ensure that the viewfinder is not muddled by external light, the photographer must shroud himself and the camera with a dark, silken cloth. And then the focus must be tinkered to perfection, or close to the idea of perfection. The young Kuki man was placed underneath a jackfruit tree- the breadth of Lalsai hills in the horizon behind. Soon, the king had entered his dark shroud; and the people in his cortège- Mahim Thakur, Haider Kha, Nisar Hossain and numerous others instantly had placed a rather unrefined demand on the Kuki man: "Hey, don't even move by an inch! Keep your breath held, don't dare to drop your eyelids. The Noblemen are going to see your picture".

Maharaja was being tedious with focus determination, minutes upon minutes had passed and all the while, the others were reminding the man to be resilient with keeping the expectations placed on him. It was unsure how much of those he had understood but a few moments later, he had collapsed on the ground with a twisted-eye. A strong, young man like that- he was flailing about like a just-decapitated goat; there were gooey-aquatic emissions coming out of his mouth. His brethren who, until then, were only crowding at a distance, had broken into screams upon experiencing the sight. Instantly there was a new gossip in the air: the king has trapped the soul of the Kuki man in a strange black box.

This gossip had garnered a significant credibility due to one specific reason, or rather— an event. Compared to other tribes, the Kukis are fierce and have had rebelled against the royal power several times already. And coincidentally, that Kuki man was the youngest son of Lal Chokla. That Lal Chokla, the fearless leader of an influential Kuki sect, who had, once upon a time, attacked an important village of Monipuris- Kochabari. What was the motive behind this operation? To gather several fresh heads to be offered to his father La'ru's grave. The cases of such conflicts amidst deep jungles do not usually reverberate all the way to the royal court; but since Monipuris enjoyed a deep influence therein, the royal family was deeply disturbed and enraged by this instigation. Monipuri daughters come to this family as future queens. Obviously, there exists an inate bias among the general people towards their in-laws, and the kings are not exempt from this rule. So there were many Monipuris in the capital living both as citizens and serving in high-ranking official roles. The Monipuris were hellbent on punishing Lal Chokla, the leader of Kukis and ultimately he was captured with the help of English soldiers and put to justice— lifetime banishment.

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Animal Affirm XI / Methluck and Dogspeed (White Light / White Heat)

 I. (Cont.)

All the subjects in this state are aboriginals, divided into various ethnicities and had ethnolinguistic differences too. Because of geological inaccessibilities and distance, Vedic civilisation has hardly had any effect on these regions. In modern times, foreign influences of Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam, and most recently- Christianity have seeped into the stage, and academic education as a result of all these; yet their obedience to native languages and cultures remains firm. The royal family although, is always busy about proving their Aryan Hindu heritage. Maharaja Birchandra Manikya's favourite language is Bengali, and for a long time Bengali has been the official language in the state of Tripura. Keeping up with the latest fashion, some royal secretaries have even learned a page or two of English. They went as far as to imply the proposition of English in court affairs to the king, although all that returned was scorn and thus a swift end to that implication. After the Sepoy Mutiny, the British queen has strengthened the chokehold in India almost ubiquitously, when it comes to ultimate governance; but just like the state of Tripura was never a subject to the Mughal empire, the same degree of submission, or more euphemically, "allegiance" has maintained its chain to the British empire. Maharaja wants to be free of the British empire as much as possible, in cultural influence and governance alike.

Be that as it may, he has an obsessive addiction to a certain British product: camera. Even thirty, fourty years ago no one had heard even its name, and the very concept of it seems to be alien to this day. The connoisseurly Maharaja has, over the years, brought many top-of-the-line cameras from Britain and France; learned both the practice of photography and the development in the dark room.

Many instances of him stunning his queens and princes by making them portraits exist, but photographing his subjects might be akin to an ordeal at times. A few years ago, he had went on a hunting trip to Sonamura, with the entire entourage of cameras at his disposal. Upon seeing a Kuki youth there, a thought had sprung onto his mind: "the existence of such body must be very rare among humans". "As if a god made of pitch black darkness". Not only his physique was flawless, he had a certain tender contrast on his face to complete the look. Even in front of the king himself, he had no confusion, flattery, exaggerated respect— as if he was seeing the world for the very first time. Instinctively, the Maharaja had a deep desire to photograph him and show it to select individuals.

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In memoriam Vern Rumsey & For Justin Trosper and Sara Lund I / Lady Elect

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In memoriam Andrei Tarkovsky IV / Nostalghia III

 I. (Cont.)

Coming from all sides are the Tripuris, they are the largest in number by far. There are many horse-mounters among them, the women covered in more elaborate clothings, and they too love music. The Tripuris have numerous elephants in their flight, although the elephants have none but the operator on each of their backs. These elephants are offerings to the king. The other tribals are also bringing various offerings, regardless of the degree of magnificence. Sacks full of premium cotton, sacks packed with tangerines of Jampui hills, passionately stringed batches of pineapples, finest of fresh Joom harvests, several fawns... Today is Vijayadashami, and there's a grand feast to be held in the capital.

From various places of the state, thus, these people are heading towards the capital. Some of the collectives have set on the journey two-three days earlier so that they might reach there by the evening of Vijayadashami. The king's invitation is absolute.

By the reclining end of the royal palace's hallway is standing, in a ruminative mood, Maharaja Birchandra Manikya, of the Chandra lineage. He's a sovereign even in the widespread British-governed India. Legends say that he's a descendant of Mahabharata's Yayati. On the text, Maharaja Yayati, being dissatisfied with with various desires, had asked for youth to be lended from his sons. Whichever of the unlucky ones among them had refused, or was unable to meet this absurd demand, was banished by the angered Yayati. Among the banished was one called Druhya, who had abandoned Aryavarta and travelled many miles to settle in the outskirts of north-eastern India: Kirat. There he defeated the regional king to establish a new dominion: Tripura. According to that legend, the unbroken lineage- the Chandra Dynasty's One-Seventy-Fifth's inheritor is Maharaja Birchandra Manikya.

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Melancholia Mk. 2 XLVI / দক্ষিণ II

I. (Cont.)

Chakmas are coming from Kailashahar, Sabrum, Udaypur. There are much less noises from their groups, it appears that they prefer moving in quiet contemplation, more observant and immersive with their surroundings than exerting. However, their women had a weakness for flowers as they were, from the beginning, latched onto the wildflowers' serene gravitas. Some of them plucked a few flowers. Chakmas are Buddhists.

From Dharmanagar and Kamalpur's directions are coming the Lusai and Kuki communities. These two have not much differences in terms of communal values; however in etiquettes and social norms, the Lusai, over the ages, have become somewhat disparate. There are even some Christian converts among them, some pursued academic education. The intolerant and unempathetic Lusai, regardless of some of them embracing the nurture of Christianity, have still not quite overcome the confusion of wildly different ideologies. The word Lusai come from Lu-chai: decapitator. Has it even been long since they were, in great enthusiasm, bringing heads of Bengalis and Monipuris to venerate the funeral rites of their deceased leaders? Now the padres are teaching them: "Love thy neighbours". The aspect where they diverged from the Kukis is daily clothing. Kuki women do not bother with covering their torsos; contrarily, the Lusai females are topped in, albeit scantily, clothes of their own weaving. Those clothes are aggressively red like the head of wild cocks. And then there are two or three young men who preferred the more civic clothes bestowed upon from the padres. Preference or obligation? Remains to be seen. 

Coming are the Jamatiya, the Halam, the Nowatiya, the Mog. Munda— Vil— Garo— Khasia— Orang; many other tribes. From the forests and the hills- their sanctuary, they are wading out towards a common destination. Amongst them, the Halam and the Jamatiya are lacking the big number of women compared to others. The men are all armed, and instead of songs, battlecries are saturating the air from moment to moment. However, even they knew today is no day to be causing strife. Today is indeed a special one, festive. 

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Nachtstücke Mk. 2 XIII / Ohne Titel III

First Light: Part I

Sunil Gangopadhyay

Trans. by K.L.

Foreword: I love this novel so much that I have (again) decided to continue translating it to English even though one already exists. I do not know whether anyone uses the term "hyperlink historical fiction" to refer to literary works but First Light gives me just the feels of a Jacques Rivette movie (sans the weirdness) so I'll call it just that. At 1200+ pages long, it's quite a daunting task but I figured it would be a good exercise and a very great introduction to me doing large-scale translation work. Moreover, my upcoming original novel that I'm drafting in Bengali (it's apparently inspired by the tragedy of Armenian Genocide and more particularly, the visionary painter Arshile Gorky; one of my foremost icons) should benefit from revisiting a complex classic in the language. I should not have flunked the BN grammar classes back in school but it was and still is SO hard. Anyway, with three concurrent original novels + a shitload of experimental poetry backlog AND a long-ass translation project, I just got too many plugs up in my fucking butt 😹

I. 

Today is a rather serene one. There's no scorn in the gentle beams of the sun, while the breeze is steady in its gratitude: and then there's the stark appearance of the mountain-ranges in the horizon to complete it all. Last few days were drenched with incessant rain, it's only by the evening yesterday there was an end, and by today the sky has become spotlessly blue, other than the vibrant castles of the clouds to adorn it. The trees and vegetations in the jungle have just risen from a thorough bath, basked in a newfound vibrancy. They are radiating the joy of it all about. It's as if today is indeed a festive one. 

And it seems like the people are in sync too. Coming down from the hills, and moving through the jungles they are heading towards the capital: like the aggregate streams of many rivers which were nonetheless maintaining each of their sovereignty. What they have in common however, is that the number of children and old folks is very low; for the road is long and the path is dependent on footwork, hence: men and women of physical adeptness. All of them are dressed in special outfits, even those who pay no heed for unnecessary flamboyance on regular days. However, there are still not much difference in the way of clothing— tops are more or less similar in type regardless of designs. The women have various jewelleries, hair flourished ornately with flowers or headdresses. Necklaces of flowers. Necklaces made of various bones and then were those made of even rarer flowers. A few select men have crowns made of feathers.

It's looking like the hill itself is caught in that nonmechanical, joyful yet almost ritualised procession. Forestfolks coming out of the foresthills. From Amarpur, Biloniar are marching the flock of Riangs. Composed of almost 200 men, this particular group has a particular discipline. Almost everyone is on feet, there is one person mounted on a horse. A stallion of medium stature, on which rode a dignified yet not-intimidating-in-prescence old man; the situation leaves very little to interpretation that he indeed is the leader of the Riangs. To make sure the leader sustains his dignity, there is someone holding an umbrella over him, and in their wake is a band of two musicians: one is thudding on a drum, the other— making flute resonances. The leader has a special piece of quilt around his shoulders. From the wavering, unfocused gaze of his eyes, it could be assumed that the last night's debauchery is still in residual effect. But still, from moment to moment he would put himself together, and assert non-verbal authority by looking solemnly around his contingent. Not just authority, sometimes the affective demeanour of his eyes betrayed a sense of callousness— he cannot take any instance of disobedience kindly. The leader, in their tongue, is called the Rai. And the second-in-command, the Raikachak, although reaching the threshold of senility already, is not meek at all. He has a muscular physique despite his age: the chest appeared as if a black stone, relayed the black stone's grit as well in his sense of pride; and he has a harpoon in his hand to match the bite. The Raikachak is not dignified on a horse, yet whenever he stopped, there are two servants who would almost dissolve into prostration and cleanse the grime off his feet. Anyway, in the rear end of this moving queue, out of the perceptual range of the leaders, there are young men singing a parodical song, with women of similar age joining their chorus, sometimes they would burst out in laughters that almost hindered their movements. Even after hours upon hours of travelling on feet, there are no signs of exhaustion in them, at least not on their countenances.

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Portraits of Leo XI / Gloomyhandsome

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In memoriam Ernest Hemingway I / For Whom the Bell Tolls I (Robert and María under the Clouds, Day 2)

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For Roger Karmanik XX / Oh, What a Night! (Dödsambient II)

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Melancholia Mk. 2 XLV / Stellari II

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Affairs Mk. 3 LIV / News from Home

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In memoriam Arshile Gorky V / নিশীথ, গূঢ়তা & স্মৃতিলীনা II

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Affairs Mk. 3 LIII / Smoking on the Typa $hit That Eluded Akashic Records' Mayday Foresights and Necessitated Mathematically Unfeasible Post-Neologisms for Description Purpose Which Then Were Instantly Lost to Time (And In the Aftermath, Emanated Telepathic Waves that Compulsed All the Fathers of Future Nostradamuses into Being Permanent Rubberfuckers and Trapped Their Would-be Mothers unto Sloping Down into Comatose from Birth Control Overdose XD)

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For Julia Holter XIII / Have You In My Wilderness III (...Lady of Gold... Tell me why I do feel you running away...)

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In memoriam Bryn Jones III / Bloodstain

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In memoriam Kaija Saariaho IV / Huomioita valosta IV

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Nowhere/Nothing IX / How Welcome is Death to I, Who Have Nothing More to Do but Die II

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Souvenirs du temps passé VI / Marjanne's Wedding, Delinquent Alcohol, Grammatical Allegories for Oils Derived from Nasal Bridges and Other Stories

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Affairs Mk. 3 LII / Pacakge Season

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Luma-Chroma VII / Sedated Kings

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Diegetic Annals VII / But Who's the Griller? (🤚🫵🤙)

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Quantisation Gestures II / Herpes Cineplex II: The Dead Cocksuckers of Guernica (Director's Uncut)

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Portraits X / Vardagsnytt III