The history and geography of floods: the emotional, psychological and economic aspects of rehabilitation. 1. Floods in rural Bihar & the victims of policies - Dinesh Kumar Mishra, Sayanangshu Modak 2. River governance and politics in India - Dr. Nilanjan Ghosh, Sayanangshu Modak Books on flood: role of literature in generating victim sensitivity. 3. The Sound of Water: Death, Displacement, Disaster - Sanjay Bahadur, Aisik Maiti 4. No One Had a Tongue to Speak: Collapse of the Machhu Dam - …
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Driven by Floods If we believe that development and progress always bring relief to people in their everyday lives, the current climate change debate should be an eye-opener. The era of frequent flying for work or vacations is increasingly being recognized as a major factor in human impact on global climate. While many of these activities are restricted due to the global pandemic, what we as people choose to do when the world resumes its regular rhythm is the important question. Linked to this…
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POEMS ---- Title: When the Flood Stops Poet: Chaitali Sengupta Poet Intro: Chaitali Sengupta is a writer and a poet by passion, a financial analyst and a language teacher by profession. She’s a translator and volunteer journalist, based in the Netherlands. “Cross Stitched words”, her debut collection of prose-poems, has been recently published by SETU publications, USA. Her two translated works (from Bengali to English) are “Quiet whispers of our heart” & “A thousand words of heart”. She has con…
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MELANCHOLIC EXISTENCE
Aug 18, 2021
Sambhu was repairing his broken boat at the bank of the river, when the water receded due to low tides after 12 PM. Haren was also present there, helping him in this work. Both of them were discussing the scary fight they had with the demonic waves just two days ago, on a full-moon night. Munni too was there with her father, to accompany him in his strenuous work. She asked her father, “Father, is there any way we can escape from this island?” Her father gave a sorrowful look at Haren…
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SHE WALKS OVER THE FLOOD
Aug 10, 2021
The mother smells flood, as the rippling water, comes crashing at her door, singing an ominous song. It’s thunderous voice, asks for alms, she offers her lone utensil which washes away through the sheets of rain, bobbing up and down, without apology. Her roof as short-lived as the life of a small golden fish, drips and cracks with the next roar. Her children huddles together, under the big bucket. Like a wet crow waiting but not uttering a single ‘caw.’ A blurred, bedraggled destiny, stares …