THE HAIBUN GALLERY: 14th May 2026 Teji Sethi - Guest Editor
- Srinivas Sambangi
- May 14
- 2 min read
Updated: May 15
Editors on haikuKATHA: Shalini Pattabiraman, Vidya Shankar, Firdaus Parvez and Kala Ramesh
Guest Editor: Teji Sethi
Host: Srinivas Sambangi
Featured Poet: Rupa Anand
A Thursday Feature
14th May 2026
Documenting Personal Stories in Haibun
Like other Japanese short forms, I presume haibun also saw a literary migration to the Indian subcontinent around the same time as haiku. When I first came to haiku, I dared not attempt haibun as the form looked too prosaic, and I was always drawn to micro-poems. Then I stumbled upon some Indian poets writing haibun and tanka prose and was utterly pleased to see them retain the flavour of Indian words and cultural rhythms. These were narratives of their towns, temples, local celebrations vividly portraying Indian landscapes and sensibilities, written in simple English yet true to haikai aesthetics. I instantly took up writing haibun and tanka prose. In 2019, I wrote my first first tanka prose about my grandfather's 72-year- old Lahore house. It got published in Ribbons.
The haibun I showcase today is by Rupa Anand, in which she documents a personal story from the erstwhile Punjab.
Tana-Bana
for Lila Anand
Rupa Anand
Mother-in-law had eight siblings. Her family lived in Lahore, in unpartitioned India, and after a brief romance she married Dad, who lived in Delhi. My husband, born in 1948, a year after India’s independence from the British Raj, was the second of four boys.
verdant green
a Himalayan bluetail
skims the skies
Come June, when the holidays started, this charming school teacher would take these rascals across the Indian border by train to the family house in Lahore, Pakistan. There, they would run amok, climbing trees, scraping knees, chasing chickens, milking cows and dunking mangoes in buckets of chilled water with the pulp trickling down skinny elbows. The home ensconced in farmland resounded with laughter and pattering feet.
chatai on the grass —
finding faces
in faraway clouds
As the holidays drew to an end, Mother would begin packing the bulky khaki hold-alls of that era crammed with pickled goodies, summer mischief and her sons. And catch the train back to New Delhi.
white jasmine
over our neighbour’s fence
scenting both sides
the fragrance of family
deep in every heart
Note: ‘Tana-Bana’ is a Sanskrit term referring to the fundamental process of weaving, specifically the warp (Tana) and weft (Bana)
Contemporary Haibun Online 22:1, April 2026.
Guest Editor: Jenny Ward Angyal
Prompt for Writers
I'd like you to refresh your memories and map a narrative from your native. Revisit the lanes of your childhood and bring them out on paper. Dig up some vernacular words and create an imagery of yesteryears. If not haibun, you'll surely find a haiku or a tanka hiding in the crevices of your memories! You can even build a narrative around them.
***
Thank you, Teji, for another interesting haibun and the prompt this week.
_Srinivas
#1
Kuire
blocking the river
landslide causes
a dam
Bursting of the dam changes the shape and flow of the Myagdi River forever. The river becomes ruder and unfriendly. It loses all deep, calm parts of the river, ideal for swimming, sheltering the aquatic creatures.
We would swim in our Myagdi River, a snow-fed river with the coolest water in early and late summer. We would swim naked because we didn't wear undies. Our penises would awfully shrink. After plunging in the river each time, we would lie down flat over the boulders that burned our tummies in the beginning. It would go almost all day. Besides, we would run amok along the river bank, pick…
#1
Edited. Thanks to Tejendra.
Therapy
Few in our street owned a radio. It used to be a luxury. We were lucky, for there was a radio in our living room. An old one Dad had picked up. Somewhere.
It was chocolate brown, with a yellow dial.
There were days when it worked. The family gathered before it to enjoy magic moments. Great singers. Famous actors acting out audio plays. Cricket commentaries. I searched for holes on the radio’s body to find out who were sitting inside.
There were days when it went silent midway through a programme. Dad used to lean forward and give it a slap. The treatment worked. Sometimes.
cancer
perhaps they’ll…
Such a passionate writing by Rupa. Very heartwarming prompt, THG team!
#2, 18/05
Whats(upp)
My brother messages:
I am staying at the Courtyard Marriott near Heathrow. I go to breakfast at 7:45 am and the breakfast place is filled with Indians. I joke to the hostess that I am late, she smiles and tells me there are empty tables in the back.
I am now mentally preparing to hustle in the food section because you know you are in Little India, nobody is patient. I am taking few slices of toast but then I see a familiar dish. I stir it to make sure I am not dreaming. No! What? POHA? Never seen Poha in any western hotel! I sit down to eat and I am bombarded by Gujar…
Sumaithangi — the load bearers
My grandchildren and I head to the beach to watch the waves dance the pebbles to perfection. The five-year-old twins are delighted, rubbing these pebbles on my cheeks and exclaiming, ‘Look! How smooth!’ The wonder is evident in every word they speak.
I step back quietly, congratulating myself for letting this magical moment remain untouched and unspoiled by my interference. I nearly blurted out that the sand they're standing on was formed from pebbles that once were a boulder. Sharing this information wouldn't have added any value to their moment of discovery.
My daughter follows a parenting approach that believes less is more. Allowing children the freedom to explore, make mistakes, and try again. We can…