Branwyn is the Goddess of love, beauty, mischief and mystery. It also relates to genuine literature. The name has been tossed by Lavkesh Kumar Singh.

Publisher and Director Vineeta Gupta

Founder and Editor-in-Chief Sneha Gupta

Mentor Dr. Subodh Kumar Jha

Managing Editor Parul Parihar

Tech Support Rahul Kumar Singh

Legal and Financial Advisor Abhishek Singhania

Contacts: Email :

snehagupta01989@gmail.com sneha@branwyn.in

Website : www.branwyn.in

Editorial :

My Dear Readers,

I am delighted to churn out the First

Anniversary Issue of Branwyn this

month. I and my entire team

congratulate you for having supported

us throughout the past one year by

your invaluable suggestions and

critiques. No piece of literature can

ever progress without its readers.

And, I must tell you that you are and

shall be our Sole Guide and Patrons for

all our present and future endeavors.

Let me recollect that the mission of

our magazine is to give a delightful

reading experience to the lovers of

popular fiction with their very ‘own’

magazine of popular fiction and

simultaneously providing a platform

to those millions of hidden writers

who want to write but do not find an

encouraging platform to vent out their

talent. I assure you that we shall

continue to give space to such writers

in our upcoming issues and keep

adding further more interesting

segments.

Once again, my sincerest thanks to you

and I wish that we shall continue to

nurture under your perennial

guidance and support.

With lots of wishes,

Sincerely,

Sneha Gupta

When Sneha told me about her magazine I knew that there is

something very different and interesting in pipeline. I wouldn’t say

that I haven’t seen better magazines than Branwyn, but yes, the

remarkable success which Branwyn has got, itself defines its

freshness and wide acceptability. The content of Branwyn makes

the biggest contribution in its success. And yes, not to forget its

easy and wide circulation.

I congratulate each and every member of Branwyn Family. Dr.

Subodh, Mr. Gaurav, Mr. Koushik, Mr. Lavkesh, Miss Parul and

every person associated with Branwyn deserve a wide applause.

Branwyn’s first anniversary is really a moment of celebration. But

it is just the beginning. And for Sneha, it is just a single step

towards success. You have a long way to go and greater heights to

scale.

My heartfelt wishes to entire Branwyn Family comprising the

writers and readers.

Wishing all of you a grand future ahead.

- Shailesh Kumar,

Bureau Chief, Hindustan,

Hajipur

Branwyn is like a shining star in the sky of Indian Literature. The

achievements of Branwyn itself speak about its capabilities. I really

appreciate the endless efforts of all the people behind the scene.

I wish such moments of celebrations become a routine for Branwyn. And

with every passing year, Branwyn shine more brilliantly. I wish Branwyn

to reach in every corner of the world and in everybody’s hands. I wish

Branwyn to become a global magazine of Indian Literature.

Sneha, great job! Keep it up! God bless you, my dear!

- Dr. Meera Singh,

Principal,

Women’s College

Branwyn Success Saga

Branwyn’s first issue – Feb 2013. An

attempt appreciated by Times of

India.

Branwyn’s second issue – March

2013. Got published on “Top of the

World” website attaining a

readership of 4,00,000.

Branwyn’s third issue – April

2013.

Branwyn’s fourth issue – May-June

2013. Appreciations followed with

huge email subscriptions. Branwyn got

registered email subscriptions via 3

email groups [googlegroups] with

aggregate 6,10,000 members. And thus

Branwyn shared joy with its 10,00,000,

readers.

Branwyn’s fifth issue – July-

August 2013. A new

experiment.

Branwyn’s sixth issue – Sep-Oct

2013. Success story goes on…

Branwyn’s seventh issue – Nov-

Dec 2013. The Christmas Special

edition which made readers fall

in love with Branwyn again…

Branwyn’s eighth issue – Jan

2014.

The magic continues…

Three Questions : Faraaz Kazi

Branwyn : What is your stand on the possibilities of earning livelihood as a full time writer? Faraaz : It's still not a reality in India unless you happen to draw five points on someone while spending a night in a call centre and making three mistakes of your life in two different states and hoping for a revolution by the year 2020. This is definitely what young India wants (esp. young writers) but the truth is at quite some distance. Branwyn : Don’t you think that true love

stories should be published under the non-fiction category? Faraaz : It all depends on how one writes it. Whether one fictionalizes or introduces himself/herself as the primary protagonist, what is the degree of fact/fiction and many such aspects. I'm not against writing one's own life story but it is kind of cheap when people look to leverage relationships to sell a book. It shows one's character when to put it simply their strongest marketing appeal is 'My girlfriend dumped me/passed away/ran off, please buy my book.’ If it is not marketed that way then it's a good thing because writing itself is cathartic and every individual's experiences are different, it gives the reader a good view of life in general.

Branwyn : A classy romantic Faraaz with Truly, Madly, Deeply and then a scary Faraaz with The Other Side! Should we get prepared for a Comic Faraaz with your next book? Faraaz : Vous ne savez jamais! (You never know!)

Faraaz Kazi hardly needs any introduction. Just adding a formal touch, is a versatile personality- a writer,

entrepreneur, management guru, singer, soft-skills trainer, media man, all rolled in one! The author of

romance fiction TRULY, MADLY, DEEPLY and horror fiction THE OTHER SIDE, Faraaz is one of the most

promising writers of India and a source of inspiration for others. In spite of his extremely busy schedule,

Faraaz managed some time for an interview for Branwyn readers.

Faraaz Kazi

Faraaz in his famous Nawaab style

Thanks for being with us Mr. Faraaz Kazi. Branwyn Family wishes you all the very best in all your future endeavours.

Daniel‘s Diary, a book, hundreds of people have been talking about from various parts of India, is now

creating a world of magic in the book stores. As I write this piece, the book is looking at me, gracefully - like an

enchanting fairy princess, waiting for the artist to paint her beauty on the canvas, with the full cognizance that the

artist will not be able to reveal the whole charm to the viewer!

The back cover of the book is blessed by the words of the Ketan Mehta, the veteran film maker,

director and poet of the Silver Screen. From the very comments of this reputed personality, it becomes clear

to all that the book is not the ‘use and throw types ‘which are over flooding the market. It has been created

by dedication, hard work and sincerity.

The very title of the book, ‘Daniel’s Diary’ makes us wonder, if this is about the diary of some guy

called Daniel, then why people are calling this, a novel? Remember Rabindranath’s Tagore’s Chaturanga? It

was a diary written under the genre of the novel. Take a look at Quarratulain Hyder’s novel, Aag Ka Dariya

or The River of Fire - It is a novel too and then again it has /diary, letters, verses and what not. Yes, all these

are novels and their creators have acquired space among the most erudite authors of the world. Novel, as a

A delightful tale of Love and Passion : Daniel’s Diary

The cover of the book is the gateway to that magical world of

the Mughal Emperor, the Hindu princess, the innocent - emotional

artist Mrinalini and her friends and love interests. The very title,

Daniel’s Diary is engraved in gold that has adorned the crowns of

the great emperors of India, the color which is the embodiment of

the charismatic Indian woman, the symbol which reflects beauty,

love, pride and power. Daniel’s Diary carries all these elements as

the gateway welcomes us to the world of this book. A picture of a

diary, left open, on the cover, instigates us to know what is written

in it, adding the aroma of mystery which persists till the vague end

of the book. Of course, there are more elements on the cover:

picture of the remnants of an antique building, with some green

leaves, which stand out as the symbol of the present and of course,

the majestic sword. If you are wondering, why am I talking about

the cover, well, I would like to say that the cover is one of the axis

of this magical world and of course, in order to know and

understand the dimension, it is important to know about the axis

too.

Before proceeding to other aspects, I would like to

talk about the mother of this wonderful child. She is not

Aphrodite who created Cupid, the notorious flying chap

who uses his powers to make people fall in love. She is

Rajeswari Chauhan, a freelance writer, an artist and a

teacher. She doesn’t need to give her baby, weapons to

make people fall in love for her child has been created

with those elements, passed on to him by the mother

which makes people fall in love; there is really no need

to throw an arrow. And, of course, it is not just love, it

something beyond love… a mystery… a journey.

A delightful tale of discovery and passion with finely etched characters,

careful detailing of ambience and atmosphere, and nuanced play of

emotions.

-Ketan Mehta

Veteran Film Maker, Director and Poet of Silver Screen

Feature Cover Story : SOURINDHRI

genre was a typically western concept, which has

come down to us, Indians, through the British Raj.

Writing from within this foreign tradition,

Rabindranath Tagore and Qurratulain Hyder

worked out their way, creating new spaces and

scopes for the genre of the Indian novel, extending

the limit of the horizon of expectation to an

unlimited universe, making it more difficult for the

scholars to define the parameters of the novel,

specially the Indian novel. This new tradition,

which has started with Tagore, got its wings in the

able hands of Quarratulain Hyder, is now

conquering the skies of the world like a majestic

phoenix. Rajeshwari Chauhan is the most

deserving heir to this tradition and this Rajput

artist, with her glorious legacy of Padmini and

others has surely proved her potential and

capability. The chapters are numbered, not named.

Rajeshwari Chauhan has given us the full freedom

to think of the title of the chapters and has not

restricted us within the contours of her own

imagination. The novel starts with an omnipresent

narrator, who talks about Mrinalini and seems to

know everything about everyone. As we delve

deep into the novel, we find this narrator being

replaced by the character, who reads out from

Daniel’s Diary; the omnipresent narrator’s voice

and the character, reading Daniel Diary’s play hide-

and-seek, and ends with the voice of the narrator,

completing the cycle of narration. However,

besides using the form of a diary, Rajeshwari

Chauhan has incorporated verses, from old

traditions, adding a beautiful lyrical note to the

prose narrative.

It is not easy to say the theme of the book.

The apparent theme of love and mystery take up a

whole new level through art and the process of

creation. Here, every work of creation, speaks for

itself and its creator. In the same way, Daniel’s

Diary speaks volumes for the wisdom, versatility,

creative aura and the adroit command over

language of Rajeshwari Chauhan, the paintings, the

diary and the music speak for those who created

them and those who were performing them.

Daniel’s quest for beauty and passion, the ecstasy

and agony of love, gets intertwined with

Mrinalini’s quest and in turn reflects the one which

is within our heart and soul. When the walls of

reality block our claustrophobic soul, when the

chaotic feelings try to burst out in tears, when the

dark smoke of agony denigrates our mind,

creativity offers the halcyon meadow where

blossoms our unique flowers of art, be it a verse,

composed when the muse has turned down, a

music when the anklets have refused to sing, a

painting when the canvas fails to bear the colors

and above all, a feeling of loving someone deeply,

and not being loved back. A-midst the thick thorns

and fears of rejection and dejection, Daniel’s voice

comes out, “Love can never fail, Mahabali. At least

your beloved knows about your love for her… but

my beloved is not even aware of my love for her! I

know that my love is unattainable, but for me it is

enough that I love her. It doesn’t matter whether

she loves me or not.” (Daniel’s Diary - pg 183). It is

a journey through love and creation, a journey of

love on the wings of creations, a journey which has

started since ages, like the old waters of a river,

and continues the flow till they converge

somewhere, at some different locus and realize the

true nature of the journey, start discovering the

soul, which has been sleeping within. In the core of

the main plot, lies Daniel’s search for beauty and

passion, his deep love for the courtesan

Mahamaya, whom he loses and leaves behind a

diary which falls in Mrinalini’s hands. Mrinalini, a

young lady and a passionate artist, undertakes the

journey to decode the clues left by Daniel. A

cheerful, a little messy, ebullient young lady,

Mrinalini is an artist by passion and when

relationships confuse her, leaving her alone in her

own self, art is that phoenix which creates the

escape route to her and becomes her real Prince

Charming. The novel makes us fall in love, makes

us believe in love even when we are not loved

back.

The characters of the novel are extremely

well depicted and well-drawn. Each and every

character has his or her own flaws. They are not

‘too good’ or ‘too bad’ in nature. They are just like

us, normal human beings; they ‘err’ because they

are human beings, just like us. Starting from

Mrinalini to the cute Bubbles, the characters seem

to act out the novel while you read it. Even though

the main motif is love, it is not always, ‘love love

love makes the world go round’ type of thing; of

course, love makes the world go round but this

world of Daniel’s Diary is dependent on mystery

and creation too to keep itself alive. The comic

reliefs delineate the author’s ingenuity to write

something, not so serious, in a very serious

temperament. The detailing of paintings and

sculptures of the Mughal era , the portrayal of the

court , the men and women , the use of

contemporary colloquial language reveals the

painstaking research that has been done on the

Mughal era , reflecting the author’s sincere

dedication towards her readers.

The way, love has been portrayed here is

quite different and unique from the ones we

see in the market these days. Chetan Bhagat

has been followed by Durjoy Dutta, and their

blind disciples, who are spamming the market

with clichéd love stories. It is always a man,

writing from science or engineering

background ; the male protagonist is always

some chauvinist nerd who ends up in one of the

greatest institutes of India, IIT or IIM, and then

falls in love with some pretty chick, of course,

who has to be someone from a different stream,

does some so called ‘adult things’ with her,

which apparently creates a problem and then

ultimately, the male protagonist solves the

problems with his ‘super – cool’ brain and

emerges as ‘the hero’. These novels or so called

‘chick-lits’ are now being sold everywhere,

starting from coffee parlors to almost all stores

of the metropolis. When one gets bored,

disturbed, irritated and annoyed by these,

when you wonder about the future of this

publishing industry, Daniel’s Diary comes to us

like an angel, restoring the lost faith and the

hope that yes, there are original writers like

Rajeshwari Chauhan, who has dedicated their

lives to creativity, who has given ‘love’ a new

meaning, who has created a new way to look at

love and who has shown us the sweetness in

the pain of love, when the beloved doesn’t love

you back. The novel celebrates love and

creativity along with pinches of other

emotions; even envy, one of the so called seven

sins, actually mollifies the wear and tear of the

thorns of love.

The language of the book is a jewel of its

own. It flows smoothly through the novel, along

with the wonderful verses; the words have been

carefully chosen and cleverly woven into the

theme and the plot of the novel. The sweet –

scented words adorn the whole body of the novel’s

language like the olive crown on Athena’s head.

The language of the book keeps the readers

engrossed and the author doesn’t need the help of

the contemporary colloquial slangs to keep the

readers engaged with the book. Like all other

elements, the language too makes you fall in love

with the book, once again.

The editing of the book, layout, and printing

makes the book complete. This is an era, when

some ‘wanna be writers’ and self-proclaimed

bestselling authors’ claim that editors are ‘paid’ to

correct the grammatical errors of the work. This

issue arises the question, that if an editor is there

to correct all sorts of silly high school grammatical

errors, then what are writers for ? So if one

imagines and writes down something without

knowing the basic grammar of the language, he or

she becomes an author? It, kind of, sounds like a

sequel to the recently released Bollywood flick,

‘Anybody Can Dance’, which may be named as

‘Anybody Can Write’! This apparent writer-editor

enmity eventually gets reflected in most the books

where you find silly grammatical errors on the 1st

page; in these cases, the writer blames the editor

while the editor humiliates the writer by asking

him or her to go back to high school. This in turn,

makes the critics confused; who should be blamed.

Well, I am not defending the editor, but honestly, if

one looks the point of the editor, it is very easy to

understand the situation; the writer writes the

book of errors and the editor has to correct it; the

writer gets fame and money while the editor gets a

little remuneration; the writer thinks editor should

do it while the poor editor gets frustrated by the

horrible mistakes and decides not to take the pain

for the book, in the end, belongs to the author. In

this author – editor battle, the book remains the

victim. But Daniel’s Diary emerges the winner in

this field too. There is no trace of war, not a single

grammatical error, spelling mistakes or even error

in punctuation marks – at least, I couldn’t notice

any! The book reflects the true dedication of the

author and the true scholarship of the author and

her strong, firm base of grammar.

Daniel’s Diary is one of the books that one

should ‘own’, ‘read’ and ‘feel’. It leaves you thinking

and makes you go back to the 1st page once again.

It is a book which you can read and re- read and

the toughest job is when you are asked to talk

about the book, you feel, you need to read it again

in case you miss out on something. The book is a

researcher’s delight. Personally, after my 1st ‘read’,

the very 1st thing that came to my mind was, ‘I will

teach this book to my students in future’. This book

is here to stay and bears the potential to withstand

the storms of time. It is not like the ‘best-sellers’

which get replaced almost each and every other

day. It belongs to that category of books which are

kept in the section for fiction, non-fiction and

classics. ‘Veni…Vidi...Vici…’ Yes, the book came and

conquered the Indians like the white flower

blooming in the dark smoke.

It seldom happens that a book gets smashingly

wonderful reviews by one and all. To add flavor to

the book’s already glittering success, prominent

author Ashwina Garg’s words add few more

mesmerizing charms to the book –

“Rajeshwari's Daniel's Diary is very well-written and

well-researched book. It's obvious that the author has

taken great pains to make sure that each aspect of the

novel is perfect. There's something for everyone

here... romance, humour, poetry, history, mystery, art

and many captivating characters. It made me realize

that a book does not need sleazy scenes and smutty

words to be entertaining and thank you for that. I wish

the author, Rajeshwari Chauhan all the best for her

books.‖

- Ashwina Garg, [Author of SPICY BITES OF

BIRYANI]

Glimpses of the Magical Tale…..

Alpine Ambergris : Dr. Subodh Kumar Jha

Memory -Pressure

Last night

the memory- pressure

mounted suddenly and

the pulsing ache

of betrayal

surged deep into me!

With smouldering lead in my eyes

I shored the gulf of three years

To the seeding-centre that

paddled my adult dreams

Amidst the hissing breath

of the June winds

only to nurse me as

a staring frown

upon the unparented patterns

Of our sleeveless surroundings

Should I refool with them now?

Or make a starved protest

against the devouring system

On a grey chariot of Charted flames?

(c) Subodh Kr. Jha

Dr. Subodh Kumar Jha Head,

Dept of English

S.N. Sinha College, Jehanabad Magadh University, Bodh Gaya

Dr. Subodh Kumar Jha has been a member of NCERT and UGC Workshops for the proficiency of English Language in various study streams! At present, he is a prominent part of Magadh University as the Head of Department of English in S.N. Sinha College! He honoured Branwyn with his special segment titled "ALPINE AMBERGRIS". Alpine means mountain peak which denotes Subodh Sir's intellectual persona and Ambergris means a fragrant substance found at sea level. Thus, "Alpine Ambergris" together denotes the combination of an intellectual person like Subodh Sir and novice writers like us who are just trying to make a difference!

Colonel Mahip Chadha is a retired army officer residing in New Delhi, India. A graduate of the Indian Military Academy, Chadha served in the Indian Army for nearly 34 years. During this time, he served in the Third Gorkha Rifles—his inspiration for the novel. Colonel Chadha is the author of GRIT GUTS and GALLANTRY-which motivates the youth of India to consider the Army as a viable career option. He also wrote two more novels -SOLJER SOLJER in which he describes life in the infantry and also GIN and LIME WHISKEY or WINE? –a spotlight on how veterans find themselves very uneasy when they hang up their uniform and boots but continue with their zest for quality life by ignoring their twilight years, failing health and take umbrage by using humour as a new weapon against Alzheimer or dementia!.

Asked about why he has only written about the defense forces-Colonel Chadha replies with a twinkle in his eyes-A common Indian citizen has little or no idea of the Indian Armed Forces, he says .It’s important that I give readers an inside look at what it’s truly like to be a soldier in the Indian infantry, and the brotherhood and sacrifice involved.

Colonel Chadha has published GRIT GUTS AND GALLANTRY –The Officers and Gentlemen Of the Indian Army, through Rupa Publications in India. This is a motivational book and serves to act as a much needed career counseling requirement, for students of classes 9 to 12, so that they can consider the Armed Forces of India as a viable career. It also assists children in the National Cadet Corps to understand the Army better. Other Ranks seeking a commission will also benefit from it!

Colonel Chadha was married to Kiran, who passed away tragically in April 2010. They have two daughters-Ganiv the elder, is married to Inderjit and has one son Jaskirat ; while Jyotan lives in Australia with her husband Daljit and two sons Jaskaran and Jaskabir.

Mahip lives with his mother in law Mrs Gurdip Sethi who actually encouraged him to write!

His book SOLJER SOLJER is a story based on an imaginary infantry battalion of the Third Gorkha Rifles - the Sixth battalion. The composition, training, camaraderie, and duties in all the other infantry battalions of our Army are almost the same except that certain customs undergo a change as they adapt to the ethnicity of the troops in that Regiment. So the visible changes would be the manner of the battle cry, salutation, greeting, decorum in festivity with the troops, or ceremonials in the Officer's Mess. There is no difference in the dogged determination or the ferocity in the will of troops of these troops in completing any mission allotted to their battalions! The author has very clearly brought out the joys of the simple infantry life and the deeply embedded love, affections and stoic ethnic involvement that officers enjoy with their men. This is brotherhood in its purest form.

GIN and LIME WHISKEY or WINE? Old Fogies-or veterans retire from all the armies of the world. This is also synonymous with the advent of growing old, being misunderstood because the younger generation has a different view point about every subject since they are digital in their thought process. This book is a tribute to the old timers who laugh away their blues, crack jokes and keep abreast of things in their nation and the world. This is the modus operandi of living life to the full, avoiding loneliness indulging in camaraderie and looking out for each other despite their ill health.

It is respect, love and respect bundled together for each member of the group as they traverse their twilight years A story of love, adventure, wit and courage of old soldiers who are veterans of the World War and still laugh at their follies The Colonel feels that this book will allow retired officers from the Defense services and others from service backgrounds to understand the nuances of getting older and dealing with situations which appear more difficult in old age than they did when they were younger.

He feels that seniors need to prepare themselves to realistic conditions before they enter the Twilight Zone They must learn to keep in touch with realities, get rid of unnecessary baggage at a younger age and then enjoy old age with a flourish The secret to living a charmed life is of course

Colonel Mahip Chadha has now started writing, in the hope that his reminiscences will inspire you youngsters to serve the country, just as he did.

Colonel Mahip Chadha

He has now started a new helpline for young first time authors under the banner of YS Books International.

The website for this company can be found at : ysbooksinternational.com

Sita must go…

“ Komal chitta, ati deen dayala.

Karan binu Raghu Naath kripala”.

(He has a soft heart and is extremely loving towards those who need him. He is kind to

everyone, unconditionally, even if he has no

reasons of being so.)

- Tulsidas (Aranyakaanda of Ramcharitmanas-1.3.33)

This is the verse that follows the poignant

description of Ram performing the last rights

of Jatayu-the vulture, who is a ‗sinner bird‘ and ‗the eater of rotting carrion‘. The sanyasi king

does it with his own two hands, like a son- a

privilege that his own father, the great king Dashrath never got from him.

The sanyasi king. The warrior par excellence.

The kind hearted. The one who defines the

paradigm of duty and righteousness. The leader for whom even monkeys are willing to lay

down their lives. The administrator whose

governance is quoted as an idealist state( Ram-Rajya is till date a synonym of good

governance). The strategist who is impossible

to beat in battle. The human who is god for teeming millions for hundreds of years.

That is what has been said for generations.

What has not been said is…

He is also the greatest lover you will know. He

takes on the most powerful king in the world singlehandedly, just with his brother by his

side. He is the hunk with whom no one messes.

And with such martial capabilities, he is the most humble character you will ever

encounter- he is seen bowing before everyone who should bow to. He accepts and plums from

his devotee belonging to the lowest strata of the

society, even when he knows they have been tasted by her before being offered.

And then…he sends off his pregnant wife to

the jungle on an exile.

I run several risks here. Calling the great Ram a ‗lover‘ and a ―hunk‘ would have the self-

appointed torch bearers of religion sway

swords- for the modern terminology being associated with ‗their God‘ may look offensive

to any fanatic. And calling him a loving

husband earns one the wrath of all feminists is various hues and colours.

Unfortunately, both of them are the two

extremes of fanaticism and ignorance. The

religious zealots fail to see the human in Ram; the humble human who is not just kind but also

tolerant. The feminists don‘t want to see the

aspect that had Ram take the action- for this is an unparalleled example of how woman have

traditionally been treated unjustly for centuries.

Indeed, nothing is more difficult to see than

something which you don‘t want to see.

So, why did Ram send off his pregnant and faithful wife for an exile?

No one can justify sending off a pregnant

woman to exile, even if she may be guilty of

infidelity. Ram should not be forgiven for that. Except for the fact that he didn‘t know she was

pregnant. Simple as that. He didn‘t know.

Several instances reveal that to us.

Coming to the exile itself. The common question- how was he a lover if he isolated his

wife because of doubt, suspicion, on charges of

infidelity?

I have heard feminists on this, and through various sources. They have unanimously

appeared intolerant on this, and have gone on not just to observe that the flaw in the ‗Indian‘

way of thinking is evident in this, and this is an

example of the prevailing male chauvinism. What is even more evident that a more

‗prudent‘ breed‘ thinks that this is an example

where a supposed god showed that he was human, but to respect religious sentiments they

would be kind enough not to discuss this.

That is why their ignorance is evident, if not

pitiable in certain cases.

Mr. Incandescent Speaks…

The Ramcharitmanas is not just an epic

example of discourses in leadership, but is also a spectacular guideline of defining governance.

Let us look into the matter objectively.

The protagonist‘s love for his beloved is not

just unquestionably established, it is exemplary as well. The rescue is not just a saga of valor,

strategy and sacrifice, it is also a supreme

example of how a war can be positioned as a symbolic war between the righteous and evil

rather than an operation to rescue a beloved

from the clutches of an insolent and mighty ruler.

So why must Sita go, when a lowely

washerman claims that he ‗suspects‘ the

character of the queen who spent days in the house of a notorious ruler? Is it the rather

archaic treatment of infidelity, (or rather, the

suspicion of that), as most feminists would claim?

Far from it. What looks like ribaldry is a

sublime example of governance, in the truest

sense of the word.

Let us acknowledge that in the era of Ram, Sita was an Empress. By virtue of being the first

lady, she held a constitutional post. Whereas a ruler was prone to ruling the state according to

his whims (even when the civilization has

come a long way, we still witness the same in various degrees), Ram had empowered the

citizens to the highest degree possible.

Ram the ruler is not the king who rules. He is

the king who serves. Thus we see a welfare state that is unparalleled in terms of

accountability. His personal life is not different

from his professional one. This is a norm that he always complies to, and accepts personal

remarks from his subjects.

What more, he expects all holders of

constitutional posts to be upright and honest in conduct, not just in dealing with the public, but

also in their own personal lives. So much so

that every-yes, every-citizen low or high can approach the king directly. What more, even if

one – yes, one, citizen claims or suspects a

bureaucrat of any conduct not befitting that of the held post, the punishment was served. Thus

the ‗guilty unless proven otherwise‘ rule was

applicable for the king and his beloved too, not just the officers.

We must remember after this Ram is

perpetually seen in distress. He is a loner who

lives the life of a hermit even in his palace,

sleeps on the floor, and eats frugal food- just

like his wife who is in the jungle.

―People should not be afraid of their governments. Governments should be afraid of

their people.‖

V (in V For Vendetta, Popular Hollywood

movie)

The instance shown thus in Ramcharitmanas is an unparalleled example of empowerment at

the grassroots level of raajneeti (the art of

running the state, loosely politics in modern day), where we not only see that even the

loweliest of the lowly can question the

credibility of the highest in the government sector, but also that all holders of constitutional

posts are expected to be so upright in their

conduct that even a ‗suspicion‘ from any citizen was good enough to serve them the

sentence unless proven otherwise (for which a

trial later happens). Two things are worth mentioning here. One, the administrator‘s

personal and professional life ceased to be

separate in the era of Ram, and everyone in the government was expected to have a character

which was so flawless that not one citizen, low

or high, had any questions about it. Two, ‗the guilty unless proven‘ was not applicable on

citizens, who had a right to approach the king directly, at all times during all circumstances.

Ram doesn‘t love his wife less when he sends

her to exile. Nor does he suspect the ‗purity‘ of

his beloved Sita. What we witness is that he is bound by duty, and the duty is makes him serve

his subjects with total devotion, without

grudges even when his loss is irreparable. In fact, Ram does a lot that shows his divine love

for Sita, after she is exiled to the forest. The

king remains in his capital not as a king, but as a sage who must dispose his duty in utmost

good faith. After all, not for nothing is his life

considered the best that a person can have!

Everyone has a right to opinion. Objective discussions are highly welcomed. But if

opinions are inscribed in granite and are not

dynamic, I recommend that they remain in the personal space only.

Lavkesh Singh [Branwyn

Column name – Mr.

Incandescent] is an

Investment Banker who

works in the Realm of

Mergers and Acquisitions

for his living. He at present

resides New in Delhi.

THE BUBBLY: BARKHA PARIKH

Barkha Parikh is an I.T. engineer and also a Computer teacher

from Ahmedabad, Gujarat. She is an avid reader and can hog

books just like cup cakes. She can read any genre at any time.

She writes for a Cause and Not for an Applause and the cause is

- ‗ To touch many hearts and Enlighten many souls.‖ She pens

down whatever her heart feels. She believes in ‗Live in Present

because Present means a Gift‘. She is a bubbly, Full-of-Life girl

but at the same time too emotional. She loves spreading smiles.

Her only mantra in life is – ―I romance words, I write.‖ There

had been a time when she had no one to listen to her and she got

confined to a shell. But today she has more than 16000 readers

on her blog who listen to what her heart says. It‘s all only

because her Mentor found her undying talent of writing and

encouraged her to write. She is a Cold-Coffee addict and to

know her more visit her blog – U, Me n Coffeetalks

(http://coffeetalkwithbarkha.blogspot.in/). She got her talent

recognized firstly by the First Step Publishing Company by Mr.

Rohit Shetty. She made her debut with a book – ―Minds @

Work 2‖ which is an anthology of poems. She has her 5 poems

published in it. She has a heart-touching poem dedicated to

Mumbai rape victim and one another poem where she expresses

her gratitude to her mentor leaves one speechless. The way she

has described chocolate in her poem, anyone would love falling

in chocolate rather than love. That‘s about her…

The settings of the pentagonal drawing

room were simplistic as in any middle

class Indian family. The room was not

cubical as it was the most appropriate

shape to save maximum space within a

minimum area, just near the entrance of

the house. A separate toilet and a

bathroom were neatly stacked up along

the side wall of the house, in front of

the room. A spacious lobby besotted

the other side of the room which had

enough of a space to house a car and a

two-wheeler. The room did not

maintain any tapestry except scenery of

Golden Temple on a side-wall just

below a night lamp covered with a pink

umbrella. The walls were painted in

light crimson that glowed soberly in

silvery tube light. A sofa-set, a small

rectangular centre table with two

isolated chairs constituted the furniture.

Nothing was more remarkable about

the room except a showcase on the wall

just above the sofa, which housed a

galaxy of mementoes of all shapes and

sizes carrying plaques that read:

'Presented by Red Cross', 'Award of

Honour by Punjab Warehousing

Corporation', 'Guest of Honour by

Punjab Police' etc.

The room was going to be a stage of

some hectic activity as if a sick person

was energized into immediate action

after a long period of recuperation. A

lady in hennaed hair, off-yellow

salwar-suit was entering and exiting the

room, meticulously checking that all

arrangements were in place.

―Mummy ji. You are looking worried.

Cheer up!‖.

The voice of her younger son Ayush

dressed in white glowing full sleeves

shirt, red tie and a formal dark brown

trousers; interrupted her.

―Beta, today is The Day. It‘s after a lot

of persuasion that the Gilhotras have

agreed to visit our home‖.

―Oh Mummy Ji! Forget about the past

and live in the present with your head

held high. We aren't beggars or

criminals that we need to worry. I am

capable of getting many matches. So,

just smile, Ok!‖

The words 'beggars' and 'criminals'

etched a scene of a recent but hoary

past to which their family was

subjected after their elder 'bahu' ran

away from their home to her parents'

house and the entire family was left

speechless. The bahu launched a

merciless tirade against them,

slandering their family as greedy

dowry-seekers and criminals before the

Panchayat that was called to resolve it.

The Panchayat having lost its relevance

in the modern day city life was

relegated to the background when the

bahu's brother took the matter to the

Women Cell in Police. The policemen

came in jeep armed with arrest warrants

under section 498 of the Criminal

Procedure Code. But, thanks to a

packet of a latest 500 Rs denomination,

currency notes that her family could

evade arrest and apply for bail. The

mother could still visualize folding her

hands before the finger-raising bahu

and her relatives but the bahu didn't

budge and vowed not to return.

―Mummy Ji! Again lost somewhere?‖,

Ayush came from behind pressing the

shoulders of his mother.

Hiding her thoughts she replied,‖ Go

and see whether the cold drinks have

been placed in the refrigerator for

cooling‖.

It was around 11:00 in the day and Mr.

Malhotra, Ayush's father was engaged

on phone,‖ Gilhotra Sahab! Where

have you reached?‖.

―Will be at your home in half-an hour‖,

came the reply.

Mr. Malhotra, a retired State

Government Officer was the owner of a

God-gifted pleasing persona. Dark-

complexioned but stood tall, slim and

upright in his well stitched safari suit,

he looked quite unlike a retired person.

It was the result of his doggish efforts

that the Gilhotras had agreed to visit

their home to consider the marriage of

their daughter Akansha with Ayush.

The marital discord of the elder son had

led to a series of miseries for the

Malhotra family. They had been

literally ostracized from the sphere of

matrimony. There bête moirés targeted

their vulnerability to their advantage by

pointing out that their first 'bahu' had

run away from their home. Getting a

matrimonial against such a family

history was like sailing against the

wind but Mr. Malhotra's perseverance

had borne some fruits finally.

The horn of a car broke the silence of

the narrow street in which the

Malhotras lived. The Gilhotras had

arrived at their door.

―Welcome Mr. and Mrs. Gilhotra‖,

greeted Mr. Malhotra and Mrs.

Malhotra.

―Namaskar-Namaskar‖, replied the

Gilhotra Couple.

―Please come inside‖ Mr. Malhotra led

them to their pentagonal drawing room.

―Marvellous! So many awards of

honour! Have any of these been bagged

by Ayush?‖ asked Mr. Gilhotra on

seeing the showcase packed with

mementoes.

A Million Universes : NitinSingh

The Endless Wait

―Some three or four of them. This one

for standing first in his intermediate

level. That one for winning the essay

competition.‖

The three of them sat down and Mrs.

Malhotra moved towards the kitchen.

―Gilhotra Sahab thanks for sparing

some time to visit our home.‖ said Mr.

Malhotra.

―My son is one among the jewels and

he has proved it. He was drawing a

handsome salary in HDFC Bank but he

resigned from there to start his own

business and within a short span of an

year, he has got his business up and

running‖, he continued.

―What is his business?‖, asked Mr.

Gilhotra as Mrs. Malhotra is serving

cold drink and snacks to them.

―Wholesale and retail of cosmetic

products‖, replied Mr. Malhotra.

―Our shop is in the main Market of the

town.‖

―Where is the elder bahu? She is not

visible?‖ queried Mrs. Gilhotra.

―She has gone to her parents in

Jalandhar‖, replied Mrs. Malhotra.

―Oh! Expecting some good news??‖

―No.. hope so...let‘s see‖ Mrs. Malhotra

answered sheepishly.

―The elder son's posting is local only?‖

asked Mr. Gilhotra

―Yes, but he has gone on departmental

training to Delhi‖, replied Mr.

Malhotra.

The Malhotras knew that if they had

out rightly told the truth about their

elder son's family life to them then they

would have never talked to them forget

about coming to them. So, the

Malhotras decided to maintain secrecy

about the matter for the time being.

In about half-an hour, tea was served

with dry fruits, sweets and aloo bhujia.

―Namaste Uncle! Namaste Aunty!‖

wished Ayush as he entered the room.

He touched the feet of the Gilhotra

Couple and sat beside them.

A tall, dark slim figure in a formal

wear, he had an aura of an energetic

youth-hood in him. A smile appeared

on Mrs. Gilhotra'a face as she saw him.

―Come beta, how are you and your

business?‖ asked Mr. Gilhotra.

―I am fine uncle. By the grace of god, I

am doing well in my business‖.

―Means you are enjoying it?‖

―Yes uncle. I could never guess that it

would be so satisfying and rewarding

when I launched it.‖

Confidence permeated every word of

Ayush. Mrs. Gilhotra was taken over

by his personality. She had started to

imagine how her daughter would look

standing beside him. 'The couple will

look made for each other', she thought.

―This is Akansha‖, Mrs. Gilhotra said

while taking out a photograph from an

envelope kept in her handbag.

Ayush's pupil grew in size as his

mother looked at the photograph.

―Beautiful, isn't she?‖ said Mrs.

Malhotra while handing over the

photograph to her husband.

Ayush wore a neutral look with a short

smile as he was allowed to glance over

the photograph. He tried to capture as

many details of the girl as he could,

during the little period he was given the

photograph.

As they finished the tea Mr. Gilhotra

asked for a photograph of Ayush so

that they could carry it to show to their

family. Mr. Malhotra obliged them

with it.

―Ok! Mr. Malhotra now we have to

leave. We will talk to you soon‖, said

Mr. Gilhotra.

―No sir, its lunch time and the lunch is

also ready. Let‘s have lunch first‖

The Gilhotras were little bit reluctant

on this offer but the superb hospitality

of the Malhotras hardly left them with

the option to deny so they all had good

home-made lunch which the guests

praised profusely.

One of the most difficult days had

ended on a happy note for Mrs.

Malhotra. She had prayed a lot for its

successful conclusion. She had no

doubt that their guests have been

impressed with them. But the fear of

The Secret kept on cropping up in her

mind, disturbing her every now and

then.

―I will tell them the truth, if they call us

to visit them‖, said Mr. Malhotra to his

wife. While she on her part, dropped

her head in despair. The happiness

which she had for the younger son felt

being evaporated by the heat of the

turmoil which her elder son was facing

in his life. But, since the prospects of

quick resolution of the discord seemed

distant, the family had decided to

explore the marital prospects of the

younger son for the latter could not be

expected to wait indefinitely and suffer,

for no fault of his own.

The Gilhotras got late as they drove

back to their home town. Tired after a

busy day, they took only a light dinner

of 'tehri' and went to the bed early to

sleep.

―What is your take on the boy, isn't he

smart and talented‖, asked the wife.

―That he is, but he is still new in his

business and I am not sure about his

income‖, replied the husband.

―What do you think, he won‘t be

earning enough to sustain our

Akansha?‖, she asked in a tense mood.

―Well! You know dear, in what luxury

and comforts we have raised our

daughter.‖, he said.

―But we also have to see this that if we

will keep on rejecting such good

matches on some or the other pretexts

then we may have to compromise even

more in the future. Already we have

been searching for a suitable boy for

the last year and a half‖, she rued.

―So what do you say?‖

―I think we should say 'yes' to the

Malhotras, as soon as possible. Who

knows that they may also be seeing

other girls? If this match also goes out

of hand then all our efforts will be

wasted.‖

―Ok! Dear, I will call them tomorrow.

Good night!‖

―Good night.‖

―Hello! Mr. Malhotra, Gilhotra here.

We are very pleased about your son's

proposal. We invite you to visit our

home on any suitable day so that we

can move ahead.‖

―Thank you sir, how about the coming

Sunday on 15th

.‖

―Oh! That would be wonderful.‖

―Ok then Gilhotra Sahab we shall be

your guest on the coming Sunday‖

―My pleasure sir, my pleasure.‖

It was the news that the Malhotras

longed for. The entire family was

rejoiced at it. ―By God's grace, we will

clinch the match and sail through

without any difficulty‖, Mr. Malhotra

told his wife.

The four sat down in their car on

Sunday at 7:00 in the morning. Ayush

had dressed in a light silvery suit and

looked like a groom except the turban

and the sword. His elder brother was

driving the car as Ayush sat on the

front seat while, Mr. and Mrs. Malhotra

sat on the rear seat. They reached

Urban Estate, Phase II Patiala at around

11:00 AM. The house was not difficult

to trace as the house numbers were

written very clearly on the front of each

house. As the elder brother blew the

horn in front of an identified house, the

hosts opened the door and came out of

their house in warm anticipation of

their welcome guests.

―Namaskar ji‖, said the Malhotra

husband and wife as they opened the

door of the car.

―Namaskar – Namaskar‖, the greetings

were exchanged by the Gilhotras.

Ayush and his elder brother touched the

feet of the Gilhotra couple. The visitors

were hurried inside the house by Mr.

Gilhotra. The maid served cold drink

and snacks after the guests sat in the

drawing room. About half-an hour

later, they were served with tea and

sweets.

―Meet Chintu, my younger child‖, Mr.

Gilhotra said as an adolescent of 15-16

years entered the room in a red T-shirt,

sky-blue jeans and Nike shoes.

―How are you Little master? How

much has India scored today?‖,asked

Mr. Malhotra

―Fine, Uncle. Not many, the Protease

have restricted them to just 202‖,

replied Chintu in despair.

―Hmmm. Odds are heavily against

India‖, confessed Mr. Malhotra.

―Bring Akansha‖, Mr. Gilhotra

indicated to his wife while they were

sipping tea.

She went out across a verandah to

another room. There Akansha was

sitting dressed up in a 'churidar' suit

with a light make up. She was a slim

girl of nearly 5 feet 3 inch with

wheatish complexion. Her hairs were

non-silky, with hard strands that were

shorter in length. The face had dull

marks of worn out pimples unlike the

glowing face of Ayush. Mrs. Gilhotra

ferried her daughter into the drawing

room.

Akansha greeted Mrs and Mr. Malhotra

and sat on a chair beside her mother.

She did not look at Ayush whose

photograph she had already seen. But

Ayush had already stolen a look of her

twice. 'Oh God! She looks like a

distorted version of her own

photograph which her parents showed

to me and I was day-dreaming about

her. I cannot call her the girl of my

dreams. Why these parents carry the

edited photographs of their daughter?

What will they get in showing the

glorified photographs of their daughters

when the truth would be discovered

sooner or later? I just don‘t understand',

Ayush lamented to himself without

showing his displeasure in seeing

Akansha.

The Malhotra couple was also not

much enthused on seeing Akansha but

they were masters in hiding their

expressions. They continued to smile as

if the 'bride of their dream' was sitting

beside them as moreover, the looks of

the bride was not their prime concern.

―Beta, which is your area of utmost

interest in home management‖, asked

Mr. Malhotra.

―I like to do every house-hold activity –

cooking, knitting, interior decoration,

gardening, floriculture etc‖.

―That‘s remarkable! Ayush also prefers

a house-wife to a working wife.‖, said

Mr. Malhotra as Ayush gave a half-

hearted smile, while slightly dropping

his head.

―Malhotra sahab, Yesterday I had

consulted our panditji for the guna

match. He told me that 24 gunas are

matching and it is a good match‖, said

Mr. Gilhotra.

―Thats a positive sign sir, I think now

without wasting any time we should

allow these two to know each other.‖

―Ofcourse sir‖, agreed Mr. Gilhotra.

Ayush and Akansha were taken into a

small room across the verandah which

was adjacent to the room in which

Akansha had dressed up. They sat on

chairs placed across a table. While

Akansha looked to be placid but a

tussle was going on in Ayush's mind.'

How can I accept her? She doesn't fit

my criteria? How will I love her? Her

parents ditched me by showing a

modified photograph. So what if we are

not getting matches because of 'Bhai's'

situation'? We will overcome it and

then I will be flooded with proposals.

But if I didn't get any match then I will

lose even this. Why should I let this girl

know about my real feelings? I should

behave with her normally.' They sat

silently for the first two minutes,

Akansha with her head down and

Ayush looking at the front wall of the

room.

―Hi!‖ said Ayush, as he tried to break

the ice after much inner resistance.

―Hi!‖ came the reply in an instance.

―So you did your graduation from DAV

Women's College?‖

―Yes‖

―What are your hobbies?‖

―Knitting, gardening, watching movies,

listening to songs, dancing.‖

―Oh! That's great!'

―My favourites are Kishore and

Mukesh—I am a big fan of them‖

―Yeah! Even I like like them besides

Lataji, Ashaji, and Alkaji. Now, you

may ask anything from me‖, said

Ayush.

She didn't speak.

―Please be frank‖, Ayush encouraged

her.

―Do you drink?‖

―No hard drink but yes I take beer

occasionally.‖

―Ok! And vegetarian/non-vegetarian?‖

―95% vegetarian but sometimes with

friends I eat non-veg also.‖

She displayed her shining white teeth at

this reply.

―What about you?‖

―I am 100% vegetarian at home and

among friends‖

Ayush smiled back.

They came out of the room. Ayush

went to his father and sat beside him.

Akansha went to her mother and sat

beside her.

―Malhotra sahab!. If you wish you can

take the feedback from your son in this

room itself while, we shall move to

another room with our daughter for her

comments‖, said Mr. Gilhotra.

―Ok right, Gilhotra sahab‖.

The Gilhotra family went out of the

room leaving the Malhotra family to

discuss the situation among themselves.

―Yes Ayush, OK?‖, queried Mrs.

Malhotra.

―Ok?! No Mummy ji, she is good by

nature but not a girl I can love.‖

―Looks are not everything dear. You

have to cope up with a person and not

merely live by looks.‖

―But Mummy ji, Please don‘t compel

me when my heart doesn't like her.‖

―Dear! You must understand the

gravity of our situation. No one else is

even ready to consider us. By God's

grace these people have become ready.

We should not leave this opportunity.‖

―But Mummy Ji?‖

―Don‘t you trust us? Can we do

anything which will not be in your

interest?‖

Ayush didn't utter a word after this. He

could imagine his parents living in

tension over his marriage. 'Already my

family has been subjected to a lot of

public ignominy. I cannot take away

this sole reason for happiness in the last

few months', he reflected.

The decision was not difficult for the

Gilhotra Family to make as there was

no known complexity involved.

―Yes honey! Like him?‖, asked Mrs.

Gilhotra.

―As you shall say Mumma‖, Akansha

replied with a mark of astute shyness

on her face.

The Gilhotra couple walked to the

drawing room.

―So, Malhotra Sahab, What's your

decision?‖, asked Mr. Gilhotra with a

smile.

―We are at your disposal sir.‖, replied

Mr. Malhora with a bigger smile.

―Shall we do a small 'roka' ceremony

then?‖

―Oh sure. Good things should not be

delayed.‖

It was a moment marked by the most

elusive happiness for both the families.

There were certain eyes that had

become moist to celebrate the

happiness. But the fact of his elder

son's life was disturbing Mr. Malhotra.'

Should I disclose it now? I will have to

disclose it. It cannot be hidden. Now

they don‘t know it and are happy. What

if they come to know about it from any

third source'? As he dared to draw

himself into a serene mood and speak

up an inner voice caught up with him '

What are you doing? You want to ruin

Ayush's life? Dont you know that the

Gilhoras will write you off once they

know that your elder 'bahu' has ran

away from your home. Then everything

will be gone. Why do you want to lose

this sole moment of happiness amidst

months of sorrow that your family has

seen? Gripped in his inner tussle, Mr.

Malhotra looked for suggestion at his

life partner. She was also un-decided.

He looked at his two sons. The elder

one was silent to the extent of being

clueless. While the younger one was

sitting with his head down, wearing a

plastic smile which only the Malhotra

couple could decipher. He could see a

groom's turban on Ayush's forehead.

Mr. Malhotra had been the patriarch of

his family. All the important decisions

carried his stamp of approval. Now he

had made another important decision

and it was NOT to disclose anything

about his elder son to the Gilhotras. '

After all, What they have to do with my

elder son's life. Their groom is Ayush

who is flawless', he counseled himself.

―Anything serious?‖ interrupted Mr.

Gilhotra.

―Nothing! Gilhotra sahab.‖

―Arrangements have been made. Shall

we perform the 'roka' ceremony?‖

―Lets do it.‖

Ayush and Akansha were made to sit

together on chairs adjacent to each

other. Akansha covered her head with

her 'dupatta' while Ayush with his

white handkerchief. Mrs. Gilhotra came

with a steel plate decorated with red

vermillion, raw rice and sweets. She

applied red vermillion on the foreheads

of the couple and then showered a few

grains of rice on them. She recited the

auspicious 'Gayatri' mantra three times

which was repeated by all the other

family members. She placed an

envelope containing 'shagun' on the

hands of Ayush. Mr. Gilhotra stepped

forward and stretched a golden chain

around Ayush's neck. Then, the

Gilhotra couple blessed the new couple

by placing their palms on their heads.

During all these moments, Chintu was

busy in capturing every moment in his

camera. His screams of 'Smile please',

'Look here', 'Come close' were the only

interruptions to the smooth ceremony.

The similar steps were performed by

Mrs. Malhotra with the only difference

that she gave the shagun to Akansha.

It was getting lunch time by then. Mr.

Gilhotra drove their guests to a nearby

restaurant where both the families had a

sumptuous lunch. By four in the

evening, the Malhotras expressed their

wish to leave for their home. Mr.

Gilhotra ensured that the ‗diggie‘ of

their guests' car was filled with 11

boxes of delicious sweets. As the two

families departed, Mrs. Malhotra kissed

the fore-head of Akansha while she

touched her feet. Akansha glanced at

Ayush but he was looking somewhere

else.

The Gilhotras were a socially well-

networked family of Patiala. They had

clout running across business, politics

and civil administration. Mr. Gilhotra

believed in the superstition that if you

disclose a thing before it materializes

then it may never happen at all. That is

why the Gilhotras had maintained

secrecy about the 'roka' of their

daughter so far. But since now the

match had been fixed they must

celebrate it among friends and relatives.

Mr. Gilhotra got the sweet distributed

among the near and dear ones. The

news of Akansha's 'roka' spread like

fire in their locality and people started

pouring in, with their wishes.

Akansha was an educated but homely

girl. She had never wanted to be a

working woman in her life. Her

philosophy was against the trend when

almost every educated girl in the

society preferred employment to

managing house-hold chores. She had

formulated her views after observing

her most caring mother through her

life. She had seen how her mother had

been the cornerstone of her family

through the thick and thin. When her

father had been battered by their

market-governed business, it was her

mother who through her infinite

patience had made his father

reinvigorated with courage and moral

support. Her mother was her ideal and

therefore she always dreamed of being

a home maker like her mother. The job

of home maker however unpaid was the

most rewarding in terms of emotional

satisfaction and family-growth.

Every girl nurtures a dream about the

Prince of her life. So, had Akansha of a

handsome young man who would care

for her. As if the tall and dark frame of

Ayush was not enough, his youthful

aura, well-behaved manners had cast an

excellent impression on her. She started

dreaming about him.

―Didi! Did you exchange number with

Jiju?‖ interrupted Chintu when she was

engrossed in her thoughts, the next day.

―No-no! Why should I?‖

―Ha-ha didi! Don‘t lie. I have traced his

number in your contacts and for your

kind information also carried it to my

contact list.‖

―You! The Mischief-Monger! Wait!. I

just take care of you‖, and she ran after

Chintu's neck but the latter was the

more nimble footed of the two.

―Huff! Huff! You just land in my grips

and then I will show you the light of

the day.‖

―You enlighten me later but first check

your Facebook.‖

―Huh! Why?‖

―Your photograph with Jiju has gone

viral. Your friends and our relatives are

sending their congratulations and best

wishes.‖

―What? You put those Pics on

Facebook? You brute! With whose

permission? I will not leave you‖, and

she again ran after him. This time

Chintu slipped into the street as he

found it the safest way to avoid the

clutches of her hyper-Didi.

The anger brewing up in Akansha

subsided as she logged into her

facebook. While reading the lively

wishes of her near and dear ones, she

felt all the more obliged to reply them

with her gratitude. These wishes had

given wings to her imagination of being

a life partner of Ayush. She felt

elevated as the count of her pics on the

Facebook increased with the passing

time. The virtual world had taken over

herself and she was lost in a reverie

enjoying the company of Ayush and

watched over by the community of her

friends and relatives.

That night she went to bed early. She

and the other family members had

eaten less as if their hunger had been

satiated by the bigger happiness of

Akansha's 'roka'. But going to bed early

doesn't guarantees sleep so she was

busy checking her facebook. As the

sleep continued to evade her, she

started getting restless. Was she waiting

for someone for a chat or talk? She

couldn't exactly decipher. Then

suddenly she opened Whats Up and

texted 'Hi' to Ayush. She held her

mobile eagerly waiting for its

hummocky beat signaling that a reply

has been received. A minute passed,

another minute passed but there was no

reply. Her sleep started to play hide-n-

seek with her. Her restlessness

magnified in intensity. More than

fifteen minutes has elapsed but there

was no reply. 'He might have slept after

the hard day's work', she consoled

herself. 'Jai Maa Vaishno Raani', she

murmured and started reciting it

indefinitely till her restlessness faded

away.

―Wake up kumbhkarni‖, Chintu

shouted while pulling up the blanket off

Akansha.

―Ummm... Chintu..let me sleep.. its

night yet‖

―Ha ha ha Didi, its already 8:30, get up

now and help me in mathematics‖

―Hai Rabba, I slept for so late‖, she got

up, pretending to check her mobile for

time but she found that there was no

reply. She gave a pat to Chintu and got

engaged in her daily routine.

Later in the day she was helping her

mother in cooking lunch.

―Mummy ji, I want to tell you

something, I don‘t know whether its

important‖

―Ha! Beta, tell me‖

―Yesterday night I sent a 'Hi' to Ayush

but there was no reply‖

―So what beta, he might have slept by

then‖

―But then he should have replied in the

morning‖

―It is possible he might not have

received it‖

―No Mummy ji, I have the

confirmation that he has seen it‖, she

argued impatiently.

―Beta ji! What‘s the fuss in it? You are

reading too much into it‖, the mother

replied in solace. Look your Papa is

coming‖

―Bhai, What‘s the matter? What

khichdi is being cooked by the mother-

daughter duo?‖, asked Mr. Gilhotra as

Akansha hugged him.

―Your daughter has become a

philosopher. She has started reading too

much into things.‖

―Why?‖, asked Mr. Gilhotra looking

with a humour-filled astonishment

transforming the wrinkles of his face

into a maze.

―Nothing papa‖, Akansha replied with

her head down.

The mother conveyed the matter to the

father.

―Oh dear!, Don‘t worry. Let‘s call

Ayush, ok?‖' said the father with a

generous smile.

―Hello! beta ji, how are you?‖, said Mr.

Gilhotra as he rang Ayush.

―Hello! Namaste Uncle ji, I am fine‖,

came the voice from the other side.

―Namaste beta ji, bhai, you didn't

remember us at all‖

―No-No Uncle! I was actually too busy.

I am sorry for it. I am heading for a

business-cum-educational trip for a

week.‖

―Oh! it‘s ok beta ji, listen! Akansha

wants to talk to you.‖

―Akansha!, here is Ayush.‖ but she ran

away blushing.

―Arrey beta, where are you going, here

is Ayush on the line, talk to him‖,

repeated Mr. Gilhotra.

But she didn‘t return.

―Ha-ha-ha Ayush beta, she has run

away. May be she will call you later.‖

―Ok! Uncle ji, no problem please say

my ‗hi‘ to her and regards for Aunty,

bye‖

―Bye-bye beta.‖

―Did you go to the panditji for the

Shubh Mahurat?‖, asked Mr. Gilhotra

―Yes! But he said that Hola-Ashtak is

beginning from tomorrow and no

auspicious talk or discussion should be

done with anyone for the next eight

days‖, replied Mrs. Gilhotra.

―Ohkk! So let‘s wait, till then, after it

we will hurry up the matter and finalize

the date‖

―Hmmm‖, she replied happily.

A week passed by, the Gross Happiness

of both the families increased. The

Gilhotras spilled over their happiness

into their social circle while the

Malhotras were more cautious in

preserving their new found, hither to

illusive happiness.

On the ninth day, it was Holi. Mr.

Golhotra had called up his estranged

cousin sister who was married to a

businessman in Ludhiana.

―Namaskar! Didi, Happy Holi!.‖

―Who? Sarvesh? Ohoo.. you finally

remembered me.‖

―Ah! come on Didi, how can I ever

forget you.‖

―Acha Bhai! Happy Holi to you,

Sangeeta, Akansha and Chintu.‖

―Thanks Didi.‖

―Didi, How is Jija Ji?‖

―He is fine. He has gone with his

friends of Byapar Mandal to celebrate

Holi.‖

―Acha Didi, I wanted to give you a

good news.‖

―Oye-hoye! Fixed the marriage of

Akansha?‖

―Yes! You have guessed it right. But

just to add to your element of surprise,

it has been fixed with a family of

Ludhiana.‖

―What? You came here to fix the

marriage and left without seeing me.‖

―Didi, I am sorry. Actually we got late

and thereafter hurried to reach home

the same day.‖

―Chalo! But your Jija Ji will not

appreciate this fact.‖

―Didi, I will win over him, when we

meet.‖

―Acha!. Which is the family here?‖

―It is the Malhotras of the Khatri

Colony, Ludhiana.‖

―I dont seem to know them but your

Jija ji may beknowing them.‖

―Ok Didi, Pay my regards to Jija ji,

Namaste!‖

―Namaste Bhai.‖

As Mr. Gilhotra put the mobile down,

he got a call from Mr. Malhotra who

gave the Holi greetings to the entire

family. Then there were some near and

dear ones who visited their home to

play colours. Akansha's 'roka' had made

this holi special for them. Mrs. Gilhotra

served delicious gujjiyas with ginger

tea to all the guests. Colours of

different shades were scattered all

around. Some wet, some dry. The faces

were applied the colour packs too.

Some fast and some light as if,

highlighting the different shades of life.

It was evening and the Gilhotras were

having tea in their common room as the

melodious songs in Kishores' voice

entertained them. Mr. Gilhotra's mobile

rang rather loudly.

―Hello!. Sarvesh?‖, shrilled the person

from the other side.

―Oh! Namaste Jija ji. Hapy Holi to

you.I had already greeted Didi in the

morning.‖

―Namaste, Yeah your Didi told me

about it.‖

―So, which is the family where you

have fixed up the match?‖

―With the Malhotras of the Khatri

Colony, Ludhiana. You know them?

We found them to be very amicable.‖

―Acha …. those who have started a

new business in Cosmetics?‖

―Yeah-yeah they are those only.‖

―They are having two sons and the

elder one is married to family in

Jalandhar‖, Jija ji confirmed.

―Yes exactly.‖

―Who was the middle-man who

arranged the match?‖

―None. We did it from the Tribune

Matrimonials.‖

―Oh! Sarvesh.. What have you done?‖

―Why Jija ji? What's wrong in it?‖

―Do you know about their elder son?‖

―What? He is employed in a

Government Job and is happily

married.‖

―Non-sense. Happily Married?

Bluffmasters. His wife has run away

some three months back.‖

―What? Impossible! They cannot lie.

They are so clear hearted.‖

―You have been bluffed Sarvesh. That

is it. I know them very well. Dowry-

seekers. Women-persecutors. What else

should I tell you about them!‖

The ground beneath Mr. Gilhotra began

to shrink. He started losing his

consciousness. He didn't know when

the mobile slipped out of his hand. He

started to crumble under his own

weight. The pressure on his mind was

just too much for his leg-muscles to

bear.

―Gilhotra Sahab!. Control yourself.

Akansha! Bring some water‖, cried

Mrs. Gilhotra.

―Papa! Papa!!‖, cried Akansha and

Chintu.

He was placed on the bed. Akansha

sprinkled some water on his face as

Mrs. Gilhotra rubbed his feet. He

regained consciousness crying ―Liars!

Liars!‖.

―Who?‖, asked Mrs. Gilhotra.

―The Malhotras. They have bluffed us.‖

―What?‖

―Yes! Their elder bahu had fled away

some three months back. They are bad

people. Dowry seekers. Jija ji said he

was confirmed about it.‖

―What? God!! How can they tell such a

big lie? Worms will infest them.

Sinners.‖

As it unfolded, Akansha the most

affected person was left clueless. ‗How

can it happen to me? He looked so

frank and straight-forward. No-no he

can't lie to me. My Uncle at Ludhaina

is jealous of us. He doesn't like our

happiness. That's why he is spreading

false rumours about Ayush's family',

she thought.

The rising sun that promised colour and

joy was being relegated by the setting

sun that had befallen a spell of gloom

for the family. Happiness had been

engulfed in sorrow. The Gilhotras

struggled with the sleep the whole

night. Akansha was the most restless,

praying that the news given by the

Uncle at Ludhaina might turn out to be

false. 'Hey Vasihno Raani! Protect us.

Help us. Return us our happiness', she

was constantly praying. 'What if the

elder brother's wife has run away.

Ayush is blemish-less and so

promising. But why didn't he disclose?

Are they bad people? If they are people

with true conscience, why did they

hide? ' she ruminated.

Next morning on the dining table:

―Shall we simply believe what Jija Ji

told?‖ asked Mrs. Gilhotra doubtfully.

―Why? He seemed to be confirmed‖,

emphasized Mr. Gilhotra.

―What if we cross-verify it, Papa‖,

suggested Akansha.

―I have already forwarded their details

to my reporter-friend in Ludhiana. He

has promised me a report by tomorrow

evening.‖

―Papa Ji! Whatever, but Ayush is

blemish less na‖, Akansha asked in a

pleading tone.

―Beta ji, marriage is not a game. It is an

indissoluble bond. We cannot take risk

in it.‖, replied Mr. Gilhotra.

―You don‘t worry and stop thinking

over it. We will sort it out‖, consoled

Mrs. Gilhotra.

The break-fast was only notional. No

one except Chintu had the appetite to

eat anything.

The Malhotras had even started to

prepare for the marriage. Mrs. Malhotra

had just been to their Panditji who had

informed her the probable dated as 25th

March, 14th

April or 20th

May. She was

serving lunch to her husband in the

afternoon.

―Shall we inform them about the

probable dates?‖, asked Mrs. Malhotra.

―Sure just now‖, replied Mr. Malhotra.

He dialed the number of Mr. Gilhotra,

the ring went on but there was no

response. He redialed and again there

was no response.

―Must be busy somewhere‖, said Mr.

Malhotra.

―Yeah! They will call back‖, added

Mrs. Malhotra.

They finished the lunch and went to the

terrace to bask in the retreating sun-

light. An hour and a half passed by but

there was no reply. As the time passed

by the tension started to build up. This

tension didn‘t emanate from something

unknown but from a known fear.

―Have they come to know about it?‖,

asked Mr. Malhotra in a pensive mood.

―Don‘t think like this. They will not.

God will help us. We haven‘t done

anything wrong‖, replied Mrs.

Malhotra.

―It‘s been more than two hours and

they haven‘t responded‖, said Mr.

Malhotra impatiently.

―Why don‘t you call them again?‖

―Ok!‖

He took out his mobile and once again

dialed Mr. Gilhotra. This time the latter

picked up.

―Namaskar! Gilhotra Sahab‖, greeted

Mr. Malhotra with the enthusiasm and

force that could put life in a dead

person.

―Namaskar!‖, replied Mr. Gilhotra in a

morose tone.

―Everything ok?‖

―Fine ji….‖, replied Mr. Gilhotra after

a pause. ―I am very busy, will get back

to you soon‖, said Mr. Gilhotra and

hung up.

Mr. Malhotra didn‘t have the time to

say the parting ‗Ok‘. His heart began to

pound. He could sense that something

had gone wrong. Mrs. Malhotra went to

the Puja Room and started praying for

the family‘s well-being. Mr. Malhotra

went to the shop with dragging feet,

Ayush noticed the disappointment on

his father‘s face.

―What happened Papa Ji? Everything

Ok?‖

―Hope so….‖, Mr. Malhotra told the

entire episode to him.

―Oh come on Papa. You fear a lot. Just

believe in God.‖

―Only if… she hadn‘t run away? Since

she has left, out life has become hell.

Oh God! For how long we will have to

suffer this‖, cried Mr. Malhotra.

―Papa Ji, control yourself. If she has

subjected us to misery then even she

cannot be happy. God will punish her

severely‖, consoled Ayush.

The reporter friend of Mr. Gilhotra

called in the evening. He affirmed the

facts revealed by Jija Ji. Mr. Malhotra

immediately called up his Jija ji and

stated his plan to visit Ludhiana the

coming day. Mr. Gilhotra got off early

for Ludhiana the next morning. He

directed the driver towards Jija Ji‘s

house at Civil Lines.

―What do you want to do now?‖, asked

Jija Ji.

―What else? Break-up. We cannot trust

them.‖, replied Mr. Gilhotra.

―Let‘s go to their home‖, suggested Jija

Ji.

―No, I shall wait at your home. You

please take one or two of your friends

and dispose it off.‖

―Ok! Sarvesh you stay back. I will do

the rest. God has saved you timely.‖

Mr. Gilhotra nodded as Jija Ji started to

exit.

―And yes! We had given a golden chain

to their damn son. Get it back too.‖

―Sure!‖, replied Jija Ji with conviction.

The pentagonal room was once again

the centre stage of activity but this time

for adverse reasons. The Malhotra

couple was trying to pacify the charged

up Jija Ji who was accompanied by a

couple of his friends from the Byapar

Mandal.

―Malhotra Ji! What have you done is

really wrong‖, fumed Jija ji.

―Sir you have been misled and we have

been misunderstood.‖, replied Mr.

Malhotra.

―What? Is it not true that your elder

bahu has run away?‖, charged Jija Ji

while thumping his fist on the center-

table.

―These are mere rumours. It is true that

there is some domestic problem but it is

very much resolvable.‖, clarified Mr.

Malhotra while amazing coolness.

―Ok! Wasn‘t it your duty to share it

with Mr. Gilhotra? Why did you hide

it?‖, asked one of the friends of Jija Ji.

―Bhai Sahab, our relation had just

begun and we were soon going to share

the matter with the Gilhotra family.

Further, my younger son is blemish-

less and has nothing to do with the

marital discord of my elder son‖,

replied Mr. Malhotra convincingly.

―No-no, it is enough!. Mr. Gilhotra has

asked for break-up. That why we are

here‖, said Jija Ji emphatically.

―Bhai Sahab, please reconsider your

decision. This break up will hurt both

the families. Imagine its social

implication. I beg you not to act in

haste‖, entreated Mr. Malhotra.

―Malhotra Ji! We have considered

everything and a final decision has

been made from our side‖, revealed Jija

Ji.

―Sir, please think. Try to put yourself at

my position. How is it my fault that my

elder bahu is not cooperating at the

moment? This is simply a matter of fate

and can happen with anyone. But I

assure you that it will be resolved soon.

We will give all the happiness in this

world to Akansha, after the marriage. I

guarantee!‖, begged Mr. Malhotra.

―Malhotra Ji, listen! We are sorry for

the state of affairs in your family. But

the matter ends here for us. Please

return the golden chain presented to

your son during the roka ceremony‖,

replied the Jija Ji tersely.

The pentagonal room witnessed it all.

A relation whose seeds had been sown

just a mere ten days earlier had failed to

germinate. The two families had

entered into a relation amidst the chants

of the Gayatri Mantra. Now one of

them was breaking it at the deliberate

folly of the other.

Ayush returned home later in the

evening. He had come to know

everything when his father had

telephoned him to untie the golden

chain around his neck and send it

home. But, there was a sense of relief

in his mind. He did not like Akansha.

She was a compulsion for him rather

than a heart-made choice. He consoled

his parents by telling ―We deserve

better. Don‘t worry.‖ It was amazing

that his youthful courage could digest a

happening so easily which his parents

could not even think putting behind

them.

Akansha on the other side was

remorseful. ‘If it had to break then why

did it happen? How will I explain it to

my friends? Why do parents fix it up in

hurry and then also break it up in hurry‘

her thoughts nagged her. ‗Now, another

proposal and another wait! How many

more matches? Only Mata Raani

knows. Wasn‘t it better in earlier times

when daughters were married off

without their consent? At least they

skipped seeing a new match everytime

and facing a new interview everytime.‘

she thought sighting the three-quarter

moon that shone brilliantly in the night

sky beyond the window of the room.

She moved towards the window and

stood leaning against it. He gaze was

fixated on the moon which seemed to

be getting far and far away from her

with every passing hour. Her eyes

watered under the pressure of the gaze

but she didn‘t wink. She was ready to

wait endlessly.

Nitin Singh is an introvert who loves to scribble down the fictionalized versions of reality. His freestyle write-up deals with the day-to-day adventures of middle class people. Nitin is a resident of Ferozepur.

THE VERY CHARMING: RITIK BABBAR

"I started my career from travel and tourism industry but

later decided to turn into a writer.‖

Riitik Babbar, a 27 year old guy from the city of Delhi

thought of chasing his dream and today he has hit the globe

with his debut novel named UNSATISFIED

SATISFAACTIONNS.

Let‘s see what the writer has to say..

―I have been working for an ITES KPO in MR industry

since last 3 years. My maiden novel is about my own life

with a touch of fiction in it. The plot of novel seems to be

very interesting and I have faith that this story will be loved

by the readers. The only thing I would say about my novel

is ‗‘It is an extraordinary story of ordinary lovers‘‘.

―Besides writing, I like to learn about various cultures and

traditions that exist on earth. Not just that I am a soccer

freak. The one message that I would like to convey to the

novel readers is, ―I set goals and try hard to achieve it. The

thought that someday I will achieve my aim, keeps me

going. The last thing I would like to tell you all is -stay

healthy, wear your smile daily and be true to your work.‘‘

Sacrament Sobriety : Gaurav Gill

Those corridors of freedom, scribbled benches,

shrieking sentinels, beckoning assembly lines, verdant

and luring play grounds, buried notes, fuming principal,

does it remind you of some place.

Yeah am catapulting your senses to school days. It was

the advent of spring which led to a hasty call that sprang

from my formidable Irish principal‘s room. As I

traversed through the corridors with labored breathing, I

racked my brains to recall if I had flouted any norms

recently. My memory seemed to give up on me, and all

I could think was of flogging which my classmate was

bestowed with; that morning.

―Shall I come in sir?‖ quivered my lips. ―You are

already in gentleman‖ he said staring at me with his

keen eyes. I tried to leash my inexorable reflexes. Then

he divulged the reason for my presence.

I was supposed to volunteer to write exams for students,

I was still in a dilemma. It was then he dispelled the

cobwebs in my head.‖ They cannot see; they are

visually challenged; differently abled‖.

The feeling was ambivalent, I rejoiced at the idea of

helping someone however at the same time I had never

done something similar in my life.

I vividly remember it was March, 1999 when I was to

take board exams (10th std).

The day had come; the sun shone in its splendor. I

entered the iron gates of Andh Mahavidhyalaya Blind

School, New Delhi. I felt like a novice; was completely

rudderless. I was clinging onto a strip of paper that had

the student‘s name inscribed on it. He was from 8th

standard and the exam was of Hindi subject.

There was a coordinator who walked me through with

the process. I was introduced to this cheerful looking

young lad standing in a corner, dressed in ironed white

shirt and shorts. His hair neatly parted and an expectant

smile which elicited mine. He extended his hand

towards me and I quickly clutched it into mine. His

touch transcended warmth and I could feel galvanized.

He became my escort and we reached our destination;

the classroom. So the instructions were imparted, we

had two hours of time to complete the paper. The paper

had essays to be written on topics like ―should dowry be

encouraged in India or not‖, ―Environment

Conservation‖. The norms stated that my friend would

narrate the answer to me and I would be his extended

tactile fingers.

I thought of tweaking the norms a bit, I took my friend

into confidence and requested him to do a lip-sync like

actors in the movies. I would pen my own thoughts at a

rapid pace and assured him that he would sail through

the paper with flying colors and he gave his

consent in the form of a sheepish smile.

There it was, the paper got over in 40 minutes and

we still had 80 minutes with us. I swirled around

and found that there were other students who were

sitting with a despondent look. When I enquired the

invigilator about them; I was told that their writers

never turned up. It was then that I asked the

invigilator if I could write for few of them as we

still had some time left. To which he instantly

agreed, my joy knew no bounds.

So within the period of 2 hours I managed to ink

exams for three of my friends. There was this

feeling of gratification, was in a state of euphoria

for all day. Then somebody called me from behind

― Bhaiyya, please don‘t leave and wait for us

downstairs‖. I could see all three of them

discussing in subdued tones.

They held onto each other‘s fingers, with measured

steps they walked slowly in my direction. They

rummaged their half stitched pockets and fished out

15 Rs. And they said in a chorus ―Bhaiyya, we

keep waiting for our writers every year, though we

are assigned one. However we fail to see them

most of the times. You wrote exams for us; which

had been impending for quite some time. Consider

this 15 Rs as a token of thanks from us; cause this

is all we have. You know bhaiyya there is this

samose wala round the corner, you can buy them

with this money‖

I was dumbfounded; my stuttering speech had been

replaced by my moist eyes.

I thanked them for their munificent gesture and

beseeched them to remember me in their prayers.

Cherish the vision that God has bestowed you with.

It‘s been 15 years now, as I recall that moment

from my memory lane, it has left an indelible mark

on my life. And as I narrate it, my eyes are still

moist…………

“Be the lamp that you seek”

Mr. Gaurav Gill is a person of quintessential contemplation known for his kind and modest nature. He is a lecturer and lives in New Delhi.

Moeedul Hussain, who happened to be a happy-go-luck guy

since his childhood, was never into the literary world! More

than reading or writing, he was leaned towards painting.

Born and brought up in Dhubri (Assam), a small town

beside the mighty Brahmaputra, his parents send him to

Bangalore to complete his engineering in Electronics &

Communication. It was during his engineering days; the last

bench gossips and PJs that finally made his entry into the

amazing world of writing. And finally, by the end his

engineering, the guy who hasn‘t read a single novel (till

now) came up with his debut novel ―To Be Continued…‖

Unlike other teenage tales that deals primarily with love and

other similar topics, ‗To Be Continued…‘ deals with the

various dogmas of society and truth of Life; both sweet and

bitter. It shows the different stages of a teenager‘s life; the

tenderly touches of Love, emotional bonding with Family,

betrayal in Friendship and the endless fun of Teenage. ―Life

never stops! It would always drag you to tomorrow at its

own wish. You can never command Life according to your

own will…Life, to be continued…!‖ is what the novel

ushers to its readers.

THE BY CHANCE WRITER: MOEEDUL HUSSAIN

06 Oct 1987. The Madras Mail had just been

positioned into Howrah station for its onward journey

towards Madras. In those days Madras hadn‘t been

rechristened to Chennai. Amid the hustle and bustle of

the passengers, the porters, the vendors, there was a

group of young men who were waiting to board the

train. As the railway staff opened the gate of the

Military compartment, these young men or boys

barely out of their teens started boarding it. The

Railway staff intervened and asked the boys to detrain

as the compartment was meant for Defence personnel

and not civilians. One of the boys whisked out a piece

of paper from his pocket and instantly the Railway

staff made way for them. It was very much evident

from the facial expressions of the boys that some were

quite apprehensive while some anxious and some of

them nervous. After they had all settled down in the

compartment, the boy who had shown the piece of

paper to the Railway employee carried out a head

count and made a note. There were several anxious

faces that were pacing up and down the platform

buying eatables, magazines for these boys and

delivering last minute advices. As the engine driver

sounded the horn and the train started rolling, most of

the people on the platform started running with the

train and waving at their wards. Some of them were

weeping and some trying in vain to control their tears.

As the train picked speed and rolled out of the

station, there was an erry silence in the compartment

apart from the noise created by the movement of the

train and the creeking sound of the iron wheels

rubbing against the steel track. These young men,

unknown to each other were sitting quietly and most

of them were pensive. Some of them, who had a

window seat, were staring out of the window with a

blank look on their face. One of the boys pulled out a

pack of cigarette from his handbag and glanced at the

person sitting next to him and hesitatingly offered him

a smoke. He politely thanked him and said that he did

not smoke. The boy who had offered the cigarette lit

one and started a conversation with the person sitting

beside him. After almost an hour of journey, these

young men had formed little groups among

themselves and had started conversing on various

issues and topics. In fact, these young men were a

batch of freshly recruited Indian Air Force

Technicians who were on their way to Bangalore to be

trained at the Ground Training School.

By mid-day on 7 Oct 1987, the group had

gelled into a unit. Gone was the apprehensive attitude,

missing was the pensive mood from the body

language. They were conversing on various topics.

Some were sharing their experience of college life

while some were feeling nostalgic. Quite a few shared

memorable moments they had spent with their

girlfriends which they treasured and cherished. Early

in the morning on 8 Oct 1987 before the sun had risen

in the horizon, the Madras Mail chugged into Madras

Central station. The men de-boarded the train and

went into a huddle. In small batches they trooped to

the Railway cafeteria and devoured Idli, Vada and

Dosa with piping hot coffee. After all had finished

giving their taste buds the pleasure of South Indian

food, they trekked towards the platform to board the

Vrindavan Express for their onward journey to

Bangalore.

The journey from Madras to Bangalore was a

fascinating one. Beautiful landscape, plush seating

arrangements and the smell of flowers being worn by

pretty women made the journey memorable. But

among all a man who looked the youngest yet the

healthiest of the lot found it difficult to adjust with the

group. As the journey progressed, others tried to make

the man comfortable by speaking to him, cutting jokes

and pulling his legs. Later he confided that he

belonged to a remote village and he found the culture

of the city difficult to adjust. By late evening, as the

train reached Banglore city, the boys were received at

the railway station by a team of Airforce personnel

who packed the boys into a bus and began the journey

towards the Training School.

A sumptuous dinner with rice, chapatti, rasam,

dal and rajma was enough for the men tired and

exhausted after the journey. The charpoy (bed)

offered to sleep seemed to be a double thick mattress

as all of them hurried to unpack their baggage and go

to sleep. But sleep was difficult to come. Thoughts of

parents, siblings, girlfriends kept the men engrossed in

conversation. Suddenly, the noisy barrack was

silenced by a growling voice, ―Lights out jokers. Its

10.30 pm. Else you all will be sent for frog jump.‖

There emerged a sudden pin drop silence. Then

another voice thundered, ―Tomorrow I will give you

some relaxation, but by 7 AM you all must assemble

in the parade ground in shorts and tees. Mind it late

comers will not be spared.‖ The silence was broken

next morning when a whistle blowing Gentleman

woke the boys up at 5.30 AM.

Unused to the military way of life, the boys

took the instructions given last night a bit casually and

Down Memory Lane : Koushik Gangopadhyay

The Golden Moments

most of them reached the parade ground late. Corporal

PK Pandey, the Ground Training Instructor was

standing in a corner of the huge parade ground with a

cruel look on his face. After the head count was done

the group was sent for a frog jumping session.

Whoever, tried to be a bit smart and hoodwink the

Instructor, was subjected to other forms of correction

drill. Thus began the journey of transforming men and

boys into Gentlemen Soldiers. The ethos of military

was injected into the blood within the first couple of

hours of physical conditioning. The day progressed

with a special appointment with the military barber.

He trimmed the manes of the prospective heroes as if

he was mowing a lawn. Whatever he left relieved the

trainees from oiling and combing them thus saving

valuable time.

The next couple of years were grinding and

rigorous. Physical conditioning, technical studies,

military service training, battle craft punched with

games and sports became a part of life for these men.

At times bearing the physical strain used to become

too taxing and seemed to be an ordeal but the men had

gradually been hardened and tempered like raw iron

to steel. Walk outs to the civilian world used to be the

most eagerly awaited event on Sundays. In the

meantime, some of the trainees made their mark in

sports reaching great heights and bringing laurels for

them as well as for the Training Command and Indian

Air Force. And finally the day arrived when the

trainees had to appear before the Board for the final

assessment of their efforts. Midnight oil was burnt a

lot to catch up with lost time. Last minute notes were

exchanged to help each other. The air was filled with

tension followed by ecstasy when the results were

finally declared.

The station parade ground had been decorated

with flags and festoons to mark the occasion of the

Passing Out Parade of the batch of technicians. Early

in the morning, the trainees marched into the ground

smartly attired befitting the occasion. Their heads held

high, their shoes and badges glittering in the early

morning sun. The VIP, awarded some of the trainees

with trophies for their excellence and delivered words

of encouragement. The gathering comprising of

civilian as well as military dignitaries clapped and

cheered loudly as the parade commander saluted the

VIP for the last time. The end of the parade was

marked with jubilation and hugging each other. Years

of hard work and dedication had finally bore fruit.

The next couple of days were moments of partition

and separation. The soldiers trained and tempered

were ready to take up the responsibility of taking the

country into a new era. They left for their respective

units located across the length and breadth of India.

During these couple of years, the batch of trainees had

become like an extended family. Therefore, parting

company became painful and tearful.

Thereafter, gradually with passage of time, the

trainees moved further into life, progressed in their

career, got married and at the same time shared the

immense desire of catching up with old mates

whenever the opportunity arrived. In those days

mobile phones and internet had not made their mark

in India. Therefore, communicating with batch mates

was through the ever reliable Field Post Office and

service voice data line. Some of them got the chance

of meeting each other during OJTs (On Job Training),

sports festivals or some social gathering. Yes, quite a

few met each other during the Kargil War. Twenty

years passed as if it were 20 hours. By 2006, most of

the Technicians had decided to hang their boots and

try their hand in the civilian world.

It was January 2007. The Technicians who had

opted to retire had been asked to report to Subroto

Park, New Delhi to complete the formalities related to

the service records along with the pay and perks

drawn during the last 20 years. It was moment of

celebration. One by one each of them arrived and

reported at the senior technician‘s mess. They hugged

each other in joy and delight. But strange scenes were

witnessed too. Tears of joy rolled down a few eyes on

meeting the old guys. People who had curly hair in

their teens had gone bald; some who had hardly any

facial hair at the time of Joining IAF had thick

moustaches with a tinge of grey, boys who were just

out of their teens in 1987 had children. The evening

hangout at the Indian Air Force bar was a treat.

Recollecting golden days and sharing notes with each

other of the last twenty years punctuated with jokes

and leg pulling made the next three days memorable.

Alas! Again the time to bid farewell to each other

arrived. But armed with the technology of Mobile

phone and internet, the lost bond was destined to live

a long life.

It has been close to 27 years now. But the bond,

the feeling of camaraderie still remains. We are

connected to each other. We have a group in

Facebook where we share our moments of joy and

sorrow. We meet once in a while at a pub and

recollect good old days. Today, we all have

established ourselves in the civilian world; yet cherish

those golden years when we served in Indian Air

Force. Indeed, very nostalgic. Jai Hind……….

Kaushik Gangopadhyay is an ex-defense personnel presently working with State Bank of India. He honoured us by accepting our request to share his real experiences and anecdotes of Air-Force life in ‘Down Memory

Lane’

Siddhartha Yadav is a banker by profession, manager by

choice, writer by circumstances and an IIITian. He was born in

Kanpur but brought up in Allahabad. He completed his

graduation from 'Oxford of the East' Allahabad University with

Economics and English Literature. He, then made it to

prestigious Indian Institute of Information Technology-

Allahabad for MBA-IT. After that he served in an Insurance

company on a very senior profile. Some personal problems and

other issues made him resign from that place and walk to

solitude. He walked to some unknown corner of India for

mental peace and spiritual healing. He came back from there

after almost a year but now manager by choice was writer by

circumstances. His writing is purely based on his experiences

and observations. He always picks up any social issue to pen a

script on. ‗Penning with the purpose‘ is his philosophy and he

wants his pen to pioneer the change.

He can be contacted on https://www.facebook.com/-

mr.siddharthayadav or mr.siddharthayadav@gmail.com

THE VERY UNIQUE: SIDDHARTHA YADAV

PEEK-A-BOO : PRERNA VARMA

“Death ends a life, not a relationship.”

― Mitch Albom, Tuesdays with Morrie

Its morning, but I don‘t wish to get up. Persistent pain takes

over me, stabbing in my heart. I feel sick to the stomach as I

notice the plumpness of pristine pillows. The bed sheet on

your side isn‘t crumpled.

Yes, I don‘t want to get up. It‘s an anguishing ordeal.

Soon the kids slip into the room. My youngest daughter

demands that she needs to see you. The middle one replies,

―He‘s gone.‖

―But where,‖ the youngest one asks curiously.

Both of them look at me. I had to remind them that you are

now a star in night sky.

―I wish he were a tiger. I have never seen a tiger,‖ the

youngest one says. Without gasping for air, she continues,

―Ma, he promised me he will take me to see tiger.‖

―And he said he would buy me a new pencil box,‖ the

middle one adds.

I want to curse you. The kids listened to you, you were good

at it. I wasn’t. And now, you have left me all alone.

―Ma, would you buy me a pencil box?‖ the middle one

snaps.

―And take me to see the tiger?‖

I have no answers to give. I am neither qualified to earn as

much as you did, nor did you have insurance.

Just then, our eldest one, who had been silently standing in

the corner smiles and asks if we could all go out for a walk!

I immediately agree. Anything to avoid giving my younger

ones an answer.

We storm out. It‘s quite cold outside. Grey clouds fill the sky

as we slowly walk towards a community park. Kashmir is

clad in white satin, looking young and radiant. The kids

seem to love snow.

I see two kids enjoying apples. Apparently, the youngest one

notices it too. She grabs my sweater and asks, ―Ma, can we

have apples?‖ I hear the sound of her gulping saliva. She

really wants it.

I desperately try to stop myself from sobbing as I utter ‗no.‘

How do I explain my youngest child that we can’t afford two

square meals a day, let alone afford apples!

She has tears in her eyes as she yearns for apples. The

eldest one comes to my rescue. ―Well, we can‘t have

apples today. But if you behave like a good child that

you are, maybe we can have Maggi for dinner this

Saturday.‖

His tone is commanding, yet kind and subtle. The

youngest one wipes off her tears and the middle one

asks if the dinner would include her too.

For the first time in the past few days, my shoulders

don‘t hurt so much.

Now, he comes up to me and says, ―Ma, you don‘t need

to worry. I have some money saved for Maggi. I told

my teacher about papa, she informed our principal and

she said that if I could teach some weak students of my

class, she would give me some stipend. I agreed. I stay

at school for one extra hour.‖

The guilt for not knowing my son‘s whereabouts

overwhelms me. Unknowingly, I drop a few tears.

He clutches my hand. ―I am not a child Ma. I know

things aren‘t good.‖

We stand there in solitude, a smile slowly drawing

across our faces as we see the younger ones throwing

snow balls at each other. The clouds slowly wither as

rays of light crystallize the snow.

I am sorry, but I feel happy today. That blindly

stabbing pain in my heart is still there. I know that

things won‘t be good for years, but I have started to

heal.

------

We start to take a walk back home. The younger ones

question me once again, asking if you are a star. I nod

in yes. The eldest one adds that you will always watch

them.

Today, all three of them have snuggled together in your

side of the bed. Tomorrow, the bed sheet will be

crumpled and the pillows will be warm. Maybe

tomorrow I would want to get out of the bed.

Getting Up

Prerna Varma is a

versatile writer who has

been working with a

number of organizations

on a freelance basis. She is

credited with a book titled

THE DUMB AND

DUMBFOUNDED. Her

writing prowess is free of

genre specification and

that is what makes her

unique.

Udita Pal is 18 year old 12th grader from Bokaro

Steel City, Jharkhand. She made her debut in writing

industry with her short story in Uff Ye Emotions

named, ‗NCERT of Love‘ with Himanshu Chabbra

which received lot of positive response from readers.

. She made place in heart of many renowned authors

with her one liner on different topics.

She is done with writing 2 different books

‗Adulterated Love‘ which is a commercial fiction –

romance and ‗The Dirty Book‘ (With Bestselling

author of LOSER, Dipen Ambalia ) which is a satire

on Indian Publishing Industry. It is her dream to

write at least one book of each genre and is working

on one ‗can‘t leak even a single detail right now

project‘. She‘s obsessed with social networking

websites and can be found online either updating

funny one liner on her not-so-interesting-for-her-but-

entertaining-for-others-life or posting pictures of

her.

She calls herself a walking scandal and a

misunderstood personality. She believes that there is

writer in everyone just takes time to come out and

make magic with his words. Her dream is to become

filmmaker. She loves giving ―Gyaan‖ about love,

relationships, lust, friendship, family problems etc.

You can reach her on Facebook.com/UditaPal

or Uditapal96@yahoo.com or

Twitter.com/Swag_Womaniya, or you can follow

her blogwww.uditapal.wordpress.com

THE BOLD AND BEAUTIFUL: UDITA PAL

Fragrance of Heena

A Bit Of We…..

Not everyday it happens When you meet someone

Who makes you feel happy?

Who lets you be yourself? One such day I found him

Who worked as a hymn

On my life so gloomily dim Kinship clicked in an instant

Partially became my crescent

In my life adding sweet fragrance Never letting it go off balance

Sometimes he sulks so awful

And this makes me go fearful Trying my best to make him glee

Asking his sorrows to flee

Confessing his liking for me Making me wonder about myself

Acting on his dry life like a calm sea

Allowing me to like my own self Sometimes on his ignorant fling

My peace alters to uproar wearily

Still I accept him in his own way Hoping we don’t have to drift away

We do have fights many a times

But still to each other we do sublime Thankful to the heavenly one for my gift

Each other’s mood we together uplift

Gone were the days when it was you and me

Now it’s always going to be a bit of we

Such a kinship is indeed my blissful treasure

And for this I won’t allow anyone to interfere!!

Heena Ahuja is a girl who loves to scribble the rhythmic melody of literature. She lives in

Mumbai.

Mr. YouKnowMe Speaks…

#100HappyLives

#100HappyDays, I'm not sure if you have seen this

hashtag on your social networking profile or not, but I

see it quite often. This hashtag started from a website

(http://100happydays.com/) which asks you to signup

and share your happiness for 100 days by posting your

Happy photos on you social network by putting a

hashtag #100HappyDays. The concept has become an

instant rage among netizens across the world and social

networks became overcrowded with millions of Happy

Photos. I found this concept really intriguing and in a

way revolutionary as well. Quite like #PayItForward,

which asks you to help three people, and ask them to

help three more and so on. There had been a moified

#PayItForward initiative, which actually turned into

#TakeItBackword. In this version, people were

supposed to ask on their facebook profile and send gifts

to five people who commented first. And those five

need to do the same on their profile. Amazingly, I have

seen people sending gift to five people and taking from

as many as they could. A purpose lost in greed.

Meanwhile, I chose another way. My favorite - a silent

way where I chose to make a random person happy each

day without keeping a count. However, I remember

when it started due to the significance of the day. Soon I

will forget that too. Am I being a saint? Not at all. I am

trying to save my soul. For the years passed by, I did

nothing for anyone else. Today, I'm still the same. I'm

doing everything for myself. All I'm doing is that I

included everyone else in myself. Gives a purpose.

Maybe a greater purpose. Not sure about it. But it does

give a lot of happiness. I remember when I gave a small

treat to street kids on a food stall. They ate Aloo-Tikki

with a joy that I had never seen before. And when I read

a fairy tale to a blind kid, she cheered up my soul. And

when I gave a pack of Parle-G to little puppies near my

flat, they still run when I park my bike. And....and

countless moments... I call it #100HappyLives, because

100 days, that's what doctors gave me. After that, I will

become a traveler to infinity. Destinations unknown. I

hope lives I touched will give me a place in their heart,

if not in their soul. Maybe, I will live even after I'm

gone. Maybe... Did you make any life happy?

Mr. YouKnowMe is someone whom all of us know yet all of us are still to discover. He is a biker, an author and like all of us, a lover of life… He is at

present working with an IT Company.

Amateur Scribbles…

CHANGE

You said everything got changed,

Everywhere there was something new.

I haven't realize your words before,

Because, I failed to notice that you

were changed for me, everyday ,

passing through.

How? It happened, didn't know when,

Everything around was strange,

Those days, worst were the conditions,

My thoughts were that beautiful for

you,

Unfortunately, my mind changed every

imprinted impressions.

Suddenly, you became unpredictable ,

Your change made my heart fragile,

Weren't you the same person,

Who once hold my hands

The one who asked to me , hold it back

for miles ?

Do admit ! That we were together ,

No, not only , I was alone into that

relationship,

You got changed, you left me here,

Why did you push me into such

hardships?

Well, this wasn't all, I wanted you to

know,

Believe it or not! I don't care for you

anymore truly,

As I have now grown up STRONG........

- Lalima Yadav

I Met Her

She hit me in the Sun

Like a monsoon rain

Deep blue eyes

Speaking of truthfulness

Like I've met her somewhere

Maybe she was that girl

But when it came

I ran out of words

And my throat sank

She was to me

What string is to guitar

Her smell sank deep in my mind

Like I met her behind the lime

Then she disappeared in the thick air

Like a promise lost

God freeze the moment

I meet her again

She hit me in the Sun

Like a monsoon rain...

- Shreesh Tiwari, IIT Roorkee,

Letters in seasons

Autumn leaves,

Sandy fragrance,

Thunder clouds,

Together, we breathe poetic assonance.

The warm winter,

Mystic fear,

Chopping some colour,

We live in dreamy shore.

Mango leaves cent,

Summer cool slate,

I write

Seasons of love letters you create.

Life Space

For making memories,

Framing experiences,

Narrating the seasons.

Insane in the reality,

Poetic in the permanence,

Injured of its cycle,

Breathless between the living and leaving

Life space shrinks in to nothingness.

The Golden Twilight

It was the golden twilight,

When my mother caressed me in delight.

In thoughtless thinking, aimless future, my

childhood was shining like lambent moonlight.

In the river of happiness, mountainous innocence, I

was the princes of enkindling light.

It was the golden twilight

The time before the youthful moonlight

After the playful sunlight

I welcomed artificial intelligence to guide my

innocence‘s aplite.

Now in the unfriendly world my childhood and its

innocence is hushed in the darkness of the night.

Crimson love, purple kindred, towards gray career,

pinkish buddies all evanesced in the melancholy

sight.

Longing to have a heart of gold, coloured with

juvenile crescent's peacefulness in the scarce

twilight.

The golden twilight,

Is the cycle of wishes in the life‘s hopeful ignite.

Hope for venerating light,

Princely light,

Unending light.

To return to the shells of memories childhood

seashore site.

- Jyothsna Phanija, EFL University,

Hyderabad, India.

Female : Daughter Of God

When she was born,

The world looked quite unfamiliar.

But it sounded like a good place,

With mother beside her.

As she grew she realized,

she was born in a world of masculinism.

As she travelled to various places,

She felt something she had never dreamt of.

She had to fear day and night from the

prawling hunters,

she was followed up, beaten, closely

watched.

Being powerless she cried in the dark

corners of the room.

Her parents kept her close to protect her.

She wanted to fly like everyone,

But unfortunately the masculine didn't let

her.

As she turned from girl to woman,

she realized that it could be changed.

The generation starts and ends with her.

The teachings preached can be modified,

so she preached her son to just respect

female and she expected that the

masculinism would end someday.

- Rohit Bharti

IIT Guwahati