Miracle: India - Issue 1

MIRACLE INDIA

ISSUE 1

OWNING YOUR CREATIVITY

Guntaj arora Editor-in-chief

“It’s a wonderland” You are a part of our legacy now, you are dreaming comfortably on this sheet of paper between other sheets of other white paper. Other magical paper.

Mind your head as you slide down the hole to our wonderland, everyone!

Wow, it‟s been quite a journey bringing forth this magazine to the world. My journey began some three years back behind my desktop screen with a hope of giving other young writers and artists a platform to voice their talent. When we were talking about starting this Indian edition, it was all about bringing forward my ideas and my aims to my own hometown. While this issue is much about the people and talent of Chandigarh, we were gladdened by the response that we received from around the country.

I can proudly say that the magazine has grown in its true sense now. From including literary and art works, we have come to a stage where we are experimenting more and more with the various forms of art. This issue is just a glimpse of an exciting journey ahead and thanks to all those who have been a part of this journey till now.

It is amazing to see how the magazine has transformed with this Indian edition.

Kudos to all those who have been a part of this magazine and supported it along the way. And a special thanks to my wonderful team, I have seen you all grow so much this past year. Love and love!

Talk to you all soon.

Guntaj “How puzzling all these changes are! I‟m never sure what I‟m going to be, from one minute to another.”

-Lewis Carroll

the miracle team

Harnoor Toor Non-fiction Editor The Miracle Magazine not only gave me an opportunity to know my aesthetic self but also to do something unconventional at the age of 18.The amazing support, the varied forms of artistic talent, and the urge of young people to do something is what I witnessed and enjoyed the most. With Miracle, we envision to better the lives of the youth, the young upcoming artists and the supportive citizens of our beautiful country.

We wait for Miracles to happen; How about It is time to became one?

A special mention of my gorgeous M team- Guntaj, Ridhima,Aastha, Jasreen, Ankit and Prabhraj ;without your united efforts,mine would be futile!

Aastha Malhotra Poetry Editor Working as the Poetry Editor with the Miracle Magazine Team has been a wonderfully enriching experience. I have not only grown as a poetess, but also as a person. I hope that we are able to live up to the expectations the readers have from us.

Jasreen Kaur Art Editor Started with a discussion, today, I am so proud that we have sailed through smoothly, to the first issue of the miracle magazine. This was one of the best experiences I have had till now in any venture. It made me grow more as an artist and helped me admire each art form in its true sense.

Magazine Design: Varesh Chaudhary

Prabhraj Sabharwal Marketing Head It was really an exciting experience working with the magazine. I got a chance to meet so many new and exciting people while working for the magazine.

Anahita Merchant Creative Head It was a great pleasure working for miracle magazine. I am extremely fond of poetry and I am awed by people who can put forth their emotions and experiences in verse, so it was a double delight to work with this magazine. It made me appreciate poetry even better as it made the poetry come alive to me.

Ankit Malhotra Photography Editor It was a great experience working in the photography department along with a photographer whose thinking resonates with me. Considering the fact that this was my first experience working in a magazine of this stature, it was really good and I hope to work again soon.

Ridhima Kohli Photography Editor Everybody has dreams and ambitions in life.

Mine came true by working for Miracle Magazine. Not only did I get to pursue my passion of photography but also got to meet amazing people in the process, be it in the form of my teammates or the people I interviewed. I learned so much and can't wait to experience and learn more.

INDEX 16 34 39

25

36 44

62

56

72 23

76

74

106

90

61 86 100

LOST IN LABYRINTH Yachika Sharma He declaimed me love ballads, Showed me reveries of a beautiful world, Only to lure me to his trap, His faux love he used as a bait, And inadvertently i got duped.

He ensnared me to his torture chamber, A bĂŞtise that i now contrite, Lying contused and impuissant, In a corner, feeble and incapacitated, Footsteps coming towards me stop abruptly, I arouse by a splatter of cold water on my visage, My eyes palpebrate by light and water, He grazes my face and pulls my chin up And leans in to kiss me but i turn my face away, With his blade, he slices my lip, Exasperated, my breathing intensifies, Inflicted, I lick the salty blood, With the blade he strokes my face down to my scapula On the way back up he pierces my neck, Chokingly, i expectorate blood and saliva on his face, He slaps me and ferociously pulls my hair, He jabs the blade in my arm, A smile spreads across his face, Blood seeping out of my veins, his delectation, Every sigh or wince more delightsome to him than earlier, My skin now wont to the cuts, i resist reacting, I shut my eyes, too hard, to mount strength, I push him away and begin to run rudderlessly, A death cell it is with a million rooms, Sprinting, i cross at least ten rooms yet reach nowhere, All the rooms alike, no escape seems viable, But i don't give in, i try, i try once again, Only to reach nowhere close to escapism, I run more, Crossing 20 rooms this time, Only to conquer disaffirmation, So i fall in a corner yet again, I hear his footsteps coming near me yet again, I am weared out, scarred and helpless yet again, I prepare myself for the crucifixion yet again, I brace myself for escaping this labyrinth yet again For the eighteenth time, i am ready yet again, He is a sadist and i am his hapless victim, Lost in his chafe; lost and unprocurable.

I am lost in a labyrinth.

CONFINED Riddhi Sharma She sat there in her leather chair, by the slowly dying embers.

Trying to indite the poetry she possibly could not.

She sat there staring at the crumpled pile of yellow parchment (just how she liked) With an adroit flick of her tender wrist, she again wove patterns no one else could.

She sat there in her sodden clothes, with the treasured jar of all her woes.

An air of desolation surrounded her, threatening to spill her most intimate thoughts, onto the paper that lay in front of her.

She chafed her hands and bit her lip She tilted her head and studied the body of work which was almost visceral in its melancholy.

She smiled a little, finally satisfied.

Then, tossed it into the fire.

Untitled

By Srinjoy Dey Forlorn hands in the dawn of December, had fell apart as the ashes of slaked ember.

She lay on the bed as cold as doom, and stared out of her window room.

The sun was setting in the river horizon, while she pitied her fate which brimmed of poison.

Seldom, She fathomed of her living companion, While he camped himself across Dhaleshwari - the river.

He gazed at the perfection of her eyes, in the reflection of the river and his heart's perception.

He remembers the youth days of her life.

In her red golden Daccai Sari, she lost the sight of the world, and the world lost the sight of her.

"Jamaibabu didn't turn up!" the old man said, So she threw herself in the river bed.

They searched and searched for her body for weeks and days, hours spend in anxious ways.

Alas! When they gave up and couldn't find, the soulless body of the cursed bride, they deemed the tragedy just a phase, and their lives moved on at a steady pace.

However the forgotten bride, Had miraculously survived.

Washed down to a river shore, which was devoid of any dwelling door.

It was then, that for the very first time, She had opened her eyes under his caressing shadow.

Her body all soggy, wrinkled , wet.

But this was not at all her fret.

Why had she survived? what purpose was she to serve?

The pain, the misery, betrayal of love... Was it not quite enough ?

The wind made his hair ripple, while she sat and weeped for her dreams crippled.

She screeched And weeped and veiled her face with her hands and wailed.

She sat hidden from the sunlight pale, and told the tale of the love that failed.

While all he did, was standing there Calmly and Patiently.

This was a destiny bond, and led to a passion born within the lady.

She was in love with him.

He was just a bud then.

As weeks and months passed by, she talked to him about a new hope, a new home that she had build right across the river shore.

She told him of her dreams with her dear beloved, She then cried quietly, nobody spoke.

She wondered and fantasized, He wouldn't judge nor would he mind.

The springs and winters passed by.

He grew to a flower and she to a woman.

The time flowed like the liquid river, but she never tried to deliver herself from lovelorn of her marriage.

Once upon a dreary time, He bore a fruit like peach and lime, She bit through the juicy fruit out of hunger, Little she knew of the blunder.

He wanted to relieve her from the grotesque sadness.

The madness, of speaking to an inanimate tree.

The fruit was poisoned, so was she.

Her last breath in the world was of sorrow, She wished she could see him tomorrow.

Her reality lay with her in the bed – a widow, Gazing out of her window.

She thinks of her beloved Wonders if he ever loved Her as much as she did.

She took the breath in, with the air came all the possibilities that could have been, if and only if he hadnâ€&#x;t run away from her.

All ruins of memories revive, she wondered if he were alive. She shed the last tear for him as it ran down her cheek, The breath escaped with rush of air with the words she could never speak.

Based on the poem Flute Music By Gurudev Robindronath Thakur (Rabindranath Tagore)

baking a new tale

Devina Soni

I

t is said that if you do what you love, you will never work a day in life.

Breaking the barriers of convention, the youth today is exploring new fields and building life out of passion. Embracing her passion, our guest, Miss Devina Soni, who is educationally qualified to be a white collar has turned into a tricity famous baker.

Devina brings smiles to people’s faces with her sugary delights and adds sweet bliss to their day. Now, who does not love a nice, light, creamy cake‌or a beautiful little cupcake for that matter?

While we spend our days relishing these baked goodies, there is the baker, who whips up the cream, fluffs up the bread, adds fairy dust and prepares for us, our own sweet little sugar heaven. Miracle gives you a peak into the life of such a magic worker aka Devina, the baker who works tirelessly to bring to us our beloved desserts.

How did you become interested in professional baking?

As a child, I was always fond of baking. I had never thought of taking up baking as a profession: it just happened. I had finished my MBA, but somewhere in my heart I knew that I was not cut out for a corporate 9 to 5 job. So one Diwali, I dabbled my hands in bakery by selling home-made chocolates, and since then it has been a roller coaster ride. I wanted to explore more and expand my horizon beyond chocolates. Cupcakes were the trending fashion 3 years ago and I being in a new territory was fascinated by them. I did a few courses, and from then on, started selling cupcakes, cakes, brownies and such sweet treats for all occasions, be it weddings, anniversaries or birthdays What was your first baking job, and did you go to culinary/pastry school?

My first baking job was the sale of my home-made chocolates. I started working on my own from home only. I have not attended any professional culinary/pastry school in particular but I have done a few culinary courses in India and abroad.

Was baking always what you wanted to do?

No, baking was never a part of the plan. I have completed my Economics honours and MBA. I couldn't have guessed that I would be a professional baker one day.

In your opinion, what is the hardest thing about being a baker?

Being a baker, is certainly not some cake walk.

The long sleepless hours that go into preparing the fondant decorations, all the deftness required, makes the job as hard as any other regular 9 hours job.

Sometimes, you'll catch me working till 4 in the morning. The job has its fair share of tough days.

What are the best things about being a baker?

While being a baker might get tough at times, the exhaustion is turned into delight when my clients send me their smiling pictures with the cakes. Their appreciative messages are enough to make my day. The satisfaction of bringing someone happiness is one of the best things about my job. The joy of making someone smile never gets old and the fact that I get to do that a lot as a baker is my fortune.

Do you plan to open your own bakery in the near future?

I do!

I want to have a cute bakery and coffee shop of my own one day. It is a dream and will hopefully see the light of the day soon.

How do you think are your cakes different from those offered by other big bakeries in town, in terms of quality?

We are different from other bakeries because we use only the best quality material like cocoa, flour etc. To us the cost of the ingredients is not as important as the quality of the product. Also, we make sure we use the best quality fondant. All of my equipments, cutters and moulds are imported from the U.S. We make sure that our product gets the best quality finishing. At any stage we make no compromises with our standards.

What do you think are the most important skills to have as a baker?

Patience is one very important attribute of a baker; we have to be patient, not only with our creations but also with our customers. We sometimes get strange requests, which are not quite feasible. Our clients at times do not understand the pragmatic nature of bakery and it can take hours to explain it to them. Also, one needs to be dexterous to handle all the cakes and bakes.

What is the one item you have never tried/have yet to master?

I have tried my hand at many items but the one thing I have not tried is macaroons. They are one thing I wish to learn, and master. In fact, Iâ€&#x;m currently, as we speak, in Mumbai, taking a course to learn about perfecting the art of macaroons.

Have you encountered any unexpected challenges?

While I do find myself in tricky situations at times, I have not really had to face some difficult unexpected challenge. I like keep myself well prepared in advance and take orders a week prior to the delivery. That way, I know how to manage my week well beforehand. There are times when I face shortage

of material, but we manage. There were these 2-3 weeks when fondant was not available anywhere in India. All the stocks had depleted. So I took off for a small vacation. (Laughs) There are some bakeries that seem to focus too much on the beauty of their cake/cookie/goodie, but the taste is just not there. However they draw customers in just because of the ‘look’ of their products. On the other hand, there are bakeries which might be less known, but have better tasting products.

Where do you draw the line, between making a product look good and making it taste good? If you have to pick one way, which way would you go?

For me, it is always the quality and taste of the cake that matters. I am confident that over the years, with practice and experience my cakes would take towards much better and innovative appearances, but it is the taste of my cakes that will stay with my customers forever. The taste would give them something to remember me by and only then will they come back for more.

Appearance can bring you customers only for so long but when your product tastes good, it brings you valuable goodwill which is a lot better. The „looks‟ of my product do have a very important role, but for my cakes to taste good is my priority and will always be.

What is your proudest accomplishment as a baker?

We thank Devina for all the sweetness she has added to our lives with her cakes and wish her all the best for all her future endeavours.

With all the cake mentioned, it is only justified that we ourselves enjoy one, a chocolate or a fondue cake or maybe red velvet or… God, the endless choices!

We probably should just ask Devina for a Baker’s special!

My proudest accomplishment is when „D-licious’ got featured in the City‟s local newspaper. Also another one of my biggest moments was when one of my cakes made it to the list of Top 20 Cakes around the World. The feeling was beyond the expression of words.

Written by: Nimiksha Mahajan

painting by Veer Misra

COMA Ainesh Mujoo (Ink Storms Art) I remember how you were covered – Covered in leaves of Lavender sinking – Sinking with the summer breeze – Deeper - Deeper into valleys – That you – Didn’t even know – Were there I remember how my heart would race with the phone bell ringing – Ringing when I called you 5 minutes – Just 5 minutes after our first date To tell you that I was missing you already; I remember how it went – Beep – Beep – Beep – Stop And there were you at the end of that stop – And that was an Eternity.

I remember watching you fade into the morning fog – the Fog to fetch the newspaper – The newspaper from our front porch I remember feeling your fingers blue – Blue with the weight of the polythene bags filled with letters - Letters from people we hardly even knew I remember how you talked me into taking that one trip to the city away from our mountain dew And I remember clearly – The black car – That crashed into you. And they call it a coma.

And they call it a coma But If I had it my way – I would call it a hyphen everyday Because these months at the hospital connected us in ways I never knew sentences and things could If I had it my way I would call it a semi-colon Because I never knew where and how to use one until you wrote me a poem and taught me to If I had it my way – I wouldn’t call it a coma because I couldn’t bear in the situation, the punch of a punctuation – beating me down into valleys – That I didn’t know were there Because you weren’t covered in Lavender petals anymore but in pipes and tubes of the same plastic that the polythene bag was made of And even though we had Lavender flowers come in from all those people we wrote endless letters about our theories of evolution and love and magic and passion I never thanked them – because I didn’t like ending letters anymore I didn’t pick any phone calls from any of your friends – because I didn’t like hitting the End button on the phone call anymore And I used every 1 of those 6 ‘Ands’ to list out the 7 colors of the rainbow because like using commas anymore.

As I stand there, looking at you through the glass watching a part of me , quietly part your hair to the left – The way only I and the newspaper boy through the fog had seen it As I heard the cardiograph kept by your side ring – Beep – Beep – Beep – Stop And you weren't there at the end of the stop. But that was still – An eternity.

CYCLE OF LIFE Sanidhya Sharma Vowels, space and time All drinking the same brine And still we sow & still we reap The product of the sentiment Infinite love without fulfillment Everyone in doubt, all directions crying out; Weeping eyes swollen faces Not to be heard A mere scream or a mighty shout I know no reason. I know no doubt.

Cannot talk cannot breathe cannot conspire Benzin&sulphates ye can't respire He coughs he spits, but he's not in pieces Why should we spare a care for him?

Be A Body Vegetate your limbs Squeeze your lungs Breathe it in Hurt your hands hurt your legs How else would this world subsist, this nightmare Destruction Chaos Painful cohesion And a little bit of love.

Forget Forge Do not resuscitate.

Mortar Mort Let one prevail Re-establish Re-think Respire, reminder

Archaic responsibilities pang with a loud thunder Pardon hate, rejuvenate Relish your relic's echo faint Realize the disguise napalmed on your soul Are you tender, are you whole?

picture by Tushar Pasrija

sequestration Guntaj Arora Pictures by: Ridhima Kohli

She announced her end, perfectly faked her death and painted the nerves black, debauched her heart and arranged a grandiose funeralgrief-formalities and the disheveled bonds packed up in the coffin and thrown ( genuinely thrown) in the dug up forest.

Filled in, leveled and forgotten.

I Dance, the crepuscular movements stunned every limb in her body.

She did pirouettes on her hands, softly seducing the moss between the toes.

The humph and hoot of her goosebumps tickled her noxious life out.

The shuttle of her hair shuddered the ground beneath her and the cramps between the sand muscles pinioned her to a perplexed infinityshe sounded deaf and the smell of her heart choked her only heart out.

II She was burning.

The white smoke mingled with her tears and the smell of her giggling, played pranks and quiet disasters after it.

Her lungs plunged out of the smoke circles and debauched it with her fake wedding nuptials; all dark and grey.

III Rotted organs.Burnt feet.

Lost eyes.

But the white flower tiara on her head breathes blithe and keeps her alive. The dim light of the stars, the excited blueberry juice running down her veins keep her awake. She is dead but she is a writer. She is a fighter.

IV Her notebook is a war, lethal ruling pressed across the anemic stomachs and the malignant odour of the leather cover rubbing across the nostrils, naked.

She is a killer among the butterflies in quarantine

picture by Tarun Verma

picture by Tarun Verma

Hell to heaven Sarah Minz

D

iamonds pierced her ears while silver tinkled over the ankles of her otherwise bare feet.

It was the only thing she could hear. So delicate and wispy. To say her journey had been undulating and rough would be an understatement. Yet, the anklets retained their elegance. Listening to their song calmed her soul and a single glance took her back to the time she first bought them. To the place and the exact surrounding, even. She hugged her knees and smiled with her eyes closed in nostalgia.

She'd been to many exotic lands in this life of youth that she had been leading. She had been sure to bring a little trophy back each time.

"Memories," she'd said to her lover. "These are all memories." There was the watch her father bought for her in Zurich. The necklace that gypsy gave her in Copenhagen. So many other things she'd been fond of. Yet it was only the anklets and earrings that had remained. Maybe it had something to do with the incident...

The air suddenly seemed to grow warmer. Bloodcurdling shrieks of rage filled the air and-She opened her eyes. While her heart thumped in her chest like a hammer she looked around and made sure she was still alone. Yes. The grey sky met the monochrome land in the distance and the singular doorframe still faced her; the knob refusing to budge.

She wrapped her arms around herself tighter but it did nothing to protect her against the frigid winds. She closed her eyes again. Mistake. She heard a sudden gunshot and nervously felt the skin over her left pelvic bone.Nothing?

She checked again, still panicked wreck. Nothing. She sighed. A single tear.

Memories never felt so overrated.

Reiterate, she told herself. Reiterate and maybe then we'll know where to go.

Closing her eyes once more, she lay on the barren ground...

She was bleeding out but she knew she couldn't stop. They were still coming after her so she clamped her hand over the wound and thought of nothing other than running. She tripped and fell. They surrounded her and the youngest of them looked into her eyes before pointing his gun at them. Such Demons. What did they want?

A blinding flash of light. Was she dead? No, she had shot one of her malefactors. Where had she found the gun? A series of the same kind of

blinding flashes followed, this time aimed toward her, and again she pondered her death.

But she hardly felt dead.

She was running again. Demons. These ones wanted her too. She fought through what seemed like a sand storm. The sky like blood and the air rank and heavy. She wasn't bleeding anymore but the ability to run seemed useless since the anklets offered not a chance for concealment.

Her feet throbbed and she wasn't even sure if her heart was still beating but she kept running. A thousand thoughts cackled along her synapses but she kept running. She should plot a smart move, she thought but she kept running. She couldn't hear the demons behind her anymore but she kept running. She ran until the sky seemed to change colour. A velvety black with stars twinkling just like the diamonds she wore. She'd never set her eyes on something so surreal.

She was so captivated by its divinity that for the first few moments she didn't realise she wasn't running anymore. Instead, she was falling. She looked around. It was dark but it wasn't the lack of illumination she was scared of. It was the fact that she kept falling. Falling, for what seemed like eternity and through what seemed like the universe, until finally, she hit the ground. The exact spot was not very far from where she lay now.

She opened her eyes and sat up. Was it dawn yet? No. Still dark. Still restless.

It had been so odd. She tried to piece things together. Snippets. Tiny details.

The "स हिं " engraving on the anklets.

The edge she felt her foot step over before she fell.

The demons.

None of it made sense. None of it seemed to be part of one story. So she stopped trying.

She linked her fingers because she missed Him. Something told her she would always have to miss Him. The sun's first rays soon fell on the small of her back. It made her feel alive. But did she really know how it felt to be that way? Who knew.

Her lost eyes travelled to the door. It was creaking open on its old hinges. In one swift movement she had yanked it fully open and was on the other side.

The sun now seemed to shine on every square inch of her body. She felt as delicate and weightless as a feather. Could she fly?

She looked back through the door and smiled for the grass was greener right where she was.

The End.

In conversation with

1.What do you believe is the proper role of parents in any musical venture?

Encouraging concert attendance and absolute positive appreciation at all times.

2. What other factors might influence an artist’s performance other than skill set and musical ability?

The audience‟s conduct , instruments , technology , performance opportunities.

3. Who are some of your favourite composers, bands and musicians from the past and present?

Maurice Ravel ,Manfred Leuchter ,Ionica Minune ,Alex Wurman ,Kishori Amonkar ,Michel Petrucciani , Snarky Puppy, Daniel Mille , Sara Sherpa ,Omer Klein ,Paolo Fresu ,Ibrahim Maalouf ,Quentin Angus ,Petar Ralchev.

4. What is one key event that changed your life in a positive or negative way?

Attending (accordionist) Manfred Leuchter Quintet LIVE had a significant impact on my conviction for music,new found love for accordion ,travelling ,artistry in performance.

5. What are the best and worst memories of your musical career?

Worst - my school band fiasco - couldn‟t keep the song together on stage. Best - scoring music for Indie films and curating Chandigarh Jazz Fest.

6. What would you do if you were the only survivor in a plane crash?

Which moment after the crash?

7. Is there a song or passage that never fails to move you emotionally?

Smile by Charlie Chaplin or “Harshest place on earth” by Alex Wurman.

8. If we're sitting here a year from now celebrating what a great year it's been for you in this role, what would you have achieved?

A Masters Research degree in ethnomusicology.

9. What would you describe and rate the current scenario of music in India?

Jazz is niche ,classical is obscure ,folk is extinct ,barely archived documented or celebrated. Everything else is on YouTube.

10. How do/would you handle mistakes during a performance?

Improvise my way to the next passage or section .

11. What is your most prized possession?

My mountain bicycle.

YOU HAVE EYES MY DEAR, BUT YOU CANNOT SEE Svaraj Anand

You have eyes my dear, but you cannot see How I long for the day when you will notice me Sirens shall blare and so the bells shall ring Gentle sighs shall escape our lips as our hands intertwine Mindlessness grips us as we lay in the freshly dewed grass Hand still intertwined and pulses racing You touch my face as you sing a happy song I turn my face towards you and you slowly disappear A daydream snapped out of, a class entered into Mathematical equations on the blackboard and I still think of you Your voice, your eyes, your lips, you Everything perfect, everything futile How I long for the day when I become your favourite person For now, I have to settle for a friendly face sitting in melancholy Cause you have eyes my dear, but you cannot see

SILENCE OF THE RAIN Trishla Garttan In the long faded pages of the past, Where the rain outlines the intensity of my emotions, Somewhere lie my dreams unfulfilled in the silent rain of acceptance, There was light somewhere in the corner, I just had to reach for it, But again the world conspired against me and i was forced to Accept its will, But not everything was bad of course, The reason why there was still light, The light signified the words i spoke, The words which were now paralyzed, Because i knew there were some words that went into silence with the rain.

Painting By

MallikaVadera

Verses In Cursive

BY AASTHA MALHOTRA

exactly like the cartographer across the streets traced his hands along his impeccable creations i traced my fingertips along the contours of your body and your love bones almost cut my papery skin exactly like the pianist played the piano with utmost grace her hands shifting from one key to another with military precision you gulped down the sun like it was the sustenance without which you’d dwindle away exactly like the sunbeam sneaked into the room illuminating but destroying whatever little was left of area you crawled into my body demolishing my soul and puncturing my lungs exactly like the varying tones of the darkling sky withered away to give way to sunlight the evil in our midst forced our love to fade into nothing but a tone of etiolated nostalgia

STAMP

STAMP let’s let’s let’s let’s

wreck worlds together stir hurricanes ignite our insides dynamite country lanes

let’s wage wars amongst our demons let’s liberate lethal fumes let’s obliterate the fortress we built inside ourselves and rise like brume let’s trigger typhoons let’s talk in voices devoid of emotion let’s let the winds engulf us while we blaze in the dusking sky let’s plant flowers in places of our souls let’s try

STAMP you spat out paint that magically metamorphosed into the entire solar system with the stars silhouetted against your bare back as i traced my hands along the freckles on your protruding spine it almost felt as if the ursa major had found home in your skin and i swear your body glowed as brightly as the fire that the Gods had set this world to touching it burnt my papery skin but, my love, i still drowned in it.

cigarette butt marks imprinted on my bare back broken wine bottles strewn across carelessly and poems on my inner wrists carefully scraped off by your whiskey breath and crumpled in clenched fists

STAMP

black tattoos on my inner thighs and paintings better than Van Gogh’s on my pale stomach my ribcage had blue-black lines from the monster trying to escape but unfortunately, it dies the ache that filled my bones and the ash and anxiety that filled my lungs trickled out of my body and on a flimsy thread, our love hung it then oozed out of my injured back wounded wrists bruised thighs battered ribs

Pictures by: Jagrati Marwaha

We’Re All Mad Here Photographer- Ridhima Kohli Makeup Artist- Prabhnoor Kaur

“Who in the world am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle”.

“How long is forever?”

“Sometimes, just one second.”

“There is a place. Like no place on Earth. A land full of wonder, mystery, and danger!�

“Only a few find the way, some don't recognize it when they do - some... don't ever want to.�

“In a Wonderland they lie Dreaming as the days go by, Dreaming as the summer die.�

“It's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards.”

.

0

“Off with its head!”

“Who’s been painting my roses red?

WHO’S BEEN PAINTING MY ROSES RED? Who dares to taint With vulgar paint The royal flower bed?

For paiting my roses red Someone will lose his head.”

BROKEN VERSE Raghvi Verma Bleed out the pain Now you're empty inside.

You smile,satisfied.

You don't feel numb anymore The tears had stopped to flow, Would it hurt to check If you could still feel real If you could still smell the rain.

You now like to sleep, with your eyes awake.

The dark feels familiar, comfortable.

It's now your friendliest face.

Bliss, you have found Calling out to you from deep inside the void where your heart used to be The night has slipped away But you're not sure, you cant tell the difference anymore Night or day?

Thankful you won't have to see The stars either way Too bright, unnerving , penetrating When did their incandescence Lose it's enchantment?

It's okay, you've won They can't make you feel vulnerable now Drowned them out, in the echo of your silence Scribbled on a piece of paper lying in the top drawer You're a beautiful, sad imitation Of a broken verse.

YOU LOVE ME SO Shalini Ray Are you here ?

Stepping on the fallen autumn leaves with your worn out leather boots Smoke rising from your lips which entangle themselves in your hair And then free themselves in one stroke like the paintings you paint Or the songs you hum and cassettes you buy They remind me of us, those cassettes The world does not see how beautiful they are but you do So you play them on rewind, like those mornings where we hold each other Maybe too closely, in bed cause we are afraid of what it will be like If we fall apart Slipping on broken glass On that old dial- phone that you refuse to throw Oh I love to hear you voice, and your silence Your breath drawing me to a close proximity of what peace would feel like And then you smile cause you know And yes, you love me so

Painting by Ivy Raina

in conversation with

Bani Seth

It is said that beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder and it should be safe to say that a photographer has the keenest eyes.

To capture a moment in all its glory requires more than just a DSLR. Being able to seize the essence of a scene in a picture requires intense passion, vision, dedication and zeal, and our guest, Ms. Bani Seth is most profoundly endowed with these qualities. Bani is a Fashion Photographer, who is climbing the ladder of success at a fine pace. She has achieved admirable success for a young lady of her age and we at Miracle, honour her for her achievements. Miracle catches up with Bani on her journey so far as a photographer as she shares with us what photography means to her and her experiences from behind the lens.

First off, can you tell us about yourself and how you got started in photography?

I started clicking pictures at the age of 16; like most teens I would click pictures of my own self, but more conceptual shots seeing references. As my passion grew I started learning photography online and experimenting on other people. I opened a Facebook fan page, uploaded pictures of almost everything there and sent my photographs to be critiqued by well established photographers. Later, when I was skilled enough, I converted my passion to my profession.

How would you describe your work to someone who has never seen it before?

For me the sensitivity of composition is everything, and my inspiration is narration. I think my work is very simple yet very glamorous. I mostly shoot women, and I am always enamored by graceful and effortless beauties, such as Audrey Hepburn and Waheeda Rehman. I want young girls to look at my projects and want to be like the women in my pictures. I want to intrigue my viewers and connect them to something.

At what point did you realise that photography is what you wanted to do as a career?

As a child I have always been indecisive, but the consistency of my passion for photography made me realise so. Photography happened to me; there was never a point in my life where I suddenly woke up and decided to become a fashion photographer. When you are really passionate about something, it grows on you.

What photographers from the past or present have influenced you the most?

Consciously, I have stopped following photographers, or magazines which are related to fashion photography. I really feel that following others encourages artistsâ€&#x; to mimic their styles. I do not want my work to be identical to the same resources of influence, especially with lighting, post production, initial different.

Besides fashion photography which is my forte, I love shooting products and geometric infrastructures. It is something I do in my free time. I love to explore more fields in photography besides fashion.

What is one last impression you want to leave in your photos?

One last impression would be that my photos are aesthetically appealing to the viewer. I am very conscious about the outcome of my images and I do not want viewers to label my work similar to any other photographers‟ work in the market. The only impression of my work should be unique, classy and different.

Is there something you always ask yourself/ think just before you press the shutter button?

Yes… Am I making my model look exactly how I would want to look in a picture? As a fashion photographer, it is very important that I make my models look sensual without it being vulgar, which is a very thin line to cross.

What is your favourite thing to shoot for yourself?

Besides fashion photography which is my forte, I love shooting products and geometric infrastructures. It is something I do in my free time. I love to explore more fields in photography besides fashion.

What has been the most memorable moment in your career so far?

This one time when somebody advised me to always make sure my camera had a memory card and battery life. Now before a photo shoot, I always make sure I do!

How do you get paid to do what you want to do with your photography?

I'm not somebody who is very money oriented. For me personally, I feel my quality of work is far more important than finances. I work within my clients‟ budget and do not demand for extra compensations. Yes, there are structures to different budgets but once my clients see the quality and fines, they are very accommodating. I also do small workshops for budding photographers, given the limitation of photography schools in Chandigarh.

We wish Bani the very best of luck for her future and hope she keeps on encapturing the world and its beauty with her camera.

Written by: Nimiksha Mahajan

painting by Jayesh Joshi

MIZPAH,A THOUSAND TIMES Nayantara Singh mizpah i would say to you but we are not lovers separated we are fools, torn so might i give you a token of my bitter love (there is no bittersweet) in all honesty i would like nothing better than to slap you hard, so hard but you are so far gone that even the imprint of my fingers across your electrically trimmed cheeks would not make a difference. (mizpah: an emotional bond between two people who are separated.)

“I used to be Snow White, but I drifted.”

-Mae West Photoshoot by: Ankit Malhotra Ridhima Kohli

picture by Shray Mehta

picture by Shray Mehta

DIGITAL ART 1. In The Morning After (titled aish in the file name), I tried to show the feeling of being loved and aroused, the morning after you make love to someone you really like. The feeling of being secure even when you‟re naked is subtly expressed using the metaphor of the blanket.

2. Influenced Ideas is a very quick artwork I made after hearing people quote others without having the knowledge of the same. The microphone is the speaker‟s words, going into our heads and coming out of our mouth, which is a pair of ears; symbolising that we speak what we hear, this work doesn‟t have a positive or a negative stance to it. It‟s just an expression.

What the art world is now.

Being an artist, and being known, in this time and age is hard, as there‟s not much to discover or express. Art now is not made for the artist himself/herself; it‟s made for the audience, to get a reaction out of them. Now unless you‟re an Andy Warhol, Damien Hirst or say Jeff Koons, it‟s really hard to shoot up to popularity in the art circle. There‟s an amazing artist in your school, society, family. Now imagine that times the number of total schools, society and families, in this world!

So what should one do to become popular as an artist? Impress people; get a reaction out of them. And art isn‟t just drawing your favourite singer, or painting a pretty landscape; art is installation, performance, and even talking about something. The path to the top is a ladder of reactions. You can disgust them, please them, insult them or hurt their feelings, one way or another they‟ll talk about it, and that is how you become popular.

Now, that is a formula of popularity, but art shouldn‟t cost you your creativity. It shouldn‟t just be for the people, it should express what you want it to. The reaction you need to get from people is the reaction to your expression.

So if you‟re an artist who wants to pursue the same as a career, practice more, experiment with mediums, trigger emotions –in yourself and the audience –and take a risk, stand by what you believe in, and you will be successful.

I am just a tiny speckle in the world of art, and whatever I‟ve achieved in my life of 19 years, is not even close to success, but I see myself developing, and becoming better ; people appreciating what I do and liking my work. And that is what success is, every artist wants a reaction from his audience, and when you start getting it, I think you‟ve started climbing the ladder of success.

Jayesh Joshi (Jayman Artworks)

Digital art; and why should you try it.

How many times have you tried getting that shade of green, but failed? How many times have had to start over because you inked a line which wasn‟t straight? How many times have you coated your paintings with the wrong colour?

Now I know that, all of the above is part of being a fine artist, and digital art will almost never have the same essence of an oil painting on a canvas 30”x50”. But digital art is the future! These days everything is made MORE convenient, easier and simpler. So why should art, be treated the same way? I have nothing against fine art, for all that matters, I am a fine artist but let‟s face it, we don‟t have the same amount of time as the renaissance artists, and nor does the same kind of art gets the appreciation it deserves considering the amount of work you‟ve put in making it. Here is where digital art saves you; it‟s easy to choose colours, change transparency and duplicate elements. Now you can still spend 4-5 hours on painting but the room for error becomes smaller because of layers, and elements being on different layers so that you don‟t mess them up.

Digital art gives you brushes, textures; you can play with how much colour you want to be there in every stroke, change opacity. And it doesn‟t stop at making art; you can play with light, hues and perspective. You can print a drawing which looks A4 on your laptop on a vinyl print large enough to be placed on the ad poles on the highway.

As a career, digital art is in very much demand. Movies want concept artists, promotional art, costume design and so much more. Game developers hire artists to make games like Dark Souls II, even cooler because of that amazing art on the cover.

GTA, everyone has seen, and you would be lying if the style didn‟t catch your eye. A lot of movie sets are matte paintings on green screens.

Now yes, all of this could‟ve been done by hand too, but it takes time. The best part of digital art is that it can be combined with traditional art, you painted a picture, scan it, enhance it, change it, and experiment with it using Adobe Photoshop, Adobe Illustrator or Corel Painter.

So is it safe to move away from your brush set and paper sheets? Yes, spend some time and money, find out which tablet works for you the best, and start experimenting.

Some tips:  Try a Wacom tablet, best in the world.  And don‟t give up if you don‟t get it right, making art digitally will just make things more convenient for you.

Happy drawing!

Jayesh Joshi (Jayman Artworks)

THE JOURNEY Harnoor Toor

The Journey Stepped out as I came back as we I met a pilot Who looked saint-like because of his tranquility And his magnanimity.

He looked through a hazel sight He brushed some grey He made this uncanny face He wore some threads stitched in dismay .

I saw him through the hallway Sitting in solitude, gazing at the pigeons Staring on the outside I'm sure it was so much more Perhaps he was pondering About something I really wished to know .

I walked to him and talked to him he laughed and cried but didn't tell me why Why would a man like that have to end up in an unkempt place like this?

A place with no bliss.

This place was a bucket of sadness With a gloomy morning and a saturnine night With tasteless food and quixotic delight Dreams or No Dreams ; it was all the same But one couldn't really say who was to blame .

His eyes ; in a jiffy , said so much they told me he too had a story but I respect his glory For he didn't utter even one sad word His life was a life after all He decided to rot in that place Waiting for his Last Call .

That's all we're here for he said It's a wait, A long wait A wait for salvation A wait to end the contemplation A wait to leave the worldly nation And to embrace the Master of all Creation!

Wanderlust Roopkatha Banerjee At night, I dream of faceless lovers.

Skin, made of burnished gold.

Fingers as tender as young saplings; Fly high, soar; crash.

The spine arches sensually, To the frenzied rhythm, That is the captured heart within my ribcage.

Thump. Thump. Let me out. Set me free.

Hair, as dark as the night sky, Promises made in ink, A stark contrast to the glowing skin.

I count the stars in them.

Whispers, slide over the sheets, Smeared and tainted with passion.

Beautiful smudges on a virgin canvas, An artist’s delight.

Arms.Fingertips.Elbows.Shoulders.

I am the queen, and I reign over my territory, But I yearn for something more; The rebels down South, maybe.

My fingertips capture their contours, Theirs free my boundaries.

The wolf howls at the moon; As I escape to my sacred place.

I dream of mountains, and slopes, Of white sandy beaches on a blistering summer’s day, Of winter landscapes and moist caverns; My faceless lover beckons.

I must go now.

Some call it dementia, Others question my sanity.

I call it wanderlust.

untitled Bhagat Chawla Her fingers cradle Swooning under pressure Unable to move But breaks no sweat Her breath is a symphony Squaling to be heard Her heart is a house of glass On the onslaught of nihilation Her lungs visualize a puff of smoke Like a heart shaped coffin Her thighs contour against Sheets of clay Backtracking into darkness An abyss unknown To anyone but you.

In conversation with

Immortals

Art is probably one of the most elementary as well as the most misconceived terms of all times. It could be as unplanned and distorted as the first crayon practice of a three year old or as planned and composed as Shakespeare's "JULLIUS CEASAR." It could be as unexplainable as the painting you saw at the exhibition, the shades and strokes of which you've been struggling to put into words or the tune of your newly composed piece that hasn't left your mind since it first hit the guitar strings.

Art has no form, yet, has many. Art can be found in the simplicity of the smallest of things and lost in the complexity of the larger ones. One of the many things that'll capture your sight and run down your mind as thoughts and perceptions, bringing you closer to something that makes you feel just more than what reality does, is the art of tattoo making.

Talking about India, tattoo making hasn't yet been able to frame as strong an image as other professions have. But nonetheless, it certainly is past the first step. Tattoo artists are some of the people who've got hands that are trained to carve the thinnest of lines, closest to perfection.

This came to light when we, at Miracle Magazine got an opportunity to sit face to face with one of the tattoo artists at Immortals', allowing him to take us along the journey of the skill his hands now artfully hold.

When asked about how the root of the idea hit him, he explained how his childhood was an amalgamation of ideas where his desire to think along creative lines took birth. He went on telling us about his interest in sketching and drawing that only kept growing with time.

For ideas like these, India holds a legacy of lost parental support. For parents who dream of their child as the chief executive officer of one of the most reputed multinationals or a top paid chartered accountant, it is often difficult to get used to the fact that their offspring would like to pursue something as fresh and unfamiliar as tattoo making. But that was a comparatively easy road for him.

"My dad suggested I start it." He told us. "He did not have a problem with my idea of tattoo making but my mom initially did. She wasn't convinced but she saw it growing with time has gradually come to terms with it." He added.

Also, behind his interest and love for art, lies a childhood inspiration, he told us, stating that he regularly watched one of the famous art programs on television and being a child, that kept watering the seed of creativity in his young mind. He talked to us about his fond memories at "Devils Tattoos," the studio where he mastered the art from and went on telling us about how he got his first order.

"He was a client from the studio I learnt it from. He saw me tattooing myself and was instantly impressed."

Next in line was a curiosity about how the name "IMMORTALS" came into existence, to which he replied on a thoughtful edge.

"Its something you can always relate to tattoos because its something that lives forever."

He explained how keen he and his team had been as tattoo artists. He told us about how each thing they look at gives them an idea of a new design and how new faces everyday provide them with a fresh insight.

When asked about the first hand response herecieved for his idea, he told us how people had turned out with a negative perspective to it.

"There was this person, I met in Delhi. I was travelling by a metro. He kept looking at my tattoos for a long time before he finally asked me something that caught me off track." He recalled. "I still remember, he asked me if I got bored of waking up to the same designs on my body everyday. I asked him if he got bored of waking up to the same face everyday." He laughed.

He told us how everyday stood as a new challenge in front of the team and how, no matter what amount of experience they held in the field, they could never really afford to experiment with their skills on someone else's body. Also, he discussed with us, the difficulties of keeping a balance between growing as an artist and giving the best possible to each upcoming order.

Asked about expansion goals, he expressed his wish to have a bigger studio with additions to their team of five. He told us how he's been successfully able to train the artists who work under him who in turn are expected to pass on the useful bits of knowledge.

Specialisation marks the steps to perfection. Being specialised in a particular form of art isn't enough.

"All five of us are good at particular styles of designs that bring about enhancement in our work." He said. "My hands are best trained for photo realism while there is another guy in my team who is more into dotted, geometric styles." He added.

"Surprisingly, without much acknowledgement, every customer who walks in has a story behind getting a design on the skin. Often, it has been a pleasure designing the tattoo while the customers tell us about the story behind the design. It gets us connected to the design instantly and the bond gradually builds up." He said, smiling to the memories of some of the clients that his thoughts seem to have been captured in.

It is often seen that most professionals like to finish their work as soon as possible but that's exactly where his paths deviate from the usual crowd. He often looks forward to designs that are hard and take longer to complete because that, he believes gives one a stronger base to bring out the best in him.

"Bigger the canvas, higher are your chances of adding brighter shades to the picture."

He laughed off the thought of his worst experience when we asked him to put it into words.

"It is hard. Not really screaming and shouting but we've seen people fainting. The fear of tattoo needles sometimes gets to them."

He also mentioned some of the general instructions that he, as an experienced artist gives to people.

"We often tell the customers to have food before getting their tattoo done." He told us.

With five years of experience, considerable hard work and starting from scratch at the age of twenty one, only to have two studios and four artists working under him and to be able to stand where he is today, this man holds numerous feathers in his hat. He's been an inspiration to a lot of people who've known him and who've finally realised that his idea was a worthwhile stand that sure added to the stability in his professional stance. Also, this step of his has not only acted as an eye opener for a lot of people but has also lent a helping hand for tattoo making to grow nationwide as a profession and for tattoo artists to find a position to draw parallisms for balance between growing potentials and showcasing their talent on a larger front.

Written by: Ria Kapoor

painting by Ivy Raina

painting by Malvika Malik

LULLABY Bhargavi Goel Echoes of young feet padding along the hall fill her ears like a melody of the past as she sleepily walks the path her young self had bounded along. But that was many years ago and this is now- life is different. Life is heavier, life is less.

Her eyes threaten to close and she yawns, picking up her pace. Faster, faster, to her room she walks, eager to rest her weary mind and tired soul.

The door is ajar, in anticipation of her arrival. Her inviting bed is just visible and- oh, there she is, Sleep; in all her radiant comfort. She whispers soothing words and sweet promises of a better world and the girl is more than happy to oblige. Under the blanket, into the arms of Sleep, who sings her lullabies as she slips away.

And then Sleep beckons in the Dreams that that wait at the window, dazzling and magnificent, shining like nights in armour. They murmur and jostle, glowing with a million different hues as they gently lift her up and carry her out, out into the Night.

The Moon looks on from above, soft-hearted and glowing, and stretches out a moonbeam to gently caress her face. The Stars cluster around, whispering in excitement and lighting up the sky. After all, it is not everyday that guardians of unearthly worlds descend for a human.

They all watch as the girl is spirited away, up, up, up into the heavens where lost souls play and no darkness can taint your glow.

And that is it- it is done. The world does not deserve a gem it cannot keep from cracking, and the gem should not have to be polished to let it shine.

The Night had watched as scars faded, as darkness melted away and serenity flooded a troubled heart. She whispers to the Day all this as he settles on his throne to reign, and then she too follows Sleep and the Dreams, light slowly spreading as Night pulls away her starry blanket and the Day reclaims his kingdom.

If someone walks into the room now, they will not know of the thousand miracles that had taken place that night. All they will see is that she is gone.

For she was made to rule over a world far fairer than our own, to dance with the Starsin halls of woven Dreams, and now she has been called back to where she belongs.

The queen is home.

Indescribable Shalini Ray I am specks of light Memories that will soon be forgotten Unfinished paintings on rough canvases I am mismatched words And saved texts Almost sent,but never will be You will find me In those tears which were held back Those pieces of shattered glass Edges of rooftops of a secluded skyscraper In graffitis less rebellious than others In cuts which don't yet touch the vein I am unspoken words And cigarette smoke Whispers in the wind That silent scream at Midnight's stroke

Smoking is injurious to health.

The Third Train / / Flatland Taksh Sharma I.) ●Bodies.

Hurtling to their doom at irregular miles per hour bodies packed bodies stressed bodies from every wake and walk of this vertical city Neon lit fast paced eyes burnt out embers of coal no more instead just halogen orange frames against the light drizzle of a thunderstorm threat. ●Bodies.

Chauffeur driven lethargy bodies corpulent bodies corrupt bodies stretched from one end to another of this Fungal growth city suburbs sprouted like mushrooms in darkened corners life finding a way to live where there is none - a thorn that took root in the heart of a stone.

II. ) ●I take the third train to my left hurtling to my doom slowly every second of a three hour commute fluorescent lights blinking overhead it is only 7 AM and I wish I were dead. ●I take the third auto that stops after a whole fifteen minutes of me waiting five minutes into a ten minute long commute I take a long sip of water it is only 11 AM and I wish I were dead III.) Flatland is where dreams go to die.

Entire civilizations have been razed to the ground on this sun baked disk but we still put on our shades behind tinted windows our bodies corpulent our bodies steeped in apathy and shame so instead we take a flight down to the west coast Drown our sins in the ocean Let the city scrape the sky we remain unchanged but our horizon grows jagged.

IV.) There are no more coals to burn past midnight.

The orange glow of the streetlight frames the light drizzle that threatens to morph into a storm.

There is nothing left to burn For warmth For comfort For luxury There is nothing left to burn there is nothing left of anything Smoking is injurious to health.

Except everything that you can earn.

picture by Karman Toor

picture by Karman Toor

In conversation with

HARSH MANGAT

When passion and talent combine, they make a weapon of mass destruction, they make a person who he is.

In a delightful interview with Harsh Mangat, a Chandigarh based rapper,lyricist and composer, we got to know more about this immensely talented artist’s passions, lifestyle and oeuvre.

Harsh shared that his interest in music dated back to him wanting to be a part of his school choir. "I enjoyed singing -- but was not good naturally," he reiterates. So he used to sing and rap covers with friends until one day in 7th grade when he sang in the class and his History teacher, impressed by his voice, told him he could rap and rap well. That’s what motivated Harsh to start writing more and focus on this as more than just a hobby.

Like every other kid, he also had many career changes in his mind in his adolescent years. From wanting to become a sketch artist, to a cricket player, to a professional gamer and then a drama artist, he clearly couldn’t make up his mind. And then one day in 9th grade, he decided to prioritise his time and focus on one thing and one thing only, i.e, his music. Harsh tells us he never wanted to be a jack of all trades and master of none, he wanted to master the one trade of music and hence, started working hard to achieve that goal.

Harsh, who works under the name Harsh Mangat, along with his friend and producer Ishraj Singh reveals that Ishraj pushed him hard to do a lot of things and helped him in a big way. Today, the artist would not have been where he is today if it weren’t for his friend and he has a lot to thank him for.

When questioned about the controversial singersvs rappers debate, Harsh informs us that singers are naturals but while rapping, one needs to work their way up the ladder of success because your raps are all about reflecting your own reality and art. Creating a rap is a process; you produce a beat, you write the lyrics for it, then you turn it into a flow and so it gradually goes on.

Harsh reveals that he graduated from the ‘kiddy rhymes’ rap once he realised that rapping and rhyming don’t necessarily need to correlate. Now a lot of research is required to write even 16 bars (which is a standard rap verse) and it is all about knowing your rappers, your references and connecting all the dots to come up with the perfect rap.

Coming to his favourite rappers and inspirations, he shares that he used to listen to a lot Eminem and Lil Wayne in his initial years. Then he moved up to legends like Tupac, The Notorious B.I.G.and NAS and today he himself uses references of the past in his music. Harsh asserts that the social issues which are usually talked about in old and new raps are still prevalent in the society. He adds, “Social issues may evolve, they may progress or they may regress but they are still there”.

The artist reveals that he keeps his lyrics clean, and free from sexual innuendoes and cuss words as he feels that he is responsible for his own words and tries to focus more on important issues like women empowerment. He is aware that right now he can’t possibly bring fast changes to the regressive mindsets of a few sections of the Indian society but hopes to make it big someday and help our nation in one way or the other and influence the people around him.

When asked about one particular ingredient that is most essential in making his music the way it is and being unique to who he is, Harsh had a very beautiful answer with him: “Your heart”.

Everyone should dream big and work hard towards that dream to mold it into a reality. Our interview came to a conclusion after discussing the artist’s future aspirations. Harsh shares that his ultimate goal is to give back to his own country in some way and be known as an Indian phenomenon to the world. He believes that one should never forget what they are and where they came from and hard work is the key to everything. We wish this dedicated artist all the luck and success for his future.

Written By: Nimrat Dhillon

painting by Palmaljeet Singh Sidhu

painting by Revant Bogra

Lukewarm water Kartikey Tripathi Your love for me, is water lukewarm.

Felt great at first, took me by storm.

Reached my depths, cleansed my soul.

Taken aback was I, “How do I react”, thought I. Your warmth engulfed me, even before I realized.

“How do I stop myself, from falling for your talisman…”

Your love for me is water lukewarm. felt good for a moment, the next it was gone.

Cold it was when it left my skin, shivering was I left, in sudden dark depths, that gathered me around, as I poured on my body, more water lukewarm.

CERTAIN UNCERTAINTIES -Harnoor Toor

E

ver since the day we are born to the day we die , there are so many changes that we come across and so many changes that come across us .We ALL grow up that‟s what they say …. ” .. we go to school , we get good grades , we get a job , perhaps „We grow up‟ ” . I can only laugh at that.

Maybe it‟s my rebellious nature or my spiritual and what people call „unpractical approach‟ towards life or something else that gets me tempted to refute such school of thought every single time.

The real question is …. Do we really grow?

I truly believe in empiricism . I think it is the things we get to experience that help us accumulate knowledge and foster in our growth as a person . Most of us live everyday worrying about our future , We have this natural tendency to fall for security … be it in A job, a Profession, a Relationship…. for that matter anything . We are „Expected‟ to be ready with a plan every time . What is the real problem with us?

Well… If you ask me …. We‟re all paranoid of something We should Really be Excited about – Our Lives. We are scared to fall, despite the fact that deep down inside, we know, that we will be able to stand upright once again . We are scared to experiment ,to do things we really want to do because we are not valiant enough.

There is this thing about Life – It has ONLY one certainty which is… the fact that one day , we will die. Death is the inevitable truth of life . We know everything about it . But we can never be prepared enough to face it in the eye… no matter what ! We will cry , we will sulk and we will feel gloomy if we lose anyone close to our heart .

So if being paranoid about a thing sure to happen is justified , why are we afraid of all the uncertainties .. Things that might not even befall us .

I recently watched this movie titled „About Time‟ in which the protagonist has the power to go back to the past and live it once again … And what he ends up inferring from that, is that whatever is destined to happen will happen. God will take us where we are meant to be .

We just have to try different things differently with sincerity and dedication . There is enough room for the ardent ones. They always get to the sky despite their weaknesses because they were man enough to take a chance.

Life is too short to waste it worrying about tomorrow. Start living in the moment , for the moment and with the moment and you will see something wonderful for yourself! Take hold and Be bold. Just Be fine and you‟ll be fine!

picture by Miraan Dilwari

picture by Ayush Bahri

Diseases Shalini Ray You live through me,don't you?

You breathe through every pore in me You are not made of skin,streched on a skeleton You are much more vivid than I will ever be Yet it was I who thought you in my mind It was I who drew you by my hands It was I who built you brick by brick,stone by stone And now I am a mere sandcastle in the yard of a concrete home You stayed by me while I lost my sleep You made me feel special when they ignored me You gave me reason to justify the leap and though you gave me so much I never realised how much you took from me Now it is I who lives within you A kindred bond that binds us two I guess like all creations you exceeded your creator But now when I die,you will die with me

painting by Revant Bogra

picture by Ayush Bahri

ShUt Up AnD EAt!

By Kamal Panesar

The New York Cheesecake Apparently every country has its own version of cheesecakes ranging from baked to unbaked with a wide variety of flavours such as strawberry, key lime, passion fruit and raspberry. However the traditional American cheesecake is baked and flavoured with lime.

If you are a kind of person who likes eating desserts but doesn‟t likes the after effects of the indulgence, then this cheesecake is bound to become your favourite as you won‟t feel heavily stuffed after eating it. Served at “Brooklyn Central” in Elante, it is thickly dense and perfectly textured. This Cheesecake is made with a light and fluffy filling of Philadelphia cream cheese known for its soft and mild taste, giving it a cloudy texture which literally melts in your mouth. The base of the cheesecake is made by crushing graham crackers/biscuits mixed with melted butter.

Usually cheesecakes are topped with blueberry, Chocolate or raspberry sauce but “Brooklyn” goes for a vibrantly refreshing route by topping it with thick salted caramel sauce and finally finishing it off by adding candied walnuts. What I absolutely love about this dessert is the balance of textures. It has the crunchiness from the walnuts, the sweet and saltiness from the caramel sauce with a creamy, rich filling of cream cheese accompanied by a tanginess from the lime, followed by a buttery base of graham crackers putting it together as a decadent frozen treat. This dessert is luxuriously smooth and absolutely scrumptious. It tastes heavenly and certainly deserves a place on your dinner table.

P.s Breaking the monotony of average dessert options in the city, Brooklyn central offers a wide variety of authentic American favourites.

The Portable Pie A buttery biscuit base layered with fresh bananas, whipped cream, gooey caramel sauce and if that wasn't enough crushed caramel sprinkles!

Banoffee Pie was born in 1971 when Chef “Nigel Mackenzie and Ian Dowding” slow boiled a tin of unopened condensed milk and tried incorporating various fruits to give “Blum‟s coffee toffee pie” - an already existing English pie recipe a revamp. Banana and toffee pies are simply amazing (btw, that‟s where the name „banoffee‟ comes from: banana + toffee = banoffee). This dish has several versions with the base components remaining the bananas, cream and toffee from boiled condensed milk .

The “Banoffee pie in a jar” served at an ambient “Brooklyn central” café in Elantè‟s courtyard tastes as amazing as it looks. It is a simplified version of the classic Banoffee Pie, served in a jar and is incredibly delicious.

I‟d like to call it the edgier version of Banoffee pie. It has a burst of freshness from the bananas and the salted sweetness from the caramel, something we all crave for every once a while. If you like all things “caramel” then this is the perfect dessert for you. All the ingredients have been layered meticulously one after the other in a cute looking storage glass jar .The pie has several layers of different ingredients lined up one after the other giving a variety textures making it a delight to the eyes and to the taste buds. The base of the pie consists of Crushed Digestive Biscuits mixed with melted butter followed by a generous layer of bananas topped by a layer of lusciously gooey caramel. The last layer consists of whipped cream with sprinkles of solidified caramel. Creating a decadent parfait out of a British Classic! Totally indulgent, totally fantastic!

Often Shalini Ray Often, We the passengers in the dark Become darkness ourselves Often, We melt out our hearts Molten atop our broken bones Often, We realize that the thing we tried to repair Can only be fixed by breaking us instead Often, Instead of crying We laugh in the midst of terrible despair Often We see the fiction we created Morph itself into overwhelming reality Often We die while breathing In order to stay alive Strange sites does a caged bird see Before it's unbelieving eyes Strange words does man hear who cannot respond or even try But we try We try, we try and keep on trying Yet often We measure the roots of reality With scales made of lies

picture by Shray Mehta

painting by Ashmeet Jolly

painting by Prabhnoor Kaur

3 YEARS FROM NOW Satvik Sethi 3 years from now There'll be a new forever That I would lie about To some girl I met a week ago 3 years from now There will be someone Who I'll say all the lovely things I say to you now And she'll believe me 3 years from now My dark skinned hands will be on someone else's waist And my frail fingers will trace shapes on another skin 3 years from now I'll have another bed to lie on Another girl to kiss But I won't tell her that 3 years ago we did the same things 3 years from now A girl will fill colour in all my black and white paintings But I won't tell her That you taught me to draw 3 years from now All my flowers will blossom But she won't know That you were the one who sowed the seeds 3 years from now I'll be planning my life with her The way we did And I might have her in my arms But I always had you in my mind

Jamming with Ranbeer Singh

In a revealing interview with the proud owner of the Blue Olive recording studio, Ranbeer Singh, we delve deeper into the world of music and musicians. Ranbeer guides us on his journey through music, which was quite different from his initial pursuits.

As one gets older , their career choices change and Ranbeer has been no exception- from his aim to be a pilot to his wish to he an astronaut and then his desire to learn animation , for which he pursued a degree in Bombay.

He returned to Chandigarh in 2000, and a romantic twist was added to his story - he met a girl. This special someone was the actual reason for his plunge into music, as she was a guitarist herself, and in attempt to surprise her, Ranbeer learnt the guitar. He later pursued a degree for computer science in 2008 in Canada, but tragedy struck in 2010 as he lost his right kidney, due to which Ranbeer had no choice but to drop this pursuit and stay in the city.

This life changing event once again drew him to music as he started working as an engineer with bands and opened a studio.

Looking back , he says that it was simply 'not meant to be' and that he is having the time of his life right now, meeting so many different artists and listening to such variations of music.

On being asked about the unique and unusual name is his studio , an interesting story came to light. Ranbeer revealed that the inclusion of the word 'blue' was the idea of a close friend of his, and the word 'olive' popped into his head as he was munching on a sandwich and realized his liking for olives.

The most enlightening segment of this interview was finding out that we've been going about listening to music all wrong. Most of us, probably 99%, listen to music on our MP3 players and even admire the quality of the audio. In reality , we're only getting 5% of the original quality, causing us to miss out on the essence of the song . This is because MP3S have a compressed version of the song, which doesn't include detailed audio effects. Ranbeer introduced us to a software known as 'FLAC' ( free lossless audio codac). As the name suggests , FLAC keeps the compression of the songs to minimal, allowing us to hear the song the way it's artist intended it to sound. You will be blown away at the difference in audio using FLAC, all of a sudden the song feels personified, as if it is leaping out of the system with each beat and coursing through our veins.

The difference between using an MP3 and using FLAC is like the difference between watching a 3D movie on your phone and watching it in the theatre with the required glasses.

Surprisingly, approximately only one of seven artists can replicate live what they do in the studio. The reason for this is that recording studios give artists far more options and widen their horizons, which can be difficult to reproduce in a live session.

Professional recording studios are also better to work in as compared to home studios, as even though professional studios may lack the comfort and familiarity that can put an artist at ease, everything is done more efficiently and the environment improves immensely , and so does the equipment.

Ranbeer advises young upcoming artists regarding the elements required to grow in the industry, saying that professionalism is key and though it may seem unfair ,favours and connections will bring you closer to your goal. He himself has had first hand experience on this issue, as he used to be in a band (Swastik), and has worked with several bands as well.

However , he now works with young children, and says he much prefers it to working with bands, due to the children's youthful exuberance and their enthusiastic mentality.

Our insightful interview reached its conclusion with Ranbeer saying that he had a lot let to accomplish and is yet to imbibe as much knowledge as he possibly can. The sky is the limit for this ambitious record producer and we wish him the best if luck with his future endeavours.

Written By: Riddhi Setty

SO TELL ME WHY, LITTLE GIRL Saachi Merwah

Why not admonish the demons hidden beneath?

Why not let go of the withering sorrows trapped and in your bones?

Why not sculpt his tainted body with you frail calloused hands?

Why not tie away his beautiful memories in your barbed heartstrings?

Why not outline the silver of his collarbones and incise your body with his perfection?

Why do you bother with trying to HIS celestial and confused presence merely in a sentence of your poem?

Why don't you let him be known for the walking poem he truly is?

Why won't you let him be the poem?

Why won't you let him in?

AN ODE TO THE MODERN AGE Sureet Singh I love modern society Because everybody just wants cleavage Whether its the guys who buy v necks Or the silicon platters of pornhub False advertising is the essence of us Why Its a habit We degrade ourselves It’s only the affect of what’s around us Fake orgasms Are the most honest things You can't do better than honesty With honesty we only have to be ourselves Chuck told us self improvement is masturbation Masturbation is fun Self improvement is like exams You don't know what you're doing and you end up copying the guy next to you Maybe we're not the brightest But we know ourselves In this world That's an asset To know your strengths To know which parties to miss And to know when somebody doesn't like you It’s also very, very dangerous Because no one likes a smart ass Now that was stolen from Radiohead

But why should anything be sacred When we can be anything we want Do what tickles your fancy And if he tickled you go for homophobia I'm not against the lgbt I'm for free will I'm behind People getting high Because free will is all we need Let your imagination go wild Who knows what we've got inside us Surprising myself That's my favorite feeling Because you realize the exploration isn't over This world still has more to offer And so do you If you listen real close You can hear the universe talk It says that this will never exist again This moment When all anybody wants is cleavage This moment When wars show us that we fail as a species sometimes 2 months ago this moment When a kid could shoot you bang bang And you wouldn't think What an awful movie that was This amazing moment When I'm not afraid to speak Because I believe in what I'm saying Its here for that long Listen And it’s gone

Smoking is injurious to health.

REACHING THE PINNACLE Bani Singh Falling high, Climbing low Does that make sense?

If it does then go; Go to the clouds Come back up to the earth Do you feel at the top?

Or the rhyme wasn‟t enough.

If you still feel down, What am I to do?

Want me to make things simpler?

Here‟s this for you; The place where you stand is the brow You can‟t go higher Enough is enough Do you feel happy?

If you don‟t you‟re a fool After reaching the summit You realize you got duped Not by the world But by yourself Do you even know who you are?

Or did the money also get your heart?

Are you still in love with your life?

Or is this now an illusion too?

Now let me take back my words, The crown isn‟t where you rest You‟re lower than hell Chase the glory, You lose your zest An empty shell That‟s what you are Where is your feeling?

Even know that word anymore?

Falling high Climbing low Does that make sense?

If it does then go, Go to your friends Come back to your family Do you feel at the top, now?

If not, then I‟m a fool.

painting by Veer Misra

HOW CAN I LOVE THEE Harshita Nagial Oh how can I ever love thee Thee, o purest of the pure How can I love thee I, whose soul hath ne‟er loved Tell me then, how can I love thee?

Thine teary eyes and trembling lips Question me as I bid thee adieu But with what shalt I answer thee I know not I cannot answer thee with loving saws For of Eros‟ words I know naught And yet thou still look at me With thine beauteous glistening orbs O how can I love thee I, whose eyes have ne‟er such love withheld And yet, o sweet, thou say to me “I love thee, forever more.”

Not a sound I utter, And again thee do ope thine angelic lips.

Desperately seeking stoppage, I seal them with mine kiss.

O how can I love thee?

Thee, o fairest of the fair Thine divine being wouldst cringe at the sight of mine sinful soul And thine pure form shalt tremor in trepidation As thou shalt witness mine carnal form.

O tell me how can I ever love thee I, who was not born for love I, who was love ne‟er taught I, truly can, Ne‟er love thee.

Making The Cut -Anukriti Dua

Theory of Everything (IMDb rating 7.8/10) Based on the life story of one of the brightest scientists this world has ever seen, Theory of Everything hit the theatres last year and was successful in catching the attention of the Academy Awards jury subsequently. The movie remains a major hit since its release and rightly so. With excellent casting and spine chilling acting, the movie couldn‟t be more accurate in representing Stephen Hawking‟s life.

Based in Cambridge in 1960s, Stephen Hawking‟s (Eddie Redmayne) pursuit to find one single unifying equation that explains everything in the universe brings him to the beautiful and elegant Jane Wilde (Felicity Jones) at a party where something clicks between them in the first sight. While most conversations start with “What‟s your name?” these two found a different way of introducing themselves in the sparkling evening. Eddie Redmayne does a remarkable job with the body language and eye gestures portraying a nude image of Stephen‟s personality (for which he was awarded the Academy Award as the best actor).

Stephen Hawking was quite the mathematics genius which was evident in all his pursuits. Seeing his inclination to the subject, Hawking‟s professor brought him along to a lecture in London which was an eye opener to the prodigy as he later chose “Time” as his subject. His theory for his Ph.D. finals wins the attention of many as he later decides to first, prove it and then, disprove it.

Around the same time he is diagnosed with a severe disease, the Motor Neuron Disease but his determination and intelligence combined with Jane‟s love doesn‟t stop him from conquering great things in his lifetime. He faces the great ordeals with utter determination and unravels great secrets about Time and Black Holes which was to be covered in his book titled “Brief History of Time”. Along the way, he has three beautiful children (all Jane‟s efforts we‟re guessing) which would later prove to be a factor that drifts away Jane from their marriage.

The story is a lovely combination of love, perseverance, excellence and life. Fate dealt Hawking a rough hand and he made the best of it. He tells a group of people in a media gathering “no matter where you are and what you are, there‟s always something you can do and excel at.”

The directing is marvelous, the actors more brilliant than ever, the story, though, has a few uncanny elements which take away the continuity of the flow. And many a times, the viewer is teary eyed over Redmayne‟s exceptional acting. The movie is quite a take on perfection by the director David Marsh and other contributors. Accompanied by flattering moments of flirty humor, we fall in love with the real Stephen Hawking time and again. Although the story is a bit saddening, it is highly recommended for those with a fascination of peeping into the lives of great men as it is a big source of motivation when the Team has done such justice to the real Stephen Hawking. An outstanding movie like this should not be missed on.

The Grand Budapest Hotel (IMDb rating 8.1/10) Keenly known for his distinctive visual and narrative style, Wes Anderson did it again with his Academy Award winner The Grand Budapest Hotel with illustrative humor and subtle drama that entertains the viewer thoroughly. The exceptional commitment of the director to the details of the movie is admirable as it deepens the experience of the viewer and brings him close to the character without much being said. The story is that of the owner of the Grand Budapest, Zero Mustafa, narrating his procurement of the once much celebrated hotel, now, too decadent for current taste. The guests of the hotel, equally peculiar and reserved, adore the much isolated and solitary atmosphere of the Grand Budapest. Zero Mustafa (F. Murray Abraham), trained initially to be a diligent but quiet lobby boy, now the owner, breaks down his marvelous story to one of the curious guests of the hotel. His early days were spent in the shadow of his mentor, the sardonic concierge, M. Gustave (Ralph Fiennes), who takes inordinate interest in satisfying the material needs of all as well as sexual needs of the women of his particular liking. This endeavor places him in a harassing situation when his old love dies leaving behind a precious piece of art in his name, disregarded by her next of kin, bringing him even closer to Zero. “The plot thickens” as they both run out of clutches of danger time and again defying all odds hilariously only to end up in more trouble.

Between moments of familiar sadness, the plot does not fail to reveal pieces of remarkable humor. Things take a new road when Zero finds a love in the eyes of Agatha, a worthy baker, who assists him in bringing Gustave out of trouble.

The voice and narration of the curious guest, Jude Law, the talented English actor known for his works as John Watson in “Sherlock” the movie, leaves many with a pleased feeling. The British accent does help.

The story, adorned with absolutely brilliant cinematography, introduces some superfluous characters like the thug, Jopling (Willem Dafoe), who is in continuous pursuit of Zero and Gustave. While the whole set up might appear slightly drab, the drama gains the spotlight and amuses the viewer with the run and chase game. The story also remarks upon the little Humanity left in the world in the most blatant way possible. The blunt ideals and ways of expression only make the story more lovely and delightful. And as the curtain is about to fall, the reason why Zero Mustafa chooses not to disown the “enchanting old ruin” is revealed and leaves all with an uncomfortable sadness. The story passed down the generations remains a lovely tale with an eclectic sense of humor and hence, the Jury of the Academy Awards remains justified.

A pleasurable story with remarkable filming has made it a must watch for every person in a mood for light comedy and sophistication. All said and done, this one would definitely win hearts of many and thus, it is much recommended.

All the pictures with the poems clicked by: Ridhima Kohli Ankit Malhotra