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.
Dear Readers, Publisher and Director Vineeta Gupta
Founder and Editor-in-Chief Sneha Rahul Choudhary
Here we present the grand new issue of Branwyn.
Mentor Dr. Subodh Kumar Jha
Alongwith our Star Columnists, we are featuring prominent authors like Sankalp Kohli, Paritosh Yadav, Moni Mohsin, Anita Shirodkar, Veerendra Kapoor and others in this issue.
Assistant Editor Pranav Shree
The Special Cover Story has been taken from a Chapter of the novel “The Hackster.” We hope you will enjoy this issue.
Tech Support Rahul Kumar Singh
Legal and Financial Advisor Abhishek Singhania
Contacts: Email : snehagupta01989@gmail.com sneha@branwyn.in branwynmagazine@gmail.com Website : www.branwyn.in
Don’t forget to drop an email about your impression for the issue. Your suggestions and feedback are very valuable for us.
With warm regards, Sneha Rahul Choudhary
Alpine Ambergris : Dr. Subodh Kumar Jha
Tomorrow and Tomorrow Tomorrow tomorrow and tomorrow Don’t induce into me The concept of dusty death; Instead, They enchant me To an uncharted land of divine bliss That could have been mine right now But that is denied!
May be I deserved it For the deeds Lodged in an unredeemable past; But that could be Only when tomorrow comes by!
Yesterday, today and tomorrow converge In the myth of my personal life Which is also the myth of universal life!
Time is continuous with soul That dies not; Time will die when death die But soul, my soul – My personal-universal myth Is immortal, It is a continuity In which a divine will dwells! - Dr. Subodh Kumar Jha Head, Dept. of English, S.N. Sinha College, Jehanabad
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!
Sea Face
28th September 8pm The monsoon rains clambered down the city walls, drowning the sound of the cars that rolled by him. The dark and gloomy night aptly matched the darkness in his own abandoned soul – abandoned by the system, abandoned by his country, abandoned by his own people. The Worli Sea Face that always brimmed with the laughter and astonished sighs of its daily visitors had turned into an isolated part of the city today owing to the heavy torrential rains which the weather department had failed to forecast. In the blinding rain and strong winds, no one could be seen as far as the walkway stretched. The alwayson-the-go city of Mumbai had come to a standstill, except for one restless man – Vikram. He stood there, gazing at the vast and restive waters of the Arabian Sea; his eyes half shut, to avoid the salty splash of water that blurred his vision. His drenched hair did not flutter even in the rough winds coming in with the ocean tide. His eyebrows gave way to the water which fell from his brow in an oddly periodic rhythm. With every drop falling on him the world around slowed down. Behind him loomed a few of Mumbai's huge yet dull skyscrapers, looking lifeless and grey in the rain. Beyond them, the rest of the glittering city was reaching out to the sky; the city's spirit was as high as it had always been. If someone were listening to the city's instinct, they would know that something very ugly was about to happen. Something was about to go missing; something larger than life was going to be robbed of it. The city of dreams was going to lose its prized relentless spirit. His feet were firmly planted on the slippery stones of the sea face that were cut perfectly square to give continuity to the beautiful bend along the shore. Sunk in his thoughts, he allowed himself a long awaited moment of silence and calm. A serene moment was a rare luxury for a fugitive running from the state. He slowly breathed in the fresh air, savouring those special moments and saving them within himself for the coming storm. When his lungs had taken in all the fresh air they could, he felt his heart beating with renewed vigour; he turned away from the sea and looked at
the tall and monstrous buildings behind him. He felt a powerful surge of anxiety within him. He acknowledged the brilliant universe of lights in the buildings all around him and thanked the city and its people. They had provided him with a new sense of purpose and pretence of peace thus rescuing him from a very helpless time in his life. He was grateful to so many people in his life that had helped him unravel the ways of the world. His eyelids were wet and yet his eyes were dry; his focus firmly set on those who had ruined his happy memories. A predatory desire rose inside him wanting to strike at the evil men who had destroyed the system. His mind was clouded with rage. All he wanted to achieve was a successful hit at the system, at its foundation and cripple the evil that seemed to forever plague his country. Tomorrow was the big day and he was ready for the events to come. The sense of having immense power, that made him capable of crippling the whole monetary system and making the giant powerful corporations fall like a pack of cards, made him smirk. He started to walk away from the sea shore, pondering over the ill effects of the existing flawed system. Assurances had become hard to come by these days. The newspapers were filled with revelations of the government's instability. Scams and frauds were on an all-time high, more so because they were being unearthed now on a daily basis. Sting operations were becoming so common that even they couldn't raise the TRP's of news channels anymore. Since the nation's independence, the system had been taking advantage of the low levels of public attention. It was now entering an evolved stage where obscurity could be controlled from within; paying money to buy out the eyes and ears of a country. The media was out for sale; political parties were pumping huge sums of money to doom the opposition. It was a dangerous proposition by any logic. The unregulated economy too was hurting the country; the currency was in a state of free-fall, creating an army of worried faces all across the country, more so in its financial capital. Topping it off, this was the worst rain that had hit the city in many a seasons.
The universe and times were simply vibrating out of control. As he made his way to his hotel through the water clogged streets, he looked at the restless faces that drove past him, eager to make it home on time. As always, the most unpredictable Metrological Department with their legacy systems had forecasted the weather to worsen in the next forty eight hours. In this time of uncertainty, he had made sure of one thing. Tomorrow it would rain down even harder. He was confident of everything he had done in the last few years. Every decision he had taken was taken with full certainty. His mind was flooded with doubts and confusions. Why was he chosen for bearing all these miseries? What wrong did his parents do of those corrupt politicians? Why had life betrayed him? Ever since he had driven his car out of his ancestral hometown with his father's briefcase, things had changed drastically in his life. The calm of his life was gone. The dreams of living a stable life in his forties with two kids and a loving wife were all abandoned midway. The abandoned dreams and his unstable life had given rise to stability of a different kind with purpose that had remained unchanged for some time now. Like Arjuna from Mahabharat, his aim was sharp; for him hitting the bird's eye was destruction of the corrupt politics of India. Every time he thought about the way his family was murdered and his life destroyed, he was enveloped by rage. His life was uprooted every time it made an attempt to flourish. Initially his fits of rage would start with a shudder in his spine and then jump to his brain, blinding him with a destructive and painful agony for hours. With time, Vikram had learnt a way to manage his fits better. He had succeeded in gaining some control over them. Now, there were just a few occasional shudderings in his spine. He had naturally forged a symbiotic relationship with his anger as he learnt to feed it with regular doses of direction. The otherwise destructive rage rewarded him with all the bursts of motivation he desperately needed to achieve his next target - a financial doomsday. His lean silhouette had an air of unwavering confidence against the stormy night sky. He was walking upright with his head held high; he saw the bald patriotic man with his walking stick who had stood pure at heart and untarnished for the last century. Vikram felt that his own stature matching the famous patriot; he was going to do what should have been done much earlier. He was
going to liberate his beloved country. He was going to rob the system of the money it boasted about and was going to bring it to bankruptcy. His face was emotionless and it glistened red with the reflections of passing tail lights. His hands were relaxed inside the front pockets of his jacket and his breathing was steady. Only he knew what was to come. Only he had a measure of the power that he held that night. At one corner of the road he saw a few policemen stopping every other person on a bike and harassing them until they extracted some money out of them. His anger surfaced as he saw the Public guardians of the city seeking bribes from the bikers and he expelled it in the form of a loud shout. “This is what I will end. This corrupt system is what will cease to exist once I am done with my plan.� Grimly, he appreciated the skill that was required by these men to seamlessly turn themselves into uniformed mafia members. They seemed to be managing pretty well for themselves. This uniformed mafia had perfected the art of spotting fear in the eyes of their prey. They carefully avoided the elite and nabbed the most simple city folk. With time, they had forgotten their real duty and, now, instead of safeguarding the interest of people, they were just busy safeguarding their own monetary interests. His anger eliminated any remaining guilt he felt for his act of cleansing the state, i.e. taking whole of the police department for a ride by breaking into their criminal database. He had done that for a purpose, but the police department, as usual, had missed the bigger picture. Though minor thefts and security breaches were potent victories for Vikram, but the purpose behind them was to find a security loophole in the Arms and Ordinance Node placed at Srinagar in the police headquarters. It was also the only gateway to their regional criminal database. His prior experience at WARP Cyber Security Lab, one of India's foremost and advanced cyber research lab and security solutions provider came in handy. He conducted the entire operation in such a precise manner that it went unnoticed by investigators. They termed it a routine hack failure. The security watchdogs documented the incident as a routine virus when they failed to catch a whiff of what was actually happening. To them, it seemed as if some rogue code had been unable to maintain its hold on the central repository for more than a few seconds. But,
Vikram had designed his code to do precisely that. A few minutes were all that Vikram had needed, for his plan was simple. A favour for an old friend, Ashfaq, did not need more than three steps. Enter into the server of the department. Break into the right server. Clear the name of his friend, Ashfaq, from the list of arms dealer with a pending investigation and get out unscathed. Ashfaq was his dear friend from Srinagar High School. Their friendship went back to the time when Vikram's father was posted at the Srinagar branch of Indian Centre for Data Analysis. In the past few years, his friend had managed to make quite a name for himself as an illegal arms dealer. But soon what had started off as a small time business to provide fire-arms to the innocent families living in the border areas, so that they could protect themselves from militant attacks, took form of an illegal smuggling of arms and ammunition. The Intelligence Bureau, unable to stop the illegal trade somehow got Ashfaq's scent and had him jailed for illegal arms dealing. Ashfaq's limited resources and favours were soon exhausted and he couldn't save himself from the continuous harassment by the local police. Finally, help came in the form of Vikram, a trusted friend, who had not hesitated for a single moment to look into the matter. And thanks to Vikram's two minute operation, Ashfaq was able to make a fresh start. He promised Vikram that he would drop out of his network and cease all his activities. That was all Vikram had wanted to hear. “Thank you, my friend. I am forever indebted by what you have done for me.” Ashfaq blurted before breaking down in front of him. For those few moments time stopped for them, and the memories of their childhood came rushing. In that moment they were once again the same twelve year olds with an unconditional friendship. “I will not accept any thanks from you. This was my duty as a friend and I would do it again, smilingly, if the need ever arose. Besides, this was a moment which was bigger than any of us could have ever imagined. We would be remembered by the billion others who stand to gain from it. We are creating a future; a much needed transparent one.” said Vikram, as he took his leave. As Vikram left with a smug smile on his face, Ashfaq wondered what those words really meant
but he smiled through his tears. Vikram was his true friend. It being his first hack attempt, he was bound to make mistakes. And he did too. He did not cover his tracks. But, thankfully, the lazy investigating officers were not interested in the incident. Ironically, the laziness that he hated the most in the system was something that had helped him escape. The police department never worked wholeheartedly towards completing Vikram's profile and publishing it in their database. Obviously, they had not faced any pressure from the higher ups to turn up the heat and catch this small time mischief maker. Why would the higher ups be concerned about these trivial matters when there were larger schemes that begged their attention? The lure of those schemes was irresistible. His second big act was played in Pune - a tricky and tidy experience for Vikram. And this time it was the Reserve Bank of India (RBI) which was to be hacked. The RBI was no ordinary place and it maintained its own constant vigil over its facilities where thousands of crores of rupees were transacted every second. His aim was to track all the banking transactions occurring in the country, but it was easier said than done. It required entry into secret vaults of RBI datacenter in Pune which was protected by black cat commandos placed every hundred meters of the perimeter, the CCTV surveillance and high end biometrics solutions. Without any doubt it was the most guarded place in India. The datacenter was out of reach of anyone and everyone – except the person who had access to the designs of the architecture of the whole system for RBI, at WARP Cyber Security Research Lab; Vikram, an ex-employee of WARP Cyber Security Research Lab. It had taken Vikram a little longer than expected to gain access to the server room. The advanced systems in the premises of RBI had just one thing that was old fashioned and that were its air conditioners. The cooling systems were old and reflected the lethargy of a government maintenance contract. For dodging the security checks, Vikram found a perfect disguise as an AC repair man and the frequent visits to set right the problematic old air conditioning system ensured that on one of his many visits he found the right server where the piece of code, especially designed by him, had to be targeted.
As he stood in the server room of RBI, he saw the optical fibre cables that transmitted thousands of crores worth of digital money from one server to another. It was a state of the art system which left him mesmerised. The array of servers with a complex network of cables gave the techie in him an adrenaline kick. Regular visits meant that he was no longer an object of suspicion. The criticality of his activity lay in going unnoticed. He carefully placed his signature sniffer on the main Analog to Digital convertor as the A-D converter was a perfect place to sniff on the bank's transmission data. Even after his task was completed, he kept coming to the facility for a couple of days to kill any suspicion on him or in case the bug was detected, and once sure that the job was executed as planned, he left unnoticed with a smug smile on his face. With his third strike he wanted to take on the Democratic Alliance Party (DAP) who had been ruling the country undisputedly for past twenty years. The Democratic Alliance Party ruled from the centre with its trademark high-handed style. This style was developed over the period of last twenty five years intrinsically, as the party had evolved with progressing times. The key behind this undisputed rule of the party at the centre was the ideology of 'Divide and Rule' which was implied both within the party and the country. Prime Ministers and national agendas kept giving way to one-another but only one thing was constant in the 25 years of rule, the party's hunger for power, and to achieve that there was a continuous shuffling in DAP's cabinet. With an ever changing party complexion, Krishna Chaturvedi had played the role of the script writer of the strongest political party in India. The wrinkles on his face were a testament to his immensely experienced, cunning and wellarticulated mind. As a student of socio-political landscaping, he had developed a formidable combination of political theories and a practical way of pulling the ropes to get things done. In his party's ongoing fifth term, Krishna had forecasted the high dependence that Indian politics would have on alliances and coalitions. To maintain an easier degree of control and tighter rope on his ministers, the ingenious Krishna had decided that he would have a database, containing all the dirty work of his fellow politicians that would lie beyond the eyes of the world. In the truest sense, this database would not be linked to internet or any other system and hence would act as an independent network with no external
transmissions whatsoever. It would be for his eyes only. Krishna knew it well that politics was a game of leverages that had ever changing forms of favours, promises and investments. Thus collecting dirt on his own party members, allowed him to gain that leverage on proceedings. The party funds had to be tracked to a great depth in the long hierarchy of corruption to maintain order. After all, bribes were the most significant investment to maintain power. His brainchild had collated data for almost a decade now and was the crux to maintain power at the central level. Almost no one had any idea of such a system existing, not even most members of his cabinet. Vikram always believed that there had to be a system to manage those thousands of party workers in this age of authoritative centralization. He knew that for an organization of a national magnitude, like DAP, to sustain for these many years at the pinnacle of all business, economic and political power, it would require a coordinated effort of an equivalent magnitude through a computerized system. Since his search over the internet had not shown any such system, he was convinced that the mother ship was very safely guarded and was yet to be found. And he had to go exploring in DAP to find out the existence of the king maker's server. But unlike other times this time he was not going to risk himself, as it was much easier for Vikram to get his work outsourced. The Home Minister, Mr. Ramanujan Thayal, had chosen an ambitious peon in Anand, to get things done around his office with some energy. This was a mistake of a rookie. Politics did not have any place for raw energy. It was a place for endless calculations and calculated risks. Vikram targeted Anand and convinced him to place a black dot in the receiver piece of his employer's phone and a pen drive in one of the party servers. In return, Anand got the money he had demanded to fulfill his dreams. In a few days, with some money in his pocket, Anand left the job and went back to his village to try his luck at his father's kirana shop. As tapped transmissions led to information on open bank accounts, social media, and internal applications of the Ministry, Vikram's neighbours started noticing an ever increasing smug smile on his face. Days started passing, but even his continuous efforts at sniffing the internet traffic through his
sniffers were not yielding any positive results in locating the system. Sometimes he doubted whether such a system even existed, but then his gut feeling always indicated that such a system did exist. In fact, the near future depended on its existence. Vikram snapped out of his thoughts as water dripped from his brow. He let his mind drift to humanity as he had often done in his college days. He pondered over the polar opposites that lived in both man and nature. Man would never rest, and nature would never budge from its position of authority and power. This was a dialogue that designed an intricate and beautiful continuity that all sciences worshipped and in the hearts of academicians they acknowledged the existence of such an interconnection.
His unique perspectives about life are derived out of his diverse set of experiences. He has been writing since the age of 12 which turned him into a blogger and eventually a song writer for his college band. He has a collection of short stories too in his unpublished work. He pursues his interests in technology when he is not busy writing. He is inspired by the limitlessness of imagination and incorporates it in his innovative writing. He is very attached to his realistic and life like characters and is able to bring them to life in his work.
Vikram knew that he had battled too many questions of his own for too long. These questions had changed the way in which he perceived things to exist. Life, for him, was turning out to be a Ponzi scheme played by an expert hand. The scheme was a complex one and was riddled with traps which he had meticulously unmade one by one. It was now time to attain answers. And he had found his answers in SNAGROM – a device conceptualized by his father, but built and made operational by him with a few modifications to avenge the death of his patriotic father who had sacrificed his whole life for the progress of beloved country, India, only to be publicly humiliated and pronounced a terrorist with links to Pakistan's ISI by the ruling party of India, The Democratic Alliance Party. He was standing with firm feet on his neatly cutout masterpiece. Now, there was this one last lethal move which would set a trail of events in continuity moving towards a beautiful end. -
The chapter has been taken from the novel “The Hackster” written by Sankalp Kohli and Paritosh Yadav. Born and brought up in Kanpur, Sankalp is a MBA Graduate from NMIMS, Mumbai. An entrepreneurial soul with an imprint of a perfectionist, he is a workaholic who believes in turning every single moment of life into something constructive and fruitful. He is a person who holds his parents above all, especially his mother. All his dreams and aspirations are driven by his wish to make his parents feel proud. His earlier works with the pen, in form of ‘Because…Every Raindrop is a HOPE’ and ‘When I Found You, I Found Myself’ has resonated loudly with his readers. With his third book, ‘Equilibrium’ he has ventured into a new genre where his contemporary and provocative self comes alive in a sci-fi thriller. Besides, At the age of 23, Paritosh Yadav has travelled and lived across different cultures. He graduated from NMIMS University in 2013 as an MBA in the field of telecom technology. His enthusiasm for reading, and his extreme fascination and passion about the ingenuity in designs and ideas inspired him to begin writing his debut novel, Equilibrium.
Sankalp
Paritosh
Nandita Dharkar, a strikingly beautiful and talented architect, relocates to Mumbai from Delhi, seeking new horizons and compelling explanations about ghosts from her mother’s past. As she revels in her newfound independence and forges new friendships, her job at a prestigious architect firm brings suave hotelier Aryan Rai into her life—and she falls hopelessly in love with him. But when her best friend, the carelessly handsome Aditya Arora, suddenly lands on her doorstep, Nandita realizes how fickle the heart can be. In the midst of it all, she is unable to forget the mysterious letter she had discovered in her mother's jewellery box. When she embarks on a quest to find out the identity of the letter writer, shocking secrets about her mother’s past come to the forefront. Will this shatter Nandita or will she heal through forgiveness?
Sacrament Sobriety : Gaurav Gill Road Craze “A man is no longer sage, but he is in a cage to road rage” that is how my blog looked a few days ago, reminiscing few of the instances from the cacophony of memories. I was driving back home and was weaving through plethora of cars hurtling past mine. Beads of rain were decking my windscreen and I stretched my palm out to soak it in my senses. Mellifluous saxophone on the car stereo set the tone right. I could feel myself prancing with the undulating breeze. My utopia was jolted to a stuttering snarl. I could hear hollering at the top of somebody’s exhausted lungs. I did a quick recce of the area and my eyes met descended upon a Honda CRV and Hero Splendor bike. The young lad at the wheels of the SUV was livid and was gesturing at the Splendor rider who still wore the helmet (Archaic commodity for Gen X & Y). There was a heated argument between the two of the reasons that were unknown to me and to other patient bystanders. Then came the twist to it, a burly man disembarked the fuel guzzling vehicle and took the reins in his fists. He started raining fists at the alarmed biker and the entire amphitheatre of spectators applied screeching breaks to savor the IRRL, Indian Road Rage League. The uncouth young assailant kept plonking blows at the elderly uncle’s helmet. He almost smashed the daylights out of him; it was their hollering which revealed that the tussle was about the bike scraping the sides of the SUV. I kept cogitating about the victim who was an elderly and how he would be feeling about the whole incident. The ones who assaulted him were good enough to be of his
son’s age but that never occurred to them. How that gentleman faced his family that night? Did he sleep peacefully? Were his eyes evading the gaze of his family? These questions rose to a crescendo in my conscience. Are we trying to usurp God’s role? Have unbridled emotions/ hormones driven us to insanity? Why are the numbers of road rage incidents spawning exponentially? Scrap of metal that you drive; is it more valuable than the human life? Has flexing muscles on road become a trend in vogue? Why is a man in a cage to a road rage?
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.
The Colors She Wore - Shruti Fatehpuria She brought colors in the life of her Mum which was otherwise colorless. Her Mum named her Color and despite being a different name, she loved it.
She loved Ranganathan and the area where she lived in; people started calling the pair as Ranga and Rangi. She was thrilled to know about the Hindi version of her name. After three years of their marriage, Ranganathan had to leave her for a
She always loved colors and made it a point to
business trip. It was the first time they were
dress in as much color as she could. She radiated
parting and she was immensely sad. However, she
happiness and brought smiles wherever she went.
was a strong independent woman and so they
One day, she met a guy who stole her heart with
kissed and whispered their goodbye.
his tales. He had too many stories to tell and she felt like someone had truly painted her canvas in the brightest of shades. For someone who spent her life bringing colors in other lives, she vibrated alive at finding someone who could bring color to her life. It didn’t take her long to realize that Ranganathan was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. She was so fascinated by his tales of India that she decided to leave her life in the upscale cities of London and settle in India with him. She bid her mother a teary goodbye and promised to stay in touch.
Three days later, as Ranganathan was about to return, he called his wife while driving. They were talking of the forever promises when the line was sharply
cut.
Immediately,
Color
knew
that
something was amiss. Her world was shifting and she could sense how the colorful colors were draining away slowly but painfully from her face. After four hours and forty five minutes, she received a call that confirmed her psychic senses, Ranganathan was dead in a road accident. So much for her colorful life! She was devastated, but she knew life is not about drowning yourself in grief. Ranga would die after his death to see the love of
Color went to India to share her vibrancy and
his life die like this. She vowed to live, but it was
shades in one of the most culturally advanced
then that the culturally rich country showed its
country of the world. She was loved by one and all
true color. A widow couldn’t wear colors; she was
and why not? After all, she brought in instant
chained in white saree and stripped of the bindi
happiness and joy wherever she went. She
she loved so much. It was time for Color to live a
continued dressing in her style, but once in a while,
colorless life of a widow. Wow, so much for the
she would wear the Indian saree but made sure
glorious culture. The oxymoron stared at her. The
that it had more than three colors.
colors mocked her and so did her name. !!
Mr. Incandescent Speaks… When I met Kanha The next thing that I knew was that the excruciating pain had faded abruptly. Before the state of bliss that suddenly took over had sunk in, I saw him- the dark skinned one. He had big eyes, which were closed as if in half-sleep. His flute created a harmony that left me bereft of feeling anything except the perfect melody that encompassed everything. He stopped suddenly. He looked at me, and smiled, and was about to resume playing his flute when I interrupted him inquisitively. The colorful feather of the peacock that waved on his coronet was almost submerged in the greenery of the background. I knew who he was. What I didn’t know was, what had happened to me. “I was in the middle of the War, Kanha, in the middle of the flurry of bullets, skillfully avoiding each one of them, when I felt that pain. And then I am here with you, Kanha. Where am I now?” He didn’t even bother to explain. “Does it mean I am dead?” “Going by your definition of the word, I may say, yes.” he said casually. “And what is ‘going by your definition of the word ’supposed to mean? Does it mean that there are worlds which I will now enter? ” He smiled. “Your world is what you think it is. Actually, your world was what you thought it was, simply because you didn’t know yourself.” “I am dead. I don’t know what my wife is going to do, or how my mother is, or whether my daughter will be safe. Don’t you see I scarcely have appetite for your riddles?” He laughed. A clear, shimmering laughter! “You held the body of a warrior. Not entirely misplaced, I may add. You were fighting someone down there. Now you are fighting me. What an irony- I am all that there is. So technically speaking, your ‘life’ is over, your ‘war’ is not.” “Wait, wait, wait. What do you mean I was fighting you? Why would I fight you? I was deployed by the Indian Army, fighting the infiltration on the borders of the country, when you killed me, and now you are punishing me for fighting you? Go back in history, and see. In fact Kanha, I was praying by your name for protection- you obviously didn’t heed to it” He was unaffected, examining his golden flute with keen eyes. “Oh, forget it! You won’t get it yet- how I wish you did! Whom you were fighting was a manifestation. Of you. Or of me. Whatever you want to call it. As for the punishment, look, I am unbiased and disinterested in these matters. As you sow, so shall you reap my friend. Don’t blame me for things which I don’t determine, simply because it is convenient for you. Comply. And trust me, Karma is the only unfailing justice that there is, was or shall be. Take my word for it.” He resumed his music.
Nothing else seemed to matter. The bliss was comprehensive, as if it was all that there was. I don’t know what made me interrupt him to ask my plight. “Don’t worry. You are being reborn. A cute little girl child is on the way. Hang on for a while.” “That is my punishment for fighting you?” “Shut up. Why would I punish you? I mean, why?” I stood there, unnerved. “Don’t worry” he said consolingly after a while “you were close to the ‘Nishkaam Karma’ as a soldier. You did your duty, and were not too worried about the consequences. A human body is the second best place to be in. There you go!” “And what is the first?” A wry smile spread over his face “That is why you are being given the human body. To seek the answer! Ironically, you came close, but you aren’t there yet. And you have to go back, because you are still stuck. Go now.” He waved. I had loads of questions, but felt myself drifting. I was being thrust into the world he was sending me. “I hope, Kanha, that you are sending me into the world through the body of a Hindu woman. I wouldn’t be worshipping you if I wasn’t.” He looked at me. It suddenly descended upon me a flash: SAMBHAVAMI YUGE YUGE “Bye for now. Too many questions. Seek your own answers. Go!” he gesticulated. “But I am yet to receive your answer. You mentioned-Your world was what you thought it was, simply because you didn’t know yourself. Now what is that supposed to mean?” He broke into an enigmatic smiled that seemed to have engulfed my entity- “That is the greatest paradox of the universe that I created. Or more appropriately, the universe that is me. If you knew who I am, you would know who you are. And if you knew you, you would know me. Either ways, the question is redundant. That is why, my friend, you will have to be sent back to the world you came from. Seek the answer. When you get it, you will come back to me. Or else…you will come back to me, just to go back.” He winked with a trace of mischief in his eyes. “See you in some time!”
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 in New Delhi.
Mahatma Gandhi needs no introduction. An icon revered by millions across the world, he led a country to freedom through methods and principles never used before. What was it about Gandhi that made him an icon? How did a frail, ordinary man bring about a revolution? And how did he manage to rope in the poor, the working class, the elite and the intelligentsia to work together? In this one-of-a-kind self-help book, Virender Kapoor analyses Gandhi’s methods and derives leadership lessons from his life, explaining how readers can successfully employ these in their own lives. He reveals how Gandhi carefully analysed situations—the precursor of SWOT analyses—before formulating the best way to deal with them. It was thus that he formulated the idea of Satyagraha. He also shows that Gandhi understood the power of emotional appeal, and used sincerity rather than empty rhetoric to maximize on this. In other words, he ‘walked the talk’. These and other strategies by Gandhi provide important lessons for leaders of any era, in any capacity. The key, he reveals, is to adapt, rather than adopt, Gandhi’s philosophy in action. Inspirational yet relatable, Leadership: the Gandhi Way is a unique take on Mahatma.
Inked !
A simple glance at your hand untangles the sepia memory strands, to the boulevards of past through the labyrinths of summer last Romance splattered and scrawled splashed against the walls of lazy Sunday noon of bleak nights and luminous moons of the squiffy sunsets barren of uninvited regrets. And I escape this inane routine, all so mundane, to the night you dared to ink your left hand, without a blink. I always knew, you don't shrink under what others think. For you it was, not an aberration but a pious symbol of veneration, representing our ties, carnal and spiritual. Somehow both eternal. - Vikash Kumar
“I tell you the halaats are so bad, so bad that don’t even ask. The Talibans sitting on top of our heads, bombs bursting left, right and centre, drones droning away, load-shedding a hundred hours a day, servants answering back, in-laws trying to upstage you, friends throwing you out of their kitties and on top of that elections ka tamasha. Janoo tau is coming closer and closer to a nervous break out while Mummy is getting sterile dementia. As for Kulchoo, bhai, don’t even ask. But Ive decided, come what may, I tau am not going to let anyone clamp my style. Im going to live just as I like-watching my Turkish soaps, going to GTs and weddings, throwing kitty parties, telling everyone everything saaf-saaf and of course, doing summers in London-voh tau must hai na. And I’m going to do it in my Jimmy Choo ki heels and my sleeveless designer shirts and my streaked hair and my Prada ki sunglasses. This much I’m telling you all from now only. So tighten your seat belts, okay?”
Where is the heaven?
- Neharika Saxena
Where is the heaven? Can anyone reply? How can I reach there? Do I have to fly? Is it above us in the sky? can I climb up ever so high? Is it below us down and deep? Can I ever dig enough for a peep? Is it hidden far on the land? Can I ever walk to the place so grand? I asked this question to one and all, men and women, short and tall, old and wise, and young and smart, to those with a brain and to those with heart I searched in the countries, near and far, from mighty Alps to the barren Thar. I crossed the seas and strolled in the wood, got answers so many but none was good. At last a baby, three years old, looked into my eyes, laughed, and told, love gives to all the pleasure untold, in heart lies the heaven, in young and old
Fragrance of Heena Soulful Sojourn….
There’s a shine in your eyes It makes my heart go fly Shining bright like my stars You take my far away to Mars Giving wings to my dreams My desires flare with beam To have you by my side forever My soul floats like a wild river Far away where you reside That’s where I long to bide The smile you carry this time Makes my heart emit a chime So many words that I wish to say To your heart it’ll make a way And this day shall last till eternity Together we bask in love’s serenity Swaying with ease and poise we dance Slipping away in our ecstasy’s trance Drenching our soul and heart in love We rise in our tenderness like a dove Heena Ahuja is a girl who loves to scribble the rhythmic melody of literature. She lives in Mumbai.
BRANWYN