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.
Editorial
Dear Readers,
Publisher and Director Vineeta Gupta
Founder and Editor-in-Chief Sneha Rahul Choudhary
Mentor Dr. Subodh Kumar Jha
Assistant Editor Pranav Shree
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
It is a well known fact that all Change is the permanent Law of Nature. But when it comes to our readers’ interests, it is more volatile than our imaginations. For some similar reasons, we and our Branwyn underwent a series of changes. It took some time and the current issue got slightly delayed. Still, we believe that we have succeeded in bringing a grand issue of your favourite Branwyn to you. Besides our Star Columnists, this month we have featured Authors like Harshita Shrivastava, Ila Garg, Deepali Junjappa and others. In addition, we have replaced the ‘Amateur Scribbles’ column with ‘Guest Article’. We have also introduced the Cover Story in a new flavour with the book “The Unwanted Shadow.” Hope our readers’ would like it. Suggestions and feedback are always welcome.
With warm regards, Sneha Rahul Choudhary
Alpine Ambergris : Dr. Subodh Kumar Jha
Kitchened Desires Kitchened desires Throb, throb within the Human constitution Raking the folded memories Rallied you always Rallied with loving chastisements That always ended In the flamed meeting Tutored pendulum Of beastly urge Instilling – Instilling and swelling Into my fibres Leans devotedly To the illuminating light Though triggered long before Torching the path still - Subodh K. Jha (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!
An old sin, A new sentence The twenty-first century started off rough for most of the world. 9/11 and the war that followed still hollow the memories of the generation from within. It’s strange how it continues to affect us, and deep down we know it always will. When all of this was happening, I was busy running my errands at home. I lived in a small town named Mangaldai, funny name for a place if you ask me. It was untouched by all of it. The news took days to reach us and when it did, it didn’t mean anything. It was from a different world, and we had our own lives to take care of, our own complications to get through. My name is Mohan Sharma, height 6’2. I don’t think I am handsome but everything is at the right place on my face; so I guess I am not so ugly either. I was brought up in a conservative way in this remote part of the country. I have three elder sisters and often heard my grandmother say that my parents wanted a boy all along and in that way, I was a gift. Soon, this became evident in everything they did. I was given an egg in breakfast while my sisters got nothing at all; not even Neetu who was only two years older to me. I was the one who got new books and toys. My sisters never complained though, despite the fact that they had to do all the household chores also. I think they too had accepted that they could have done nothing about the whole situation; having been born in a place like this didn’t give you the right to question things. To tell you the truth, I didn’t like this arrangement, but still I could never gather enough courage to say it in front of my mother. From time to time, I would get angry at my parents for treating my sisters like that, a few days would pass and things would go back to what they were. Sometimes, I wondered if my parents just loved me because I was a boy and by law was endowed to take care of them. My father was a teacher in the town high school, and with the income from the tuitions he took, we were doing well, better than most of the families in the town. His being a teacher also meant we had to be regular at school, unlike other children in the neighborhood. My father made it a point that my sisters attended school too, and when they wanted to study more, he agreed, and for that I am thankful to him. My mother clearly and vehemently disagreed with him on this point, but the house rules applied to her too; the man of the house had asserted his decision. So, with a happy heart I watched my sisters go to college everyday and
waited for the day when my turn would come, the day when I would head towards my dreams. But as I grew up, whenever I would bring up the topic, I saw tinges of reluctance in my father’s eyes. Later, I came to know the reason. My father might have been a teacher in school but he was no modern thinker, he thought like the rest of the world. He wanted me to stay back, live with him, teach in the school like he did, and then someday get married so that my wife would serve him. He never expressed these expectations out loud, but I knew this was the future he had thought for me in his mind, because it had been in my mind too when I was younger. But I knew it could never be my life; so contrary to his wishes I got busy in weaving dreams of my own. And it was these dreams that gave me the incentive to study late in the night, till my eyes ached. Education means a lot of things to people, but for me it was an escape. With all the work in the house, sometimes things drove me crazy, but I knew that if ever I could leave this place, education would be my only saviour. And for that, being good in studies wasn’t going to be good enough. I had to be better. I had to be extraordinary. I was eighteen years old and had just finished taking my board exams. My days consisted of talking to friends and doing odd jobs to earn some money for my education. The construction site provided me just the opportunity. The pay was less, but it was at least something, and working for my education gave me hope that one day I would indeed be going to college. I didn’t tell my father any of that. I just told him I had nothing to do; so I worked there. But I think he did guess why I was working, although he didn’t say anything. By then my elder sister, Priya, already had a job as a teacher in the same school where my father worked. One fine evening, my father was out and mother had asked me to get some groceries from the shop at the nearby chowk. It was a windy evening, and I was leisurely walking back home with thoughts playing on my mind, watching a kid run a cycle tyre with a stick, watching people coming back from their offices in their motorcycles. I was planning on what I would do that night when suddenly I heard noises coming from our house. At first I assumed that some relatives had come to our house, but then I heard a wail, and then I heard my father shout. I could not clearly make out what he was
saying, but I was able to figure out that he was terribly angry. Who was crying, or who had he been shouting at, I had no idea… Saying a silent prayer under my breath, I walked faster, wondering what hell had befallen our home now. Five minutes later, in the living room I found my father in his chair, breathing heavily and Richa, my second sister, standing beside him. Neetu still hadn’t returned from her classes, I noticed. Priya stood beside Richa. It was as silent as it could get, and respecting the mood of the moment I stood at one corner, saying nothing. I had no clue what was happening, but when I looked at Priya and managed to hold her gaze, she shook her head and indicated that she would tell me later. I wondered if father had hit Richa. It was so not him. I mean yes, he did get angry from time to time, but I had never seen him so angry. Nobody said anything for a while. Finally, after a few minutes of silence, dad shouted at Richa to go to her room. Richa obeyed without any protest. It seemed as if even a light breeze would have got her off her feet. And then slowly Priya got up and went back to preparing dinner as if nothing had happened, while he sat in the room for some more time. When he realized that he had done what he had to do, he went to the nearby store to have his regular smoke. Immediately after his departure, I went to talk to Richa but she wouldn’t open the door; so I went to the kitchen to talk to Priya instead. She was busy chopping vegetables when I walked in. I didn’t say anything for the first few minutes, just watched her hands mechanically chop the vegetables. When mom went away, I fired her with my questions. “What happened? Did she get kicked out of school or something?” She raised her eyes at me. I could see that she was sad and realized that the matter was much more serious than that. “No, dad saw her with a guy from college. They were kissing. He was really angry today. He even slapped Richa.” I knew this had happened when I saw Richa’s face this evening, but the shock of hearing it was still there. “Mother didn’t stop him?” “No, I tried…” She let the sentence hang there, realizing she had already said too much. “What? Did he hit you too?” She tried to protest, but when I held her gaze, she told me. “Now, you don’t start fighting with dad again. Okay? He didn’t mean to hit me. He was just angry.” I knew what she was trying to do. The last time dad hit Neetu, I had had a big fight with him. I mean I could go on like nothing’s wrong when he treated
them like that, but hitting was something I strongly felt about. This time I said nothing. Priya would like it more if I did nothing, I knew, and after having such a hard day, I owed her that. “I knocked, but Richa is not opening the door,” I finally said to break the silence. “She will be okay. She told me about the guy some days back. I should have told her to stop then, it would not have come to this. I don’t know what dad’s going to do now.” “He already hit her, what more can he do?” I shouted. “And why didn’t she tell me about it?” I asked, remembering I was the only one not to know about this. “She made me promise not to tell you or Neetu. She was scared dad might know.” I nodded. I kept silent after that, while she continued to work with the dough. The plastered walls of the kitchen had been blackened by the smoke emanating from the gas burner below. There was no fan in the room, although father had promised to get it installed soon. The smoke was suffocating in there, but the women had to work here all day long. They didn’t seem to mind. Maybe they were comfortable in the heat just like my father was with his life. It seems impossible to do something when you watch it from a distance, only when you are in it that you come to know. I looked over at Priya. She was shaping the dough into small spherical balls, sweat dripping off her brows. I would have offered to help her, but I would make more mess than dinner. She gave me a small smile when she saw me looking at her. I returned it the best I could. We both sat in comfortable silence. “She really loves him.” “Sorry! What did you say?” I asked. “She really loves him. I met him once. He is good.” I nodded, but both of us knew it didn’t matter if he was good, father would never agree. Even Richa knew that. What scared me was if Richa could go on living like nothing had happened, and accept it as her fate? That would be hard, but there was no other option. The front door opened and both of us craned our neck to look who arrived, expecting neighbors who had heard the fight, or worse…..dad.
To our relief, it was Neetu. She went to keep her bag inside the room, which she, Richa and Priya shared, but found it locked. She knocked for a while but no one answered it. I shouted for her to come to the kitchen. Priya poured her a cup of tea from the pot. Neetu kept her bag and sat in a chair. She had noticed how silent the house was. Usually there would be some sort of noise - sometimes neighbors, sometimes mom. I told her what had conspired in the evening, though I spared her the part where dad hit Priya and Richa. She didn’t say anything when I told her the story. She was probably imagining how it might have happened. Maybe she guessed that dad had hit Richa. Awhile later, mom went out for a walk, but not along with dad. In my town, one rarely sees husband and wife taking an evening stroll together. There was no rule against it, but that’s how things were. Men hung out with other men in the neighborhood, while women stayed in the house or went to their neighbor’s house and talked stuff. I guess mom just needed to clear her mind. I didn’t know when dad would be back. Normally, he came back half an hour before dinner. It was already seven. And as for Richa, I wondered for how long she wouldn’t be taking dinner. I asked Neetu to come with me and help to get Richa open the door. It was after ten minutes or so that she answered our call. “Leave me alone for a while,” she said in a cracked voice. I urged Neetu to say something. “Let us in! Nobody’s at home except Mohan and Priya Di. Please open up, you are worrying us.” The door opened after a few minutes. As we entered, I could see that her eyes were swollen; she must have been crying the whole time. I couldn’t blame the guy who fell for her though, even with her swollen eyes and red nose she looked beautiful. We sat in her room, Neetu trying desperately to lift up her mood. Priya couldn’t be there; she had a lot of work to do since mom wasn’t there to help her. I wonder now what it would be like to teach for the whole day in school and then come back and prepare dinner for the family. I feel guilty sometimes for letting them rot in that piece of hell. But there were few things that could have been done.
Richa’s mood lightened up a little by the time mom came back, but we all knew that when dad would come back, nothing would be normal again. Father came back an hour later than usual. Dinner was taken by everyone in complete silence. Even Neetu, whose voice would usually ring during the dinner, was silent. Father didn’t talk to Richa, and my mother too didn’t, because she was afraid it might offend dad. Later that night, I heard Richa sniffing in the other room. I heard Priya say something to her, though I couldn’t make out what she was exactly saying. Their talking went on for a while, after which they both fell silent. I couldn’t sleep well that night. The thought of what would happen the next day still terrified me. I wanted things to get back to normal at the earliest. And I believed they would, sooner or later, like always. But for me, it was the first time that they didn’t. -
The following chapter has been taken from the novel “The Unwanted Shadow” written by author Bhaskaryya Deka. Bhaskaryya grew up in Mangaldai, Assam, and then moved briefly to Visakhapatnam to complete his schooling. Now, he lives in Dhanbad, pursuing B.Tech in Mechanical Engineering at Indian School of Mines. He is an avid reader, with particular interest in Literary Fiction. He also maintains two blogs where he posts book reviews, poems, humorous articles and random thoughts that cross his mind. When he is not writing, he likes to spend his time listening to music, hanging out with friends, and travelling.
Life is a bitch and I’m one of its victims. I had the perfect life. I was blessed with the perfect boyfriend, a perfect best friend, the perfect set of girlfriends and perfect choice of career. There were some loopholes but then they went beyond my perspective. Overall, I had the kind of life people would ideally like to have but happy times aren’t meant to last forever. Sometimes we feel that we have figured life but that’s something that is never going to happen. You know why? It’s because it has this habit of kicking us right in the middle of ecstasy. No wonder, it did the same with me. This is my story, my story of that exploration within, my feelings, my emotions, my thought process, my priorities, my conflicts and my journey into the temptation of love, lust, lies and betrayals. This is the story of Kritika and a man who gave her life another dimension, Tanishq. This is a story of the complexities of relationships and the trap that a simple idea of sensuality, pleasure and euphoria can put you into. This is a story for everyone who has loved, lost and fought for survival and love, together.
Sacrament Sobriety : Gaurav Gill “ Strong with the Wind” “As per our met department monsoons have got delayed by one more week”; it is music to our Indian ears. This thought rose to a crescendo in my head and I ruefully disembarked the metro. As I descended down the stairs my eyes rested upon two stoic faces with a swaddled box in their sweaty palms. The concealed fate in form of the box read as “donate for victims” and ironically our lexicon never demarcated contours of the term victim. I trudged further towards church pondering and it was then I witnessed something incredible. That something defied my learning and my appalled senses. I saw a man weaving through the crowd in a rugged t shirt walking with two pair of slippers. Before you jump to arbitrary conclusions, he was differently- abled and he had worn those slippers in his palms as well. This thought might just induce an excruciating pain in you; I hope it impels us into action. “Buy candle… sir buy candle a packet for 10” A middle aged woman in early 40’s along with her young daughter were shouting from the pavement in front of the Church and beckoning to make the purchase. As I went to that lady, she smiled and quickly handed me
a packet of candles. As she did so, her hands trembled miserably. I enquired about if she had visited the doctor, to which she replied that she did, but it did not bring much of relief.. I bought a packet of prayers …. There were 10 prayers in it… with each prayer I surrendered myself to God almighty. I vividly remember the nimbus canopy of clouds were waltzing on the celestial canvas... it would have rained any moment..With my steadfast faith I lit candle in the potent breeze,, I retraced my steps from the candle stand and watched the wick with a keen look…praying that it stays undaunted by the wind………however a sudden gush of breeze doused it.. I was about to light it again, it was then a faint and a devout voice called out to me- “Sir take my candle and light it again and this time do remove your shoes as you do so” I was frozen in my tracks,,, that little candle girl had stirred my soul with her generosity .. I was awestruck for a while and I said “Yes I will do so”…. As I walked back…..kept thinking about how mother and daughter duo bring light in everyday seeker’s lives, how they have a repository of it ( candles)…. when they themselves are seeking for one!
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.
Keep your eyes on a distant star Keep your eyes on a distant star A voice of yours is heard afar Farer than the barren Thar Is none but one But just that star Keep in your heart a golden light See that star and take to flight For none will hear you in silence None but one but just that star Shall help you out in resilience For it may be far But close in your heart It will light the dark And make it bright So lead the way The North Star shines Just keep in your heart a distant star For a voice of yours is heard afar Farer than the barren Thar Is none but one Just one that star‌ So open your eyes And go gaze deep For someday your heart Shall take a leap And reach that tiny distant star Keep your eyes on a distant star A voice of yours is heard afar Farer than the barren Thar Is none but one But just that star
- Neharika Saxena
For Mimi Hittalmani, a confused twenty something life is about to begin. After getting sacked by her editor for attending a silly Bollywood bash, clotted with a nasty breakup; Mimi decides to expand her worldview. Two years later, armed with a foreign degree and some flashy Aussie stories she begins her misadventures in Mumbai where she meets the gorgeous Mehra brothers and falls in love with all three at once. Mimi then joins the carnival and lets herself go on the train of chaos, cacophony, camera and drama. She’s glad; her co passengers are all potential soul mates, she never met; the brotherhood of lost loves. From then on the joy ride of working, flirting, schmoozing, networking and finally falling in love become part of Mimi’s quirky and hilarious journey. By the end she realizes that the twenties are indeed twisted; it’s ok to goof up, jump courses, change careers, flout opinions and of course chat up four guys at once!
She Delicate is She, Handle with care! Soft petalled Lily, crush how you dare? Glass like fine, a shard that draws blood She’s not just a kohled line That you’d want to smudge Like leather that weathers, Transitional tantrums she suffers As aqua she adjusts and endures Bears like wood, her steely determination Try, test, torture her not To raise ire & invite indignation Fool not her trust, Dense as a diamond, Molten lava like she bursts! Burning charcoal, The smog smoke she herself soaks Or else on the soot of her pyre she chokes A tear drop she slips for love, Like a dewdrop from a leaf does When the wind shoves Fascinates her fragrance as that of a rose Calming like sandal, she has also been fire Whenever the moment arose Merely scribble her not as a note in your life Whoever is she, girlfriend, fiancé or wife! Always and always, treat her right.
- Purvi
Mr. Incandescent Speaks… The Fight is Right It had been a tough day. As usual, the boy had been late for giving tuitions after his college classes. When he did reach the house, the weather was still ruthlessly hot. He had been walking all those eight kilometers with the hope that at the other end of it, he would have cold water, right out of the fridge. He had walked much more than eight kilometers, and he knew, but saw no point in giving his misery its due credit. All that greeted him was a heavy lock on the door. He must have been late, he guessed. He tried to recollect if they had asked him not to come on that day. He took out his cell phone to see the time. It had been dead for long. He remembered. So they must have called to tell him not to come. But today, they had said they would pay. Maybe they would come back in a few minutes. Maybe they were inside, with the door locked for some weird reason. He knocked. He sat on the stairs, waiting. The July sun was more acrimonious than it had appeared while he was walking. His calves hurt badly, and he felt the throbbing veins in them. A mild breeze, with some intrinsic heat reshaped itself to hit every molecule of his face, making it too red for his own eyes to ignore. He got up, and began to walk again. Another eight kilometres! He wasn’t prepared for this. Four rupees! He counted again. He ransacked his pockets, with the vague hope that he had missed a coin somewhere. As expected, there was no pleasant surprise waiting for him. He walked slowly. Periodically looking at the sun! Trying to ignore his calves. Trying to ignore his hunger! This time he noticed that eight kilometers were longer than he had imagined. The dust on his feet seemed to be adding more weight than it possibly could. The nails in his old pair of shoes were hurting with every step. Shifting his attention back to hunger was a better idea, he decided.
His eyes fell on the bald kid, barely seven or eight years old, washing the dishes in the most unhygienic way possible. A large, broken tub had water was all his resource, and all dishes were immersed in them and taken out. Everyone saw this, and somehow, everyone had decided to believe that this was the proper way of washing dishes. The boy was conscious to avoid seeing the washing. And conscious about avoiding being spotted by his classmates! Not that they had never eaten at this place. But for him, it was his meal. He looked at the kid again. Mechanically washing dishes! He was about to be cheated. Robbed of six rupees by a lying, hungry hypocrite, who had the mask of an artist! The food appeared in his hands. He looked at it greedily. The last time food had entered his mouth was in the previous morning. He could act. And he knew he would pay six rupees later. He kept the food on the thela, and made a silent exit. The four rupees were still in his pocket. He took them out, to pelt them away in frustration. His heart didn’t allow this. He took a step back, decided to go back to the kid washing dishes, and give the money to him. But then, he wasn’t begging. Ruthless world, but the urchin was a better man than many dignified thieves in the poisonous city. Four rupees finally bought him two cigarettes. Without filters! He couldn’t have used it better. They would keep him awake. They would mitigate his hunger. That would be a good use. Then suddenly, while walking to his room with his cigarettes, he had a hearty laugh. Betrayed again, yet again, by the very same people he has offered to teach. He knew they were never going to pay him for his tuitions now. Cheated! Time to search someone else to teach! He was a grand young man.
Towards the end of his long walk, he came to the thela he had been thinking of during his walk. The cheapest food in the city! He counted the money one more time. No variation. Six rupees short! He would have to do it. Eat the food, and then pretend that he had been picked, and then give away four rupees, with the promise that he would pay six rupees the following day. He never doubted his acting skills. He ordered a plate. And stood among the others, who had come for their supper to the same destination! Manual labourers, cart pullers, cobblers… relishing the food around them. Chewing slowly, to make the bite last. To extend the satiation!
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.
Ishani, a young, pretty and multi-talented girl with a carefree attitude, lives in a world of her own. A girl with small little dreams, she carries a happy-golucky nature. Always surrounded by friends, she loves to help people and is a quick learner. When she gradually tries to find a place in this messed up world, everyone around her starts to lure her as she trusts easily and can't discriminate between right and wrong. She often falls for masked personalities and camouflaged individuals but it is life, right? It has its own ways to teach its disciples. . She makes efforts to bring a smile on every face and wishes someone would do the same for her. Can a completely broken girl emerge as a winner at the end? Will she be able to unveil the masks? What does it take to judge right from wrong? What surprises life holds in its box for her? Is it ever going to be easy for her to choose or will she continue to stay in her dilemmas?
Strangled Voice
The nurse put me in a plastic bag And I wondered if it was a gift wrap, I was so happy because I came to this world Wanted to see the one who gave me birth But then I heard a voice so loud, Did somebody throw me off
the bridge? I doubt.
I felt like I can’t breathe anymore… My voice was choked, before I spoke anything. And just when I was about to die, Something unwrapped me with a force so high I thought my mom rescued me.. But the horror was worse than anything it could be The dogs tore every bit of flesh left inside, But I was thankful as it ended my life The pain of abandonment and terror
gripped my soul
I asked God I don’t want to be a girl in next life anymore. I just wanted to be loved and fly so high... Didn’t even get a place six feet under the sky I had no courage to fight for life.. Why do I have to pay for being a girl child?
- Anne Dey
Mr. YouKnowMe Speaks‌ Beginning of New Life.
A predestined bond between two souls, That will make two incomplete lives whole, And will create the fusion of two families, A wedding that will hold them together infinitely, Rituals will be performed to take the sacred vows, That will ensure the purity of love for rest of life, The promise will be taken to always be together, Happiness will fly over everyone like a feather, A wedding that is meant to find someone special, Someone who will know you better then yourself, Someone who will always bring smile on your face, And someone who will soon make your life complete, Every smile that you will have on blissful mornings, Every laugh that you will share on evening coffees, Will become sweetest little moments for the life, The wedding will make the walk of life full of thrive, An anticipated moment that is going to arrive soon, A moment that will count every second spent together, A moment for which everyone waited so long, A moment that will make you together for lifelong
Mr. YouKnowMe is someone whom all of us know yet all of us are still to discover. He is a biker, an author and like all of us, a lover of life‌ He is at present working with an IT Company.
BRANWYN