Rain Drops E-Magazine December 2011

Issue:- December 2011 Vol:- V

Price: `. (Free)

Rain Drops

Dec 2011

Editorial

Dec 2011

Content

Dear Readers,

Editorial Page 2

This could well be our last edition of the e-magazine! The RD team decided to end the digital magazine as of now and accept all submissions over the site and on the FB page. We may in future publish quarterly or even monthly editions again but as of now, creative writings will go online completely!

We just concluded an event for the kids in Mumbai, an art competition featuring Christmas or winter as a theme. It is our great pleasure to be publishing all those fine art works done by the budding artists. We shall also continue to hold events, online and offline as long as it takes. Different events by the e-magazine or by the publishing house.

We love to encourage kids and adults in the field of creativity. In the field of art, writing, music or whatever the internal talent may dictate the soul. True happiness gushes forth when you land up doing something you really love and find peace with. Hence, continue doing something creative, no matter what your age, find time for it, somehow, anyhow and you will fill your heart and soul with real pleasures.

Come forward and communicate with us anytime at: raindropsemag@gmail.com or moksapublishers@gmail.com or on our cell: +91-9619629092.

Please write to us, we love to hear from you!

We are on FB: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Rain-Drops-EMagazine/251592264855615?sk=wall The Rain Drops E-Magazine is published by Moksa Publishers.

- By Dhirendra Asthana Page 5

- By Dhirendra Asthana Page 4

Vendetta

By Vishnu Vardhanan Page 6-12

Cryptogram Page 12

The New Home Sweta Srivastava Vikram Page 13

Manjula Saxena Page 14

Cryptogram Hint and Solution Page 14

The Three Proverbs A story from Poland Page 15

Thank you,

Bal Chitra Mitra Competition Page 17 - 27

Bal Chitra Mitra Judge Painting Page 28 The Lone Star Achuthan Sivadas Page 16

Editor

Copyrights: All rights reserved © 2011 Cover Picture First Prize winner Ms. Anuja Khilari in Bal Chitra Mitra Competition held at Oxford Book Store On 17th December 2011

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Edited by Dhara Kothari. Published by Moksa Publishers for Rain Drops.

Designed by Biren Shah. Email: raindropsemag@gmail.com.

Cell: +91-9619629092 / +91-9757274289 3

- By Dhirendra Asthana

4

Dec 2011

- By Dhirendra Asthana

Dec 2011

5

Dec 2011

Vendetta - By Vishnu Vardhanan

Vendetta Every breath of him insulted what she was and the life she lived. Every time his nostrils exchanged a fresh volume of oxygen it contaminated every breath she drew on earth not long ago. The tiredness of the air he exhaled was almost tangible. It was heavy. It begged me to give the freedom it long desired as a result of running along his throat through the lungs. By the sound of it I sensed that it merited every bit a passionate kiss of the knife that glimmered between my fingers. What the hell am I waiting for? I decided to start scripting his end. I held the knife tight. That was my first time.

she carried herself confirmed it every minute.

“Oh, really?” she said sarcastically to me,” I never knew, having been worked in 17 assignments.”

She looked damn hot. But what was hottest of all was her tongue. It was ironically spitting fire at that moment and I was left to wage a private battle between my admiration for her and my wrath for her attitude.

“Might as well be true. 17 assignments and someone complaining about angle, lighting, lipstick, make-up, outfits and above all a photographer doesn't fit together. A good model is presentable even when she is shot by an amateur kid holding the camera for the first time,” I shot back.

“First time...” the words echoed in my ears and took me somewhere else.

“Ever held a camera in hand,” were her first words to me.

Her face contorted.

Ishika, a busy model who had worked with more than half a dozen national clients and top brands demanded when the advertisement director, Milton, introduced me to her. A former Miss Chennai Title winner there was hardly anything to say about her looks. All she needed to do is to slightly bend the curve of her lips and leak a smile and with that even the most strongest of the hearts will be rocked and feel a 9 point Richter earthquake.

“You were supposed to find a photographer, not some loony guy who just escaped from an asylum. I asked his experience and see what he is blabbering?” She recorded her high opinion on me to the director.

I turned to the director and said,” I don't appreciate the attitude. Forget it Sir. She is nothing like a model,” I said. Her face reddened and her cheeks resembled a hybrid tomato that they show in refrigerator advertisements.

Wow, a red carpet welcome I thought.

“Actually I never put the camera down,” I replied.

“Stupid,” she said venomously.

It was true that I was too young for a photographer to be working in such a premium assignment and her curtness was very obvious.

Even then I was offended. I could not hold back.

I said, “You are so concerned. I thought models needed only good fashion to be successful, do they need a photographer's skill too?”

It stung me literally. I should have been cursing her instead my eyes were cherishing her reactions. Somehow she looked unbelievably beautiful to my eyes even in the height of her anger. My immediate instinct was to picture her emoting face with my right hand (I mean my camera) but then each frame of that moment was etched pixel by pixel in my mind.

Even then I said that she looked like someone who did not need anything like fashion, looks, right outfits or a good photographer's skills. Her conversing hazel eyes, full moon lit like face strands of hair like jumping waves proved more than enough. Every muscle of hers calmly proclaimed that she is a born model and the way

I wondered what made me like her. Obviously, it was not her beauty. Being a photographer myself, in a single day I have the chance to come across the number of hot chicks and gorgeous babes that others can comes across in their entire lifetime. Bumping into a bright face or a 6

Dec 2011

Vendetta - By Vishnu Vardhanan curvaceous body for me was like getting stuck in Chennai traffic, logging into Face book or drinking a cup of coffee. Very common! For the first ever time I did not need a camera to capture a moment in my life.

His uneven gasps seeing the shining new knife did not help my uneasiness. I was nervous for it was the first time. But he did not show any such sign and seemed very far from being nervous.

He was leaning on the wall inches away with his hands close to his chest. His body was shrunk with the shoulders drooping in front and his knees collapsing to the ground. An evenly distributed, visible shuddering embraced all of his body. He was never short of sobs and pleas, the moans and shrieks of a trapped animal.

I would have left him there and walked away had it been some other instance. But not now, after what he has done. Not after what happened to her. The air that I inhaled grew heavy and tightened my chest. I was unsure, dubious. I was representing the historic cat that sat on the wall dazed to jump, forming the reason for the cliché “cat on the wall.”

But somehow I had expected this. I had known all along how such hesitancy would cast its shadow upon me. The hesitancy which is purely as a result of the beliefs and morals society has injected into everyone without the individual's knowledge. I understood that the iron chains and the rusted bars of “code of conducts” and “Decorum” that had been soaked into our muscles and marrows right from childhood was questioning my act. More than the just and moral factor, the question, “Am I, the same man who said an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind, just plotting a blood for blood revenge?” puzzled me.

Or is that my mind's other dormant beast simply trying to pounce on its opportunity to satiate its violent blood lust part? I don't know.

My inner voice denied it.

Yes, a revenge seeker would have grabbed some weapon and devoured this crook out of the surging emotions. A homicidal maniac would 7

have tasted his blood and that of his partners-incrime long before. I have not done any of it. I was cool headed. I read 4 or 5 odd books on murders, googled for an entire week about various brutal homicidal cases just to make sure that nothing resembles and none comes even close to this.

This is definitely different. I carefully designed his trap, collected necessary equipment and finally chose his deathbed which is this very dimly lit dilapidated room. A sudden whim would have dissolved in days, a burning rage might have quelled in weeks but this sensation had not. It has stayed, stayed strong and hard for two long months now.

It has stayed, stayed strong and hard for two days. Her bitterness and the anger on me did not seem to have lost its teeth. “Miss, save those stares and words. I won't give a damn. Don't waste them on me,” I said when she was testing her “burning-someone-with-the-scornful-stare” ability.

Her gaze grew more sharp and strong when my terseness fuelled her burning aspirations. But unruffled I added,” To get things straight, I have never taken a camera in my hand as I consider that as my right hand than an equipment.”

“Kind of prosthesis. I don't have to consciously pick it up,” I said.

She scoffed at what I said with an air of smugness. Upon the director's persuasion I had come to the shooting spot again to face the fury of this gorgeous yet violent tornado.

“That's the way I work, that's my style. If it's okay, we can defer this leg pulling game and move to the sets. Else If you are hard on for a photographer who is of an age with trembling hands and loads of experience, then I will bid adieu and walk away.”

She did not seem to have a care in the world. “Sir, the outside world has enough moments waiting to be captured by my cherishing eyes and my hungry lens,” I finished turning to the director marking it as my conclusion.

Her rose petal like lips twitched to say something. It was evident from the sharpness of

Dec 2011

Vendetta - By Vishnu Vardhanan her eyes that none of them would fall under “good to hear” category. Before words shot out of her mouth the director broke in.

doubts shrouded my mind and suddenly everything was clear. I was able to sense the fairness of what was about to unfold.

“Ishi, you got to see his portfolio. The angles and textures were like never seen before. His work is fresh and very new. I am sure that he will be an awesome value add to this project. Just get along with him.” Before the director's veritable testimony her fury could not last long.

“Decision is your's and the responsibility too is yours sir,” She said and stormed out of the place.

I looked up. He looked as if he had learnt that I can not be reasoned with. He stood there lost everything except for the fear of an impending expiry. He was weighing his chances of survival and looked around for an escape route. But for the sharp and blood lust lips of the knife I held, he would have fled pushing me aside or even would have not hesitated to pack me to the grave.

After she went, “she is a very nice girl but I guess you both got off on the wrong foot,” the director said.

Having said all that, in some ways I owed him for what he was about to do (or is it what was going to be done on him)? I don't know. But the point is he deserved to know why he is going to die, the reason which has brought him the misfortune of being slaughtered like a little street dog.

Dec 2011

Vendetta - By Vishnu Vardhanan

She smiled, “Yes. I would have laughed at him back to his new found usual-self of frightfulness. anyone who might have even hinted that.”

“Oh…no…”

“So... what happened? What brings you here?”

“Another day at office doesn't matter sir,” I said.

For the next 20 days the director, apart from conceiving ideas, had to play an extra role of being a jury to our never ending quarrels. My decision to shoot in real locations which sometimes comprised deserted; dilapidated old buildings and marshy forests didn't go well with her. Ishika thought I was doing all that just to tease her.

“ISHIKA...” I Said ,“Remember...?”

When the assignment was over and the project was delivered to the clients things were never the same. I was in home relaxing after the hectic schedule. The calling bell screamed to announce the intrusion of my privacy. Annoyed, I went to answer the door. To my surprise Ishika was standing there. She was wearing a Jean and a Casual Tee. Sunglasses perched above her forehead. Looking at her I had a big question.

Was she beautiful because of the dress or is the dress beautiful because of her? I had a mini crisis. But recollecting myself, I invited her in.

She came in and sat on the couch.

I have everything the plan, the apparatus and the lab rat except my volition to embark on the experiment. Meanwhile the rat seemed to have sensed the reluctance and it pitched in.

“What. What did I do? What... do you... want...” he stuttered.

With a firm voice I calmly said, “It is blood that I seek.”

“We can... talk. Tell me. Tell me what this is about?” he said.

This is not going to be easy. I normally hate questions. More worse, under such circumstances I repelled it like anything.

I gave him a long, hard stare and said, “September 23...”

“23... What...?”

She started with that trademark Girlie, “See. It's not my fault.” he said which gave me “Well…Ummm...” and continued,” I got to see enough reasons to wave green flag for this trivial the photographs.

And then clients called errand. director,” She said.

He tried every possible defense for every step I “Oh, nice, what did they say? Are they happy took towards him. about the work?”

“Don't come near me. Wait.”

“You wouldn't want to hear that if you are don't want to loose your only good quality, humility,” “I...I Can explain. It's them...Not me...”

She said.

“We did not kill her. She killed herself...”

“I thought you had change of hearts and going to “What can I do if she commits suicide?” be friendly with me.”

“Chill Buddy. Clients are very happy with the I was unmoved. I went ahead with a work. Especially the camera work. But that is not determination and my fists clenched. the reason for my change of hearts.”

“I don't know why she did that. It is...very common in her profession.”

“What then?”

“I came here to tell you that you were wrong. A model does need a good photographer like 'you' to present herself well. That was evident from the output and the feedback.” She continued, “You know what? The clients are so impressed that they have selected me for couple of their other product's advertisement.”

“What's the logic? Photography is good and you are signed for two more projects?”

“Coffee or tea? I asked.

“Just a glass of water,” she said.

I handed her water bottle and asked, “Is it December 21, 2012?”

“What?”

He was wiping drops of blood from the corners of his mouth after two minutes. He succeeded in getting me to the mood. His recklessness and negligence reinstated the belief on my decision.

The first crack on the iron chains and rusted bars had been made. Having taken the first step I knew there was no looking back. No more

“I mean is it dooms day? Is the world going to end today? When things like this happen one certainly has reasons to ask that.”

She looked puzzled. “You are visiting my home? I mean what on earth is happening?” I said.

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“Don't be jealous, boy. I told them that I only work in the project which has Mr.Gaurav as the photographer.”

“We are working together again”, she said with an innocent genuine smile stemming out from her heart. Damn, she is the most beautiful thing I have seen. Ever! “Tell me this is not a dream.

Loony guy to a favorite photographer is a long way,” I said with a mock amazement. She smiled.

He was option less, helpless and finally when it boiled down to the bottom he cried out, “anyways...it was nothing new to her.

What...What does it matter?”

“She…. She is.....a…”

What???

I did not know what could fill in. Neither did her.

Ms. Ishika Arora, a top model turned actress carried the burden of being my lover apart from lending her name to the never ending gossips with her fellow actors. Now she had no time to carryout a single role. Model, actress, lover combined to define Ishika and taking any of that out will not serve the purpose of defining her.

Earlier the second schedule proved completely different from that of the first. We were no more Tom and Jerry like. Everyday brought us close to each other and at the end of the second assignment; I was standing at her door. She For a moment all his shuddering and his fears invited me in. The apartment was not big but vanished out of pure astonishment which the looked good enough for her family. She took me name, Ishika, had instantly incited. Then again, to her room. in a matter of seconds, it slowly died bringing 9

Dec 2011

Vendetta - By Vishnu Vardhanan Like any other Girl's room it was meticulous, things kept in their places and was tidy.

“Nice room,” I said.

“Thank you,” she said.

“But I hate it,” I said as any guy would say.

“No wonder. You are accustomed to living in garbage.” She pounced on the opportunity. I stared at her resenting.

“What? Those film roles all around the room, magazines piled up on the desk, clothes adorning every corner. What would you say that. A room?

In my world it is called garbage. She accused me.

I kept silent. I came to her home in a romantic mood and almost rehearsed 15 different lines to propose her but all that she found to talk about was my room aka the garbage. Gosh, why the girls are like this I was mulling over.

Brief seconds after with that thoughtful serious expression that is exclusively patented by girls she said,” May be I should drop by and clean your room sometime.”

And suddenly I stuck upon a better line. I did not think much and just threw it. I casually retorted, “Yeah, you should. Anyways home ministry is going to be yours after marriage, right?”

“Yes, true. I should be taking care of home later...” She said and later realized,” wait. Did you say our...?”

I was perplexed. Emotional grenades were exploding inside as the very thought of the chance of denial came to my mind. I composed myself and mustering all my courage, confidence I said, “Yes, Ms. Gorgeous. I came here to tell you that I can't hide my liking for you anymore. I don't know what you will think of me. But honestly I am not sure how or when it happened until one day I found myself crazily in love with you.”

She gave that usual girls look which say I-didnot-think-of-you-like-that. I thought if she is not ok or if she doesn't like me its not a problem but I was praying that she should not say some nonsense like “I thought of you like my brother” and all. To clear the air I continued, “Sorry, I know it's surprising. I just wanted to let you know my feelings as pretending to be normal betraying my real feelings was eating me away. I felt you ought to know the truth. That's it.”

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She thought for a while. “You don't want me to love you back?” she asked with a neutral tone that did not hint her reaction.

“Not like that. I am making it clear that I am not pressuring you. I hate to be a bother,” I said.

“Huh-Hmm…I see.” She said teasingly emphasizing on that 'I see'.

I hated that. She was making fun of my genuine emotions. “I don't know whether you are really this much good guy,” She mumbled as if saying it to herself and asked me. Alright, so that's it?”

“Guess so. What else?” I asked.

“Aren't you at least going to hold my hand and say some romantic thing. Any idea of handing me a rose or ring kneeling down and ask whether I want to marry you? A proposal is meant to be like that right?” she asked.

“What, I don't understand,” I said.

“Oh, come on. Why are you so stupid?” she said.

I wanted to demand what her problem was and why can't she be direct. But I could not.

How could I when her lips were on mine. She leaned back after a brief seconds and looked straight into my eyes with a playful look.

Vendetta - By Vishnu Vardhanan

Dec 2011

or virtue something psychological than physical?

His body fell on the floor thudding before he could complete the sentence. My hand cruised over his shoulders to his face and anchored itself on his cheek. The red liquid that was busy flooding the floor sort of made me feel better.

There was no guilt. I wondered how the mere remark of her gave me the nerve. I found some peace at last.

I thought about her.

Her flashing smile unfurling, her sharp eyes penetrating me. It immediately made me say; “This is so damn right.”

I told Ishika cinema is worst place for a girl to be in. Especially for some straight forward girl like her its simply wrong place. She did not listen she has achieved everything as a model earned every penny that can be earned but yet the stardom had hooked her. As I predicted she did not last long in cinema with her curtness. I would have celebrated her quitting movies had it not been the end of her life too. They say love teaches you compassion. It makes you kind hearted but now as I stand in this little room felt that love not only turns a beast into angel it also changes an angel into beast. Love not only kills oneself but it can make you kill others too if needed. After all, it doesn't matter whether it is a delicate flower or gory blood it's the same when the driving force proves to be love. Blood is also beautiful when it is because of love.

yesterday. The dead body was dumped into a dustbin and has been found missing many of its body parts. According to Commissioner Office, the man was stabbed many times and possibly castrated and severely amputated. His right eye and left arm are missing. Also several of his fingers from both legs and hands have been removed. Postmortem reports suggest that the murder should have taken place before 13-14 hours. Cops have commenced a thorough investigation. For more turn page 8.

I kept the newspaper down. I was sitting in the hall.

The two swaying legs still did not vanish from my eyes that I saw when I entered this very living room on September 26. She was dangling from this very ceiling with her eyeballs fixed at the sky and pupil turned grey.

I almost went crazy thinking what made her to hang herself. I hated life, myself and everything around me. Beard and the hair on my head had grown bushy enough to hide my face.

There was no purpose for my living until one day.

Her postmortem report fell on my eyes. It was dated 17 days after her death. It looked nothing more than a missing piece of her death puzzle.

Few stacks of currency notes, my arm power, some blackmails, phone calls and little threat enlightened me.

“So, is that a yes? Do you love me?” I asked.

I was kissed by one of the hottest asset of the country but yet my retarded mind was bothering to question her without realizing/cherishing what just happened.

“Ufff”, she fumed.

“You badly need to grow up,” she said and slapped me again and again with her lips as a punishment. I could not have asked for a better punishment. Especially from someone like her.

He needed punishment that he dared to say something like that about her. I felt bizarre how the society looked at a girl who slightly break the norms and be herself. It surprised me how naive the society is to think that only a girl who covers her fully has good character. Isn't that mindset inflicted such a fate to Ishika? Isn't the character

He was semiconscious, moaning out of pain. I walked to the other side of the room. Opened the belly swelled bag. Unzipped it and took out the instruments, which are actually a collection of carefully chosen weapons, one after the other. I took out something which resembled a saw and took a final glimpse of him alive, his face to be precise. It had blood sprinkled all over and by the side of his shoulder a pool of red liquid had formed. It lightened me up.

I went near him and said,” SMILE PLEASE!” 2 days later BRUTAL MANSLAUGHTER, COPS PROBING. Chennai: A man, possibly of above 30, was found dead in Railway colony near the new suburbs 11

I had thought I have seen the worst of life. But yet life said, Wait buddy, there are few more ugly pages. The postmortem report I mean the original one which had been kept under wraps said Ishika has been harassed before her death.

Three different samples had been found on her body. Large sums of money had been paid by a big shot producer to avoid major head lines. A bitter rift with Ishika was all that needed for that bastard as the reason. His mistake gave me the purpose to my life now. All said and done only one thing remained. He needed to pay for his sin. Ishika deserved justice. More than that no more Ishikas should fall prey to this beast. With that resolve I went near his home to run the errand.

The next day, a pair of hands that were found

Vendetta - By Vishnu Vardhanan

Cryptogram

Dec 2011

near the door of veteran producer Rajappa's home was the hot headlines. And his parking lot boasted something written in blood, ”Don't dare to see hell. Avoid knowing the meaning of cruelty. Better commit suicide in 2 days' time smile please! ” Yes, I did not plan to kill him. He has been left with two choices. Either he should commit suicide as that of which he inflicted on Ishika or die the hell out of panic seeing how brutally his partners in crime are going to die.

I unzipped the bag and took out my weapons again. His PA was tied to the chair at the end of the room with his face turned grey. Another lab rat at disposal! vishnuvardhananms@gmail.com www.myblabs.in

Crytogram

1. JB KASYJKAN CJNITP BT YGIAKNBRGI CJNITP: BQA PYNJE JN GTBQJGX JO BQA RYIJAGEA JN IARO. 2. EUP KCTCN VCAV VDC MCGVD UJ Z NOTCN ROVD IUVD JCCV. 3. X SAQN NZPJB'V JABT SPFXWJP AV RXJ XB XBJKPQ, AV JABTJ SPFXWJP AV RXJ X JZBT.

The New Home - Sweta Srivastava Vikram

Dec 2011

The New Home

Do roots call out as we get older?

I don’t have all the answers.

But I know when the smell of curry mingles with pumpkin pie, cinnamon ends the feud of belonging.

I see the skin drink from the sun with delight, knowing two mothers ask for its love, prints of loyalty.

As footsteps get cemented in The New Home, homelessness becomes a stranger.

4. ZGOGHQ MF Z FJVLQP FSXMQC DWJQ JTJXY UJZA MF Z AULDJX. 5. VRCGLM GRC SDDZMURGUSHEM... XRHL UNC QHHK IHZR MHZD SM ORSUSEY GQHZU IHZ.

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Sweta Srivastava Vikram (www.swetavikram.com)

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Manjula Saxena

Dec 2011

The Three Proverbs - A story from Poland

Dec 2011

The Three Proverbs A rich man was once walking about in his garden. He was cheerful and happy. Suddenly he noticed a small bird that had been captured in a small net. He took hold of it and was more than a little surprised when it began to speak, saying, "Give me my freedom, dear man! Of what use is it to you to lock me in a cage? Looking at me will not please you, for I do not have beautiful feathers. I cannot entertain you, for I do not sing like other birds. And I cannot provide you with nourishment. I am much too small for that.

But I will tell you three wise teachings if you will give my freedom."

The master of the garden looked at the little creature and said, "If you do not sing then of course you cannot entertain me. Let me hear your wisdom, and if it teaches me anything, I will give you your freedom."

Then the little bird said, "First: Do not grieve over things that have already happened. Second: Do not wish for that which is unattainable. Third: Do not believe in that which cannot be possible."

Then the master of the garden said, "You have indeed taught me something. I will give you your freedom."

Letting the bird fly away, he thought seriously about its words. Then he heard it laughing quietly. Its voice came from a tree where the bird was sitting.

"Why are you laughing so cheerfully?" shouted the man.

"About my easily won freedom," answered the bird, "and more than that, about the foolishness of humans who believe they are smarter than all other creatures. If you had been smarter, only just as smart as I am, then you would now be the richest man."

"How would that have been possible?" asked the master of the garden.

The bird replied, "If, instead of giving me my freedom, you had kept me, for in my body I have a diamond the size of a hen's egg."

Hints and Solutions for Cryptogram 1. It requires wisdom to understand wisdom: the music is nothing if the audience is deaf.

2. You never test the depth of a river with both feet.

3. A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.

4. Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.

5. Dreams are illustrations... from the book your soul is writing about you.

The man stood there as though he were petrified. After recovering from the surprise, he began to speak, "You think that you are happy because I gave you your freedom. But summer will soon be over and winter with its storms will arrive. The brooks will freeze over, and you will not be able to find a single drop of water to quench your thirst. The fields will be covered with snow, and you will not find anything to eat. But I will give you a warm place where you can freely fly around, and you can have as much water and bread as you want. Come down, and I will show you that you are better off with me than with your freedom."

Thus spoke the master of the garden, but the little bird laughed louder than before, making the man even angrier.

"You are still laughing?" asked the man.

"Of course," replied the bird. "See, you gave me my freedom on account of the teachings that I gave you, and now you are so foolish that you do not take the teachings to heart. I earned my freedom fairly, but you forgot my teachings after only a few minutes. You should not grieve over things that have already happened, but still you are grieving that you gave me my freedom. You should not wish for things that you cannot obtain, and yet you want me, for whom freedom is my whole life, to voluntarily enter a prison. You should not believe that which is impossible, and yet you believe that I am carrying about inside my body a diamond as large as a hen's egg, although I myself am only half the size of a hen's egg."

And with that the bird flew away.

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The Lone Star - Achuthan Sivadas

Dec 2011

Bal Chitra Mitra Competition

Dec 2011

Anuja Anil Khilari (Frist Prize) The Lone Star

I look up at the sky, It is dark and gloomy.

There is a lone star, It is my guiding star.

Where it guides me to, I know not.

Will I reach?

I know not.

If I reach, The star is mine.

If I don't reach, The star is still mine.

King or pauper, The star is mine.

Gentle or sear, The star is mine.

Achuthan Sivadas Email: achu_eks@yahoo.com Mobile: 9037718741

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17

Bal Chitra Mitra Competition

Dec 2011

Shreya Shenoy (Second Prize)

18

Bal Chitra Mitra Competition

Dec 2011

Shreya Ankush Jadhav(Third Prize)

19

Bal Chitra Mitra Competition

Dec 2011

Aditya Anil Khilari(Consolation Prize)

20

Bal Chitra Mitra Competition

Dec 2011

Rohitra Mistry(Judge Special Prize)

21

Bal Chitra Mitra Competition

Dec 2011

Sara

22

Bal Chitra Mitra Competition

Dec 2011

Arnav Amit Thakoor

23

Bal Chitra Mitra Competition

Dec 2011

Vritika Fenil Shah

24

Bal Chitra Mitra Competition

Dec 2011

Mannya Sachin Parikh

25

Bal Chitra Mitra Competition

Dec 2011

Shambhavi Vishant Surve

26

Bal Chitra Mitra Competition

Dec 2011

Prithavi

27

Bal Chitra Mitra Competition

Dec 2011

Chithra Mitra (Judge) - Painitng for Children

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