Reflection mag july august 2015 by Reflection W&R Mag

Editorial...................................................................................................,.............................1 A Twist On A Rainy Evening By Shahid Khan.....................................................................2 Poems By Anca Mihaela Bruma...........................................................................................9 Rain Poems By Heather Jephcott........................................................................................11 Rain By Megha Sumant Sharma.........................................................................................17 On Clouds By Brian Wrixon...............................................................................................19 Summer II By Charles Darnell............................................................................................20 Supriya Parulekar, The Story Teller: Interview By Iram Fatima 'Ashi'...............................22 Magical Shower By Praveen Gola......................................................................................37 My Spring By Shakhodatbonu Imomnazarova...................................................................39 Nature At Its Best By Vasanthi Papu...................................................................................40 Rain Drops' Sketches By Heather Jephcott.........................................................................41 Rain By Dhruv Sharma.......................................................................................................42 The Rain By Satvik Mishra.................................................................................................43 Rain Of Unity By Diwakar Pokhriyal.................................................................................44 Piyush Art............................................................................................................................54 Rain Of Desolation By Ceri Naz.........................................................................................55 Ten Haiku On Rain By Ruchi Chopra.................................................................................57 The Angel Drops Of Heaven By Aparna Mukherjee..........................................................59 The Promise By Brian Wrixon............................................................................................61 Under Fifteen Zone.............................................................................................................62 The Advent Of Rain By Arie...............................................................................................63 The Rain By Timileyin Gabriel Olajuwon..........................................................................75 Pouring An Ounce....By Akash Sagar.................................................................................77 Waltz With The Rain Princess By Ceri Naz........................................................................78 Why Do I Write?.................................................................................................................79 Rain Paintings By Raj Verma.............................................................................................82 Your Reflection...................................................................................................................9 4 Guidelines...........................................................................................................................95

Advisory Board Chairman Brian Wrixon (USA) Members Angie Blake (USA) Elizabeth E Castillo (Philippines) Marilyn R. Ca単ete (Philippines) Sharique Jamal (India) Charles Darnell (USA) Editorial Board Editor In Chief Iram Fatima 'Ashi' (NRI, Saudi Arabia) Editor Vasanthi Papu (India) Associate Editors Dr. Ruchida Barman (India) Dr. Ratan Bhattacharjee (India) Dr. Indira Babbellapati (India) Dr. Ram Sharma (India) Jonali Karmakar (India) Dr. Sahab Uddin (India) Arnab Neogi (India) Research Editor & Magazine Coordinator Dr. Priyanka Mathur (India) Research Director Ruchi Chopra (NRI, USA) Art Section Art Director Raj Verma (India) Associate Art Directors Piyush Kumar (India) Neelam (India) III

Dear readers, Greetings! Wishing you a happy Rainy season. Rain is liquid water in the form ofdroplets that gives life to whole planet and living beings. Rain always refreshes every creative person with life and boosts them to create their piece ofart. Reflection family proudly showers lovely poems, fascinating short stories, interesting articles, enchanting art section to delight your senses, interview offamous author to get inspiration and many more. I am sure our readers would enjoy every bite ofit and love to give their response on our links & email and be active part ofthis passionate people's literary journey. My humble thanks to all my intellectual writers, poets, Editor Ms Vasanthi Papu, associate editors for their cooperation, Advisory members for their valuable feed backs, art section head Mr Raj Verma and his team, layout head Mr. Kumar Vikrant and his team and to all our readers. Enjoy reading. Best wishes, Iram Fatima 'Ashi'

(Editor in Chief) Saudi Arabia (NRI)

A Twist On A Rainy Evening Shahid Khan (Gujarat, India)

As soon as our car entered the parking area of the restaurant, we heard a female voice calling, ‘Sir…sir…Srikant sir…’ and along with that a male voice calling, ‘Ajitbhai…Ajitbhai.’ Ajit is my younger brother who was driving the car. All of us- Ajit, my mom and I- started looking in the direction of the voice and found that there was a couple on a bike who were coming towards our car from behind. When they stopped near the left side of the car, we came to know that it was Anjali whom I tutored some seven years back. While Ajit recognized that young man who was riding the bike and shouted ‘Hey, Sanjay…it’s you. How did you recognize me from behind our car and that too even after so many years?’ ‘I saw your face in the rear-view mirror of your car and immediately informed Anjali that it’s you….’ Sanjay said with excitement. ‘IfAjitbhai is there then Srikant sir might also be in the car. Let’s meet them.’ Anjali said excitedly before Sanjay could say anything more. Anjali was so thrilled on seeing me after such a long time that she tried to talk with me without even getting off the pillion seat of the bike. Both of them were so excited on meeting us that they were speaking at the same time creating a lot of confusion as to who was talking to whom. But when I looked at my brother I realized that Sanjay was talking with him while Anjali was trying to

talk with me. She introduced Sanjay to all of us as her husband. Until this time I never knew that Ajit and Sanjay knew each other. Ajit told us that they knew each other since school days and Sanjay was three years junior to him. Ajit was a wellknown student in the entire school because of his brilliant academic record and also because of his active involvement in sports, so all juniors tried to emulate him. But he never met Sanjay after school until today. After parking our vehicles we proceeded towards the restaurant. While walking in, Ajit and Sanjay got busy in their conversation while Anjali tried to talk with me but I was in a strange confused state and was unable reply to her queries properly. The actual reason could be that I never expected to meet Anjali again after she finished her school and tuition with me. So I was in a state of disbelief when I saw her like this suddenly. My mom who was so far quiet, as she didn’t want to interfere, took the opportunity of my inability to talk and remarked, ‘what a coincident that we came for lunch at the same restaurant, at the same time!’ Anjali and I just nodded in agreement. On entering the restaurant Ajit and Sanjay occupied seats on one table and continued with their conversation. When I was about to take a seat with them Anjali and my mom called me to the other table to sit with them. So I joined them. ‘So, Anjali, when did you get married?’ asked my mom with a smile.

‘Six months back.’ Anjali replied. On hearing that, my mom and I congratulated and she thanked us graciously for wishing her. ‘Sir I wanted to invite you for my marriage but I didn’t know your new address or any contact number. I had only your landline number but that was useless since your city house was unoccupied. I tried to contact other tuition students and friends but they also had no clue about your new address.’ She expressed her disappointment. ‘By the way, when did you shift from your city house?’ She queried. ‘Hmm…just a year after that you passed 12th board exams and left tuitions.’ I tried to give an accurate answer. ‘What are you doing now, sir?’ ‘Within a year of shifting to our new house, I got a good government job.’ I said beamingly. ‘That’s great, congrats!’ she said with excitement. Then a waiter came and we placed our orders. ‘Excuse me, I forgot something in the car. I will get it,’ saying that my Mom got up from the seat, took the car keys from Ajit and went out. As soon as my mom left, Anjali whispered with

excitement, ‘Sir, I want to say something…’ ‘What?’ I asked gently. Her body-language and tone suggested that she had been trying to say something to me but couldn’t get the opportunity due to my mom’s presence. ‘I want to thank you.’ She expressed with brightness in her eyes. ‘For what?’ I asked as I was totally ignorant of what she was thanking me for. ‘Well…do you remember that rainy evening?’ she asked. ‘Which rainy evening, dear? I taught you for three years and there were so many rainy days and evenings during that period.’ I said feigning ignorance although I got the hint about which rainy evening she was referring to. ‘Oh! Come on…don’t pretend ignorance, sir. There was just one memorable rainy evening and you know it.’ she exclaimed. ‘Okay…so what’s the connection between your Thanks and that rainy evening?’ I asked curiously. ‘Just recall that evening…’ before she could speak further my mom returned and our conversation stopped. 3

‘I forgot my purse in the car…that’s why I had to go.’ Mom explained. As soon as she took the seat, the waiter also came and served us lunch. Meanwhile, Ajit and Sanjay were also served lunch and they were looking completely lost in their own conversation and discussion. While taking lunch my mom and Anjali got busy chatting and sharing information about each other’s family. I also started eating while listening to their chat. But my mind got diverted and I tried to recall what Anjali had spoken of…that rainy evening. It was just the beginning of the 12th class academic year. One day when l was on my way home to start the evening batch, it suddenly started raining heavily. On my way I saw a girl and a boy standing in one secluded corner of the road. The girl looked like Anjali so I stopped on the other side of the road for a moment to confirm my doubt. I was shocked to find Anjali with that boy. Their body-language suggested something as if they were romantically involved. She was completely drenched and still talking comfortably with that boy without showing any sign of urgency to get out of the rain. I got overwhelmed with the feeling of anger and so decided to get away from that place quickly and reached home as fast as I could. When I reached home I got a call from Sunita who informed me that she and Eva would not attend tuition due to the heavy rainfall. But I knew that Anjali would attend because the place where I saw her with that boy was very close to my house which meant that she must be on her way from home for tuitions. I quickly changed my clothes as they were wet due to rain and

awaited her arrival, standing in the balcony of my room where I gave tuitions. I was angry as well as tensed, at the same time very much concerned about her. I was edgy all the time and spent every second looking at my watch with worry written all over my face. After about ten minutes Anjali reached my house, walked upstairs briskly. As she entered the room I turned away from the balcony and sat on my chair near the blackboard. On seeing Anjali in front of me I gave a sigh of relief, but I was ready with a volley of bitter questions and a volcano of anger inside me. ‘What took you so long?’ I questioned with a hint of anger on my face despite knowing everything. She came up with the most obvious answer, ‘Sir, as you can see it’s raining heavily so….late,’ she replied with a little frown which formed a cute dimple on her right cheek. ‘How did you get so drenched? Should have used an umbrella or a raincoat.’ I fired the next question. ‘I don’t like using umbrella and such things, I don’t like to carry those things around for an unpredictable thing like rain. It is much better to get wet in the rain.’ She argued. ‘…and fall sick, isn’t it?’ I immediately completed her sentence as soon as she said ‘rain’. She became silent and instead of taking the argument further, she started making herself comfortable and was about to take a seat, ‘go downstairs, ask my mom for towel and wipe yourself properly.’ I suggested (By this time my anger had toned down as I was more concerned about her health.)

‘I’m ok,’ saying that she proceeded to take the seat. ‘YOU ARE NOT OK’, I rather shouted at her and immediately calmed down, ‘just look at yourself, you are completely drenched and if you sit under a fan with wet clothes on you may catch cold. Do as I just suggested.’ ‘Sir, it’s ok with me,’ she said hesitatingly. ‘Don’t be formal, just do as I instructed or you will fall sick,’ I insisted. She was completely drenched and her clothes clung tightly to her figure which made me uncomfortable as I looked directly at her. But I had made-up my mind to confront her that day for what I had seen on the road and this required looking directly at her. ‘Do one more thing…request my mom to arrange clothes for you. She would guide and help you. Then change and come back quickly.’ I advised her. This time she proceeded to go downstairs without uttering a word and came back in a few minutes after changing clothes. My mother gave her clothes to Anjali although those did not fit her properly and were a bit loose. But she had to adjust anyway owing to the odd situation and took her seat quietly. Now I thought it was time to discuss the serious matter. So I donned a serious look with

nervousness all over my face and began spinning a pencil on the desk. ‘Anjali, tell me who was the boy with you on the road?’ Anjali looked totally stunned hearing that, due to nervousness she was unable to react to my question. She lowered her head, her eyes fixated on the floor and engrossed in deep thought. ‘I want an answer,’ I demanded in a firm voice. Still no answer came from her. She knew she had been caught but didn’t want to give up. ‘Sir, shall we start studying since a lot of time has already lapsed?’ Anjali tried to dodge my question in a trembling low voice. ‘There’ll be no studies today and don’t try to evade my question,’ I waited for her response. She was speechless, so I calmed down a bit and asked her softly, ‘Come on, look into my eyes and tell.’ She was motionless and kept looking at the floor but couldn’t gather enough guts to look into my eyes. ‘So… you’ll not tell me anything. Ok then, I’ll have to tell everything to your parents.’ I warned her. With shock in her bright eyes, she immediately glanced at me, ‘no, don’t do that.’ Lowering her head again she pleaded, ‘I will tell you everything, but promise me not to tell anything to my parents.’ ‘Why?’ I asked. 5

‘As you know my parents are very conservative and they won’t be able to digest this fact.’ She said fearfully. ‘Well, you have to tell me everything and then I will decide what to do.’ I said bluntly. ‘I’ll tell you, but please don’t inform my parents about this.’ She pleaded again. ‘OK, go ahead. I’ll keep my promise.’ I assured. She composed herself but still couldn’t gather courage to look into my eyes. ‘That boy is Sanjay, my classmate. We love each other.’ ‘Since how long has been going on?’ I inquired. ‘Fifteen days. He must have been following me since day one of this academic year, but I realized it only when one of my friends drew my attention. This way our eyes met and I also started liking him. In order to get close to me he became friendly with my group of friends first and then me. This is how it went.’ She informed in a nervous tone. I listened to her with full attention. She nervously continued, rubbing her left arm with her right hand, ‘He had been looking for a chance to meet me alone so that he could propose me. But in school this was obviously not possible due to people all around us, so he started following me here to sneak a chance, but here too I always had Eva and Sunita with me.’ Anjali took out a small handkerchief and rolled it and

began tying and untying it around the middle finger of her left hand. Watching her hand movements casually, I remarked, ‘So today he got the chance he was waiting for because both your friends are absent.’ ‘Obviously,’ she nodded in agreement. ‘Finally he proposed me today and I accepted it. He was very excited on hearing ‘yes’ from me, so he hugged me tightly and that’s what you might have seen. Even I was shocked by his act but he took me by surprise.’ She confessed. She took a deep breath and finished speaking. Both of us looked into each other’s eyes for a while silently with our faces totally blank. After composing myself, I looked directly into her big almond-shaped eyes and began softly, ‘Look Anjali, I’m not against you or your love and please don’t get me wrong. But I must warn you this is a dangerous game which could have undesirable consequences if everything doesn’t fall in place. Marriage is not Maggie that is ready in two minutes and can be eaten quickly. It takes time and lot of patience.’ ‘Sir…’ She tried to convince me with her point of view in her dulcet tone. ‘I’m now grown up and I know everything.’

‘You know, love can either wreck or make your life and this is a very crucial year for you as you are going to appear for your board exam. So this thing can distract you; affect your result and your entire career.’ I tried to explain. Realizing what was disturbing me, Anjali got up and came towards me. Pulled another chair and sat just beside me. She leaned forward and patted my palm gently; giving assurance that nothing would go wrong and she would handle everything maturely. ‘Sir, you think so much. Don’t worry.’ She reassured. ‘No dear, my concern is genuine and don’t make a mistake of taking it lightly.’ I tried to apprise her of gravity of the situation. ‘What If your parents come to know about this from outside? Won’t they feel hurt and how would they react? ’ I tried to explain the complexity of the situation which she wasn’t aware of. ‘Well, if you have trust in me then take my advice seriously.’ I continued. ‘What?’ she asked. ‘I’m worried about you that’s why I’m telling you this…’ I said with concern. ‘Sir, don’t beat about the bush, just come to the point.’ She said leaning back on the chair comfortably. ‘I want you to take your elder sister, Asha into confidence in this matter and tell her everything. I know she is very close to you; so she will understand and find a way out.’ I said.

Anjali was listening to me attentively while I continued, ‘there is no point hiding this fact from your parents. And not all parents react negatively. If you are able to instill faith in them that you won’t do anything wrong, then who knows they may accept your love. But on the other hand if they come to know about your love from outside source, they may break down and lose faith in you. ’ ‘But I’m not so shameless that I’ll tell such things directly to my parents.’ She cried. ‘Dear, that’s why I told you to take Asha into confidence. Once she understands the whole situation she will do the rest. And as far as I know her she can deal very maturely.’ I cleared and then added, ‘Any how you have to gather courage to tell your sister.’ She began to understand the depth and complexity of the situation. As a teacher my dilemma was not only regarding her love affair but also about the chaos and distraction that could affect her studies adversely. So I went on expressing my worry, ‘It would be better if this matter is sorted out at the earliest, otherwise it may ruin your crucial academic year. See, we have already wasted one precious day of studies on this discussion and I don’t want to waste anymore. Think about it carefully. I give you three days during which you must report me whether you informed your parents and about their action and reaction on this matter. If the need arises I will readily talk to your sister on this.’ 7

I came out of reminiscence of that rainy evening when the waiter asked me if I needed anything more. I requested him to bring some cold water. ‘Srikant, where were you lost? See we have finished our lunch and you haven’t completed even half.’ My mom asked. ‘Nowhere mom…nothing,’ I hesitantly replied with a smile. ‘I’m going out and will wait for you in the car. You just finish and come.’ My mom said. ‘Don’t worry Aunty, till then I’ll give him company; do as you please.’ Anjali blurted immediately. As soon as my mom left, I said, ‘Anjali, I recalled that evening vividly, but I’m still unable to understand what was there to thank me?’ I was puzzled. ‘Oh sir, it was due to your valuable advice that rainy evening that you can see me happily married to the person I love.’ She informed. ‘Oh! I see…that way. But all the decisions were made by parents of both the families with mutual understanding. So what’s my role? I just did what a teacher ought to do in that situation.’ I said distancing myself from taking the credit. ‘Yes, that’s right…but you know I wouldn’t have shown such courage without your advice. Not only that, you helped and supported me so much during that year when there was

misunderstanding between me and Sanjay. Ultimately, you solved everything and restored trust in our relationship while remaining behind the scene. Even after I passed 12th exams there were so many hurdles and unexpected circumstances which delayed my marriage in spite of having our parents’ approval.’ She expressed. ‘All these years I vividly remember what you said…. Marriage is not Maggie that is ready in two minutes and can be eaten quickly. It takes time and lot of patience… and took courage from it.’ She said and laughed lightly. ‘Oh, come on…that’s no big deal’ I said with a smile. ‘Anjali, have you finished your lunch? I’ve finished mine. Let’s go.’ Sanjay called from his table as he was about to get up. ‘Yes, I’m just coming…’Anjali answered. While getting up from the table she said, ‘Sir, it is a BIG deal. You secretly loved me, I know that. I saw love in your eyes that day; still you honestly and whole-heartedly helped me in winning my love. It is never easy.’ And before leaving the table she whispered to me softly, ‘Thanks a lot for loving me selflessly. Bye! Take care!’ saying that she left, leaving me speechless and completely stunned.

Anca Mihaela Bruma Anca Mihaela Bruma, I am Romanian living in Dubai/UAE. My love for poetry started when I was just 9 years old. I decided to start writing again in January 2014, and it came to me like an “explosion” - it is like the pen “writes” me not the other way around - and I just know, all these years ofcrystallization came into fruit right now, in a concentrated manner full ofhidden meanings and layer after layer. Like an “architect” ofa language I “build” a language within a language, a universe within another universe using vivid imagery, sometimes surreal, giving to the poetry a transcending feeling. My “lyrical writings”, as I like to call them, are more kind ofa spiritual autobiography, depicting a reality behind all forms, with no space and time, a quantum view ofexistence. Right now, I see the writing as a form ofbeing present inside the language, a paradigm ofliving which is encoded in the message itself, like a poetic consciousness with a spherical view ofthings, life, and love. For me writing now is more related with the realization ofthe greater self, beyond the mundane and well known laws ofthe society, as an expression ofboth the rational and the intuitive, in a concise form ofpoetry, increasing the awareness with new meanings expanded.

Cyber-spaced Truth Anca Mihaela Bruma (Romanian living in Dubai/UAE.) I am not here to trade anymore the cosmic runes and liquid dreams, as Universe stumbles into its own photons. . . I am here to renounce my own spectrum with all its refracted words, rhythm and sensationalized perfect imperfections. . . Yes!. . . I am here. . . and I can hear all these mental asymmetrical matrices as an Ancient soul living a contemporary odyssey. . . You. . . on the other hand still encrypted in your structured signature anxious oflosing the conceptualized notion ofyour Self!. . . Between Me. . . and You infinitesimally spiralling indigo pulsating cyberspaced Truths ofour dichroic hearts!. . . . Just for you to know: I am not an ordinary streetwalker!

Raining In Bed Heather Jephcott (Australian stays in Indonesia) Body stillness in the rain in bed locked in place tied to this position Stillness calm split, splat comfort gentle stillness reluctant to move Enjoying being stuck in one place listening to the calming continuous banter ofthe rain Soothing Peace

FIRST RAIN Heather Jephcott (Australian stays in Indonesia) First rain ofthe season comes with welcome at night time, far apart, happiness sprinkling the air alive with the smell ofsweet damp, the fragrant earth wafting through the rooms bringing cooling in its stride Coming with no accompanying floods these soothing rains are heard as joy-filled songs ofpitter patter coming with no associated leaks ifthe leaves have been taken out ofthe gutters, offthe roof

RAIN Heather Jephcott (Australian stays in Indonesia) Rain is falling singing a familiar song but it's raining in the dry the season has yet to change it's raining steadily day after day not taking a break rhythmically descending confidently soaking every spot and more Listening to this song, that ofthe unseasonal wet, my spirit rests in the constant falling life settles but my bones ache

Rain Drops Heather Jephcott (Australian stays in Indonesia) Love drops trickling passing through from your eyes to mine Rain drops gently descending a song offreshness cleansing Love rain flowing sparkling on leaves calmly revealing our joy

Drops Heather Jephcott (Australian stays in Indonesia) Drops ofsadness have been falling on my head today amidst the lovely steady downpours outside the rain soothes my heart and spirit bringing calming coolness Our hearts have such fragile centers easily hit by negative words darkness appears intensely felt. Smiles in words also connect but as sunshine coming out to reassure the heart quickly spreading light.

Fresh and Clean Heather Jephcott (Australian stays in Indonesia)

The beauty ofwaking up to the smell ofcleaned air No one was expecting but rain has been here more than a few droplets confusing the time but giving a fresh surprise The sun seems happier, gentler than yesterday and life has a chance to breathe

Megha Sumant Sharma Megha Sumant Sharma - An aspiring writer from Ranchi, currently settled in Chennai. She worked as a Company Secretary for a reputed law firm in Ranchi. She has been academically quiet strong and has won a gold medal in Law from Ranchi University She likes to pen down her thoughts and desires to achieve great heights in the field ofliterature. One ofher stories got published in an anthology named "Her Story". She likes to travel and spend quality time with family

Rain Megha Sumant Sharma (India) Scorching heat will no longer last Monsoon will come with a thundrous blast Trees will sway and frogs will dance All the beings will give you a happy glance I am ready with my armour ofmadness Tiny droplets will wash away all the sadness Children will be happy and farmers will be glee Time to enjoy hot pakoda with your tea All my worries are ready to drain Let us welcome the balming rain

On Clouds Brian Wrixon (Canada)

I have seen clouds from far below As they march across the sky Like a parade ofcottony beasts and beings Following Noah's beckoning wave Rams and lambs, bears and hares All rushing to a waiting ark Before the rains begin. I have seen clouds from far above As they billowed within the sky Roiling and boiling like angry smoke Darkening now and flashing with light Beautiful in the distant sky We fly a course to safer air Before the storm begins.

Summer II

Charles darnell (USA) In summer, Shimmering heat, slow movement Are my constants. Powder dust coats my lips, And dry is my very heart. In the distance, The gathering clouds and you appear, Draw near and cool me With soft, sweet breath. Here now The rain and your lips Kiss me. Your soft drops refresh, Cleanse the dust From this parched soul And smooth the wrinkles Ofmy dry heart.

Supriya Parulekar is a published fiction author ofIndia with wide international appeal. Her fifth book “One Tequila, 2 Tequilas …” was released on 14th May. They are garnering positive reviews and rated 4.5/5 by most ofthe reviewers. She likes experimenting with different genres you will find something dark and mysterious in her writings. Maybe it stems from the after-death experience she re-lived as a child. She has also worked as a script editor for TV18, History Channel. She had a column in ‘YUVA’, a magazine, for the youth. She loves to read biographies and places ofhistorical significance. Next in line is ‘Diabolical,’ a dark, psychological thriller with sprinkling ofverses setting the mood for perfect, heart racing thrills. Her dream project soon to be made open for school students is “Cook a story.com”. An online web portal, wherein children can upload their stories, poems and essays. A platform for young writers to showcase their talent. Already three international schools have registered. Individual registrations welcomed. She composes poems too, though she is not seriously chasing that dream as ofnow. She is a published writer offive novels A Soulful ofLie, The Gangster’s Muse, Dreamcatcher, BFF: Best Friends Forever and One Tequila, 2 Tequilas …

Ashi: Greetings to you Supriya Parulekar! At the outset, on behalfof â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Reflection Magazineâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;, I would like to thank you for accepting my request to interview you. Tell us something about the place you belong to, your childhood, education and hobbies. Supriya Parulekar: I was born in my native place Ratnagiri but brought up in

I had a habit of scribbling real life instances in to stories. The child in me was fascinated by any written matter.

Dahisar, a far off suburb in Mumbai. My ancestral home was filled with uncles and aunts, grandmother and lots of cousins for company. We were a gang of girls, raised with independent streak and a mind of our own. I had lots of friends and that is true even today. I went to one of the best convent schools in Mumbai. I was a voracious reader and waited for my turn to pick up a new book every day from school library or the local library which I happened to visit every Sunday. The excitement was palpable as I went through the collection and then felt a pang of disappointment when I had to forsake other books and settle for just one. Greedy, I would finish reading the book in school itself and then beg my friends to borrow from them. Maybe the seeds of my story-writing were sown there, unknown to me. Besides reading, I had a habit of scribbling real life instances in to stories. The child in me was fascinated by any written matter. I read and re-read the boards on the shops, the street signs, labels on medicine bottles and whatever I could lay my hands and eyes on. Later, when in college, I kept a diary which I later tore it off! I regret now though. Ashi: Nice to know all this. Now please share your writing experience - the age you started writing and what inspires you to write. Supriya Parulekar: My father was a wonderful story-teller. He would regale us

all with stories from his childhood. My father wrote and directed plays in his times and performed too. Genes do have this uncanny habit to manifest itself in off -springs. Well, I am the fortunate one. I find inspiration for my stories from people around me. Good books, good friends and interesting people and happenings around provide me with lots of inspiration to write.

Ashi: Great! Who inspired you to pick your pen? Supriya Parulekar: My father was my first inspiration. Second came my passion

for reading. The world of stories was inciting and drew me within their fold. My mind ached to create something new. For hours together I would wander in to an imaginary world, talking to the characters and weaving a plot. I thoroughly enjoyed the moments away from the real world. When I slipped in to the world of stories, I felt I metamorphosed in to ''Alice' from 'Alice in Wonderland' and lost myself in world of stories. Ashi: Kindly tell us something about any other hobby ofyours.

Photography is something I enjoy. Every picture narrates a story. A picture is a representation ofour emotions, beliefs, passion and timeless memories.

Supriya Parulekar:

Photography is something I enjoy. Every picture narrates a story. A picture is a representation of our emotions, beliefs, passion and timeless memories. It gives us the power to freeze that moment for eternity. It's a feeling akin to being a God for that moment. Ashi: However, poetry or prose is a medium to express oneâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s inner feelings. Is there any specific moment or event that made you write? Supriya Parulekar: Writing is a therapeutic process for me. It satisfies my

creative taste buds. I used to read out stories to my daughter when she was two years old and realised she would listen attentively. As she grew up the habit stayed with her. We took her to book shops and let her pick up books of her choice. Every night I read her a story and then she insisted for a special story. It 24

There are so many things happening around us and at times we are affected by them. Somewhere deep down it manifests itselfin a thought which later on translates in to a story.

left me no choice but to create a story of my own. Thus started the process of writing. An adventure story for children was supposed to be my debut novel but for reasons unknown, I have not been able to complete it as of yet. Ashi: What is your favourite topic to write on? And do you have a specific writing style? Supriya Parulekar: My stories would have to have romance, a dash of

adventure, thrill and lots of emotions. I love to write fast paced stories. Somewhere, I feel my writings have a dark element in them. I would love to pen a paranormal thriller next complete with lots of thrills and chills and emotions too. Ashi: Would you like to share something about your personal life with our readers to know you more closely? Supriya Parulekar: My writings, to some extent are a reflection of what I am.

My stories have an essence of me, my dreams, my aim and my regrets. The stories I write are influenced by happenings from my past or are drawn from life of people who touched base with me at one point of life or other. Not everything I write is fictional. There are so many things happening around us and at times we are affected by them. Somewhere deep down it manifests itself in a thought which later on translates in to a story. The author puts in his emotions, his self in his stories so you are bound to find some similarities in the book. Ashi: Who is your favourite writer/poet? Supriya Parulekar: I grew up reading fairy tales, Tinkle, Archie comics, Noddy

and Champaks which took up most of my holidays as a kid. Enid Blyton, Agatha Christie, Jane Austen, Sidney Sheldon and Stephen King are some of

my favourites. I also enjoy reading real life stories. As of now I am reading â&#x20AC;&#x153;The Book of Fateâ&#x20AC;? by Parinoush Saniee. Nearer to home, stories by V.P Kale, poems by Vinda Karandikar were part of my growing up years. I remember listening to comic narratives by P.L Deshpande that would send us in to splits of laughter. Ashi: When did your first poem/story/novel get published? Please share your feeling ofthat moment. Supriya Parulekar: I started with composing poems but never got them

published. During my post- graduation in journalism, we were supposed to do lot of creative writing, interviews of celebrities or write-ups. I still remember that moment when the first ever interview I took of actor Sonali Kulkarni, featured on the first page of our college newspaper. It was a proud moment to see my name in a by-line.

I still remember that moment when the first ever interview I took of actor Sonali Kulkarni, featured on the first page ofour college newspaper. It was a proud moment to see my name in a by-line.

My aim is to entertain and give my readers a chance to peek into an alternate world filled with happiness, magic, promises, smiles and happy beginnings.

With TVActree Mansi Salvi Today, with every new release, I get jitters. I become apprehensive about my work. I know I have put in my best, the end result is amazing but at times I am just too hard on myself and the author in me gets restless. Ashi: According to you, what are the most important elements ofgood writing? Supriya Parulekar: If your writing is interesting enough to keep the reader

intrigued then that is what I call a good writing. My writing style is simple and lucid, racy and filled with adventure. My aim is to entertain and give my readers a chance to peek into an alternate world filled with happiness, magic, promises, smiles and happy beginnings. Ashi: Did you always have full appreciation and support for your talent in writing? Supriya Parulekar: It has been a long journey till here, filled with rejections

and ups and downs. I experimented and explored myself as an author. Every book that I wrote was better than the previous one. Today my fifth novel â&#x20AC;&#x153;One Tequila, 2 Tequilas â&#x20AC;Śâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; is ranked 1 8th in top 50 bestsellers list published by Salisonline. This is a positive beginning for me in a journey as an author.

Ashi: According to you, which poem ofyours is your masterpiece? Supriya Parulekar: As I told you before, I am little hard on myself. Though I

have composed poems, canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t really bring myself to call anyone a masterpiece. They are driven strongly by emotions and have a dark element just like my stories. I would definitely like to share one of my poems here with the readers.

Woman Interrupted! The stark white walls, smell ofantiseptic and the agonising pain. My little girl, now a mother oftwo, lay on hard bed. With bruises on her face and a bleed in her nose, Her fault, she had given birth to yet another girl! As a father, today I grieve. I remember the day she was born. With pride and happiness, I had brought her home! I looked at her feet, scarred by cigarette burns. Those same feet once, had filled happiness in my world! Her lips were swollen and tubes ran down her throat She groaned and moaned, words I couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t fathom, Once my world was filled with tales! Every effort to breathe seemed a task, the monsters had ripped her soul apart. What was her fault? I tried to discern, but my mind drew blank as I watched my girl. In a land where brave women have fought, shown their valour against enemies strong. In a land where we worship goddesses along with gods, is there no place for a girl new born? With deep anguish I ask ofthee, the monsters who tried to kill my baby. Why didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t you ask to be born from a man then? A man whom you hail almighty and strong! A day will come, when there will be no girl for your boy to marry and take home. A day will come, when you will have no womb, to carry forward your name, you fool!

So unfortunate you are, for you don’t know, the joy a girl can bring to thee! I have to look at her, her eyes so soft and find my worries disappear! I know my little girl, will be always there for me, in times ofsorrow and pain, mostly. In trying times, she held my hand, gave me hope to carry on! Her gentle words were comforting ever, her loving ways brought tears. Who will wipe my sorrows and pain, now that she lay here, a troubled soul! You can’t go now, after the fight you put on. You can’t let these monsters win. Wake up now, for the sake ofyour daughters, a woman’s honour is at stake! Show the world how strong you are, in spite ofthe odds, a fighter you are. Remember the brave queens and the goddess’s blessings we seek! Get up, wake up, open your eyes, this is your world, your loved ones wait. My little girl is fearless, I know, an epitome ofstrength! A broken father, I pray to Lord! Let these atrocities on woman stop. Don’t let it be a lost cause. Show some respect, show some care, a woman has a right to live, we shall say!

Ashi: Very touching piece. According to you what is the best thing about being an author? Supriya Parulekar: What can be better than having the liberty to express

When stressed, I find solace in writing. Its therapy for me and I feel, I am fortunate enough to possess that talent. Being an author is liberating and fulfilling.

yourself through writing! As an author, I can create a parallel world. A world where I have control over my characters and their movement. When stressed, I find solace in writing. Its therapy for me and I feel, I am fortunate enough to possess that talent. Being an author is liberating and fulfilling. Ashi: Tell something about your published novels, all are published in India? Supriya Parulekar: The debut novel ‘A Soulful of Lie’ is influenced from my

real life experience. It sure does have elements from the near-death experience I have been through. I always feel the real me died 36 years back. This is me having a second chance at life. ‘The Gangster’s Muse’ was about a bored house wife who finds herself entangled in adventure with a gangster. Both my books have gay characters and they sure form an interesting aspect for my stories. ‘Dreamcatcher’ belongs to romantic genre. A story of a young girl in search of her sister who is lost, lured by Bollywood dreams.

‘BFF: Best Friends Forever’ talks about teens and life at hostel. The hostel

sketched in the story is for real. It’s a first person narrative by Tanishq Sehgal. The story begins in his teens. It’s an interesting journey as we follow Tanishq through his many adventures in hostel and then college abroad. Finally we travel with him to London where he is in pursuit of the love of his life. ‘One Tequila, 2 Tequilas…’ is recently released and is appreciated by

reviewers and readers alike.

I am looking forward to my next release, ‘Diabolical’. It talks about a Bollywood superstarhaunted by her turbulent past. She slips into depression as incidences from her childhood catches up with her. In spite of having fame, money and success, somewhere deep down she is unhappy. Death is the only answer her tortured mind comes up with. ‘Diabolical’ is one hell of an emotional ride. Sonya walks us through the dark recesses of her mind, converses with the monsters, falls in love and then backs off and stands on the edge, ready to end it all. All my books were published in India. I have published with Leadstart, Pageturn Publishers and Gargi publications.

She slips into depression as incidences from her childhood catches up with her. In spite of having fame, money and success, somewhere deep down she is unhappy. Death is the only answer her tortured mind comes up with. ‘Diabolical’ is one hell ofan emotional ride.

Ashi: Did you pick your characters from real life too? Please share any interesting experience.

I was resuscitated as my heart had stopped beating. During those few moments, I found myselftravelling through dark tunnel.

Supriya Parulekar: As mentioned above, I did use my personal near-death

experience as a base for â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;A Soulful of Lie.â&#x20AC;&#x2122; The doctors had nearly lost me during the tonsils operation. I was resuscitated as my heart had stopped beating. During those few moments, I found myself travelling through dark tunnel. I could see light at the end and I desperately wanted to reach there. Then something happened and I felt a strong force pulling me back in to the darkness of the tunnel, against my wishes. I was too young to understand what had happened and this incident stayed in my mind as a memory. Many years later, miraculously it all came back. Everything happens for a reason. The memory coming back was triggered by the trauma caused by the death of my father. All this is beyond my

Supriya With Her Daughter Priyanka And A Friend

Supriya With Her Mother

Book Launch OfFriends Forever

Book launch ofdebut novel 'A Soulful ofLie' by Gautam Rajadhyaksha, Bollywood celebrity photographer and Ms. Sharmila Thackeray, wife ofRaj Thackeray.

Leadstart publisher, Swarup Nanda and Supriya's husband Raju Parulekar.

understanding but I think it has given a purpose to my life. Ashi: What advice would you give your contemporary writers and poets?

Reflection’ is doing a commendable job of bringing together talent from the world under one roof. You have created an international platform to put across ones views and opinions. There are poems, stories, features and art. What more can a reader ask for in a magazine.

Supriya Parulekar: Believe in yourself, believe in your ability to create and

don’t let rejections get the better of you. Keep writing if you feel you have a story to share. You never know your writing might be bringing a smile to some stranger’s lips as we speak. It could inspire someone or simply provide him or her with moments of joy. Ashi: Give your opinion on Reflection magazine and would you like to give any advice for improvement. Supriya Parulekar: ‘Reflection’ is doing a commendable job of bringing

together talent from the world under one roof. You have created an international platform to put across ones views and opinions. There are poems, stories, features and art. What more can a reader ask for in a magazine. Thanks Team Reflection for giving me an opportunity to interact with you and the readers.

With Sonali Kulkarni And Manish Paul

To know more about me, you can visit my blog supriyaparulekar.wordpress.com Please find the eBooks Links for ‘The Gangster’s Muse’: Google Play Store: http://ow.ly/Hrq7Q Newshunt eBooks: http://ow.ly/Hrqd1 Amazon Kindle: http://ow.ly/HrqhX Please find links below for ‘BFF: Best Friends Forever’. http://www.amazon.com/BFF-Friends-Forever-Supriya-Parulekarebook/dp/B00OKCPDN8/ref=sr_1_1_twi_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1415947146&sr=81&keywords=9789384226251 https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Supriya_Parulekar_BFF_Best_Frien ds_Forever?id=-bsVBQAAQBAJ Ashi : Thank you for sharing your true words ofwisdom in the field ofart and for improvement ofour literary magazine. The budding artists are sure to draw nourishment from the radiance ofyour spirit and your gracious advice would boost up their enthusiasm to be creative. Profound thanks to you!

Short Biography-

Mrs Praveen Gola is an online Freelance Writer and Journalist for the last three years. As writing is her passion she always tries to provide something new and unique to her readers. Poetry is her hobby and she always tries to eliminate the society evils through her poetic version so that a common man too can understand the same and follow it. She writes "Shayari" for the youngsters so that they can overcome their depressed Love.

Magical Shower

Praveen Gola (Delhi, India) Excerpt: This English poem highlights the Love of two Lovers when they both get closer due to the magical shower "Rain " on their first date and tie into a marriage knot forever.

Magical Shower Praveen Gola (Delhi, India)

In a scorching heat wave, we were standing in a shade, waiting for something … … … . . Something that shines our fate. Sweated bodies stood apart , wet hands lost their charm , waiting for something … … … . . something that takes offour hatred. He was frustrated , and I too was, though a long time has passed , about the moments that we enjoyed all through. He wanted to get closer , though I too wanted , but a hot wave that passed through us , took it as granted. Time was running fast , fast like our heart beats , A departing thought from each other , brought tears on our eye lids. Suddenly that tears turned magically , magically into a blessing shower , as black clouds covered the sky , to blessed us in its magical shower. The first drop that fell , brought cheers on our faces , the second drop made us closer , to hide each other faces.

The first shower twisted , twisted our fingers tightly , and slowly with the speed , our lips too locked tightly. That magical shower … … … . . Rain , Rain … … … . that brings us closer , not only physical , but with mentally too in logical. Heat from our bodies , melt into the ice , a moment before that made us apart , now bound us in a spice. We both enjoyed deeply , deeply with the heavy shower , our hatred turned into a deep Love , the Love that never ends. Now We are living together , bound in a marriage knot tie , but still get closer always , when that magical shower lie. Now We remember our first date , When We both reached late , and due to that magical shower , we had to tell a big tale . The tale that we saved our life , as we trapped in a jungle shower in day light , and perhaps our parents trusted our lie , because magical shower made their minds fly.

MY SPRING

Shakhodatbonu Imomnazarova (Uzbekistan) You are my world narrow and wide You leave spills in my soul through your sorrow You recline mountains in my heart with your soft word. A ray that is hidden in my soul's sky Will bring good news and persuade towards God An honor that is shining from your gaze's subsoil Could light up even at gilding night. A steppe of insanity appears in my soul Rivers will forgive me for my sins Snowdrop shall grow someday From my way足studded eyes. As one thought lighted the meager hut As snow thawed at the heat of pleasure Your only smile, your only laughter Wafts a spring to my four seasons. Maybe the sun sank over the horizon Springs that hit the cold are numb Maybe it is coming to me God's favored happiness...

Nature at its Best Vasanthi Papu (India) It’s the grand prismatic spring A perfect spell for the poets to sing. The mighty sun with its bright light Spreads the gleam, a source ofdelight. The multi-colored flowers in the trees Glide merrily with grace in the breeze. The boughs in an orchard gently sway While the frisky squirrels scurry away. The cuckoo comes with a song so sweet That no man with his tune can compete. The fresh leaves, to beat the sun’s heat, Offer the nesting birds a velvety seat. Weary folks lured by the Nature’s zest Step into the lawn to lie down and rest. The little kids enticed by the fine weather Chase the dainty butterflies for hours together. Spring , the most awaited season ofthe year Brings with it a promise oflife, charm and cheer. Nature is at its best and grandeur all around Making us wonder and watch it spellbound.

Rain Drops By Heather Jephcott

Rain Dhruv Sharma (India)

A poet currently working in IT, I love to weave a world exclusive to me with my imagery. Dancing on their own beats The lovely showers Along with the gentle zephyr Touch me Poke me Ask me out To meet them Greet them In a way They meet me They greet me And I do oblige I do provide Myself As I come out To meet the sublime To feel the rhyme Ofthis beautiful feel That helps me deny The conventions And be me That helps me defy The reservations And be free From the cerebral The intellectuals Sitting inside Waiting for the rain They view as a storm To subside.

The Rain Satwik Mishra (Purniya, India)

Let all the stress go away, Rain is the savior today. Enjoy the drops limitlessly, Let the world call you insane. The season has arrived again, To enjoy the drops ofrain. The time has arrived again, To fill up the colors in empty drain. Check the glories ofthe life, Kill the disturbing pain. Keep on adding happiness in a way, So as sadness canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t try to refrain. Enough oftragedy now, Enough ofeven strain. Live the moments in such a way, No one could live it again.

“Do you miss me?” Ravi “No, leave me otherwise I will hugged Rita and murmured. not come again.” Rita tried to “No,” Rita said swiftly. blackmail Ravi. “Really?” Ravi loosens up on “Really? But who cares about his hug. tomorrow.” As Rita was still “Yes, because I didn’t forget trapped inside the warmth of you,then how can I miss you?” her lover a rain drop kissed her Rita smiled like a naughty child. shoulder. His eyes were full ofecstasy, “Oh, so that’s the case.” Ravi “Oh no, the rain has started.” his eyes were reflecting the smiled and hugged her. Rita said, looking at the sky. glee ofholding that coveted “Hey, what are you doing, leave “So what, we will get wet.” possession ofhim around his me.” Rita was blushing and Ravi said. arms. trying to free herself from that “No, please, I do not like to get tight hug. wet.” Rita turned and looked in “I am not going to leave you,” the eyes of Ravi. Ravi said and kissed her shoulders. His eyes were full of “Someone will see us like this.” Rita was still trying ecstasy, his eyes were reflecting the glee of holding to free herself, but Ravi was holding on to her that coveted possession of him around his arms. tightly enough. Rita got hypnotized at that romantic sight, she “Let them see the love birds.” Ravi said and Rita could feel his arms around her waist. And it started smiled. pouring heavily. The drops were wetting every “Oh, so you are also a bird.” Rita laughed. single possible life existing there. Rita was still “Yes, a love bird.” Ravi said and again kissed Rita looking at Ravi’s eyes and Ravi was looking at her. on her neck. The people were running around for shelter in the “Oh, ok, so Mr Love bird we need to fly away.” streets, the birds were chirping away for rest, the Rita said looking at the sky. students were running to save their notebooks, the “Lets get wet in the rain today.”Ravi said and Rita bikers were at halt, but Ravi and Rita were in their disagreed. own sphere, their sphere of love. Love that sees no “No way.” Rita said and Ravi hugged her even boundary or situations or atmosphere. Love is like more tightly. karma, more you dig deep inside, more you will

all lost in the act. Their lips had started hugging and playing with each other generating the sensations more sensational that anything they have ever sensed. They no more required the warmth to save themselves from the cruel temperature. Their eyes were closed. They were lost in the world of passion, travelling together as one. They have realized the oneness again in their relation. A timeless time in the chaotic world of desires.The eyes of Rita were still closed. And when Rita opened her eyes, she could see the rain, she could see the wetted atmosphere but her king was missing. Rita was still at her window. The drops were kissing her face and trying to instill life inside her life, but her life was gone with the wind. The wind that blew away her happiness and left her to live like a prisoner. A prisoner of this blind world of possession and desires, where there is no love. “What happened darling?” Rita’s mom called from behind. “Nothing mom.” Rita tried to wipe off her tears. “Hey, you are crying.” she came close to her and hugged her. find the jewel. And for two “No I’m not.” Rita wasn’t lovers, rain is the best time to able to hold on and the tears dig deep into the heart of love. got better of her. It brings the chill back, that “I told you to forget whatever joy which can’t be reproduced happened. I know it is not every time. Rita hugged Ravi easy, but you have no And when Rita opened her eyes, tightly in hopes of getting choice.” Mother said softly. she could see the rain, she some warmth as the temperature around was going could see the wetted atmosphere “I am trying to mom, but I can’t.” She was weeping like but her king was missing. down rapidly. It was still an innocent child. pouring. No-one was around “You are strong, my girl, I them. They were the sole am sure you can and you owner of that place, the royal will.” She said and Rita was lovers. And the queen of that royal couple was in search of the warmth, to save still weeping. “Ok. Lets go for a holiday.” Rita’s Mom tried to herself from the chill of God. This is the time when the king comes to the aid of his better half, evoke the excitement. his queen. Ravi held her face from his both hands “No, I don’t want to.” Rita uttered slowly. “No, you have to, otherwise you will keep and kissed her lips. thinking about these things. We are going today They drowned inside the rain of love covered in the evening for 3 days.” She told Rita and Rita by the rain of water. Rita instantly forgot the need again went close to the window looking at the of the warmth while kissing Ravi and Ravi was sky. 46

In the afternoon they packed their bags and went flying past the Arabian sea.

“Good for you, otherwise it would have been hard living alone.” She tried to sympathize. “Very true, In this chaotic world where people run “So, how are you feeling?” Rita’s uncle said behind wealth, it’s so hard to hold on to people looking at Rita. we love. I was feeling so alone, but as soon as she “Better.” She tried to smile. arrived, I have forgotten about my own “Don’t worry, she will feel much better with me.” loneliness.” He said and his face was reflecting A voice broke from behind. that satisfaction and relief. “Hey, you are here.” Rita’s eyes welled up “Yes, very true, children are magicians, they looking at her cousin. cheer their elders up with “Yes and now we will go for their presence.” she said. shopping.” she screamed and “Hey, but what happened to everybody laughed. dear Rita?” uncle was “Why shopping?” Rita tried to worried about her. inquire. “Nothing much, just a love “I am working now, so I can Rita has now started enjoying her failure.” She sighed and told go for shopping anytime. the whole story to him. life. Since 2 days she had been What’s the big deal in that?” “Take care of her, emotional smiling and playing She said and Rita smiled. imbalance is more “Hey, you look beautiful when dangerous.” He said you smile.” Rita’s uncle said understanding the seriousness and her mother also smiled of the matter. looking at her daughter “Yes, trying my best.” she smiling. again sighed and went to another room. “Now she is with me so she will only smile.” She said and took her away to her room. Rita has now started enjoying her life. Since 2 “When did she come?” Rita’s mother asked about days she had been smiling and playing. At instant the girl. realizations she might again fall back to the “Oh Suzi, she now works here. She got a job last depression, but then Suzi would pull her again year and now she lives here.” He said smiling. into the world of smiles and happiness. 47

Suzi had grasped that loneliness from her face. Rita, she decided to stay. Suzi was happy at that Rita had no idea, but Suzi went through that decision. phase of frustration and ugly depression. Suzi had seen herself close to death because of the failure Next day again, while shopping, Suzi decided in love. She decided to heal Rita and with this to have something to eat. thing in mind, she talked to Rita’s mother. “So you love someone?” Suzi “Aunty, can you stay for few shot her question out of more days?” Suzi asked nowhere. eagerly. “What? No I don’t.” She “It is not possible dear.” Rita’s stammered. mother said. “Don’t lie girl. I can read “It would be better for Rita.” your eyes.” Suzi said. I understand this feeling as I have Suzi said and heard Rita “I don’t know what been through. ” Suzi said and told happened.” Suddenly she laughing out aloud from her the story. another room. burst into tears. “What happened?” Rita’s “I understand this feeling as I mother was amazed to hear have been through.” Suzi that laugh. said and told her the story. “She must have broken my record in that game “Oh, it’s so bad.” Rita sympathized with Suzi again?” Suzi said slowly. realizing her wet eyes. “Ha Ha, oh really?” Rita’s mother laughed. “So, tell me what happened.” Suzi again tried to “So you are going?” Suzi said. shake her up. “You have to go to office dear.” She said. “He left me without any reason.” Rita said. “I have taken a leave for a week.” Suzi said. “You met him after the break up?” She said. “No, we didn’t, last time we met we kissed.” She Rita’s mother went to another room where said remembering those moments and still it had Rita was playing and was amazed to see Rita the same chill. enjoying the game. In the past few weeks it had “Then how can it be possible?” Suzi said. been a rare sight. Looking at that old and bubbly 48

“His mobile was switched off and after some time I also changed my number, “ Rita said. “Your parents knew about your relationship.” Suzi inquired. “No, both of us weren’t able to tell our parents. My mother only got to know when I told her after this incident.” Rita said. “Something is fishy. He never tried to meet you or contact you?” Suzi was still puzzled. “I waited for a month or two, but nothing happened.” Rita said with moist eyes. “You need to dig deep into this girl.” Suzi said. “What?” Rita was surprised. “Don’t leave relations in a crossroad. Either end them or complete them. Try to meet him if possible.” Suzi said. “I don’t have that courage to end.” Rita was scared at that thought of separation. “It’s good to die once than to die every moment.” Suzi heaved a sigh and they started having their food. Rita was wakened up with this thought. She got some courage to move ahead in that direction. year ago. They were not the only one to be She thought to tell her mother about this step of present there, but so many more love birds would her, but then she realized that this mess was be there trying to fly high in the sky of love. Rita created by her and hence she is the one was looking at them and remembering her past responsible to end it. and Ravi’s warmth and care. She again went into Both mother and daughter the past when suddenly she came back to their own house. heard a voice. Rita was still thinking about her conversation with Suzi. “You are Rita?” A girl came She decided to give it a last close to Rita. try, after all it was the matter “Yes, but who are you?” Rita of her life. A life that she can’t said. revamp alone. But there was no way to contact “How is your husband?” She Ravi. She was in a fix to start from But there was no way to point. It has been a year of contact Ravi. She was in a fix which separation. She didn’t have any to start from which point. It idea about Ravi. has been a year of separation. She didn’t have any idea about Ravi.

“What should I do?” Rita was thinking while sitting on the bench. She could see a few couples around her as she was sitting in the same park they used to meet a

said. “What are you talking about, what husband?” Rita went bizarre. “But your mom told that you are going to marry soon with your own wish.” She said. “Enough of this, how dare you tell a lie about my mother. Who are you to pass judgement on my mother?” Rita went fierce. “Oh, it seems you have been in the dark.” She smiled and gave a paper to Rita. “Who are you?” Rita asked in anger.

“Hello.” again that voice buzzed in her ears and her cough made a voice that crossed to the other side. “Rita? Is it Rita, please wait, I am coming there. Please don’t go anywhere. I will only take 15 minutes. Please be there.” the voice on the other side was pleading. In the blink of an eye Ravi came to that bench and saw Rita in tears. She was still holding onto her mobile. He shook her up, but she still seemed to be lost in her own world of disbelief. “Rita!” Ravi screamed and Rita hugged Ravi instantly. They both started crying. The weather was overcast. Clouds were keen to wash away all the dirt that exists on the earth. The clouds started their work and it started to drizzle. Rita and Ravi were hugging each other unaware of the rain. They both hugged each other trying to turn their disbelief into the belief. They were constantly crying as well as hugging. The rain started to pour heavily now, but they were unmoved. They have got back that spark, that magic of love. Sometimes a hug tells you more than words will ever mean. The rain is always the message of love. It brings pleasure, it brings pain “This paper is more important to you than your too. But today it was all pleasure. After a long question.” She said and went away. hug Ravi held her hand and they ran towards a small cottage nearby. That cottage was there to sit Rita looked at the paper and there was a embrace the love. Nobody was present there mobile number. She didn’t know that girl and she and as they reached there. had neither any idea about the number, but she decided to give it a go. She dialed the number and it started ringing. Someone picked up the phone. “Hello.” the voice came from the other end. “Wha..?” Rita was in utter shock as she could identify the voice. “Hello.” that voice again came buzzing into her ears. That voice felt like a drop of rain in a burning desert of thirst. Only when you are thirsty, you understand the real value of one drop.This thirst was the thirst of a year, a long year of separation. Rita was still in utter disbelief and she had forgotten the world around her.

That voice felt like a drop ofrain in a burning desert ofthirst. Only when you are thirsty, you understand the real value ofone drop.This thirst was the thirst ofa year, a long year of separation. Rita was still in utter disbeliefand she had forgotten the world around her.

Rita was now stable and able to understand what Ravi wanted to say. “ When we met last time, after that your mom called me and told to be away from you. She told me that she had seen us in the park. I tried to convince her that we love each other and we want to live together happily ever after but she disagreed. She had taken my number from you and she told my parents too about us. My parents got hurt at this and they sent me to my uncle’s house. My father threw off my mobile sim card and warned me against meeting you. I tried your number to find out about you, but initially you didn’t pick up the phone and then it was switched off. I came to this place after 2 weeks for a month constantly, but never found you.” Ravi sighed. “What? My mother knew about us?” Rita was shocked to know this. “Yes and she threatened me to be away from you. I got the news after some months that you are getting married with your own choice. Your “Why did you leave me?” Rita said with wetted eyes “I never left you.” Ravi said, wiping off her tears. “You did.” She was still crying like a child. “No, I didn’t, my love.” He kissed her cheeks and she hugged him even tighter. “Then why you never called me?” Rita asked while hugging Ravi. “I tried, but your number was switched off.” Ravi said.

My parents got hurt at this and they sent me to my uncle’s house. My father threw offmy mobile sim card and warned me against meeting you.

mother called my parents to convey the message “She came here every Saturday?” Rita was to me. I never believed them but I also never had surprised. any other choice.” Ravi recalled. “Yes, she has been around me “Even I never went outside during that bad phase and she for 6 to 8 months and that was understood how much we my mistake I think.” She loved each other. She earlier again cried listening to the told me if she can do harsh reality. anything but at that time I could only see was sheer “It wasn’t your fault because Don’t worry, now we are together, darkness. But when she came you had no idea about this.” we will solve all the issues together; for the job, I told her if Ravi said and she didn’t speak Ravi said and Rita nodded her head here she can do this and she a word. in yes. gleefully accepted. And it took 14 visits to meet you.” “I need to talk to my mother.” Ravi said. Rita said in a worried tone. “Please Convey my thanks to Don’t worry, now we are her, she is the one who helped us. I unknowingly together, we will solve all the issues together; got angry on her.” Rita apologized. Ravi said and Rita nodded her head in yes. worry, she will not take that to heart.” “Who is that girl who came to me?” Rita asked. “Don’t Ravi said and Rita smiled. “She is my cousin and she she works nearby this “I missed your smile.” Ravi said, looking at Rita. place. I asked her to constantly visit this bench in the hope of meeting you one day.” Ravi smile. 52

“Me too, wait, I need to call

during the last year. It is the

my cousin too. ” Rita said and

rain that separated them and

called Suzi. Rita thanked for

now it’s the rain again that

the encouragement and all the

united them. The fights with

good times they had. She

the world would be

promised Suzi to visit her

numerous, but the unity in

soon.

“I love you. ” Rita said, looking at Ravi.

The rain was wetting them, but they were dissolved in the warmth ofthe love. The king and the queen have reunited to raise their kingdom of love again.

love would be unique. They got that again and now they required nothing else. The rain was wetting them, but they were dissolved in the

“Then let’s go. ” Ravi smiled

warmth of the love. The king

and took Rita into the pouring

and the queen have reunited

rain.

to raise their kingdom of love again. The rain was all

“No, not again. ” Rita laughed.

around, but they were in their sphere. Rain water was wetting their body and the

“Yes, again. ” Ravi said and hugged her.

rain of love was wetting their soul. Rita looked at the smiling Ravi and she kissed him to rej uvenate those moments of bliss.

This time Rita hugged him tighter. She wanted to relinquish all those tears and the pain she had

Artist: Piyush Kumar Colourist: Snath Mahto 54

CeriNaz Caroline NazarenoGabisa.k.a. CeriNaz, born in Anda, Pangasinan, Philippines on April 10, 1980, is a multiawarded poet, editor, journalist, public speaker, linguist, educator and women’s advocate. CeriNaz won the concluded FrangBardhi Literary Prize 2014 in Albania. She received the sair gazeteci( PoetJournalist) award during the 34th KIBATEK International Festival of Literature and Arts in Tuzla, Istanbul, Turkey on November 8, 2014. She was a featured poet at Vancouver Word 0n The Street, World Poetry Canada and International and Poetry Around The Globe. She was awarded Empowered Poet 2013 during the World Poetry International Peace Festival 2013 in Vancouver,Canada. Graduating cum laude with the degree of Bachelor of Elementary Education, major in General Science at Pangasinan State University.CeriNaz pursued higher studies in journalism, public speaking and leadership. She earned her post graduate studies in Administration and Supervision at Eulogio ‘’Amang’’ Rodriguez Institute of Science and Technology. She had learned about the Nanotechnology and Aerospace at Massachussetts Institute Technology on June 2012.Currently,she writes for the Philippine Canadian Inquirer, Manila Bulletin and contributes to Reflection Magazine.

Rain of desolation Ceri Naz (Philippines)

whispered the laments ofwhat has been to the lures ofthe time being succumbed the rain ofthe groped pupils grappled the sealed lips and the shattered memoirs sailed the slaps ofthe hurricanes the whips ofwindy moments in every corner ofthis ego dampen the grilled doubts and raw anxieties the time has not ripen the fruit ofdesolation.

Ten Haiku/Tanka on rain Ruchi Chopra (Indian stays in US)

HaikuHaiku is an ancient Japanese poetry form. It consists of 3 lines with a syllable pattern of 5-7-5. The first and last lines of a Haiku have 5 syllables and the middle line has 7 syllables.

TankaTanka is a Japanese poem of 5 lines, with a syllable pattern of 5-7-5-7-7. The first and third lines have 5 syllables and 7 in rest of the lines.

Cascading HaikuCascading Haiku is interesting to write and read. It consists of total 6 lines. The lines follow the pattern of 5-7-5-5-7-5 respectively.

Ten Haiku/Tanka on rain Ruchi Chopra Paper boats, countless oars ofblissful memories misty and dreamy Polka-dot umbrellas waved, drenched in misty nectar a thirsty frog croaked Golden umbrellas hungry for misty nectar a thirsty frog croaked Nature dances in glee enchantress casts mystic spells ravenous souls, drenched Waving back at rains gumboots, umbrellas, raincoats smiled back, lazily One splash, two splash, wet puddles full ofnaivetĂŠ petite ballerina

Gliding over puddles paper boat, paper cranes rain drops, as its fuel Heaps ofwilting tears heaps ofbroken desires, pricks rains, melts away pain

Cascading Haiku Ah! ballerinas enticing souls, petite joys thunderous applauds thunderous applauds drenched in golden afterglow Ah! ballerinas

Tanka Nature is counting misplaced divine cents and dimes her picturesque veil how pretty this rainbow looks? with its golden afterglow

Aparna Mukherjee (Mumbai, India) She is a woman with high aspirations who firmly believes in expanding her horizon. She holds Master degree in English from Mumbai University. By profession, she is a writer who writes informative articles for UK and US blogs and websites. As a person, she is open-minded, down-to-earth and amiable in nature. Her world revolves around creativity. She seeks interests and delights in reading, writing and sketching. She aims to pursue her career path in the field of writing and wishes to make her mark in the literary world, hoping to leave an indelible imprint on her readers' minds.

The Angel Drops Of Heaven Aparna Mukherjee

(Mumbai, India) The blazing sun Seeks place to hide When she sets off On her merry ride. Dancing and swaying When comes she Her touch leaves tranquil Sends through all the alleviating feel. In nature reflects Her charm and grace Unfolds her beauty In her glorious face. When her grace oflove falls through Her angel drops Quench the thirst Like a honey dew. For I hear the rhythm in the street Floats in air through the field The crystal droplets when beat the ground Convert the ambience with a soothing sound. With melody the nature fills Echo the places where birds all sing Falls from heaven the crystal pearls Lift up the hearts with joys and thrills. Up in the canvas ofsky Seven hues come there by High above birds take flight Come there all for a pleasure sight. All take a bow When she sets her dazzling feet For, she is the princess All await her to meet.

The Promise Brian Wrixon (Canada)

The horizon turns dark and grey A giant anvil has been cast into the sky Long grasses and trees begin to sway Leaves turn their backs as the wind rushes by. The first drops ofrain spatter the soil Life takes refuge from the coming storm Clouds above begin to turn and boil Cool air has now replaced the warm. Trees are bent by the savage fury Branches snap and fall to the ground Rain and hail sweep past in a hurry The wind roars with terrible sound. And then as suddenly the storm is over The sun again blesses the land It casts its rays on the glistening clover A rainbow the promise sent by God's hand.

Rain Painting Pencil & Color By

Meghna Unnikrishnan 62

The Advent of Rain Arie (India)

These signs are such as abnormal accumulation of darkness in the clouds; low tides of eddy that will lift the dump that was lain upon the corners of the street, and in garbage, and most precisely scatter them inside the middle of the road; the thunderous claps of the clouds; an indescribably strange odour that will fill the ambience; within sudden surging humidity; and such, adumbrates into the likely advent of rain. Scores of people flow recklessly in randomness like the flight of cotton within the air; as a coincidence to the aforesaid metaphor, the city, in itself, has the biggest textile industry in the whole of South India, and also ranks just next to Mumbai, if considering nationwide statistics! Coimbatore, the Manchester of South India, is the place where the rain resides, as all signs indicate, it is about to arrive. One funny thing about Indian English (though it is accepted worldwide as a standard) is that a lot of Indians, both the well-educated and half-boiled class, will often tend to say “rain is coming,” whereas the British just say “it’s raining.” And now, Rain Is About To Come. The exact location where we stand now is Lawley Road—named after Lord Lawley, an influential Briton of this region (when Britain ruled India), the exact denomination of whom no one knows and no one really cares about—which has become Rolly Road in colloquialism. Lawley became Lolly, then Rally, and now “Rolly!”—within the twist of tongues, and the madness of idiolects that often make use of whatever becomes easy to say, contributing to a dialect (numerous idiolects make the dialect) to perform, at times, magically like this—as English is often alienated upon our tongues. For instance, “trouser” became “towjer,” “polydol” became “paaltoil,” and so on. That’s how our tongues like to roll! Why, even Coimbatore came that way! The city was named after the King Kovan as “Kovanpuththur” (Puththur means ‘new city’) which slowly took on other forms like ‘kovanputhur,’‘kovanbathoor,’‘koyanbatoor,’‘koyambathoor,’ which was finally anglicized to ‘Coimbatore.’ And that, was further contracted to Kovai! Hail to our Indian tongues!

A few conscious bikers (motorbikes, is called simply ‘bikes’ in India) and they are in haste to reach their destination before which shall any single drop fall upon them too, as if they will somehow dissolve inside the rain—they are the same set of people who would flaunt that they do so love the rain, of course, in its very absence! They all throttle to such an extent that the engine often screams out and the gears begin to curse them. They have all forgotten what ‘cruise’ meant too and suddenly begin swerving in and out, as much as possible, offering potentially threatening moves with any other vehicle that may happen to come in the course and opposite their way. These spectators from the Lawley Road Bus Stop will see them with their faces shrunk too. Lawley Road is a four arms junction—Thadagam Road (both the sides – north and south), Maruthamalairoad (West) and Cowley Brown Road. Maruthamalai Road hosts Tamil Nadu Agricultural University (TNAU), and it is one of the best agricultural colleges in India. On the right turn from Thadagam Road (if travelled from North to South) onto Maruthamalairoad is connected by an intermediary road which often helps vehicles avoid the traffic signal—thus it looks to be like a cross, when seen from above, with its eastern and southern hands connected by a diagonal shaping. This bus stop is located inside that interconnecting road, and it’s a fairly new one too; just built before just a year ago. Opposite to the bus stop, is a long lonely stretch of a yellow wall, and it’s the boundary of Forest College (different from that ofTNAU,) and laden with the warning words of “STICK NO BILLS. DEFAULTERS WILL BE PROSECUTED.”And the same words are translated in Tamil and appear just below that. Yet, the wall also hosts a series of various other wallpapers! Follow this stretch of road and it will take you forward on to Government College of Technology (GCT); and one the second best engineering colleges in Coimbatore. The age-old race between lightning and thunder continues on the scene, and, as usual, the latter loses the race, with every unwanted influence upon the viewer (loud sounds ensue), like a boastful villain that will often lose to calmand-composed hero too. There is indeed a magnitude of deep elegance to be found inside of chaos!

One biker almost hits another biker who then veers off at just the very last second. A Close Shave! “Veeiii!” one girl from the bus-stand openly expresses her threatened emotions. The innocent biker halts, turning back, and the ejaculates some rough bad words onto the other. The innocent one, an old man, checks his helmet and then goes off feeling acrid by the other helmet-less and rash mouthing biker. “Never will these people realize the importance of helmets,” he thinks to himself. “They think helmet kill their beauty! What will they do with their beauty then, if they happen to meet with accident?” he laments internally and goes on his way. The eddy intensifies, levitating more of the filth into circles, and then continues to throw it off, just like the ego does when devouring one’s reputation. The people waiting for bus, are still and standing in expectation, just as though a person will wait fervently for their interview results, still on standby and watching all the whirlpool action passing by. Rain is surely confirmed. The clouds threaten these common masses. Time is sifting on. The old and the wise tree that keeps this bus stop inside of partial shade, also now begins to sway within its own offering of accordance. There! Here comes down a few raindrops that make a few on-lookers shudder inside, and a few others enter their den, that is, the bus stop, and also a few shout and begin to run—primarily girls—as if the rain, on contact, will disband their existence somehow, and then a few others peer out for watching indifferently as it begins to pour. A very few drops, and it suddenly stops. A few more sigh, a few begin to feel relieved; and somewhere in some random village, a few more farmers begin to worry inside pessimistically. Some precautionary people continue to run; continue to ride bikes errant and amok. A random middle-aged man wonders about the fact that whoever and wherever he sees, there is always such a hurry, hurry, hurry that is going on all around too! Nobody would want the world to spin so slowly. All want an extra hour or maybe even two! Give those 25 more, and surely they would brazenly ask for 26 hours instead! Ever insatiable, ever so rushing! It is always hurry, hurry, hurry... hurry for the office, hurry for eating, hurry for sleeping, hurry for waking, hurry for speaking, and so on and so; even hurry for dying too! He 65

Isn’t nature clumsy? Nature is the only thing that can convert a completely organized structure (crystalline, in most technical jargon) like solid structures into a non-organized (amorphous) one like gases, and free radicals. That is proven right again, that the very few drops of rain have now made this entire scene quite a frenzy-full bedlam. After a few minutes, the clouds begin to roar again. And now, the actual show starts. Rain! Rain! Rain! Pandemonium! Increase in the humidity! Somewhere, from the comforts of her home, a child begins to sing her favourite kindergarten rhyme “Rain, rain, go away; come again another day...” Each raindrop descends in rather an uncontrolled fashion to gain as much speed and momentum as possible, under the influence of gravity, and then tries to drill through everything possible, especially the leaves that were left open by The Almighty, and facing toward the sky; just like a beggar who will show his palm symbolizing his urgent need for almsgiving’s feeding. Lo and behold! It may drill even a hole upon any bald head! And like a drill-bit that is lesser in hardness than the work piece materials, each drop breaks into raining infinity. Sigh! It cannot drill anything! The tree seemed to be enjoying its serfdom and takes great pains in saving the people gathering now underneath its leafy branches. A tree is superior to the man in three ways. One: it won’t hurt other trees; two: it takes in things like water and light to only levels that is survival sufficient, whereas the six-sensed stacks things into excess; three: it serves its intended purpose—the purpose of its birth! Man is the only eccentric creation of God. Perhaps the provision of sixth sense is indeed such a dire mistake! A post-teenage boy, probably a GCTian, stands inclining upon the post at the left corner of the bus stand, and is now busily engaged in texting his new-found love. With every reply that comes from the other side of nowhere, his face continually brightens up. Probably they are chatting about something that is funny? No, perhaps, not. Not necessarily! Whatever she might say will look, at this point in time—that is, during their inception of love—to the boy, as only sweet and jolly, which may have been making him openly smile so continuously too. Poor soul! He knows not that calls and messages are inversely proportional to the days of acquaintance. As days progress, they will begin to dwindle. If he forgets to tell her what he is doing at each and every hour, from now, it will be

be treated as a most punishable offence and the girl will come to ask, “You’re bored of me now, aren’t you? Who are you hitting on now instead of me?” The same offence, if committed after a few more days, will go unnoticed. Moreover, should he continue updating her—that is, if he abides ‘by the law’—it will be categorized under a fair trial called “disturbance,” to which the same punishments will be most certainly awarded too. Poor these boys are, who love renegades—that is, girls who grew up traditionally, and are suddenly being attracted to Modernization (!), and now quickly adjust and change their walk, dress, and even speech. Yet, a neem-seed cannot become an apple seed! Modernization should be in one’s inner-most-thoughts, not in outward appearance! And these boys, too, seem to always be easy bait for the wrong girls. Though there is a smaller growing population of girls who will accuse these boys, in the aforementioned ways, and it is these boys who only seem to get ‘such’ girls too. Well, good girls wouldn’t fall so easily as a victim to their playboy-hood games. And, the masculine minds that are disposed to dominance, also so often portray all the girls as being just so, through all the ways available to them, like those seen on the cinema screen; they’ve created a common image that all the girls are all that bad! Then, who asked them to even propose? What an ironic irony of fate! A layman comes running forward, leaving to the rain a completely decolourised bicycle, that is now unattended; he, has already become halfsoaked inside the rain, and enters the bus shed, as if he is taking it as his new found asylum. This action gives life to one of the brains which quipped to itself, “Why ask for a blanket when you’re fully soaked already?” These words are often said as a funny saying in this part of the world too. A streak of sandal shows upon his forehead, it is worn out partly, and matched to his khaki uniform. He is a Lathe worker who had cut away from his duty, half-done, after having received an emergency call from dear his son—the chaos being his mother’s pain of contraception—if successful, will soon release his fourth product of workmanship. He has—or more precisely, they have—already three products, aged twelve, eight and three, respectively, (boy, girl, boy). One has to wonder at this divine paradox too: The rich ones who can afford to feed more than ten mouths will, mostly, never come to have more than one or two, whereas the poor laity worker, which can’t nearly feed its own 67

mouth, will have surely five progenies! One baseless inference here to add, will be that sex is often a way to release the innermost frustrations for The Frustrated Laity, and this begins a never ending cycle of productivity too, in general. Oh, even it is scientifically proven that sex is an instant cure for such mild or even maniacal depression! One has to wonder how these set of people knew it beforehand for all the ages put together just so – could be the reason why India's population still stands so strong at a heightened peak. What more could the dull routine of the laity provide? Even as he stands inside the shelter now there, his reflections are centred upon his beloved family, with all intense though lain upon their well-being, his yet-to-take-birth child—his not yet arrived fourth contributed output. Like a tiny white spot on a complete infinite black background, the rain begins to leak in the roof above—the grace of the local government (corrupted building contracts all around town)—so often steals the spotlight. A poet, unpublished and self-made, of about 19 to 20 years old, stands there now staring at the dripping of the raindrops falling through from the frail and fragile roof. The roof which is supposed to be the shelter of care, at that particular spot, fails in executing its standard of office. He stands there watching it all drip away, and desirously wants to make a poem too; but is unable to convert it right now inside of words. He, then takes out his phone, opens up the Memo option and types out only a few profound words: Rain, at the mercy of sky;

‘R’ gets capitalized automatically, thanks to the auto-correct feature gifted by his Samsung Galaxy phone. With that single line, he stands there, in aphasia. He stares at the crystal clear liquid gliding off the branch that is trapping the magnificence of penumbral sunlight, eyes glazed upon the indescribable inimitable glimmer, and just for a sterling breathless moment before it submits itself to fall upon the ground. He wants to take in each and every inspiration from all these things that he lays his precious poetic eyes upon. He, then, looks at the increased greenness of all the plants, which seem to accelerate by the sudden bursts of rain. He tells himself “Rain increases the vastness with greenery.” And then he adds, after an ENTER press of a button, the following: Increasing the greenness of leaves, Unknown to the world, and hidden inside thoughts within;

He scrutinizes within him for more words, unaware of all the things that are still going on around him—the confusions of the influx of more and more people, the searing gibber of the rain, the barking nuisance of wetness, undressed street dogs (Poor them! They have no home-sweet-home to be had!), and so on. He, then, takes a look further on ahead. A caterpillar, an infinitesimal entity to this conceit-filled human eye, slowly slithers, upwards upon the tree’s trunk. The Human community considers the caterpillar as insignificant, and often forgets its own magnificent manifestation.

The human itselfis just a speck ofa speck, when one adopts an Eagle View, from top ofthe city; all will be further small when seen from the top ofsuch state; unidentifiable when seen from top ofthe country; vanish, when seen from the top ofthe world; and non-existent, when seen from that ofthe very vast and cosmic realm ofthe entire universe!

The rain comes to a halt all of a sudden now. Surprise fills a housewife’s throat. She wonders to herself that nature is always so unpredictable. It was scorching high with heat just a few hours before, and now it pours cooling rains! What a contradiction! How can nature change itselfin such a quick fashion—as quickly as a mosquito comes flapping its wings!

The Lathe worker rides away on his bicycle. Under the shed, also stand two boys, presumably random college students, who begin to start lampooning about the correctness of weather broadcasting. “Today’s morning they said there won’t be any rain. And now it rains! Unreliable TV channels,” the shorter one sighs. “Ah they’re never correct,” accedes his young companion with all initiative to be rightfully assertive. “Perhaps, they’ll toss a coin and report their next prediction? Heads, no rain. Tails for rain?” Both are laughing now and feeling most satisfied. Their laughs permeate within the rickety-roofed bus stand shed. Buses keep on coming and going, most frequently, at improper intervals—sometimes, it takes 30 minutes for the next bus to come after one, and sometimes three buses come all together—and the crowd which seems to melt away with every incoming bus, is actually unaltered. All the buses are 69

closely ever packed so tightly too. No one knows the provenance of this problemâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;whether it is the uncontrollably rapid increase in Indian urban population, contributed partly by ever-flowing migrants and partly by the continuous surge in birth rates, or it is the inadequacy of buses that are not widely available. Scared to step into densely-colonized buses, two older citizens (presumably, couples) just wait in the hopes of seeing a bus with some more free space coming. A particular bus numbered with number 70 arrives; and the amateur poet now steps into it, enduring the pushes and shoves from his co-buscatchers, prior to which he gropes his hair with his right hand, inwardly with his fingers wide open (thumb left unemployed). Air bus (Luxury bus, automated door lock system), they said when introduced, which remained so, only in its name. As time has rolled by, they too, have joined the pageant of wizened, paintworn old buses in the fleet, but the increase in fares has stayed. Ah there! Additional problems arise now! Here comes an unprecedented influx of more school children! School bell rings, signifying that the time of slavery is now over, at least, for that day. Like tiny iron pieces attracted to a magnet, a humungous amount of population now begin their trek inside of haste, adding further confusions into the ambience, on that wet road leaping toward the bus stop. Caparisoned in blue uniforms, though many of them are dirty, the view, when seen from the top, resembles that of a colourful graffiti work with bluecoloured beads strewn in all the randomness. Radiations of laughter fill the whole atmosphere too. The dull-looking bus stop gets re-animated! Children Are Children! They have brought new colours onto the grey-scale scene. School pupils start to throng toward the bus stop. A few children ride away on their bicycles, with that big load of their subject books, tied tight upon the carrier. A few children now stand and show their thumbs up signâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;a sign devised to ask for a liftâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;which a few good-hearted motorbikes obey and help out with, while most just disregard the existence of the raised thumbing finger gesturing. The old woman notices that a few children have no sandals (they are barefooted). She reminisces of her own childhood. She, too, had studied in this

very same school—St. Bishop’s School—a school that was built exclusively for the Christian children; the same, later displayed its open-mindedness by admitting everyone of any faith— and soon it became a school for the poor. She laughs to herself while thinking of her own school admission. In those days, admission was not based on tests. The children (both genders) would be asked to touch their left ear by passing their right hand over head. If a child was successful, it meant they were old enough (their hand had grown!) to be admitted and if they should fail, the child would be immediately sent home and then graciously asked to come again next year. Images of her elder brother who had failed to touch and was rejected came back to her memorable brain; because of this, her brother who was just one year older had to study right alongside with her! What a shame! This was one of the oldest schools of Coimbatore that still stands tall since the ‘60s. A tear unconsciously glides now down her cheeks when her infallible memory quoted this scene of hers (and her brother’s) toiling without any food, no sandals, lacking proper clothes, and committed patiently onto the struggle for paying even that minimal tuition fees, back then. The older couple who has had avoided three or four buses, because they were so exceptionally stuffed with people, and these primarily holding school children, in which they can’t readily stand so steady and travel far, yet still smile, seeing them, and their thoughts wander off now to their own parenthood days. Remembering their daughter’s contagious smile, the old lady feels a very strange peace lingering within. The old man thinks about his grandson and granddaughter, who are now in grades seven and two respectively. Now, she considers, though not expressing it aloud to her husband, the new-fangled option of taking a cab to their home, as a bus ride seems quite discouraging by the unending accumulation of the masses school children riding aboard. A new bus comes. Oh no! These kids, who were considered to be genteel, and soft-natured and likened to the petals of a flower, dash brazenly forward, pushing everyone else aside, pulling out each other, inside a mad race to get into the bus. The disease of hurry-up-ness has affected them, too! The old 71

people feel their countenances become acrimonious, involuntarily, as they sadly witness these disruptive and disrespectful happenings. The bus gets loaded so densely as before. Bus driver frowns at the kids who flock towards ‘their’ vehicle too. Their mathematics are that these kids travel for free (all with free bus travel passes), which reduces their ticket sales; and only adds fuel to the fire with their bulging school bags (satchel is a term unheard in this part of the world) that often blocks a huge space where one more persons could have been standing too. So, mostly all the conductors frown at these innocent kids. So you discourage against them getting educated? No one can offer an answer for this too. The problem is that private educational establishments have their own school buses, whereas government schools don’t have their own transportation facility, and these kids have no other option but to take public transportation. That eventually ensues into all of these overstuffed buses. Rain starts to come again! Outbreak of a mini-apocalypse! Annoyance; Inconvenience; Hassle; Disturbance. All in blaring capital letters! One school boy, of around 15 years, openly expresses to his nearby friend, “rain must not come in these parts very often. I mean, what’s the use? Nothing! It should only pour in villages and on farms. What an inconvenience!” he sighs. Well, we should invent a machine for that! Rain was much sought after by all the farmers, and the same is seen as a nuisance here, in the city! What a silly absurd parody too! How the same thing appearing most valuable to one category of people so often appears as valueless to another category! One more from the herd of school children, also wishes that the rain would continue on and pour so very intensely so that they might get their next day off from school tomorrow. The adjacent silhouette wishes that the rain should still become worse and the school should be announced off for an entire week. One day is not enough to play Cricket, now, is it?

Another school boy who was wearing a torn uniform curses the rain, seeing the magnitude of this very downpour. He is worried about the liability of electrical lines getting damaged by the rain which, in turn, will affect his Ben10. To a middle class housewife the same problem will spoil her megaserials.‘Mega-serials’ with a capital M, for it is more important than everything else—kids and husband included too. The population under the shed never seems to diminish, though buses keep on coming, and some of the crowd melt away as each and every new bus arrives. The ‘golden spot’on the roof had occupied a considerable amount of space for its employment – wetting underneath, and forcing the already thick accumulation to get further constrained too. The occasional wind that hurls the flow of rain on even those who stand under the shed makes a few faces go into a million different contortions of frowning. The acquitted shed gets branded often by the term “ineffective,” in each random person’s minds for its inability to shield them all from the volley of rain. Such an “Inconvenience”! Two new faces—one partly shielded with the shawl—come running and enter the shed. They run toward the shed, laughing, as if there flight was a game. They occupy the left end of the shed, making a second-rated clerk, who stands behind them, grimace outwardly. Ever increasing density under the shed begins again. Ever flowing rains fall from above and outside the shed too. A few start to lose hope, if this rain will ever stop. One of the school children shows her pen to the neighbouring girl—it’s a hero pen. The old grandmother (another random person; not the woman of the already mentioned couple) who stands behind them, is there witnessing this new scene, and starts to also reminisce. Once, when she was a student, it was a great pride to hold a hero pen. That was at a time or an age when wrong usage and aging of pens often would make it leak too. Then came to market the Hero pen! It became a wonder soon because it wouldn’t so easily leak; the delicate shape of its nib was so 73

admired by everyone—both the possessor and each of the craving spectators! The possessor of a Hero felt like a hero! She remembered how she longed to buy it too. Hero, as the name indicates, was so costly when it was first introduced to market! The new faces start to disturb the integrity of these sheltered ones. Their smiles and laughter are filled with impurity and lust too. Modern lovers! The girl, though, dons a conventional Salwar-kameez, and is not at all traditional as she so appears. It is clearly evident in her face itself, according to the second-rated clerk who is weighing her appearance in. The front end of the boy’s hair is light browncoloured (Artificial! Yes, such is fashion!), and his T-shirt comes carrying the sentence “I DONT GIVE A DAMN ABOUT THE WORLD” in bold letters upon it. His jeans for pants don’t seem to fit him at all. They are too big and come barely standing on his hips.Wearing misfits have become quite the new fashion

trend!

The boy stands submissive before that girl too. Of course, that’s the set rule!—during this phase of love, men stay docile; and after the marriage, their roles somehow get quickly reversed! The things they discuss (more precisely, they ‘flirt’ about) are most random. So random like the choice that a rat in the larder will often have to make! It is worth mentioning that rain can either affect or effect one’s mood—to lovers (casually speaking!) like these two, it improves their romantic mood today—and to old people, like the old couples standing to the right of these two and staring right at them in all jealous aversion, it affects their mood most differently—for it adds further to their problems, because of the muddle it will ensue upon them, which will further their already staggering gait and delay of journey. The modern lovers stand there for a few minutes and even before the rain would ever stop, they go away. Why do they even come for shelter in the first place? A few more minutes pass by, and the population of school children has very much declined now. The old couples, who have waited for so long, continue waiting still, along with different fresh faces, now being seated. All the faces carry a certain expression, certain information, certain emotions, certain stories untold. Who knows of all those illegible expressions showing? Who can read them all? Even the most placid faces will be hiding much inside sororicidal tendencies! Slowly, the rain comes to a halt. The old couple finally find a lowly-populated bus. With the husband guiding her, she gets into the bus. Few others get along to get on with them. Seeing the couple stand, a post-teen boy gets up (inside the bus) and gives up his seat, in kind immediacy. The middle-aged person seeing his neighbour doing a good deed, also imitates him. The old couple though initially they are shocked in seeing this unexpected act of kindness, hesitate initially, and then with further pressing from the teen, take to occupying their gifted seats. The old lady, after comforting herself, sees through the almost-vacant bus stand. She heaves a big sigh of relief now and the bus starts to move on down the rain-soaked road.

Timileyin Gabriel Olajuwon Timileyin Gabriel Olajuwon is a young talented poet blessed with words. He is a Nigerian and proud to be. He is the World Poetry Director and Ambassador in Nigeria. Currently an undergraduate in the school ofpoetry.

THE RAIN

Timileyin Gabriel Olajuwon (Nigeria) Rain! Rain! Rain! Can give a sign sometimes When the bright morning Forms together the clouds And a horrible wind begins to blow and bend the trees Dust particles ofearth dance Rain! Rain! Rain! Watching little children run up and down Playing, dancing and singing With sacred happy songs ofrain They await and expect rain to pour Rain! Rain! Rain! The elder women wait Laying out their buckets and bowls Waiting for the downpours ofrain Rain! Rain! Rain! The elder men plan Design their aim for planting crops Waiting for the pouring ofrain To help new growth flourish

Rain! Rain! Rain! When the unexpected becomes expected The pouring rain certainly will come For everyone is expecting it Everyone waits to enjoy it For reliefofthe hotness ofthe earth Raining as heavy it can be It will rain cats and dogs All expectations are accomplished And at last, when the rain is over The earth is relieved ofits heat In the aftermath ofrain there is coldness But the deluge ofrain can destroy many houses People become furious and begin wailing Many homeowners will now become renters Yet rain's goodness is given to all mankind equally Rain! Rain! Rain! Everyone expects it Yet rain is a respecter ofno one Rain! Rain! Rain! GODâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S blessings ofrain will come again to heal the earth.

Pouring An Ounce Full Of Mercy Upon Us Akash Sagar (Delhi, India)

Like a Peacockâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s heart anxiously throbs, Drenching barren lands, To pulsate a vigorous thirst in us; Bringing back life into dried rivers nostril; Shamelessly etched on Mother Earthâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s breasts; Nourishing anemic and verdant saplings, We resonate and thrust our restlessness, Singing a lullaby to many sleepless and poor nights. In vapors of liquid love here, there and everywhere; Herein this scorching summer World, And here comes the rain again, Praying to the mighty but deafSun; Showering some love; Prying to see itcalm and come down, Fora life to remain; To sink and unburn the humans; But still we would continue to be, In sync, we all culprit clowns, Being inhumanely insane; So foolishly anticipate a sweet smell; In search ofa nonsense here, And wait for a fuliginous clouded fun, Where we lose everything; Pouring an ounce full ofmercy upon us; And leave absolutely no-thing to gain, In fluid droplets ofdollars and pounds. Ooh. . !!! We would be born againhere and there again; Unlike the stone hearted dumb and dead God, To reap the same old curse ofdeath, In fact, the carbon coated water carriers; Recurring in all for all; Ears our pleas; From ash to ash, Responding in lightning and thunders, And dust to dust; To spitour glees; We play the game oflife in vain. Draining out our agonies,

Waltz With The Rain Princess Ceri Naz (Philippines)

See me in the crystal drops Falling from the celestial throne Meet me inside the cooling cloudburst sound And I will sing to you. The sonatas ofthe mountains, the rivers and the lakes In our free willing autumn carpet As it bids the grand Sol Capturing my pacified retina I will take you with me In our muddy floors Where weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll dance our first waltz Together, like Zeus and Hera All the wonders weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll breathe And teach our feet the tiptoes ofhappiness Then wrap me with your arms All days, all nights, always Like countless raindrops Only, this muted umbrella Can witness our castle built with kisses In our royal waltz under the rain.

What better than having a lot of ideas and feelings to put down on paperâ&#x20AC;Ś.I love to write for it helps me to talk to myself , express myself and just pent out all my feelings into paper or a computer notepad!

question asked by people. My answer is simpleâ&#x20AC;Śit just makes you know and feel who you are really. Writing is a very entertaining hobby which introduces you to a totally new world .

Sometimes I find myself totally absorbed into nature and a thousand thoughts brim over my mind. It just flows beautifully out of my mind, through my pen onto paper or for that matter of fact , into my personal diary. I have started maintaining a diary , inspired by Anne Frank and I really admit that it has been indeed my best friend for the past two years. I love to re read those past pages and always get a nostalgic feel to go through those pages again and again. What is the need to write? Is the most common

I , being a voracious reader, find myself immersed in books ! Mystery tales of Nancy Drew , Enid Blyton mysteries and so on are my recent interests. I get drawn into those imaginary stories which weave a magic spell on readers like me. I too hope to write some story or a book someday !

Roshni K. R.(12 Years) STD 8 (Chennai India)

I write because it helps me to sort out my mental clutter and pave ways to wider horizon.

‘Why do I write’ that led me to ponder ‘when I started to write.’ My first writing experiences go back to my teenage days, when I used to maintain my daily journal. While starting to write a day’s entry I invariably used to read my previous day’s write up. That gave me an opportunity to analyze my own reactions and responses to a particular situation, provided me with mental clarity and helped me shape up my personality and improve upon my life skills and it initiated my life long love affair with words. It gave me enough reason to believe and have faith on written words. I can classify my writings in two categories—personal life experiences, travelogues etc. which are from the real world. There is so much of life, so many experiences, persons and memories that fade and slip out of our minds. I want to preserve them to look back some day in future when I have time. Believe me it’s magical to meet some old friend suddenly after years once you scroll back, you turn back the pages. Nothing is more energizing and full of life than to relive some sunny, happy moments. As is the human tendency we tend to forget the happy, bright moments while grey phases though lose their intensity yet linger on deep down in the dark recesses of heart. Preserving the memories of happy moments by documenting them allows us to revisit them, especially when the going is rough, these sunny patches give us faith and courage to move on steadily. I have found the good times always outweigh the bad times and to believe that we need to maintain that pass book with both the debit and credit entries. There is one more reason for writing these personal experiences. May be when I am no more someone near to me might find solace of being with me in my written words. Few memories of the time they made me happy might cheer them up during their gloomy phase. Some account of how I valued them. How much they mattered to me can help in enhancing their self worth when they feel low. How I enjoyed travelling to different places might make my dear ones happy

that I had lived my life happily and doing what I enjoyed. Writing travelogues is a therapeutic experience for me. At times it is an extension of my spirituality too. Be it persons, places, monuments, forests, mountains, oceans. Temples I sit and write about them after returning, one by one, days upon days. It’s not so much about facts and distances, its much of how they communicated with me, how I bonded with them. While writing I explore myself. That silent stream flowing in the green valley, that lone bright flower in the forest, the ruins of small temple in some indiscreet wayside village, those far off hills, while writing about them sitting in my home I feel myself to be a part of them. I feel as if I carried them inside me. It’s very fulfilling and enriching experience. Second category of my writings are poetry and short stories. Though these two are inspired by realities around me yet here I get freedom to let my imagination and wishes rule. It’s amazing to have that power to make the plot and circumstances grow in the way I want, to make characters behave the way I wish but then even more interesting is to watch that despite all my so called control sometimes the events, the characters as if walk on their own changing the pre-thought course. It fills me with a sense of wonder and amusement. I write for the sheer pleasure of experiencing these emotions. Creativity is its own reward and I write to feel the thrill of being rewarded. Ah, that sense of fulfilment at the completion of a post. I write because it is a compulsion. If I am not able to write for a while, the restlessness building up inside suffocates me, the itching gets prickly and to pour out the words brings a big relief like that first shower after a long spell of humid, sultry, hot day. Namita Sachan (India)

Since I learned to read and appreciate literary pieces like novels, pieces of poetry published in local magazines and school papers during my teen age years, an inner voice telling me that “I wanted to be a writer” keeps on whispering at the back of my mind. Never had a thought that I would become and will be pursuing this passion. Never had it occurred that I will be in circumstances that will lead me to the realization of that unrecognized dream in my heart and would be meeting people along the way who will be bringing me to the path that the inner voice is telling me. I thought that I was just fascinated by the characters in the literary pieces that I read or by the biography of the authors behind it at that time, that is why I fantasized being one and start scribbling as if I were a real writer.

among others. We also need to write a free verse, a short story, a haiku and a sonnet in our Creative Writing Class. But all those, I wrote because I need to complete my academic requirements for me to graduate from college and be a professional so as to fulfil my parents’ wishes. Those were the first reasons why I write because I need to write to comply. The second circumstance is that I need to be a member of the editorial staff in our school paper because everyone in the class is already a member and I also need exposure. Just fortunate that I passed the qualifying examination, thus, I need to write again for the school paper. The honing continued when I was asked to contribute news article for a local newspaper being known to be a major in English graduate. Though, the inner voice always urges me to write, I haven’t taken writing seriously for most of the times, I write because I need to. When I started working, the same thing happened, I write because I need to. I draft speeches and messages because my office head requested me to make one for him. Then I came to know PENTASI B World Friendship Poetry Organization founded by the Father ofVisual Poetry in the Philippines, Dr. PenPen Bugtong Takipsilim where every person who recognized his or her talent in writing could join. Thus, I gave it a try, I joined the organization. The group has a multitude of members from the different parts of the world and each of them has an inspiring story to tell which touched my heart to the depths. With the inspiration that they gave and the Father ofVisual Poetry, I just woke up one day with the realization that I need to write because I need to or was asked to, but because it is the desire of my soul, it’s my passion and I love it, I love writing and I’ll be writing even if I still have no name to brag. I’ll write from my heart so that I could touch a heart, move a heart and inspire a soul.

It was just not so long ago when I realized that it’s the deepest desire of my heart. Destiny just waited for the perfect timing. It prepared me first before it led me to its door of opportunities. The honing started when I unintentionally took my Bachelor of Secondary Education major in English from the University of Eastern Philippines, the largest state university in Northern part of Samar Island, Philippines. I considered it unintentional because I wasn’t really interested in teaching students or wasn’t convinced that I could hold the attention of a class composed of 50 hyperactive and diverse young adults. I just took the course for the sake of having a degree and because it is one of the courses with only few math subjects because I am not good at numbers. Being in a class majoring in English, I need to read and analyse 4 to 6 literary pieces the least in a day from Greek Mythology to Anna Karenina of Leo Tolstoy, Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri, Edgar Allan Poe’s Cask of Amontillado, William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, How Do I love Thee of Elizabeth Barett Browning and Invictus by William Ernest Henley Arielyn L. Fernandez (Philippines)

ARIELYN LUMAGDONG-FERNANDEZ, is a poet from the Philippines. Born on October 8, 1971 in Catarman, Northern Samar, Philippines. An only child to her parents, Jorge Lumagdong and Maria Franzuela who were both residents of Catarman. She is a graduate ofBachelor ofSecondary Education major in English from the University ofPhilippines, Catarman, Northern Samar. Completed Academic Requirements (CAR) recipient for the degree Master in Public Administration from same university. She is a licensed teacher but is working as Executive Assistant to the Local Chief Executive ofthe Local Government Unit ofCatarman. She is married to Police Inspector Jose O. Fernandez, Jr. , a Commissioned Officer ofthe Philippine National Police.

While discussing shading a picture, I told a young artist to have a look at Reflection's Youth Issue's Art Section. Verma did remarkable shading in the sketches displayed in art section. This present Art Section has a number ofpaintings on Rain, all the paintings are good for learners. Verma always encourages young artists to do new experiments with pencil and colors. Hope this section will be beneficial for all the aspiring artists.

Kumar Vikrant

My poem collaboration for street children entitled "Hear Their Cry!" (on page 23) with Poet Moses Chibueze Opara and my anti-child sex slavery piece, "Stained Innocence" (on page 48) are both featured in Reflection Magazine's May 2015 Issue with its special Issue on Youth. Thanks dear Ashi Ashi, Reflection Magazine's Editor-in-Chief and the Editorial Board for another opportunity to share my works to the world and to all wonderful contributors and supporters! We promise to give you more interesting and wonderful upcoming issues Author/Poet Elizabeth Esguerra Castillo, Advisory Board Member, Reflection Magazine, International Literary Magazine

I look forward to Working with you. i love what I am seeing and believe more will come. God is good. i appreciate you very much and the entire team of reflection magazine. Moses Chibueze Opara

Humble thanks dear Ashi Ashi and Reflection Mag for featuring our recent extensive interview inside this exhilarating May 2015 issue! Am deeply moved and ever happy to be a part of this lovely e-journal publication that dynamically shares the many exquisite gifts of wonderful poets, artists and writers alike. Thanks again Reflection Mag! Jen Walls

Thank you Reflection Magazine ( an international e~zine) and its staff for featuring my two poems entitled Cicero's Optimates and The Milestone on its May 2015 Issue with the theme : YOUTH Congratulations to all contributors! Ceri Naz

Tnx Ashi Ashi for featuring my photographs for the youth...More power to you and Reflection Mag...God bless

Bryann Gabis Congrats to all contributes on being part of Mayâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s issue of Reflection on youth, A treat for all I love the cover and will try to sit down and readers to regenerate yourself, enjoy readingâ&#x20AC;Ś read some of the stories tonight! Great job to all Durga Patva of you! Angie Blake Alan Jankowski Thanks for the mention in reflection magazine may 2015 I so appreciate you and your words. also Thank you for your magazine Ashi Ashi Antonia Valaire

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