Reflection march 2014 by Reflection W&R Mag

Love Special Stories Poems Articles Paintings Novella & More

MOPH

Women are amazing. They can put a smile on their face, act like everything is fine. When in reality, the world is on their shoulder and their lives are slipping through the cracks of their fingers..

Happy Women's Day From Reflection Family

Reflection New Editorial Board

Managing Editor Iram Fatima 'Ashi' (Saudi Arabia NRI)

Editor Ms Vasanthi Papu (India)

Associate Editors Dr. Indira Babbellapati (India) Ms Fatima Al (Lebanon) Dr. Ratan Bhattacharj (India)

Dr. Sahab Uddin (India) Mr. Arnab Neogi (India)

MOPH

III

Index

March 2014 Editorial

14th Feb' Valentine's Day, A Day Of Love Love Is Selfless

Dr. Ruchida Barman

Morning, Noon, Night..

Yamunai Thuraivan

Reflection On The Road To My Failed Love Come, be my Valentine A Tenth Urge

Vasudev

Praveen Gola

A Few Thoughts Of Love

Joe P. Attanasio

Love Is Love

Fahmid Hassan Prohor

Richa Dixit

Angel Bella

Interview Of The Month

21 23

Diwakar Pokhriyal

Wrath Of Nature

Vasanthi Papu

Soulmate

Jafar Safwan

My Angel Amidst Angels

A Flying Cycle

Lisa Ayers

The Season Of Love

Iram Fatima 'Ashi'

30 39

ABC Of Love Affairs

Deepika Choudhary

The Marriage Invitation Letter Dr. Ratan Bhattacharjee 49 Just Me

Why Do I Write?

Under Fifteen Zone Art Section

Associate Editors:

Ms Fatima Al (Lebanon)

Dr. Ratan Bhattacharjee (India)

In The Name Of Love Is It Really Love?

Love Is With Me

Vikrant

Marilyn Conete

Chandra Prakash

Love Is.....

Dr. Indira Babbellpati (India)

Editor Speaks

Love

Editor: Vasanthi Papu (India)

Neelam Dadhwal

Managing Editor: Iram Fatima 'Ashi' (Saudi Arabia)

Mr. Arnab Neogi (India)

Editor Art Section:

Dr. Ruchida Barman

Shahid Khan

Dr. Sahab Uddin (India)

R. K. Verma (India)

Page Layout:

Guidelines For Submitting Manuscript

reflection18@ymail.com

Team Reflection

Dear Readers, Greetings to you all! Love is a beautiful emotion which fills our mind with immortal life time memories. It could be for anyone for your parents, sibling, friend, pet, nature or for a stranger with whom you are tied with unknown and unseen string of love. This is one of the strongest passions of human. For few passionate ones it is a reason to live and to die for. Love is not to find a perfect person to live with but to die on imperfections of that person whom you love. It’s like reflection of your half being into another person. Love is an emotion which completes both. No matter how many novels, stories, poems, paintings, movies, dramas, songs are composed on this something is still left untold and interesting to read, to watch in art and to feel this sentiment. Through this issue I am presenting my writers’ passion with pride. A thoughtful article ‘The Season Of Love’ by Dr. Ruchida Barman (Jaipur, India) Whispering Flowers by Jen Walls (Saint Paul, Minnesota, USA), another loving poem ‘My Angel Amidst Angels’ By Ms.Vasanthi Papu, a wonderful poem, ‘Love’ by Mr. Chandra Prakash Sharma (India), intense love stories like ‘The Marriage Invitation Letter on Valentine’s Day’ by Dr. Ratan Bhattacharjee (India) and ‘Love is Love’ by Mr. Diwakar Pokhriyal (Delhi, India), ‘Reflection on the road to my failed love by Mr. Jaffer S. Safan (Saudi Arabia form part of this issue. Our regular columns ‘under fifteen zone’ boost confidence to fresh writers, ‘Why do I write?’provides an opportunity for the writers to discover the reason of penning down, and ‘Art section’ gives treat to the art lovers. At the end I would like to thank my editor Ms. Vasanthi for her continuous support, Mr. Vikrant and his team for appealing designs, And of course a profound thanks to all readers for their regular reading and encouraging views.

My poem is dedicated to all our readers â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Let me be your love Let me be a dried rose in the book of your life, Spreading fragrance through your memories. Let me be a pearl embedded in your silver ring, As a reminder of a how beautiful your life has been. Let me be that pen in your shirt's pocket, The one you write down your dreams with. Let me be the breathing air around you, Being the necessary thing for your survival. Let me be your love as you are mine, So that I enter your heart and never leave. Be loving and stay blessed

Iram Fatima (Saudi Arabia, NRI)

Featured Article

The Season Of Love Dr. Ruchida Barman (Jaipur, India) This is the month that celebrates LOVE. These days we relate this to the celebration of Valentineâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Day. But the Mother Nature celebrated it by the SPRING SEASON. The season of rebirth, the season of colors, the season of gaiety, the season of brightness and happiness everywhere. After the hibernation, slumber and coldness of the winters the warmth of the Spring is welcome all around. A new life enters into everything and hence the season of Love. There is a new glow on the face of earth. New saplings coming up. A brightness that engulfs all the spirits and how can the youth stay unaffected with this. No wonder, we see them celebrating this festivity with such enthusiasm. Granted that most of them might not even know the myth as to why this day is celebrated but then it is acceptable for them and to their carefree spirits. Donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t we all miss our days of youth when we had no botheration, no responsibility??? I agree that Love and its meanings have changed a lot from what it used to be in our times but then so have the meanings of everything,. Have we not accepted nuclear families? Do we not resent our elders? Do we not worship Money much more than values and Ethics like our fore fathers did? Have we not become less religious? Then why blame the youth. They will only move one step ahead of us. It is our senseless worship to money, our materialism which has shaped them like this. Why are we honest enough to accept the blame? We teach them that success must be reached by hook by crook; we teach them that all is fair in love and war, we teach them that what is beautiful from outside is appreciated by all, internal beauty does not mean anything. Then why blame them when they run after beauty? Why blame them when they do wrong things to get love, show off with money to impress the girls or expose their bodies to impress the boys? It is our upbringing to be blamed. Why do we not teach them that we need to respect the other sex, be it men or women? Why do we not teach them that internal beauty is more important than outer appearances? Why do we not teach them that friendship and understanding in a relationship make it last longer than dominating each other, looking for our own convenience than the other partners needs? Once we teach them these things Love will be what it ought to be. Well friends, Love is in the air,,so why not engulf ourselves in it?? We must learn from the young and leave aside our cares, our troubles, our bothers and LIVE and LOVE.

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY TO ALL.

Morning Noon and Night Yamunai Thuraivan (India)

Morning noon and night… I sit alone and write… The song that sings my heart right…

One gives me another shot, another chance While the other puts me in a trance, Drowns me in sleep marking the end of date And so the sun is my hero and the moon is the one I hate. A chance I get, here and now To voice my love but I don’t know how. I, searching for words, stammer and stutter Lost in agitation which makes my heart flutter. “Thou art more lovely and more temperate” seem to be the words that fit But oh God! Shakespeare long beat me to it. Morning noon and night… I sit alone and write… The song that sings my heart right…

There is nothing so beautiful to compare her with Not in reality, not even in myth. Looking at my fair lady My poetry seems banal and gaudy. I search for the words from the great and the mighty Even theirs fall short in front of her beauty. Yet, she waits, for me to come soon With those beautiful words that would make her swoon. I try so hard, to pen it down A poem that would be her beauty’s crown. Morning noon and night… I sit alone and write… The song that sings my heart right…

The wait is long, and the day is short But the prize will be won for all the battles fought A day will dawn When I will don The most beautiful words that could be strung Together with music and be sung I don’t need the sun, just a little ray To her heart, with it I will find the way Till that great day I won’t ever sway. Morning noon and night… I sit alone and write… The song that sings my heart right…

Reflection on the Road to my failed Love Jaffer S. Safwan (Saudi Arabia)

Love is a sweet word that I have always thought of as a healing dose for the hearts that are needed to recover from hurt and pain. It works beautifully for some people, the way I thought of, maybe for millions other. Love is love. It is a miracle that can make a person rise up to the fame or it can bring that person down to the drain. For me, love was like a sugar that leads the rat to the trap to face its final death. One day, while I was reading the comments on

my poem, The Garden of Love that I posted on one of the poetic groups. I met a beautiful girl who wrote a very interesting comment. While I was reading her comment, mental telepathy flashed in a second. A message peeped through my chatting screen with the question, “How are you?” but that question was like magnets that pulled me magically to her and sang a lovely song which made my heart feel excited and warm. Words are just words but

words can talk, dance, smile, heal, hurt, kill, and they can do so many things on both the extremes of positivity and negativity. Those three words: (How...Are....You...) came at the right time when I was feeling terribly down and needed badly someone to talk to and vent out my sadness and worries. I answered automatically, “Fine, thank you and you?” She waited for a while before she answered. Those moments or minutes of waiting for

her answer, were like a bad day for me. But when the answer came, I jumped up on my feet, almost wanted to dance. “I read your poem, The Garden Of Love, “ she wrote, “But I felt that you wanted to convey to the readers an anguish of distress or loneliness that you might be experiencing. I might be wrong.”

Reading what she wrote twice or thrice made me conclude that I was not on the chatting screen with just a girl, I was with a woman who read perfectly my lines and felt the same feeling I had when I wrote that poem. She read my inner reality at the hard time I was passing by. Days went by, and things took its course, especially when two hearts danced for the same sweet lyric and two minds read one another as of on a mental telepathy scheme or rhyme.

Along the lines of the passing days, we came to the hard philosophical questions: when, where, how and who? The chat continued for days, especially that I believed and still believe in the equal rights. She believed in those words, “Equal Rights,” theoretically. Now it was the time to see the practical side of it and how it could be applied on the physical ground. We finally agreed to meet in the month of September, 2011, but we had our difference on where we would meet. She wanted me to come to her country, meet her

family and friends, and I needed time to be alone with her to get to know her in real world. I chose a half way country between hers and mine.

When we came to discuss the expenses, the camel parked and couldn't stand on its feet. She wanted me to shoulder all the expenses and I wanted her to shoulder hers and I would shoulder mine. Equal rights are not equal when it comes to money, with the exception of few instances.

“Your country is too liberated, she responded, I can't let them live there. I want them live here to know the language and culture of their mother.” I got the message clearly, “You want me also to move to your country so you and I can be happy among your friends and relatives.”

“Honey,” she said, “When we have kids, where do you want them to live?”

The answer came so fast, “Yes, Honey. That's what I am hoping.” She took a “Kids, “I echoed, “They will breath and added, “I can't leave my parents at this live where their parents old age and run after my live as long as they need happiness. They need my their parents.” care very badly and they

are part of my eternal joy.â&#x20AC;? I understood her dilemma when it came to the choice between the man she loved and her parents who were expecting her to be part of their old age caretaker. After an endless chatting for many days, trying uselessly to convince one another, we came to the conclusion that not everything we could hope for or inspire to get, could happen the way we wanted it to happen. Life doesn't work the way we want. Life has its own laws, theories and hypotheses. It has its own detours, hidden alleys, and unexpected bumps. I then fell ill and my illness took me to the Cardiac hospital where I had a heart surgery to remove three cracked veins. One month, after I left the hospital, I tried to contact her through her account on the net and her phone number but everything disappeared. Everything vanished. Only her pictures, her name and bits and pieces of her laughter remained in the back of my brain. I prayed for her safety and wished her a good luck.

Come, be my Valentine Vasudev (India)

Love). The very word rings meaning of Life It speaks volumes, relentlessly! Surprise, it does speak silently It kills my insipid life. Trust me, love blurs my vision and opens up mind I surrender, know not the alternative. Can we use Love to change this World? It is only with this sweet fever My heart gathers some moisture Safe and sound, I harbor it inexorably I need this soft emotion as long as my heart taps. Dreams are no more wishy-washy Life no longer namby-pamby My glad rags gained some radiance All with Love, Love, and Love. Nature seduces me to her extent By its shower and shine Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s hard to distinguish Love from Nature People are made of Love. It is only with Love Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m a human! Come, be my Valentine!

Featured Story A Tenth Urge Praveen Gola (Delhi, India)

This story highlights a manâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s dilemma in which he tried to fulfill his beloved desires, but for this he had to pay a heavy sacrifice of his son. She was at her urge. Since last two years that was the tenth time she expressed her desire in such an extreme way. And nine of them were refused by me and I left her in the middle of the scene. But today I felt myself in the guilt as I too loved her very much. Then why did Aakriti not show her arrogance in front of me? I realized that she was made of wax. She simply agreed my refusal and went quietly. I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know what will happen after that , how she fulfilled her desires but on that specific moment she made me free. Myself, Prashant , A CEO of a garment company was in a crush with my personal secretary Aakriti since last two years. Though that relation has not reached upto the extreme till now, many times she

expressed herself in front of me. Aakriti was about 28 , her looks were marvellous and she too was well mannered in every respective way. I was about 35, a married one and a father of a two year old kid Aarav. Sonia, my wife tied up a marriage knot with me five years back. She was my college affair who later turned in my life partner. A happy married life was the motto of that scene but Aakriti made me realize that marriage was not the only end of one’s life.A man always stays young if his heart had a vacant seat for someone in a very special way. As I went closer to Aakriti, Aarav’s innocent face made me realize that I shouldn’t make him share with some step-mother. But today Aakriti seemed to be a perfect mother for him as Sonia had already issued a divorce notice to me during the last month. She was unable to bear my friendship with Aakriti though I never ditched her but I didn’t agree to get some other personal secretary in place of her. Being stubborn she decided to go away from my life. Sometimes egos play an effective role which was paid off later by another. As I had no other option left I allowed her for the same because at that time perhaps Aakriti weighed me more than Sonia. But as Aarav was my responsibility I was in a dilemma everytime whenever I thought about Aakriti’s urges. I wanted to become a

perfect future for my son. Aakriti’s red lipstick seduced me very badly and I was also feeling more attracted towards her, suddenly the waiter knocked the room as he knew that I was on my official leave with my secretary for business meet ups. I opened the door. My two year old Aarav was in his lap. Sonia my wife had left him at the Hotel reception and from that moment Aarav was my responsibility to look up for. I took him in my arms and closed the door. I made myself engaged to my son’s love and forgot that I was engaged in Aakriti’s love a minute before. I thought that that time too she would manage the scene and make me free. But nobody can guess about a human urge if it is at its peak. At that moment Aakriti assumed as Aarav was her biggest enemy which she was unable to tolerate. She snatched him from my arms and ordered the waiter to look after him at the Hotel reception till the next call. But being a father I refused her for the same and tried to convince her. But Aakriti didn’t pay any attention towards my words as on that day she was on her tenth urge. All of a sudden she pulled out the sedative spray bottle from

her bag which she usually kept to be averted from a crime scene. She hit the vapors on Aarav’s face .The sedatives were so powerful that within a second Aarav laid unconscious on the bed. I was stunned and watched Aakriti’s behavior as a mute spectator. Aakriti came closer to me and held me tightly. My Love, Aarav was an equal participant of his father’s loan and so tried to help me to repay the same. His innocent face turned back and Aakriti’s beautiful face with cunning urges were on my fate. Perhaps she won but I was a loser as I had been put a question mark on Aarav’s life forever. Now I realized that sometimes promises convert into urges and that urges will make us helpless if we didn’t fulfill them. I took Aarav in my arms and was about to leave the room. Suddenly she asked ,” Where, where are you going Prashant ? I looked at her and replied ,” Will see you next time very soon.I know your nine urges are still pending. Perhaps you are waiting for it but this time I have to go. I want to get his ‘perfect mother’ back .” Aakriti paused and replied , “Why go outside&&I am his mother&&..a perfect mother”.

I laughed in an insane manner. Words failed that moment. With great difficulty a laming tongue spoke some twisted words, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Your tenth urge is so drastic that I am afraid now with your nine urges that was Aaravâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s fate that he came in the middle. But that tenth urge has saved his life forever and ever."

My Angel Amidst Angels Vasanthi Papu (India)

O Angels in Heaven! Why did you nab my angel of love And spare me alone to mourn and weep in solitude now? Was it because she was more graceful and angelic than you all And you feared that men might worship her and let you fall? Did you want her by your side just to see the sunshine And brighten your gloomy days and live on cloud nine? Just a thought of my sweetheart made my lovely day Without her, I am left in a world of despair and dismay. Did you want her more for her wisdom and courage To conquer the demons who invaded you in rage? Within her arms I had nothing to lament or fear For she entwined me with her heart so dear. Did you take her as the buds in paradise refused to bloom And you needed her there for the sweetest perfume? The presence of my honey sweetened the entire earth Now everything seems dull devoid of charm and mirth. Whatever reason it might be for you to grab my sweetie Do send her back for your mean act is beyond your duty. She was the one who filled my world with bliss and beauty My heart now rifts and bleeds in the absence of my cutie.

A few thoughts of love…. Joe P. Attanasio (USA) I’ve experienced love many times throughout my long life From youthful crushes and family love, to loving my wife Love is never a conscience decision that we logically make Love is an obsession affecting our soul that we can’t forsake. Love is unconditional and blind to obstacles imagined or real Love is oblivious to reason, for it is deep inside that we feel Love has no boundaries or rules, and can feel quite surreal Love has the power to destroy us, complete us, and even heal. The ability and capacity to love is not learned, but is innate People who truly love each other,have found their soul mate There is no greater joy in life than two hearts beating as one Love lights the darkest corner of our lives like a blazing sun. Emotional walls should have windows for looking in and out We need to take the time to see what other people are about Being so afraid of getting hurt that you don’t give love a chance Will ensure that you live your life, never finding real romance. If you feel sure that cupid’s arrow will never find your heart Then I have a little bit of wisdom that I would like to impart It is when you are not looking for love and don’t even care That special someone for you will just be standing there.

A Flying Cycle: New Fashioned Fairy Tale Fahmid Hassan Prohor (Dhaka,Bangladesh)

My family and I went to Saint Martin. It was another natural beauty of Bangladesh next to Bandarban Mountains. The island was small as we can walk into circles of it, except the coconut forest. As we looked for some cottages, we rented a cottage opposite to the sea beach. People call me Hema but my real name is Hema Azad. I am a thirteen year old girl who wears jeans and top. I was alone because my cousins never offered me to play or enjoy the moments. I even did not have any friends to see or play with. After I walked alone in the beach, I sat down足feeling bored. Suddenly, one of my snobbish cousins hit the football on my head. He misbehaved with me in such a manner that I slapped him. I was so upset that my mom scolded me. I went to the guest room by sitting alone, weeping too much. In the evening, I went to the forest beside the cottage. It was so

big that I would have been lost. Suddenly, I heard a scary sound. I ran away as fast as the rabbit. I saw a light that was sparkling as if the dragonflies came together. When it stopped and stood still, I saw a cycle but behind it, there was a thin boy who wore a coat and a hat that was worn in Victorian era. He also wore a half pant. “A pretty girl, aren’t you? What is your name?” asked the boy in Bengali with an English Accent. “I am Hema Azad” said I. “Oh Hema, pleasure to meet you again” said the boy in English. “Again? Who are you?” asked I.

“I am Fredrick. My friends call me Fred” said the boy. As the weather was cold, Fred took me to an old but hidden mansion. He put on the fire to the chimney that made the whole room warmer. It looked as if I lived in the time where Queen Victoria lived. Fred introduced it as his mansion. He played with me. It was weird that he was not aware of technology. Sometimes, I used to get annoyed while he talked about old stuffs that did not exist anymore but I was overwhelmed with it. We went out of the mansion and offered me to ride behind his bicycle. I sat behind. The seat was comfortable as wool. He pedaled his bike from the forest to the beach. As the sea waved, his bike was pulled up in the sky as the lights were on. The moon was full that I felt I could wave my hand on to it. I saw the dragonflies coming near me. When I touched it, I could see it tickled. I smiled. Fred talked to

me and we enjoyed. He took me towards the Himalaya Mountains that were covered with ice. I did not feel cold because, the cycle was warm enough. We went inside the mountains, as we saw the polar bears. The cycle transformed into a skating board. I touched the glass that it was shining as the crystal. Then he took me back to the Saint Martin beach. It was dawn. I went to the cottage and went to sleep. In the morning, I missed my tour on Chera dip as I was in the blanket since morning. I had lunch. By the way, I am also a fish eater because Saint Martin was not suitable for the meat eaters. Another cousin of mine ate chicken instead of fish. The meal was good. I sat in the night again, waiting for Fredrick. As he came, he took me to the Chera Dip as it had full of stones but was slippery. I sat on the stone watching the full moon. The sea was waving and the birds were flying to the top of the moon. Fredrick gave me some fruit cakes that

were yummy. After that, we went to the Bandarban Mountains as the people were sleeping earlier at night. We stole some hot chilies and packed in a sack that Fredrick gave me. After that, we went back to the beach. I played Carom with him by stones and a little jewelry. Suddenly, I saw a fisherman who cried ‘Who is there?”

I was scared by looking at him. When I looked back, I saw Fredrick vanished. “You little girl, why are you here?” shouted the old fisherman.

“There was a boy with me” said I. “A boy with a bowler hat? His old bike? Fred?” exclaimed the old fisherman. “Yes” said I. “That must be it! He’s hundred years old” said the old fisherman. I was surprised to hear about his age. He revealed Fredrick’s back-story that, at the time of British Raj, an Englishman who was Fredrick’s father visited Chittagong to make some business in cycles. Fredrick saw a girl of his age who looked like me. Her name was Mohini. She was also someone from the tribe. He used to write poems of nature

and loneliness that impressed the girl for a long lasting friendship. Until, the war happened- The Englishman fled to Saint Martin with Fred. Therefore, he became a lonely person as he frequently sent letters to Mohini and threw it by wrapping the letters into the bottle by the sea. As both the Englishman and Fred died of hunger, his spirit comes again if someone was lonely and friendless. I just shared it to my mom. She revealed that Mohini was no other than one of my neighbor’s grandmother who recently died. When we went back to Dhaka, I went to my neighbor’s house. When I asked about Fredrick, she gave me 56 letters about how she moved on her life. I smiled

and realizing the true meaning of friendship. Now I learnt how to handle the situation and lifestyles. At night, I was sleeping but suddenly I saw a flashing light in the veranda. It came near足 It was Fredrick. I gave him the replies. He smiled and went away with his flying cycles by writing a poem with glittering stars. A friend can help each other if needed A true friend cannot be hidden, Never underestimate others Create what is in you.

Featured Poem

Soulmate Richa Dixit (India)

You are the one, You are the one and only, Without your sight, I am so lonely… What is this feeling? What is this perception? Is this love or infatuation…? It causes loss all over, to my heart, It causes red, to my cheeks, It causes blue, to my eyes, Is this love or imagination…? Want to walk miles with you, Want to step up this life with you, Want to grow old with you, Want to hold your hand, till the last breath sweeps away … You are the one, You are the one and only, A desire that’s so ultimate, One and Only ‘My Beloved SOULMATE’…

Love is Love Diwakar Pokhriyal (Delhi, India)

“Where am I?” A loud voice struck my ears. “Inside my heart,” I said with a smile. “Not this time. Find me if you can” She replied. “Are you challenging me?” I said with a slight grin. “Whatever” She said and smiled. I looked around and the place was full of trees. These gigantic trees were with big branches, big structure and big reach.

tranquility and serenity was stitched inside every second of the ever continuous clock. She was hiding and smiling. She was waiting anxiously for me to find her soon. This wasn’t the first instant of our play. Whenever we used to get time from our jobs, we used to come here to play together and talk for hours. The atmosphere was so quiet here that we could listen to our heartbeat. “Here you are” I touched her shoulder from behind.

“Oh let me listen to her steps. She will surely try to move”, I thought inside my curious mind. I closed my eyes to locate her position but was unable to do so.

“What?” She was taken aback with surprise. “You must have seen me hiding here. It’s not possible to find someone so soon” She said with naughty expressions.

“What should I do?” I thought and again started thinking.

“I don’t need my eyes to find you” I said looking into her beautiful eyes. They were like sparkling diamonds. Those were the most beautiful gems of my life.

fantasy” She looked at me and laughed. “It’s not about movies” I said. “Then?” She asked in surprise. “You use so much of perfume that noone needs an eye to find you” I said and laughed. “What? Oh no, you are making fun of me” She said with wide eyes and expressionless face. “You are so mean” She said and punched me.

She was still hiding behind one of many giant trees. The sky was blue and wind was slowly washing away all sadness “Oh my Hero! Now don’t from the atmosphere.This start another story of

“Ouch! It hurts!” I said with a painful expression. “Then take one more” She said and again punched me. “You should learn to respect your lover” She said and was about to reach me for another punch. “Oh God! Save me!” I said and started running towards another direction. “Nobody can save you from me. Not even God.” She said and started running behind me. This was our normal discussion and fun filled talk. We used to fight more and love less, I guess. But that’s how our relationship was. We used to walk together in such an atmosphere together like two birds flying over lone sky. We never used to discuss

about future. We both had same line of thought. We used to believe in the present. Our lives were busy, considering our job and our houses. But love is a pure and eternal relation which provides you freedom, even in congestion. That’s the magic of love which every lover feels. It’s not about leaving everything else, running away from your responsibility towards your near and dear ones. It’s about a new touch of bliss which intensifies with time and dissolves inside your soul. Something that turns you more responsible and sweeter towards everyone connected to you. We both knew that, we were together for so many years and yet tied with the same thread. We understand each other and rarely try to tie the other half in fake promises and cunning desires. And till today we believe in the present.

“I am tired” I said and stopped running. “Me too” She said and stopped just close to me. “Ok then let’s sit there” I said pointing towards the bench. “Yes” She held my hand and we started walking towards the bench. It was an ordinary bench. But then everything is ordinary if we don’t make it special. For example if no one buys a diamond then what value will it have? That bench was at the corner of a square shaped park. The edges were covered with trees and below every tree there was one bench to sit. 20 steps ahead of that bench were spree of water fountains. The splashing water used to touch our feet and we used to enjoy that. An instant smile used to cover our lips and she

“So, have you learned anything new” She said. “Yes I tried a new tune. Would you listen to it?” I asked. “Yes of course” She said and was keen to listen the instrument. I used to carry the instrument and she loved to see and hear that. That was a simple guitar and I wasn’t that great in playing that instrument. I was only a mediocre in it. Few tunes and few leads, that’s it! But she used to listen to it as if I were a great guitarist and had a potential to hypnotize everyone around. For next one hour the music and the notes were all around the atmosphere. What can be more soothing than this. She was continuously listening and at times was singing along with me. Her voice was so sweet that I used to stop playing my instrument. She used to tell me to continue playing and we used to sing together. “You play so well” She said while hugging me. Her hug had the warmth which used to melt my senses into one of love. When you hug someone with all your love then that love transmits inside their soul. Such

transmission was there in her hug. I used to forget everything during that split second of time. How do we define truth? There is no definition to it. Whatever she used to say or do, seemed so natural and so expressive that my truth was stitched onto it. “No, it’s all because of your sweet voice” I whispered into her ears. “No no no! It’s your guitar that makes me feel so light that I want to fly in the air. It makes me feel that world of togetherness where we sit together forever and that’s what reflects from my voice” She said with a smile. Her natural smile was the proof of her truth. “Okay Madam! How was the new tune?” I asked her.

was a fan of her smile and always wanted to see her smiling. She came close to me and kissed my cheeks and again ran in other direction. “Oh my God” I was still sitting in the same position as if frozen for a moment. Her feathery lips were so delicate that when she kissed my cheeks, my whole body shivered. I looked around and tried to locate her. She was running away from

“Wow that’s so amazing, I will write a song for this tune for sure” She said in excitement. “Really?” I asked in surprise. “Yes, I will” She said. “Oh that’s great” I said and held her hand. A smile crossed her lips as she looked at me. I can clearly see the shyness dissolved in it. I

me. “What? Wait I will get you” I said looking at her and started running. She was still running and was in all mood of naughtiness. Soon I caught her.

laughing while hugging her. “Yes let’s go, you will be feeling hungry” She said holding my hand.

She was a caring friend who always thinks about her friends or loved ones. She would make sure “Where will you go now” I that her friends would said looking at her. never feel odd. And I think she loved me, like I “I will kill you if you do. She never told me touch me” She said in that but by her naughty mood and expressions; the way she dancing eyes. plays with me proves it. And today she also “Oh really?” I caught kissed me. I was so hold of her and hugged excited today. her from behind. “Let’s eat” She said. “Oh leave me” She tried to move away from me. “No” I said looking at her. I started dissolving my face onto her ever “What? But why?” She beautiful sea of black looked at me with hair. She was laughing amazement. and playing with me. I kissed her cheeks and “I will eat from your she shied away from me. hands” I said pointed I could sense the chill towards her hands. ever continuously growing inside my heart. “Oh my Sweetheart” She hugged me and then “You are very sweet” I with all her enthusiasm murmured and tried to and energy she started tighten the grip of my feeding me like a mother hand. feeding her child. She felt my mischievousness and tried to move away from me. “Okay Ma’m let’s eat something” I said while looking at her and

It wasn’t the case that I can’t eat all by myself. I just love looking at her and having food from her hands. It gives me a feel of relaxation, a feel of togetherness and a feel of untouchable love. She

was continuously feeding me without even thinking about her own hunger. I took one piece and raised my hand to feed her. A tear trickled down from her eyes and she ate it will all grace. A continuous smile was there onto my lips. We both were dissolved inside our world of care and happiness. After finishing our food we stood up and started moving back towards the park from where we came running. We were walking together silently and suddenly we saw a big tree with all grasses around it. She stopped me looking at such a place. “What happened?” I said to her. “We should sit for some time”, She said pointing towards it. “Ok” I said. She sat and I was lying down with my head resting on her. Her hair was touching my

face and I was enjoying every second of it. There were no words exchanged between us. The breeze was flowing and the leavers were trying to wake us up. She was continuously caressing my hair and I was all looking at her beautiful eyes. She was constantly smiling and I was constantly looking at her eyes as if I have lost my way, as if I have reached a place from where I never wanted to come back. It was the atmosphere of love which cultivates hearts forever and ties them. Silence was the perfect gift of God at that point of time. My heart always thought of such atmosphere and today I was living it with her. I would never forget such moments in my life. Every second was full of freshness. Her caresses were unmatched. I always wanted to live my life like this. She was my angel, an angel who taught me how to live again and how to come out from the depression. She was the one who gave me another reason to live.

looking beautiful like ever. I got up slowly without disturbing her from sleep. I sat with her looking her ever beautiful face, bubbly cheeks and rosy lips. Her hair was still touching her thighs. I was sitting next to her and continuously soaking her beauty from my eyes. I did not want to wake her up. I just wanted to look at her constantly. It used to give me a feel of contentment which was rare in today’s world. I was constantly looking at her and a butterfly sat on her nose. I laughed looking at that. She was still sleeping and the butterfly was sitting as if she were not going anywhere else. I tried to make butterfly fly off by touching her but it flew away and my hand touched the nose. “What?” She woke up instantly.

“Butterfly” I said pointing towards the flying butterfly. “Oh so beautiful” She opened her arms as if she was calling the butterfly back. And for my amazement the butterfly sat on her finger. She and I, both were looking at the colorful butterfly sitting quietly. Love can have different ways of expressions and we can feel one looking at the beauty of nature. After five seconds butterfly again started flying and we both started running behind

We were sitting like this since last one hour and yet feeling fresh as if no time had passed. That’s the power of love which teaches you to be in the present. I looked at her and her eyes were closed. She had slept. She was

to follow it. We were running like children. And after a minute we stopped, looked at each other and laughed. We were really children. Whenever we were together, we used to run a lot. Running after butterflies or running from each other for fun. We used to enjoy every second of our togetherness. We stood together and looked at the sky. An airplane was flying in the sky. She opened her arm and started running trying to copy the airplane. I was standing and laughing at her foolishness. After a minute I also joined her in her madness. After running for some time we sat on a bench hoping to talk for a long. “You are really mad” I said looking at her. “I know” She smiled and held my hand. She again placed her head on my shoulder. “Hey I think we should eat again” I said to her. “What again?” She laughed looking at me. “Don’t eat too much” “Oh no” I tried to make a crying baby face.

“Oh my cute baby is really hungry” She looked at me with a funny expression and laughed again. “Ok then let’s go, let’s have something to drink” I stood. “Yes I also need that” She also stood up and we started walking towards a nearby shop to buy a water bottle. “You are very sweet” I said to her. “Really?” She gave me a usual look. “Yes you are. And you are the only one who understands me” I continued. “You are very sweet” She said.

meeting. Every week we used to meet at this place and then used to walk till that land of trees. After coming back from there we used to sit together and used to talk till this time. “Ok then let’s go” I said and held her hand. We started walking together and after 15 minutes she moved towards her destination. I left her and started walking towards my destination. The road

As we were busy in our sugary talks a loud voice broke it all. “Oh I guess it’s time to go” I said listening to it. “Its fine we will meet next week again” She said and we hugged each other. That sound was of a loud bell, a sound which used to come from a factory nearby that park. This was used to be the completion of their morning shift and our

alongside which I was walking was too busy and noisy but I was all lost in those moments of love and togetherness. We used to meet every week and used to share our life with each other. In the start, it happened sometimes that one of us wasn’t able to reach on time. But we used to come next week and then used to settle our anger with love. Whenever I used to think about her, a smile used to conquer my lips. I was still moving ahead in her thoughts when I started feeling thirsty. I looked around and found a water tank nearby. That was just opposite to the place from where we separated for our own journeys. I washed my face and was about to

drink water when suddenly a heavy hand struck my shoulder. I turned around and saw a man in anger looking towards me. “I have been screaming since last 2 minutes. Can’t you reply?” He said. His face was red in anger. I shook my head. “You are making fun of me.” He said in harsh tone and was about to fire more bad words on me when he suddenly heard a voice of a shopkeeper nearby. “He is telling the truth , sir” The shopkeeper said. “What?” That man looked at me in pure

disbelief. My eyes were slightly wet. This wetness wasn’t because of my washed face, but that was the wetness of a blunt truth which I realized again through this incident. That man also realized the truth and apologized to me like a good citizen. There is no harm in apologizing to someone who is blind or deaf. We sympathize with them because we know they

are not in our race. They are creatures which are punished by God and we believe in this fact. So we sympathize with them. I started walking towards my destination. “Is this true? I mean, he

can’t speak? ”, that man asked the shopkeeper again. “Yes that’s true”, the shopkeeper said. “But a girl was talking to him when he left her on that side of road”, he was still in surprise. “That girl can speak, so she was speaking”, the shopkeeper said.

“But why was she with him, I mean are they old friends?” he said “No, they are much more than friends”, the shopkeeper said with a smile. His eyes were slightly wet.

“What? But she is so beautiful; she can have anyone in her life”, he said. “No matter how beautiful a girl is, no one can bear the pain of a deaf bride” The shopkeeper said. “Oh my god! She is deaf?” He said in utter disbelief. When he looked at them together from this side he wasn’t

able to make out this ugly truth. “Then how do they communicate with each other?” He was really keen to know. “The girl is perfect in reading body language and expressions and the boy is perfect in lip reading”, the shopkeeper said. “They communicate with each other without

any problem. It’s only we who are unable to understand their bonding and their understanding because of our own mind barriers” The shopkeeper said with a sigh. “But then what about the guitar, means she would haven’t heard the voice of guitar?” That man wasn’t able to hold his excitement. “Do you really need to listen to something to enjoy, she actually reads the expression of the boy. The boy plays the guitar with his whole heart dedicating it fully to her. She could grasp that dedication with his expression and that’s how she enjoys the music” The shopkeeper said and started walking to attend his customer. “Wow” That man was still in surprise and he started walking towards

the bus stand. He was still rewinding all those incidences starting from his anger and ending into a surprise. This incident made him think about the cruelty of humanity. Humanity is really turning relative slowly and steadily. Everyone is our competitor and everyone can give us something. We are so obsessed with our so called normal lives that we forget that there are so many people around us who need to live their identity. They are also those who need to be treated at par with everyone else. Are we all grown complete? Do we count the inability of scoring in a subject as disability, do we count the failed relation as a disability, and do we count being rich or poor as a disability? If not, then why do we count such people as disabled. If we look from one angle

then we all have some disability, may be physical or mental or social or economical or emotional. Then why do we differentiate lives to make them suffer more. But then one more thing strikes his mind. “Oh God – love is so pure that it binds people with chaste heart. He was really amazed looking at both of them and their love for each other in spite of all the difficulties they are facing. “Yes this is true love and really of another level” He thought and was still touched by this incident. As he was thinking about this he heard the horn of the bus. He looked at the bus, sighed for a second and boarded the bus to join the herd of normal disability.

Wrath of Nature Angel Bella (Jordan) Here it has passed, The yellow leaves, Of this fading summer, Into the unknown. Here it has a secret power, For a new birth, For a new season, For a fresh start. Again the leaves are back, For a warm breath, For a soft breeze, Reviving the death.

Interview Of The Month

"Do you know why I write books once in a year? I write books for quality not quantity." 足 F. H. Prohor

Fahmid Hassan Prohor A Novelist of essence

Fahmid Hassan Prohor a young, inspiring, dynamic writer and poet was born in Dhaka, Bangladesh (July 14th, 1994). He is the eldest Son of Customs Tax Collector Mr. Rezaul Hasan. At the age of 10, he won World Environment Day competition. After lots of failed attempts two of his writings in blog, 'Sergio Maria' and 'The Rebel Trilogy' changed his life. He's a perfectionist when he writes novels once a year. He writes stories in a serial format. Olive oil is his first comedy novel to date and The Rebel Trilogy is his first novel to be published in Lulu. He is a regular contributor of our online magazine, Reflection. Society's Acceptance is a social drama novel to be a hit in blogs and other promotions in social networking sites. He became the top 39 reviewers and top 38 librarians in 'Goodreads.com'. He is educated in Advanced Level Certification. His novels are recently available in Amazon足the prestigious ecommerce site.

Ashi: Welcome for the interview! At the outset, on behalf of ‘Reflection Magazine’, 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 family. Fahmid: I was born into a very prestigious family. My father is a Custom Collector Commissioner, my mom is a housewife and I have a little bro who is 14 years younger than me. I live in a customs quarter where my life starts and it was a neighborhood that I cannot forget. As a child I was so shy that I hardly was involved into the sport activities because those of the social obstacles I faced in the reality as a child were terrible as described in my first volume of my first novel ‘The Rebel Trilogy’. I was shifted to four schools because some schools were not approvable for good education. I am actually chasing my career into best. Two years, I was mentally upset due to my previous behavior that is described in the climax in ‘The Rebel Trilogy’, the middle of

‘Society’s Acceptance’ and the end ‘Olive Oil’ and I was late to overcome. Apart from that, there are happy moments too such as when I was 7, my cousins and I went to a cucumber farm and we stole it. When we hid into a hut, the owners of the cucumber farm looked for us. He left and we ran away. I was a slow runner because I was overweight when I was a child. We all smiled when we were caught by the owner. I travelled to most countries and the memorable one was Dubai and the USA (New York City). I used to be nervous like stammering a lot and respond lately while speaking to people and this nervousness leads to be lonely but I started to overcome when I was 16 years old. It’s really great sometimes I miss the ones who were with me during childhood. Now I am doing my A levels in Literature and ICT. Ashi: It's really interesting to know about your life. May I know what inspired you to pick your pen?

Fahmid: I admit… I didn’t like books earlier (laughs), because I used to call them ‘boring’ and ‘too collectible’. When one of my teachers insisted me into writing an essay about freeing pollution from the sea, I never knew that my writing would be that good or rich…I received the first prize from the essay competition at world environment day competition 2004 at the age of 10. I was in Grade 2. After that, I just watched the first two Harry Potter films back then from the time it was released. I used to collect Harry Potter books immensely, that led me into the interest of taking the pen. It was also part of my childhood. I was inspired more when I was sixteen such as I used to read Dickens, Shakespeare, Scott F. Fritzgerald, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Emily Bronte and Bengali novelists like Rabindranath Tagore and Kazi Nazrul Islam. I used to tell stories to my neighbors. I realized that I could share my feelings and emotions while telling my novels in that form. I feel I could give a message which may not only be political but life lessons as well. Ashi: You are a student; how do you manage your studies with writing? Fahmid: As I said, I write books once a year because I study more. If I get a little time such as some people are busy except I am free, I go into writing. First I give a little research to portray the characters and some of the scenes of the story realistically by articles, old books, interviewing real life people in a casual but friendly manner and I use a little bit of entertainment in my writings, therefore people can enjoy it. I also comment on my study materials in my writing too and also the commercial cinemas in our country. The quality I write once a year comes from Aamir Khan (Bollywood’s Perfectionist) who delivers his movies once a year.

hard working writer. Kindly tell something about any other hobby of yours. Fahmid: I hang around with my friends in the quarter and the neighborhood and play carom. (By the way, I won six matches). I do some physical exercises such as pushoffs, cycling, situps, jogging and walking. I listen to music, read recent books and a strange one‘eating’ (laughs louder). I sometimes do facebooking as I call my profile ‘the land of my lectures’. If it comes to watching movies or TV Series, I become choosy. Ashi: However, poetry is a medium to express one’s inner feelings. Is there any specific moment or event that made you write? Fahmid: Yes, when I become afraid of losing my loved ones, questioning my mistakes, thinking about my career and my family and I crack jokes with my friends. The month I am free is ‘July’, ‘December’ and several holidays like Christmas and Eid. I made so many mistakes in the past that I always write in Facebook status and my stories to repent it. I write poetry personally in my diary while the important events happen. These are overall the specific moments.

Ashi: That is really fascinating to connect with one of the Indian star. You are really

Ashi: You write poetry but for personal diary only, this is not fair, I think you should share those creations with your readers. Please share what is your favorite topic to write on? And do you have a specific writing style? Fahmid: My favorite topic is not specific enough than my writing style. As I said, I write for qualities. If a topic which has a quality and well researched that comes to my mind, I spread it in my story by questioning some of the topic’s illogical motives such you could see it in the theme of my novel ‘Society’s Acceptance: A Tragedy’. My writing style is I introduce my characters, settings and the expected tone in the book. I always believe to write into three sections, if I write a longer book because Christopher Nolan (World Class Director) said ‘in every story, there is a beginning, the middle and the end’ during the interview of his film ‘The Dark Knight Rises’. The plot sometimes becomes cinematic when it comes to flashbacks and characters’ back stories that are written in the italic form. Ashi: It’s a Valentine special issue so I want your opinion on ‘love’ and would you like to share something about your personal life with our readers to know you more closely? Fahmid: I am saying this opinion from the bottom of my heart that love is neutral. Love is made for heaven. It is not anything that harms. There are two kinds of love: Byronic and Platonic. I follow Aristotle love which means true love. Love is a natural art where we first see it from our

parents but love always teaches us more what to respect, what to endure and what to help. If we lack it, we can’t be successful. Love made me the person I am today. If some were unkind to me I would have been the same as when I was a child. Love is life, love is friendship and never expect too much love in mouths but expect them at heart. If you get derailed by love, you have to transform the character into good rather than being a spoilt brat and an introvert forever who I was once. This is how I realized that. Ashi: ‘Love is life’, very well quoted. Tell us who is your favorite writer/poet?

Fahmid: Obviously, J.K. Rowling, Dickens and Shakespeare.

Ashi: When did your first poem/story/novel get published? Please share your feeling of that moment. Fahmid: When the first book was published, a marketing agent from Lulu.com called me by phone to make publicize it in a trailer. I was so surprised that he wanted to offer me that. Unfortunately, the price was so high that I made that trailer myself. I was so surprised how I became that famous! I never felt like that and never should be because I want to improve more and more of my writings and characteristics despite being a successful person. Ashi: According to you, what are the most important elements of good writing? Fahmid: Feelings, Entertainment, Passion and Encouragement. Feelings because there is room for writing. Is there a room for feelings? Yes, but not directly because we can share it in our own way in different perspectives such as the characters’ mouth and the theme itself. Entertainment because to make it enjoyable and attract the readers in a new manner as possible. Passion, whatever you write, it will turn beautiful if you learn to utilize your brain and talents. Encourage our young writers and accept them as who they are. Human beings can change their personalities and characters by writing, reading, sharing, questioning and loving. Ashi: Did you always have full appreciation and support for your talent in writing? Fahmid: As usual, I get full appreciation but some say, I have to learn more. Yes, that’s true because I may lack myself into character. I always think that people may

appreciate me but I never appreciate myself because, my ideologies may change into something bad that would hurt people. Ashi: Very well said. Any special creation is always closed to an artist’s heart. According to you, which poem, story or novel of yours is your masterpiece? Fahmid: The masterpiece depends upon the audience, not the writer because writers do their job to raise their voice that turns out to be the best work towards the audience. Yet, I have few special creations of my three novels which are the closest of my heart, Abir’s childhood from the first volume of ‘The Rebel Trilogy’ which is me as a child but yet, few changes were made, Rumaagain from ‘The Rebel Trilogy’ which is inspired by several women mentors of my life one of my aunts, some of my tutors and teachers and Mary Kay Falau, the obsessed teacher from the USA (sourcewikipedia). Thebra Ali based on one of my friends who were a comedian in reallife and Limon some of it is also part of me in the present plus it is also based on one of my cousins and Mathin is based on two my closest cousins. Overall these creations are closest to me. Ashi: That’s great! Would you like to share any of your poem close to your heart and please write something in detailed about your published novels. Fahmid: The poem is quite personal and unpublished. The name is ‘The Prisoner of The World’ (in Bengali and Hindi ‘Quaidi’). Three of my novels have the same connection with different storiesit is social reality message. The first one ‘The Rebel Trilogy’ is about a lieutenant who faked his death when he was in middle school. This is the 5 years of research that begun in 2008 but I dramatized the events to add more of its emotional content with some parts of my life that ended up

similarly like ‘Great Expectations’ by Charles Dickens where he begun it as a comedy but ends with a serious note. ‘Olive Oil’ is a satire in the kitchen where a famous restaurant chain had a downfall but fixed by a savior. It’s a humanized ‘Fox and the Crow’ but an emotional comedy which sends a message that if food is worse, the cook and the owner is worse. ‘Society’s Acceptance’ loosely based on the real events that was researched a year because of learning about everyday lives. I wept for the twist ending that I wrote, but I was bound to because of realism and message that I wanted to spread was ‘accept those who helped you. We need each other for most times’. Ashi: What is the best thing about being a poet or writer? Fahmid: The best thing about being a writer is all about originality, sharing your feelings genuinely plus being meaningful towards life that helps you to raise

your voice towards people. Ashi: So true, please tell about your future plans. Fahmid: My future plan is after finishing my universities; I would like to be a teacher in universities. After my retirement, I want to open a school and an orphanage which is not regular like other schools because if you see my stories, you would see the helpless characters in a safe shelter. Wow very nice plans you have for your future. You consider yourself as “Rebellion writer”, please define that to us. Fahmid: The ‘Rebellion writer’ is not my title. The ‘Social writer’ is the correct one because I want to encourage people to raise their voice against the odds. I always feel that there are some people who get underestimated for their lack of knowledge. Accept them as who they are but if you want to turn the bad into good, teach them a lesson in a cool manner

I never consider myself all that but if you see me in real life, you see me as a simple, crazy, idiotic, immature, a comedian and an entertainer but if you see my writings, this is not really who I am because ‘this is not what I am beneath, but what I do defines me’. Ashi: What advice would you give to your young contemporary writers and poets? Fahmid: I will encourage my young contemporary writers to write what you want but if you want to copy, consider it as a fan fiction. You are all bright and intelligent but utilize yourself. You have many stories to tell but you cannot admit. Every writer has their individual style to create their own stories. Cultures can be different but yet, story is more you see. Life is full of stories that can be adapted into media. Never plagiarize the other stories. If you want to apologize to your loved ones, please them. If you want to help them, teach them something right. Poor and needy will be around you, write

for them too, because they are also people. Ashi: Reading is really essential part of writing. Kindly give your valuable views on our magazine ‘Reflection’ for improvement. Fahmid: Reflection actually changed the lives of many people. In my opinion, the magazine is the best of all. I never imagined I would create that image in this. Yet, Reflection is a unique feature in the history of online magazines. I will thank the team that changed my life into the best of all. Some people ask me ‘how is life?’, I replied ‘it’s rocking’. They asked ‘why?’ I replied ‘making new friends in Reflection’. This interview is dedicated to family, my first friends and cousins. Ashi : You are not only a good successful writer but a very good human being, It’s my pleasure to take your interview, I am sure your enthusiastic words would inspire many. Thank you to share your words of wisdom in the literary field and making this interview a motivating one. Thank you!

“Attacking bad books is not only a waste of time but also bad for the character. If I find a book really bad, the only interest I can derive from writing about it has to come from myself, from such display of intelligence, wit and malice as I can contrive. One cannot review a bad book without showing off.”

BOOKS The Rebel Trilogy (Published November 30, 2012) The Rebel Trilogy is about war, love, patriotism and forgiveness. Abir's journey as a lieutenant is much worse than ever. Though, he uses quirky humor to get relief. Explore the journey of the Rebellion to understand the message... BUY LINK http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HWFUE02 WATTPAD LINK http://www.wattpad.com/25875806therebeltrilogyschool protectionarmy TRAILER http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=XMDeoXFZyQM

Olive Oil (Published October 16, 2013) This is the story about a downfall of a restaurant. Who will save the restaurant? Lot more unexpected comedy of errors are coming in a manner which reflects the odds of the society and the kitchen itself...Enjoy BUY LINKhttp://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HWFKBXW WATTPAD LINKhttp://www.wattpad.com/25817516oliveoil?d=ud TRAILER http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=RxDVKwNFh0

Society’s Acceptance (Published January 1, 2014) Who knows the fate of those two people in fact they are the characters of the story. Limon, the thief and Mathin, a female garment worker who never crossed the limits of their social power until the tragedy which made Limon crossed the limit. However, the question is how? May be it is love, maybe it is a social condition and maybe more of these. This is not your typical love story but there are two stories of two people who fought against the odds. There are unlikely villains to confront, allies to be supported and acceptance of these two unlikely people should be given in the society. BUY LINKhttp://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HWHBVRU WATTPAD LINKhttp://www.wattpad.com/28720139society%27sacceptance2014 TRAILERhttp://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=zEUhz99kcU

Official Websitehttp://lionellogic.wix.com/authorfhprohor Follow Wattpad http://www.wattpad.com/user/Fa1245 Follow Twitter https://twitter.com/AuthorFahmidHas Like Facebook Page https://www.facebook.com/FHProhor

ABC Of Love Affairs Deepika Choudary (India)

It starts with infatuation, Where there is heart fluctuation. Romantic songs become your favorite songs, You don’t realize you are right and world is wrong. Then you find some common source, And gather information applying your complete force. Now comes the proposal time, Like judge awaits the one who has done a crime. Here comes a time to go on a date, Just to show your importance you go a little late. Start deciding fascinating colors of your nail, Oh! God he didn’t hold my hand all efforts are sure to fail. You feel and call him your hero number one, Start saying ‘I just need him and no one’. Marriage becomes your day dream, The dream as soft as an expensive cream. Now comes the time when he ditches you, Not everyone do so, but there are few. Suddenly he became your devil number one, You become anguish as same as the red hot sun. Most of affairs end with depression, Because many people feel ditching is in fashion.

Rohit Weds Meera The Marriage Invitation Letter On Valentineâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Day Dr. Ratan Bhattacharjee (India)

About the writer : (Dr.Ratan Bhattacharjee, Chairperson , Post Graduate Dept of English, who is an eminent academician, is a leading poet and story writer of Indian English Literature. His book of Love stories is going to be published very soon. His book of fabulous love poems, “The Ballad of the Bleeding Bubbles” is globally acclaimed. He is the Editor in Chief of Voices of the Indian English Writers and associated with International journal such as The Labyrinth, European Academic Research, Journal Literature and also the member of the International Theordore Dreiser Society, USA in its International Advisory Board.

Women hate two things, Love proposal at first sight and Love proposal in the Restaurant. Anuska at least had this perception. Men usually commit these two common mistakes. Rohit too did this mistake. There are many places to make love, one is very much public – the park. The most private place is the roof of a multi storied apartment in the afternoon. These days all go to the shopping malls and INOX. Very few have time to loiter on the empty roof .The senior

citizens try to go upstairs but arthritis pain; cardiac problems hinder their wish fulfillment. Rohit proposed to Anuska on this very place of the roof top where she spent today one whole hour. Valentine Day! Rohit with his Mon Blanc Specs, Movado Wrist watch and the ever handsome figure who makes it meaningful. He who is not handsome at 20, nor strong at 30, nor rich at 40, nor wise at 50, will never be handsome, strong, rich or wise. Rohit is handsome at 27. On Valentine’s Day his double excels. But Rohit did not come. It is beautiful when you find someone who is in love with your mind. Someone who wants to undress your conscience and make love to your thoughts. Someone who

wants to watch you slowly take down all the walls you've built up around your mind and let them inside. Rohit invaded her mind as if with her consent. It is not love at first sight, but love of one fine morning in February. These few years, there has been all around a crazy celebration of the day, Valentine’s Day. Rohit and Anuska started love on this day nearly ten years ago, but no such madness was there in their village town. It was February 14, the day for the love pilgrims. In the cinema hall, in the City malls, in the park, in the lake, in the restaurants, lovers in pairs go with their giggles, chats and smiling faces in the smartest attire. But only few years earlier too, very few openly vaunted their love for their valentine. A wink, a

glance, a secretive look could create a woman a princess and the man the prince. What an ecstasy it could create – just a warm kiss on the palm or the single stroke of a nail polished finger. Anuska has always been a good talker. Rohit loves the way she talks. No woman can be pretty by the force of features alone; any more that she can be witty only by the help of speech. She is a beauty with the brain. In her jewellery and specs frame, she looks like Venus. Last Valentine’s Day Rohit gifted her with a Bvlgari watch. That watch now gives the time. It is nearly noontime. Today the noon and the love tide did not grow high. Valentine‘s Day! Now all celebrate, all know, it is like a festive day, but not at all a special day at all. A kind of routine business that is love making. Gifts, flowers, red, nice treat, flowery heart Anuska saw many love pairs

walking in the mood of gaiety on the road below. She still waited and waited for Rohit on the rooftop of their apartment .Paul Coelho once wrote ‘Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worst kind of suffering’. Promise was made by Rohit and he was sure to come. Will she be able to wait more? Will she be ever able to forget Rohit? Which to do now, yes, that makes her suffer more. Great writers tell the truth more than everyone. The door bell rang below .But for whom the bell tolls? Anuska knew that Rohit won’t come, but still she could not suppress her curiosity. She went downstairs with a throbbing heart. A courier person was waiting in shabby clothes. He wanted an identity proof. Anuska seems to have felt that she has no identity now, the Voter card cannot be an identity proof. The

peon handed over to her a Marriage invitation letter. Whose marriage? She had nothing more to do and only to keep herself engaged in some job, she opened the letter. Her eyes seemed to have blinded. The vision really got blurred, the head started reeling. She could not read the letter. It was Rohit’s marriage. How is it possible for her to read that Rohit is going to be married? Is this possible? The man whom she loved for over the years since her school days, who even last Sunday evening so passionately talked about love, can really go for marrying another girl! Just next to impossible. An earthquake seemed to have occurred. Love for her was friendship set to music. The string of the Aeolian harp is broken. Rohit never can cheat. Since the day she met him, Rohit never lied. The most precious gift we can

offer anyone is our attention. When mindfulness embraces those we love, they bloom like flowers. Anuska bloomed like a jasmine and Rohit offered all his warmth. He was a brilliant one in studies, in career, in look, and in manners. Rohit is superb as a gentleman the knight writing his serenade for his lady love .Rohit never can cheat her. Anuska wanted to read the letter full. The formal marriage letter – words written in golden on a red background. Rohit weds … tears made everything hazy. Valentine’s Day brought the bolt from the blue. Anuska tried to call Rohit. The mobile was switched off. Never before she found Rohit’s mobile switched off like this. How many nights they went without sleep! Chatting over the phone with each other. Rohit could give her all the warmth even without coming to sleep

with her. They used to smile, weep, kiss and dream in chat. Only in the morning when she wakes up tired, she does not see Rohit. She misses Rohit all day long. Love will make her mad. She texted and texted. Never in her whole school life or college life, did she write so many words as she wrote for Rohit for expressing her love for him. It was not love, more than love a respect, more than respect adoration, more than adoration a blind fascination, more than fascination a divine feeling, a trance which the saints usually experience after long meditation. Men express their love at first sight. Afterwards, women begin feeling it all life. Men praise the beauty of women when they feel love. Rohit again and again praised the beauty of the eyes of Anuska. Sometimes he used to text poetic lines for her:

“I see in your eyes All the seven skies, I see in your eyes, The golden sunrise.” Anuska used to smile. She shoulders and the does not like direct praises unbuttoned shirt. Her black of her beauty. cascade of hair in curly locks fascinated Rohit. She It’s like flattery, Rohit for the first time kissed her in the head. The rest was ‘Love is a flattery of beauty, silence of the twilight under Anu’Rohit used to disagree the greenwood tree with a smiling face Rohit chanted a few lines as 'Flattery! usual in his emotional state: ‘Not in the pejorative sense, but yes, hyperbolical when you feel ecstatic in love. Anuska only once saw Rohit losing all control .It was last February. The wonderful day out with Anuska on the Valentine’s Day. She still remembers They were sitting on the green lawn. The green shoots of grass tickled their senses. So soft like the feather of pigeon, green but not white. Rohit’s hand was in the hand of Anuska. She feels the veins passing warm blood. The warmth of the heart is in the fingers of Anuska which she nimbly plays with on his arms,

“For thousands of years I roamed the paths of this earth, From waters round Ceylon in dead of night to Malayan seas. Much have I wandered? I was there in the gray world of Asoka And Bimbisara, pressed on through darkness to the city of Vidarbha. I am a weary heart surrounded by life's frothy ocean. To me she gave a moment's peaceBanalata Sen from Natore.” Anuska was spellbound. She hugged Rohit in a close embrace.

‘You love Jibananda Das, the Bengali Valentine poet, how nice lines of love for a valentine he wrote Rohit! Wow!’ ‘Yes, I never saw such a wonderful poet of love. I like to describe you in his words about Banalata Sen. ‘Her hair was like an ancient darkling night in Vidisa, Her face, the craftsmanship of Sravasti. As the helmsman, His rudder broken, far out upon the sea adrift, Sees the grassgreen land of a cinnamon isle, just so Through darkness I saw her. Said she, "Where have you been so long?" And raised her bird'snestlike eyesBanalata Sen from Natore.’

Anuska loves this concept of the ‘bird’s nest’. Love is like the ‘bird’s nest’, the same warmth, the same feeling of home –coming Rohit, I feel when you love me.’ Rohit planted a deep kiss on her hair again. Her head with locks of curly hair roused Rohit’s passions. They felt the flames of love. The crimson sky behind them was melting and the liquid

gold filled the lake. Anuska recalled each and every gesture of Rohit. She could not understand the meaning of the Marriage Invitation. Rohit weds Meera – What does this mean? Who is this Meera? Rohit never in the last ten years told her name. Is this girl his parent’s choice? They have got this girl from Shaadi.com? Betrayal! Anyone who has not experienced the ecstasy of betrayal knows nothing about ecstasy at all. But Anuska seems to have broken deep inside. Rohit cannot make Anuska a fool on the Valentine’s Day. Then what else can be? This is not the first April that Rohit is playing pranks on her to make her April fool. At first she took it for a joke. Then she argued many ways with herself. Why will Rohit play joke? Why will the letter be sent to her if Rohit at all marries a

different woman? He can be heartless but not a brute. But the unexpected thing happens in life and love. Life is not a drama or stage; things do not happen so wellplanned. Life is not a fiction. There is no organized plot in life. Life is full of uncertainties. Life if life, after all. Anuska wept whole day. Valentine’s Day lost all meanings for Anuska. A feeling of cheating irritated her. She felt betrayed awfully. She will not love any one any more in her life. She will not tell Rohit anything even if he meets her anywhere in future. What Rohit has done is simply enough to make one feel frustrated about love. Tragedy in life normally comes with betrayal and compromise. Anuska regained some kind of stability when Albert called her in the afternoon. He is Rohit’s friend. ‘Hi Anu, what is the

master plan?’ Anuska was surprised. ‘Means?’ she spoke in a feeble voice and it sounds ghostly. ‘Why so crestfallen dear?’ asked Albert. ‘Is Rohit with you now or you are with Rohit? He said with the usual gusto

and the guffaw. He started reciting a valentine day poem from the other side of the mobile. Anuska tried to hide her anguished voice and asked,’Your own lines? Albert did not reply and continued the recitation

‘You may be a woman for others But could you be a poem for me The blue sky, the pearly rain, And the evergreen lea? Crossing the rusty threshold Of the volcanic night Drilling wearing away Emerging like a flash of light To bloom like a flower In your heart's emerald bower. ‘O my God, this is from Facebook, my poet friend wrote it only last night’ said Anuska regaining some composure in her voice. Anuska talked a few minutes more, but her voice sounded so dull, Albert had to leave. She did not get any news of Rohit. Will Anuska go to Rohit’s house? Not a silly matter. You love a girl day after day and one fine morning,

and that too on the Valentine’s Day; you send your marriage invitation card to her saying that you are going to marry another girl. This is not a matter of joke. This is a crime. But Anuska could not think Rohit to be a criminal. She cannot imagine that Rohit has turned a villain from a hero. Rohit, her darling boy, her hero, her macho man, her life, her light of soul, the thrill of her body.

Anuska tried many other friends, but all are busy with the Valentine’s Day celebration. They could not give much time for chatting. It is not decent to ask them about Rohit. In fact, the opposite thing happened. Whenever, Anuska rang up the phone for anyone, she or he just poked her ‘Hi, Anu, what grand plan have you made for celebration?’ Roshan even thanked Anuska for giving her some time besides Rohit on the Valentine’s Day –‘O so kind of you, you remember me still with Rohit in your arms!’ she surmised. Anuska could not try more. She felt exhausted. She did her last try. She knew the phone number of Rohit’s uncle Anil Prasad

Agarwal. A nice gentleman who used to write love poems before joining his family business of Garments Export. He loves Rohit for his intelligence and academic brilliance. He gifted Rohit last year on his birthday a Swiss Luxurious watch Movado. Anuska could not try more than once. The uncle’s phone was busy. She was about to swoon. Life suddenly lost its meaning, Love suddenly lost its way in the labyrinth of despair. Anuska did not exactly know the address of Rohit’s house in Mumbai. He was to shift to Kolkata only next year. Now he is in Kolkata for his job in Infosys. Many times Rohit asked her to take the address of Mumbai. But Anuska did not care for it. ‘You are coming to Kolkata, what use is taking that address? The letter sent by Rohit’s parents contained no specific address, only Mumbai is written. Rohit must be in Mumbai. Anuska did not take her lunch, did not take rest. She went out of her house and did not give the letter to anyone else in the house. She kept it in her

vanity bag. Vanity, says Napoleon, is the root cause of French Revolution. Anuska’s whole heart, mind and soul revolted because of the letter in the vanity bag. She was walking alone on the boulevard of Kolkata without the parasol. She won’t take her car today. What is there in one’s life when love is gone? Such tragedy occurs in films. A third person comes in the life of a woman. Suddenly the marriage occurs. Suddenly everything happens. But in life so suddenly things do not happen. Life is not a drama. It moves much slowly and steadily. In the City Centre, Anuska met one old classmate. She used to feel jealous of her for everything; she even did not like Rohit. Always told ‘Anu, don’t trust the rich people, they take no time to betray.’ Anuska felt that today that girl looked quite happy. She comes smiling at Anuska. ‘This is my last premarriage Valentine’s Day, Anu; we are getting married very soon.’ Anuska smiled in response like a statue. Is this not Meera? Is this the girl Rohit is marrying?

I went to your house half an hour earlier. Aunty said, you had left home’ 'Means, you! what! ‘Anuska’s eyes were inundated with tears. You went to my house to invite personally? Invite? What occasion? Why should I invite? My God, then who is Rohit and who is Meera? Are you gone mad? What Meera are you speaking of? With whom are you going to be married, Rohit her voice collapsed. Rohit looked at her for nearly ten minutes. Then saw the letter which she gave him. The letter is not meant for you. It is for somebody else. May be someone from your locality for some of your neighbors. Anuska was surprised. How do you know that, my name is very much there? Yes, but the spelling of your

name is different. It is meant for some Anushka. Your name has no ‘h’. The address too is not yours. The courier man mistakenly delivered some other man’s letter to you. But he checked my identity card. I did not see the address on the letter. Only signed and tore open the letter. Rohit laughed out more loudly this time and said, you trust the courier man more than me. All the tables were full with valentines. Anuska slowly uttered, I was not that Anuska, yes, the address was of our apartment, but not mine. I was not in a mood to read it minutely. I got so afraid; I lost the meaning of my life and love. ‘Means, you thought I am going to marry someone called Meera? Are you gonna turn mad, really!’ ‘Yes, love is madness, Love makes one mad. I am really mad for you, Rohit’ Anuska started sobbing. She did not find a word to justify her

foolishness. There is a reason in your madness Anuska. You waited for me for two hours. I was a little late. I went to your house. But aunty said you might have gone to City Centre. I knew you might come to our favorite restaurant. So I was waiting for you here. I saw you entering the City

Centre half an hour ago, then your school friend who felt jealous of you.

Valentine’s Day, Anu, we are made for each other, we are mad for each other’

Anuska was speechless in joy. Never before did she have such a surprise on a Valentine’s Day. This is the real Valentine’s Day for her. She looked at Rohit who softly kept her palm on her and said, ‘Happy

Outside the window pane, the crimson red sun was melting and blue sky squeezed all its azure flakes in the West with the golden stars glittering like a diamond in a platinum ring.

Just Me Neelam Dadhwal (Chandigarh, India)

Write the best part of my life here in the pith of an old tree, the wood of which is cut every year. The yellow flame of forest regrets my decision and so do the birds flying away, the sound of the hoot I did not follow. Write it again at the wall that is holding this vine, and more than it, the moss, child of rain till the vine finds its way in the garden. In the part of hills, where the colts hang to their keeper whisper in their ears my name and they will murmur it back too. Let the flowers tell they are getting all the sunshine and fragrance and your mild orchids live a little longer in my vase. And now I know why the love is the best of all, holding this beautiful world or yes, you can say it is just me.

Why do I write? Shahid Khan - Poet & writer (Ahmedabad, India) “Even after spending years at school I couldn’t learn how to hold the pen properly but this boy knows how to hold and use the pen without any guidance.” These were the words of my late grandmother when she saw me using the pen at the very early childhood. My mother still quotes these words of hers whenever there is a family or social gathering and talk about my grandmother cropup. I guess this is how my journey of writing began. I was the first one in my entire family or even distant neighborhood to get the English medium education. Even as a kid I was passionate about literature, especially English. I still remember the time when some of my friends and cousins used to tease and taunt me for studying in English medium. But I took it as a compliment rather than playing into their hands. Teachers at school emphasized conversation in English so as to improve the language skills but at home or any other place I had no one to converse in English. So in order to deal with the problem the first thing I did was to start reading English daily. I found a good companion in it. It not only opened up the world to me but it also improved my vocabulary and written English. I loved to read the “Letters to Editor” column and always dreamed to express myself the way people expressed their opinion through that column. I tried my hand a few times but my letters were not published. I thought my way of expression and the language might not be up to the mark. So I continued to work up on my English language skills. Meanwhile at my primary schooling as I was getting exposed to beautiful poems by the classical poets like William Wordsworth, Robert Frost and others, I began to love and appreciate the English poetry. My father used to collect the shayaris and ghazals of famous Urdu poets in his diary. But I

Why do I write? had no chance to decipher those shayaris as it was in Urdu script and I had no knowledge of that script as it was not taught in our school. But it definitely taught me to acknowledge and appreciate the beauty of various forms of poetry. At around the same time I started collecting the lyrics of songs from Bollywood movies. Unlike many other talented poets and writers I started writing poems very late. It was a slow process for me. Since I was more concerned about the perfection of the language, I had no courage to write. But the passion for writing poems grew with time. However during my higher secondary schooling and college days many of my letters expressing my views and opinion on current affairs were published in “The Times Of India” and its supplement, and “Ahmedabad Mirror”. During that time I was more into expressing my voice through letters but it was around the year 2002 that I deliberately stopped it due to unfavorable social environment. But my urge to express took me to writing poems. There was another reason for writing poem I wanted to capture the moments and thoughts in the outmost picturesque words. And poetry was the best way to do it. Even during that time there was a deliberate effort to write poems based on romance. Then after some years I found a site called “Booksie” where I thought I could post my poems. I posted some of the poems there and started getting good reviews from the readers. So far on this site I was more into reading than writing. But it was around the end of 2012, I met “Ashi17” – the Managing Editor of this magazine at “Booksie” which proved to be the turning point for me as a writer. She not only recognized my talent but also encouraged and inspired me a lot. Her encouragement brought my words from deep within my heart and mind to the open world. The confidence that she instilled in me helped me to be a better writer on the whole. Now I try to learn, explore and write various forms of poetry and if possible prose too. I wish I could write and express till my last breath.

Why do I write? Sangeeta Ajay Doctor, poetess & writer (India)

A silent voice in the form of an invitation that compelled me to lift my pen and scribble on a listless paper. Dead paper crackling when I tried to straighten it to make it worth writing on. Something was forcing me to instill life in it. Was it my agony or an outlet that I was looking for to unburden my soul? Today, my profession of being a doctor seemed to help as though infusing intravenous fluid into a bodyâ&#x20AC;ŚI poured ink in the form of words and sentences on this body of paper. Lo and behold the first word itself made me feel lighter and with every word that I penned it was as though the thorns of my discomfort were turning into flowers. Today I felt as though I had been ignorant about the existence of this beauty of expression. The journey that has started with an alphabet has now traversed into serpentine sentences. Initially the outpour was more of a downpour rather an assault of feelings which jostled with each other to be the first to be penned. In fact none made any sense, still it exuded a feeling of triumph in my inner self for overcoming the fear of words and meanings which often showed me the path to a dictionary. It was only I, Me and Myself no one to judge and pass verdict on my expressions. Here I got the strength of ownership and Onemanship, the enjoyment of being oneâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s own master. One of my firsts was a little couplet that I wrote on Female Foeticide. I was motivated by Dr Talwar and Dr Dewan to make an attempt on this topic which was looming large on the horizon of human sensibilities. It was the confidence that they infused into me which propelled me to take this challenge head on. Following is what I wrote...a plea, a prayer, maybe an attempt for awareness..

Why do I write? Wailing foetus, Smeared hands, Bloody womb, Tarnished mindset, Fickle society, Put a stop! Bring a change !! Mammoth are the challenges, Let’s take baby steps to start the journey, Join our hearts and hands to eradicate this Evil...... A strange smile of contentment found a place on my face after this went into print. The joy was enhanced when an acceptance of this plea was evident by all whom I met. A dead companion whom I had been carrying in my schoolbag as a schoolgirl and in my college time too, all of a sudden seemed to have acquired features of a human face. Every time I wrote the straight line of mouth curved into a smile. The ears listened intently to my silent words and swayed with the music that my words created. The eyes winked naughtily at my zombie ideas and the crinkling of nose too was seen as a nonacceptance note. The bag is heavy now as it is a life which I carry so close to me on whose body I liberally smear the sandgrains of thoughts to create my castle and images. With each small attempt comes a sense of fulfillment and contentment…. And the journey continues…

Why do I write? Manish Sharma Poet & Writer (India) Although these days our life is very busy our mind is always occupied with few thoughts. There is very less time when our brain doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t think. All of us write. Some keep these thoughts inside. Only a few feel to pick a pen and fill the blank pages with the warmth of our feelings. Why do I write? A question that is in front of me today. The first thing that comes to my mind regarding this query is, well I write because it brings me peace. It is an art through which I try to know the inside of me. It is a way by which I connect to internal intellects of mine. Further it helps me express my feelings and ideas to this world in an inventive manner. The sentiments that my inside heart carries which somehow I am unable to communicate through my speech. it's an ease for me to express through my writes. My sorrows, my happiness, the way I see this world, how I feel, my anguish, my frustrationsÍž my writings are an interesting and creative way to bring them out. It is always good to write and if few of your friends appreciate you, it brings confidence to your daily life as well. There are so many forms of writing to choose. Poetry or prose is the first thing that I try to adopt to express myself. It's always a stress bursting experience to just flow in your writes. Amazing it is that you wander to the unexplored regions of your mind which are both imaginary and inspired from the original world. Writing is a good way to find a new world inside you.

End Myself Zain足Ul足Abidin Khan Alizai (Twelve years old) (Islamabad, Pakistan) I see up at the bright, blue sky I see the moon shining bright People are sleeping deep But I don't care. I am here for myself I am here to end something But I wonder why? People don't care for me They just look at me and say, "He's just an ordinary boy." The world doesn't understand My feelings, My emotions, My heart. I sink deep in that abyss In front of them But they don't Care for me So why should I Care for them? They don't love Me So why should I Love them? I will end Myself and my heart Once and Forever, Forever!

Under Fifteen Zone

love Is So Wondeful Chitra Dheer (12 YEARS OLD)

Your love is so beautiful It's so high I can't get over it It’s so wide we can't get over it It’s so deep we can't even reach it Your love is so wonderful love Your love makes me happy; Your love makes us proud Your love makes me complete Your love makes me strong Your love is so wonderful Your love is like a rainbow Your love is like a rain Your love has different looks Your love has different colors Your love is so wonderful love

Message: Every mother is like a gift from god to a new born baby.......

Art Section

"Love enlightens a heart so much that sometimes it burns too." Ashi Pencil skethes by Iram Fatima 'Ashi' (Saudi Arabia NRI)

"Walk by my side to eternity....be my soul mate to the eternal on my sketch pad where even death can not do us apart." Ashi

Editor Speaks

Vote of thanks Greetings to all, ‘Reflection’ ever prominent with new vistas takes its pride in evincing the innate traits of the aspirant writers and artists. Indeed, it was with this motive, the great literary magazine had its humble inception on 25th December 2012. It was a year ago in March 2013, I was entrusted with the task of editing this fabulous magazine which was indeed challenging and interesting as well. I always feel free to share my suggestions with Ms Ashi and Mr Kumar Vikrant that spurs me to embellish the image of reflection with the little skill I possess. If at all I had any success as an editor, it’s all with the staunch support extended by my esteemed team. My profound thanks for those two adorable mates whom I can always count for their wholehearted cooperation. I extend my heartfelt thanks to all the writers and artists for their laborious work of immense merit. We experience nothing less than heaven on earth while reading positive and constructive feedbacks. On behalf of ‘Reflection’ I render my sincere thanks to our beloved readers for their kind support and best wishes. Thank you! Regards, Vasanthi Papu (Editor)

In The Name Of Love Vikrant

MOPH 70

August 14th, 10:30 AM The lady jailer gave her necessary instructions and handed over her belongings which she put in a small satchel. Zoura jail was the only women's jail in the northern region and it was the most notorious jail too for various reasons. The jail was situated 10 km south of Junagarh near Zoura village. Seema was shifted here from Raj Nagar to serve her three and half year term. She glanced at the administrative block and walked towards the main entrance. The male sentry opened the little passage through the big main gate of the jail. He also told her that she could hire a cab to Junagarh and from there she could get any public transport to go anywhere she wanted to go. She came out of the gate and didn't speak a single word to thank him. The road outside was empty, there was not a single soul to welcome her out of the jail and she was not expecting one. She decided to walk towards the city. It was early morning, but the weather was hot and humid, she looked around, but there was no public or private vehicle, she walked ahead again. Suddenly she heard the screeching sound of an auto rickshaw engine somewhere behind her, she turned back and waved the auto rickshaw to stop. “Going to the city?” asked the rickshaw driver. She nodded and took the back seat of the rickshaw. “From Zoura?” Asked the driver while accelerating the vehicle. She ignored him and kept quiet. “A real tough place,” sighed the driver. Earlier on August 13th 1 The secretary entered the room of state minister

Ranjit after knocking it. “What is it?” frowned the man sitting behind the big wooden table. “Sorry sir, Peter wants to meet you.” “Send him in.” Ranjit was a big man in all aspects. Six feet plus tall, burly body, though in his mid forties, there was no gray hair on his head. There were several gold chains hanging around his neck. There was another gold chain wrapped around his wrist. All his ten fingers were full of rings, there were some stone studded rings among the rest of the rings. State minister Ranjit was a bit frustrated today. He tried his best in the high court of the northern region to get her punished with life imprisonment or at least a sentence of ten years for the attempt on his life by her. But the Judge Tripathi bench didn't budge a little of his political pressure and he punished her with four years imprisonment. Another bench reduced her punishment to three and half years. And to his surprise, she was about to release just after three years and half years imprisonment at Zoura jail. He silently cursed the day when he first saw Seema at the Rajnagar city mall. He was so moved by her beauty that he couldn't stop himself and went forward to hold her hand in public. She slapped on his face and in response he kicked her in her belly. She cried like a mad woman, her husband also rushed at him, his henchmen tried to hold him back, but the man was very strong and he broke away their grip and came straight to him. Fortunately or unfortunately he had his gun with him on that day. He shot that madman before he could touch him. He was in a rage and he emptied his gun at the rushing man, the bullets not only killed the rushing man but wounded his son also badly. He left the mall immediately and

contacted his party leader and told him everything. The party leader scolded him mildly and advised him to surrender. Later, his party friends managed to get him out on bail. The media and Some NGO’s started agitation all over the city and the media presented him as a monster who has destroyed a family by killing an innocent man. Things became worse when the wounded child died in the hospital. The whole country was in a turmoil and his bail was cancelled by the district judge and he was again back in jail. Finally the trial of his case began and the trial was turning point of his life, his party leader fixed the judge and his lawyers proved that the murder was a sad culmination of the extra marital relation of Seema and Ranjeet. Somehow her husband Vinod came to know about it and couldn’t control himself when he saw Ranjeet at the mall and attacked him. All Ranjeet did was not a violent act, but a self defense. The judge wrote a lengthy judgement and questioned on the marriage system which forced a woman and man to live in a false relationship. According to him Ranjeet was not an innocent man, but he was also not a murderer, the murder was a result of an illegitimate relationship and self defense. He instructed government authorities to file a separate case on Seema and punished Ranjeet with a six months imprisonment without bail. He served six months in the Raj Nagar jail as a king with the blessing of his party leader. On the day of his release from the jail, he was

Suddenly Seema emerged from the press crowd and rushed towards the tables where Ranjeet was sitting with his allies. She jumped over the table and stabbed an iron rod in Ranjeet chest, which she was holding in her hand. Everyone was standstill in that conference room, Ranjeet has fallen on the floor and was bleeding profusely. Suddenly the party leader gained his senses and he shouted at his men, ‘Idiots, what are you waiting for, kill that woman.’ All the party henchmen jumped over her and started kicking and dragging her. Press people started shooting this interesting scene, but suddenly a police car pulled in and number of police men rushed in by warning people to stand still. Soon the situation was under control, wounded Ranjeet was sent to hospital and half dead Seema to the police station. Ranjeet was badly wounded. His lungs were punctured by that iron rod and his heart was missed by a few centimeters. He spent three months in the hospital and he had to go through multiple surgeries during these months. Government attorneys made a very strong case against Seema and demanded the death penalty for her. She didn’t utter a single word during the trial and the judge concluded that the attempt on Ranjeet’s life was an act of rage and there was a chance of improvement in Seema and he sentenced her four years imprisonment without bail. Ranjeet’s people were furious, they appealed again, but their appeal was cancelled.

received by his party leader and was taken to the party office like a political victim. There was a big press gathering at party office and the press conference began. There were questions from the newspapers and news channel correspondence which Ranjeet and his party leaders answered with a smile.

“Called me, sir?” “Yes,” Ranjeet came out of his reverie when he saw Peter standing before him. “They are releasing her tomorrow, make it sure that she must not leave Junagarh alive,”

he uttered by clenching his teeth. “Should it look like an accident?’ “No, no, shoot her in public.” “Okay, as you wish.” Ranjeet waved him off. 2 DIG Shahil Khan left his office in a hurry, Inspector General Jeevan Anand wanted an urgent meeting with him at that very moment. He was soon on the second floor of the police headquarter where the IG was waiting for him. When he entered in the IG room after knocking, the IG was scrolling something on his laptop. Khan saluted him and the IG waved him to sit without raising his head. Suddenly he turned his laptop screen towards Khan. There was a woman's face flashing on the screen. “Look at this face carefully.” Said the IG. The face was really attractive in every aspect. “This woman can create a lot of trouble in the near future here in the city” said the IG. “Who is she?” asked Khan. “Her name is Seema Singh, she is presently at Zaura prison serving her three and half year term. IG paused for a moment and went on again. She is in prison for attacking Mr. Ranjeet, honorable minister, but due to some writs filed by some organizations, the honorable high court has reduced her prison term from four years to three and half year term, she may be released from the jail tomorrow.” “Do you think she will again make an attempt on the life of the minister?” “Not sure, but during the trial she told the world that she would come back and kill him.” “And that is the anticipated trouble, according to you?’ said Khan. “No today is August thirteenth and she may be released tomorrow, ring something?” “You mean there may be trouble on the parade ground on August 15th.” “Correct, the minister will be hoisting the national flag at 07:40 in the morning on the

parade ground, and her presence out there may create a lot of trouble.” “What do you want me to do?” said Kahn. “Get the best of your men and protect the minister, take a printout of the picture of this woman and circulate it on all the police check posts, increase the force on airport, railway station and bus stations.” “Okay.” “Arrest her if she tries to enter this city and bring her to me.” Said the IG. “May I ask a question, sir?” said Khan to the IG. “Sure, what is it?” “Why does she want to kill him?” “I just went through the news archives, papers say an illicit relationship between this woman and the minister was the reason of her husband and son’s accidental murder.” “Accidental murder, never heard of this word composition,” said Khan with a smile. “These media people use such words, but it is written in police records that Mr. Ranjeet fired in self defense and got that poor man killed.” “So she wants to avenge her husband and son’s death?” said Khan. “She was almost successful last time when she stabbed an iron rod in the chest of a minister, his wounds were fatal he could have died.” “Then I don’t believe in the illicit relationship story, there is more behind this story,” said Khan to himself. “What?” “Nothing, please go ahead, sir,” “Please don’t let your personal interpretation rule over your brain, there is a dangerous woman in Zaura jail and she may be released in a day or two. And her presence may endanger the life of a minister and peace of this city, got it.” “Yes, sir.” “Then make sure both the minister and the peace of this city be secured.”

“Yes, sir.” “Meeting is over.” 3 “Zoya, as I remember you covered the Seema case from beginning to her imprisonment?” asked Atul Shah, the chief editor of City News Channel. “Yes, I did, sir, Is there anything new about her?” said Zoya. “You know she has been serving her three and half years imprisonment in Zoura jail for three and half years,” “I know, sir.” “Please let me finish, “ said Atul and went on, “I have news that they are releasing her tomorrow.” “That is interesting.” Said Zoya. “Don’t you think she will attack on Ranjeet again?” “As far as I know about her, she’ll never miss a chance to kill Ranjeet and her best chance is on August 15th when the minister will be in public, hoisting the national flag on parade ground.” “So what are you waiting for, go ahead and work on this clue.” “I want some exclusive videos of her, we’ll run her story in prime time today” “Sure, sir, hope I’ll get something new on her.” “That’s good.” August 14th, 03:45 AM Peter and Zagir reached at Junagarh early in the morning. They were dead tired after the ten hours driving from Raj Nagar to Junagarh. All they wanted was a little sleep. They decided to stay in a cheap motel with fake names and fake id’s. There were several cheap motels in that small town and they hired the nearest of the Jail. They secured their weapons before going to bed, and set their mobile alarms at seven am.

August 14th, 10:32 AM

A sharp buzzing sound forced to wake Peter up. He rubbed his eyes and fished his mobile phone out of his pillow. He made more efforts to look at the phone screen which was flashing minister Ranjeet’s number. “Yes, sir.” “Work done?” “We’ve reached at Junagarh, we’ll get the work done before noon.” “This is before noon idiot, go and get her.” He glanced at his wrist watch, whose arms were displaying 10:32. “Sorry sir, we are going….just…about to leave….” “Listen, you miss her today and you are a dead man.” Mobile phone went silent. Peter kicked Jagir who was still sleeping and cursed himself. They left the motel in a hurry rushed towards the Jail. Jagir was driving the car while Peter was loading his mouser. Soon the jail was in their sights. The jail’s main door was closed. There was not a single human being outside of the jail. Peter left the car and went straight to the jail door. He knocked the door, a sentry peeped through a small hole. “What do you want?” inquired the sentry. “Ugh… we came to receive, Seema ji, when will she be released?” “You are late, she has been released.” And he closed the hole. He was frustrated on the news, he saw in every direction helplessly, there was a tea vendor on the other side of the main door. He went towards him and asked; “Bhaya, did you see a woman leaving the jail today?” The tea vendor looked at his face with a little suspicion and said, “No, I didn’t see any woman leaving the jail today.” Peter scratched his head and came back to his car.

“She has left.” He said to Jagir and again cursed the alarm, which couldn’t wake them. “She must have taken a bus or some other public transport,” Said Jagir. “You are right, let’s check the roadways stand and railway station.” August 14th, 11:38 AM Seema left the auto at the main door of the roadways stand. She looked for an ATM, there were three at various directions around the roadways stand. She went to the nearest one and inserted the ATM card in the slot provided. She was wondering if her account was still active, but to her surprise ATM accepted the card. She withdrew some money and came out of the bus stand. She went to a nearby saari shop and bought a few for her. One of the saari was pink in colour. Later she went to the roadways station again. She went to inquire office and inquired for a bus towards Will City. “There is no bus directly to Will City from here, take bus to Devdurg, which is the junction city, you can get a bus to Will City from there.” Informed the clerk. “Bus number 3024 is about to leave towards Devdurg. She thanked the clerk and looked for the mentioned bus. There were not many buses at the time, she easily found the bus and as soon as she alighted the bus the driver started the bus and accelerated it towards the main gate of the bus stand. She took the window seat, there were not many passengers in the bus. She looked outside, the bus was going through the narrow streets of Junagarh. “Ticket ma’am!” the bus conductor interrupted her. “One ticket…Devdurg.” “Two hundred thirty five rupees.” The bus driver accelerated the bus to cover the 247 km distance between Junagarh and Devdurg.

August 14th, 12:14 PM Jagir pulled in the car before the roadways stand. Peter came out of the car and glanced through the bus stand, there were a number of buses ready to leave for their destinations. He quickly checked every bus, but there was not a sign of Seema. They have lost her. He again cursed himself. The humidity in the atmosphere was making him crazy, he wiped the sweat off his face and looked around. Suddenly, he saw the inquiry office and decided to give a try. “Sir, we are looking for our sister, she has to go to Raj Nagar, do you remember any woman inquiring for a bus to Raj Nagar,” asked Peter to the busy inquiry clerk. “No, no one inquired about Raj Nagar, but if someone wants to go to Raj Nagar must go to Devdurg first.” Informed the clerk. All of a sudden his mobile started ringing, he fished out his phone. He was sad to see, minister number was again flashing on phone screen. “Yes, sir.” “Found her, is she dead?” “We lost her, sir.” “You useless burden, why the hell did I rely on you, idiot, find her, I’m warning you, if you don’t find her, I’ll send Jafar to find you.” Peter shivered at the mention of Jafar name, the ruthless contract killer who has never flunked a single contract. “Sorry sir, we’ll find her and inform you soon.” “You must.” And the phone screen went blank again. August 14th, 12:30 PM The bus was on the highway now and it was running at the maximum speed. Seema peeped through the window, there were vast agriculture fields, trees and spinney stretches all over. All these views may be beautiful for other people, but there was no beauty for her in this world. She saw her beautiful world shattering before

her own eyes, she has criminated her husband and buried her three years old son. She still wonder how that fateful evening at the mall changed the course of her life. She has earned a bad name for her, she was treated like an animal by the society after the media fortified her so called illicit relationship with that beast Ranjeet. She has never seen that animal of a man before that evening, but the nexus of police, media and judiciary labeled her a bad woman. There was nothing much left in her life, she tried to kill that beast once, but that beast survived and she was punished. Zoura jail has snatched whatever life was left in her, she has faced the worst of things at that place, but Devyani another inmate, eased her and inspired her to keep quiet and prepare herself for the revenge which was not taken yet. She also informed her that Ranjeet was a powerful man, he would not take any chance, he would do his best to kill her. Thus she knew the minister will also be waiting for her release to avenge the attack on his life by her. She knew he must be sending killers to kill her outside of Raj Nagar. So going directly to Raj Nagar was not safe today that is why she decided to get into Raj Nagar via Will City, the adjacent city. Seema, has no idea how to get near that Ranjeet, he was a minister in the state government now. It was very hard to break into his security, she has no resources, little money to buy any weapon, she even has no place to live, no relatives left to shelter her. But August 15th, may be his chance when the minister may be in any public place to hoist the national flag. Devyani also offered some outside help which Seema declined, but Devyani gave her the addresses of some people who could be helpful to her. August 14th, 12:34 PM

Peter and Jagir gave a try at the railway station, but there was no direct train to Raj Nagar. There was one train in the evening, which used to go to Devdurg daily. They have lost Seema. There was a chance she might have hired a cab to Raj Nagar or she has sensed the danger and decided to go somewhere else. Finding her has been just like finding a needle in a hay heap. There was not a single way to find her now, all the roads which reach Raj Nagar pass through Devdurg, so they must give a try to find her en route Devdurg or at Devdurg. “Jagir, we are going to Devdurg, keep an eye on all the public and private vehicles.” “Sure boss,” said Jagir and increased more pressure on the accelerator of the car.

August 14th, 05:45 PM The journey was tiresome, the conductor stopped the bus almost in every small or big town so far. They even had a one hour lunch break at a roadside Dhaba. Passengers were coming into and going outside of the bus at every bus stand. Sometimes it was jammed with passengers and sometimes there were left only five to ten passengers. Seema napped a little occasionally and the heat outside wake her up abruptly. Suddenly the bus slowed again and left the main road after a few hundred yards there was a road side Dhaba(Roadside restaurant) named Greenway Hotel and the restaurant. There were several public and private vehicles gathered outside and the passengers and staff of the buses having some refreshment. Seema came out of the bus and looked around, the place was filthy, people were sitting on dirty tables and eating something. She looked for the washroom, which she found situated at the far corner. The washroom was filthy as well. She looked herself in the hazy mirror which hung on the washroom wall, there was an unknown person in the mirror,

dark, aged, face full of wrinkles. She came out of the washroom, went to the tea stall and ordered one cup of tea for her. She took a corner seat and sipped the tasteless tea. The lazy bus drivers and conductors were resting after the refreshment. Their rest was boring for the passengers and some of the passengers were murmuring that they were getting late. Finally, after a half hour long rest the driver of the bus came out of the Dhaba sheltor, took his driver seat and started honking. She moved towards her bus steadily, suddenly a car entered the Dhaba premise and came in between her and her bus. August 14th, 06:17 PM Jagir was driving the car at a very steady speed, fast but in control. En route Devdurg they came across several public and private transports, they tried to peep through them, but there was no sign of Seema. They were so disturbed by the minister warning that they even skipped their lunch. After a few hours driving they thought of eating something. “I know a place where we could get something good for the lunch,” said Jagir. “Let’s go there,” agreed Peter. After forty five minute journey they found the sign board of Greenway Hotel and the restaurant. Jagir slowed the car and entered the premises of the hotel. There were a number of parked vehicles, he looked for a place to park the car. “Seema,” whispered Peter in his ear. Jagir saw, yes, she was walking in front of them. He stopped the car and let her go. She rushed towards a bus and vanished from their sight. “We found her,” exclaimed Jagir. “Yes, let the bus go and chase the bus at a very safe distance,” instructed Peter. “As you wish boss.” Jagir waited for a few moments and started chasing the bus cautiously.

Meanwhile, Peter called up the minister and informed him about finding Seema. “Good, now give me the bus details, don’t lose her now, I’m sending Jafar, kill her before he reaches otherwise he will hunt you as well.” Peter gave the details of the bus and cursed the moment when he decided to take this job. August 14th, 06:20 PM Seema was astonished to see the men sitting in that car, she moved her face in the opposite direction and rushed towards her bus. There was something strange in the way they were looking at her. She took her seat and tried to control her breath. Her instinct told her to look back. She left her seat and went to the back portion of the bus and peeped through the back window, yes the car was behind the bus, chasing her. She took her seat and closed the window. Milestone outside indicated Devdurg 47 km. “So the game has begun,” murmured she. She tilted a little behind and put her head on the cushion of the seat and closed her eyes, there was a strange smile on her blistered lips. August 14th, 06:30 PM Jafar turned off his computer. Rs. 50,00000 has been transferred to his account by his regular client, his client wanted to get a woman killed at any rate and that is why he agreed to pay such a big amount of money. Luckily he has been staying in a small town called Koula situated fifty km east of Devdurg. He has to move fast, he wanted to finish the job outside of Devdurg. He has recently killed Vakeel the main shooter of Bagga gang. He made that hit in Delhi, shooters of Bagga gang and Delhi police were looking for him. As usual, he was hiding in this remote place to let the heat settle down a little. He left his hiding place and checked his bag which was

containing his favorite rifle, Remington 700 XCR, rifle scopes for day and night vision, Colt 357 magnum revolver, long blade bowie knife. He placed the revolver under his arm holster and knife in his long shoe neck. He let the rifle and ammunition remained in the bag. He was a strong man in every sense, six feet three inches tall, broad shoulders, strong jaws. He was 42 but looks older. He often put on formal clothes and Had a businessman look on his face. Anyone who knew nothing about him would take him for a company executive. His look and dress sense helped him to escape from a crime scene. He came out of the narrow street and looked around like a hawk, there was none to take an interest in him. Outside on the road, he hired an auto rickshaw to Gogia Auto Garage, where he had left his Sedan car for service. His car required no service, but it was a safe way to hide his car. He often buys a different car for a new assignment, left it on any deserted road and hired a cab to escape from the crime place. But this assignment was given on such a short notice that he had no time to change this car. In a few minutes he was in the garage, the owner of the garage was irritated to keep his car for a week long. “Thank God, at least you came back, I was expecting that you’ll never turn up,” said the owner with a very angry tone. “Sorry sir, I’m ready to pay the extra charges for keeping this car for me for such a long time,” said Jafar with a little smile.

August 14th, 07:00 PM “Will you ever learn to chase something?” said Peter with irritation. “What’s wrong?” asked Jagir “You are trailing this bus like a rat, can’t you overtake it?” “Okay boss as you wish.” Jagir pumped more gas and overtook the bus with a little effort. “Now look for a deserted place, we’ll stop the bus to shoot her.” “How are we going to stop the bus?” asked Jagir. “Have you got some brain or not? There are some narrow culverts, stop the car at any one of them, the bus driver will be forced to to stop the bus. And that will be our chance to shoot her.” “Got it, you just tell me where to stop the car.”

His softly spoken words were his perfect disguise. Anyone who talks to him would never think that he was talking to a ruthless killer, a killer who has never missed a hit. His car was in perfect condition. He placed the bag on the back seat and started pushing the gas paddle in a perfect and steady way. Soon he was on the state highway now and Devdurg was 45 km.

women police station, she was made the in charge of Rural Area of Devdurg. And a junior sub inspector was appointed as the Station Head Officer of the women police station. Perhaps her notoriety as a tough woman has reached here before her arrival in Devdurg. She joined the police by chance, she has always wanted to join

“Wait on I’m looking for the perfect culvert.” August 14th, 07:02 PM Seema saw the car overtaking the bus. So they are going to stop the bus before Devdurg. They are armed and dangerous, all the odds are against her, she hasn’t got a single stick with her. Stick, yes, there must be a leverage rod in the bus, she knew they kept the rod at the driver’s adjacent seat. She will have to rely on that rod, if there is one. She kept her cool and waited. August 14th, 07:05 PM Sobha Singh was a bit frustrated today. The Senior Superintendent Of Police didn’t allot him

Indian Administrative Services, she tried her hard; she qualified pre and mains examination so many times but she always flunked the interview. After wasting all her attempts, she decided to give a try in state services, but again the same story, pre, main and fail. By chance state government announced vacancies of Sub Inspectors. Her friends advised her to give a try for she was tall and strong. She applied and went on qualifying and all the stages. She joined the police department fifteen years ago at the age of 29. And at 44 today she has nothing in her hands, but two bad marriages, three suspensions, several departmental inquiries against her. Her reputation as a killer cop has closed all doors for her. Her way of interrogating was ruthless, there were two suicides, five deaths in lockup on her name now. No higher official was ready to take her at any city. She had always been posted at the worst police stations, criminals and corrupt policemen would try to leave that place for a better one. She spent her first day at the police station by going through the criminals of this area files. Suddenly she got up and checked her mouser pistol and ordered her driver and follower to take her around the area and highway. The driver told her that the police station Jeep was out of order, the mechanic was checking the problem. She frowned and ordered him to take her own car out. Soon they were on the highway. She told the driver that she would like to check the Naka police check post. The Naka police check post was notorious for the illegal activities of police men. It was situated at the highway at the 17th milestone. She wanted to catch them red handed. After twenty minutes they were on a narrow culvert which was suitable only for one way traffic. All of a sudden the driver stopped the car as there was already a car and roadways bus on the culvert. The driver decided to remain on the other side of the culvert until the coming traffic

pass.

August 14th, 07:20 PM “Have you found them?” “Who them?” asked Jafar. “That woman, Peter and Jagir.” “I’ve not reached at Devdurg yet,” said Jafar with irritation. “Hope you’ll inform me after getting her.” “You’ve given the job to me so trust me and never call back, I hate getting dictations, I’ll get that woman.” And he disconnected the mobile phone. He looked at the GPS, which was indicating that he was very close to his destination the city of Devdurg. He fished out his tablet computer and looked at the mug shot of Seema, provided by Ranjit Dev. This time there was no clear plan to complete this hit. He had the bus details provided by his client, but he was also sure that the woman would hardly enter the city, if she was smart she would not enter the city, she would elope in between the outer city and inner city. So time was an important factor, he must catch the bus before she left it. So he took a sharp turn and left the main road and took a paved road, this road would give him the benefit of 15 km. If everything went well he would certainly get her before entering the main city. August 14th, 07:25 PM At the time of twilight Peter found the perfect culvert for the hold up.The weather was still hot and humid. He gave signal to Jagir. They entered the culvert, Peter saw the bus also followed them. Jagir waited until they reached the middle of the culvert then he stopped the big SUV. Seema knew it was going to happen, she jumped from her seat and ran towards the driver and conductor seats. Luckily the leverage rod was lying under the conductor seat. She tilted a little and picked the rod.

Bewildered driver and conductor shouted simultaneously, ‘What are you doing?’ ‘Trouble,’ she said and pointed at the man who was coming out of that stopped SUV with a hand gun. Both the man left their seats and ran at the back side of the bus to find a hiding place. Their action crated a panic among the passengers and they also ran towards the back seats of the bus. Peter ran towards the main gate of the bus and kicked it to open it but it was locked inside. He ran towards the front glass screen of the bus, they were big enough to let a man enter into the bus. He looked for something to break the screen and he found a half brick on the road. He picked it struck the screen with a vicious force, it shattered with an ear deafening sound and the glass scattered all over the road and inside the bus. He put a foot on the fender of the bus and sprang into the bus. Seema saw the man entering the bus, she swung the rod towards him with a force. Peter tried to stand still in between the bonnet and side seat of the bus and he pulled out his gun from his belt where he crammed it before jumping into the bus. Before he could do anything he saw an iron rod coming towards him, he retrieved his face but the rod struck his arm. The blow was unexpected and forceful, he lost his balance and the gun slipped from his hand.

Seema wanted to strike his head, but missed, but she has separated his gun from him. She swung the rod second time, but Peter not only saved him but jumped over her. They both tumbled down on the rough floor of the bus, peter managed to come over her and subdued her with a powerful punch to her face. She fell unconscious. Peter was looking for his gun, but there was no sign of it, he gritted his teeth kicked in her belly. Some passengers murmured, he raised his first finger towards them, looked at them with his fierce eyes, passengers ducked down. He looked at the wriggling Seema, he tilted down a little, held her by her hair and started dragging her towards the door of the bus. He opened the lock of the door, stepped down and dragged Seema with him. He came out on the road and kicked again in the ribs of Seema, she cried aloud and he again kicked in her belly. “Jagir,” Peter shouted. The indication was enough for Jagir. He came out of the SUV with his gun and handed it over to Peter. Half conscious Seema opened her eyes, there was a dull figure of two men standing there, one of them was holding a gun in his hand. He turned towards her and fired at her. “So, this is the end,” thought Seema, she saw the flash of the gun barrel and turned around to dodge the bullet.

So the goons have got Seema finally. What will happen? Will she survive or not? Will she die at the hands of the goods? There are so many questions, which are still unanswered..... To know the answers of these questions, please read the next part of the story, which will be published in the next issue of Reflection.

Featured Poem

Is It Really Love? Marilyn Canete (Manila, Philippines)

That ardent desire and yearning, The fervor of skin to skin feeling, Body touches that are nerve足stimulating, Is it really love? That relentless rushing emotion, The Inflamed and unyielding obsession, Sweet Kisses that blur wise decision, Is it really love? That nagging fear of losing the person, The Intoxicating display of affection, Sensual thoughts that fire up perilous passion, Is it really love? That willingness to give body and soul to a mate, That deceitful thought that you're free to do It sans the marriage sacrament, Fornication that leaves your body plundered, Feeling like a waste, Is it really love? Is it really love or mere lust? Is it really love or a cunning Self足Love? Is it really love or an unreal insecurity? Is it really love or plain stupidity?

Featured Poem

Love Chandra Prakash Sharma (India) Loveâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s just one touch Which vibrates the soul, Expands it to infinity Breaking the bowl. Possessive love To the bowl confines, Its sweetest fragrance Festers and maligns. Love at first sight Just surface swipes, Separations take in it The deepest dives. The lotus blooms To honeycomb ties, Unfathomable bliss In true love lies. Love is not your Mom sis house, Love gives wounds Moves san grouse. Love seeks pleasure in pain, In love you never complain.

Featured Poem

Love is with me Ruchida Barman (Jaipur, India) Love is with me for a few years, It came so silently and yet so overwhelmingly It broke me, but only to mould me into a new person, It gave a new dimension to me Love is with me for a few years, It played upon each string of my heart, Giving it a new music, a new melody, This changed colors with each passing day. Love is with me for four years, It came as a companion and became a life giver, No wedlock, no physical touch, A platonic all consuming love.

Love is… Shahid Khan (India) Love is… A flower that blooms inside the heart, But its fragrance spread far open wide, A star that shines brightly in the sky, But visible in the twinkle of the eye. Love is…… A unique combination of infinite feelings; Feelings which remain insatiable till the end, Where every shade is just a new beginning, Whether be it in form of a lover or a friend. Love is….. A grave which is revered as mausoleum, A game of destiny where heart is just a medium, A fire which is worshipped as God, An idol in which some search the Lord. Love is..... A passion called patriotism for country, That prompts you to sacrifice everything, An incredible emotion which sets you free, From the bondage of differences completely. Love is …. A word which is defined in thousand ways, Yet it remains undefined.

Guidelines For Submitting Your Manuscripts 1 You should have a proper pen name. Pen name like girlie2000, lifeisadream, will not be accepted. If you use your real name, it will be highly appreciated. 2 You can send us stories, poems, essays, interviews, reportage, novel summaries etc. 3 Be original, plagiarism in any form is unbearable so it will be your responsibility to deal with, if someone claims or complains about your work the editor and the publisher will not be responsible for any of the published work. 4 It is necessary to provide your contact details with your manuscript. But if you like your contact details will be published under your work so that it will enable the readers to interact with you directly. 5 You can write in any genre but vulgarity, erotica, profanity is not allowed in any form. Besides propagating any religion, an ethnic group or terrorist group in your work is strictly prohibited. Our magazine is for general reading so the use of four letter words is not permitted. 6 It is advised that you must send your manuscript fully edited and grammatically checked. Our editors will not be able to edit or amend it so they have the right of rejecting your manuscript. 7 This is a free online magazine so we shall not pay any money for any of your published work. 8 Presently we are doing only six online and three printed issues in a year. 9 Our long term dream is to publish unpublished writers, please do your best to provide us with your best work. It may go to the printed version of our Magazine. 10 Our publishers MOPH are determined to publish the print versions of your novels too. If you have a novelist in you please send us the summary of your novel for publishing it in the online version of our magazine. If our editors and critics like your novel we will send it to our publishers for printing it free of cost. 11 By sending your manuscript to us you simply give us the right to publish it in our magazine. You continue to own the rights of your work in your name and Reflection does not make any claim or restriction on the ownership of your work.

Information To Be Provided With Your Manuscript

Please include the following information with every manuscript. If you are submitting as a word processor file, such as Microsoft Word, the best approach is to add points 1 & 2 to the top of the manuscript and the bio information to the end of the article. Please supply a separate file for the image captions or add them to the end of the article after your bio: 1) Your complete name, mailing address and telephone number, which will not be published without your approval. 2) Your eÂmail address, which will not be published or disclosed to anyone. 3) Supply captions for all images, illustrations or photographs you supply. 4) Supply a short biography of yourself in about 40 to 50 words, if you like weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll append it to the end of your work.

Important Some writers show their reluctance to provide their personal details. That is okay, you can still submit your work to the editor of the magazine. It will be editor's sole discretion to accept those entries or not. Besides such entries will only be entitled for the online issue of the magazine.

Love for Love Show some love to hearts in need Share some love irrespective of creed Shower some love to those tender hearts Reunite those broken shattered parts Pour some love into soul in solitude See the reflection of love as their eyes exude Let your love spread some delight Wipe someone's tears, fill with colors so bright I share some love 'coz I get back some Need more love to drive away all my glum

Basilia

MOPH