Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
This e-magazine is a compilation of Poems, Short Stories, Short – Story Series, Non – Fiction, Photographs published on Writer‘s Ezine. Cover Photo © Devika (Whimsically Quaint Photography) Image source Google Images, unless mentioned otherwise. The copyright of the work published in this magazine remains with the author of the individual work. Please contact the authors and Writer‘s Ezine if you need to use the content. You are free to share the content as long as you retain and respect the copyright. Visit
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Editor‘s Note Fiction Poem Poem Photography Non Fiction Fiction Poem Poem Author Interview Book Review Short Story Series Poem Poem Photography Poem Non Fiction Author Interview Book Review Short Story Short Story Photography Poem Whispered Words
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
Don‘t Lose Your Hope The Mysterious Power Hope Futility Fog in Coffee Mother‘s Wisdom The Claudron of Joy I, The Diary You Arrived as Euphoria Zeenat Mahal Haveli The Old Man and I - Darkness and Beyond You and I The Unheard Squawk Beautiful Burn of Jasmine Anger Those First Few Drops Nidhi Saxsena Love Chameleon The Heartbreak Broken Wings Drenched in Love Our Song Communication
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
At times in life you reach a crossroad where all that is clear is confusion. In such moments all you need to do is remember the
ultimate truth of life – This too shall pass.
From the day we are born we are in a race. A pursuit to happiness; to do everything in this world that can result into joy, name, fame, wealth and success. We begin with learning. We learn how to walk, talk, understand, comprehend, analyze, decide and do. We understand the relationships around us, we begin to love some, hate some and maybe love & hate a few too. We dream of beautiful tomorrows, we plan and we envisage. As a child the world seems full of possibilities. Everything and anything seems do-able at that moment as the enthusiasm to conquer the world is what runs in our veins. Gradually we grow up and become teenagers with hormones running wild all over. We fall in love, get our heart broken or worse break someone else‘s heart. Yet we continue moving further on this journey. Somewhere when we are midway we suddenly realize all that we planned till now, dreamed of or saw as the way ahead is nowhere near to what is happening right now. http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
The dreams we saw become mirages all of a sudden and the love that seemed like the strength on which we were striding ahead has been reduced to a mere feeling of nothingness. Things we always were sure of begin to feel unsure and things which we never thought of surface to remind us of their existence. And that is the time to let it all go, to stop planning and begin to go with the flow. To stop chasing things which seem materialistic and begin chasing the dreams we saw as a child full of innocence. In this process we will fall in and out of love, break hearts, get ours broken, have some dreams shattered, dream some new ones…. just pick up all that remains after all of that and move on. Travel, meet new people, see new places, click pictures and more pictures, learn things you never knew before, write, read, groove to music which makes your heart go umm for now it is time to create memories and let things be the way they are…. Que Sera
Sera
"Don't you think it's better to be extremely happy for a
short while, even if you lose it, than to be just okay for
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
your whole life?" — Audrey Niffenegger (The Time Traveler's Wife)
This issue of WE is dedicated to those hopelessly hopeful souls who are like the colourful rainbow in this otherwise boring world. Each one of us stands for hope, for even something as small as your submission to WE shows you hope to be selected. Let hope prevail!
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
The Mysterious Power I was sitting in the park a little away from my apartment watching the children play merrily and the cacophonous noise they created. Some youngsters were jogging while some oldies ambled along on what they considered a walk. A candy man was seen making large sugar candies cotton like in red color crowded by eager children. I could see amid the bushes young things in love snuggled close to each other. I enjoy this evening time watching everyone happy. True some urchins or beggars come to me seeking alms but they never return disappointed. I do not like company and prefer solitude. I choose vacant benches. As I was munching Brittania Good day biscuits enjoying music in my iPhone, a slightly built old man in a white pajama and ochre colored kurta came and sat by my side. There were strings of beads, tulsi, rudhraksha on his neck and sandal was applied on his forehead. I moved slightly to make him sit comfortable. He smiled at me and said to no one in particular that weather is fine. I nodded my head and proffered the biscuit packet.
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
―Do you live here? I come to the park daily and haven‘t seen you so far‖ I asked ―I am a nomad and never stay in one place. You can say peripatetic" he replied ―What do you do for living?‖ ―Should anyone do anything for living? Breathing is involuntary till one‘s hour comes‖ he said with an impish smile. ―Very true. Still one gets hungry and need a place to sleep‖ I said He looked upward and said ―He takes care of everything. Would you like to have some mysterious power?‖ he asked ―What power? What do I do with it?‖ ―You see, no one knows when his/her time has come. I
hereby vest in you the power to know one day earlier or even lesser time when a person‘s end will come. You have just to look at his eyes intently and the answer will come in your mind. Do not divulge to others this power of yours lest it stops working‖ ―Why should I know? If God has willed that it remains a secret, so be it‖ I said ―True. But you can help in little ways to reduce the immensity of the blow. You should not however tell the other person what you know. You are desisted from using it for making money. It will not work for you. I have transferred the power already to you‖ he said and walked away briskly.
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
Two days my neighbour‘s father from adjacent apartment met me and asked for 15G form for IT purposes as I generally have spare copies. Involuntarily I looked at his eyes intently of course and was shocked by the realization that he had only two days to live. ―What are you seeing?‖ he asked ―I thought your left eye is slightly reddish in color.‖ ―Could be as it was itching‖ ―Ok uncle. I will get the form from post office and give you. Please do not stir out‖ I said. I was feeling uneasy thereafter and could not sleep well. I wished I had not the power given to me or it did not work. On the second day as I was having my dinner, my wife came running and said in a shocked tone ―our neighbour‘s
dad had a sudden massive attack and expired 30 minutes back even before medical help could reach. He was hale and hearty with no complaints.‖ When I looked at her blankly without emotion, she asked ―Did you hear what I told you?‖ ―Yes, it is sad and shocking news‖ I said. I could see a trace of worry in her face.
I started looking for the man in ochre kurta to take back the power. He was not seen. The burden of power was sitting heavily on me and I was afraid of looking at the eyes of others. My son asked me one day ―What is wrong
with you? You are not looking at the eyes when talking to us and turn your head sideways. People may mistake
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
you‖. I mumbled that it is nothing and may be a new
habit to be got rid of. The next day as I was in the park looking for the man, a young girl of my building complex came running to me and said ―Grandpa, where is the biscuit you usually give me?‖As I gave her a couple of them, I chanced to see her eyes and was stunned to see that her time was just two hours. I gave her the entire packet and was about to ask where her mom was when she came running looking for the girl. ―Please take the child home immediately‖ I said with certain urgency in my tone, ―Why uncle? We came only a few minutes back‖ she replied. Impatiently I shouted ―Don‘t argue with me. When I say take her home, please do what I tell you‖. She gave me a strange and hurt look as she took the child along with her. Next day morning as I was shaving, my wife came silently behind me and said "Sad news again. You know Lalitha,
the good looking and curly haired lady on the fifth floor. Her young daughter got electrocuted last evening when she meddled with some electric plug. Lalitha is inconsolable. Shall we go and meet them?‖ ―No, you go please‖ I said. My wife looked at me somewhat strangely.
That evening as I was sitting with a heavy heart in the park, the ochre kurta man suddenly appeared before me. I recounted the two sad incidents and pleaded with him http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
to take back the power. He said ―No need. It will not bother you anymore, I am sure‖ he said and left abruptly even as I was thanking him. Little did I notice that he looked intently at my eyes before he replied as he did. A shoot of pain flit across my chest as I got up.
About K Parthasarathi: K Parthasarathi is a freelance journalist and regularly writes short stories in various genre in his blog random thoughts- www.kparthas.blogspot.com Editor's Comment: Excellent narrative, but the ending steals the show leaving you agape.
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
Hope
It's almost evening and its getting dark There is no light in office, no light in park I miss the light, I miss the bright Which soothes and pleases my sight! The darkness looks new Like a completely different hue I didn‘t know I would be so scared And give up on being dared I don‘t want to run away, I don‘t want to elope I wait for a new day, a new beginning, a new ray of hope Giving up, people say, that‘s not you You always have and always will get through!
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
About Sunayna Pal: The corporate world couldn't hold Sunayna Pal's interest for long and a 9 to 5 didn't appeal her much. So, she quit her job, converted her hobbies into her profession and started ―Art with sunayna‖ to teach and sell art from NGO's and became a full time graphologist and a home maker. In between all this, she also gets time to write. She is the Mumbai reporter for Evergreen Magazine. She is a part of the anthology ―Mighty Thoughts‖ and has published her articles in TOI, New woman, online fashion magazine-Style and Sparkle, Vinay's HR Zone and E magazines like Ignire and WOW (World of words). In her little spare time, she also maintains her blog at www.mannkiwindow.wordpress.com and can be contacted at sunayna.pal@gmail.com Editor's Comment: The most beautiful definition of hope in such few words.
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
Futility
I see a slumbering twilight world Of worn, salt-encrusted stone cheeks Dewy with memories of sorrow Of frightened swathes of crushed sand Flecked with grains of broken promises And of sobbing restless waters Eddying inky-black mouths Opening and closing, urgently, silently. The sun is asleep in its blanket of sea Dreaming shining galloping slumber-mares Foaming visions pale with purpose Are bridled to cold dark waves Racing futilely to be heard But they sink, unfulfilled, exhausted Frothing white in frustration Soon to be forgotten in the searing light Of the stark grey morning tomorrow Misty recollections blown away By a clear stinging breeze http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
So let me close my burning eyes for now And feel the feckless wind dance Let them flicker and glow with hope tonight Let them swallow themselves in flames.
About Amrita Goswami: Amrita Goswami is a freelance poet, writer, and digital artist. She is a student of Chemical Engineering who enjoys skating, blogging and reading in her spare time. She is also the cover designer of her college magazine. You can reach her at amrita16thaug646@gmail.com Editor's Comment: Nature and its beauty elegantly captured.
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
Fog in Coffee
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
Story Behind the Photograph: This particular image was one of my first attempts at still life. It captures two of my favorite old time companions. The coffee and the book. They have been so eternally my perfect relaxants for so many years now that they almost feel like a couple bound to each other by my interest.... so different from each other, yet standing by each other and committed to their cause of keeping me entertained. And though other interests have crept in, at the end of the day nothing is more relaxing than a hot piping cup of coffee and a good book waiting to be read.
―Instead of cream, I like fog in my coffee. Makes me feel like I‘m drinking the mystery that is love. ‖ ― Jarod Kintz About Devika: Devika is a woman qualified in the field of finance. Reading is a passion that has been growing up with her. She had forgotten how much I loved writing until two years back when a series of life changing events forced her to take up expressions through the pen. About the same time she discovered a penchant for photography. All these pass times work hand in hand these days to make her a really busy woman juggling her work on passion, work to earn her bread and work as a responsible family member. Editor's Comment: This picture if to be captioned can be just expressed in three words – Life‘s simple joys! http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
Mother‘s Wisdom Sitting at my mother‘s side while she gives another push to the sewing machine, I am extremely excited and rightly so, she is making a dress for me. It‘s not just any dress but one for a birthday party. 30 or so years ago, we did not have amazing malls and outrageously expensive, superbly styled dresses but just the magic of a mother‘s love. Her hands work nonstop, fixing, folding and making sure every stitch is perfect. I sit by her side, only because I know the end result will be divine. She tries to shoo me away, tells me to go and play, and even gives me pieces of cloth for the doll‘s clothing. All this falls on to deaf ears, I fidget, poke, and fumble with the myriad items she uses. It exasperates her to no end that neither I am of the age to learn nor am I of the inclination to sit still but still think that I am contributing to her work. As she gathers and stitches the pleats and makes the lovely frills, I can just not stop touching the cloth as it transforms into a beautiful red frock. Yes, the plain looking piece of red cloth is becoming something magnificent as I watch. She always tells me to go and do something else instead of sitting by her knee but even though I never listen. Neither do I go and do something else nor do I try to be still for long enough time so I could learn some stitching. http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
It is a mother‘s patience that finally gets the job done. The dress is ready; I wear it and preen in-front of the mirror. She tells me not to but I don‘t listen, It is such a heady feeling of wearing a new dress. I am magically transformed into a princess and the feeling comes back to me whenever I think of those lovely days when I wore things handmade by my mother. Such an inspiring memory, it is always reminding me to be patient, to work hard for something I really want, to realize the importance of working with my hands and instilling the importance of doing things out of love. My mother has long since stopped stitching things for me but she still gives her now dusty sewing machine a twirl now and then, if only to remind me of all the good things I learnt at her side when she was not trying to teach me anything. What did you learn at your mother's knee?
About Inderpreet Kaur Uppal: Inderpreet Kaur Uppal is a Freelance Writer, Editor, Blogger and Lecturer. She has a Masters Degree in Human Resources Management and loves to read, travel, discuss http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
and write. Writing comes to her naturally as a gift from her parents whose love of the English language and correct expression has become a way of life for her. She writes about what moves the heart and awakens the mind and celebrates beauty in everyday life. You can read more of her writings of www. inderpreetkaur.blogspot.in Editor's Comment: Childhood with its innocence also carries a lot of beautiful lessons we cherish throughout our lives, one such sweet lessons wonderfully narrated.
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
The Cauldron of Joy The night sky of Stavanger was swathed in an ethereal glow. Purple, pink, blue and green lights danced across the ebony backdrop of this thriving city in Rogaland County. Aurora Borealis would turn this metropolis into a larger-than-life disco. A silver-haired lady watched the Northern Lights as she drove her BMW home from work. Pernille Boine was 63 and single. She worked at the Green Mountain Data Centre in Stavanger. As the Facility Manager, Pernille was incharge of the up-keep of the entire data centre which housed millions of servers owned by the Information Technology giants of the world. She was a godmother to all the sensitive data that netizens uploaded to the ―cloud‖. Ironically, the server farm was nothing like a cloud. It was a fortress hidden in the mountains. Green Mountain was a maze of underground tunnels that were lined with giant tubes carrying icy cold water from the Rennesoy fjord to keep the servers cool and heavy cables to supply power. The walls were the colour of limestone and lit by white electric lights that were never switched off. http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
Pernille was a sincere worker. She was entitled ―Employee of the Month‖ over a dozen times during her tenure at the data centre. Despite having a great job and a comfortable lifestyle, Pernille felt her life was incomplete. *** It was a chilly December in Stavanger and she was 8. She was a feisty, young girl, always ready to rush out of her home and into the dark, frozen world outside. She loved skating on the ice. She adored her father who would hold her hand and teach her how to glide on the smooth, glassy sheet of ice. They would drive up to Lake Stokkavannet every Saturday morning through the cold, damp darkness that made it difficult to tell the days from the nights. Stavanger stayed dark through most of the year, starting from September and persisting till February. It was only in the afternoons that the sky turned a light shade of grey to cast an eerie glow over the city. Pernille would be layered in fleece and woollens in bright orange and yellow colours to contrast the sad tones that nature wore all winter. Her favourite red GoreTex jacket, matching red gloves and a balaclava completed her look. She loved how her skates slid over the smooth, hard ice, making neat white lines on its glossy surface. She was in a different world when she spread her arms and felt the http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
wind lift her entire being to the vast, velvety sky. She was a Norwegian Tern when she flew across the frozen Stokkavannet Lake. *** Pernille was a free spirit from the day she was born. She wasn‘t one to be tied down by the bonds of life. She would always stop to smell the rare blossoms in summer. In the month of April when the snow would just begin to melt, she would search for the elusive green leaf amidst the soft, dewy snow. She never understood why most people were afraid of the winter. She loved wintertime because that meant she could go skiing and snowboarding and make snow-figures all over their back garden which lay covered in mounds of mushy snow. She loved to count the snowflakes that drizzled by the kitchen window as she sat with a large waffle in one hand and tall glass of hot chocolate in the other. *** She was 15 when her father took her for the first time to watch Den Norske Opera & Ballett perform in Oslo. It was the 16th of February and the ballet company‘s maiden performance in Folketeatret in Oslo. Pernille had spent the whole evening frozen on the red velvet seat; intimidated by the colossal chandelier which hung from http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
the centre of the ceiling, like diamonds dripping from the night sky. The lights went out as the curtains lifted to reveal ballerinas dancing to the sounds of Christmas. The music floated through the theatre like a magic spell and Pernille found herself drifting into the world of ―The Nutcracker‖. Her mind swayed with every twist and spun with every turn of the dancers till she was one with the melody and numb with pleasure. *** In her pursuit for solitude, Pernille abandoned her boyfriend when she found out she was pregnant at 35. This was the first time she thought she was going to be chained down by domesticity. The birth of her baby boy brought more than just an extra family member- it brought an end to her carefree days. *** Olav Wasseltoft was a 46 year old patissier who coowned Den Gryten av Glede with his best friend and lover, Emil. Den Gryten av Glede was a quaint little restaurant on the Vaulen beach at Gandsfjorden. It stood on the coarse, white sand and had a pitched roof of concrete tiles. Den Gryten av Glede, the only vegan-friendly restaurant in Stavanger, welcomed the summer through its glass walls and remained packed with tourists all day and all night. http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
The locals who regularly lounged on the beach, swore by their Sunday brunch buffet which was a lavish spread of maple jam croissants, gravlaks, mussels steamed in white wine, tørrfisk and pickled mackerel Smørbrød. Olav would personally plate up all the desserts which ranged from cloudberries with whipped cream, lingonberry compote and honeycake to fattigman, lefse rolled with cinnamon and strawberry-rhubarb-tapioca pudding. The restaurant also boasted a well-stocked wine library with wines all the way from Italy, France & Spain. Locally produced beer, however, remained the favourite of the patrons with bayerøl being the most frequently ordered drink. Olav‘s business partner, Emil, was 27. He was a prodigious cook with a degree in Culinary Arts from Kulinarisk Akademi and Univerity of Stavanger. He had spent 2 years backpacking across South America and another year across Europe to master exotic cuisines. Emil had spent most of his childhood living in a twostorey bungalow in a posh cul-de-sac with his mother, whom he only saw on weekends. His mother would burn the candle at both ends to provide for her only son. She did not want him to lose out on the pleasures that the income of two working parents could provide. Emil was only 5 when he discovered his love for food and 13 when he discovered his love for the male species. http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
He was lucky to be gay in Norway, a country with a progressive mind and an open heart. But his happiness was short-lived as he soon learned that his staunch Christian mother disapproved of his sexual orientation. *** Emil had hair the colour of fresh snow and blue eyes that shone like sapphire. His aquiline nose and perpetual smile attracted many girls in his high school and he was often asked out on dates. He was never keen on seeing any of them. Nevertheless, he would agree so he could taste the high-octane nightlife of Stavanger. The Land of the midnight Sun lived up to its name as its inhabitants danced through the night at sprawling clubs that played Røyksopp and Bel Canto till the wee hours of the morning. It was at the discos where Emil felt most at home. He made many friends who accepted and understood his way of life and introduced him to the ―other‖ meaning of gay- Joy. *** Emil and Olav had met at the Gladmat Festival, Scandinavia's largest food festival in July when they were sampling pultost cheese with grovbrød as they sipped from cups of karsk. It was love at first sight. They had spent the entire evening talking about their passion for http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
cooking, their addiction to Gaarder, Hamsun and Fossum, and their weakness for Krumkakes. In the months that followed their serendipitous meeting, they started seeing each other regularly. They would head to HoT Open Mind or Alf & Werner for dancing, to SF Kino for the latest movies and go hiking around Stavanger when they could take some days off work. It was after 3 years and 4 months of courtship that Olav proposed marriage to Emil. *** Emil knew it was time he paid a visit to his aging mother. He hadn‘t been back to his old home since the day he left for university. He believed love and longing would have softened her heart and time would have erased the difficult memories. Emil knew it was wrong of him to desert his mother only because of her orthodox stand on gay relationships. He could not neglect the fact that she had singlehandedly brought him up and made him the fine man he was today. He could feel a lump forming in his throat as he drove by the familiar lush, green fields in his lemon-yellow electric car. He drove past the old church that he visited with his mother every Sunday morning. His grandfather had often told him that his mother was like a free bird, always ready to fly. He never fully understood why she had changed so much after the pregnancy. http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
Emil pulled up outside the large wooden bungalow that had been his home for 18 years. The burgundy painted exterior, the porch swing on the balcony, the potted gladiolas on the patio- everything was just as he had left it. He rang the doorbell and stood waiting for what seemed like eternity. Pernille Boine answered the door wearing a beige apron over her magenta dress. The mother and son duo stood motionless in front of each other as their eyes slowly welled up. Pernille drew Emil Boine to her bosom and cried till she felt all the pain wash away. *** During all her years of solitude, Pernille had found her life clouded with loneliness. She searched for joy in her weekend trips to the fjords and lakes in Stavanger. But she realized that those places would no longer be the same without love. In her childhood, she could love everything about her life only because she had her father to love and was loved in return. But after the birth of Emil, her restrictive and conformist ways resulted in alienating both her son and her power to attract happiness. It was only after she saw his radiant face that she fully understood what her life had been missing all those yearsLove. And love was the secret ingredient that could complete lives and sprinkle them with Joy. http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
She understood then that it was not important whether she loved a man or a woman, but whether she had unadulterated, unconditional love for that person. *** Pernille Boine was an ecstatic mother-in-law to Olav Wasseltoft and a proud mother to Emil Wasseltoft. She had taken a liking to Den Gryten av Glede and knew that it would soon be her favourite restaurant in Stavanger, not least because her son and son-in-law ran it. Pernille started living her life to the fullest, just as she did as a child. She retired from Green Mountain and spent all her days trying new things. She would go canoeing on some days and parasailing on others. She would sing in the bathroom and hum when she cooked. And when the coast was clear, she would sneak Olav‘s handmade krumkakes and wink to herself. It was after she licked the last crumb off her plate that she appreciated why the place was called Den Gryten av Glede- The Cauldron of Joy!
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
About Oindrila De: Oindrila is a 23 year old Computer Engineer at a global investment bank, and also a travel-blogger at http://oindrilade.wordpress.com/. She has an irrepressible urge to travel far and wide, and experience various cultures and cuisines of the world. She learns Latin ballroom dancing and salsa in her free time, and trains for various long distance runs to promote awareness of and raise funds for causes that affect the society. She also values education and helps local municipal school kids perform better at studies. She can be found at www.facebook.com/OindrilaGoesFootloose. Editor's Comment: Many times life redefines things for us, sometimes it is people, sometimes it is places. A heart touching tale about various perspectives of life that we seem to miss at times.
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
I, The Diary
I am just the pieces of paper That she lovingly put together I am neither, her mom or dad A faithful pal, when she's sad The cute Stories she etches with ink I read & reread; I get sleep not even a wink She paints me her daily events And her sweet yet sad story to which none laments Pens her pleasant desires & her dreamy life How she wishes to be Prince Charming's lovely wife She smiles & smiles & always shares her laugh Especially when sharing dreams about her another half! She writes in me for days, months & years I listen to her happily with all my ears She scribbles in me about friends & family Eagerly, I read & reread them so carefully http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
Sometimes she opens me with teary sad eyes Shed tears on me & a many times she cries Shares her sweet apologies, mistakes & fights Until her heart soothes, in me she writes & writes Crazy dreams & fantasies she nails in me She's a girl with a million dreams you see! She always keeps me with her & guards In joys or wails, she hugs me so hard Her good old memories & golden days she always shares She never wanna grow up, she always prays Though brilliant & wise, when in strife Sometimes she's confused & asks me a lot many whys! When memories & pains never took her apart, She spoke to me even in mid-nights with a heavy heart Many untold secrets here she bells A safe sound place, where her secrets dwell She covered me craftily in cute little pink There lies her secret world, she etched in ink Never leave me, I say, Oh! My sweet girl Only with words you ink, you have become my entire world!
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
About Daneshwari S Mirji: Daneshwari is a student by profession currently pursuing her Engineering in Information Science. Writing has always been her passion & she loves to write at "Where the ink speaks.." Reading, watching movies & music are her favorite pass time. She is available at daneshwari.mirji@gmail.com Editor's Comment: A touching poem that describes the bond between a writer and her diary so nicely.
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
You Arrived as Euphoria
Who are you just make me aware? With whom I wish to share My life, my ways and my sentiments How can you be so pure at such an extent? I am inclining towards you day by day Replacing my soul with yours what else I can say You have touched my pulsations without fondling me And emerged as a factual idol of my fantasy Escorting me consistently without any wrong intention Shielded me with Love and support with no other reason You have captivated me with great care and emotions As you know how to win me with your true passion You arrived as Euphoria in my devoted Castle And I tuned myself according to your whistle
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
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About Author: Farah Siddiqui Editor's Comment: The longing of love beautifully penned.
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
Author Interview Today we have Ms. Zeenat Mahal the author of the latest book ―Haveli. Zeenat Mahal is an avid reader and has been writing for as long as she can remember. She has an MPhil in English literature from Government College Lahore and is currently doing an MFA in creative writing from Kingston University, London. She won a BBC short story competition in 2001 and has been a regular contributor to newspapers. Running out of Ink, another international online magazine has published her short story, The Accidental Fiancee in their August 2013 issue. ‗Haveli‘ and 'The Contract' are Zeenat‘s first two published novellas. Currently she is working on a novel. She can be contacted on her FB page The blurb of her book reads: Abandoned by her father, C. is brought up by her domineering, intractable grandmother, whom she privately refers to as ‗The Broad‘. Raised in the closed http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
environs of a haveli in Jalalabad, C. is rebellious, quickwitted and a self-proclaimed cynic. So, when The Broad presents her with the ‗suitable‘ Taimur as a possible husband, C. isn‘t too happy with the arrangement, no matter how gorgeous ‗Alpha Male‘ may be. As it happens, the feeling is mutual. Or is it? And when C.‘s long lost father enters the scene, things get really complicated…
In conversation with her: 1. A warm welcome to you, talking about your novel Haveli– how did this whole idea get conceptualized?
Thank you, WE. It's so kind of you to have me.Haveli owes a lot to the beautiful city of Bahawalpur in Southern Punjab. I visited and fell in love with this gorgeous place, http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
so full of history and grace. It was a princely state up until 1958, I believe. I felt compelled to write about it. I disguised it as Jalalabad but I do mention Bahawalpur in passing as a tribute.The music, Sufi poetry, and artistic brilliance manifest in the grandeur and intricacy of the architecture of that area are simply unforgettable. 2. Haveli is a mixture of romance with drama. Was it intentional to make it multi-genre?
I had no idea it was, frankly. This story was almost complete in my head for ages. All the characters were already familiar and well known to me a long time before I went to Bahawalpur and found the setting for this story and I actually put it in writing. Then everything came together. 3. It is said that every author draws inspiration from real life people for his/her characters, how true is it in your case?
Well, Bi Amma is based on my inimitable grandmother. She was a woman of substance and one of the most spiritual people I have come across in my life. She never ever stressed her spirituality, which is the mark of true mysticism and was very pragmatic in everyday life. She is a great influence on me. 4. If given a chance, is there anything that you would like to change in this book? Why?
Good question. I would make it longer. I would tell more about Cholistan and its beauty, I would add more detail http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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about the traditions of the place and slow down the last quarter of the book quite a bit. 5. One character that is very close to your heart in this book? And why?
Bi Amma. She is brave and strong and she is based on my maternal grandmother.
6. Can you take our readers through your journey of becoming a published author? Was it always a desire to be one that has got materialized now? When did you realize that THIS is what I want to be – an author?
When I was a little girl....I won't tell you the entire life history but Yes, it's true. It's been my dream to be a 'writer' since I first fell in love with books. My friends knew this about me and one of them, Khadija Zulqarnain wrote to me after a gap of years that she thought of me when her good friend Naheed Hasan told her about Indireads. So I sent Naheed an email and the first chapter of Haveli. Naheed really liked it and we skyped and she sent me a contract. 7. How does it feel to have the author‘s tag associated with you, now that you have had 2 releases till now?
It's wonderful. Initially, I was reluctant to allow myself to use that 'tag' because I was stuck in the last century thinking, if it isn't a print book then it's not real. But I realized soon that ebooks are far more in demand than I had previously thought and that yes, I am indeed an author. http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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8. How difference in Zeenat Mahal the author from Zeenat Mahal the person?
Zeenat Mahal is my pseudonym. It's that side of me that cannot stop believing in fairy tales, so quite different from the real me. 9. ―Writers write stories which need to be told, with a desire to be heard‖. WE would like to hear your thoughts on this.
I certainly agree because I do have a strong desire to tell stories which give my readers a good time and give them something to think about as well. If a book doesn't add some sort of value to your experience then it isn't worth the money someone spends on it, in my opinion. I wouldn't want my readers to feel that they'd wasted their time and money. 10. Do we see you experimenting with genres in future?
Oh yes. I love writing. I have many more stories to tell.
11. Getting published is supposed to be a mammoth task for any writer. How has experience been about it? Any specific incidents (good or bad) that you would like to share here with us.
I realized the importance of a good editor. In publishing a bad editor can sink your book. My experience with Indireads has been great. Naheed is very supportive and is always there to listen to her authors and their issues. I really appreciate that.
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12. We would like to know about any future projects you are currently working on.
My latest novel She Loves Me-He Loves Me Not is coming out soon. It is a twist on the Beauty and the Beast fairy tale. 13. Some words for your readers.
Thank you so much for all your support and for your emails and feedback telling me how much you liked my books. It makes me want to carry on telling stories and doing what I love. You make it possible for me to use the 'tag' WE has mentioned. A huge thank you for sparing some of your precious time to be with here today, WE would like to wish you all the best for all your future endeavours.
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
Book Review Writer‘s Ezine would like to thank the author Ms Zeenat Mahal for sending in such a wonderful book to be reviewed by our Editorial Team and also agree for an interview with us. :Intro: Abandoned by her father, C. is brought up by her domineering, intractable grandmother, whom she privately refers to as ‗The Broad‘. Raised in the closed environs of a haveli in Jalalabad, C. is rebellious, quick-witted and a selfproclaimed cynic. So, when The Broad presents her with the ‗suitable‘ Taimur as a possible husband, C. isn‘t too happy with the arrangement, no matter how gorgeous ‗Alpha Male‘ may be. As it happens, the feeling is mutual. Or is it? And when C.‘s long lost father enters the scene, things get really complicated…
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
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:Book Review: 1. Cover: The cover page is bright and has got a very eye catchy sketch of what can be easily assumed as the entrance of the Haveli. 2. Presentation: The author as mentioned in her interview has based this fictitious city of Jalalabad on a real city. Even without that, it is very for you to envisage the city before your eyes as she has managed to bring it out alive through her words. The presentation is very simple and connectable for a reader. 3. Narration: The narration is simple, easily understandable and does manage to grab the attention of the readers till the end. 4. Characters: The main character of the story as it is evident from the blurb is C. She comes across as someone who could actually be a person you meet next time you go for a walk. She could be your next door neighbour, your that friendly lady at the park or perhaps she could be you or me. Her character-sketch is that well defined , at some places you feel as if she is a dear friend and she is narrating her joys and sorrows to you. 5. Plot: The plot is exciting so to say and the author has done perfect justice to it. http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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6. Storyline: The storyline is gripping and one that will leave you feeling satisfied, one that comes after having read a good story, very well narrated, one that stays with you for long and keeps you awake for you want to know what happened next. 7. Story flow: Smooth. 8. Language: Well articulated. 9. Pros: Coming from the author it talks about places most of us would have heard or read in news. Her book makes those cities come alive; that person takes shapes before your eyes and hence is a thoroughly enjoyable read. 10. Cons: At few places the narration weakens a bit making you want to skip pages and reach further exciting portions. :Overview: The overall rating for the book would be 4 out of 5 for it is nice entertaining read. WE team would like to thank the author Ms. Zeenat Mahal for sending across this book for review and would also like to wish her all the best for all her future endeavours. http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
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The Old Man and I – Darkness and Beyond – Part Two When the concert ended, he asked me where I lived and when I told him he said ―That‘s not far off and I presume that you walked over here. My house is on the way only and we can walk back together, if you don‘t mind‖. I didn‘t mind for by this time I found that there was something very interesting and genuine about the old man. As we walked, he asked me in Tamil ―So where did you
dump all your garbage till now?" (Kuppai kotinay in
Tamil literary means ‗dumped your garbage‘ but does not have the same effect when translated into English. That is where I guess translations lose some of the effects of the original) and seeing the expression on my face he laughed, ―Don‘t take it seriously. I only meant to ask you where you worked‖. I also laughed and told him that I was in the Bank for thirty five years and retired. He had retired as a pretty senior official in the State Government. He asked me whether I would be there at the concert next day. I told him that I was not sure. How could I tell him that still a generation separated him from
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
me? What the ‗good old days‘ for him were ‗very old days‘ for me. I was still in my cradle. Maybe I shall go to the concert tomorrow, if not the music at least to resume my conversations with the old man. Well I did not go to the concert the next day not because I did not want to meet the old man; in fact I did want to, but other things kept me busy. The Kutcheri season had ended but I thought that I may bump into him in some concert or the other in the neighbourhood sometime. I did look forward to it for I felt there was something else to him than the flippant exterior he presented. I was therefore pleasantly surprised when a few days ago I met him in the park, sitting there all alone and watching the children play, with a smile on his face. As I approached him he looked up and said to me – ―Well there you are. Did I really bore you so much that
you decided to skip the rest of the music season? I am glad that we meet again and I promise that I shall not intimidate you with my remarks. Come sit down here if you have the time and may be we can talk a bit about the good old days. Sorry, but that‘s all I know about now‖. I did not hesitate and sat next to him and said ―Frankly I
was looking forward to meeting you again. You interest me‖
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
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He laughed ―Funny, whoever would find an old man
interesting? But I like your openness and you have patience. That‘s what I gathered when I met you that day. If my guess is right you are in your early sixties isn‘t it? Now may be you can guess my age‖ ―Eighty five at least‖ ―Eighty seven to be precise‖
Though he did look old, he appeared physically much younger and mentally very alert. But there was something sad in those eyes. He was obviously a very intelligent man who had seen and undergone all the trials and tribulations that life could offer. I looked at him and smiled. He carried on ―I come here nearly every day in the
evening and watch all the people who come here. It is not curiosity, but as I watch them the park seems to come alive. After all as one sees his end approaching, he wants to feel ‗life‘. As I sit here, the evening slowly drifts away as dusk settles down and then the night creeps in. I am in the dusk now and soon it will be night and I will go home‖. It was a lonely man that I saw sitting next to me, but one who had accepted the coming of the end. He had seen it all. I asked him ―who else lives with you at home?‖
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
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He laughed ―Home? Well I had one till last year as long as
my wife was alive. Now of course I have a house where I stay with a servant to keep me company. He is also getting on in years. I brought him along from my village where he was living as a destitute and now he looks after me, as faithful as a dog. Sorry I couldn‘t find a better expression‖ ―What about your children? Where are they?‖ I asked.
―No, I don‘t have any children. There is a brother and his
family who do come to see me frequently as they stay nearby. My wife passed away last year. You see we had been together for more than sixty years. It was only a question of who will go first and she did. What saddened me was that she had to go after suffering for some years. She had cancer and many a time I have wished she had gone much earlier. But when I look back now, I am not dissatisfied with the life that I have led, except for the fact that there were no children. But I did find other outlets to compensate for that. I love children and I have done my bit for all those destitute and orphans in my own way and it has given me and my wife great happiness. You may wonder why we did not adopt a child, but that is of no consequence for in the end we ended adopting many more this way. After the death of my wife I have slowly withdrawn into myself, but I do find a lot of solace in music and that‘s why I do not miss any concert that is held in this neighbourhood. My friends do drop in at times but now one cannot have a conversation with them http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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for they also have their problems. That day at the concert and now today I find it easy to talk to you though you are a stranger‖. As it was getting late I got up and asked him ―Will you be leaving now? I can walk along with you till your house‖ He said ―No go ahead. I shall remain here for some more
time. But we shall meet again I hope. You can always find me at this spot and next time I promise that I shall listen to you; till then, bye and all the best‖.
As I walked out of the park, I turned back to see him, a lonely figure on the bench as the dusk settled. The night was slowly creeping in. That‘s what life is all about – the dawn, the light of the day, the twilight and then the all consuming darkness. ~ To be continued
About G.S.Subramanian: G.S.Subramanian or gssubbu chose to continue his passion for writing, painting and music after his retirement in May 2010 Though a Banker, he is by qualification an electrical engineer having graduated from the Indian Institute of Technology, Kharagpur in the year 1972.. He now lives in Chennai. gssubbu is a regular blogger and writes on his blog ‗Sublimation‘ at subbusg.blogspot.com. His writings http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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reflect a search for a meaning in life and how little things which appear inconsequential contribute to a greater understanding and help us discover the joy of living. Editor's Comment: Love the depth held in those simple words.
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
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You and I
When I am with you, I am a splendid soul, All the vile thoughts, All things dull, Just cease to exist. You are my devoir, Your arms my sanctum, Your eyes my mirror, The warmth of your hug my favored wrap. My heart beats echoing your amour, My blood gushes in rapture, My lips are tinted by your ardor, My skin blooms in your fervor. You wonder why we forget, The entire world throughout. http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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Our ornery paths converge, Our thirsty souls forever merge. You and I, we contrived this world, This cozy microcosm of ours. You and I, we will enshrine our love, Just here beneath the stars; The waves and the golden sand, The silent deponents...
About Preethi Venugopal: Preethi Venugopal is a Civil Engineer by profession and an artist and blogger by passion. She also has a postgraduate degree in English Literature. After working for over a decade in various prestigious civil engineering projects, she has taken a sabbatical from work to become a full time mother. She uses her spare time to dabble in prose, poem and art. An avid reader, she loves penning down stories. She is also a certified Reiki healer. Editor's Comment: Romance brought alive through this poem.
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
The Unheard Squawk
Broken and lost in the darkness of life, Wishing someone would come and standby! Hold my hand and take me to light, So that I buckle up myself and get ready for a fight. My fight against those pervert, kinky humans, Who marooned my life with unknown conclusions! Ask them why I was slashed and ripped? Why was my squawk unheard? Why my pleadings were left unnoticed? Ask them what my mistake was for such brutality! Their brutality has permanently scarred my life, The scar that will stick with me for my entire life! Can anyone help me to drive away this darkness and to get going? And not just merely read my story and pity over it! http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
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About Sadiya Sayad: Sadiya Sayad is basically an engineering student, pursuing degree in Computer Science stream. She is from a small town Shimoga. Unheard by many, this place resides amidst the Western Ghats. Writing an article has always excited her. It‘s also her dream to become an editor of a magazine someday. There are always thousands of thoughts running in her head, but she used pen something only when some melancholic thing popped up in her life. This is one such poem which she penned down in light of all the abuses going on recently. Editor's Comment: The pain of a hurt soul for no fault of hers, touchingly penned through this poem.
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
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Beautiful Burn of Jasmine
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
Story Behind the Photograph: Jasmine in my garden Calling me Her perfume Perfume is in my whole body My heart My every part is praying for her perfume My submission for her love voluptuous merge fragrance urge Senseless,sensus Erupt in my life Craving for her Tranquil touch Let me burn in her beautiful perfume Let me ... Let me...
About the Photographer: Binod Bastola Editor's Comment: Nature‘s beauty perfectly captured in a moment that can be easily called Priceless!
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
Anger
Strength and love paralysed, Fearful hate raves in thrust, Blowing like raging wind, And ruthless as a storm. This is what anger is. Bitterness invades the heart, As harsh words come through open mouth, Light becomes darkness, And where warmth was now is bitter cold. This is what anger does. Where passion for creation lied, Now desire for destruction resides, For rage and fury are only things to thrive. Life turns to stone, And joys fall to the bottom of the ocean. This is what anger feeds upon. http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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But what of treatments? For none likes to dwell forever in darkness, Shame and regret will come to siege, For no heart is entirely ill and stoned, Feelings of warmth will come to fight, To take their rightful place in the human heart. They will never accept to be forgotten, As they are part of the fabric in which we were made, Conceived in love, We will live and love others as we are being loved, And till we die, still dipped in love, We will live forever in the hearts of those we have touched. Remember, truth remains that as easy it is to submit to rage, And hard it is to say that I am sorry. Courage is needed to dare do certain things, But it takes even greater strength to admit one was wrong.
About Odellia Firebird: Odellia Firebird practices a myriad of inter-connected arts such as acting, drawing, writing and filmmaking. She has studied acting at various institutes, including the Cours http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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Florent in Paris and the School of Performing Arts in Montreal. She has multiple publications to her name, including novels, poems, and articles. She holds a BA in English Literature and Professional Writing from Concordia University and a certificate in Film Studies from the Trebas Institute in Montreal. She also wrote and produced two independent films which can be watched on YouTube. Odellia can be contacted at info@daughteroflames.com. Editor's Comment: Hauntingly Beautiful
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
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Those First Few Drops My 3rd floor bedroom window can prove to be a boon sometimes, which I normally take to be a bane, it opening directly to the roadway. But sitting there, while the first rains of the year broke down relieving me of the roasting heat, I saw life coming alive. While it did not rain heavily the first day, it was more than mere drizzling. I coupled by coffee with a few ―hide n seeks and sat by the window, trying to feel the cool breeze. Just then I saw an old lady passing by a puddle of water. She did not seem very pleased to be getting wet in the rains, but neither had she made any attempt to shelter herself. No raincoat, no umbrella, nor did she lift her saree up to her head as a shelter, in the conventional manner. Sure it did not look like it could rain for very long, then why she did not wait under a tree or at a port till the rains ended, I wondered. Perturbation comes easy to me and so I started a conflict in my head. Maybe the lady was in haste. But if she was, she could have asked somebody to give her a lift, her son or daughter probably. Or maybe she did not live with her children. What about her husband? Did he also not live with her? Was he no more? So under all these http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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circumstances, she must be feeling so helpless and reclusive and shag! Oh wait, she just waved! I couldn't see to whom, the road was clear at this point. She waved once, and then concentrated on making her way through the puddle. Aha! There I saw another old lady come out of a society, 100 meters away. So she was probably going to meet her friend. The two hired an auto and left. I concluded I probably should just stop thinking about her and why was she out in the rains. She did not even know I existed and I had contemplated her life! Sipping my coffee and enduring the chocolate flavour of the biscuits, I saw another lady, this time young and on a two wheeler. She had her daughter standing in the front of the two-wheeler. The two seemed to be enjoying the rains. They giggled away together like best friends while the daughter tried catching every rain drop that she could. It looked like a lovely scene. They looked just-out-of a typical movie. I imagined them in slow motion and smiled to myself. But before I could analyze them further to draw ideas about their lives, they exited the purview of my 55 inch window. Then there came a man, in his 20's maybe. He was frowning, can u believe it?! I could gather that he hated rains. Understandable too- the dirty puddles, the insects, the blocked roads, cancellation of plans, no outdoors, the humidity! But the first few rains are always to be respected! They alleviate us of the sizzles of the summer sun. You either do not go out during this time, or if you http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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do, you cannot be frowning! He must have some other issues too in his life. Maybe money problems, unsatisfactory job- he did not look of the well-to-do sorts. So maybe his boss sent him for some work, in the rains, and so he was frustrated with him. I wanted to go up to him and tell him how necessary it was for him to enjoy every fold that life brought him to. I wanted to show him what I was seeing through the window that day, so many joyous faces, the perky and the playful people. I wanted him to know what he was missing, being so spiritless that evening. Problems are supposed to be solved, not to burden yourself with so that you miss those beautiful moments life has brought you to. There must be a thousand people waiting to rush out and feel those first few drops on their sweat-wet face. And when this man gets a chance, he dislikes it! He frowns! He might want something else from life, but shouldn't be disrespecting what life is already giving him, I agreed. Just then I heard someone call out my name. I brought thoughts together and saw a friend, my junior in highschool, calling out to me. He must have seen me at the window and asked me to come down for a ride in the rain. I thought of refusing at first, I wanted to spend more time at the window- gazing away all by myself. Then I realized here was an opportunity to enjoy those first few drops, through a bigger window! Definitely, an infinite window. I jumped up and got going. http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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About Soumyaa Verma: Soumyaa is a student, in every sphere of her life- be it her current under-graduation at a law college, writing at her blog or learning the bitter truths of life. She is a strong believer of hard work, idleness exhausts her. She writes to satisfy her need to share her experiences and thoughts with everybody around the world, hoping to be able to make a little (if not a lot) difference in their lives. She is intrigues by human nature and loves to explore it. You can contact her at- soumyaa.verma@gmail.com Editor's Comment: It is said, life happens when you are busy noticing everything else. This article just brings those lines alive.
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Author Interview
Today we have Ms Nidhi Saxsena the author of the latest book ―Love Chameleon‖.
The blurb of her book reads: Love Chameleon is an anthology of contrarian poems penned over 20 years wherein the poet uses the metaphor of the ―Chameleon‖ to elucidate the complex themes of love, lust, loss, longing, sexuality and outdated social mores. The book is paradoxical in that it blends several contradictory elements to make a powerful whole – it is at once intrepidly bold and sensual, movingly sensitive and absurdly hilarious. The poems are further multi-layered in that they exist at the level of words but also convey higher meaning at another, more metaphysical level. In the end, the book truly captivates by its sheer candidness matched in equal measure with a witty and vibrant play of words. http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
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In conversation with her: 1. A warm welcome to you, talking about your poetry collection– how did this whole idea get conceptualized?
The book is a result of intense introspection on the nature of love, lust, attachment, pain, loss, longing etc. I conceptualized the first three chapters wherein three vital moods of love viz kama or desire, viraha or parting, tadap or longing are expressed through poetry. The last two chapters tackle some extremely relevant social issues including alternate sexuality, marriages, parenting etc and use satire to express complex themes. I had so much to say to my readers and this structure helped me to say so succinctly. 2. Your book Love Chameleon has taken up topics like sexuality and lust, which is as you mentioned in the blurb are looked upon as social mores. What made you take it up as a theme?
I believe that a writer cannot just be a fence-sitter but needs to take an unequivocal stand on issues that matter http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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and present that truth in its absolute naked form without any apologies whatsoever - a writer acts like the conscience of the society and takes the poison on his or her own self by exposing and thereby purging the bitter truths that are buried in deep layers of hypocrisy and denial within a society and form part of our collective pact of silence lest they become too huge a burden to carry. I have tried to do the same with my book, that is essentially challenge all established social mores and norms and tackle them head-on. Sexuality and lust are very much a part of human reality and we cannot but keep brushing them under the carpet. We need an open dialogue here. 3. Can you tell us something more about the book‘s name – Love Chameleon, it is intriguing at the same time and is attracting.
The name ―Love Chameleon‖ was something that came to me as soon as I started compiling the poems. The chameleon has been used as a metaphor to reflect the transient nature of love and relationships. At another level, the chameleon also reflects the insatiable nature of human desires. Plus as you pointed out the name has a sex appeal. I couldn't think of any other name that would be more apt. 4. WE would like to know something about your journey of becoming a published poet.
This is my first book and that too in a very niche genre like poetry that is not seen as commercially viable so it http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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was not easy getting a publisher to look at it at all in the first place. I finally went ahead with Partridge Publishers, the self-publishing arm of Penguin Random House as it seemed like the best bet to get the book out to the audience. And it has been a great experience. 5. A collection of poems over a span of twenty years that is a huge time! Do we see a sequel to this one coming out soon.
Having launched my first book in a niche genre like poetry, I am now working on my first full-fledged novel. Of course I am a poet at heart and as and when new and meaningful poetry emerges from within, I would like to compile and publish poetry again. However, nothing is planned so far. 6. Many poets feel that poetry as a genre has not got its due yet in India. What are your thoughts on this?
Poetry, one of the most beautiful and expressive of all art forms, is fast becoming an endangered species in the realm of literature, not just in India but also across the globe. The world may not have the same charm if we no longer have the luxury of relishing fine poetry, be it in English, Urdu, Hindi or any other language. Therefore, we must do all we can to revive poetry. There should be more high quality poetry published and taken up by the publishers. Also the tradition of poetry or shayari sessions should be revived in theatre, bookstores etc. and more activities involving live author interaction would definitely promote poetry. http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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7. It is said that a poem is the poet‘s voice from the hearthow much do you agree with this and why?
I couldn't agree more and the reason for that is that my own work is highly in the realm of the experiential, deeply personal and coming from the heart. Poetry is all about finding words to express emotions. 8. How much of your professional experience, that of being the CEO of Karmic Lifesciences Inc helped make this book what it is.
At one level, there is absolutely no correlation between my writing and my business. Infact both are highly contradictory passions. The businessperson in me is an A type o-getter whereas the author in me is laid-back and lost. Sometimes it gets difficult to reconcile. But what helped was being well recognized at the time of launch and that helped to some extent in establishing credibility and engaging a sub-section of readers initially. 9. Do we see you experimenting with genres in future?
Poetry is and will always be my first love but I am keen on experimenting with all possible genres – I am currently dabbling on a short stories collection, a satirical novel on entrepreneurship and a serious novel on love. Well, I would even be keen on theatre at some point of time or even publishing in Urdu. 10.We would like to know about any future projects you are currently working on. http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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Having launched my first book in a niche genre like poetry, I am now working on my first full-fledged novel. While the project is extremely nascent at this stage, I am working on a plot which involves the twists and travails of an ambitious and idealistic entrepreneur who eventually turns into a power hungry politician. Enough said! 11. Some words for your readers.
You readers have a big role to play in continuing to encourage and appreciate good poetry – in ancient times, poets were patronized in royal courts and celebrated as bards. Today that old way of life exists no more but it is you who can make us poets feel rewarded by enjoying our work! A huge thank you for sparing some of your precious time to be with here today, WE would like to wish you all the best for all your future endeavours.
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Book Review
Writer‘s Ezine would like to thank the author Ms Nidhi Saxena for sending in such a wonderful book to be reviewed by our Editorial Team and also agree for an interview with us. :Intro: Love Chameleon is an anthology of contrarian poems penned over 20 years wherein the poet uses the metaphor of the ―Chameleon‖ to elucidate the complex themes of love, lust, loss, longing, sexuality and outdated social mores. The book is paradoxical in that it blends several contradictory elements to make a powerful whole – it is at once intrepidly bold and sensual, movingly sensitive and absurdly hilarious. The poems are further multi-layered in that they exist at the level of words but also convey higher meaning at another, more metaphysical level. In the end, the book truly captivates http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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by its sheer candidness matched in equal measure with a witty and vibrant play of words. :Book Review: 1. Cover: The cover page is very unique in terms of designing and matches the theme of the book to the T. 2. Presentation: The presentation of the collection is very simple and one that can be termed as soothing. 3. Narration: The poems have been woven with lot of love and that reflects in each and every word. 4. Characters: As it is a poetry collection, there are no characters, plot, story line or story flow. However some of those poems actually evoke a lot of emotions in the reader, making you imagine them. 5. Language: Beautiful and yet simple. 6. Pros: The book stands out in terms of its candidness and sheer honesty that reflects throughout the entire collection of poems. 7. Cons: As there poems are spread over a wide array of genres, it is possible that some of the readers might not be able to connect to each one of the gamut of emotions spread out in the book. http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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:Overview: The overall rating for the book would be 3.5 out of 5 for it is a decent one-time read. WE team would like to thank the poet Ms. Nidhi Saxena for sending across this book for review and would also like to wish the author all the best for all her future endeavours.
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The Heartbreak He sprang out of bed with the first beep of the alarm. Excitement flush on his face, like that of a new bride on her wedding day, he scurried about his chores. He gelled and parted his hair and combed it neatly, putting a stray strand of hair into place. Donning his favourite shirt and a spray of perfume on it, he was raring to go. She would be waiting and he couldn‘t afford to make her wait. He mounted his bike as if it was a horse and as he rode he felt the cool breeze kiss his face. He wished she would one day kiss him like that! He felt his heart race as he got down from his bike and walked towards the office. She looked down at him from the glass window on the first floor and he thought he saw her smiling. He smiled back at her. He was early as usual and except the cleaning lady there was no one around. He would have ample time to spend with her before the other staff came in. He hopped up the steps, two at a time and walked up behind her. She was still looking out of the window with her back to him. ‗Hi sweetie, good morning‘ he whispered into her ear, turning her around to face him. http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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She seemed to be smiling at him, like always. She was wearing a blue satin sleeveless full length gown that made her look so alluring! ‗See what I have brought for you today,‘ he said as he opened a cardboard box and showed her a pink chiffon saree. ‗This is my favorite colour, sweetie, and look at the silver lace on the border; you‘ll look more beautiful than ever when you wear this‘ he winked. He unfolded the saree and laid it out on the table for her to see. ‗Why won‘t you say anything, don‘t you like it?‘ he asked, and then he saw her shy smile and knew she had liked it as much as he did. So what if she couldn't speak, didn't he always understand the language of her eyes? ‗Let me help you wear it,‘ he said. He drew the curtains on the window and switched on the lights. Then he slid the blue satin dress off her shoulders, his eyes tightly shut, ‗ I'm not looking, sweetie, at least not till you tell me to‘ he smiled naughtily. He knew she did not know how to wrap a saree around herself so he‘d have to do that himself too. She watched in awe letting him expertly wrap the beautiful pink saree around her slender waist. When he was done, he looked at her, mighty pleased with himself. She looked like a dream!
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He pulled open the curtains and stood there for some time, holding her hand, watching the world walk by on the streets below. Suddenly there was a lot of commotion and people were running helter-skelter on the roads. ‗Wait right here, I‘ll just go check what‘s happening‘ he told her. But no sooner had he said that, he felt the ground beneath his legs shake and rumble. And before he realized what was going on, he saw the glass window crack and break into a thousand pieces. To his utter horror and shock, he saw her fall out of the window several feet down to the ground even before he could hold onto her. Like a madman, he flew down the fight of steps, out of the office building and into the street below. She lay among the shards of glass her neck apparently broken by the fall. He gathered her in his arms weeping like a child oblivious to the crowd gathered in the street, oblivious to the quake that still continued to shake the earth, oblivious to everything around him but her. She had been the only one who had loved him unconditionally, unmindful of the warts on his face, unmindful of his crooked teeth and unmindful of his bulbous nose. Even as he wept, he saw his colleagues standing around him exchanging animated glances, trying to suppress their smile. Teary eyed, he picked up a stone and threw it at the office signboard that read ‗NAVRATNA SAREES‘. He couldn't bear to work here anymore. With her not http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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around, it didn't make sense to come back to this place. He picked up another stone aiming at his colleagues, but let that drop as they ran away from him. She may have just been a mannequin to others, but to him she had been the love of his life. And like those broken pieces of glass, his heart too had broken into a thousand pieces.
About Shubhangi Srikanth: Shubhangi Srikanth writes under the pen name Titli in her blog ―the little princess‖. After having worked for more than 12 years in the Pharmaceutical and Banking sector, she now freelances as a content writer for medical and health websites. She can be reached @ titli15081977@gmail.com. Editor's Comment: A romance delivered with an amazing twist that will make you smile.
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Broken Wings Ritu wiped a fresh tear that hung over her high-cheek bones. She looked into her reflection in the mirror unable to recognize the person that stared back. Dark circles had begun to envelope her beautiful doe-shaped eyes. Her smooth skin had lost its colour and a few premature strands of grey dotted her lovely mane. She looked back at her life less than a year ago; a vivacious girl with a great academic record, lovely set of friends and hopes set on a bright future. Oh, how did everything come to this? Ritu was consumed by such rhetorical questions. Instinctively, she reached for her diary, the one Ritu maintained ever since she fell in love with books and developed a hunger to write, one that had become her sole confidante in the recent months, one in which she poured out her innermost thoughts, pain, hurt, disappointments and sorrow. She randomly flipped the pages to land on an entry logged when she was in the final year of her engineering.
Dear diary, GRE or MBA? I can‘t seem to make up my mind. GRE will give me the wings I always wanted- a new country, new http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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set of friends and new horizon. On the other hand, an MBA will broaden my job prospects if I‘m to continue in India. What say? Till later.. Signed off, Ritu The sudden cold waft of air made Ritu shiver. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn‘t notice the sun go down. The onset of winter in this part of the world was ruthless. The landscape changed into dull grays without much warning, downing the entire city into a collective state of gloominess; the one emotion that Ritu had grown to embrace since her marriage to Narain and her subsequent move to Minneapolis. Her marriage to Narain brought back another flood of memories. This time she didn‘t even need her diary to prompt. The details were vivid in her memory, as though etched forever. It was at Neetu‘s wedding when she first met Narain and her life took the turn she had never imagined. He had looked dashing in his maroon and gold sequined kurta paired with a beige-coloured chudidaar. A camera had hung loosely around his neck and he looked busy capturing the bride and the groom in their natural poses. At one point the camera stopped momentarily on Ritu and their eyes met; their hearts skipped beats at tandem. The sparks were evident. Narain‘s suave personality, smooth talk, grip on current affairs and interest in fine arts swept Ritu off her feet. http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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Narain was equally smitten by Ritu‘s beauty and charm. They enjoyed a brief but blissful courtship when life circumambulated around intimate conversations and heavenly pauses. It helped that both the families were equally placed in the social strata. So, when they proposed a wedding immediately after Ritu‘s final exams, she found herself eagerly nodding a yes even as her mind reminded her of her career plans. *** The doorbell rang shrilly and broke Ritu‘s reverie, shaking her into the present. She shuddered inwardly; loath to open the door. Narain was already fuming at Ritu for having ‗taken time‘ to open the door. ―You.. lazy woman! Have you been sleeping all day again?‖ "No..Of course not! I mean..I ..I was feeling…" Smack! Before Ritu could finish, Narain‘s palm was on her cheek and then again on the other. ―You good for nothing brute, you lie here relaxing all day
and don‘t bother to even get up to greet your husband in time and now you‘ve the audacity to argue?!‖
Narain‘s voice got louder with every word and his brows knitted into an ugly frown. His towering figure shook in anger and he looked menacing enough to send Ritu covering into a corner.
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Gathering herself, Ritu pulled away quietly to fix Narain some coffee while he showered. She feared him when he‘d be in such a mood. A few minutes later, she felt the familiar embrace from behind. Her body went stiff. ―I‘m sorry darling. It‘s just that I‘m saddled with too much work at office. You do understand, right?‖ Narain then grabbed Ritu and kissed her firmly on her lips. Ritu did not respond. But that went completely unnoticed by Narain. This was almost a regular routine with Narain. He suffered from frequent bouts of foul temper that turned him into a monster. He would try to make amends only to inflict a fresh wound later. It was almost as though he was suffering from a split personality. Ritu‘s mind and heart were in constant struggle between giving Narain time to shape up and quitting the farce of a marriage. She cried her sorrows into her beloved diary yet again that night; her way of letting out all the bottled up emotions. Writing was catharsis for her. About Author : Uma Chellappa Editor's Comment: Harsh, yet the truth. http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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Drenched in Love Story Behind the Photograph: Rains are always beautiful for they define love. The thirst of nature quenched by rains in the form of lovely raindrops. I always wanted to capture rain drops and was never able to till now. This click took almost 10 attempts before coming out the way I wanted it to but it was completely worth the effort for this one makes me say WOW, that's how love looks like , pristine and beautiful beyond words.!
About Namrata: An investment banker by profession and a child - woman, a dreamer, a dancer, a bibliophile, a poetess, a writer, a painter, a singer, a go-getter, a doer and an achiever by passion is how Namrata can be described. She is a prolific blogger and ardent reviewer since past 3 years under the name Privy Trifles. Her short stories have been published in various anthologies titled 25 Strokes of Kindness, Time‘s Lost Atlas and Stories for your Valentine. She can be reached @ privytrifles@gmail.com.
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
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Our Song
our song has no lyrics laughter is the music tune is our love. we sing it together, lip on lip, arm in arm heart upon heart, bodies intertwined desires are fulfilled secrets are shared, eyes to eyes, no words spoken. it rains heavily outside we watch it together through the foggy window a smile on our lips after-effect of our song.
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About Arti Honrao: Author of fiction books titled 'My Life story' and 'Is This Love & Autumn - The Last Leaf' and novel 'Resemblance The Journey of a Doppelganger' Arti enjoys writing short stories on Relationships. She has attempted writing different form poems but most enjoy writing Prose poems where she gets to express without the limitations of words or rhyming. Most of her writings depict human feelings and emotions, which she tries to bring onto the page and into the minds of the reader. She believes that essence of writing lies in not only entertaining the reader, but speaking to them through words. She writes at www.artihonrao.net and can be reached at contact@artihonrao.net
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Writer‘s Ezine – writing one word at a time
Volume V | August 2014 Issue
Whispered Words I He had a tough day at work. He comes back home, exhausted and slightly frustrated because he had to drive a long way back home amidst heavy traffic. He reaches home. As he is about to ring the doorbell, he smiles. He visualises his better half opening the door with a smile. A smile that has the capability to reduce, if not erase the stress. Instead, when the the door is opened he finds a tired looking woman in front of his eyes. No smile, dishevelled hair. He is disappointed but he accepts that she is a human, too. She must have had a rough day as well. He enters the house. She brings him a glass of water and attempts to smile because she knows he likes it but he is not seeing her smile now; he is irked by her body odour, she is sweating. He tries to convince himself that she must have not gotten the time to freshen up. He gets up and walks to the bedroom. He freshens up, comes back to the living room and switches on the television. He is not in a mood to start a conversation. It is dinner time, the dinner is arranged on the dining table, while she is serving him dinner he attempts to start a conversation. She replies in monosyllables. He gives up and has dinner in silence. He finishes and walks to the kitchen, does the dishes, he always does it. She joins him in the kitchen and http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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does her part. He looks at her, she looks beautiful despite how untidy she is. She goes to the bedroom, he decides to watch news before joining her. He goes to the bedroom after some time. He tries to get close to her, she does not play along. He is angered. He turns around and tries to sleep. II She had a tough day at work. She reaches home slightly earlier than him, but she is exhausted and sweating. The drop from office is God sent but that does not mean no traffic. She enters the house, empty house. She collapses on the couch but gets up immediately because she needs to tidy the house and prepare dinner before he comes. She changes her clothes, she wants to freshen up but decides to postpone it for a while. She tidies the house. She starts with dinner preparations. The doorbell rings right at the moment when she is making vegetable. She opens the door and rushes back to the kitchen in time to save the vegetable from getting burnt. She goes back with a glass of water, she tries to smile because she knows he likes to see her like that. However, he is not paying attention to her smile now. She realizes that she is sweating and perhaps stinking. She is disappointed. She understands that he needs to see her smile. He has told her so many times that her smile makes him feel good about life. He has never liked the stench of sweat on her, she does not blame him; in his shoes perhaps she would http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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have not liked that as well. He goes to the bedroom to freshen up. She prepares dinner. He watches television. She takes a quick shower, sprays deodarant. He is still watching television. She then arranges dinner on dining table, he comes and sits. He does not notice that she has freshened up. She is hurt. He tries to start a conversation. She is too hurt to speak, he gives up right at the time when she decides to give in. She wants to know how his day was. She hopes he would ask her how her day was. He finishes dinner in silence and so does she. He does the dishes. She does her part. She sees him watching her. She finishes the work and goes to the bedroom, she looks in the mirror and smiles. She washes her face and neck again, especially behind the ear. She knows he likes to kiss her there. She climbs into bed and waits for him. He does not come. He is watching television. She tries to sleep. He comes to the room and kisses her behind the ear, slowly moving towards her neck. By this time she is angered. She feels like a sex object. She does not respond. He stops, turns around and tries to sleep. She is on the verge of crying. Such little things often happen especially when the couple is newly married. Whose fault it is in this scenario? Who would take the initiative to correct the errors and misunderstandings? These and many more similar questions still remain to be answered. What's your take on this? http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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About Writer‘s Ezine When Alfred Hitchcock said ―Ideas come from everything‖ little did he know that everything would mean literally everything in this world. Taking inspiration from him, two fellow bloggers and friends – Namrata and Arti debated one day the exact meaning of Freedom of Expression and its rightful usage is today‘s times. And so was born Writer‘s Ezine, a monthly literary online magazine (E-zine) with the intention of providing platform to emerging as well as established writers from around the world. Born out of a need and a necessity of solely being able to express all that one feels, thinks and understands Writer‘s Ezine is one place where writing and creativity come together to ensure a wonderful experience to the reader. As you read along and turn a page you will find your mind wandering into places you never thought of before, making you sit up and question the biggest mystery of all times – LIFE. This is one place where readers, writers, poets, photographers, idealists, thinkers, atheists, believers and story-tellers all will be in sync with creativity. We accept submissions in poetry, short-stories, non-fiction, author interviews; book reviews etc. (Please read Submission Guidelines for details). http://issuu.com/writersezine | http://www.writersezine.com
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So what are you waiting for, unleash the artist within and paint the palette with colours of your choice! About the Administrators We are readers and writers madly in love with the written word. To know more about us please visit us at: About Namrata About Arti Honrao Submissions for the June issue of Writer's Ezine are now open. Please do read Submission Guidelines before submitting your entries using the submission form. WE is celebrating its half birthday in September by publishing already featured writers in the September issue. If you are one of the published authors of Writer‘s Ezine do send in your entries to admin@writersezine.com on or before 20th August. The submissions for October issue will continue to be accepted as usual. The last date for submission for the entries is 20th September.
Designed by Arti Honrao
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