Writer's Ezine Volume XV : June 2015 Issue

Writer’s Ezine Volume XV | June 2015 Issue

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).

Cover Photo Copyright – Arti Honrao

This e-magazine is a compilation of Poems, Short Stories, Short – Story Series, Non – Fiction, Photographs published on Writer’s Ezine.

Image source Google Images, unless mentioned otherwise. (Photography submissions © of mentioned author.

The photographs in the magazine are printed in grey scale. The coloured and high resolution photographs can be viewed on www.writersezine.com or www.issuu.com/writersez ine 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 Writer’s Ezine (www.writersezine.com) for details Find us on Facebook www.facebook.com/write rsezine) Twitter (https://twitter.com/Writ ers_ezine) Send us an email (admin@writersezine.com ) WE on Issuu: http://issuu.com/writerse zine WE on Goodreads: http://bit.ly/1LV3o5a WE E-magazine site: http://mag.writersezine.c om WE on What’sApp

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About Administrators: Administrator, Editor, Promotions & Marketing Manager, Assistant Relationship Advisor: Namrata: www.privytrifles.com Administrator, Webdesigner, Strategist & Relationship Advisor, Coeditor: Arti Honrao: www.artihonrao.in Do share your feedback with us. WE would love to hear what you have to say

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Segments on Writer’s Ezine

Prompt of the Month

Author’s Quill

Books are magical and the ones who create them are magicians.

Author's Quill is a segment that will bring all those magicians to recreate some of the magic through their quills, as they know it the best!

As we all love to hear what they have to say, WE brings to you some of your favourite authors in this segment. Month on month WE will invite amazing authors to wield the magic of their quill and take you to their magic land which only they can create.

Read what they have to share with you!

WE believes that at times creativity looks for a muse.

So here we attempt to give you a muse month on month that will tickle your creative buds and let your imagination take a flight.

The rules remain the same.

The prompt remains open till the last date of submission for the next month’s issue. i.e. till 20th of the month to be considered to the next month’s.

Literati

Cook-N-Tell

A bi-monthly column which will bring to you interesting tits-bits about literature starting from authors to their books, everything that you ever wanted to know about it is here now.

Till now Writer's Ezine managed to gather various flavours of romance, suspense, mystery, longing, pain, life, death, thriller... every chapter a new story and every poem a new song.

And that is when we realised WE missed out on a very interesting flavour one that adds a zing to it. So here we are, presenting Cook-N-Tell a bimonthly column which will have some amazing, mouth-watering, easy-tomake dishes!

Join our columnist Aneesha Myles Shewani as she takes you along on a journey where the smell of books is in the air!

Just Jottings This month had a lot of news at WE. For starters WE reached Goodreads, finally opening an account there. Reason? Well, we believes in bridging the gap between a reader and an author. And what better place than Goodreads. WE team plans to host author chats, book reading sessions, book recommendations, giveaways and also the opportunity to have your questions be a part of the author interview that is published on WE website every month. So are you a part of the WE_ARR group at Goodreads yet?

Apart from this WE for the first time hosted a contest wherein the winner was entitled to a books hamper! As we all will celebrate environment day on the 5th of June WE

team invited submissions which celebrated this theme and the winner is in this issue for you to read and enjoy. WE team has plans to host many more such contests in future where apart from getting published there will be many other prizes to be claimed.

What is it that drives you?

For us at WE, it is our love for the written word that drives us, pushes us to keep coming up with newer ideas to enrich your experience at WE and make it memorable. For Pankaj Suneja one of the authors WE has featured this month at the book review and author interview section it is the zeal to live life that keeps pushing him despite all the odds that he is facing in life. Don’t miss out his

thoughts on Deepika Padukone’s confession about depression. His thoughts will rattle you up.

On the other hand when we spoke to Imran Usman for his book, we were in for some surprises. He has a very different and unique take on the thriller genre and aspires to bring a change in the literature world. For all those aspiring authors, his interview is a must read.

This month in the Author’s Quill WE team has Adwitiya Borah a very young talented author who has published her debut novel The Wrong Vantage point recently through Lifi publications.

The many hats that she adorns is surely an inspiration to many of us.

Her journey of becoming an author is nothing less than motivating.

A recommended read from the WE team purely for the freshness in her thoughts on writing.

There are a lot more new things planned in the coming months which will not only add to your bountiful experience at WE but also make it more resourceful. Stay tuned to this space to know more about all that is in store for you.

P.S: Do feel to write back to us in case there is anything that you wish to share with us at feedback@writersezine.co m. (Even if it is an answer to what drives you, WE definitely wants to know that!)

In This Issue The Elephant's Trunk Radha- An inspiring lover Nature’s invitation Connect with yourself Gulabi Pankaj Suneja When I Grow Up You will see a "New Me" Towards Hope Asha, My Inspiration Who Will Read What You Write?

Invisible Disaster Take Me Away, Make Me Free A Yellow Winged Stranger Imran Usman Help!! I'm Prisoner here The Accident Asha The Escape

Anjali Rajasekaran Sweety Brunda Rajesh Ruby Shiv Pankaj Suneja Gulabi Adwitiya Borah Viyoma R Jithin Nandhini Aneesha Myles Shewani Apurva Kandicuppa Dipanwita Chakraborty Imran Usman A Yellow Winged Stranger Sachin Prabhu T R Gowthama Aditi Kaushiva Shreyasi

The Elephant’s Trunk

Have you seen baby elephants? For some time after birth they have no control over their trunk. It just flops around here and there. It is so cute to just watch them, thoroughly perplexed as to the use of their overgrown nose. The trunk leads and they follow.

"A bit to the right, turn left

and come right to my mouth...yes.

No...Stay...�

Arjun seems to be pleading, ordering, and threatening his hand turn by turn. Two hands dance in front of his eyes. Very tempting and teasing.

Efforts are on to tame his hands. When they successfully reach his mouth, they are tastier than the nectar of the Gods. The subsequent smacking noises can be heard across the house. Of course, these moments are short lived as the hands gain life of their own and run away to safety.

"If my hands don't work,

anybody's would do...Or the pacifier can be my best buddy...hmmm these are temporary solutions."

What is the shortest distance between two

points? Put one inside the other. So now his tongue and lips are his chew toy.

They can't escape his mouth. Always on service.

Of course the hands have not been granted reprieve as yet. "Sooner or later

they will submit to my will...Bwahahaha!�

About Anjali Rajasekaran: Anjali Rajasekaran is a banker by profession. She is enjoying her recent promotion to MOM with her new born baby. She enjoys cooking and writes when time permits. Anjali can be reached at anjali.rajasekaran@gmail.c om Editor's Comment: A cute and funny take on the simple pleasures of life.

Radha – An Inspiring Lover

Only to see you wink, So oh dear lady grant me the link.

When I see your arms around Krishna's shoulder, My heart goes on a boulder, Only to make you a gamer, So oh dear lady grant me a charmer.

When I see you stand next to Krishna, My mind goes out with Trishna, So dear lady grant me your beauty.

When I look at your eyes filled with mischief, My heart yearns for a lift, So oh dear lady grant me a gift.

When I see your hair that is so thick, My hair goes on a blink,

When I see you hold Krishna's flute, My heart goes on loot, Only to show you my tooth, So oh dear lady grant me the golden boot.

When I see dance with Krishna intimately, My eyes goes on trance tentatively, Only to see you sing randomly, So oh dear lady grant me your looks.

When I see you feed Krishna lovingly, My hands and eyes move towards you reassuringly,

Only to find you looking at me contently, So oh dear lady grant me the great complexion.

When I see you sing for Krishna, My head Spins in to listen to his Rachana, So oh dear lady grant me the art of contemplation.

When I see you feed Krishna with Makan, My heart feels like a Heaven, Only to see you with the golden Hiran.

So oh dear lady grant me a beautiful garden.

When I see myself in you, My heart leaps out too, Only find you sitting on a stool, So oh dear lady grant me a magnificent tool.

About Sweety: Sweety is an inspiration to many .She has gone through tough times in her life. She has a great will power and determination with that she come to this level. Today she is a graduate who has also done Ecc. Ed course .She loves to write .Since a child she always has been surrounded by books. She is not an adventurous girl but she is a dreamer who is search of true love.

Though her right hand is slightly affected by spasticity but she carries out all the normal functions independently with ease.

Editor's Comment: A heartfelt rendition where the poet talks to Radha and seeks inspiration from her as a lover.

Nature’s Invitation

Story Behind the Photograph: It was summer and the unannounced rain made its way to the pious city of

Gokarna where I had been on a trip with my family, the rain did bring down the scorching humidity and I was in hunt for pictures as usual, then

while walking down the narrow lanes to meet a pundit I found this tiny rain drop sparkling to gain my attention, it was as if to inform the humans that nature is beautiful and you can have more of it if you could only pause and look around, the nature begets nature, plant more trees and nurture the nature for it to nurture your life. So this specific rain drop was calling out to me while I leaned myself across the barricade, inching on the edgy steps which would have given me an easy fall and clicked!! This beauty is captured forever, on this environmental day let’s all woe to have more of these greens and smiles this year.

About Brunda Rajesh: Brunda Rajesh is an avid reader, blogger and loves to take her scratched Samsung camera to freeze the beautiful moments.

You can read her work on her blog: www.brundaoperan.word press.com and can be reached at her email Id: brundakamb@gmail.com Editor's Comment: A breath taking capture that makes you go WOW!

Connect With Yourself Connecting with people is like reading 10 books on the same subject at a time.

Sharing experiences and gaining knowledge are the greater byproducts of any deep discussion. Recently I experienced another benefit of having a great discussion, peace of mind.

After reading some disturbing news for over a month I was deeply hurt and broken. Clueless of how to get out of the situation I decided to talk to a friend one day. My intention was to get some piece of advice to improve my state of mind but it turned out to be one of the best conversations I ever had. Not only did I feel good but we also ended up with some takeaways.

During this discussion we spoke about the increasing number of divorce cases in our country. Out of

curiosity, I poked on this subject and did few analysis. Numbers were shocking as much as the fact that most of the divorces were reported in cities. Every article and report pointed to the same basic reasons like lack of contentedness, less tolerance and the financial independence of women.

Even though all of the above findings were very convincing and reasonable, I could not turn a fresh page in my writing pad as something was holding me back. It was hard to digest that educated and qualified people would fight and screw their life to satisfy their respective egos.

Instead my experience convinced me to portray young generation as freedom loving and being truly happy with their lives.

In spite of having hundred things in mind I could not write down a single word that forced me once again to believe in universe’s permission to do any task in life. I waited with patience for few days. One day during my daily meditation routine, I stumbled upon this topic that had earlier drawn my attention while watching Oprah’s ‘super soul Sunday’.

How often do people connect with themselves?

If that is not happening often, how can people bring their best to others?

If a person is not happy from within how can they bring any difference to people around them? I took my writing pad and started scribbling down

the points that were popping up in my mind.

What is the first thing you do after waking up? Plan the whole day? Get worried about daily tasks?

Think of people / things you want to achieve?

Happy people have a secret, they begin their day by thinking of what they

are surrounded with.

Remember god with gratitude and feel the love around. No matter how dark your life looks today, you must envision that better tomorrow and let the divine light fall on you.

Are you the kind of person who interacts with gadgets more than people around?

Then you are missing on the presence of yours and your fellow beings.

Machines can only connect to brains but what are you connecting your heart with? How do you show your compassion to your partner? Do you spend those special moments with each other that you would have spent as newlyweds? Your heart needs attention as much as your body needs on a daily basis. Are you feeding it with the best possible fuel?

If a person can only think of his/her agony and has no good memories or close friends to cling to then it shows the lack of connection and lack of life he/she lived. Life is not all about breathing but it is about being happy that you are still breathing.

When someone decides to leave a relation, it means they cannot feel each other’s presence in their respective lives.

Hug your partner today!

Hug him/her every day!

Spend at least five minutes together every morning before you connect to the world.

Connect with yourself on a daily basis, realize that you have a purpose in life that only you can fulfill. Take care of all the good things around you. Spend time to take care of your health. Spend at least 30 minutes every day for physical activity.

Meditate for a few minutes every day and most importantly learn to smile and learn to let go. Make your presence felt and feel the divine presence of the infinite.

More we connect to ourselves the less we would like to separate from our loved ones.

About Ruby Shiv: Ruby Shiv is a writer and founder of crazy window – a weekly newsletter where entrepreneurs and successful people get interviewed every Sunday.

She helps people add purpose to every aspect of life.

Website → rubyshiv.com; email-> rubyshiv@gmail.com Editor's Comment: Life demystified is how this article can be best described.

Book Review – I

:Intro: Schizophrenia is a challenging disorder often characterized by abnormal social behavior and a significantly altered perception of reality. Its treatment largely depends on medications and psychosocial interventions but no single approach is widely considered effective for all patients.

Through this book the author offers his readers a glimpse into the multifaceted world of schizophrenia in the form of a fictitious storyline revolving around two characters Monty (the psychotic part) and Virginia (the nonpsychotic part).

the book’s contents. It suits the title and depicts chaos well which is the crux of the book.

2.

Presentation: The presentation is very lucid as the humane side of life is on display in this book.

3. Narration: The narration could have been stronger to make it more enticing because there are some places where you tend to lose the narration and expect it to pick up some pace.

:Book Review:

4.

Characters: The characters are very simple, easy going next door making you connect with them instantly as the author tries to say it is something that can happen to anyone including you or me.

1. Cover: The cover is very eye catching and bright though it does make a reader more curious about

5. Plot: The plot revolves around a schizophrenia patient and the trials and tribulations they go

through in life. It is very high on the emotions rather than the plot.

6. Storyline: The book talks about schizophrenia in the form of a story. The author has managed to bring out the emotions very nicely throughout the book as he takes us behind the scenes, into the mind of a patient and lets us know what all goes through a patient’s mind as they experience it.

He tells us the chaos they feel insides, the various voices they hear and the hallucinations this results into. In his own words he manages to bring alive that nerve wrecking experience.

7. Story flow: Story flow is flat if I can say so, as it is more of a personal experience there are not many ups and downs that make it exciting but yes it does have an emotional connect with a reader to engage him completely.

8. Language: The language is very simple and easy to understand. Though with a little tighter the impact could have been more powerful for the storyline.

9. Pros: The story line is refreshing as instead of trying to set up a story with a schizophrenic character in it, the author has just tried to speak more about this disease and it’s after effects making it a unique read.

10. Cons: The book could have done with a stronger plot and a tighter editing that would have brought out the effect of the story line more effectively on a reader.

:Overview: The overall rating for the book would be 3.5 out of 5 purely to the storyline and the author’s narrative.

WE team would like to thank the author for sending across this book for review and would also like to wish him all the best for all their future endeavours.

Author Interview – I

In our country we always like to speak in whispers about a lot of things in life while we want to scream all the irrelevant gossips.

Last month we had reviewed an awe-inspiring book on CSA, this month we are fortunate enough to lay our hands on a book on yet another such topic – Schizophrenia. When the

author approached us with the book we knew we were in for some surprises.

Let’s hear him talk about what led to this book. But before that a brief about him: Pankaj Suneja recently completed his Master of Arts in Psychology (Psychosocial Clinical Studies) from Ambedkar University, Delhi. In 2011-12, Pankaj suffered from a psychotic episode and had to leave his studies. With the help of medication and the support of his family and teachers, he regained his health and resumed studies.

In October 2013, during one of the experiments for his thesis work he attempted to survive without his medications.

The idea was to understand the occurrence of a psychotic episode in as authentic a manner as

possible.

Medication would have interfered with this process. In the winter break of the same year he experienced a painful breakdown of his long-term relationship. At the same time, his family also moved away after having spent some time with him. In December 2013, at the height of loneliness, he began hallucinating about ‘Gulabi’. She disappeared a month later. Soon after, Pankaj suffered from a psychotic relapse.

His thesis work has been about understanding the experience of psychosis or schizophrenia.

His writings have been regarded as authentic, profound and eccentric yet, so, so meaningful and insightful.

Most of Pankaj’s readers from the college community have termed his work intriguing. They

liked the multiple narratives and how each one of them has a personal struggle. Some others thought it was soothing and enjoyed reading it.

Another section found it to be thought-provoking, inspiring and ‘something to hold on to’.

The blurb of his book reads:

Schizophrenia is a challenging disorder often characterized by abnormal social behavior and a significantly altered perception of reality. Its treatment largely depends on medications and psychosocial interventions but no single approach is widely considered effective for all patients.

Through this book the author offers his readers a glimpse into the multifaceted world of schizophrenia in the form of a fictitious storyline revolving around two

characters Monty psychotic part) Virginia (the psychotic part).

(the and non-

Join us in this interview as WE tries to know the real him: 1. Asking you the oft-asked but yet pondered upon question – What pushed you to writing?

I think I started writing during childhood to

release expression and record experiences. In the growing up years I wrote to remind myself of the self work I needed to do. I was always hard on myself and pushed to work harder to be perfect. I wrote few short stories while growing up. There was a time when my health was so low that I could not write or read.

While recovering, I begin writing to help me survive each day. I made up stories about day, evening and night and that used to support me to build the routine. Since then writing (and reading) has been playing important role in holding me and keeping me well, along with medication and psychotherapy.

2. Your book talks about a topic which is not spoken about so openly – schizophrenia. What made you write a book on this topic?

I wrote my first book, Gulabi, during a psychotic episode, while I was having hallucination.

Psychosis and schizophrenia are interchangeably used often. Many people do not know what schizophrenia is.

Schizophrenia is defined by psychiatry as mental illness with experiences of hallucination, delusion and thought broadcasting. For some, it could also be spiritual experience. Many people do not talk about it because of stigma in our societies towards mental health. The attempt to write on topic like mental illness is to change the current stand towards mental health and mental illness, make people aware and add to the movement toward the society that is appreciative of mental health.

3. What is the message you are trying to give out with

your book, through this story?

I think I wish to come out with my experience with honesty, so that it could allow other people to believe that person with schizophrenia or mental illness can live a healthy life. By writing about experience of hallucination in my book Gulabi, I want people to see that hallucination is not pathology. It is an experience which should be allowed to express in healthy way without suppressing or adding stigma to it. There are few groups like Hearing Voices Network or The ICarus Project allows such space.

The movement of such kind in India has been started by Reshma Valliappan called The Red Door.

4. Such a topic usually is an emotional roller coaster for both the reader and the writer. How was your

experience? Any specific incident you would like to share with the readers?

I do not know what you mean by emotional roller coaster. A roller coaster ride is filled with emotions but we choose them. We pay for them. Readers might choose to pay to buy my book and experience it.

As a writer I did not had choice whether to experience it or not. The experience came as part of life. But I had a choice to write about it. The experience as such and experience of writing held me during those difficult times. Writing allowed me to continue to be on roller coaster with Gulabi.

I was coming out of the metro train, it was crowded as usual. People unknowingly pushed each other. I was so impulsive during this time, that I got angry at the person who has pushing me from behind. I deliberately pushed him when he came

out in front of me. He began abusing him. Time stood still. And I could hear different voices in my head. I could see his face as he was yelling and shouting.

After this incident I had healthy discussion with Gulabi. I realized I just acted on my impulses and she also warned me not to push him but I did not listen to her.

5.

With the recent confession by actress Deepika Padukone about her battle with depression there has been a lot of talk about the mental illnesses around us. This video is considered to be inspiring.

Your thoughts on this and what do you think needs to be done in order to create more awareness?

I think I encourage such expression or confession by actress Deepika Padukone. But I believe that talk that we have about mental illness

around us due to such confession is very superficial. Soon we begin to see books on Depression in market. I believe it all caters to business. I do not feel it adds anything substantial.

Deepika Padukone is celebrity, and I wonder would people appreciate similarly if someone who is not famous comes out and says that he is person with mental illness. Can people really see Deepika Padukone, just as person and not as celebrity and then try to understand the experience of depression?

What it means to be depressed? How you and me engage with people who suffered with mental illness or depression. According to law, people with mental illness cannot marry, cannot vote, cannot get a job, and cannot sign a contract. I think we need to bring a change to this.

Recently I gave a talk at

university about my experience with mental illness to promote awareness about mental health and also to reinforce the belief that people with mental illness can live healthy life. I think, interview here with you, is also space where I am trying to reach out to people and create awareness.

6. The story as it progresses makes a reader think of only one thing – is it a true story? Any real life incidents you have drawn inspiration for this from?

Gulabi is based on real life incident that I did saw Gulabi. I had hallucination.

This novel builds on it.

There are certain real experiences, while rest is filled with my imagination and my memories. The moment when Monty read a book in his mind and Gulabi listened as they travel in metro, is indeed a

real and very intimate experience to me.

7. Your next book mobile phone also talks about the mind – as it revolves around a child and his imaginary friends. Can you explain your fascination for the human mind and the strange tendencies we have?

I have passion for studying psychology. I like to engage with experiences that I find are meaningful to me. I have fascination for my mind. In my second book, The Mobile Phone, I try to engage with experience of connecting with child within. The mobile phone was symbol or bridge for me to do so.

The writing allowed me to get in touch with lost and unprocessed experiences of childhood.

8. WE team would like to know your experience to becoming a published author.

I feel anyone can write and become a published author. There are two ways to be published. One is traditional publishing and other is independent publishing.

I choose independent publishing because it allows me authority over my work. It is my choice of cover that has been designed for Gulabi and Mobile Phone. I feel it is more of me and my work when I have control over my work. But worse is that I cannot invest a lot in marketing and hence my audience is very small. The visibility of my writing and book depends on how much I work on it. I feel evolving as person as I grow as writer.

9. In future do we see you experimenting with genres? If yes which ones.

Any of your future works that you would want to share with us.

I would certainly have plans to write a book on sex education. It will be an educational book, but certainly I would like to make learning through some form of narration. I think our present time needs sex education.

10. Any message to your readers.

My writing will certainly require you to think and feel. I feel passionate when I read a book that really absorbs me. I hope you feel the same when you read Gulabi or The Mobile Phone or future works.

Thank you very much for your time

When I Grow Up

When I was a child, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” used to be my favourite question.

Whenever I heard this, my mind would go on a whirl of adventures, deciding

between professions to pick from. One day, I would want to become an actress.

“Why?” they would ask. “Well, actresses get to wear a lot of pretty dresses and dance in large gardens with so many flowers!” Another day, I would want to be a sweet shop owner. “Why?” Then I would be able to eat sweets whenever I wanted to and wouldn’t have to pay for it. Apparently I thought that shop owners get all their stuff for free and they only sold it to get extra money! Ask me another day, and I would say I want to be a traffic police ‘mean’. No, that wasn’t a spelling error. I thought the feminine gender for man was ‘mean’ then. And why traffic

police? Well because I thought they were so powerful! They’d just wave their hands and scores of cars had to obey them.

So there came this one day when I wrote down a poem and told them everyone that I wanted to be a writer when I grow up. “Why?” they wanted to know and for the first time, I didn’t have an answer to that question. I just kept writing- poems, short stories and a dream of publishing a book some day. I never found the answer to their ‘why’ though. I was never inspired by another book or by the huge success of another author. I wrote just because I wanted to write. And I feel that that was the most original and purest thing about it.

Writing describes me.

Writing is me.

Initially what I started with was poetry that was nothing but a bunch of rhyming words- “A cat sat on a mat. He was hit by a bat while chasing the tiny rat. How do you like that?”

Gradually as I grew up a little, things changed and so did my writings. There were stuff that I deeply felt for and I would express all of those feelings in my writings. I’ve always been an animal lover and I remember how I used to write stories to express my sadness and disgust at the way human beings valued animal life. I mean, I understood the need to kill for food. I never understood the thoughtlessness involved.

A life is a life and it is something you’ve got to respect.

Growing up further though, I realised that humans can do far worse things to one another than

they do to animals. People can lie, can be rude and hurtful and can laugh about it on your face. I realised that the price of selfless love can be a broken heart and that the life ahead is going to be anything but ‘fair’. At the same time, I also learned that through all of this, there will be people who’d stand by you, pick you up when you fall and always share that last piece of chocolate cake with you, even when you do not ask for it. And since I have always been a very lousy talker, all of these feelings and realisations went into my writings.

Sharing one of my mini stories here: “It's been a year since I last talked to my father. There once was a time when he used to be my idol- my hero. But all of that changed when he refused to accept my relationship with Anuja, for the

nonsensical reason that she was 'poor'. And though we had had many fights before, this one fight got out of hand. He had slapped me, and I had responded to this slap with my forever silence...

Anuja has been married for a month now, to a man of her parent's choice. A day before her wedding, she had told me, 'Forgive your father. I know he has done wrong. But forgive him all the same, for he has forgiven you many times. He's your father after all.' I felt she made sense, but I still didn't talk to my father after that. I planned to, though. He was my father after all. I just needed some time.

And today is his funeral.

Standing at his grave, I shed a tear and asked for his forgiveness.

He responded to me with his forever silence.”

For a while, I was known as ‘tragedy queen’ among my friends. No, I didn’t leak tears at the bite of an ant. But all of my short stories would be extremely tragic. It would start with depression and end with the same: death, suicide or something equally morose. At that time, I used to believe that as a writer I had some kind of a moral obligation to let my readers know of all the misery that the people around them face or they themselves might have to face at some point in their life.

Now my thoughts are directed towards something more positive.

Instead of focussing on all the melancholy that life has to offer, I try to give people hope instead: inspire them and help them be a little happier with their life maybe.

Rather than telling people how bad life may get, I

now tell them that no matter how bad life gets, there is a cheese burst pizza waiting for you at the end of the tunnel. And a microwave too!

Here is a little something for you to take home: “It’s a colourless, colourless morning. It is cold, the sky is gloomy shades of grey, the trees appear sad and the air smells of emptiness. I get dressed and head out for a jog only to realise that I do not like it anymore. There are no birds to look at, no rising sun nor any blue lakes here, and the cold freshness of the morning fog is now haunted by a mixture of grey smoke and rude dust particles.

Sigh. It’s a colourless morning. I sit down on my bed and let the sweat run down my body. The sweat feels good, almost liberating. I like the smell

of it- original, raw and pure.

What else is pure? I stare at my own naked reflection in the mirror.

Cloth-less, shameless and so imperfect. But isn’t imperfection supposed to be beautiful too? I wonder: do people really look past my imperfections and into my soul, just the way I look into theirs?

It’s a colourless morning. I open my mail and search for my publisher’s name in the inbox list. Absent. So I’m not becoming an author anytime soon.

There are mails from different sources, like naukri, freshersworld and the likes of bharatmatrimony. Is that all then? Is the only thing left to do in life is work and get married? What about dreams then? The dreams?

Such a colourless morning it is. I walk out of my apartment- well dressed and a tag hanging around my neck; a tag that is supposed to indicate my value in this big city, or so they say. I’m stopped on the way by a little girl no more than two years old.

She is wearing no tag around her neck. Wide eyed, she blabbers excitedly in some language I do not understand.

Kannada maybe? Tamil or Telugu? They sound the same to me. “Hindi?” I ask her. But she only responds with her silence. “It’s okay,” I tell her and walk away, and when I do so, I smile. When was the last time I had made a stranger smile?

I look back at the child who is now playing with two round pebbles on the road. Her lips are a beautiful pink, her eyes a twinkling black, her dress green, her spirit white, her

heart red, her mood yellow and my mind now finds a peaceful blue.

It’s a colourful, colourful morning.”

Well, I must admit I always knew I was going to publish a book someday.

“Someday”, I would tell myself, “When I grow up.”

I never knew when, nor did I know as to what it is that I might write about.

Honestly, ‘The Wrong Vantage Point’ was like a surprise gift to self! I had started off utterly unplanned, not knowing what the story was going to be about, the moral, the journey or the destination either. I had simply started writing the book one day , just the way I had, years ago, written down a poemaimless, without a reason , without a good story to justify it and purely because I wanted to write for the love of writing.

Gradually, I saw the characters coming to life,

one at a time, and go on to build a story. I was a mere spectator witnessing the events unfold and dutifully taking down notes. I watched my characters fall in love, I watched them as they let go of their secrets and insecurities, as one cried into the other’s shoulder and as they smiled their way out of all the miseries.

But yes, I would never advise someone to write a book without planning it entirely in the beginning.

The mind thinks new thoughts every day: new ideas for characters and plots come pouring in every second. Without a plan, you may sometimes end up with something that is less of a novel and more of a senseless clutter.

Especially for the growing girl that I was when I wrote it, things were difficult. I mean, one day you like Taylor Swift and the day next you’re a Pink

Floyd fan. Book writing is a long-time process and it’s not easy doing it if you’re still trying to figure out who you are what it is that you believe in.

If I had written my first book now instead of having written it two years ago, I probably wouldn’t have written The Wrong Vantage Point at all. I wouldn’t have written a crime thriller. Well that’s how time changes things, isn’t it? Just the way that if I had written my first book at the age of ten, it would have been about the ugly monster hiding under my bed at night! Somebody once told me, “A book is the autobiography of the life that the writer has never lived.” I didn’t understand it then. I believe I do so now.

So that is the story. That is how The Wrong Vantage Point happened. This is merely a beginning and I

know that I will be writing more books, better books as I grow older. And at this moment, as I hold this book in my hand and look back at my journey so far, my memories take me not to the day I wrote the first chapter of it but to the day, fifteen years ago, when I wrote about the cat who sat on a mat, and was hit by a bat while chasing the tiny rat.

So how do you like that

About Summerita Rhayne: Summerita Rhayne loves to read fiction in all genres but especially romance.

When she’s absorbed in writing and reading romance, she becomes temporarily deaf! She loves to write hot, sensual heroes who are sometimes masterful and have to be tamed by sassy but sweet heroines.

She loves characters who learn and grow and carve their way out of their troubles and emotional hang-ups. She also believes that a touch of humor never goes amiss in a book.

She divides her time between family, job and writing – and loves music, movies and internet!

Know more about her http://summeritarhayne.c om/

You Will See a New Me

There will be a tomorrow & I shall rise. You will see a "New Me".

In different colors & distinguished looks, I will set myself free.

With a praise on your lips, a surprise on your face, You will be here again, to applaud my new phase.

Pity me not: feel proud instead - for, I still hold relentless hope.

Worry not: just cheer me through- I rest only after giving my best.

Compare me not: with the blossoming flowersinstead admire my form of reality.

Forget me not: while I remind you- that time defines itself in brevity.

As this nature puts me to test, here is an example I set.

The harder you get, the mightier I grow.

The vigorous you get, a stronger "will" I show.

Because...

Behind every silencing clamor of destruction, Rejuvenates a powerful voice called "determination".

Dedicated to all the citizens of Nepal who bank on the epicenter of faith, when the ground shakes.

About Viyoma R: Viyoma R is Analyst by profession, Blogger by passion, Indian by Birth and Chennaite by Choice.

She finds Indian Cricket Over-rated, Indian Politics interesting and Indian Cinema evolving.

Editor's Comment: A very powerful poem on a picture prompt for the month of June.

Towards Hope

Story Behind Photograph:

the

She runs towards hope, with the faith only a kid can have.

To find happiness even among the multitude of nothingness.

About Jithin: Trablogger, what he does is, Travelling, Photographing and documenting it all at www.Trablogger.wordpre ss.com and can be contacted at jithins123@gmail.com Editor's Comment: A picture that speaks a thousand words.

Asha, My Inspiration

It is my daily routine to pick my three-year-old son from his play school and stop for groceries and vegetables on the way, at a near-by shop, before heading home. On that day, I noticed a row of hut houses opposite to the grocery shop, next to the ongoing construction work. By the time, I paid the bill and turned to my son, I saw him holding a long branch of a tree. He seemed excited about something on the other side of the road though I couldn’t first spot what it was. I asked him from where he had picked the branch.

He pointed towards a little girl who was rolling a dirty torn ball with a similar tree branch, on the other side of the road.

She must be of the same age as my son, wearing a soiled pink dress that was meant for girls much older than her. Her hair was unevenly cut that could not have seen a comb or oil ever. It was obvious now what my son was amused at. The girl turned to our side. With a happy smile, she gestured him to join her in the ball play.

Without a thought, my little fellow eagerly moved in her direction. I reacted immediately; held his hand and pulled him towards me. Disappointed by the arrest, he let out a loud barbaric cry. The little girl stopped rolling the ball. The smile on her face slowly faded until she took a glance at me. I must have appeared like a witch to her for I could see the terror at once in those small eyes.

Even a long time after I reached home, the incident disturbed me. All along, I’ve regarded compassion as a great virtue. I had looked at myself as a kind and thoughtful woman.

I always made it a point to donate to children homes on birthdays and

class in the society? Well then, don’t higher class children go down with fatal diseases?

Aren’t street children healthy at all, in spite of never having given vaccination and

anniversaries. But was that all my compassion about? Why did I not let my son play with the little girl? Was it because she looked shabby? Was I scared that my son would incur a disease from her?

Was I worried that my son could pick up unfavourable habits from her? Or was it because I deem her to be of a lower

nutritious food? First of all, does social class really matter for small children to play together? It was a pointless, perturbing conflict of emotions that I encountered that day because I knew I can never allow my son to play with an under-served child. ***

The following day, while I was picking up vegetables from the shop, my son was glued to the little girl in the pink dress again. With a closer look, I noticed that she was carefully stepping on dried leaves on the roadside. With every step, the crumbling of the leaves would delight her and she would give out a silly giggle.

She soon recognized our presence and once again called out to my son to play with her.

By now, my son has realized the ‘NO’ factor and remained still. The little girl kept smiling at him though she didn’t understand why he just can’t simply join her. On the way back home, I was surprised to see my boy tread carefully over dried leaves. He seemed to rejoice the little play, for the giggle that followed told so.

I thought about it a little deeper that night. She’s

just a small child as my son. And she wants to play with a fellow kid. How guileless a desire?! For what fault of her is she ostracized by people like me? Does she even understand what social classes are? Again by the end of the battling insights, I knew I can never allow my son to play with her. *** It was raining heavily the next day while we took shelter under the shop’s roof. My eyes scanned for her until I spotted her near a large pool of dirty mud water on the road side. She seemed to be in heightened excitement, leaving paper boats to sail on the pool, her pink dress fully wet by now. It was a sight of intense admiration for how the little girl was celebrating the glory of the moment! She waved her hand to my son in-

between her flurry of excitement. In a jiffy, I felt disappointed that my son was missing what she owned – nature! In fact, the longing look on his face revealed what he yearned to do; get wet in the rain and do what she did.

Soon after we reached home, I made paper boats for him. We made them sail in a bucket of water.

However, it didn’t seem to fascinate him; needless to say, one would know why.

My heart softened for her that day. Despite the fact that my son doesn’t join her, she continues to call him to play with her every day. Indeed, innocence and children are never apart; at least, not yet. But it will not be long before she identifies society’s insensitivity towards children like her. I couldn’t imagine how this would affect such children as

they grow up. When people of other strata turn their cold shoulders to them, they might begin to bear the brunt of social arrogance. Perhaps, most criminals and rapists have such stories in their past.

For another time, this mental squabble left me in a state of havoc. All may be said well, but it was my family and my child that was important to me. My responsibility towards the society around me certainly seemed a bushleague stuff. I may say this with shame and guilt but to put simply, I am bound. *** As we stopped at the shop the next day, the little girl was seen calm. She was sitting on the road-side, making play dolls with the wet mud softened by the rains of the previous day; her pink dress was almost brown. She made a big ball and a small ball with the

mud. She joined the two, attaching mini hands and legs to them. She quietly smiled at my son who was having a banana.

Accidentally, the banana fell off from his hand. At once, the girl ran towards us to collect the banana from the ground and quickly ran away.

My son was given a weekend project at his play school to make a clay car at home. As we opened the kit, I explained him how the car would be built. I left him for a while to explore his hands with the clay. When I came back, I was utterly surprised with what he had made out of the clay.

He had made a big ball, a small ball and attached mini hands and legs to them. What my son was taught in a play school, children as her learn through nature. What irony, I thought!

The scene of the little girl picking up the sand-clad banana from the ground recapped on my mental screen. My heart went out for her. With no second thoughts, I decided to get bananas and a play ball for her the following Monday.

And why not let my son play with her for a little while?! For the first time, I came out of my conventional conditioning.

Yes, I wanted to add a little more joy to her already care-free, cheerful days.

Why, wouldn’t it be nice to see them walk hand-inhand?! After the series of troubled nights, my conscience found peace at last. *** I had already got some fruits and a ball. As we neared the shop street, I noticed that vehicles were blocked to enter the lane.

Pedestrians could still proceed. There was a huge

crowd for a few feet before the shop. I could not possibly guess what the matter was. We kept passing into the crowd and what I heard just shattered me. A little girl had accidentally fallen off from the being-constructed building and died on the spot. Before I could rush to the spot of the accident, I saw the body of the girl being carried by a man. I couldn’t see the girl’s face but the pink dress with dried mud on it was clearly visible. A thin woman cried her heart out, addressing the little girl as Asha. I could no longer contain my emotion. I dropped the fruits and the ball on the ground that was smeared with blood stains.

Dragging my heavy heart and legs, I wearily managed to reach home that day.

***

It is a few months now since that deadly incident passed by. It kept me troubled for a few days. As life moves on after everything ugly and beautiful, it did this time as well. I still take my son to the same play school through the same street.

That fatal building work is now completed.

A children’s play area has come up at the spot which mercilessly took a young life. However, I’ve began to let my son dwell with nature whenever possible.

I allow him to walk over the road corners so that he can rejoice stamping on dry leaves. I take him onto the road side pools when it rains, instead of teaching ‘Rain rain go away’ at home. I occasionally let him explore Mother Earth’s natural clay. Above all, I make him share his toys with a few underprivileged children near our home with the hope that the seed for

social equality and compassion in a real sense gets sown in him. He now discovers new plays with sand, trees and insects and is no longer dependent on expensive toys for fun.

About Nandhini: With the addition of her new role as a mother, Nandhini quit her full-time job as a cancer research scientist. She is now in a joyous phase of a lively motherhood and at the same time reviving the dormant writer in her who has been published young, at the age of seventeen.

Based on what she observes in the Indian society of today, she believes in the need for a social revolution, especially with aspects that can influence childhood.

And this inspires most of her writings.

She enjoys writing for her personal blog at pagesfromserendipity.wor dpress.com and reviews books at nandhinisbookreviews.blo gspot.in.

Editor's Comment: A lesson for all of us to remember for a lifetime.

Who Will Read What You Right?

piece. It is one thing to feel happy about a thumbs-up or a share on a social media platform but it is another to know that someone took interest

I am suffering from writers' block since the past one month. More than a block, I think it is a reflection of my disappointment. I write on professional topics, indulge in creative writing, and delve in non-fictional areas. However, it is discouraging when I don't get critical opinion on my

enough to read, comment and debate. The garden cannot flourish without a blend of sun, shadow and shower; a writer cannot trudge on without intellectual stimulation.

In my lonely writer's existence, WE's presentation of a collage with all the writers and

poets showcased on WE within the last year, was another eye-opener. So many talented writers out there, so many great thoughts, fascinating experiences, and so much to read but eventually how many of them are seriously read by fans and critics, alike. Unless you are an amateur, writing only for self-indulgence, I think every writer worth his or her salt wants to carve a niche in the publishing world.

A study says 81% Americans want to write a book.

Closer home, it is estimated there are nearly 250000 titles in English, available in e-book and paperback formats in India. It is not a miscalculation to assume

that most literates around the world would like to see their writings in print.

Even those who cannot write their own manuscript have stories that they want to script.

Deep within our hearts we are all storytellers and what is more gratifying than to see our words, our story, on paper.

Storytelling is an art but writing is a skill, a craft; each one of us can have a story to tell but not

everyone has the talent or the technical skill to transfer it to paper. I agree with Michael Cunningham, when he says, “One always

has a better book in one’s mind than one can manage to get onto paper.” When you hum a tune in your head, it sounds right, but unless you are truly gifted or trained, you cannot call yourself a singer. You can close your eyes and imagine a painting but whether your brush strokes can translate that picture to canvas is a matter of skill. All writers cannot give bestsellers - a hard-hitting fact but true to the core. As it is the toppositions are unlimited in any business of the world.

Oscar Wilde’s words are truer today than they ever were, “In old days books were written by men of letters and read by the public. Nowadays books are written by the public and read by nobody.” The proliferation of blogs, amateur journalism, opinion portals, ebooks, and of course selfpublishing has flooded the

market with writers on all subjects under the firmament. Never before have we seen so much reading material in every genre possible, with new branches and thought streams emerging every other day. And people are definitely reading more ... yes, reading more, retaining less, and leaving genuine criticism, opinions, and suggestions out of the picture.

The lack of the genuinely interested reader is disconcerting. While a lot of good reading material does get lost in the pile of the trivial and the easy-toread, easy-to-sell, twohours of reading material, the bigger threat is from the lack of true connoisseurs of literature.

Until a writer’s work receives critical opinion, all writers will continue to believe that their work is great, may be the best.

Many books would not have seen the face of the sun had they not been selfpublished. With lesser editorial control in the world of self-publishing, the cosmos of books is being flooded with mediocre material. Selfpublishing may be gratifying to writers and a savvy commercial trend but it is a gross injustice to readers. Making time to read is an exercise in itself and wasting precious time on average stories is criminal, to say the least.

Oft, I have felt depressed after plodded along with an unredeemable book.

Sometimes, it is sad because we end up writing off a writer, due to a bad reading choice. I will share an experience - Ashok Banker is a prolific and renowned writer of series and sequels on the modern Indian Writing in English scene.

His work is monumental and almost

superhuman due to the sheer amount of research that goes into his writings.

I always wanted to spare time enough to read his omnibus collection. And then I got the first book, The Blood Red Sari in his fictional series – Kali Rising#1.

Unfortunately, for me (and the writer) I did not like the gory and complicated work. I may not pick up his work again ever or may be in a long time. My opinion was colored red by a bad reading experience. It is a mutual loss! As G.K. Chesterton observed, “A good novel tells us the truth about its hero; but a bad novel tells us the truth about its author.�

However, not all selfpublishing experiences need to be harsh. I am a prolific Kindle user and hence a regular on Amazon, which as a marketing strategy

Amazon often has a free deal on one of the books in a series. Chances are if you like one book, you wouldn’t mind purchasing the others in the set. There are some wonderful discoveries, at the end of this road, for example, Zoe Brooks became a favorite author after I got to read a free ebook.

Sieving through the everincreasing mound of reading material is important to ensure we are reading well and we are reading books that matter.

Henry David Thoreau gave sound advice, “Read the best books first, or you may not have a chance to read them at all.” One of the ways to ensure this is to buy books that have been edited and published by a publishing house of repute. Do not be wary of paying for a good book.

Who edits and reviews the book is as important as

who writes it. Good services come with money; a book that you pay for will probably pay you back well in terms of experience, learning and vocabulary. Some ebooks are reasonably priced and you unearth a gem; my latest favorites being Charu Singh and I am all excited to discover Qaisra Shahraz.

If you are a writer – published or aspiring – you probably go by the adage that a writer should read all kinds of books, even the poorly written, because that will give you an insight on what not to write. The self-published, freely distributed books can help in gathering such experiences, and you may even end up noticing a promising writer. Reading is a personal experience; for that matter even writing is, but as a writer you have a greater responsibility towards

people who will be reading your book. Always keep in mind – who will read what you write for reading maketh a man and the reader maketh a writer!

About Aneesha Myles Shewani: Aneesha Myles Shewani is a full-time IT professional currently employed as a technical editor. She is a voracious reader with a wide foray of reading interests - from historical literature to science fiction.

This working mother is also an amateur writer/blogger and her blog – www.felinemusings.com is a reflection of the various facets of her personality.

She aspires to be a published novel writer.

She can be reached at aneesha.myles@gmail.com

Invisible Disaster

Tumultuous waves of Unrelenting despondency, Coalesce and rise as The ferocious tsunami Of inescapable despair, Crashing into The smooth, Blissfully unaware Pebbles of the heart, Crushing Their innocent dreams, Their spirit Seeks vengeance, Pounding the walls Of the calm exterior, Threatening to unleash The torrent Of anguish, Onto eyes, Vulnerable,

Overwhelmed, Almost Relenting, Giving in to Hopeless fury, A trickle Lamenting its Riverine destiny, Tormented by the Ghosts of its sinful, Raucous past, Banging on the doors Of heavy lids, Losing any semblance Of sanity, The heart stares Heavenward As eyes find you, Lips, Curving up, Your only rescue

About Apurva Kandicuppa: Apurva is a 24 year old Engineer and Disaster Manager who also enjoys writing, sketching and dancing when no one is watching. She believes in simplicity and depth of thought and is always looking for meaningful conversations. Drop in at apurva.mumbai@gmail.co m Editor's Comment: A poignant narrative

Take Me Away, Make Me Free

I am; Turning into triviality, With each grain of sand Diminish beneath my feet.

Staring into generosity, Of the night, and Wonder, how it never ceases to cheat.

If ever; You see me digress, Seduce me, with your smile so divine.

You feel my coldness, And chills run down your spine.

Infatuate me, with your gentle caress, Let our souls intertwine.

Come; Hold me, with sensuous kiss, make me free, Of all things I misunderstood Love me, till the moment of adios.

Take my hand, take me away, and walk with me, Into the woods Until my existence draws to close.

When in Life; You decide to stop loving me, Ask not for me to anyone, ‘coz I, would vanish, bit by bit, Into cessation But, in all your memories, I would stay For I, am your addiction.

Hence; I beseech you, to, Never break off from love And I shall follow you, To the greens and the blues; Of the plains and the seas

Beyond eternities.

Take my hand, walk with me Take me away and make me free.

About Dipanwita Chakraborty: Dipanwita is a full time Business Development Executive.

A writer, reader, blogger and photographer out of work.

She writes about her thoughts and experiences in her blog “Cocktails, Mocktails and Life� (http://talesfromtherainb ow.blogspot.in). She also loves to travel places and considers her travel experiences to be her muse.

E-mail Iddipanwiita@gmail.com Editor's Comment: A beautiful ode on love.

Book Review – II

:Intro: In a recent murder, a man is indicted. His modus operandi or method of operation is the signature of an infamous notorious serial killer named 'the black Smith', known for inflicting grave torturing prior to putting his victims to death. The black Smith's killing spree spanned over a period of 20 years. Due to the varied victimology, it made it utterly impossible for the law enforcements, including the Federal investigating unit to profile him until very recently, 83 victims had his insignia. During the early years, when he started, he was referred to as 'the copy cat', copying the MO of a serial killer, 'full moon butcher' of the 80s, to the very exact detail - who went dormant almost suddenly. The indicted man is shifted to a high security prison, where he unusually comes

across a series of writings on the cell wall. These writings contain unusual depictions about an undiscovered life, of a supposed 'yellow winged stranger', the master of the ordinary, an ex-prisoner trapped in the compulsion of his own making. And he has a message for the convict. :Book Review: 1. Cover: The cover is very simple denoting the title of the book though it is not very eye catching.

2.

Presentation: The presentation is very lucid, simple and easy to read for a reader.

3. Narration: The narration lacks depth, the author could have added more emotions and depth to the narration to bring alive the stories.

4.

Characters: The characters are people like

you and me, just like the person next door which makes it very believable.

5. Plot: The plots are clichĂŠ, they lack a certain newness when it comes to storylines.

6. Storyline: The story lines are simple, making it easy for a reader to connect and understand them.

7. Story Flow: The story flow is flat. The author did try to add some oomph to the narration but somehow it falls flat towards the end making it a lack lustre reading.

8. Language: The language is very mediocre.

9. Pros: The pro in book has to be characters which connectable believable.

the the are and

10. Cons: The biggest con of this book is the poor editing of the book. There are a lot of passages where the reader is left confused and wondering as to what did the author actually mean in this paragraph for the lack of proper editing.

There are a lot of stories whose ending also leaves a reader baffled as to what to conclude from those ending lines.

:Overview: The overall rating for the book would be 3 out of 5 purely to the author’s attempt.

WE team would like to thank the author for sending across this book for review and would also like to wish him all the best for all their future endeavours.

Author Interview – II

works and lives in the Middle East.

The blurb of his book reads:

Yet another anthology this month which explores the suspense genre like no another by Imran, who is an enthusiast bearing an endless temperament for writing and likes to be creative whenever he finds time. The thing that brings the most out of him is his craving to do the same things in the most different possible way.

Born in India, he currently

In a recent murder, a man is indicted. His modus operandi or method of operation is the signature of an infamous notorious serial killer named 'the black Smith', known for inflicting grave torturing prior to putting his victims to death. The black Smith's killing spree spanned over a period of 20 years. Due to the varied victimology, it made it utterly impossible for the law enforcements, including the Federal investigating unit to profile him until very recently, 83 victims had his insignia. During the early years, when he started, he was referred to as 'the copy cat', copying the MO of a serial killer, 'full moon butcher' of the 80s, to the very exact detail - who went dormant almost suddenly. The

indicted man is shifted to a high security prison, where he unusually comes across a series of writings on the cell wall. These writings contain unusual depictions about an undiscovered life, of a supposed 'yellow winged stranger', the master of the ordinary, an ex-prisoner trapped in the compulsion of his own making. And he has a message for the convict.

Read his thoughts on writing and all that is close to his heart : 1. Asking you the oft-asked but yet pondered upon question – What pushed you to writing?

There is no correct answer to this.

I believe everything has a story, and everyone has a way of telling it. Even the simplecommon things as a sky or earth can be described in varied perspectives; a writer can use the complexities of his mind or just use the simplicity as is.

A blissful Rain or a devastating one leading to floods, cool summer breeze or an aggressive storm, muddy playful earth of the childhood or painful earthquakes.

All I can say, emotions, are the ones that deter or free us. And that is the reason, I feel I should write.

2. Writing about suspense, thriller, murder and mystery in your debut work – how easy or difficult it was? Please share your experience with our readers.

It was neither easy nor difficult yet it was both.

When I set out to write, I never planned how it eventually turned out to be. Initially, I just wrote a raw story and then I was done, for me that was the hardest task.

Developing characters later on was comparatively easy but writing about their emotional turmoil was another mountain climb.

And then there was when you had to fit your story and evolve.

Although even for the easy part you need ample amount of time, a lot of thinking is required.

All I can tell you, story can be told by anyone; he does not have to be a writer to do that. Thinking about a

story is a task in itself and writing about it is another.

3. It is said that the first novel of any author always has snippets of his personal life. Any such experience of yours which you have shared here in this book?

You might be right, but it was not the case here and this made it very difficult for me. I wanted to but I didn’t.

4. Is there anything that you would want to change in the book?

Oh, don’t tempt me. This temptation to change grows when you progress with the book. But you have to let go at some point of time. This book went through a lot of changes, and I mean a lot. Sometimes, I still confuse myself, whether I removed a worst part or a good one, same goes for the addition of any details.

At times, you feel you have

written a master piece but the next morning you feel like erasing it all.

5. The book talks a lot about the good and the bad we have around us in the world. Your own personal thoughts on this.

Well, this is a story. And all kinds of inferences can be drawn out from it. Good or bad for one. Sacrifices, the nature of their sacrifices, about their relationships, love for each other when tested, Many other inferences can also be drawn like for every character there was a superlative, Were Jack or Dan, Ethan or Howard different sides of the same coin? Then there are story constants like other characters. There was retribution in some, which set a path for others. There were people who were affected by the crimes and there was other set of characters that neutralized it.

But yes, did the good triumph the bad? From this story, a single good thing in your life is all it takes to make it meaningful, the reason for the book’s name.

6. Given the amount of anthologies or short story collections that keep coming into the market where do you see The Yellow Winged Stranger and what is different in it according to you?

For one it is not a short story. Well, I cannot say where it stands out differently from others.

There are very good writers out there you see.

7. Please take our readers through your journey of becoming a published author?

Comparing writing and publishing. Writing is the easy part. Publishing is not. It requires patience.

8. Do we see you experimenting with genres? If yes which ones would you like to explore?

Maybe, cannot say about the future. But if I will write again, I might write a fantasy or a sci-fi. I also want to experiment with history. But that’s in the future and I am not sure how it will turn out.

9. Any of your future works that you would want to share with us.

No. not any plans now.

Maybe, maybe not.

10. Any message to your readers.

Everyone has a right to read it or not read it. You may like it or might completely hate it. As any other story, it might not be as the way you say it, but when you read it you might want to say a story of your own.

Thank you very much for your time

Help! I Am a Prisoner Here

Story Behind Photograph:

the

It was one sunny afternoon, I and my friend decide to visit Lion Safari in Shimoga.

I was delighted that I would get a chance to see wild animals and birds too. As both of us are crazy about photography pack camera and set on journey to Safari. It was my first visit, I thought it would be like open in jungle and will be travelling in jeep but it was sort like zoo but animals had space enough to roam around. I came across the mighty peacock locked in cage with one more peacock. One looked tired and was about to sleep. Maybe it was fed up with visitors. One more was just looking here and there in cage as though to escape from cage. I dint wanted to miss the chance, got the camera and clicked pictures. I was happy to

see peacock in real but sad that it was in cage.

About Sachin Prabhu: Sachin Prabhu hailing from Shimoga,Karnataka is a developer who likes to code. Apart from coding he is passionate photographer and you can find him clicking pictures or sketching or lost in some novel as he loves to read.

He is sociable not loquacious. Apart from reading novels one can find him blog at http://jrnywithprabhu.blo gspot.in Editor's Comment: Amazing capture that speaks of the beauty of nature.

The Accident

Part One I splattered my face with water, trying to match it up with my tears, standing in the restroom of the Anna International Airport, Chennai. “What

are you doing, you are going to miss her,” unable to tolerate the disappointment I burst out again, seeing my face at the mirror. Somehow, I was convinced and pushed myself out of the restroom.

I took a hesitant stride towards the check-in counter of the Air Asia carrier to get my boarding pass.

“Rohan!” I was suddenly interrupted by a familiar accent, nearing the checkin counter. I turned around not-so-interested, to track who it was and

spotted a gorgeous looking girl.

Aanchal! She has fair yet delicate skin and glowing brown eyes bedecked with the right balance of mascara. She looked most alike to the model, who featured on the cover page of a fashion magazine with the perfect blend of attitude and beauty. With her black hair falling over her right shoulder and a tiny little smile on the corner of her lips, she approached me.

Aanchal is my colleague at WriteUpCafe.com (social network for readers, writer and bloggers), part of the content development team, which is headed by me. We (Aanchal and I) are on our way for an official trip to Queensland, Australia.

We exchanged greetings and approached the checkin counter to get our

boarding passes and proceeded to the terminal.

After waiting for a while, we heard an announcement about our flight. Thrilled, Aanchal enthusiastically rushed into the aerobridge as soon as she heard the announcement. I followed her without much of interest and excitement. ***

Hola Queensland! Aanchal was in a dream ride. She was extremely delighted to be with Rohan and was enjoying each and every moment with him. To her, the trip was more than just an official trip. Her

lustrous brown eyes were packed with happiness.

She was in the Sea World, the most famous water theme park, located in the Gold Coast, Queensland, Australia, along with Rohan. With all her excitement, she got into the Storm Coaster, a water coaster, holding Rohan's hands. She was absolutely thrilled about that ride.

But things changed as soon as the ride started.

She was not feeling very comfortable, as it wasn't as smooth as other rides, thus swelling her anxiety. Panic and dread replaced happiness in her eyes. She was also losing her vision, and could hardly see Rohan, who was sitting right next to her in the coaster. She looked completely petrified and was filled

with confusion, as the trembling coaster was approaching the water from a soaring height and at a swift pace. Her anxiety was double folded already.

SPLASSHH! The coaster hit the water. But, for some unknown reason, it stayed inside the water. Aanchal was choking and choking hard. She was hoping for an escape and looked out for Rohan, who to her dismay was not there and that further intensified her fretfulness.

She was unable to push herself out of the seat, as the seat belt was jammed. As the coaster moved deep into the water, and controlling her breath for a long while became difficult, with her eyes bulging out she let out a huge cry. *** It was a bright sunny day. I was on my way to the office in my brand new Bajaj Pulsar 150cc. I hit

the Old Mahabalipuram Road (OMR), the so-called IT corridor of Chennai, twisted my accelerator further and drove fast at 100 km per hour. Being a weekday, I expected heavy traffic on the OMR stretch, but to my surprise, I hardly saw a vehicle. I raced along the vacant OMR and accelerated further, testing my bike to its limits.

As I literally soared through the morning roads of OMR, I failed to notice the signal near Karappakkam, which was in yellow meaning that I should wait. By the time I crossed the stop line, the signal light turned red.

Unable to control the speed of my bike, which had almost crossed 90 km per hour, I crossed the signal without heeding the red light. But somebody has already planned my destiny! As the signal turned green for the

travellers waiting on the right side of the road, a small elephant was approaching me. As it came closer, I realised it was a TATA Ace loaded with passengers. TATA Ace is used as a shared vehicle, replacing the auto rickshaw in most part of Tamil nadu, especially in Chennai, where its usage is extensive. You must have guessed the incident by now. Yes! I was hit and hit hard. And I was thrown on the road. I wiped the blood that was flowing from my head over the face and was literally pushing hard to lift my body off the ground. Perhaps, my right hip was not assisting that I thought must be an internal fracture. Slowly coming out of the panicattack, I started sensing the pain that was gradually spreading all over my body and began to scream like a madman.

'Oh my God, it's Rohan,' I heard somebody calling out my name. And it was Varsha, who not only saved me but gave a fresh beginning to my life.

Varsha is my colleague at WriteUpCafe.com, working as a Social Media Manager (SMM). She is not so fair, not so slim and not so attractive, but there is one thing that makes her stand-apart. Eyes! She has an ever-wondering magnetic eye that has a tendency to rupture even the strongest of human hearts.

Wearing a frameless eyeglass, she poses a nerdy look. And her black hair is long enough to tickle her lower hip.

Varsha admitted me in the hospital and took utmost care of me. During my recovery period after the accident, she used to spend all her evening with me after completing her

morning work at the office.

She took upon herself the role of a care taker and assisted me in all possible ways. She lent her assistance in walking me into the restroom, learned with the nurse to dress my injury, remembered to give my medicines on time and made me comfortable by all means, as there was no one else to look after me. I was abandoned by my parents during early childhood. I have grown up in the Ramakrishna Mission, Mylapore, completed my schooling and graduation at Ramakrishna Mission Vivekananda College and went on to pursue my higher education at the College of Engineering Guindy before landing up into WriteUpCafe.Com. All these years, studying hard and getting a high-five job was my biggest goal. Now, I have achieved what I aimed for, but life continued to be empty.

Varsha’s care made my days at the hospital stressfree, not alone at the financial level but at the personal level too.

Varsha, being a compassionate person, loved to be of assistance to anyone.

She is an intelligent girl and hence, she assesses others need before lending a helping hand.

It is not the tag, Manager, compelled her to do me all these favour.

Our relationship is something beyond that tag. Yes! She likes me. And I can very well glimpse it in her eyes, those magnetic eyes. But she never speaks about her feelings with me, which make me wonder about her intentions towards me.

One day, after getting discharged from the hospital, she came to my home. I lived on the first

floor of a shared apartment right in the heart of the city, Mylapore.

I was all alone as my roommate left for work.

'Hi Varsha,' I greeted her opening the door. She was looking beautiful in a dark blue jeans with yellow kurta matching her dusky complexion.

'Great!' She appreciated my tidiness.

'Hmm! What would you like to have? Coffee or Tea?' 'Are you kidding me or

what, show me the kitchen I will make you something.'

'No, no Varsha, you came

'Hi, how are you now?' she inquired about my health with a smile and her eyes were glowing looking into me.

'Much better smiled back.

now,'

I

'Nice clean apartment,' she was stunned to see a bachelor's apartment so clean and tidy.

'Yeah, I like it this way,' I smirked. Actually, it was my roommate, Karthik, who always likes it this way.

to my home for the first time, you are my guest.'

'Am I your guest?' She gave an intent look before leaving for the kitchen.

Initially, I didn’t react as I couldn’t figure out what was happening. Later a thought entered my mind, 'If not a guest then what is she?'

Why are mystifying?

girls

~ To be continued.

so

About T. R. Gowthama: Gowthama is an Environmental Educator by profession, writer by passion and a nature enthusiast at heart. He is a creative lad, serious researcher, an avid learner and traveller. He loves writing and writes on topics that inspire and interest him, which can be accessed here (creatikaa.blogspot.in). In fact, most of his writings are inspired from his personal life and travel. He is an amateur photographer, whose lens doesn't stop to click moments of life. His snaps can be accessed here (snapometer.blogspot.in).

He can be reached at creatikaa.blog@gmail.com.

Editor's Comment: A complicated story on love.

Asha

Still, heads turn, questions asked and eyes lowered in pitiful sympathies. But unlike a few years ago where I pretended I had nothing to do with her, I hold her hand tightly, letting her know that "we are in this together".

I harboured a strong jealousy and dislike towards my sister, Asha, all through our growing up years. She had our parents, and our grandparents too, dancing on their toes

around her, leaving them catching for their breaths whenever they did find time for me, and even then they lectured me on 'on how to behave, when with her' instead of asking me about my day.

"Asha, come here", “Asha, say Ma-aa", "Asha, Asha, Asha!", but Asha wouldn't budge from her place despite the repeated callings and looked straight through us, focusing on the wall behind. At times, she would suddenly jump at me, snatching 'Rosa, my favourite doll' out of my hands, biting me, if that's what it took to get Rosa from me. My parents would rush to the bloody scene then, like peacemakers, asking me to

forgive Asha and act like an elder sister even though I was two years younger to her.

grandfather was sure that this was a western syndrome that could be treated with isolation.

When it was my birthday and we went out for a family dinner, she would scream her lungs out, bringing the entire place down and as we had to rush back home without cutting my birthday cake I couldn't help but agree to the strangers' passing comments over my parents 'lack of control over their own daughter' and 'poor parenting'.

Home tuitions for Asha, further angered me as I couldn't help but compare the luxury she was offered while I had to lug my heavy school bag and catch the early morning school bus, traveling 15 kilometres daily. It wasn't fair that she was still on 'E for Elephant' and I had to deal with subjects such as History and Science.

Mentally subnormal the society cried out, making my mother cry and my father hide away at home ignoring his important peon position at Govt. of India office for days. While grandmother turned the kitchen into an experimental hub, rubbing salt, chillies, mustard, incense and what not to ward off the evil eye,

Life is a struggle I had thought then, in my early adolescent years. That was until I heard the word 'Autism' for the first time.

The walls were thin, of our poorly constructed government quarters. So thin, that even though my door was closed that fateful evening and the loud thunders and heavy winds kept rattling against

my rusty windows, I could hear Dr. Chakraborthy's gruff voice. Wolfing down the hot onion pakoras and ginger tea, the doctor, a close friend of grandfather's who was now an Amreeka-returned was doling out his precious advice about Asha. “This is no mental illness

but a neurologically based disorder of development.

Autism! Have you heard about it?"

Putting a name to the strangeness that was associated with Asha, made me change in a way.

Made me curious if nothing more. I started accompanying my parents to the white walled pungent smelling halls, to doctors trying to speak to Asha in mimicked tones, to the never ending train journeys, to discovering that there was a world outside our ignorant

village in Bengal, to Asha flapping her hands and running like a chicken in the unknown streets of Delhi...to trying to find a cure. But there wasn't one.

We tried our best, but there wasn't a silver lining found in the thick leaden hued sky.

It was when our scepticism in the physical world around us and Asha's behavioural abnormalities had reached its tipping point, that we were led to an Ngo that runs a special school for differently abled children.

There, watching each volunteer engage with an autistic child, managing multifarious labours with such love and gratitude, I felt a pang of guilt. The journey I set on then, from 'we are different' to 'we are together', I should have made a long time ago, walking beside my elder

sister, bearing scratches in return.

few

It burned me to cross that bridge, but it lead me to knowing her for who she really was. From never having looked up to my elder sister, now I wished desperately to see the world through her eyes, wished to understand the meaning of her complex, intricate and unique ways of communication, wished to be a part of her story which I had denied all these years.

About Aditi Kaushiva: Aditi Kaushiva is a zealous writer and dancer who juggles facts and figures by the day at the bank. She is an avid blogger, voracious reader, and has recently entered the world of indie publishing by authoring an anthology of flash fiction now available on Amazon Kindle edition (http://www.amazon.com /dp/B00SCS2P1O).

She believes in living to the hilt and always welcomes life with enthusiasm. Blog makeitbeayoutiful.blogspo t.in Editor's Comment: A very touching story of a known by less talked about aspect of life.

The Escape

I can’t see it but I can feel it pointed towards my head. Although I can’t tell whether it’s a semiautomatic or a double action revolver, I can feel its presence well enough to allow myself to panic – just a little. The MA PO (Maharashtra Police) holster, which held the revolver lies a few feet away from me. I couldn’t get to it on time.

Damn!

Things haven’t turned out quite like I expected. I’d gone after him, confident that I’d be the one pointing the revolver at HIM after months of waiting for the opportune moment. Now

here I am, swearing under my breath and completely at the mercy of this crook.

‘Crook’ would understatement.

be

an

The man is a scoundrel – a blight. He’s corrupt, he’s

power hungry and he’d sell his own mother for some additional moolah to gamble off.

In an attempt to get him on my good side, I had almost managed to strike a deal with him once. But it fell through, thanks to his nosey friends and sanctimonious boss. I guess he got the good stuff from elsewhere and after that he made it his life’s

mission to hunt me down and make life a living hell for me.

“Why are you doing this Jamal bhai?” I ask him, with a hint of desperate pleading in my voice. The question reverberates through the sweltering warehouse where he’s holding me. I’m bound to a chair and the bugger has done a good job with the ropes. I can barely move a finger, although I think there may just about be some leeway with the knots on my left foot.

eyes. His pupils are burning embers – aflame with the desire for retribution – the primal calling for revenge. He holds the revolver to my forehead targeting the spot in between my eyebrows.

“Yes you did. You knew

very well that she was going to be dancing at that bar that night. You just wanted to throw me a challenge by killing her.

Challenge accepted.”

A shrill laugh follows and seems to last for an eternity, before I hear a disembodied voice say, “You know very well why.”

I remain silent, staring almost cross-eyed at the revolver. It’s not the first time I’ve looked death in the face, but each time it happens, it gets a little more personal.

“Look, it wasn’t my fault

“I

that your girlfriend got caught in the crossfire. I didn’t want to kill her.”

wonder what your family would do, if I were to kill you right here and now.” Jamal’s tone is almost condescending.

He comes up from behind me and looks me in the

This time, angry flames sweep over me.

“I wouldn’t know now, would I?” I seethe.

“Ah yes, that’s right. I

forgot, I killed them all. So much for retribution eh Mukesh?”

I thank the Lord for being bare feet right now, as I inconspicuously struggle to get my left foot out of the knots. I feel it loosening. I smile.

“How much did he pay you to come after me Jamal?”

Jamal walks over to the other end of the room and I sigh in temporary relief as the gun moves away from my face. Jamal’s eyes are menacing now and his teeth are clenched. But despite his apparent anger, he manages to mouth the words, “I won’t rest till I finish YOU – slowly, gradually and painfully.”

I gulp. My left foot is free. I have to keep talking.

Beads of perspiration turn into little rivulets on my forehead and my balding scalp.

“Who Paul Mascarenhas?

Big brother Paul? Gah! Not much – just a 100 grand. I settled for less, because I had a personal score to settle with you today. You killed Aayat. She didn’t even know why she had to die. I killed your entire family in return, but somehow, just somehow, it brings me no peace.”

My kingdom for an air conditioner – or a revolver.

“Look Jamal bhai, this is

ridiculous. An eye for an eye only makes people blind. Do you really want to end up blind?”

It’s a long shot, but I’m certain I hear police sirens outside. Finally! If only I can get out…..

“Eye? Blind? Do you really

think these things matter Mukesh? All I want in life now is to see you writhe in pain like Aayat did. Got it?”

I fail to make him understand that Aayat’s death was just collateral damage. It was uncalled for, but it happened all the same. I couldn’t change that even if I wanted to.

It’s pointless talking to a madman like him. He’s killed so many before – he won’t think twice before pulling that trigger.

It’s a good thing that my right foot just came free.

“Do it then,” I say simply.

I’m sure he sees the spark in my eyes – the determination of a soldier, ready to confront death

like a man. “Be a man Jamal, for once!”

His fury erupts like Vesuvius and he comes stomping to face me. He crouches down in front of me, his face just a few inches away from mine – and his revolver just a few centimeters away from my eyes.

Before he can say anything, I use all my training and professional skills to jump up on my feet and kick him in the face. He cries out in pain and staggers behind, dropping the revolver.

Quick as a cat, I fall back with intense force on the hard cement floor, cracking my wooden chair into two. Even as he tries to shake off the agony of the sudden blow, I kick him again, making him crumple to the floor in a heap. I fall purposefully on my back a couple of times more, splintering my chair

into thirty pieces at least.

In no time, I’ve untied my hands and punched Jamal in his rib cage and his face.

This time I draw blood.

I smile to myself as the police sirens get decidedly louder outside the warehouse. I pick up the revolver, yank Jamal onto his feet, point the gun to his head and use him as a shield as I stagger out of the warehouse. Floodlights and police jeep headlights brighten the darkness of the night. The stars and moon pale in comparison.

“DON’T SHOOT, or he dies” I shout loud enough to baffle the twenty odd policemen, who take one look at Jamal and put down their weapons. They definitely don’t want him dead.

I walk sideways like a crab, holding the nowconscious Jamal by the scruff of the neck. When

we reach the grassy patch separating the tar road from the dry, deciduous forest, I know that it’s now or never. Mustering up all my strength, I violently push the astonished Jamal forward.

After that it only takes me five seconds to remove the smoke bomb hidden in my jacket and fling it in their direction.

As the bomb explodes and the smoke billows out, Senior Inspector Jamal and his police cronies tear up and start coughing, trying to follow my silhouette in the blurry distance.

Meanwhile I – Mukesh Dabholkar – recently famous Mumbai gangster and underworld elite – disappear into the forest under cover of darkness.

About Shreyasi: Shreyasi adores reading and writing short and impactful fiction. Her work has appeared in Flash Frontiers as well as Shortbread Stories and she’s currently working on a collection of short stories as well. She loves poetry and has been crafting poems since she was 12.

She revels in taking long walks, swimming, reading, doodling and engaging in heartfelt conversations with God. Shreyasi has worked as a business journalist and editor in Singapore, currently resides in Wellington, New Zealand, and is a Mumbaikar at heart. She maintains a blog at http://shreyasidreamweaver.blogspot.co. nz and can be contacted by email at majumdarshreyasi@gmail. com Editor's Comment:

A superb narrative that has a strange WOW element in the end.

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).

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 > http://www.privytrifles.co m About Arti Honrao > http://www.artihonrao.in Submissions for the March issue of Writer's Ezine are open.

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