Writer's Ezine - Volume VIII November Issue

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Administrator, Editor, Promotions & Marketing Manager, Assistant Relationship Advisor : Namrata Administrator, Web-designer, Strategist Relationship Advisor, Co-editor: Arti Honrao

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&

Editor‘s Note Short Story Poem Poem Authors Quill Book Review – I Author Interview – I Short Story Series Poem Poem Photography Poem Poem Short Story Poem Poem Poem Book Review – II Author Interview – II Short Story Poem Poem Poem Short Story Short Story

Season‘s Greetings Of The Hand That Held Hers I Know This Sand Artist The Last Word Romance as an evergreen genre in literature Ri- Homeland of Uncertainty Ms. Paulami Duttagupta Where The Heart Is Something For The Poets In The Grey Rainbow Cake The Lover Someone Flirt With Me Please Always A Story of Someone…

Probably a Girl‘s The Human Mind My Wayside Flowers And We Remained Asad Ali Junaid How My Life Changed The Time I Almost Got Mugged Golden Giving Masks People Wear Valley of Fear A Thing Called Forever Seven Days to Love

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Editor’s Note Season‘s greetings.

Diwali is a time when all of us come together to celebrate this festival of light with our loved ones.

It is time when we create loads of memories, share laughter and love and most importantly a lot of surprises are in store as we receive many gifts from near and dear ones.

This Diwali was special for us at WE as well and WE also has a lot of surprises in store. Just a month before Diwali we celebrated our half anniversary.

From something that began as a mere idea, faced some storms even before its launch to reach its 8th issue with this one is something definitely proud worthy.

WE decided to take it a step ahead and make it special and proud worthy for all of our readers and writers as well! I am proud to share this news with you that Writer‘s Ezine‘s previous six issues are now available in print form for you to buy, read, gift, share and most importantly cherish.

After all it is you who make WE what WE is. You Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

can read our blog and website for more details regarding the same.

Diwali at WE is incomplete if there are no special surprises. To celebrate the joy of writing, WE has introduced some new segments from this issue.

One of them is Author‘s Quill, here month on month we will invite guest authors to write about things close to their heart. To tickle the creative streak in each one of you, WE has decided to have something called Prompt of the month where every month WE will give out a prompt, the same can be written on your blog and linked to our blog. The best entry will be adjudged as the Editor‘s Pick and is eligible for a prize as well.

There are many more surprises in store, but as of now we would want them to be a secret.

Hope you enjoy reading this issue with all the new segments.

Do write to us at feedback@writersezine.com in case you have any suggestions or feedback for us to work upon.

Looking forward to your continued support and patronage!

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Of The Hand That Held Hers Ridhima was dead.

Saniya had overheard some doctors discuss over how they should break this news to her. She was not able to move any part of her bruised body below her neck. Was the accident so bad? The grief was too big to acknowledge. She knew she will be alone for the rest of her life. Was it only a few weeks ago when I broke the news to them?

Everything came flooding back to her.

She remembered that day. *** It was the day. It was finally the day. It was the day Saniya was going to remember for the rest of her life. She had put on her blue pullover because somebody had once told her shades of blue represent peace and calm.

'No, I should probably change into my safe pair of denims' Saniya thought.

A brawl over her short skirt was the last thing Saniya wanted to happen that day.

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Her panic was rising with each passing microsecond. She could almost taste bile in her throat. She picked up her phone and called Ridhima for the 50th time. Her network switched to voicemail.

'Where on earth are you R? You better be on your way to my place. I'm on my way to panic-death here. This isn't just about us now. I need you to grow up and take some responsibility.' And Saniya disconnected the call. She hadn't realized, her forehead was dripping with sweat. She opened her closet, picked out her white towel that came as a thank you gift from her spa, wiped off all the sweat from her face and took the longest breath of her life, muttering, 'They are my parents, they brought me to life, they have to love me, no matter what, it‘s their duty to love me, this isn't a crime, it‘s just the way I'm made, they have to broaden their horizons and grasp what I have to offer this time. It‘s all going to be okay.‘ and she exhaled from her mouth.

At that second, the doorbell rang. Her heart picked up pace. This better be her. It was her.

Saniya's ears picked up traces of warm greetings from the ground floor, her parents seemed to be in the best of their moods. Ridhima climbed up the stairs in a hurry, almost tripped once and finally reached Saniya's room. As soon as she entered, Saniya hugged her. They held each other for a long one and a half minutes, as though trying to dissolve their worries into each other. My decision Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

is correct, it‘s all worth it, SHES all worth it, I love her, and it is time to stand up for what I believe in. Saniya‘s mother's voice broke the embrace, but they were still holding each other. 'Let's do it Saniya.' Ridhima said and smiled her disturbingly beautiful smile.

Downstairs, Saniya's father was reading his daily morning newspaper and cribbing about the presence of everything but news in the newspaper, and her mother was busy in the kitchen. Saniya nudged her elbow into Ridhima's ribs and whispered ―I love them, I don't want to be abandoned.‖ and she was close to tears. Even her whisper was hoarse and husky. Ridhima knitted her fingers with hers and squeezed her hand gently, ―They love you way too much to abandon you. Stop panicking Saniya, I love you, don't ever forget that. It‘s now or never.‖ S - Good Morning Dad. Dad - Good Morning my angels.

S - I want to talk to you Dad. He folded his newspaper, put down his specs and looked at her daughter. The seriousness in her daughter's voice was alien.

Dad - Sure beta, whatever it is.

R - No uncle, we want to talk to both of you together. Let‘s wait for aunty to finish with her toasts.

In a minute, Saniya's mom appeared out of kitchen with a dish full of yummy-looking toasts.

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Dad - Okay kids, let's eat first, and then I'm all yours, he smiled.

Ridhima - No uncle, it's important.

He looked at them with curious analyzing eyes, his eyebrows meeting in the middle of his forehead, and said Okay.

Saniya - Okay. Dad, I know this is going to come as a shock to you at first but I very desperately need you to understand what I'm about to say now. I am 23 and I don't want you to assume that I'm immature. It isn't a choice. It‘s what I am. It‘s how I'm made. I'm happy with life but I cannot survive without your consent. Okay?

Mom - You're scaring us now. Just tell us. What is it?

Saniya - Mom, Me and R, we love each other.

Her dad laughed hearing that.

Dad - We know that baby, we know you both are less of friends and more of sisters. And we love you too. Where is the news in this?

Ridhima - Uncle, you don't understand. It‘s not the sister-love; it‘s the lover-love. We want to get married.

S's mom ignored the hint, smiled and said 'Oh, Is this about marriage? Hari, our daughters are grown up ladies now.'

Saniya - No mom, you really don't get it or are you just pretending not to acknowledge it? I love Ridhima and I want to marry her. I'm a lesbian mom. Deep down somewhere, you've always known this. I could sense it.

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Silence took over. Saniya's parents stared into thin air. Nobody said another word for the next minute. Finally Ridhima said 'We love each other aunty. It doesn't make us any different. It just makes us brave enough to accept it. We are made this way. Please try to understand.'

They both left the room and did not talk to Saniya for 2 days. After 2 days of misery, her dad came to her room and tried to talk her out of it. He wanted Saniya to meet a shrink for a purification ritual and this proposition broke her completely. Her mom wanted her to start with therapy. A week passed, and their house was still filled with an unknown awkward air. After months of endless arguments and discussions, Saniya finally had to leave her parent's house to start a new life with Ridhima. They did not want the society to know about her.

3 days after moving out, Saniya and Ridhima's car met with an accident. *** The soft blue walls of the hospital filled Saniya's vision. All she knew was that Ridhima was dead.

Warm tears flowed down her cheeks and she could not even wipe them off on her own. An eager nurse sprang to help her and asked 'Oh great, you're awake ma'am, do you want me to call anybody? Your family? You will need their support through all this.'

'No, I'm alone, I don't have a family.'

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5 days after the accident, Saniya also joined Ridhima in heaven. Her parents never tried to find out how their daughter was. I wish people had better understanding of human nature and braced it with open arms.

About Author: Maitreyee Editor's Comment: A sensitive portrayal of the way we are adamant of not breaking out of age old beliefs.

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I Know This Sand Artist

I know this sand artist, Who speaks beautiful stories; With his hand, Using lifeless granules of sand!

I know his Art of exuberance, Which shares vivacious shades of life By its colorlessness.

I know him, his lifeGiving out meaning to the world Through the darkness Residing in his eyes.

I know his story, One he didn't emote Through his art of sand But which his fate crafted for him.

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I know his melancholyAbout his defected lens Which killed his vision But still gifted him hope.

I know the hope he has To be blessed with donated eyes So he can see the colors in his artistry too Though it is painted with the pale hues of sand.

And I know his fate Which didn't get a chance To be granted an organ To live with.

And so, I know this sand artist Who still... might be... wishes a destiny of despair To eye the sketches of his skill But unfortunately, just feels it.

Author Note: We humans are fortunate to be able to live a normal life, but there are many out there who struggle every minute to earn a living. And if we think we could help them, why not help the handicaps an organ they want to live with a smile.

Organ donation is a beautiful act and it is a great example of us as a human.

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About Amreen B. Shaikh: Amreen B. Shaikh is a Web Designer by profession and writes at leisure. She has her poems published in "Muse India", "The Paperbook Collective", "The Tophat Raven", "Blue Monday Review" and a poetry anthology in the UK. She has published a Poetry E-Book "Thoughtfully Crafted Words" on issuu.com early in 2014 which received many good reviews and appreciation alike.

She blogs on painttheworldwithwords.wordpress.com about Poetry.

Editor's Comment: Touching poem with a very beautiful hidden message.

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The Last Word

The last word has no sound.

It would not be from centers but sides Not a verb, noun, Not any known variables of the figure of speech.

It is the sound that becomes the letter…word…..language Yet utters no meaning but…

About Vimeesh Maniyur: Vimeesh Maniyur is an established bi-lingual poet, novelist and translator from Kerala, in India. He has two volumes of poetry and a children‘s novel in his credit. He has also penned stories and dramas. He has bagged for many prestigious awards such as Culcutta Malayali Samajam Endownment, Madras Kerala Samajam, Muttathu Varkki Katha Puraskaram etc. for young writers in Kerala.

Editor's Comment: A lot has been said and yet left unsaid.

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Romance as an evergreen genre in literature

You and I are the results of our parents‘ romance!

The whole of creation is based on it. Literature down history makes interesting reading about love stories from India – Ram-Sita; RadhaKrishna; Savitri-Satyavan; DushyantShakunthala; Nala-Damayanti; Heer-Ranjha and millions more.

Romeo & Juliet is considered one of William

Shakespeare‘s best works. It‘s been consistently popular since it was written in the 1590s. While it‘s tragic (not what I like best), the story can‘t but leave an impression on one‘s heart.

There are a lot of people who insist that reading romance is something shameful or probably a waste of time. But what does the heart actually seek? I am not suggesting that I know better than the readers out there; just stating what I believe.

It‘s but natural to seek joy and what better than a ―Happily Ever After‖ ending for a story which is what romance literature promises, at least most of the time.

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It begins as a fairy tale when you are a kid. Cinderella, Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty, Beauty and the Beast and more – all of them offer joy to both the characters and the readers. Yeah, many of them do begin with sadness, but they end with the protagonists getting together after all the turmoil they undergo.

Jane Austen was probably the forerunner for romantic fiction.

Her novels Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice, Mansfield Park and Emma – written in the beginning of the 1800s, are bestsellers even today. She is revered by romance authors around the world.

Georgette Heyer‘s romances are my favourites.

Her droll humour and powerful heroines make her books a tremendous success. These Old Shades; Grand Sophy; Devil‘s Cub; The Corinthian and The Unknown Ajax are some of her novels that totally enthralled me. Heyer thumbs her nose at the English gentry many a time while the romantic connection between the hero and heroine is beautifully sketched.

Barbara Cartland is another renowned romance novelist who has written 644 romance novels.

Cartland has also sold more than a billion copies of her books. There are a number of people who ridicule her style of writing and her virginal heroines. But I think what she‘s done is no small achievement. There was a time when I genuinely loved reading her books and I must say that it was Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

Barbara Cartland who introduced me to the historical romantic fiction genre before I moved on to read Georgette Heyer.

Julie Garwood‘s For The Roses, One Pink Rose, One White Rose, One Red Rose and Come The Spring are awesome period romances set in preindependent America. Garwood‘s characters touch your heart and I remember laughing and crying with them. The Roses are a part of my book collection as I read them again and again.

Nora Roberts is another fantastic romance novel author who also delves into the fantasy genre in many of her books. The author has written 200plus romance novels. The books I absolutely enjoyed reading were from The Key Trilogy.

And now about Mills & Boon! I stepped into the world of M&Bs directly from Grimm‘s Fairy Tales.

The transition was like growing up from an adolescent into a teenager and made my life just perfect. I loved the heroes and heroines from the Western world and enjoyed reading about so many countries that I have still not found the opportunity to visit. It was such fun knowing about different cuisines, eating habits and more.

Wikipedia says that Mills & Boon was founded in 1908 as a book publisher. It evolved into escapist fiction for women in the 1930s. Today, the publication comes out with a hundred new titles every month under a wide range of romantic subWriter‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

genres. Their sales figures are mind-blowing as four novels are sold every second around the world.

Despite a large number of the literary population condemning the novels published by this company, they forge on to be leaders in sales with a huge fan following including both women and men.

At the end of the day, if a book leaves joy in your heart and a smile on your face, it‘s definitely a great book. And that‘s a romance novel for you!

Romantic fiction is a billion dollar industry today.

Need I say more?

About Sundari Venkatraman: Sundari Venkatraman has authored four ebooks so far, The Runaway Bridegroom being the latest. Three of her books, namely, The Malhotra Bride; Meghna and The Runaway Bridegroom have all been self-published on Amazon under the banner of Flaming Sun. All three books are regularly seen on Amazon‘s Top 100 Bestsellers‘ Contemporary Romances list.

A great fan of Mills & Boon romances over the past four decades, Sundari has always believed in Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

‗Happily Ever Afters‘ and all her books promise happy endings.

The

Runaway

Bridegroom talks

about ‗Child Marriage‘, an evil perpetrated even in the 21st century in a country like India. While a large number of the country‘s population live in the cities and lead modern lives, there are many who follow old customs unaware of the negative impact on the lives of the younger generation.

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Book Review – I :Intro: Ri- Homeland of Uncertainty is adapted from the National Award Winning Khasi film by the same name. Trapped in the limbo between ideology and conscience, Manbha finds him himself part of a terror outfit. An unexpected opportunity, anger, squalor and disillusionment - followed by and armed combat and injury lead to the soul- searching that form the substance of this moving tale. :Book Review: 1. Cover: The cover of the book is one that can easily be called intriguing. It makes the reader curious and piques his interest very much.

2. Presentation: The presentation of the book is gripping. It has many WOW moments and surprising elements where a reader will definitely feel Oh my God! I didn‘t see this one coming through here.

3. Narration: The narration is impeccable. The biggest element needed in such genres is a narration that holds the reader till the last word and up to some extent even more. This book does Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

exactly that. The author has managed to write an engrossing narrative.

4. Characters: The one character that will haunt you long after you are done reading this book is Manbha, sheer grit and determination make this one stand out amongst all in this book.Though Kyndiah is also unique, one that touches your heart in a special way.

5. Plot: The plot is like being on a roller coaster ride, full of ups and downs it has moments where you will be thrilled to bits along with some where you will feel emotionally choked up.

6. Storyline: The story line revolves around a lot of issues that should be the centre of attention now as it is high time we realise all this is not adding up to the welfare of the country or well being of our country men.

7. Story flow: The story flow can be called flawless; there is no other way you can visualise this story from start to end. The author has done complete justice to it.

8. Language: Lucid, simple with no fancy big words but ones those create the impact subtly yet effectively.

9. Pros: Story line which is refreshingly different, one that makes this book stands out amongst others in the market.

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10. Cons: The only con is somehow I felt the book could have been a little lengthier in terms of descriptions of certain scenes. But then at the same time it cannot be called a complete flaw for it means it was so well written that the reader is left asking for more.

:Overview: The overall rating for the book would be 4 out of 5 for the storyline, the tight narrative and the amazing imaging created by the author.

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

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Author Interview – I Today WE have Ms.Paulami Duttagupta author of Ri: Homeland of Uncertainty with us here.

Born in Shillong, many moons ago, with schooling at Loreto Convent, and an English Honors from St. Edmunds College, Paulami Duttagupta started her career with All India Radio Shillong. She had written and also given her voice to a few shows there. Later she came down to Kolkata and got a post graduate degree in Comparative Literature from Jadavpur University. She had also taken up a fancy to learning Spanish, but today confesses that she has forgotten most of it.

She has written for ‗The Times of India‘ in the ‗Guwahati-Shillong plus Edition‘ and also ‗The Shillong Times‘. Television had always attracted her and was connected to the Bangla TV industry for about 6 years. She was associated with ETVBangla, Akash Bangla and Sony Aath in this period.

Having left her day job in 2012, Paulami took up full time writing. Her first novel, ―Pinjar‖ released in early 2012.Her second novel ―Unplanned Destinty‖ released in 2014. She is also the screenplay writer of the national award winning Khasi film – ―Ri Homeland of Uncertainty‖.

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―Ri‖ has been adapted into a novel and is releasing in Spetember‘14.

She is currently working on her next project as movie script writer.

Apart from writing full length novels, she has written several short stories and articles. She has also contributed to the ―Minds@work Anthology‖ and the ―Family Matters International Anthology‖ in 2013.

Recently she has contributed to the ―Learning and Creativity Anthology‖ , ―Her Story Anthology‖, and ―Celebrating India – Love across Borders Anthology‖.

When she is not writing or watching movies, Paulami is either reading biographies or classic pieces of literature. Cricket, food, cinema, books and music are an integral part of her life.

The blurb of her book reads: Ri- Homeland of Uncertainty is adapted from the National Award Winning Khasi film by the same name. Trapped in the limbo between ideology and conscience, Manbha finds him himself part of a terror outfit. An unexpected opportunity, anger, squalor and disillusionment - followed by and armed combat and injury lead to the soulsearching that form the substance of this moving tale.

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Hear her open up her heart as she talks about things that make her what she is: 1. A warm welcome to you at Writer‘s Ezine, talking about your novel Ri: Homeland of Uncertainty how did this whole idea get conceptualized?

The first step of ‗Ri‘ was making the movie. It was one afternoon I and the director of the film were throwing ideas and suddenly this concept of making a film closer to reality popped up. We looked at the pros and cons and decided to take the risk. The next step was the research, which took me a whole lot of days to complete. Later when the film was made, adapting it into a book was an idea. But after it received the National Award as one of the best feature films, and friends started to enquire about what the film was on, I Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

decided to pen down the novel. Retelling this tale had almost become necessary at that point of time.

2. Why did you choose this particular topic for your debut novel?

Ri is not my debut novel. Pinjar is. Then came Unplanned Destiny. I chose Ri because I was almost bored of writing romance and lovey dovey tales.

3. This is a very sensitive topic to be written upon.

Any particular instances that you remember (good or bad) where the feedback was something that could be called unforgettable.

There are a lot of people who have supported in the making of the book Ri. From the director, to the actors, to my brother! I remember a particular instance when I had written a sentence in Khasi and the English meaning was entirely different. It was thankfully changed in the right moment and I was saved from a major faux pas.

4. The moment when you felt this is it – I want to be a writer.

I had written nonfiction, and newspaper articles for a while. Then after coming out of a massive writer‘s block I had two options – a stable job, or the unknown world of writing. The boredom in my day job made me chose the latter.

5. It is said you don‘t choose a story, a story chooses you. Can you share with us some moments where this story haunted you till the Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

extent you decided to write about it and give it the shape it is in today?

Actually the haunt has started after penning the book. There is so much that needs to be written on the same topic and region that I am wondering if I have at all done justice to the book. What haunted me most was the character of Emika, and I wondered if revenge was the only way to end terror. Something inside me revolted and I wanted a victim of terror to actually make the terrorist give up his path of bloodshed. Later when after a lot of drafts her character was ready I was actually happy. And it is true, the story chose me. After all I had to write about Meghalaya.

6. Can you take us through your journey of getting published as an author and making a movie based on the same theme? How did it all happen?

The journey started with writing fan fictions. That goes back to the same boredom I was talking about. I had all the time in my day job and as I was living alone at that point of time, I had all the time even back at home. All I did for that one year was writing. I wrote about 53-54 stories and then realized it was time to pen a novel. Pinjar was self published in 2012 and after that a television job was the last thing in my mind. I started looking for options, wrote another script, which is yet to be made into a film and then started working on Ri. Ri actually taught me the nuances of film making.

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7. When you talk about Meghalaya and the problems that surround it say Naxalities, terrorism and other such issues that affect all the lives there who do you think is responsible for it the people or the government?

Homegrown terror can't be looked in isolation.

Which are the parts of India that have revolted?

Aren't they all from the 'backward' states and neglected milieu. If we look at NE in particular, it is the attitude of the Babus and Central leadership that started the entire chapter of insurgency. The then central government is sure to blame. When you have the Chinese army approaching Tejpur and your PM sits in Delhi and says , 'my heart goes out to the people of Assam' on radio, and the people know there is very little chance of fresh reinforcements, wouldn't the people feel hurt?

Now coming to the second part of the question I do feel neglect and scorn from people has also fueled communal clashes in NE. From food habits to their way of living, even the size of their eyes has been criticized. Take the differential treatment regarding recent floods in Kashmir and the floods in Assam/Meghalaya. Where are our activists and mainstream media? Why this step motherly treatment? People talk about Srinagar. Militants moved with grenades and other sophisticated ammunition even within the heart of Shillong. No one knows and India still asks - 'is Shillong in Assam?'

8. What is the message you would like to give out to your readers through this book?

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I hope I don‘t sound preachy, but I have always felt that bullets and grenades have done no good to mankind. That is the message I wanted to give through Kyndiah‘s character. There is also an intellectual fad of supporting separatism and terror, and I have been criticized for my take on Manbha‘s character. But I don‘t buy their theory.

There are no French revolutions in today‘s time…and no Robin Hoods. So this entire idea of ideological support to causes of terrorists just doesn‘t hold good. Sooner or later every outfit has killed an innocent and there is no reason to justify that.

9. Do we see you both experimenting with genres in future?

Yes. I want to write a romantic comedy, Notting Hill style. But given my track record on writing comedy, I am not sure if it would ever see the light of the day. I also want to try historical fiction, but that needs massive research and hence is in the back burner for now.

10. If given a choice is there anything you would like to change in the book. Why?

I would want to increase the length of the book.

There is a very large chunk of geopolitical history that has been left out and it would surely make the book look better.

11. We would like to know about any future projects you are currently working on.

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

I am currently working on my next book titled ‗After a Decade of Solitude‘, compiling an anthology titled ‗Marijuana Diaries‘ and writing the script of my second movie. It is still untitled and I hope to see it in making by Spring 2015.

12. Some words for your readers.

Keep supporting, keep reading. It is because of you that I am. It is because you criticize, that I improve. It is because you support, that I bloom.

Thank you very much for your time

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Where The Heart Is Part One Ramya tapped her fingers impatiently on the handle-bars of her pink Scooty as she waited in yet another Wednesday morning traffic snarl at the busy Madhya Kailash signal. The countdown timer was flashing a number in the high seventies but the bespectacled guy sitting comfortably in the airconditioned Audi behind her was honking nonstop as if the racket he produced was going to make any difference. Turning away from the biker duo leering at her on her left, her eyes landed on the cute couple in the i10. Must be newlyweds, she thought idly, even as the girl opened a flask and poured some piping hot beverage into a stainless steel 'tumbler' and handed to the man.

'Mmm, coffee, I so need a hit', she muttered to herself. Her eyes glazed over as coffee in a tumbler took her swiftly to her childhood. Paati! Starched sungudi cotton saree, big red kumkum dot on her forehead, a sprig of jasmine pushed into her hair and a warm smile that lit her face from inside, she was the epitome of everything a grandmother stood for. Paati, her friend and former neighbour Aarti's granny, the only grandmotherly figure Ramya had ever known. Paati, who stood in the common balcony every morning to wave to her grandchildren - and Ramya - as they went off to school. She was there when we came back in the Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

evening, with a big urn of coffee for us all, brimming with questions about our day. Paati!

'I wonder where she is now', mused Ramya.

She must be in her late sixties now, though she seemed ancient to us, all those years back, as grandparents should.

'I know Aarti moved to Germany a few years back and her brother's up in the North somewhere but I wonder if her folks still live in the same apartment. A little spin on Face book might help shed some light on things. I really must get over my hatred of over-sharing and get reconnected with Aarti and Bubs.'

The cacophony that greeted signal change halted her reminiscences and carefully running a wheel over the right foot of the Leery Bike Romeo, Ramya sped down the road. With filter coffee and jasmine flowers filling her mind, she absently waved to her colleagues as they clustered around the central desk, looking for interesting assignments. Breezing into her cubicle, she almost ran into Karthik - stellar camera guy, office pin-up and her secret crush - who was sitting on her desk, the pace of his swinging legs betraying his impatience.

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

'Finally!' he gasped, jumping on the floor. 'I snagged us a neat assignment and can't wait to get started and today, of all days, you have to show up fashionably late!'

'As long as we are running on Indian Standard Time, I am NOT late, fashionably or otherwise.

What assignment? How neat?'

'You remember the case last week of the old man, the one with Alzheimer's, that ran out of his care home and under the wheels of a SUV?', asked Karthik.

'Oh that poor grandpa? The 80-year old? Yes, I do.

What a horrible way to go! What about it / him?'

Ramya quizzed.

'The government has announced some new norms for these places - usual knee-jerk reaction - and the Editor wanted a photo feature on the state of old age care homes in the city, with a heartstringtugging article to go with it. Which is where you come in. I have spoken to a couple of these places and there's a car out there waiting to take us there, so let's get going, woman!'

'Wow! Breathe, Karthik! What's the hurry? Wait a minute! 'Old age home' isn't code for 'Beauty Pageant Swimwear Round', is it?'

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

'No, gutter brain! The situation outside the US embassy is heating up and I don't want to end up frying in this heat, taking photos of people trying to give one another a coronary. Let's leave before I get sucked in. Now, get!'

Travelling along the coastal road within the airconditioned gloriousness of the paper's car, Ramya felt kindlier towards Karthik. Of course, this was after he had propelled her out of the building and put an end to her spluttering with a tall cup of java from the coffee shop next door. Breathing in the heady aroma, Ramya opened up the info packet Karthik had dumped in her lap and started reading. Intensely aware of her favourite cameratoter sitting alongside her tinkering with his lenses and camera doodads, she had to struggle to concentrate. Hmm! His cologne was weaving into her senses and the weak coffee fumes were all she had to counter it. Damn the man! Every time he dragged her off on an assignment, her heart first turned cartwheels, crowing "Yayy! Finally!" before falling down with a thud! upon discovering no, once again, not a date! One of these days, she was going to go all Enlightened Female and ask him out herself. She should probably hold off on the head bopping portion of her agenda till after, though.

The manager of the first care home in their list reminded Ramya of the matron from the Carry On movie. She sure had the girth and the air of exasperation around her. Must have had a trying Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

morning, thought Ramya, introducing them and explaining what they were looking for. Karthik wandered off to take pictures and Ramya got on with her interviews, gathering info, letting ideas float in her mind. The day went by as they finished with the place and moved on to the next ones on their list.

Thursday was more of the same. Care home after care home full of old timers, pottering about, some cheerful, some morose, many quietly introspective, earnest looking workers and their withered and wizened wards. Some of the stories were stuff of nightmares and it became harder and harder to not let it all get to her. Despite Karthik's repeated advice, Ramya couldn't help the well of sadness that rose up from her heart to her throat.

About Lavanya Donthamshetty: Lavanya Donthamshetty is a part-time writer, fulltime mother / gourmet chef / referee of pitched battles between her two warring children. She contributes to sites such as Women's Web, India Together etc, writing on varied subjects such as food, parenting, elections etc.

She lives in Chennai with her husband and their sometimes adorable duo. She can be contacted via email lavanya DOT asokan AT gmail DOT com.

Editor's Comment: A superb build up to what looks like an interesting story of family values.

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

Something for the Poets

The soul of the writer Is personified in the poet Us with our short attention spans Consistently pursuing the muse Such an elusive nymph Like the juvenile delinquent Running from the law So we give chase Catch one Trip and tackle Yelling 'hold still' Manacles at the ready Captured and cuffed Transported from mind to line Another one booked for the masses Then back on patrol Ever vigilant the poet is While the novelist and the playwrights Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

Craft their worlds Invites us in to stay awhile Get to know them Care about them We marry them till the end For better or worse But the poet grabs us Quickly Intimately Then let's us go A one night stand of sorts Many times the fickle lover Like a pollinating bee

About Poet: Fre Thought Editor's Comment: The poet has managed to create the magic of a writer/ poet‘s soul charismatically in words.

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

In the Grey

Once the world was Black and White They burned the black and saved the white But the pressure was always there Won't dare to be the dark Won't dare to be in fray For you'd be termed as black And it would turn to be your doomsday How convenient is today For there's no black and white There's only grey There's only grey Can dare to be in fray And lie all the way For nobody bothers As they too are in one or the other fray How easy is the grey How easy is the grey You kill and still stomach it You do all wrong, don't dwell on it Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

Throw the money and everything's hidden In this world of gray, it can be done, undone Coz here no one is perfect Only things that works is the dime, my friend If you have it then nothing like it You are tagged, so are others It's the world like it There is no black There is no white No one is killed And no one is saved Coz it‘s the world of grey It‘s the world of grey About Megha Haware: Megha Haware is a software engineer from Mumbai. She loves to read and write and aspire to be an author. Although she reads across genres, historical fiction is her favorite. She owes most of her stories to the fast and furious Mumbai life. She loves Mumbai and hates it all the same. Love coz the city gives her ideas and raw material for her stories and hate coz it takes most of her time in travelling leaving little time and peace to bring thoughts to paper.

She blogs at fullofcherries.blogspot.com and is reachable at megha.haware@gmail.com.

Editor's Comment: Describes the ugliness and the beauty of the world very aptly.

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

Rainbow Cake Story Behind the Photograph: The Rainbow cake in the photograph is Mayura's first attempt in making the cake and a successful one, too.

Following instructions from a recipe and making a few changes of her own, Mayura baked this cake and could not resist clicking photograph of it. The different colored cake layers wrapped inside white whipped cream - seems just like life; sometimes what seems colorless and dull holds inside little things, colorful ones that makes us say - wow!

About Mayura Chetan Honrao: It is said; 'The way to a man's heart is through his stomach' Mayura Chetan Honrao loves cooking various cuisines for the family. May it be from a recipe book, television or facebook, she loves trying new recipes sometimes, even making changes herself to add a special touch. She loves decorating her house in her own way. Different Warli paintings made by her adorn the walls of her house and festivals bring out the artist in her, her art shining through the colorful Rangoli she makes.

Editor's Comment: Deliciously beautiful Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

The Lover

The moonlight hit on his face; he hardly threw a damn, He was heavy at heart, wanted to shout his pain, A tear dropped down from his eyelids followed by a little stream of the same, The feelings in his heart poured not less than outburst of thunder and rain, He is a lover, who lost his maiden.

He loved someone immensely, for him it wasn't a game, He was a true lover, who in turn, never expected any gain, But his spirit was broken, all his love went into the vein, And then he glanced up towards the stars, out through the window pane, He 'was' a lover, who lost his maiden.

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

It's not at all surprising that how in just a few seconds, how in just a single heart throbbing moment you fall for somebody.

You spend your time with them, you create lovely moments, you laugh and smile and even cry together, you dream of your future together, you fight even then kiss each other good night.

But one day when you lose them, no matter what the reason had been, its soul destroying procedure.

You feel like being left in oblivion, nothing is left with you, except the tears, pain, and the memories.

You desire to relive those memories, but, impossible it is now.

The person you considered everything, no more trace of them in your life now.

Ah..! The tears signify the bleeding heart and the pain becomes similar to death.

About Aarohi Agarwal: The writer Aarohi Agarwal is a student. She writes English and Hindi poetry and is currently working on short stories.

Editor's Comment: The pain of a broken heart brought alive in these verses.

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

Somebody Flirt With Me Please

I was stammered at those emails of yours Addressed to some other guy...

Those emails certified your capability in flirting with other men on the computer with those delicate fingers of yours One of which wore our marriage ring...

The very fact that, We jointly own our bank account, We jointly own our home loan, We jointly own our car loan makes me crave for a girl with whom, I can also flirt...

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

About Sam Rapth: Sam Rapth works as a software architect from India. His works have been or will be featured at The Static Movement, The Inclement Poetry Magazine, The Recusant Magazine, The Ascent Aspirations Magazine, The Yellow Mama Magazine, The Taj Mahal Review Magazine, The Tongue Magazine, The Poetry Pacific Magazine, The Literary Yard Magazine, The International Who's Who, The International Journal of Humanities and Cultural Studies, The GIMR Journal and The Mad Swirl Magazine.

Editor's Comment: Betrayal and the ugly marks it leaves behind are being expressed by the poet here.

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

Always ―The time is nearing. I feel butterflies in my stomach.‖ A tall, slender girl with wavy brown hairs spoke excitedly. The boy beside her looked at the full moon. The land bathed in its silvery light.

The seventeen year old boy and girl stood at the narrow bridge hardly ever used for commuting. A stream ran beneath it. The water flowed melodiously in the peaceful night. ―Hey, I have been talking on and on. Are you even listening?‖ The girl complained.

The boy gazed into her deep blue eyes. ―It‘s been eight years already, huh.‖ He slipped his fingers into her long hairs and played with them.

The girl blushed slightly. ―What are you up to?‖ ―Nothing, just enjoying the last few moments with my girlfriend.‖ The girl fell silent. ―You know it can‘t be helped. It has always been my dream to do space research. This is a once in a lifetime chance. It‘s only for…‖ ―I know and I am not going to get in the way.‖ The boy turned silent again. ―Arney…‖ ―Anee, I am leaving as well.‖ Anee raised her eyebrows. ―What…where to?‖ ―Military Academy‖ Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

Anee‘s mouth fell open. Arney pinched her nose and started laughing. ―That‘s some reaction.‖ Anee lunged at him. She punched him several times before wrapping herself in his arms. ―Are you serious?‖ ―I thought it would be fun to become a military doctor. But I don‘t know if I‘ll get through.‖ Anee looked at him affectionately. ―Wouldn‘t it be nice if you could come with me as well?‖ ―And do what? NASA‘s not a park I can just stroll into. Beside, my dad doesn‘t have money like yours does.‖ Anee‘s face turned gloomy. ―Sorry, I didn‘t mean to…‖ ―Nah, it‘s okay. I am way over that phase. I just want you to fulfill your dreams and come back to me soon.‖ Anee‘s face brightened and she nodded. ―I promise‖ She gave him a peck on the cheek. ―That‘s not enough.‖ Arney joked. ―You oaf!‖ Their laughter filled the quiet night. *** Anee ran as fast as she could. Her eyes were moist. She stopped in front of a white van.

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

―You liar!‖ She shouted at the top of her voice.

Arney hurriedly loaded the last of his bags. ―See, this is the reason why.‖ Anee glared at him. ―You know I am bad at goodbyes.‖ Anee remained silent. ―Say something‖ Arney spoke flustered. ―Does it matter since you planned on disappearing like this?‖ Arney adjusted his cap. The heat was at its peak.

He looked at Anee. Her cheeks were wet. He couldn‘t figure out if it was due to sweat or tears.

Anee marched towards him. Before he could react, she punched him hard on the face. She turned away and muttered under her breath. ―Good luck‖ *** It was night but Arney could not sleep. He looked outside the window of his train compartment. The trees passed so rapidly that they looked nothing more than dark figures. The moon played hide and seek using them. Arney sighed. He put both his hands in his pockets and rested his back on the seat. His fingers touched something. He took out a wrinkled piece of paper. He unfolded it. A sweet smell filled the air. ―It‘s the smell of the perfume I gave her last winter…‖ His eyes fell upon the small, neat handwriting. ‗When you look at the moon, remember me Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

When the stars alight the sky, remember me When the air whispers in your ears, remember me When the sun blazes through day, remember me When you see the sky above you, remember me For they will be the same and they will always be there So will I, connected always.‘ A drop of tear fell on the paper. The hands could not stop trembling. *** Her heels made sharp noises as she walked on the stony bridge. The stream had dried. The trees around the area had been cut for an undergoing construction work. She took a minute to remember the last time she was there. Her hairs, short and slightly blonde, waved with the wind.

Her blue pantsuit did not fit with the surroundings. She bit her lips and walked away.

Her feet led her unconsciously to the spot where she last saw him six years ago. A voice startled her from behind. She turned to look. Her eyes shifted from the man in front to the little baby he was holding. ―Anee, is that you?‖ ―Arney…‖ She spoke dryly. Her eyes could not remain steady. What she feared had come true.

She waited for him but he couldn‘t. Why would he? He was now a military officer, handsome and capable. But she thought that he would never change. Over the years, their conversations had Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

turned brief. Neither of them could spare time to meet. Yet, Anee could never let him go. But now, odds were against her as she saw the tiny baby gurgling between his wide arms. ―Arney, how long are you planning to carry your niece? Your sister is about to leave.‖ An old woman shouted from the nearby house. ―I am coming ma.‖ He hurried towards the door.

Anee stood there, petrified. Arney hurried back. ―Hey, hey‖ He shouted.

Anee leaped towards him. ―For a moment I thought…‖ Arney laughed. His eyes looked tenderly into hers. ―How could I forget and move on? Aren‘t we connected always?‖ No more words were needed. They embraced each other tightly as the setting sun smiled upon them.

About Parmita Dubey: The Unofficial Writer, Parmita Dubey, is an elusive reader, aspiring author, imaginative blogger and a Master in Business Administration (only in degree). Over twenty in age, she is still trying to define her true self up to no fruitful end. With hundreds of poems, a couple of action-fantasy novels, a few dozen of short stories, unaccounted articles, and never ending abstract quotations Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

penned down over the past few years, she eagerly awaits the day when her name would need no introduction.

Editor's Comment: Innocent love matures with age but never loses its sheen.

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

A Story of Someone…Probably a GIRL’s!

Birth because of someone‘s lust, From day one in laps of WORST. First name was Orphan, She was for grant to everyone.

She could never remember her childhood, Except her struggle for food.

Lost her hand to heed and daze the satisfied minds, To collect some penny assuring her tomorrow‘s sunrise.

Pity, sympathy, euphony‘s akin shower, never useful to fulfill her BREW HUNGER. Teenage is a beautiful world, how could it be same to that GIRL, when her age becomes a thirsty hunter, targeting her soul for brutal murder.

She was destined to a masquerades place, where she has to win fury soul, for whose jest she was just a object in whole.

Grim spread it‘s wide wing, she drowned brimful in sink of someone‘s sin.

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

Waned by the world of barbarism, where her count was in sarcasm.

Reverie lust mind left her in nude, not just in dark room, but also in her life of gruesome.

What was her mistake? to be born for a mistake of someone?

About Asmitha: A believer, who believes in her beliefs‘, an optimist, who could see an opportunity to learn whenever she fails, an acceptor who considers everyone as they think as an individual and listens to their perspective and accepts. Who persists she is God‘s favorite cup of tea!

Editor's Comment: Harsh, hard hitting and yet the sad truth of today‘s times.

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

The Human Mind

The human mind an unparalleled enigma Can delve into realms, past, present and future Can travel at speeds lightning is ashamed of Cannot at times be controlled by the body it beholds The human mind a wandering bird, What it plans and what it ponders Is anybody‘s guess, if not, nobody‘s guess For it knows not where to fly, nest and what to seek Where the mind exists, we do not know May be the brain or the heart or whatever But we all know for sure we have one A mind that eludes ones search for one The human mind a passionate soul Extends a helping hand to anyone in distress Clothed in brotherhood; an epitome of virtues Sublime as it is, to the extent of sacrifice sans prejudice Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

The human mind at other times, a relentless beast Commits offences ordinary mortals can never conceive And justifies in no unmistaken terms The dastardly acts with not a trace of guilt or repentance The mothers mind bent on caring and nursing the little ones The lovers mind longing to join the loved ones The man of science in quest to conquer the infinite And the burglars mind in search of new pastures Alas, at times, the human mind loses its balance Is guided by delusions, illusions and hallucinations Falls a prey to all senseless motivations And lands the beholder in the shelter of lunatic asylums Mind and conscience, two sides of the same coin What the conscience dictates if the mind can follow And abide by the truth the former guides The world would have been a better place to live in.

About Dr. S. Radhakrishnan: Dr. S. Radhakrishnan, a pediatrician by profession, hails from Kollam,Kerala. He passed MBBS from Govt Medical College, Trivandrum and took Post graduation from Govt Medical College, Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

Baroda. He served Health Services Department of Govt of Kerala and retired as Deputy Director in 2006. He has authored several poems in English and Malayalam. His hobbies are reading, cinemas and gardening. Author can be reached at rksarpanam@gmail.com Editor's Comment: This poetry is a lesson for each one of us, a stark reminder much needed.

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

My Wayside Flowers

My wayside flowers bloomed At the midst of night, The scent of midnight wolves They waited till the bloom to fall, But my wayside flowers never bloomed; Seasons travelled in and out I lay there, waiting for them to shatter out their power; ―I‘m not to build up dreams again I may get hurt like my flightless birds‖.

My wayside flowers cherry bloomed….

Autumn; life falls off to meet new ones; The crisp, pale, yellow leaves Sign of reassurance…

A willow tree of those days, Were my hope, They travelled backwards When I was in my car Leaving everything back Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

May be vanishing to deep scars of life; My wayside flowers waiting to be bloomed; The trail of ants marching; Houses crumbled to piece of mud My wayside flowers swayed and danced Bloomed and bloomed and bloomed For more and more!

Like I travelled through seasons of time They were back, Where they have been; Where they were meant to be; The rain, the spring, the autumn and winter; For they were my wayside flowers alarming me to Fly like pollen of those seasons, on the wayside.

About Sruthi K: Sruthi K is a law student, writer, a blogger and a poet. She loves to write poems and articles. She has flair for writing and spends most of the time crumbled inside books. The very 1st time she is trying to publish something. If you like her writing, you can reach her via sksruthisk83@gmail.com. Do send her feedbacks so that she could improve her skills and publish more.

Editor's Comment: This poem has a strange depth in it, making the words come alive.

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

Book Review – II Writer‘s Ezine would like to thank the author Asad Ali Junaid for sending in such a wonderful book to be reviewed by our Editorial Team and also agree for an interview with us. :Intro: And We Remained started as a story which needed to be told. The story though, wasn‘t a short one.

How it needed to be told had to be very different as well. And We Remained then turned into a 52,000 word novel with an absorbing storyline and a unique narration style. In the 1990‘s, India is going through tremendous socio-economic changes. Set in this era, it is a coming of age story of five engineering friends—Sahir, Sandeep, Gopal, Anand and David—and the women in their lives, especially the beautiful Wardha. Their intertwined story is told by these friends through first person accounts of events in their engineering college contrasted in alternate chapters with their lives a few years later when they keep in touch, narrate events in their lives and share their experiences in India and abroad through emails. And We Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

Remained takes you on their entertaining journey through college, love, heartbreak, prison, politics, drunken binges, strip clubs, US and Europe as they hang on to sanity and their identities in a fast changing society and a nation in flux. :Book Review: 1. Cover: The cover is something that stands out, it kind of gives a hint to the reader as to what to expect from this book.

2. Presentation: The presentation is very unique as it has multiple POVs throughout the story where every character gets to narrate the story from their side and also has a parallel email conversation happening along with the past in alternate chapters.

3. Narration: The narration is very youthful in terms of the language as it is one that has an easy connect to the readers.

4.

Characters: The characters are pretty connectable in the sense they could be you, me or any of our friends we know. Each one of them has a different appeal and connect with the reader, very difficult to hold onto one and say this was the best.

5. Plot: The plot has a very thin premise in terms of it being a story of 5 friends from their Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

graduation to their current lives. But the way it has been handled is what makes it exceptional.

6. Storyline: The storyline is simple and one that touches a chord for the reader.

7. Story flow: The story flow as mentioned above has alternate chapters oscillating between the past and the present which gives the much needed flow to the story.

8. Language: The language is one that can be called street smart, the one which is used by youth nowadays in day to day life, colourful lingos and the various names with which they address each other all find a place in this book.

9. Pros: The strength of the book lies in its presentation and unique style of narration. That is what makes this book stand out amongst all those who talk about campus love stories and heartbreaks. This one is more of coming of age story.

10. Cons: The typesetting of the book could have a bit better in terms of uniformity in presentation as at times it gets too edgy for the eyes to stretch and read it. This book deserves to be read and should reach today‘s youth to understand how life seems when in college and how it is in reality.

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

:Overview: The overall rating for the book would be 3.5 out of 5 for its narration and presentation.

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 his future endeavours.

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

Author Interview – II Today WE has Asad Ali Junaid the author of And we remained with us in conversation.

Asad Ali Junaid is a design professional in Bangalore working in the area of Human-Machine Interaction. Junaid‘s book – And We Remained – started as a story which needed to be told… and one which needed to be told differently. While he was struggling to get the narration style and structure right, he joined a three week in residence ‗Just Write‘ fiction writing workshop where he got a chance to learn the nuances of and hone his story telling skills from authors Anil Menon, Anjum Hasan and Rimi Chatterjee. Junaid writes whenever there is a compelling story inside him bursting to get out.

Junaid has written several short stories and is currently editing his second book – which like his first one – has an absorbing story and is very different in narration style.

Junaid has been a resident of Bangalore most of his life except for brief stints in the US for higher education and work. He has seen Bangalore‘s transformation from the sleepy town that it was, Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

to an IT hub of today. Junaid‘s wife is a PostDoctoral Researcher at Indian Institute of Science in Bangalore. Their toddler completes their home while keeping them on their toes.

The blurb of his book reads: And We Remained started as a story which needed to be told. The story though, wasn‘t a short one.

How it needed to be told had to be very different as well. And We Remained then turned into a 52,000 word novel with an absorbing storyline and a unique narration style. In the 1990‘s, India is going through tremendous socio-economic changes. Set in this era, it is a coming of age story of five engineering friends—Sahir, Sandeep, Gopal, Anand and David—and the women in their lives, especially the beautiful Wardha. Their intertwined story is told by these friends through first person accounts of events in their engineering college contrasted in alternate chapters with their lives a few years later when they keep in touch, narrate events in their lives and share their experiences in India and abroad through emails. And We Remained takes you on their entertaining journey through college, love, heartbreak, prison, politics, drunken binges, strip clubs, US and Europe as they hang on to sanity and their identities in a fast changing society and a nation in flux.

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

Let‘s hear him talk about his book, writing and all that is close to his heart: 1. Writer‘s Ezine extends a warm welcome to you.

Talking about your debut book And We remained – can you tell us more about it? What is it about?

Thank you for the opportunity, Writer‘s Ezine. I am honored to be talking about my book ‗And We Remained‘ with you and your readers. ‗And We Remained‘ started as a story which needed to be told. The story though, wasn‘t a short one. How it needed to be told had to be distinct as well. And We Remained then turned into a 52,000 word novel with an absorbing storyline and a unique narration style.

The crux of ‗And We Remained‘is: ―Why were a bunch of college guys thrown into prison and treated like rapists for asking some stupid questions to a couple of girls, and that too in a library? What would eventually become of these guys and what of their original identities would Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

they be left with in an era where tremendous cultural changes are underway? ― The book starts in the 1990‘s India when there are tremendous socio-economic changes taking place. The book is a coming of age story of five engineering friends—Sahir, Sandeep, Gopal, Anand and David—and the women in their lives, especially the beautiful Wardha. Their intertwined story is told by these friends through first person accounts of events in their engineering college contrasted in alternate chapters with their lives a few years later when they keep in touch, narrate events in their lives and share their experiences in India and abroad through emails.

2. And We Remained is not only the name of the book but it is also something the book ends on.

Can you elaborate this connection a bit more for us?

The book is about these five friends who are living in the 1990‘s era where there are tremendous socio-cultural changes taking place. The 90‘s decade was in a lot of ways is a watershed moment in India‘s recent history where the after-effects of liberalization had started to kick in. One of the underlying themes of the book was to show what of the original identities of these friends remain after they go through this phase of life.

3. How much of the real you is in And we remained, in other words to put it simply is it a true story based on your own life?

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You would agree too that we writers tend to borrow from and write about what we see and hear around us. To a large extent, I have done exactly that. Since it is my first book, I had a lot to write about these colorful characters I know about, locations I have been to and incidents I have been a part of, seen or heard during engineering and during Grad school. In that way it is autobiographical.

But, the characters in the story go to jail and are beaten and humiliated. I did not go to jail. There are plenty of such incidents which happen to the characters in the novel which did not happen to me or to people who inspired the characters in the book. And, the book isn‘t about just one character – it is about a whole bunch of them. It would be too boring if it was just about one guy. In that way, the book is not autobiographical.

But for most who read the book, it wouldn‘t matter if the characters or incidents are real or if the story is autobiographical. I don‘t think anyone picks up a ‗Five Point Someone‘ or a ‗Keep off the Grass‘ and asks if the story is autobiographical.

For them (and for me), the bottom line would be – was the book a good read and did the story entertain? If this book is eventually seen as an entertaining read, the core objective would have been achieved and I will believe that I have done my job well.

4. According to you what is that one thing that sets this book apart from the other campus Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

romances and coming of age stories doing rounds these days?

As an answer, I will mention what Anusha D‘Souza, a Blogger had to say about the book ―Everything about the book is unique. It‘s title, cover, storyline, the narrative, the ending. Each and every part of it.‖ 5. This book is a multi POV if I can use that term that is. There is no one person whose narration has been used in the story rather everyone has his or her own say in a very unique manner making a reader have a three dimensional idea about all that is happening. How did this idea come up?

Was this something how the book actually began with or it was something that was developed at a later stage?

This multi POV and the email format emerged from the story I had to tell. I tried different narration styles when I began writing the book, but they weren‘t telling the story the way it needed to be told. It had to be how it ended up being – emails and first person accounts of events by different characters in every alternate chapter.The multi POV narration added a completely different dimension to the story and I am very happy that it ended up like this.

6. From cover design and printing to story writing and editing you have been single handedly involved in everything for this book. How has been your experience? What according to you is the easiest and the most difficult to deal with?

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Writing this novel was an emotional roller coaster ride for me. I had plenty of self-doubts. I wasn‘t sure if portions of it were grammatically correct and if how I wrote and the narration style I used would connect with a majority of the readers.

Another challenge was getting the voices of these different characters in the book right.

Around this time, I attended a three week Just Write Fiction writing workshop with authors Anil Menon, Anjum Hassan and Rimi Chatterjee which helped honing my story telling skills, gave me lots of answers and dispelled my self-doubts to a large extent. I did take the help of an editor who addressed several loop holes in the novel and made it a better book in the end.

I also had a full time job. It needed a lot of effort to not start thinking about the story during work and not to start thinking about work when I was trying to progress on the story.

Looking back, I think writing the book was the easy part. Designing and formatting it and getting it publishedwas indeed a challenge, but it could be done with the help of the right kind of people. I am struggling with other aspects of publishing such as marketing and distribution – which,I admit,has been the most challenging of them all.

7. Can you please take our readers through your journey of becoming a published author? Any particular incident (good or bad) that you might want to share with our readers?

Before writing ‗And We Remained‘, I had never written a short story. Most start off with short Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

stories before attempting to write a book. That I hadn‘t written a single noteworthy short story until then did not end up as a deterrent. But I knew I had a story in me which was pleading to be told and that it wasn‘t a short one. The first draft of the book took me about four months. This was back in September/ October 2010. Since then, it has gone through multiple changes in narration style and structure, multiple edits and revisions to get this far. It had got to a stage that I just did not want to edit it anymore.

After the book was ready, I sent it out to publishers and literary agents. After trying for close to four years with several publishers, I realized that it is very difficult for a new author to publish on his own. I got a contract with a couple of publishers, but the terms seemed too stringent.

I did ask a couple of friends who were published authors if I could accept and work at those terms.

They advised me to run away from such contracts.

There were other publishing houses which asked me for money to publish my book and were also dictating the terms. This was unacceptable.

Eventually, the self-publishing route seemed the most promising.

I then started out in earnest with what I knew and learning what I did not to format the novel for publication. There was YouTube and I took help from a design student who basically taught me most of what I know now about formatting a book for publishing including the distinction between the several thousand fonts that are out there and what could be used for my book. I also found a Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

printing press whose proprietor refused to compromise on the quality of the end product.

All in all, I am very happy with how the book has turned out. The journey from the first draft of the book to holding a published copy in my hand has been an immense learning experience. I admit it was a difficult process, but in the end, a highly fulfilling one.

8. That moment when you felt this is it, I want to be a writer!?

The only prizes I won in high school were for writing. I knew, I had a flair for it and my love for the English language and writing stuck with me through Engineering and Grad School. The only use I had then was to write emails and emotionally charged love letters (mostly friends who found it difficult to ―express‖ themselves).

After finishing Grad school in the US in 2005, I came back to India. Chetan Bhagat‘s Five Point Someone had come out just then and there was a boom in Indian writers trying to write for and connect with a large section of readers in India who did not want to have a dictionary by their side while reading a book. These writers did not have to be Oxford educated or someone sticking to the rules formulated by a ‗Strunk and White‘ to tell a story.

I was subsequently catching up on some of theseso called ―bestsellers‖ by Indian authors a few years back. I then concluded that I had a story to tell which was much more interesting and entertaining than a lot of novels that were out Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

there.I was also confident that I could tell it in a way which was unique and better than how most of the new Indian writing was coming through. ‗And We Remained‘ is the result of this illicit love affair (as defined by my wife) with English and writing.

9. How different is the real Asad Ali Junaid to the Author Asad Ali Junaid?

There is one and only one Asad Ali Junaid. The Author Asad Ali Junaid is within Asad Ali Junaid and is not someone Asad Ali Junaid can be separated from. There aren‘t and I am unable to fathom or imagine two different parts of the ‗Asad Ali Junaid‘ entity. In fact, the author within Asad Ali Junaid is a huge part of what makes him what he is.

10. Do we see you experimenting with genres in future?

How people communicate has been evolving. There are several mediums which people now use to get in touch and have a conversation with someone. It makes sense to me to use such mediums– withall their limitations and the advantages they have to offer – to tell stories set in this era. I don‘t see this as experimenting, but is in fact a natural progression in storytelling.

11. We would like to know about any future projects you are currently working on.

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I write whenever I have a story to tell. I have a set of short stories which you might see in an anthology someday.

I did the NanoWrimo a couple of years back as well. I have enough material for another Novel, but you will see it only after I am happy about the end product.

12. Some words for your readers.

I write to entertain. ‗And We Remained‘ has gone through multiple revisions and updates, to settle on the story and narration style over four years to get to where it is now. This is my first book and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did bringing the story to you.

Thank you very much for your time

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

How My Life Changed the Time I Almost Got Mugged ―Stick them up,‖ an older man, about fifty said pointing his pistol at me. I knew guns. My father owned a store with hundreds of them. While I went to school I worked at his shop. This gun probably didn‘t even shoot. It was an old rusted six-shooter, and had a bend at the barrel.

The piece might even have backfired had it not been unloaded, but it was still dangerous. ―Never know what might come out of one when the hammer went back,‖ Father always said. I hated the thought of either of us getting hurt, so I did my best not to panic and took a breath.

I would have had a gun on me if I wasn‘t too young. Plus, I just left the gym and only carried a twenty-dollar bill and my license along with a house key in my sock. My pants were too tight for anything else. I reached into my tiny pocket for the twenty. I had to squeeze my index finger though the hole to get to it. ―Do you want this?‖ The older man slapped my hand and twenty. ―Fuck your chump change. You are walking down Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

the street with hundred fifty-dollars and shit. Give me your wallet, and those shoes.‖ My shoes were size twelve. His feet were almost there. They‘d be slightly big on him. ―If you want my shoes too, cool. I don‘t walk to the gym with my wallet. My father warned me about how it wasn‘t safe to walk around outside this city anymore. Guess I was naïve to walk despite his warning. Anyway, I only have the twenty and my tennis shoes. You can have both.‖ He steadied the gun at my face. ―Hurry it up then.‖ I began to untie the laces. ―You look hungry. I don‘t have any plans now that I‘ve worked out.

Would you like to get some food with me at that fast food place up the road, talk to me about why you‘ve resorted to this drastic kind of tactic for survival, and perhaps make a new friend? I won‘t even eat. ―And you‘d be helping a college kid learn more about people. My father always says, ‗people skills can bring you far in life if you put out the effort.‘ I‘ve done my best to hear what he said. It‘s so hard to listen to what people say sometimes. You get me?‖ ―You are precocious motherfucker, aren‘t you?

How old are you, Boy?‖ After smiling off the half-insult, I questioned how this older man knew a word such as, precocious.

Then, I thought about how Father would say, ―You never know who the guy that‘ll cure cancer is.‖ Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

Some of my college friends didn‘t even know the difference between ‗there, their, and they‘re,‘ so it wasn‘t that farfetched for me to accept that this older man was intelligent in ways perhaps I was not. ―Sixteen. I‘ve been told I‘m mature. That‘s how I got a full scholarship to college, I think.‖ ―Damn, Son. I‘m triple your age.‖ He lowered his gun. ―Put them shoes back on, Boy. We are going to dinner. I‘ll talk to you.‖ As we walked to the restaurant, he went on about how lucky I was he tried to rob me and it wasn‘t someone else because they would have shot your ass for that mouth.

Right then I realized just how bad I felt for this older man, to have to resort to such a thing like threatening someone‘s life over a twenty and a pair of shoes. What kind of country had this become when people felt like they had to do that?

I was fortunate. My father taught me while we worked together that all bullets killed. The gun didn‘t matter. With that, all men were equal. All bled. I wasn‘t more superior to the next guy. We were people, a couple of guys doing our best with what we had.

My father would probably have been proud of me to talk to this older man and not look down at him. Hopefully, proud that is, but more likely he would say later that I was stupid for putting myself in more danger, instead of just giving the robber the cash and my shoes.

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To sit across from this older man as he noshed on some fries, sucked his pop down, and chomped into his burger it was quite a sight. I had never seen someone so, hungry. ―Does it taste good?‖ I asked. ―Fuck no. It‘s fast food. It tastes like shit.‖ He looked me up and down. ―But with twenty bucks it‘s all we could afford.‖ We were a ―we‖ now, so I guess I could relax a little and stop sitting up all the way out of fear of getting shot.

I still had to know, ―Why? Why do you resort to . . .‖ I cupped my mouth so no one else would hear, ―. . . robbing people?‖ ―Man shoot. Look here, Boy. Shoot,‖ he said to probably clear his mind and think of an answer.

The older man scratched his unkempt face. ―I just do, I guess.‖ ―Sorry, sir, but that doesn‘t make any sense. No one just does that kind of thing. Something led you to make that decision, to grab a gun that probably doesn‘t even work and use it that way.‖ ―You are no dummy. But what‘s this ‗sir‘ shit? I know how you rich boys with your expensive sneakers talk all prim and proper and shit. I am not hearing it. We are not in some dinner party.

We are two people talking in some fucking fast food dump.‘ Dude,‘ or ‗Man‘ is fine, just fine!‖ He took another bite of food and spoke between chewing.―Now look here, there isn‘t no simple answer. I have my kids to feed. My wife‘s been Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

nagging me for diapers and whatnot all the time. I got another kid, my only daughter from a first marriage. She is four—my little princess.‖ He grinned for a second.

Right then a police officer walked in and glanced at us. He looked at the older man for a much longer time than he did me. It fact, I‘m not sure he noticed me. I could have yelled, ―This guy has a gun!‖ Just the facts were the gun wasn‘t loaded, it questionably worked, and this older man needed someone to listen to him vent.

He also had the whitest smile I had ever seen. It was spectacular. I wondered when the last time he smiled like that was. Then it went away.―My baby momma would always be trippin,‘ and asking for more money, more money, more money. You hear me, Son? She like, where my money? Even when I paid her ass! ―And her lawyer is the devil. Man, shoot.‖ He sipped through his straw speedily. ―No one‘s ever sat down with me and asked me this stuff. My homies know what I do. We shoot hoops though.

That‘s fun. We never talk.‖ ―I talk to my friends about everything. Father always says, ‗communication is the key to progress.‘‖ ―Progress?‖ He nodded. ―I like that. That‘s what I needs, a little progress.‖ He took and a huge bite of his food and chewed fast, too fast. He started trying to talk too, and I couldn‘t understand the Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

words. I understood what he meant when he started choking.

Before I could do anything, he fell to the ground.

That was my chance. I turned him to his side and smacked his back. He spat out the food he was choking on. People all over the restaurant stared.

For some reason, everyone looked terrified. I couldn‘t figure out why because I was too busy making sure the older man was okay.

I gave him room. He leaned up. That‘s when I noticed his gun on the ground next to him.

A woman pointed. ―GUN!‖ The officer pointed his firearm and shoved me out of the way. My head hit a table. I saw, with blurred vision, the older man reach for his pistol on instinct. The officer shot him twice in the chest. We were so close that some of the older man‘s blood spatter caressed my shoes.

There was a lot of screaming, a lot of tears, and a lot of panic that moment in the fast food restaurant. And later, I realized how lucky I was.

How when I could, I would go out of my way to hand a twenty to someone who needed it more than I did. If I could, I‘d even offer them a pair of shoes.

Even better. My ear.

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

About Bertram Allan Mullin: Bertram Allan Mullin (BAM) graduated from the University of Houston with a degree in Creative Writing, which included honors. He's an alumnus of Sigma Tau Delta, and co-founded Writers' ReVision, which helped young authors' edit and publish their work. BAM has published many forms of writing. He was a columnist for Chill Magazine LLC. Most recently, he was a finalist in the WLT Manuscript Competition for 2014. His poem "Evolution" is in Antiphon and short story "Poisoned Heart" can be found in Ishaan's Literary Review. Bartleby Snopes also published his short "Death Pie." For more information, like his Facebook page: www.facebook.com/BAMWrites Editor's Comment: A shocking eye opener at how we take so many things in life for granted.

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

Golden Giving

My lover; the reason for my charm, Someday with pride and a little blush on your wrinkles, You will tell your grandchildren That those graceful kisses I deployed behind the door, Have a place above all materialism, They are a golden giving, That someday, the shelter of my care, The blanket of my warmth in your despair And the cart of courage I drive you in, Will all exalt it in your eyes, making you forget worldly wants? They are a golden giving.

Respect is the trend we share; trust is the bond we bear.

Donning each other‘s grief is our fashion, Which is quite rare!

My lover; the reason for my charm, Pack lots of love for a voyage we shall board, Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

The ultimate journey of life, In the boat of togetherness, On the seas of golden giving!

About Sagher Manchanda: Sagher Manchanda is a promising fiction writer and has an impressive hand at writing poetry.

Born in New Delhi, India, Sagher completed his schooling from St. Joseph's High School, Solapur, Maharashtra. At present, he has applied for Arts in a renowned college in Pune, where he is residing these days. During his school days, Sagher showed special interest and enthusiasm in writing imaginary or fictional essays and stories.

Sagher Manchanda works under the pen-name, 'Sagher' and prefers to be addressed by the same in the literary field.

Editor's Comment: Serene and poignant like first love!

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Masks People Wear

A beautiful lie A hurtful truth A bitter smile A fake tear A deceitful confession A pretentious obsession You are unaware Of the masks people wear A brilliant show of goodness Malignant thoughts An insincere prayer Nonchalant care The truth does scare The masks people wear.

Innocent face.

Intentions amaze.

The one who hurts tries to mend An enemy in the guise of a friend You stand unaware Of the masks people wear.

Cheating love.

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False words.

Celebrating a win.

Jealous within.

Sugar outside.

Spite inside.

You thought its care. *Sigh*! The masks people wear!

Tumbles one day the pack of lies Enlightened you realize.

The beautiful picture is morphed.

People don't change, Their masks come off.

About Divyakshi Gupta: Divyakshi is a blogger who loves penning poems, clicking photographs, a traveler who loves road trips, An Incessant dreamer and embryonic philosopher, an abnormally gregarious girl who is also a moody cook.

Editor's Comment: Beyond comprehension, something that will haunt the reader.

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Valley of Fear

Walking through the Valley of Fear, Feeling the nerves battling the unknown.

Knowing that soon there is an uplifting To be able to see the clearing light.

Step by step moving forward With the striking fear.

Always looking behind me, Thinking the unknown is there.

Deep down in my soul I know the fear is misguided, Making me take routes That are deceiving.

Learning to embrace the obstacles That is what is needed to breath.

Pushing through dark corners, Defeating what is just imagination To see and feel the satisfaction Of escaping a narrowing tunnel Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

That is my own valley of fear.

About Andrew Scott: Andrew Scott is a native of Fredericton, NB. Andrew started writing as a way to communicate and cleanse his feelings. The poems written are based on all five senses of emotion. They are stories of him and others, based loosely on conversations and observations. During his time as an active poet, Andrew Scott has taken the time to speak in front of a classroom, judge poetry competitions as well as release a book with his writings. His books, Snake with a Flower and the Phoenix Has Risen, are available now on Amazon.com. To contact Andrew, email andrewscott.scott@gmail.com Editor's Comment: To fear and be feared – a prose in poetry.

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A Thing Called Forever Today I was in your city. After all these years of fighting an internal battle I finally came there.

I kept looking for you the moment I stepped in.

Those dusty by lanes, crowded markets, tall rising buildings touching the sky, never ending lines of traffic, honking music all around - I just wanted one glimpse of those familiar looking eyes, those very eyes that had shown me so many beautiful dreams.

As the day started I was very confident that by evening I will find you somewhere sitting quietly in a corner with your blue diary and a pen in hand waiting to conjure magic through your words. Every step I took was anticipation mixed with anxiety.

The sun set today evening taking along a lot of my hopes. I could not find you. You were lost just the way you had told me you will be; never to be found again.

I felt a sense of emptiness within me as if a part of me was lost once again... and the gnawing pain within which had reduced in the past few days became as good as new. Time did not play the healer it had promised to play. But then promises are meant to be broken aren't they. The way you Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

broke yours and I broke mine. You went away never to return and I died never to live again.

The twinkling stars began to peep out lighting up the dark way I was taking to go back when a cool gust of wind blew past by and I suddenly felt your fragrance. When that breeze ruffled my hair I felt it was you touching me the way you do. Every breath I took I felt you there. When I spread my arms I felt hugged and the serenity that engulfed me was metaphorical. Perhaps this is what I was looking for all this while!

I returned back home not knowing that a piece of my heart was left behind never to be called mine now. Once inside the safe confines of my room I could not hold it any longer. The dam broke finally. I was holding it too tightly perhaps till now as the moment it broke everything around got flooded.

I cried like a child. I cried with everything that I had within me. It felt as if every fiber of my being was shedding tears. I cried for the love we had or so I thought. I cried for what was and what could have been. I cried for what is and what could not be. I cried for a corpse that was long dead. I cried for a heart that did not remember being whole. I cried for that part of me which would never be the same again. I cried for the hollow feeling inside Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

which would never be filled again. I cried for you.

I cried for me. I cried for us. And with this today I bury that part in me which held you till now.

About Namrata: An investment banker by profession and a child woman, a dreamer, a dancer, a bibliophile, a poetess, a writer, a painter, a singer, a go-getter, a doer and an achiever by passion is how Namrata can be described. She is a prolific blogger and ardent reviewer since past 3 years under the name Privy Trifles. Her short stories have been published in various anthologies. She can be reached @ privytrifles@gmail.com.

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Seven Days to Love It was not supposed to rain. It was summer. She was not supposed to fall in love. She was practical. She hated the rains. People did not believe her when she told them so. Typically, girls were supposed to love rains.

But she was different. She always believed she was different. Life … fate … whatever you call it, proved her wrong. Her concept about love, the theory she always kept repeating to herself was ruined by a practical experience. It took seven days for her to finally believe that she was in love.

Unbelievable, her friends said. She was in love, she knew. Now, she loved rains.

Day One:

New job. The training. Her focus was clear. He was a trainee, just like her. The first time she saw him, he smiled. She turned her head. He kept staring at her throughout the training, she knew because she was observing him from the corner of her eyes. Back home, his blurred image crossed her mind as she opened the refrigerator to drink water. It was erased by the time she drank water and closed the refrigerator.

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Day Two:

He entered the room at the same time she entered.

Their arms brushed against each other for the first time. He looked at her and smiled. She turned away her head and walked to the farthest corner from where he was seated. He stared at her. She knew. Back home, as she entered through the main door, she remembered his arm brushing against hers. By the time she closed the door and entered the security code, he was out of her mind.

Day Three:

He was seated in the room before she went in. He was sitting in the front row. A few seats next to him were empty. He looked at her but did not smile. She sat a few chairs away from him. She looked at him, he turned his head. She frowned.

Back at home, the back of his head taunted her.

She thought the image would disappear when she sleeps. That night, she could not sleep.

Day Four:

She entered the room, searched for him. He was not there. She sat in the first row. The training started. She concentrated. His thoughts were temporarily out of her mind but her eyes darted towards the door whenever she saw movement outside. Back home, she thought of him as she drank water, prepared notes, made her dinner and also as she lay in bed. She did not know when she slept. He smiled. She smiled. It felt good. She opened her eyes, he was not there. She was Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

dreaming. She wanted to dream again. She had a dreamless sleep.

Day Five:

He missed the training again. She could not concentrate. She let her voice recorder take notes as she wondered why he missed the training. Was he not as ambitious as she was? Was he sick or did he meet with an accident? She sat in the empty room after the training was over. She wondered.

Where was he? What was happening to her? Why did his absence bother her so much? Back home, she tried not to think of him. She failed. After a couple of hours she picked up the phone and dialed a number. The number she had managed to take from the clerk who kept records of the trainees. The phone rang, she waited. She heard a recorded message and a beep. She disconnected the call and cursed herself for dialing the number.

That night, she held the cordless in her hand as she slept on the couch. She waited for call back.

The call did not come.

Day Six:

She was too tired to get up. Her body ached from sleeping on the couch. Going for training seemed like climbing a mountain. Was she getting less ambitious? Was this what the guy was doing to her? Distracting her? She pushed herself out of the house. She was ambitious. She did not really need the job but she wanted to do it anyways. She reached the training center and scanned the crowd for a familiar face, without really knowing Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

that she was looking for him. The training was boring. She put her voice recorder into action and almost dozed off during the training. She saw him.

He saw her but did not smile. It hurt. But at least she saw him. Dream, that‘s what it is, she told herself. Suddenly, there was movement around her. The training was over. She looked towards the door, he was still there. She stared at him and he stared back at her. She smiled. He smiled. It felt good. She walked out of the room along with other trainees. He joined her in the crowd. At the main door she looked around. He was not there. She felt sad. Back home, she stared out of the window for a long time. Saw him standing outside the training hall. Cursed herself for not holding his hand and allowing him to disappear into the crowd.

Something weird was happening to her, within her. Her entire body radiated heat when she thought of him. She looked at herself in the mirror. A funny smile stuck on her face. She went to bed, smiling. She slept. She dreamt of him.

Day Seven:

He was in the room before she entered. He smiled.

She smiled. It felt good. He had reserved a seat for her. She sat next to him. They held hands throughout the training. Voice recorder into action again, her own mind tangled between feeling his eyes over her body, feeling his hand holding hers and counting her heartbeat. His touch gave rise to an electric current which ran through her body and her face glowed. She tightened her grip. The voice recorder stopped Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

recording because of battery exhaustion. After the training they walked together towards her house.

They talked. They walked. He stopped walking abruptly and then said something which did not register in her brain because before it could, he kissed her on the lips. A bold move, she admitted.

She hated his guts. She liked the kiss. She kissed back. It rained.

When she told her friends about him they did not believe her until she introduced him. She held his arm, proud to be by his side. He was a part of her life. A few friends teased her, a few friends warned her. It‘s not love, they said. It is, she knew. Every time they kissed, she loved him more. She was ready for the next step. He was not. He loved her he said, but he was not ready. He wanted to achieve lots in his life before commitment. She was angry. She cried. He kissed her. She went into his arms and cried more. They spent the night in each other‘s arms. When she opened her eyes she was alone on the couch. She smelled coffee. She smiled and walked to the kitchen. Saw him making a sandwich. She fell in love all over again. He turned around to find her staring at him. He walked closer. She kissed him till he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed back. They walked towards the bedroom. Coffee and sandwich could wait. He was ready. They took the next step. As she lay in bed, her head resting on his chest, he asked her to marry him. She looked up and smiled. He tightened his arms around her and Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

kissed her forehead. Then she listened to his heartbeat. He loved her.

It was a bright sunny day. She woke up early. She was excited. They were getting married. He wanted to spend the night at her house but she said it was considered a bad omen. She sent him home. Her cell phone beeped. She read the text and smiled.

She got ready and rushed out of the house, calling her friends on the way. They were supposed to sign as witnesses. None of her friends attended her call. She reached the court. Searched for him.

Searched for her friends. They were not there. She called them again. None answered. She called him.

His friend attended the call. She dropped her cell phone and called for a cab. It was late when she reached. They did not get married that day. They could never get married. It took seven days for her to fall in love with him, it look a lot less time for him to leave her alone forever. He had always been a late riser, she knew. He got up late even on the wedding day. He sent her an I Love You text and hurried out of the house. He never waited for the green man to cross the street. She always scolded him. He smiled as he remembered her scolding. He waited for the green man. Looked at the watch. He was getting late. His friend waved from the other side of the road. Rules be followed on some other day, he told himself. He crossed before the green man showed. He visualized her scolding him just as a speeding car hit him and threw him over to the side of the road he wanted Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

to reach only to be hit again by a truck. He saw her face for the last time.

It was a bright sunny day. She was meant to be practical. She waited for it to rain, rain heavily to camouflage her tears as she cried and cried for hours over his grave. But, it did not rain. She had started to love rains. She had learned to love.

About Arti Honrao: Author of fiction books titled 'My Life story' and 'Is This Love & Autumn - The Last Leaf' and novel 'Resemblance - The Journey of a Doppelganger' Arti enjoys writing short stories on Relationships.

She has attempted writing different form poems but most enjoy writing Prose poems where she gets to express without the limitations of words or rhyming. Most of her writings depict human feelings and emotions, which she tries to bring onto the page and into the minds of the reader.

She believes that essence of writing lies in not only entertaining the reader, but speaking to them through words.

She writes at www.artihonrao.net and can be reached at contact@artihonrao.net

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

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, shortstories, non-fiction, author interviews; book reviews etc. (Please read Submission Guidelines for details).

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com

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.com About Arti Honrao > http://www.artihonrao.in Submissions for the December issue of Writer's Ezine are open.

Please do read Submission Guidelines before submitting your entries using the submission form.

The last date for submission for the entries for December issue is 20th November.

Writer‘s Ezine has started a new segment ―Prompt of the Month‖ Read details on the contest page > http://www.writersezine.com/p/contests.html and for the prompt check > http://writersezineblog.blogspot.in/2014/10/prompt -of-month-for-december.html

Designed by Arti Honrao

Writer‘s Ezine | Volume VIII November 2014 Issue www.writersezine.com | admin@writersezine.com