Branwyn is the Goddess of love, beauty, mischief and mystery. It also relates to genuine literature.

The name has been tossed by Lavkesh Kumar Singh.

Editorial:

Dear Readers,

Publisher and Director Vineeta Gupta

My pleasure knows no bounds as I present Branwyns current issue. Like all previous issues of Branwyn, this issue also is full of intriguing articles by Branwyn columnists and a number of book features. I hope you would enjoy them and honour us by giving your generous feedback. Friends, what matters the most in our life is our attitude towards it. Once upon a time, three daily wages labours were working on a construction site. A wise man went to them and asked what they were doing. The first labour replied I am breaking stones. The second labour replied I am earning money for my livelihood and my family. The third labour replied I am making a castle. Our attitude towards defines our life. everything

Founder and Editor-in-Chief Sneha Gupta

Managing Editor Parul Parihar

Contacts: Email : snehagupta01989@gmail.com sneha@branwyn.in parul.parihar83@gmail.com

I hope you would enjoy this issue of Branwyn. Whole Branwyn Family eagerly awaits your responses. Keep reading, Keep writing! With best regards, Sneha Gupta

Website : www.branwyn.in

Three Questions : Novoneel Chakraborty

, ! A Sanskrit shloka in Branwyn? Well Dear Readers, there is nothing to be surprised about. This was the shloka which came to my mind when I was interviewing the renowned author Novoneel Chakraborty. With several bestseller books to his name, introducing Novoneel Chakraborty is like showing lamp to the sun. Still it comes as a pleasant surprise when the superstar author talks to you like a next-door friend. It is said that with success and maturity, comes politeness and modesty. Novoneel is the best example of this quote. Modest, polite, kind and gentle all these adjectives fall short to his persona. In spite of his busy schedule, Novoneel spared some time for an amazing interview with Branwyn.

Branwyn : Do you feel that the minimum requirement of maturity and balanced understanding is being ignored regarding adult content in contemporary Indian fiction, especially romance books? Novoneel : Whatever I have read of the contemporary Indian fiction I liked some of its adult content but most of it I personally felt was focussed on the physicality of things than the psychology of it. Maybe thats where maturity may come in handy because it helps us understand that getting physical isnt merely an act, certainly not in a story. Its an intimate expression where a deconstruction of a character happens so that the readers can peek into a particular characters emotional privacy. Using it only to titillate readers - we can agree or disagree - is obviously an authors choice.

Branwyn : How much of a person does it take to be a writer? Is it true that writing borders out of the canvas of a normal person? Novoneel : Anybody can write at any age but not everybody has a unique voice. A lot of it is in-born, a bit of it depends upon the persons cognizance and the residual is sub-consciously imbibed as one reads more and more. A large extent of storytelling, I believe, is also about sharing a definite perspective. And perspective does change with time. I think writing borders out of the latent, so called, abnormalities present in every normal person. Some of us are more aware of those abnormalities and hence can dress them up with words while others can only feel but cant express them.

Branwyn : Novoneel, your face defines tacit expressions and your writing is often full of intensity. What do you expect from your readers as a writer? Should they understand more than what they actually read? Novoneel : I have tried before but now I have accepted that I can never write anything that isnt intense at some level for I have realized its my basic instinct as a writer. One cant beat his basic instinct; consciously or otherwise. One of the fears I have as a writer is limiting myself to telling particular kind of stories. By kind I dont mean story genre. What I mean is if I am showcasing a specific perspective in one of my stories then I may also be interested in exploring its polar opposite. For example the protagonists of my first two novels are almost an anti-thesis to each other. Likewise, I expect my readers to not limit me in their mind as a particular type of storyteller. They may like or dislike my work but I expect them to appreciate the fact that it also takes guts not to repeat oneself, not to pack the same wine in a different bottle. And I would also insist them not to limit themselves to their own experience assuming theres nothing beyond it. My job as a writer is to explore lives and when you are reading about a life you have to loosen your judgmental impulse a bit. Understanding what is written, only, is pretty flat. I consciously dont try and spoon feed my readers for I respect their intellect and emotional quotient. Doing so I know I may be losing on some readers who dont like to read deep, intense stuff but on the other hand I am also winning more of those who love to be with a character/story even after finishing it. So, yes I would like my readers to understand more than what they read. Their interpretation of my work also helps me learn a lot about my own self as a writer.

Thanks for such a wonderful interview, Novoneel. Branwyn Family wishes you all the very best in all future endeavours.

Exploring a New Arena of Romance : Stuck In The Moment

Romance has been the genre which Indian pop fiction authors have explored the most. Readers of romance fiction have tasted and liked almost every phase of romantic relationship. There is hardly anything new left to be discovered.

Some love stories germinate cutely, blossom sweetely, weather romantically and end peacefully. While others do not meet the same destiny.

Love is not mere a feeling. It is beyond human intellect, philosophies and theories.

But the new author on the board has something different to say. Shraddha Sanjeev Nainchahil, author of STRUCK IN THE MOMENT says Love is not mere a feeling. It is beyond human intellect, philosophies and theories. No matter how much you talk or write about love, there are always some unidentified phases left to be explored. With these promising words, the young author incites curiosity.
How did the idea of being an author come to your mind? Shradda replies - Writing always struck me as a passion, and Im into writing since 10-11yrs of age. But writing a book was completely different journey, and it was more of an experiment, that finished up fabulously with excellent results!

Punjabi kudi Shraddha belongs to Ludhiana, the heart of Punjab. She did her schooling from Kundan Vidya Mandir school. She is now proceeding into BSc. This is her first debut novel through which she wants to rule the hearts of the people! Apart from writing, she is a facebook freak. Reading novels is another passion. She is a great fan of Ravinder Singh. Being 18 years old her subject for fiction is romance. Her friends call her an introvert because she doesnt like talking much. She is the girl of her words. Her novel Stuck in the moment is a tribute to true love and the true lovers..!!

Is the story inspired from real life incidents? Shraddha tells us - Stuck In the Moment is partly inspired by my own life, and greatly fictional. The book has elements of romance, drama, thrill and poetry!

There are already a number of romance books flourishing in the market. How is this love story different from others? Shraddha clarifies- Its a very emotional love story with a pinch of Suspense thriller which will hook you to read the book in one go. It is a blend of thrill, drama, emotions, love, lust.. The story has a lot many spheres to it that keeps the reader glued till the end. The best part of the book is that, theres a lot of suspense and thrill which is generally not found in books these days. There are a lot of beautiful and thoughtful poems in the book that are going to sway your heart away. The story is crisp and pacy, not even one point would come where youd feel like stopping. Romantic scenes are undoubtedly written very well so all you die hard romantics, just pick up the book and get started and even if you arent a romance lover, you are not going to get disappointed because theres a lot more to the book than romance. Scene description and narration is amazingly great.

The young authors eyes gleam with confidence when she talks about her book

It is not always he left you or you left him, it's simply some times, destiny left us. There comes a time in relations that you just *don't* or *can't* be together. There may be family problems OR there can be future insecurities OR when you have had too much of each other OR fading trust OR even long distance troubles. The reasons of breaking apart are a lot more than one can imagine. Love is a wide term, where in you may still love the person but you just cannot opt for being together with them, for the betterments in future of lives the departure seems better. Those make as incompletely, complete love story. Where you are still in love but just not together. You have an assurance that the other person will listen to all that you say, you still know just a text and all would be back on track, you still know how late it gets in night your one call and they'll receive, you still know the restrictions would still be accepted, you still know how hard it gets they'll still care. But you know an extra point, that you still have lost all the rights over that person. At this point it's better to back off for the happiness of the other and a complete belief that the love was so pure. Those all love you's were the most honest and from the bottom of the hearts. It's better to part with a feeling that no one could love you the way he did and vice versa than to face the destiny's call. The more you'll be together the more tough it will get to move on. Not that this reduces the moving on *pain* but it surely gives you courage to know you cared more for his happiness then your happiness in him. True love never dies. And its all fine to have a ending where its not happily ever after but happiest for whatever you shared together.

After this interaction with Shraddha, it seems as if love and romance are those genres of life which hold the unmeasured quantum of mystery. The arena of love which Shraddha introduces to us is certainly a new phase of relationship which was unknown till date.

If love is an ocean, then what we have read, talked or known so far is just a tiny sand particle. Shraddhas book STRUCK IN THE MOMENT is a certain example of the fact.

Ravi Venugopal : The Crystal Guardian The Exiled Prince

It wouldnt be an exaggeration to state that Indian pop-fiction is probably going through its most stupendous phase ever. Not only new genres apart from romance are being explored by authors but also being gleefully accepted by readers as well. The recent blockbusters of the chart have been mythological fiction. Now, once again, we have a new writer on the scene with his unique mythological-sciencefictional-thriller-warrior-prince-throne. Humph humph! Oh my Goodness! So many tags in a single book! Well, yes! This is all the little info of Ravi Venugopals upcoming book THE EXILED PRINCE which is the first book in the trilogy of THE CRYSTAL GUARDIAN. But wait, wait! Surprise is yet to come! This whole trilogy is based on the epic Ramayana which features the warrior prince Rama. Thus, this book happens to be the first book as a popular fiction adaptation of the mythology. Ravi is an engineer and an entrepreneur from the US. he lives with his family in Michigan.

Please tell our readers, Ravi, how did the idea of writing this book come to your mind? >I have always been fascinated by our mythologies. Mythologies spawn imagination and imagination is the seed of futuristic invention. Also, I am a fan of science and astrophysics. Having said that, I found that it was easier to explain some of our own Indian mythological stories to my daughter using a scientific background. That is when I realized a lot of futuristic science from the art of time travel to flying crafts were available in our epics. The story of Rama has so much of futuristic science from genetic implants to nuclear fusion. The idea was born out of my favorite legends, Rama and Krishna!

Writing a mythological fiction is not a butter-cake, especially when the story carries the prospective of a science-fiction as well. Ravi faced a lot of hurdles in plot construction and characterization. He says - The Crystal Guardian has been told from Rama's perspective, which toes a different line from the regular versions. It lights up every character's role especially that of Sita's when the protagonist perspective is presented. Rama characterization was a challenge, he plays the role of an immortal but he is a man. Every character has its unique distinction, in a never before seen role. The plot is not simple Rama vs Ravana, it revolves around how the human becomes an immortal. That was constructed using science fiction.

I like being myself with the flaws and hopes of what I was born with. Attribute changes are anything that comes along with evolution, it is completely environmental.

I have my Trilogy and a couple of film making ideas in mind. I am also about to launch my social media on reward based advertisement networking. That would keep me busy till 2016, and after that let Lord Ram surprise me

What is so special about THE CRYSTAL GUARDIAN? Ravi tells us - Well, this is the first time an Indian Mythology is written in using futuristic science concepts. The book is gives us an inclination that we had technologies that science is at least a 100 years away from discovering. Crystal Guardian series creates a thought that the study of modern science and cradle of modern human civilization is from the Indian sub continent.

Miss Mishtis Corner

Love Sips

An angelic touch that my body felt, Few alphas of fervour that your lips spelt.. Relishing was the feel that my senses smelt, Enflaming was the chest of the gallant in which my heart melt... Idolization nurtured the stars of our universe, Where the sheer moonlight shone lavishly elegant and refined... Aweinspiring was the pain between the two bodies, Where rolling in the hay and palate was defined.. Longing so longed and craving so craved, Where blemishes of love turned daub and defaced... Dreadful was the aggravation that left my mind engraved, Agony took life where lust enslaved... Loathing in the affliction, I sobbed and prayed, Miles away were you and my ardor betrayed... Tears of trauma and abuses of abhorrence followed a bent, Where scenic turned scary and tootsie taint... Our entanglement stirred up for our passion fell faint, Where I still open arms to taste the Enflaming chest but there's no gallant....but there's no gallant....

Miss Mishti is a CA intern living in Mumbai who enjoys and licks every bit of life like a chocolate

Facebook Snippets: If somebody calls you lazy do not respond. Abhinav Chabra

Prerna Varma and Abhinav Shrivastava have come up with a very interesting book titled DUMB AND DUMBFOUNDED A very engrossing storyline with thorough narrative have made the book perfectly enjoyable. For few, college is the temple of learning, for some it is their ticket to romance, for others it is a place to make new friends, creating countless memories! What does 'college' mean to you? Does it remind you of your 'best friend?' The friend who has been there, shared your dreams, acted as an advisor and an agony aunt! But what if this same 'friend' betrays you, tries to sabotage your career and threatens to reveal every single detail of your life? Would you sit in a corner and sob? Or would to stand up and retaliate? 'The Dumb and the Dumbfounded' is a tale of two friendsAarav and Dhruv, who embark on a thrilling ride of life. But soon the thin line between thrill and fright starts to dissipate. Aarav begins to lead a 'dual life.' Dhruv gives a new meaning to IIT. And one of them discovers other's plans. Would they forgive and forget? Or would they seek vengeance? But first, they have to make the ends meet, without actually making them meet! This is a journey where there's nothing right or wrong. Read the book to unfurl all the mysteries American Author Angela Rose [from Belarus] has created sensation with her latest fantasy book ALL BOTTLED UP. The book is gaining amazing reviews on amazon.com. The book tells the adventurous story of Robin Summers. After struggling for years with her self-esteem and weight issues, Robin Summers has matured and grown very fond of her voluptuous full-figure. Not long after she lands her dream job as a marine biologist at the New England Aquarium, she meets sexy attorney, Todd Healy. A whirlwind relationship between her and Todd ensues, and before either realizes it, they are planning an intimate, tropical wedding in Aruba with their immediate families. All seems perfect two days before big day, until Robin walks in on Todd in the arms of another woman. The humiliating scene sends Robin running off into the night, confused and angry. It seems she has run for miles, when she stumbles upon an unseen object and is hurled into the sand. With the help of the full moon, she finds an ornate bottle and impulsively pulls off the jeweled stopper. What she expects to find is a mysterious note, but what she ends up with is a middleaged, gay genie named, Zahir. With his eccentric mannerisms, Zahir quickly puts Robins broken heart and battered self-esteem at ease. Still owing her three wishes, it doesnt take long for the genie to set Robins confidence back on the right path. He can grant her anything she wants, but the one thing she truly desires.is true love. Robin is determined to find a way around the huge glitch in the genies limitations and makes a list of must haves she wants in a future husband. This time when Zahir flicks his wrist, a sexy highland warrior breaks through the purple haze, and he does not look happy. Its then that Robin realizes her wish didnt just create the man of her dreams, but pulled him from his own time. What happened next?? Read the book to know

Sky, God and Clown : Rahul Kumar Pandey

We read about unusually pathetic traumas of lives. We read about inevitable failures of romance, which come to us with a certified mark of truth and at the same time contradict every possibility of being so. We read about this and that and almost everything. But let us now put our memory to work and recall did we ever read a story belonging to us? a story which tells about the day-to-day humdrum of life we go through.
If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it. -Toni Morrison It is wonderful that how thoughts of a person thousands mile away from you can instigate you, or more importantly encourage you to sit tightly for eight long months with a pen in your hand and web of thoughts in your mind.

Here is Rahul Kumar Pandey telling our story. The story of middle class people

Rahul Kumar Pandey, the author of Sky, God And A Clown is from Jharia, a small town in Jharkhand. He did his schooling from De Nobili where he was introduced to the world of books and novels. In 2010 after successfully completing his B.tech in electronics from IIT-BHU, with writing and directing nine plays to his credit, he joined a software firm as a QA guy. Apart from writing poems and day dreaming, he loves observing people. Reading novels is another of his passion and he loves the work of eminent writers like Vikram Seth and Khaled Hosseini. Being an observer and a bibliophile, writing comes natural to him. Sky, God and a Clown, his maiden novel, is a tribute to millions of middle class families in India. It is about their life, their sorrows and their happiness. It is about the unsung heroes in every family. It is about the skies, gods and the clowns around us! Website : www.rahulkumarpandey.com

Rahul, wanted to read a story. This story was about a simple family from a small town. This family had a loving father who was always ready to protect his family from any possible danger, a sweet and chirpy mother who loved telling stories, a younger brother who loved playing hide and seek in a summer noon and a sister who was ready to fight against evil society spirit. He wanted to read about their life, their success and their failure. But there was a slight problem! Such a story was yet to be written. So he took the responsibility on himself to write such a story.

Sky, God and a Clown is Rahul's maiden novel and has everything that he and millions others would like to read about. This novel is about a middle class boy who like a Clown believes in sharing happiness with the world. His younger brother, his God, clears all obstacles from his path so that the clown can move ahead in life without any hustle. Their father, the Sky of the family, always guide them through their toughest time. This novel takes you back in the time when a rupee coin in your pocket was your biggest asset. It talks about how true happiness lies in being with people who love you and care for you and not in material things. In short this novel of 215 pages helps you in realizing value of small things in life.

Alpine Ambergris : Dr. Subodh K. Jha

PORTABLE ETERNITY!

Whosoever has said that history repeats itself must have been a pedantic stunt! for, nothing is repetitive -no incident, no experience, no scene or sight either of Kalidass Shakuntala or of Wordsworths Westminsters bridge! A shadow flitting across your mind is no repetition can the doors be confused with wardrobes ? Whatever happens comes your way only once, may be you let it go unnoticed its nuances fade out then and there; with its occurrence it becomes a past that keeps on stabbing both present and futureand the pain stays, a portable eternity.

Dr. Subodh Kumar Jha has been a member of NCERT and UGC Workshops for the proficiency of English Language in various study streams! At present he is a prominent part of Magadh University as the Head of Department of English in S.N. Sinha College! He honoured Branwyn with his special segment titled "ALPINE AMBERGRIS". Alpine means mountain peak which denotes Subodh Sir's intellectual persona and Ambergris means a fragrant substance found at sea level. Thus, "Alpine Ambergris" together denotes the combination of an intellectual person like Subodh Sir and novice writers like us who are just trying to make a difference!

Down Memory Lane : Kaushik Gangopadhyay

26th May 1999. It was anotherbusy afternoon in one of the airfields of Northern India. The Pakistan Army had infiltrated into the Indian territory and were holed out in bunkers across vast sectors of Kargil, Drass, Batalik and Mushkoh. The Indian Air Force was tasked to carry out airstrikes and destroy enemy positions. The elite fighter pilots of the Indian Air Force huddled together into the briefing room and the Operations Commander briefed the crew members about the weather and the mission plan. The pilots exchanged notes amongst themselves, glanced at the maps and shook each others hands and marched out of the briefing hall. The mission was to carry out another air strike against the Pakistan Army and Mujaheedens hiding in bunkers in the treacherous snow-clad terrain of KARGIL. As the pilots marched out on to the tarmac and approached their respective jets, the technicians helped the pilots in strapping themselves up in the cockpit. Among the pilots on mission, that afternoon was Flight Lieutenant (Flt Lt) Nachiketa, a lanky man in his mid 20s, and a superb pilot. As Nachiketa eased himself into the cockpit of the Mig 27 the technician helped him to tighten his seat belts and fix his oxygen mask. All set and done, the technician removed the ladder, saluted him and as is the tradition in the Indian Air Force sai d Wish you a happy return, Sir. Flt Lt Nachiketa returned the salute and fixed his vision on the instrument cluster of his jet. He released the brakes and starting taxing out the aircraft towards the runway behind the mission leader followed by other members. A final instrument check was carried out by all the pilots and they took off one by one and within minutes getting into a formation to deliver deadly blows to the enemy. Every now and then the radio crackled at the Air Traffic Control tower with the pilots and fighter controllers exchanging valuable information and data regarding the mission. As the jet formation reached the target areas, the pilots took over their respective responsibilities and started pounding the enemy positions with rockets and bombs. But the biggest hindrance was the landscape. The mountainous range and valleys, hampered maneuverability of high speed fighter jets. The pilots wanted to get closer to the target to deliver the deadly punch. During the first attack, Nachiketa fired all the 80 mm rockets at one go on the enemy positions. During the next attack he fired the 30 mm canons. As he flew over the mountains pounding enemy positions, Nachiketa realized that he was flying right into the range of Pakistani anti aircraft missiles and anti aircraft guns. As he gradually maneuvered his aircraft towards safety, an unusual sound from the engine alerted his sixth sense. A quick look at the instrument panel confirmed that the aircraft had developed a technical snag. The engine RPM was dropping and along with it the aircraft speed was also dropping. He tried to avoid the hills by making a turn but the engine failed to restart after several attempts. He kept his vision fixed on the instrument panel realizing that the worst had happened. He realized that ejection was inevitable before the aircraft turned into a ball of fire. Nachiketa calmed his nerves and spoke crisply on theradio set. The radio crackled at the Control tower and his mission members heard " Diamond 2 (his call sign) I am ejecting..Engine flame out (In Airforce jargon it means I am leaving the aircraft as the engine is not functioning). And then there was silence on the radio channel. The Fighter controllers were searching desperately to find the BLIP on the radar screen from Flt Lt Nachiketas aircraft. But to no avail. As Nachiketa bulled the ejection handle, he was thrown into mid- air from his aircraft. After few seconds, the parachute developed and Nachiketa unstrapped himself from the pilots seat. (In case of ejec tion the pilot is ejected out of the aircraft along with the seat). As Flt Lt Nachiketa was descending down in his parachute, he saw his aircraft crash on the ground and explode into flames. He landed on soft snow which acted as a cushion. Daylight had made way for twilight and as Nachiketa strained his eyes to look around, he heard the sound of a jet engine. He looked up towards the sky and saw a jet aircraft circuiting the area. Little did he realize that it was his fellow pilot, a young Squadron Leader named Ajay Ahuja. He was circuiting over the area in his MiG-21 fighter to locate the area where his colleague (Nachiketa) had ejected so that rescue operators could evacuate him. All of a sudden an explosion in the sky caught Nachiketa dumbfounded. He saw the aircraft flying overhead him bursting into flames. A STINGER missile from the Pakistani arsenal had hit Sqn Ldr Ahuja's fighter.

As Nachiketa freed himself from his parachute, composed himself, he saw Pakistani soldiers closing up on him; he drew out his service revolver from his waist pouch and started firing in self defense. But he was outnumbered, overpowered and arrested at gunpoint. He was then airlifted to Skardu. He was locked up in a dingy prison cell. Later he was interrogated by the Pak Intelligence Agencies.

The Pakistanis exposed him to international journalists from the print as well as visual media as evidence of Indias military offensive action against Pakistan by entering into Pak territory. Pakistan's Information Minister Mushahid Hussain addressed the international media and said An Indian pilot was shot down while he was flying over Pakistani airspace. Nachiketa is "safe and sound." Flt Lt Nachiketa was subjected to inhuman physical and mental torture. He faced the Pakistani interrogators with calm serenity, grit and strength characterising an Indian soldier. Later he said that it was difficult to describe in words his experience of captivity and death would have been a better option. The only access to the outside world was Pakistani newspapers. The principles of Geneva Convention of which Pakistan is a signatory were violated several times. A Prisoner of War was treated in the most barbaric manner. Its a shame that USA, the international big boy failed to notice repeated violation of the Geneva Convention by Pakistan before and during the Kargil war. The brave young pilot was held in Pak captivity for 8 days and was released on June 99. Flight Lieutenant Nachiketa turned 26 on 31st May 1999 during his custody in Pakistan. There were no blessings from elders, no handshakes from colleagues and no birthday bash at the Air Force Officers Mess. Nachi as he is fondly called, spent his birthday in a dark and dingy Pakistani prison, mocked by anti India slogans and inhuman physical assault and mental torture.

But Nachiketa was unperturbed. After eight days of captivity he was repatriated to India through the Wagah border check post. After the necessary briefing and interaction with the MoD, PMO and Air Force Headquarters, he faced the media. ''I am ready for the next sortie'', was his candid and emotional response to the media when they questioned him about his state of mind. "I am not a hero, but a soldier. Every soldier in Kargil would have done just what I did." Was his sincere response in a press conference when the Indian media wanted to depict him as a Hero!

Wing Commander Kambampati Nachiketa is posted in a transport squadron of the Indian Air Force. A back injury sustained during the ejection has rendered him unfit for fighter flying. He flies the Ilyushin 78, the mid air refuller aircraft. He was awarded the Vayusena Medal for Gallantry during the Kargil war.

Kaushik Gangopadhyay is an ex-defense personnel presently working with State Bank of India. He honoured us by accepting our request to share his real experiences of Air-Force life in Down Memory Lane section of Branwyn.

Sacrament Sobriety : Gaurav Gill

Uttarakhand Man made and man paid!
There was a time when these towering mountains of pious Kedarnath and Badrinath were an abode of faith and immunity. Once resplendent valleys resonating with chanting of shlokas is now teeming with whirring of chopper rotors. Its ribbon like roads enveloping these Himayalan ranges were incessantly decked with life and crusade bound vehicles. The clinking of bells beckoned the devotees to its haven. The air was fragrant with offerings and belief. The lofty blue clouds descending on the prayer capped mountains were seen as Gods own breath of blessings! These tufts of heaven were embraced by all and sundry. Less did they know that these divine puffs of breath had transmuted into God breathing down their necks. The flood gates of heaven were left ajar. God flared his nostrils and the elemental fury was unleashed. The flashfloods had engulfed Gods own territory, leading to a macabre rain of death and throbbing chests. The magnitude of devastation, shrieking pain, mutilated bodies, impaled hope, starving souls, threat of looming epidemic cause of rotting bodies, abandoned families at the summit of a hill escaping deluge, cannot be portrayed or contained in words. The pain is unfathomable, the plight is inconceivable. Treacherous valleys were now swarmed with angels. These new age angels had shed their stereotypical attire of appended wings, dazzling white robe and were clad in olive green overalls. These were Indian Army, Indian Air Force, National Disaster Response Force, Indo-Tibetan Border Police. Band of unsung heroes! I was moved by their dauntless valor and numbed by the trauma of victims. I was impelled to attend a debate on these unsung heroes of Uttarakhand. The vibrant forum was opened with indelible lines from a war hero. Major General Ian Cardozo was a young major in the 5 Gorkha Rifles in the 1971 war with Pakistan. In a swift military offensive, India defeated Pakistan within 13 days, liberated a region and led to the creation of Bangladesh. In the war, the then Major Cardozo stepped on a landmine and had to cut off his badly wounded leg with his own khukri. Yet, through sheer will power and determination, he did not let his disability come in the way of his duty as a soldier and went on to become the first disabled officer in the Indian Army to command an infantry battalion and a brigade. He started the debate by resonating words Earthquake? Get Army! Floods? Get Army! Child stuck in a pipe? Get army. Pay commission, compensation? Forget Army. The infamous Mi-17 chopper slammed into a hill side killing 5 IAF, 6 ITBP, 9 NDRF. Despite the chopper crash we had reassuring words from the Indian Air Force Chief Our helicopter rotors will not stop churning till such time we get each one of you out, Do not lose hope, hang in there. These words came like drops of elixir on the parched lips of dying. When the evacuation was being carried out by different defense personnel, the Central Command officers were deluged by high ranking Centre & State officials asking for certain persons ( that were close to the officials) to be evacuated first. To meet such kinds of unpalatable requests the officers had a template in their phones to respond to them Kindly dont embarrass us. We are going as per the priority list: sick persons, old people, ladies, children, followed by other people Their sacrifice knew no bounds, they would carry people on their backs, winch them from a rope of a chopper, build bridges for them, where there were no helipads for them; they would chisel one with their knives, help pilgrims rappel across turbulent waters. These men in olive green staked their lives to save others, yet they stay in shrouds. An endorsement on television would have your child breaking into raptures at the sight of an Indian cricketer, but I am sure they would be bewildered if they were shown any of these war heroes. Once a tragedy of this enormity passes by, we nonchalantly forget these saviors, and let these memoirs gather cobwebs in our closets. This account was to pay my homage to selfless, tireless, intrepid valor of olive green. When you hear the distant whirring, you can be assured that angels are hovering right above you and you will be saved!

Jai Hind!

Mr. Gaurav Gill is a person of quintessential contemplation known for his kind and modest nature. He is a lecturer and lives in New Delhi.

Facebook Snippets: A great life is born in the soul, grown in the mind and lived from the heart. Dipali sharma

Mr. Incandescent Speaks

SHADES The city was ruthless. He was young. With ambitions. It had wrenched sleep out of his eyes. Every bit of it. The reality around him was mundane. Obscure. It mocked him on his face every morning he opened his eyes. He carried his heavy bag. For hours in crowded buses. Amidst a crowd that stenched of an indifferent animosity. And sweat. In the unforgiving atmosphere, that promised no comfort. Everything that life offered him, wanted to tell him that his existence was futile. And what more, he was born in a clan that took pride in having produced some of the finest warriors the world had ever seen. Divine indications? Or a jestful metaphor? He often wondered. He was tall. Young. Fair. With big, piercing eyes. He looked good. He spoke well. Every time he saw himself in the mirror, he knew he was desirable. He walked on roads. Every step that he took reminded him of his newly found mediocrity. He bowed his head, and tried hard to ignore the opulent cars that flashed by radius of his deliberately restricted vision. He had turned the silent type. Solitude once dreaded had become routine. A gregarious lad with an easy smile had suddenly turned into an inveterate loner. As if his former self never existed. His acquaintances had begun to ask him what was wrong, to which he simply nodded. He pictured the cars. A gigantic black toy, with a life of its own. He looked at himself sitting into it. Just a vulgar display of vanity! He wanted to desire the machine. He couldnt get himself to do so. It infuriated him. Perhaps it was too many books that he had read. Philosophy is never good for a materialistic mind. He was in love. Each night he lay on his bed, fighting his demons. His dilemma of trying to talk to the love of his life never isolated him. It somehow never let him initiate the talks, and never let him move on. Was he unsure if he was in love? Everything in life had become so easy to obtain. But love?? Love wasnt easy. He had turned twenty eight. The Thakurs dont marry their daughters late, his mother had begun to tell him in fervently anxious tones with varying levels of affection and annoyance. He sounded so uninterested on the phone. Life went by. He perpetually bore the forlorn expression on his once jovial face. Wrinkles appeared in the place where dimples once existed. What was missing? Or was it just insignificance looming wide on the canvas of his consciousness? His work kept him busy. And gloomy. He was losing perspective. He had to get married, and soon. He would have to study something, but he wasnt sure what. He wanted to say something to the girl he liked, but apart from the fact that he loved her, he didnt know what to say. And then one day she came to his life. Her eyes had been stolen from some large fish. She squinted slightly, of that he was sure. Her body attained a uniform pink, and her toothless jaws camouflaged against her spotless skin. But her smile He couldnt believe they were about to kill her. He couldnt believe he had actually rescued her. He had joined the NGO, because social causes were fashionable. He met those ultramodern girls, with dark aviators and fair skins there. That vague pleasure He had hoped that a certificate that he was stopping infanticide would get him into some course of some value. What it did hand over to him was a baby girl. He was clueless. His mother would be petrified. His office would be jeopardized till he surrendered the girl to where it belonged. There must have been a place He was surprised that they did rescue her but couldnt do anything further. He discovered soon why men never became mothers. She proved to be impossible to contain. He wondered where she contained so shrill a voice in so tiny a throat, and where did all that water and other despicable matter come from. He couldnt wait for a perfect solution. He had to hire a babysitter. He ran from place to place. Some were still busy rescuing, and he wondered why nobody was ever rescued. No one wanted the baby though. It has been six months. She is Bianca. Her name was chosen by him with lots of diligence and discourse. Six months old. Smiles like she knows nothing of sorrows. Yes, his mother is still worried. He is twenty eight, and without a woman in his life. But she doesnt reveal her pride openly either. Yes, he rushes back from office, and keeping her always looks impossible. He is finding it difficult. Yes, the women in his life suspect him and have conspiracy theories about the single father. But his smile alongwith his dimples, have reappeared. Life is white. Bianca means white.

Mr. Incandescent is a soul never at peace. But once you ignore his self-proclaimed megalomania with fallacies, you discover that he stores doublefolds than what he actually speaks out. Adoor from Dhanbad, he lives in New Delhi and works in Tecnova.

Perks & Goodies by Authors Empire India

A Departure : Tom Ward

Few months ago, Authors Empire Publication made royally knocked Publishing Industry with its grand launch. It seems that the publishing house is all determined to set new trends in the zone of book publishing. With every coming day, Authors Empire India is coming up with a new strategy which happens to be multidimensional benefits. In this episode, Authors Empire India has come up with a never before contest giving blackberry to winners. The contest is simple and will continue till September end. Anyone who buys their books in the month of August or September, 2013, can participate in it. The books available to buy or pre-order are: Ritu Lalits Chakra: Chronicles of the Witch Way, Terin Millers Kashi and Rajbir Gills In Pursuit of the Woman. The month of September has some more interesting books for readers, Ishaan Lalits Dinner Date being one of them. The contest is being organized by their sistercompany, Legendary Book Marketing & Promotions, a new brand by Author Empire, which has created a whole new concept of promotion for writers and publishers. The contest is valid for the readers buying our books from online books sellers: Flipkart.com, Infibeam.com, HomeShop18.com, Uread.com to name a few. Once you bought the book, you must send them the name of the book you purchased, name of the online book seller, date of purchase and your contact details to register yourself for the contest. The details can be sent to them on their Official Facebook Page. The winners will be chosen by a lucky draw within a week, after the contest gets concluded on 30 September, 2013. Please note that the winners will have to present us a copy of bill (proof of purchase) of the book to claim the prizes. So, the time has come for rib-tickling contests in publishing industry also. Get Set Go Readers!

Tom Ward, 23 years-old British writer and winner of the GQ Norman Mailer Award has come up with his debut novel A Departure. He is represented by the Johnson & Alcock Literary Agency, and also writes for Huffington Post, Vice and Sabotage Times. He has been described as Quite possibly the best young writer in the country by bestselling author Tony Parsons. To add more, Tom likes chocolate raisins.

'A Departure' is the story of 18 year-old Michael's journey across Britain, following a natural disaster that has decimated the population. On his journey to the continent, Michael learns about the darkest aspects of human desire as society breaks down around him.' Well, everything else is a mystery and Tom wants his readers to unfold the cards themselves.

Lives Apart
Trailing my fingers across the lines of your face, Kissing your lips and melting in your embrace, Enjoying the warmth and drinking in the moment, Leading multiple lives feels like a pure torment. Falling even deeper in love with you, Discovering all the things I never knew, Evolving into someone better and someone new, Holding hands, we walk between the silver raindrops, With the snow-white doves flying around us; Leaving for the memories we shared, lives ago, Can we put them back together? No one knows. Look around and tell me what you see, Theres no one else in sight, but you and me, Chasing away the darkness and stormy clouds, Just the way it was always meant to be. Living like theres nothing left to lose, No one to forgive, no one to accuse. When the bridges of hope come crashing down, In the bewitching sounds of love we drown, As we kiss away each others worst fears, As we kiss away each others Banishing regrets, pains and bitter tears. worst fears, Take a breath and wait for the long tomorrow, Banishing regrets, pains and bitter tears. If I disappear in the shadows, find me and follow, Take a breath and wait for the long tomorrow, Rescue me in the midst of my endless night, If I disappear in thebright shadows, Turn the pale moon into daylight, find me and follow, Make this heart of mine miss a beat, Rescue me in the midst of my endless night, Only with you is my soul complete. Turn the pale moon into bright daylight, Ill stayMake for one more day, or maybe this heart of mine missfor a a few beat, To build up my strength to live centuries without you. Only with you is my soul Ill follow you to thecomplete. deserts and across the oceans, Desperate for changes and overwhelming emotions; Ill stay with you on the earth, or follow you to the sky, Only with you can I breathe and feel myself alive.

Diana Nixon is the author of the famous romance fantasy series LOVE LINES

Facebook Snippets:
Reading about writers often becomes more interesting than reading their books, especially when you are reading about them after reading their books. Harsh Snehanshu

Mr. Attitude Says..

Downfall of Literature:
I am not a writer, excuse me. Still I write; the way a non-actor acts and wins accolades, or a thief steals an experiment and becomes a scientist. Hey no, I am not talking about plagiarism, neither I wish to create a divide. I do not have a point to prove either. Still, I write. thousands of rupees to review and preview my book and post it on twenty odd websites. I realized that I had written just one chapter so far. I was so busy in meeting and talking to strangers. I asked him to wait for three months. So good, so far Regular mails and messages started flowing in. Gossip mongers lent a helping hand. They spread rumors that I was dating such and such girl. I was furious at first. Then I realized I was being talked about. Wow, any publicity is a good publicity. I completed one more chapter and posted a paragraph of it. People liked it and girls drooled over it. I was happy. My schoolmates were jealous. It was all awesome. Then, a slutty girl approached me for sponsoring my book as the cover model. I asked her the price. Should I disclose it? You also want to know! Mail the query privately. I will answer. I paid the price and my novel reached across India. Later the girl met me on a trip to her town. We drank and partied. I have to make a confession. I slept with her. Life is the best virtue. Popularity and sex

Disclaimer
I do not want to hurt sentiments and I swear upon the all the lies, ever spoken or pursued by collective human ambitions from time immemorial.

Here is my story
I wanted to be famous. To be known for what I am not; to walk the populous halls with paparazzi and commoners. I wanted people to flock around me and ask for autographs and photographs. I want to give interviews. I analyzed a lot of professions. They required lot more than just an ambition to be famous. They needed sincerity, dedication and most importantly, skill. I lacked all of them, to be true. My friends became engineers, doctors, managers and (Something which is not supposed to be a real profession).

The day of enlightenment

Someone told me that apart from actors, sportsmen and politicians, writers have a probable chance to become famous. Money comes in naturally. It is always easier said than done. Writing is so difficult, more than acting. I have seen the pictures of great writers. They are so out-of-the world. Dreaming about having your name among Dickens, Keats, Premchand, Shakespeare and others seems to be dreaming about having wings and flying. I was not a deserving candidate. Your language should be simple and complex at the same time. And my language was full of grammatical errors. You should have an imagination more fruitful than a scientist or a leader. And I was always criticized for not having even one nanogram (if imagination had weight). But, I was motivated by an author whom I hated for writing a useless stupid romantic story, hitting the bestseller tag. If he could, why cant I? I have better language and better, oh, it hardly matters, imagination. Romance was the hot favorite. They were the mass sellers. I thought of my own love story. I tried to recall the points that would make it different than the others in the market. There were none. I read one more romantic novel. It was same again. I followed some more novels. All were same, in story, in approach and in language. And the best point, all were bestsellers. That was the day I started writing.

Three months later

Only half of the manuscript was complete. I cursed myself and made it a point to complete it in a week. It was difficult as I was into popularizing myself. But I completed, not in a week but in one more month. I paid the reviewer and sent him an advance reading copy. I met a few more girls and posed with them. Girls loved me and guys hated me. What more, parents and relatives were happy. Success comes along with a power to behave like spoilt brats. My book received a rating of four to five stars by so many reviewers (all paid, laugh out loud).

Bestseller
The book got selected by a Delhi based publisher who had no knowledge of English Language, in a couple of days. I didnt go through the struggle that serious ones faced. My novel hit the bestseller tag in just two months. A week later, some real reviewer trashed my writing skills. I already know that I am a better poser than a writer. And, even assholes have ego, though fake. I thrashed him back. I have so many followers. I am successful. I have screwed literature, reviewers, publishers, market and of course you know what Here I take a break to write, err to post a few updates about this article on some social network. Bless you all, if you still mind accepting it. Is there any slutty creature out there? Or a reviewer? Or a promoter? Ask me for my contact number

Promotional spree
Have you all heard about Facebook promotions? What a stupid question? First step to be a successful writer is a good face. I posed in front of an SLR camera (my friend had bought it, the first step to become a successful photographer). Next day I posted a picture and received more than hundred likes and thirty comments. I wanted more. I started posting intellectual one-liners (copied from others, dont tell anyone). Then I posted my biosketch (written by a professional content writer). A month passed and I became more famous. I made a Facebook page dedicated to me. I did a lot of things; believe me, a lot of hard work. Once, some wannabe sent me an offer to promote my book. He was a reviewer (so called, a fake reviewer like a fake writer). He asked me some

Mr. Attitude is a psychedelic writer known for writing controversial flames. A genius mathematician is his identity besides being a stylish author.

Fragrance of Heena
You And Me..
For I have always been so happy Feeling ever so lively and spree How I wish to catch a rainbow Bringing its happiness all for you To share its everlasting beauty Whenever you feel so blue A small promise is all I have with me No matter how tough life can ever be God knew about those tough times When I would need a soulful chime Someone who could be there to cheer Someone wholl brush away my tear Youll always find me standing nearby As its always going to be just you and me.. Its all the gift of knowing you That my life has become blissfully anew

Like one soul dwelling in two You have always stood by me Your care has always been true With you I have always been me

Having you is like having a priceless gift For me your ways you will never drift No matter how far we be and grow old Our friendship is more worth than gold
Heena Ahuja is a girl who loves to scribble the rhythmic melody of literature. She lives in Mumbai.

For I have always seen a light Its shining ever so bright Glowing with the warmth of love Love gifted from someone above

Friendship thats always been dearer Keeping us strong with its blessed tie Binding our kindred souls together For all the years that go passing by

For I have always been so happy

Mr. YouKnowMe
Its over now. We are talking for the last time. Never ever try to call me. I am never going to see you again. Although, she read it over and over again, it still was hard for her to believe that her four-year-old relationship ended over an SMS. Meer ?... Meer! her mom screamed from the dining room. No dinner, Mom, she replied. I already had Maggi in the evening. I am full. The thoughts of Rohan were still haunting her. A perfect relationship had ended just like that. Too hard to believe! Meer had tried to calling Rohan many times but his cell was switched off. And so were her senses. I will end my life. I will jump off from the roof, that will definitely kill me she thought, and typed an SMS to Rohan. I am leaving. Forever. Whenever you will read this sms, I wont be there to read your reply. Lots of love. Meer. She punched the send button. Her Mom and Dad were already in their bedroom, while Dexter slept in his home- a cardboard box. She couldnt resist cuddling him for the last time. He responded by wagging his tail slowly. His eyes were wide and looked bigger than usual. I wont be back, she said with tears brimming from her eyes. I am going forever. Take care of Mum and Dad. I will miss you. Love you Dex. Dexter responded by resting his head on her hand. She took keys of the roof from the key chain holder shed bought last week from Khan Market. Shed bought a Two Hearts Together picture frame too, but that was of no use now. She slowly moved out from her flat, making sure not to make any sound. With a heavy heart, teary eyes and soundless steps, she started to climb up the stairs. She lived on second floor, and their apartment was four storeyed. It took her just five minutes to reach the common roof. Her heartbeats increased when she saw the door unlatched already, but she didnt want to go back at any cost. She pushed it, and it opened with a little screech. She turned around and looked down the stairs but no one showed up. She let out a sigh of relief. She peeped around to see anyone's presence, and her luck favored. There was no one around. She checked her cell phone for a reply, but there was none. How heartless! Now I will show him what I meant in his life she said looking down the roof. It never looked that high from below but from here its looking like 40 stories! she thought. Parapets of the roof were around two and a half feet high, but were low enough to climb up. So she pushed her legs a bit and next moment she was there, about 40-50 feet from the ground. To the front was the unlit Apsara apartments building, a flickering street light and a dustbin lying down the road. The wind made her t-shirt flutter and a distant sound of a dogs bark sent a shiver to her spine. Am I doing wrong? she thought for a while. Yes, you are, a guttural voice came from her left. A guy, nearly six feet tall, was standing upon the parapet, few feet from her. She almost lost her balance, but she somehow managed to not to fall. Who are you? And what are you doing here? How did you know what I am thinking? she asked in a trembling voice. Fear of being caught engulfed her. I am Anjit. Insomniac, you know. I am just doing what I do every night. he replied while sitting down on the parapet and signaled her to be seated as well. She sat there with a little hesitation, and he noticed that. So, whats your plan? Do you think that falling from here will actually kill you? he asked without looking into her eyes. I wasn't trying to jump, I was just... she said, trying to sound confident but ended up mumbling t o find more words. Oh, so you came here to take some fresh air, or maybe stalk that guy who lives in Apsaras 2B. Right? he replied with a smirk on his face. His hair was waving over his forehead, and his hands were tapping on the parapet, making an atypical tune. Its none of your business. I never saw you, who you are, and how you came here? You must be a thief! she said looking right into his eyes. I stay at 4A, ever came to fourth floor? he replied looking right back in her eyes. Umm maybe, she realized that it was really her first time when she came up here. So, your boyfriend dumped you for some silly girl, who is an inch taller than you but extra 5kgs make you look shorter. And now you are the most depressed soul on earth, and you want to shed that extra weight to make the planet lighter. Right? he said in flat tone. How do you know everything? she couldnt stop asking. He literally knew everything. I just know. It doesnt matter how. Truth is what matters. he replied while looking down a t street light. It wasnt flickering anymore. I dont want to live, and thats what I want. A day ago, we were happy together, and now its all over. Why? He didnt even feet the need to talk to me. That asshole SMSed me. Could you believe a break up on SMS! How lame. Tears found their way down leaving marks on her dry cheeks. Thats all? he asked while his eyes still focused on street light. Thats all! Do you think something more can happen? She burst into tears. Her sobs turned into a loud cry.

No, its hell that happened to you, but ending your life only for this reason doesnt seems reasonable enough, he said as he turned to look into her eyes. Street light flickered twice, and then became regular. Love sees no reasons, and a broken heart is beyond love too. She tried to throw some logic in her support, absurd though. Ha Ha Ha, which movie? From where did you learn so cheap a line? Dont tell me it is Cartoon Network, and he burst into laughter. What the hell! Please go fuck yourself. My life is ruined here, and you find it funny! What kind of a person are you? Anger filled her voice while her eyes were still brimmed with tears. Now more because of anger than sadness. Chill, girl, chill. Thats what I am saying. Its not funny at all. Do you know what will happen when you jump from here? he pointed down to the hard concrete floor. Yes, I will die instantly she replied looking at the same direction. No, you will not. Its just 43 feet from ground. Atmo st you will get few major fractures, some blood-loss and a lot of pain, for next months and an agony for a lifetime. Family will ask you why you did such a foolish thing, but you wont be able to reply because you will be in a trauma. Months in the hospital, far from the outer world, no one to talk to, no one to visit. You are okay with that, Right? His voice was becoming deeper with every sentence. Umm How do you know? her voice was now trembling in fear. I just know, doesnt matter how. Truth is what matters. He smiled looking into her eyes. I dont know what to do Her tears stopped for a while. Come down. We can talk about it He climbed down the roof and extended his hand to her. She held his hand and came down the parapet. Thanks, she said. For what? he asked in a relaxed mood. For nothing, she felt an urge to hug him, but she refrained from it. She ambled toward the door while he wasnt looking in any mood of going down. So she decided not to ask him anything. Good night, See ya She wave d at him from the door while he smiled and waved back. As she came back to her flat, Dexter welcomed her by his wagging tail while she tiptoed to her room. She was feeling lighter, in heart and in her soul. She decided to visit Anjit in the morning and thank him again, and in no time she slept like a baby, ignorant of her surrounding, ignorant of her pain. Meer, wake up beta, Dads voice woke her up. She smiled looking at him, and he smiled back. Dad, who lives in 4A? she asked. Its empty now; no one came to live there from a long. Why? he replied. What! No! Its impossible! she yelled, indeed a shocker for her. What happened? her Dad asked, perturbed after her expression. What happened? Meer, are you alright beta? he asked after keeping his hand on her head. She was still silent, looking blankly in dads eyes. You saw him? he asked. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and her face turned pale. Meer, did you? he asked again. Hmm she replied. Oh my poor girl, dont worry, everything is alright. Daddy is with you. Dont worry. She hugged her dad tight. She was shivering of fear, clueless to reciprocate. Dad, who is he? her voice trembled but now she was feeling safe in dads embrace. They lived here years ago. His name was Anjit. People say on e night he was walking on roof and he fell off from the roof, and died instantly. Some say it was an accident, while some say it was suicide. No one knows the truth. And after that incident, many have seen him sitting on parapet or walking on the roof. So no one goes there in the night. Where did you see him? he told her everything he knew about him. On the roof, I was feeling sleepless, so I thought she agitatedly replied. You could have woken me up, beta. Dont ever do such thing again. Ive never he ard about him harming to anyone, but we never know. he kissed her forehead and told her to get ready. Though her Dads words relaxed her, but it was hard to believe that she was saved by a ghost! She looked out of the window. It was raining, and mist has covered the window glass. And a little smiley was clearly visible on the left panel. She smiled back.

Mr. YouKnowMe is someone whom all of us know yet all of us are still to discover. He is a biker, an author and like all of us, a lover of life He is at present working with TCS.

Agent Quixote : Conservative Case Outstanding Outcome

Rachit Bhushan No more SINGLE!!! Well.. Before all you inquisitive readers start assuming something else, the news is little Hatke!! Finally doctor cum author Rachit Bhushan has found a girl. No no!! Girls don't skip your beats.. The young writer has found his co-author.. After giving two major hit solos. The writer is back with a girl this time.. Shivani Sharma, from Delhi Will be his better half in his next fiction.. "Its Never Too Late" Lets leave the duo alone to work on their book, of course!!!

Ravinder Singh In CHANDIGARH!! The author of Super Hit novels 'I too had a love story' and 'Can love happen twice' was in Chandigarh few days back!!! And as expected in Chandigarh the venue Elante Mall it was a tough time handling all the ladies and young girls who were going all crazy!!! Even the showrooms offer 100% sale, the rush still would not have been this much..!! I wonder even the simple looking writers are turning out to be such favourites..!!! I hope Khushboo is not reading this!!!

Fight to break records!!! Well.. Our literary world is all ready to break some big records..!!! Excited to know what's happen??? So here is the spicy gossip.. Author of "Five Shades Of Love" Laxmikant Shukl is coming up with an anthology that Will launch 25 yes.. 25 budding writers.. Well 25 seems too Big!!! Isn't??? Well now read this.a First Step Publishing Company is not behind either.. They too are coming up with an anthology with maximum number of writers.. And it is aiming to break an existing LIMCA Book of records!! I hope it all Ends up in a good note.. (We don't want World War Three Now) Copied or Inspired..!! Fellas.. the big news is that earlier our Bollywood used to make movies based upon Indian Novels.. but our Indian literary world is not far behind.. We people easily get inspired, isn't it?? Well..if rumours are to be believed Sachin Garg's latest fiction "Inner Peace" is said to be inspired by a popular American Show "Breaking Bad" (Read inspired as copied) This Season lets go Firangiii..!!!

Agent Quixote is Branwyns secret agent hired to do the leg-pulling of authors.

Chockolate Sauce Now a Bestseller!!! The dashing Arpit Vageria has got some really good reasons to flaunt his extra white teeths.. Yes his debut novel "Chockolate Sauce" within few months of its release, has been declared 'A NATIONAL BESTSELLER' 99% Credit goes to his Good looks.. good looks and Good looks.. rest 1% lets give it to his writing skills (Big heart, you know) Almost half of the writers after reading this news must be planning for a face surgery..!!!

Change The world and Paint it Purple..!! Nowadays Online Competitions have turn out to be the most cheapest way to attract people to buy their books.. Now in this race, a new name has been added.. and this time its a Blog "Purple Pen" started by Young Writer Himanshu Chabbra.. The blog is turning one year old very soon.. So on this not so big occasion, the team is decided to make everything Go Purple..!! I wish i had colour blindness.. Well.. the entire news will be out very soon.. just wait for my next update!!

Disclaimer The Agent Quixote section of Branwyn is meant only for healthy humour. Articles published under this section should not be taken seriously or personally. Branwyn does not intend to hurt anybody.

Reminiscence : A Short Story

Sometimes, the clouds above, sailing on the sky, twirl themselves and form a figure, a well known one to me. Bowled over, I raise my hand and draw the figure in the air. But before a familiar face could turn up, the clouds play with me, they roar loudly, as if in mockery, and drench my eyes. Your absence is painful.

'Why do I feel so lonely then?' Inquisitive, I wanted to dig out everything. I knew you could never be back to me; the bereavement is incurable and excruciating at times.

'It's all about what you feel. See the setting sun? Yet another day of rainy season, I was sitting on my terrace, surrounded by street children. I was playing your favorite numbers on my guitar. Children were dancing and enjoying. Clouds came back from the far south, in all shapes. Lost in my music, I had closed my eyes. After all, it was the last thing I was left with.

I looked at the sun. It was red as if burning. The drizzling had stopped. Raindrops were falling off the leaves. Birds were chattering and flying back to their nests. Clouds had dispersed.

Soon it began to drizzle. I was standing like an effigy amid drops. Unmoved! Rain is one of the most pleasant gifts bestowed upon us by God. I was a living organism, yet was not enjoying at all. The children screamed in delight, 'rainbow, rainbow.' I looked in the direction they were pointing. It was there in the horizon, though a bit gloomy. All the seven colors were there. The sun, for a moment, hid behind crawling clouds. In a moment, it came out and shone again. The red setting sun from the west scattered its rays. Dusk was not away. The rainbow shone brighter this time. I wiped my wet face with my wet hands and looked again, hoping for something. And it was then, that the figure showed up. It was a rainbow for others; I could see your face shining bright.

You broke the ice, The sun never sets. The earth rotates and we assume the sun has set. Yet we know that somewhere there is a sun rising and there is another one shining. Feel me with you. Keep me alive within. I am like that sun.

Tears rolled down my cheeks but nobody could see them. I was doing all, smiling at your sight, crying on your fickle presence. My joy knew no bounds.

My attention was stuck at your beautiful nose. The entire life spent with you ran before my eyes like a slideshow. The perturbing scenes were relived. 4 years had passed by since you left me. In the morning, I used to kiss your nose gently. You buried your head in my chest. And the most painful of all, you, my beloved wife, were lying dead on the floor, clad in white, surrounded by a flock of people, mourning your early death. Your eyes were closed. You lay quiet. Your face was not covered and your beautiful nose was still visible.

You whispered, 'Hey, I am here.'

You continued, These rain drops are your feelings. When the sun and these rain drops meet, you can see me. For others, it would be a rainbow. For you, it would be me.'

I gave a questioning look, 'Where?'

The clouds roared again. More thunders overjoyed the children. They sang and danced merrily.

My interaction was disrupted as somebody was shaking my hand, Hello. I kind of woke up. I looked down. It was a young fragile girl, around 4, in a beautiful pink frock. I looked at her innocent face. I had never seen her before. Her nose resembled yours. She shook my hand again, Play. Please. Why did you stop?

I asked, 'Where are you? Where have you been so long?'

I looked back at the horizon to see you but the sun had set and the rain had stopped. Neither the rainbow was there nor were you.

You replied, 'Don't look out for me. Where do you think I am? I shook my head and replied, nothing. I smiled, patted on her nose gently and picked up my guitar to play.

I was blank. A pause. A deafening silence. Your glistening face still had that charming effect.

- Anuj Dhiman
Your small straight-edged nose was always the centre of attraction. You had the best nose in the world. I recalled when I had last admired your beauty, especially your nose.

I am still with you. In your beats. In your eyes . In your tears. In your smile.

Random Reveries : Sneha Gupta

When nightmares haunt the slumbers, insomnia comes forward for the condolence of the whimpering soul. This is the moment; I take a round in my dark room and sit by the window. The restrained night seems promising Making one with the silent symphony being played by my frivolous heart-strings. Night cuddles the infinite stars and the amiable moon but not with indifference. The moon being the privileged one! I sit by my window and stare above. The clock struck midnight but insomnia accompanies me. I see the dark lining of the Peepal and palm trees on the other side. They create a silhouette of countenance. I gaze at them. The clouds run on the winsome path of the sky. An ocean of sterling lamination synchronizes with the dancing notes of the moonlight. The breeze chaperons and writes the lyrics of the incensed flow of affection. The enchanting mirage raptures the imagination. The night comes to a still and looks down at me sitting by the window. The moon gives a ruthless smile. The mockery is apprehensive. My cheeks still feel sticky owing the reminiscent tears. The sore eyes find solace in smoothening darkness. The night turns silky. The darkness becomes silver. In the moment of utmost solitude, the night becomes profound. The moon keeps smiling like an ignorant charmer. I shout loudly to the night, Can you hear me?

There never comes a reply

Facebook Snippets: I keep telling my husband that I was meant to be a trophy wife, but he still manages to find some practical uses for me. Ashwina Garg

Sneha Gupta belongs to a small town in Bihar. She is a banker by profession and breathes to write. She is the author of two published books and received several awards for her writing ventures. She is the founder and editor of Branwyn.