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.




Publisher and Director
Vineeta Gupta


Founder and Editor-in-Chief
Sneha Rahul Choudhary


Mentor
Dr. Subodh Kumar Jha


Assistant Editor
Pranav Shree


Tech Support
Rahul Kumar Singh


Legal and Financial Advisor
Abhishek Singhania


Contacts:

Email : snehagupta01989@gmail.com
sneha@branwyn.in
branwynmagazine@gmail.com

Website : www.branwyn.in

Editorial


Dear Readers,

It is a well known fact that all Change
is the permanent Law of Nature. But
when it comes to our readers
interests, it is more volatile than our
imaginations. For some similar
reasons, we and our Branwyn
underwent a series of changes. It
took some time and the current issue
got slightly delayed.
Still, we believe that we have
succeeded in bringing a grand issue
of your favourite Branwyn to you.
Besides our Star Columnists, this
month we have featured Authors like
Harshita Shrivastava, Ila Garg,
Deepali Junjappa and others. In
addition, we have replaced the
Amateur Scribbles column with
Guest Article. We have also
introduced the Cover Story in a new
flavour with the book The Unwanted
Shadow. Hope our readers would
like it.
Suggestions and feedback are always
welcome.

With warm regards,
Sneha Rahul Choudhary










































Alpine Ambergris : Dr. Subodh Kumar Jha
Kitchened Desires

Kitchened desires
Throb, throb within the
Human constitution
Raking the folded memories

Rallied you always
Rallied with loving chastisements
That always ended
In the flamed meeting

Tutored pendulum
Of beastly urge
Instilling Instilling and swelling
Into my fibres
Leans devotedly
To the illuminating light
Though triggered long before
Torching the path still

- Subodh K. Jha
(Dr. Subodh Kumar Jha)
Head,
Dept. of English,
S.N. Sinha College,
Jehanabad



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!




The twenty-first century started off rough for most
of the world. 9/11 and the war that followed still
hollow the memories of the generation from within.
Its strange how it continues to affect us, and deep
down we know it always will.
When all of this was happening, I was busy running
my errands at home. I lived in a small town named
Mangaldai, funny name for a place if you ask me. It
was untouched by all of it. The news took days to
reach us and when it did, it didnt mean anything. It
was from a different world, and we had our own
lives to take care of, our own complications to get
through.
My name is Mohan Sharma, height 62. I dont think
I am handsome but everything is at the right place
on my face; so I guess I am not so ugly either. I was
brought up in a conservative way in this remote
part of the country. I have three elder sisters and
often heard my grandmother say that my parents
wanted a boy all along and in that way, I was a gift.
Soon, this became evident in everything they did. I
was given an egg in breakfast while my sisters got
nothing at all; not even Neetu who was only two
years older to me. I was the one who got new
books and toys. My sisters never complained
though, despite the fact that they had to do all the
household chores also. I think they too had
accepted that they could have done nothing about
the whole situation; having been born in a place
like this didnt give you the right to question things.
To tell you the truth, I didnt like this arrangement,
but still I could never gather enough courage to say
it in front of my mother. From time to time, I would
get angry at my parents for treating my sisters like
that, a few days would pass and things would go
back to what they were. Sometimes, I wondered if
my parents just loved me because I was a boy and
by law was endowed to take care of them.
My father was a teacher in the town high school,
and with the income from the tuitions he took, we
were doing well, better than most of the families in
the town. His being a teacher also meant we had to
be regular at school, unlike other children in the
neighborhood. My father made it a point that my
sisters attended school too, and when they wanted
to study more, he agreed, and for that I am
thankful to him. My mother clearly and vehemently
disagreed with him on this point, but the house
rules applied to her too; the man of the house had
asserted his decision. So, with a happy heart I
watched my sisters go to college everyday and
waited for the day when my turn would come, the
day when I would head towards my dreams.
But as I grew up, whenever I would bring up the
topic, I saw tinges of reluctance in my fathers eyes.
Later, I came to know the reason. My father might
have been a teacher in school but he was no
modern thinker, he thought like the rest of the
world. He wanted me to stay back, live with him,
teach in the school like he did, and then someday
get married so that my wife would serve him. He
never expressed these expectations out loud, but I
knew this was the future he had thought for me in
his mind, because it had been in my mind too when
I was younger.
But I knew it could never be my life; so contrary to
his wishes I got busy in weaving dreams of my own.
And it was these dreams that gave me the incentive
to study late in the night, till my eyes ached.
Education means a lot of things to people, but for
me it was an escape. With all the work in the house,
sometimes things drove me crazy, but I knew that
if ever I could leave this place, education would be
my only saviour. And for that, being good in studies
wasnt going to be good enough. I had to be better.
I had to be extraordinary.
I was eighteen years old and had just finished
taking my board exams. My days consisted of
talking to friends and doing odd jobs to earn some
money for my education. The construction site
provided me just the opportunity. The pay was less,
but it was at least something, and working for my
education gave me hope that one day I would
indeed be going to college. I didnt tell my father
any of that. I just told him I had nothing to do; so I
worked there. But I think he did guess why I was
working, although he didnt say anything. By then
my elder sister, Priya, already had a job as a
teacher in the same school where my father
worked.
One fine evening, my father was out and mother
had asked me to get some groceries from the shop
at the nearby chowk. It was a windy evening, and I
was leisurely walking back home with thoughts
playing on my mind, watching a kid run a cycle tyre
with a stick, watching people coming back from
their offices in their motorcycles. I was planning on
what I would do that night when suddenly I heard
noises coming from our house. At first I assumed
that some relatives had come to our house, but
then I heard a wail, and then I heard my father
shout. I could not clearly make out what he was

An old sin, A new sentence
saying, but I was able to figure out that he was
terribly angry. Who was crying, or who had he
been shouting at, I had no idea
Saying a silent prayer under my breath, I walked
faster, wondering what hell had befallen our home
now. Five minutes later, in the living room I found
my father in his chair, breathing heavily and Richa,
my second sister, standing beside him. Neetu still
hadnt returned from her classes, I noticed. Priya
stood beside Richa. It was as silent as it could get,
and respecting the mood of the moment I stood at
one corner, saying nothing. I had no clue what was
happening, but when I looked at Priya and
managed to hold her gaze, she shook her head and
indicated that she would tell me later. I wondered
if father had hit Richa. It was so not him. I mean yes,
he did get angry from time to time, but I had never
seen him so angry. Nobody said anything for a
while. Finally, after a few minutes of silence, dad
shouted at Richa to go to her room. Richa obeyed
without any protest. It seemed as if even a light
breeze would have got her off her feet. And then
slowly Priya got up and went back to preparing
dinner as if nothing had happened, while he sat in
the room for some more time. When he realized
that he had done what he had to do, he went to the
nearby store to have his regular smoke.
Immediately after his departure, I went to talk to
Richa but she wouldnt open the door; so I went to
the kitchen to talk to Priya instead. She was busy
chopping vegetables when I walked in. I didnt say
anything for the first few minutes, just watched her
hands mechanically chop the vegetables. When
mom went away, I fired her with my questions.
What happened? Did she get kicked out of school
or something? She raised her eyes at me. I could
see that she was sad and realized that the matter
was much more serious than that.
No, dad saw her with a guy from college. They
were kissing. He was really angry today. He even
slapped Richa.
I knew this had happened when I saw Richas face
this evening, but the shock of hearing it was still
there. Mother didnt stop him?
No, I tried She let the sentence hang there,
realizing she had already said too much.
What? Did he hit you too? She tried to protest,
but when I held her gaze, she told me.
Now, you dont start fighting with dad again.
Okay? He didnt mean to hit me. He was just angry.
I knew what she was trying to do. The last time dad
hit Neetu, I had had a big fight with him. I mean I
could go on like nothings wrong when he treated
them like that, but hitting was something I strongly
felt about.
This time I said nothing. Priya would like it more if
I did nothing, I knew, and after having such a hard
day, I owed her that.
I knocked, but Richa is not opening the door, I
finally said to break the silence.
She will be okay. She told me about the guy some
days back. I should have told her to stop then, it
would not have come to this. I dont know what
dads going to do now.
He already hit her, what more can he do? I
shouted. And why didnt she tell me about it? I
asked, remembering I was the only one not to
know about this.
She made me promise not to tell you or Neetu. She
was scared dad might know.
I nodded.
I kept silent after that, while she continued to work
with the dough. The plastered walls of the kitchen
had been blackened by the smoke emanating from
the gas burner below. There was no fan in the
room, although father had promised to get it
installed soon. The smoke was suffocating in there,
but the women had to work here all day long. They
didnt seem to mind. Maybe they were comfortable
in the heat just like my father was with his life. It
seems impossible to do something when you watch
it from a distance, only when you are in it that you
come to know.
I looked over at Priya. She was shaping the dough
into small spherical balls, sweat dripping off her
brows. I would have offered to help her, but I
would make more mess than dinner. She gave me a
small smile when she saw me looking at her. I
returned it the best I could. We both sat in
comfortable silence.
She really loves him.
Sorry! What did you say? I asked.
She really loves him. I met him once. He is good. I
nodded, but both of us knew it didnt matter if he
was good, father would never agree. Even Richa
knew that.
What scared me was if Richa could go on living like
nothing had happened, and accept it as her fate?
That would be hard, but there was no other option.
The front door opened and both of us craned our
neck to look who arrived, expecting neighbors who
had heard the fight, or worse..dad.
To our relief, it was Neetu. She went to keep her
bag inside the room, which she, Richa and Priya
shared, but found it locked. She knocked for a
while but no one answered it. I shouted for her to
come to the kitchen.
Priya poured her a cup of tea from the pot. Neetu
kept her bag and sat in a chair. She had noticed
how silent the house was. Usually there would be
some sort of noise - sometimes neighbors,
sometimes mom.
I told her what had conspired in the evening,
though I spared her the part where dad hit Priya
and Richa. She didnt say anything when I told her
the story. She was probably imagining how it might
have happened. Maybe she guessed that dad had
hit Richa.
Awhile later, mom went out for a walk, but not
along with dad. In my town, one rarely sees
husband and wife taking an evening stroll together.
There was no rule against it, but thats how things
were. Men hung out with other men in the
neighborhood, while women stayed in the house or
went to their neighbors house and talked stuff. I
guess mom just needed to clear her mind. I didnt
know when dad would be back. Normally, he came
back half an hour before dinner. It was already
seven.
And as for Richa, I wondered for how long she
wouldnt be taking dinner. I asked Neetu to come
with me and help to get Richa open the door. It was
after ten minutes or so that she answered our call.
Leave me alone for a while, she said in a cracked
voice.
I urged Neetu to say something.
Let us in! Nobodys at home except Mohan and
Priya Di. Please open up, you are worrying us. The
door opened after a few minutes. As we entered, I
could see that her eyes were swollen; she must
have been crying the whole time. I couldnt blame
the guy who fell for her though, even with her
swollen eyes and red nose she looked beautiful.
We sat in her room, Neetu trying desperately to lift
up her mood. Priya couldnt be there; she had a lot
of work to do since mom wasnt there to help her. I
wonder now what it would be like to teach for the
whole day in school and then come back and
prepare dinner for the family. I feel guilty
sometimes for letting them rot in that piece of hell.
But there were few things that could have been
done.
Richas mood lightened up a little by the time mom
came back, but we all knew that when dad would
come back, nothing would be normal again.
Father came back an hour later than usual. Dinner
was taken by everyone in complete silence. Even
Neetu, whose voice would usually ring during the
dinner, was silent. Father didnt talk to Richa, and
my mother too didnt, because she was afraid it
might offend dad.
Later that night, I heard Richa sniffing in the other
room. I heard Priya say something to her, though I
couldnt make out what she was exactly saying.
Their talking went on for a while, after which they
both fell silent. I couldnt sleep well that night. The
thought of what would happen the next day still
terrified me. I wanted things to get back to normal
at the earliest. And I believed they would, sooner
or later, like always. But for me, it was the first
time that they didnt.
- The following chapter has been taken from the novel
The Unwanted Shadow written by author
Bhaskaryya Deka. Bhaskaryya grew up in Mangaldai,
Assam, and then moved briefly to Visakhapatnam to
complete his schooling. Now, he lives in Dhanbad,
pursuing B.Tech in Mechanical Engineering at Indian
School of Mines. He is an avid reader, with particular
interest in Literary Fiction. He also maintains two
blogs where he posts book reviews, poems,
humorous articles and random thoughts that cross
his mind. When he is not writing, he likes to spend
his time listening to music, hanging out with friends,
and travelling.



















































Life is a bitch and Im one of its victims. I had the perfect life.
I was blessed with the perfect boyfriend, a perfect best
friend, the perfect set of girlfriends and perfect choice of
career. There were some loopholes but then they went
beyond my perspective. Overall, I had the kind of life people
would ideally like to have but happy times arent meant to
last forever.

Sometimes we feel that we have figured life but thats
something that is never going to happen. You know why? Its
because it has this habit of kicking us right in the middle of
ecstasy. No wonder, it did the same with me.

This is my story, my story of that exploration within, my
feelings, my emotions, my thought process, my priorities, my
conflicts and my journey into the temptation of love, lust, lies
and betrayals. This is the story of Kritika and a man who
gave her life another dimension, Tanishq. This is a story of
the complexities of relationships and the trap that a simple
idea of sensuality, pleasure and euphoria can put you into.
This is a story for everyone who has loved, lost and fought
for survival and love, together.









As per our met department monsoons have
got delayed by one more week; it is music to
our Indian ears. This thought rose to a
crescendo in my head and I ruefully
disembarked the metro. As I descended
down the stairs my eyes rested upon two
stoic faces with a swaddled box in their
sweaty palms. The concealed fate in form of
the box read as donate for victims and
ironically our lexicon never demarcated
contours of the term victim.

I trudged further towards church pondering
and it was then I witnessed something
incredible.
That something defied my learning and my
appalled senses. I saw a man weaving
through the crowd in a rugged t shirt
walking with two pair of slippers. Before you
jump to arbitrary conclusions, he was
differently- abled and he had worn those
slippers in his palms as well.
This thought might just induce an
excruciating pain in you; I hope it impels us
into action.

Buy candle sir buy candle a packet for 10
A middle aged woman in early 40s along
with her young daughter were shouting from
the pavement in front of the Church and
beckoning to make the purchase. As I went to
that lady, she smiled and quickly handed me
a packet of candles. As she did so, her hands
trembled miserably. I enquired about if she
had visited the doctor, to which she replied
that she did, but it did not bring much of
relief.. I bought a packet of prayers . There
were 10 prayers in it with each prayer I
surrendered myself to God almighty.

I vividly remember the nimbus canopy of
clouds were waltzing on the celestial
canvas... it would have rained any
moment..With my steadfast faith I lit candle
in the potent breeze,, I retraced my steps
from the candle stand and watched the wick
with a keen lookpraying that it stays
undaunted by the windhowever a
sudden gush of breeze doused it.. I was about
to light it again, it was then a faint and a
devout voice called out to me- Sir take my
candle and light it again and this time do
remove your shoes as you do so I was
frozen in my tracks,,, that little candle girl
had stirred my soul with her generosity .. I
was awestruck for a while and I said Yes I
will do so.

As I walked back..kept thinking about how
mother and daughter duo bring light in
everyday seekers lives, how they have a
repository of it ( candles). when they
themselves are seeking for one!

















Strong with the Wind





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.









Keep your eyes on a distant star


Keep your eyes on a distant star
A voice of yours is heard afar
Farer than the barren Thar
Is none but one
But just that star
Keep in your heart a golden light
See that star and take to flight
For none will hear you in silence
None but one but just that star
Shall help you out in resilience
For it may be far
But close in your heart
It will light the dark
And make it bright
So lead the way
The North Star shines
Just keep in your heart a distant star
For a voice of yours is heard afar
Farer than the barren Thar
Is none but one
Just one that star
So open your eyes
And go gaze deep
For someday your heart
Shall take a leap
And reach that tiny distant star
Keep your eyes on a distant star
A voice of yours is heard afar
Farer than the barren Thar
Is none but one
But just that star



- Neharika Saxena

















For Mimi Hittalmani, a confused twenty something life is about to
begin. After getting sacked by her editor for attending a silly
Bollywood bash, clotted with a nasty breakup; Mimi decides to expand
her worldview. Two years later, armed with a foreign degree and
some flashy Aussie stories she begins her misadventures in Mumbai
where she meets the gorgeous Mehra brothers and falls in love with all
three at once. Mimi then joins the carnival and lets herself go on the
train of chaos, cacophony, camera and drama. Shes glad; her co
passengers are all potential soul mates, she never met; the
brotherhood of lost loves. From then on the joy ride of working,
flirting, schmoozing, networking and finally falling in love become part
of Mimis quirky and hilarious journey. By the end she realizes that the
twenties are indeed twisted; its ok to goof up, jump courses, change
careers, flout opinions and of course chat up four guys at once!








She

Delicate is She, Handle with care!
Soft petalled Lily, crush how you dare?

Glass like fine, a shard that draws blood
Shes not just a kohled line
That youd want to smudge

Like leather that weathers,
Transitional tantrums she suffers
As aqua she adjusts and endures

Bears like wood, her steely determination
Try, test, torture her not
To raise ire & invite indignation

Fool not her trust,
Dense as a diamond,
Molten lava like she bursts!

Burning charcoal,
The smog smoke she herself soaks
Or else on the soot of her pyre she chokes

A tear drop she slips for love,
Like a dewdrop from a leaf does
When the wind shoves

Fascinates her fragrance as that of a rose
Calming like sandal, she has also been fire
Whenever the moment arose

Merely scribble her not as a note in your life
Whoever is she, girlfriend, fianc or wife!
Always and always, treat her right.

- Purvi





The Fight is Right
It had been a tough day.
As usual, the boy had been late for giving tuitions after his
college classes. When he did reach the house, the weather
was still ruthlessly hot.
He had been walking all those eight kilometers with the
hope that at the other end of it, he would have cold water,
right out of the fridge. He had walked much more than eight
kilometers, and he knew, but saw no point in giving his
misery its due credit.
All that greeted him was a heavy lock on the door.
He must have been late, he guessed. He tried to recollect if
they had asked him not to come on that day. He took out his
cell phone to see the time.
It had been dead for long. He remembered. So they must
have called to tell him not to come.
But today, they had said they would pay. Maybe they would
come back in a few minutes. Maybe they were inside, with
the door locked for some weird reason. He knocked.
He sat on the stairs, waiting. The July sun was more
acrimonious than it had appeared while he was walking.
His calves hurt badly, and he felt the throbbing veins in
them. A mild breeze, with some intrinsic heat reshaped
itself to hit every molecule of his face, making it too red for
his own eyes to ignore.
He got up, and began to walk again. Another eight
kilometres! He wasnt prepared for this.
Four rupees! He counted again. He ransacked his pockets,
with the vague hope that he had missed a coin somewhere.
As expected, there was no pleasant surprise waiting for him.
He walked slowly. Periodically looking at the sun! Trying to
ignore his calves. Trying to ignore his hunger!
This time he noticed that eight kilometers were longer than
he had imagined. The dust on his feet seemed to be adding
more weight than it possibly could. The nails in his old pair
of shoes were hurting with every step. Shifting his attention
back to hunger was a better idea, he decided.
Towards the end of his long walk, he came to the thela he
had been thinking of during his walk.
The cheapest food in the city! He counted the money one
more time. No variation. Six rupees short!
He would have to do it. Eat the food, and then pretend that
he had been picked, and then give away four rupees, with
the promise that he would pay six rupees the following day.
He never doubted his acting skills.
He ordered a plate. And stood among the others, who had
come for their supper to the same destination! Manual
labourers, cart pullers, cobblers relishing the food around
them. Chewing slowly, to make the bite last. To extend the
satiation!
His eyes fell on the bald kid, barely seven or eight years old,
washing the dishes in the most unhygienic way possible. A
large, broken tub had water was all his resource, and all
dishes were immersed in them and taken out. Everyone
saw this, and somehow, everyone had decided to believe
that this was the proper way of washing dishes.
The boy was conscious to avoid seeing the washing. And
conscious about avoiding being spotted by his classmates!
Not that they had never eaten at this place. But for him, it
was his meal.
He looked at the kid again. Mechanically washing dishes! He
was about to be cheated. Robbed of six rupees by a lying,
hungry hypocrite, who had the mask of an artist!
The food appeared in his hands. He looked at it greedily.
The last time food had entered his mouth was in the
previous morning. He could act. And he knew he would pay
six rupees later.
He kept the food on the thela, and made a silent exit.
The four rupees were still in his pocket. He took them out,
to pelt them away in frustration.
His heart didnt allow this. He took a step back, decided to
go back to the kid washing dishes, and give the money to
him. But then, he wasnt begging. Ruthless world, but the
urchin was a better man than many dignified thieves in the
poisonous city.
Four rupees finally bought him two cigarettes. Without
filters! He couldnt have used it better. They would keep
him awake. They would mitigate his hunger. That would be
a good use.
Then suddenly, while walking to his room with his
cigarettes, he had a hearty laugh.
Betrayed again, yet again, by the very same people he has
offered to teach. He knew they were never going to pay him
for his tuitions now. Cheated!
Time to search someone else to teach!
He was a grand young man.





Lavkesh Singh [Branwyn
Column name Mr.
Incandescent] is an
Investment Banker who
works in the Realm of
Mergers and Acquisitions
for his living. He at
present resides in New
Delhi.














Ishani, a young, pretty and multi-talented girl with a carefree attitude, lives in
a world of her own. A girl with small little dreams, she carries a happy-go-
lucky nature. Always surrounded by friends, she loves to help people and is a
quick learner. When she gradually tries to find a place in this messed up
world, everyone around her starts to lure her as she trusts easily and can't
discriminate between right and wrong. She often falls for masked
personalities and camouflaged individuals but it is life, right? It has its own
ways to teach its disciples. . She makes efforts to bring a smile on every face
and wishes someone would do the same for her.
Can a completely broken girl emerge as a winner at the end? Will she be able
to unveil the masks? What does it take to judge right from wrong? What
surprises life holds in its box for her? Is it ever going to be easy for her to
choose or will she continue to stay in her dilemmas?








Strangled Voice


The nurse put me in a plastic bag
And I wondered if it was a gift wrap,
I was so happy because I came to this world
Wanted to see the one who gave me birth
But then I heard a voice so loud,
Did somebody throw me off the bridge? I doubt.
I felt like I cant breathe anymore
My voice was choked, before I spoke anything.
And just when I was about to die,
Something unwrapped me with a force so high
I thought my mom rescued me..
But the horror was worse than anything it could be
The dogs tore every bit of flesh left inside,
But I was thankful as it ended my life
The pain of abandonment and terror gripped my soul
I asked God I dont want to be a girl in next life anymore.
I just wanted to be loved and fly so high...
Didnt even get a place six feet under the sky
I had no courage to fight for life..
Why do I have to pay for being a girl child?


- Anne Dey








Beginning of New Life.


A predestined bond between two souls,
That will make two incomplete lives whole,
And will create the fusion of two families,
A wedding that will hold them together infinitely,

Rituals will be performed to take the sacred vows,
That will ensure the purity of love for rest of life,
The promise will be taken to always be together,
Happiness will fly over everyone like a feather,

A wedding that is meant to find someone special,
Someone who will know you better then yourself,
Someone who will always bring smile on your face,
And someone who will soon make your life complete,

Every smile that you will have on blissful mornings,
Every laugh that you will share on evening coffees,
Will become sweetest little moments for the life,
The wedding will make the walk of life full of thrive,

An anticipated moment that is going to arrive soon,
A moment that will count every second spent together,
A moment for which everyone waited so long,
A moment that will make you together for lifelong











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 an IT Company.