Lores of Heart

walls and window grills and I write in my leather
notebook that I keep in thhamma's wooden shelf, about
lonely people.

34

Anyesha Mitra

Anyesha Mitra, 19 year old maiden who is the heroine instead
damsel in distress in her story. A free spirited and open minded
girl who believes loving yourself is the first step of true love.
Studies English honours in Shri Shikshayatan College. Her hobby
is dancing and she loves to travel.

35

Philia

For me, making friends was like a challenge.
Approaching and mixing with people was a tough one
for a shy person like me. It scared me, made me feel
insecure. I was always conscious in front of people,
thinking if they would like me or not. I hardly could
make any good friends; they either were not interested or
didn’t like to be with me. When my college days started,
I was determined that I am going to find good friends
this time who will really like me. Well, we never know
what might happen in our lives. Someone taught me I
just need to be myself; our personality itself is a thing
that makes us unique.

One rainy day, all unlucky things were
happening to me. Due to my clumsiness, I forgot my
umbrella, I got drenched and my hair became a mess, I
slipped twice on my way and got late for college. I
reached class and with all my courage I entered the room
and saw that there were no seats available. Somehow
managing to squeeze some space I saw a girl sitting
beside me.

She was a short chubby girl with short hair and
sparkling eyes and a smile which could make anyone’s
heart flutter, but I was too shy to approach her. Unlucky
as it was, I realised I had forgotten my book even. I took
the courage to ask her if she could share her book with
me. She had a sweet voice and was very helpful. In the

36

whole class we had small talks which made me feel very
comfortable with her, she was just like a ball of
sunshine, and it felt as if I knew her from before. After
that day I didn’t see her anywhere. Neither did we cross
paths in the classes.

Days passed and I managed to find myself one
good friend. I felt lucky enough to get a companion who
was like me. However, my eyes always searched for that
girl and I always hoped that someday we could meet
again. After a few busy days, on a free and bright day; I
went for my morning classes as usual. I didn’t know why
but suddenly I sensed a feeling of calmness and
happiness inside me and I could not understand the
sudden pace of my heart.

The moment I entered the class my eyes met with
those familiar sparkling eyes, that baby face and
adorable cheeks, looking at me with an affectionate
smile and calling me to come and sit beside her. I
couldn’t control my happiness, blood was rushing to my
cheeks which was a normal thing for me and I was
smiling like a fool, I went and sat beside her, happy to
see her again. My heart secretly whispered inside me to
never let go of her this time.

Time passed and our bond became stronger. She
became a precious part of my life. My heart felt at ease
but I was scared, scared of losing her. People say bonds
never break but I couldn’t help being scared.

37

It was a winter night, I was in my room writing
my diary and smiling ear to ear, reminiscing our
wonderful memories, I didn’t know when I fell asleep. A
notification from my phone woke me up, I saw it was
her texting me in the middle of the night.

Thinking it strange of her texting me at that time
I immediately opened to check on it and the moment I
saw the text I felt as if the world had come crashing
down and I was surrounded with nothing but darkness. I
couldn’t believe myself, I felt as if I was seeing things.
Tears started to well up in my eyes, my knees went
numb and my hands froze, I was weeping helplessly. My
hopeless self was screaming and saying that this cannot
be true. She cannot leave me like this; she promised me
that she will be here forever. I was yelling my heart out
when suddenly, everything went black. When I got my
sense back I was lying in my soft cozy bed, I looked
around me and suddenly felt a warm hand on mine, I
looked up to see it was her, giving me that familiar warm
affectionate smile which lighted up my darkness and her
eyes assured me that I have escaped from the bad dream
which I am never going to experience again. I looked at
her intently, feeling scared if she suddenly disappeared
again. She lightly chuckled and said ‘don’t worry I am
not going anywhere’.

38

Athira Muraleedharan

Athira, an artist who accidentally became a writer. She started
writing about herevery daycrushes,whom she fell in love with!
From then she had an exciting journey writing more about
romance and lust. The story in here is very close to her heart.
Writing has helped her gain a very personal access to the outside
world. Inspecting people from different angles and making tales
of her own about love in a world full of love! You can connect
her through Instagram@melaninstory101

39

B’shert

Ashutosh and Iccha met around 1 year ago
through Instagram. Iccha was living a very mundane life,
working in a corporate. The only pleasure she had was
writing. Writing took Iccha to another world and she was
happy in her world of words. She was working against
her wish to fulfil her parent's dream. She had an
Instagram page where she crafted her words and people
loved reading them.

One fine day a DM popped, “Hey you write
really well. Please consider me as your admirer.”

She was surprised as it felt so genuine and it kind of
made her jump with glee! She didn’t respond as she was
busy with some office work, but couldn’t wait until she
got back to the hostel.

The day ended and she finally jumped on to her bed and
texted, “Hey sorry for the late reply, I was working.
Thank you so much… you made my day!” (message
sent)

She couldn’t wait for the reply and she started
checking the profile to get a glimpse of the person who
complimented her. The profile was filled with beautiful
photographs. None of them was of the person but
whoever it was, she understood that the person was a
photographer. She waited until she slept,but didn’t
receive any msg. Days passed and one day she got
another message from the same person.

40

It read, “Hey was busy with a shoot so didn’t
reply to your text.” “But I saw your likes and comments
on my posts.”
“Yes, I cannot miss them, hence I was regular.”
“Btw, I’m Ashutosh. And you?”
“Oh yes... I am Iccha.”

The conversation continued for days and months
and their bond got stronger with each day. They shared
ideas, discussed movies, talked about life and art and
poems.

It went on... One fine day out of curiosity Iccha
texted, “Aren’t you eager to see me?? Knowing it’s a girl
on the other side, how can you be so ignorant?”

She was shocked the way he responded,
“Whoever you are I have carved an image of yours
through your poems and that is enough. And you are
beautiful!” She had mixed feelings. In a world full of
“send some nudes” and “slut shaming” she met a guy
who was genuine to her and above all loved her art. Such
people prove that there need not be any name to a
relationship to be fulfilled, it’s just the feeling. It’s just
B’shert!

41

Batul Tasneem

An engineer by education and a writer by passion Batul Tasneem
started enhancing feelings through her words. Apart from quotes,
poems,articles,shortstoriesandmanymore,Batulpossesses keen
interest in shayaris too. Motivating people through motivational
quotes and spreading positivity is one of her agenda. Pouring
love and feelings in each word that can reach millions of people is
her goal. She wants to write her heart out that will keep beating
as long as people read her stuff.

42

Gaze Through the Heart

Sara was on her scooty when she saw a crowd on
the highway. She stopped to see a guy lying on the road
covered with blood. She recognised him. He was
Shaurya, her uncle's neighbour. There was no one who
was helping him, everyone was standing there
surrounding him. Sara asked for help. A person helped
Sara to pick up Shaurya. He was an auto rickshaw
driver. They took him to the hospital immediately.
Shaurya was shifted to the emergency ward. Sara called
her uncle to inform him about the accident. Then a nurse
came there with a wallet and a small diary and handed it
over to Sara.

"This belongs to the patient." While giving, the
diary fell off on the ground open. Picking it up Sara saw
two lines written in it which read, "Mesmerized on the
eyes bright, maybe love at first sight."

Sara really liked those lines and wished to read
more but for now she kept the diary with herself. She
silently started praying for his quick recovery.

It was the time of Diwali. Sara was on her way to
the mall along with her sister. She wanted to buy a
traditional kurti for the upcoming festival. She reached
the mall and rushed to the women's section. She started
searching for something simple and elegant. But
everything she picked, she didn't have that wow factor at
first sight so she simply kept it. Suddenly she saw a pair

43

of eyes and recognising them immediately, a smile broke
out on her face from a distance. Those eyes were none
other than Shaurya's. She gave him a small but sweet
smile. How could those eyes not recognise each other?
They had a connection through eyes for a long time.
They never had spoken to each other, but yes their eyes
did all the speaking. Shaurya was a shy guy. He had seen
Sara when she used to come to her uncle's house for
vacation. She had never known him more, nor did even
Shaurya try talking to her. Shaurya had started liking
Sara, so he used to wait for her to come to her uncle's
home. He had followed her on Instagram page but never
did he try to message her.

Coincidentally, Sara's sister went to try some of
her clothes, so Sara was alone looking for her kurti. As
she picked up one kurti she kept in front of her and
looked into the mirror. Shaurya was standing far behind
but was seen in the mirror. He looked at her and gestured
a No. She kept the kurti. She picked up a yellow one and
again looked at him through the mirror. He signalled her
that it is okay. She again kept it. Then she picked up a
red one and asked for his approval. His eyes sparked
with a big smile gesturing that it is beautiful. She
lowered her eyes and smiled.

Just then her sister arrived and seeing Sara smile
he asked, "Did you finally get what you wanted?"

"Yeah, sis let's go." And she headed towards the
cash counter. Reaching home she went to her room,
opened the drawer next to her bed and picked out

44

the diary from it. It was the same diary she had found
one year ago on the national highway, beside the guy
who was lying half unconscious. Shaurya it is, who had
been secretly loving her since long.

"The day seemed cold and dry, But there she
came with beautiful eyes. Lost my heart to her smile,
made me feel alive again. Hearing her dulce voice, made
everything around me poise. The name 'Sara' itself
means beautiful. For me she was luminous as well"

"Reading the poems again?" a voice breaks her
trance.

"Every word makes me feel that you are with
me." She spoke and smiled looking at the mirror. A
smile crept on both of their faces.

"I had lost him one year back but never thought
that there was someone who loved me so much. Every
word in the poems was filled with so much love that
every time I look into the mirror I see him gazing just
through the heart.

Sara missed Shaurya. Without even knowing
him, she was completely in love with his poems and
every time she thought of him, he appeared for her. Sara
scribbled something, "He was the same as me, I could
feel in me, His absence became dominant, as he was on
another side of a mirror."

45

Chaitiparna Bhattacharyya
Trying to find words to describe certain emotions is something
that Chaitiparna Bhattacharyya has always been fond of. Her
other hobbies include spending hours mulling over a book,
drawing and living vicariously through fictional characters.
Much of her personal work is often inspired by her friends who
are a constant source of inspiration to her.

46

Effervescent

She made a “follow me” gesture with her hands
and I did. She led me to a little wooden hut down by the
river where quite a few bicycles were parked.

“Take anyone you like,'' she said. Oh no. I didn’t
know how to properly ride a bicycle. And that one time
when I crashed down the hill left me with a persistent
fear of riding one. I didn’t say anything.

But maybe she saw my unease because she asked
“Don’t you want to ride one?”

“Oh it’s just that-”
Lying to her somehow didn’t feel right at all. “I-
I don’t really know how to ride it.”
I braced myself for a sneer, a jab or a laugh at my
expense but it never came. She thought for a while.
“Well then, guess I’ll have to be strong enough to carry
the both of us uphill” she smiled.
“Will you be able to do that? I’m sorry for being
a burden to you.”
“Burden? You’re not being a burden to me at all.
Friends are not burdens to be carried.”
Normally, I’m able to tell when people are being
polite just for the sake of it. But I saw none of that in her
expression. Friend huh? Hope I’m good enough for you.
Something tugged at my heart. I sat behind her on her
bicycle.
“Hold me tight!” she said and we set off.
The road uphill was rather steep and the view
down the valley made me clutch on tighter to her. Her

47

hair was blowing with the wind and it was tickling my
face. I could smell the scent of the river and moss on her.
I gently rested the side of my face against her back,
feeling the rising and falling rhythm of her lungs.

As we progressed up the hills, the trees
surrounding us started getting deeper and denser around
us. We could hear the distant chirps of the birds. I could
tell she was tired from the way she was breathing
heavily but she refused to stop for a break. She seemed
really keen to take me to her secret haven. Finally, she
stopped in a spot. A thin trail was surrounded by thick
clusters of pines and birches on both sides. We got off
the cycle and started following that thin dusty trail, Nia
leading my way. I don’t know how to explain it but it
seemed like Nia really belonged there. She walked as if
she knew every nook and corner of the forest, and maybe
she did. She looked around with a smile on her face that
I’ve seen on others when they see their friends after a
long time. The smell of the birches and the feeling of the
soft breeze flowing through the leaves was filling my
senses. Suddenly, Nia stopped in her way and turned
around to look at me. I was about to ask her if something
was wrong but then I saw the mischievous smirk on her
face. God, she looked so much younger than she was.

“Catch me!” she called out to me as she dashed
down the trail.

“Oh yeah? Watch me!”
I called after her as I started running. Just how
energetic was this girl? First, she carried me all the way
here from the cottage on the back of her cycle and now

48

she was running like the wind. We kept on bickering
back and forth as we continued our chase. Even though I
started running short of breath, I couldn’t help but laugh
as I kept on chasing her. God, I felt so alive. I didn’t
really notice when the trail started getting broader and
the trees around us started spreading out. Suddenly, we
were in a clearing with a bright blue lake in the middle.

“This… this is my secret place.” She said as she
finally turned to look at me. From the searching look of
her eyes, I could tell that she was a bit nervous about
how I would feel about the place.

“It’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever
been to” I said, and it was true. The lake was glittering
like gold under the bright sunlight. It was surrounded by
lush green grasses and rainbow coloured wildflowers on
all the sides. The pine trees which covered the perimeter
of the area looked as if they were drawn on an artist’s
canvas. We laid down safely under the shadow of the
trees. The sunlight filtered through the velvety leaves
and fell on our faces like little droplets of golden light. I
was never good at keeping a conversation going with
others. I always felt so anxious in my head when I tried
to think of what to say next. But that never happened
when I was with Nia. We shared so many stories with
each other. We let our unfiltered thoughts reach each
other. At that moment I understood why some people
wished to pause time. If I could be like that with her
forever, I would too. I made her a flower crown with
little wildflowers. It was far from what I had envisioned
though. The petals were a bit crooked at some places and

49

some leaves were sticking out of the warped stems. And
yet, she seemed to love it.

“I hereby declare Nia as the queen of this secret
haven” I said as I put the flower crown on the top of her
head with a flourish. Somehow, that loosely woven
flower crown fit her perfectly. She gently bowed down
to accept my gift and stood straight, like a member of the
royalty, smiling gleefully. Under the sunlight, her long
bushy brown hair was hazel and she was looking like a
nymph of the forest. The sunlight reflecting off the
surface of the lake was falling on her face like golden
shards of light, illuminating her.

“Say something out loud and the trees will say it
back to you” she said. I took some time to think about
what to say. And I shouted her name out loud.
Somehow, it felt like a declaration. She clearly wasn’t
expecting me to say her name and she started laughing,
all giddy with happiness. I willed myself to never forget
that laughter, ever.

“Her majesty wishes to hear a song” she smirked.
“Only if you sing it with me” I countered. She
nodded gently. I remembered the tune which I often
heard her humming to herself. So I started singing it’s
lyrics. Surprise lit up her expression.
“I often heard you humming this tune but I never
interfered, lest you should stop it”.
“I love this song”, she mused. And we sang it
together. The trees sang it back to us. Always on a high
You were always on my mind Dear Wichita The days

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51

Debolina Biswas

Debolina Biswas, 19 and huge procrastinator. She is currently
studying English Honours from Jadavpur University. She prefers
to spend her time painting and getting inspired to paint. Being
an absolute introvert, the second hobby of hers is reading and
writing. She prefers to be in her own little bubble as she isn't
ready to face the harsh world outside.

52

53

54

Gurpriya Kaur Marwah
I am Gurpriya Marwah from Srinagar. I am a student and a
business owner from Pahalgam (a small town near Srinagar) Due
to some ups and downs in my personal life I have had an
encounter with depression and found solace only in writing. I
love to write poetry to promote awareness about mental health
and about women, reminding them what their capabilities are.

55

Ashes to Ashes and Dust to Gold

Upon one winter’s evening, my heart felt an ache so cold.
A fear ran through my soul, my flesh, my blood and my

bones.
The village priest wanted me burnt at stake, said it would

cleanse the evil in me.
Dressed me in white like a freshly fallen snow flake and the

women screamed like a banshee.
They despised me for I was unalike in my appearance, but

more so in the ways one can’t comprehend.
Some said I was a sorceress from hell. Others that I was God

sent.
And when they set me ablaze, the ache in my heart suddenly

vanished.
With me they burnt my sword, for it was deemed too

mannish.
Slowly as the fire devoured me, and the hell opened its gates.

I was mused at what odd turn my life has taken, or was it
destined in my fate.

My body crumbled like an old stone; it was time to blend
with the earth.

But instead, the fire started dying out. Good Lord! Is this my
rebirth?

My heart was still so cold and, in my hand, now a sword of
gold.

Heaven cried out with a thunder that day, it was just like the
seer had foretold.

I was no longer a sorceress now, but a Queen they would
bow down to.

56

“Ashes to Ashes and dust to gold “, they shouted, all
conscious of their failed coup.

Ashes to Ashes and Dust to Gold

Upon one winter’s evening, my heart felt an ache so
cold.

A fear ran through my soul, my flesh, my blood and my
bones.

The village priest wanted me burnt at stake, said it
would cleanse the evil in me.

Dressed me in white like a freshly fallen snow flake and
the women screamed like a banshee.

They despised me for I was unalike in my appearance,
but more so in the ways one can’t comprehend.

Some said I was a sorceress from hell. Others that I was
God sent.

And when they set me ablaze, the ache in my heart
suddenly vanished.

With me they burnt my sword, for it was deemed too
mannish.

Slowly as the fire devoured me, and the hell opened its
gates.

57

I was mused at what odd turn my life has taken, or was it
destined in my fate.

My body crumbled like an old stone; it was time to
blend with the earth.

But instead, the fire started dying out. Good Lord! Is this
my rebirth?

My heart was still so cold and, in my hand, now a sword
of gold.

Heaven cried out with a thunder that day, it was just like
the seer had foretold.

I was no longer a sorceress now, but a Queen they
would bow down to.

“Ashes to Ashes and dust to gold “, they shouted, all
conscious of their failed coup.

58

Star Dust

The moon cast its light on her.
Kissing her with its silver.

She looked like she was carved from the moon dust.
Shiningly beautiful, her blue eyes would glitter.
She sat on the crescent of the moon.
Entangling the stars in her fingers.
Every now and then a star would shoot.
And in her hair the star dust lingers.
But when she tells you, you don’t believe her.
You think she is making it up.
What a shame! that you can’t see what she sees

Until she plucks the stars from the sky and paint your
sins in the stardust.

59

Ishita Chatterjee
Ishita Chatterjee is a 20 year old literature student trying to find
life in stories and stories in life. Religiously in love with Hozier
because they said Mr Darcy was taken (however is still in
denial).
A jumble of anomalies like a cafe lover allergic to coffee, she
saunters through life seeking the perfect red velvet cake and all
things lavender.
Can be found amidst books, looking for everything vintage or
yearning for an older era to which she believes she truly belongs.

60

Letting Go

"If you lay me gently in the cold, dark earth, no
grave could hold my body down, I'd crawl home to
her…"

Except, you weren't gentle with me. No. Gagged
on the very piece of satin that gave away your mistress,
you tried burying me and along with it the memory of
us. Just like you buried our love. But you couldn't, could
you? Because I held on, just like I had spent the better
part of my life holding on to you, trying to love you the
best I could.

That is exactly how I held on to my breaths, the
last vestiges of life dwindling when you left me in that
pit. With the same urgency, the same desperation.

Just like you had pulled me out from rock bottom
the first time I met you, I pulled myself out too,
clambering up with broken and bleeding nails. My hair
still matted with blood, sticking to the side of my face
where you hit me. That was the first time I saw blind
rage and indifference overwhelm you to an extent that
you picked up the glass vase I'd gotten you for our first
anniversary with our initials engraved on it and hurled it
across the room.

Did it cross your mind perhaps that it would hit
me? Had you really outgrown every bit of feeling
towards me? That vase though, silenced the heated

61

bellowing in a way the last bit of love that I thought still
lingered couldn't. But you were too afraid, weren't you?
You were afraid that just like the uncountable splinters
of glass that lay strewn all over the carpet, the very
carpet that had once been witness to us making love on
every possible corner and area of it, you would not be
able to mend this.

Was it that spur of fear that drove you to the edge
of such insanity? I couldn't fathom why and what led to
the very hands that had been my reprieve, my warm
blanket on chilly days, the only home I'd known to do
what it did. To drive to the construction site where we'd
kissed for the first time, our heads reeling giddily,
fingers intertwining like we were long lost lovers
meeting for the first time in aeons. But those very hands
carried my unconscious body to the pit, trying to bury
me under the rubble of dug out earth and cement,
heaving it all on top of me as if I was nothing more than
a mere fragment of your life that you could shove under
the carpet.

Is that what you did when you drove back home,
shove the smithereens under the carpet where the house
help wouldn't find it?

Did you try to wipe off the blood from the wall
just like you desperately attempted to wipe me off from
the reel of your life? Was that all I had become to you?
A blind spot that you wanted to be purged of?

62

Is that why you fell in love with her? She wasn't
a mess like me, was she? Not some labyrinth you had to
find your way through.

She must have been easy, dwelling on the simpler aspect
of things.

These thoughts ricocheting off each other, my
desperation to understand even just one of them is
maybe the sole reason I make my way back home,
scampering unsteadily, tripping over stones more times
than I can count.

You open the door groggily. Have you been
drinking? Didn't peg you as someone who would try to
drink it away. Had I become such an inconsequential
speck in your life? Something that you could drown with
the whisky burning down your throat?

You stand there almost like you'd half expected
me but you don't move.

I can't tell if it's the alcohol numbing your limbs
or the shock.

Never imagined something like this happening
did we, when we whiled away nights talking dreamily,
baking way past midnight with the smell of chocolate
and vanilla wafting through the apartment, the warmth of
love rushing throughout our bodies? Those were the
days weren't they?

63

You have jostled back from your stupor, I see.
You turn around and walk inside, unexpectedly.

But neither of us expected any of what happened
last evening, did we? Did you already know I was going
to forgive you? Like I'd forgiven you the umpteen
number of times you had lied to me? You took it for
granted, didn't you?

You knew that I needed you. You knew that I
could never leave you, betray you. Was it blind trust or a
blind spot?

You had turned to face me now.

You expected an explanation, but so did I. We
both expected things that weren't going to happen, didn't
we? Did you expect me to move close to you, my breath
ragged and fast falling on your face? Did you expect the
sudden kiss that almost came out of the blue? You froze
under my touch. Your body went stiff, not knowing how
to react and also because once again, you didn't
apprehend this.

Maybe that was the moment when, in some nook
hope flickered inside you and you began to let go and
kiss me back. Or was it the hope of redemption?

But you had never been able to figure me out. I'd
always been too much for you to deal with, and perhaps
even live with later on.

64

Just like you couldn't figure out where the sudden
searing pain came from as I thrusted the knife in your
gut, the knife that I picked up from the dining table as I
had staggered in earlier. I feel you squirming under my
lips, trying to scream but there's already blood gushing
out from your lips as I bite in further and all that comes
out of your mouth is a painful gurgle. You remind me so
much of myself on nights that I whimpered just like that,
hunched over on the floor in the washroom, begging for
you to notice, to hold me, hoping against hope that we'd
be us again, happy again. Your eyes too go bleak now,
the colour from your already pale face draining
completely. You slouch against my body as I draw out
the knife for the seventh time. The putrid smell of
alcohol and blood makes me dizzy, I feel like I'm going
to be sick.

"I have to hold on just a little longer", I tell
myself as I let go of you.

You plonk down on the floor with a thud, gashes
all over your chest and stomach. Marks of love?

Your eyes look vacant now, maybe doing justice
to how you felt within for so long. The blood from your
lips is still splattered over mine, dribbling down my chin.
I step over you and trudge into our bedroom, the
weariness swallowing every inch of my body now.

Fear is the heart of love, I think as I open the
second cupboard of the bedside table and take out the
strip.

65

The bed still looks ripe with life, unlike us, the
creases of the bedsheet looking like a feeble imprint of
our love; almost as if it was only yesterday that you
threw me in as I burst into giggles and joined yourself to
smother me with kisses.

I come out and head towards the kitchen. My
vision is blurry now with tears streaming down my face,
my head throbs, pounding beneath the skin of my face. I
can't tell if it's the delirium that is taking over or if I'm
actually mouthing the words that I can hear in my head.

"Love of mine, someday you will die

But I'll be close behind and I'll follow you into
the dark.."

Our song.

The song that we danced to for the first time.

I grapple with the things on the counter dropping
many on the ground before I find a glass. I don't bother
to pick them up.

I reach for the bottle you seemed to have been
drinking from and pour it into the glass. My throat is
parched. God knows I could use a drink.

I sit down on the floor beside you, the tips of
your fingers touching the hem of my dress.

"...fear is the heart of love, so I never went
back.."

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I take out ten from the strip I'd taken out of the
cupboard and put them in my mouth. I take a gulp of the
whiskey I poured myself. I almost can't feel my body
anymore as I chase them down with the entire glass.

The sound grows louder, ringing in my ears,
almost deafening me. I feel my body slump over onto the
ground.

It's finally time to let go.
"The time for sleep is now. But it's nothing to cry
about 'Cause we'll hold each other soon in the blackest of

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Kamalika Dasgupta
Kamalika Dasgupta, 30, is currently pursuing her Ph.D in
Economics from Jadavpur University and is associated with
University of Engineering and management as an assistant
professor of Economics. She is very much fond of Bengali
Literature, especially poetry. She is a total ambivert by nature
but loves to engage into conversations with like minded people.
Herfavourite genre of music is folkand sheis atotalmoviebuff.
Any form of art that reflects the struggle of common people
attracts her the most. Her writings are nothing but a reflection
of her own life experiences. Her dream is to fight for the rights of
the marginal people of the society throughout her life and become
a part of a human library someday.

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I Love You Because...

I loved you because
You gave your hand to the blind man
When no one else’s hand was found

I loved you because
You consoled the bereaved boy
When no one bothered to come around

I loved you because
You fly way higher than so many

Yet your feet touch the ground

I loved you because
You chose a damsel in distress
For whom your love was selfless and profound

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Kousumi Brahma
KousumiBrahma,22,is asunique ashername. Whilepursuing
her passion- Masters in Psychology from the prestigious
University of Calcutta, she mostly seeks solace in her books. A
shy girl from childhood, she grew up expressing herself in her
notebooks and canvas. She has lost her hopeless romantic heart to
old movies and songs but her ideas never lack novelty. Her
ultimate life goal is always to travel through Europe- to feel the
windin her hair, andthe sea at herfeet, cause "la vieestbellé".
(French: life is beautiful)

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Calcutta- My woman
Calcutta, my city, my woman

Eternal love, forever muse
Her kohl rimmed eyes gaze at sunsets-
Her alta feet plays with the holy Ganges,
Her dark wavy hair brushes past her shoulders
and tumbles down her saree clad hips,
oblivious of its powers of turning me into stone- like

Medusa on a non-working day.
Her eyes meet that of an admirer
And she looks way; Not shy, but unbothered
She bites her lips- in cognizance,

And lets them go- in disbelief
Calcutta, my woman-
Who has loved and lost.
Calcutta, my woman-

Who sits there, but doesn't wait.
Calcutta, my woman-

Who has been explored, but not yet discovered.
She plugs in her earphones and closes her eyes

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The music plays with the strings of her soul-
"Yun hi pehloon mein baithe raho,
Aaj Jaane ki Zid Na Karo".

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Mamata Deepak Verlekar
Mamata tferlekar, 25, a Goan by origin, teacher by profession,
poet at heart, lover of Arts literature and culture. She loves to
write ,sing, dance, paint and act. She is saddened by the realities
and darkness that life throws and is often disheartened by the
harsh insensitivities of humankind but also believes in the true
and pure magic of love.

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Anthology
You my dear,
an anthology of tears
collected drop by drop
in a vessel
tears of blue eyes and brown eyes
and green eyes and black and no eyes at all.
tears of colours that transform
from transparent
to all that is and is not
in a rainbow
all that is palpable and elusive
all that is enthralled and
all that is indiscreet
all that is useless and
all that is precious
all that is and is not human
all that simply fills the earth's schism.

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Meghamala Ghosh
Meghamala Ghosh is a third year student of English Literature
at Presidency University, Kolkata. She is quite the connoisseur
of poetry and has a special adoration for feminist poetry of the
likes of Kim Addonizio. A raider of momos and lover of literary
horror aside, she also loves writing and archiving heritage pieces
for her website, The Memory Gazette.

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Beads and Nightshade Threw
away my rosary beads,
Screamed aloud in church,
called the man a bloody bastard,

Adam, was Eve too much?
Ran down to the river,

rubbed my wounds with cloth I stole;
wish I hadn't looked

where my heart had been, there was but a hole.
Tried to forgive myself for what the

rushing blood in my veins refused to learn;
Poured myself a glass to escape

the old women and their darned yarn.
Seeped into my skin and

cut the ropes around my neck;
The breeze scattered my atoms- ne'er a sound was made-

till the three men cried "Bella donna"
I had ceased to be but a shade.

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Mrittika Das
Mrittika Das, 21, is studying at Presidency University, Kolkata,
majoring in Life Sciences. She has always been an ardent lover of
fiction and fantasy and continues to enjoy literary and cinematic
works of both. She is shy at first, but once she gets to know
people and becomes really close to them, she is bound to lighten
up their day. Nature photography makes her happy and the
minute details of every aspect of life bewilders her. Dancing is
her passion and her family is her life. She can relate more to the
millenials in spite of belonging to Gen Z.

Her love for animals, especially dogs, surpasses everything.

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The Last Vow

It was a stretched and monotonous walk from the
library to his home. Nils was exhausted from the day’s
proceedings at the courtroom and had gone to the library
for a good read. He didn’t bother borrowing a book as he
was a busy man and hated keeping a book on the shelf
for show. He felt it was an insult to the author and their
writing and Nils being some sort of a writer himself did
not encourage it.

As he was walking down the porch, imagining
about the paranormal that he just read off the magazine,
he struck upon an idea. Nils always wanted to know the
unfamiliar. He decided on borrowing a Ouija Board from
the local antique shop.

Nils was a divorcee, having lead a long-married
life of 10 years, most of which was filled with agony and
distaste. He never knew love and was glad to have come
out of that tagged relationship, 6 months ago. But he
believed that love found the right person at the right
time, and as always, his beliefs were rewarded by a
young little boy he met at the slum about two days back.
The lad was no more than eleven and he had dark blue
eyes which were so similar to Nils’. ‘What an uncanny
resemblance!’, Nils was dumbfounded. At that very
moment, he decided upon visiting the child every week
and tutoring him. The child was initially modest but later
happily agreed to the proposal. Nils realised he had

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unknowingly started embracing fatherhood through this
boy whom he named Jim.

Entering his living room, immersed in thoughts,
Nils suddenly got startled when he found those blue eyes
staring back at him. For a second he almost believed he
had travelled through time 30 years back to his
childhood but instantly recalled Jim once the daze faded
away. Jim had come along to ask for a favour of him. He
wanted to stay with Nils as he was determined on
staying by the side of his father figure for as long as he
could. Nils realised by the way Jim talked that he was
too mature for his age, but then most of the slum
children were. He wondered how Jim got inside his
house without a key but then shrugged off his
contemplation and agreed to him delightedly. He fought
off tears welling up in his eyes and hugged Jim tight.

The next day onwards Nils and Jim started a new
life together. Nils had completely forgotten about his
will to borrow the Ouija board for his experiment. He
had lots of other important duties in mind, most of which
were dedicated to Jim. Things did get a bit grim with
having to manage his law firm and Jim’s regular
homework (Nils had enrolled Jim into a local primary
school) simultaneously but nonetheless he felt more
alive.

6 months passed by. It was peculiar as to how
Jim was a fast learner and an avid reader. He made
frequent visits to the library. At just eleven, he could

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recite tales of Shakespeare and even explain the three
laws of Kepler’s Planetary Motions.

Nils became suspicious but resolved to overlook
the fact that a little boy of the slum can get so scholarly
in such a short time. He was pleased to have stumbled
upon Jim.

One night, during the 7th month of his stay with
Jim, Nils was awakened from his deep sleep by a tut-tut
noise. He got scared at first, but got off his bed to
explore. He could see a faint blue light flashing from his
study. Nils shoved the door heavily and was staggered
by what he saw. There was a Ouija board on the table
and Jim was sitting by the fire with his eyes closed, fists
clenched. On scrutinizing further, he caught a glimpse of
a young lady in a blue wedding gown with long braided
hair, hovering above Jim, her right hand on his shoulder.
Nils instantly knew who it was.

Before his 10-year marriage, Nils was in a 5-year
relationship with the girl of his dreams, Ira. They loved
each other dearly and had everything one could ask for,
health, wealth and fame. They were the most popular
couple of their University and the most promising ones
too. Even before they got engaged, they had made
marital vows and intended on keeping them. Everything
was just as it should have been, until their big day. Ira
had dressed up for the wedding just as Nils had wanted
her to. Standing at the pastor, watching Ira walk down
the aisle, Nils realised she was the most beautiful woman
he had ever laid eyes on. But their pleasure was short-

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lived. A mass attack of masked men at the church
claimed the lives of many, including that of Ira’s, who at
the time was a month pregnant with Nils’ child and
wanted it to be a wedding surprise for him. Nils barely
escaped with his life that day, not even getting an
opportunity for a farewell. But he chose to forget the
past and start a new life. It was difficult to move on, but
he eventually did.

While Ira sported a soft smile explaining her sad
story, Nils knew immediately what he wanted. He
begged Ira to reunite him with herself and Jim and
explained that he wanted to fulfil his vows to her. “You
kept your last vow Nils.”, Ira beamed. “You took good
care of your son, but now it is time for us to go!”

`It was as if Ira knew the pain that Nils had gone
through all these years, alone, and wanted him to know
love even if for a few months. She had sent her son to
his father to experience all the fatherly affection that he
had been exempted from in these 10 years. Nils kept
staring at the ceiling blankly until Ira vanished into thin
smoke, her arms wrapped around her beloved son. It was
at last a farewell!

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Nairita Samajpati
Nairita Samajpati, a 20 year old who tries to find rhythm in the
rustling of leaves, in the spring breeze and in the thunders from
stormy nights.Loves to stayhigh on caffeine and Blues from the
olden days. She's an ambivert with a love to explore her
surroundings and can possibly end up marrying Nature if it turns
into a human someday! She loves to be of help to people in need
and turns into an absolute family whenever anyone falls into any
crisis.
She seems to care about animals and become their best friends
and even seems to talk to them! And one thing which is never
going to leave her is her love for scribbling down poems.

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Dear Daughter of Mine

To my future daughter,
I am going to be there for you through, if not almost of

it.
Laugh with you when you need a friend.
Hold you tight when you are failing in life.

It is never the end, alright?
Get yourself as many bruises as you can as a child,
For the playground will be filled with new faces ten

years from then,
We'll have popsicles in the evening.
And while we cook dinner together
I might just burn myself looking at a part of me trying to

help me with her little hands.
And when you finally fall in love
And come home late one winter night not looking so

alright,
We will talk about regrets, mistakes and memories worth

made
And raise a toast to a life of mountains, sunshine and

beaches waiting for us ahead.

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