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




Dear Readers,

Here we present the grand new issue
of Branwyn.
Alongwith our Star Columnists, we
are featuring prominent authors like
Sankalp Kohli, Paritosh Yadav, Moni
Mohsin, Anita Shirodkar, Veerendra
Kapoor and others in this issue.
The Special Cover Story has been
taken from a Chapter of the novel
The Hackster.
We hope you will enjoy this issue.
Dont forget to drop an email about
your impression for the issue.
Your suggestions and feedback are
very valuable for us.

With warm regards,
Sneha Rahul Choudhary






Tomorrow and Tomorrow

Tomorrow tomorrow and tomorrow
Dont induce into me
The concept of dusty death;
Instead,
They enchant me
To an uncharted land of divine bliss
That could have been mine right now
But that is denied!

May be
I deserved it
For the deeds
Lodged in an unredeemable past;
But that could be
Only when tomorrow comes by!

Yesterday, today and tomorrow converge
In the myth of my personal life
Which is also the myth of universal life!

Time is continuous with soul
That dies not;
Time will die when death die
But soul, my soul
My personal-universal myth
Is immortal,
It is a continuity
In which a divine will dwells!

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



Alpine Ambergris : Dr. Subodh Kumar Jha


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!






28th September 8pm
The monsoon rains clambered down the city walls,
drowning the sound of the cars that rolled by him.
The dark and gloomy night aptly matched the
darkness in his own abandoned soul abandoned
by the system, abandoned by his country,
abandoned by his own people.
The Worli Sea Face that always brimmed with the
laughter and astonished sighs of its daily visitors
had turned into an isolated part of the city today
owing to the heavy torrential rains which the
weather department had failed to forecast. In the
blinding rain and strong winds, no one could be
seen as far as the walkway stretched. The always-
on-the-go city of Mumbai had come to a standstill,
except for one restless man Vikram.
He stood there, gazing at the vast and restive
waters of the Arabian Sea; his eyes half shut, to
avoid the salty splash of water that blurred his
vision. His drenched hair did not flutter even in the
rough winds coming in with the ocean tide. His
eyebrows gave way to the water which fell from
his brow in an oddly periodic rhythm. With every
drop falling on him the world around slowed
down. Behind him loomed a few of Mumbai's huge
yet dull skyscrapers, looking lifeless and grey in
the rain. Beyond them, the rest of the glittering city
was reaching out to the sky; the city's spirit was as
high as it had always been. If someone were
listening to the city's instinct, they would know
that something very ugly was about to happen.
Something was about to go missing; something
larger than life was going to be robbed of it.
The city of dreams was going to lose its prized
relentless spirit.
His feet were firmly planted on the slippery stones
of the sea face that were cut perfectly square to
give continuity to the beautiful bend along the
shore. Sunk in his thoughts, he allowed himself a
long awaited moment of silence and calm. A serene
moment was a rare luxury for a fugitive running
from the state. He slowly breathed in the fresh air,
savouring those special moments and saving them
within himself for the coming storm.
When his lungs had taken in all the fresh air they
could, he felt his heart beating with renewed
vigour; he turned away from the sea and looked at
the tall and monstrous buildings behind him. He
felt a powerful surge of anxiety within him. He
acknowledged the brilliant universe of lights in the
buildings all around him and thanked the city and
its people. They had provided him with a new
sense of purpose and pretence of peace thus
rescuing him from a very helpless time in his life.
He was grateful to so many people in his life that
had helped him unravel the ways of the world.
His eyelids were wet and yet his eyes were dry; his
focus firmly set on those who had ruined his happy
memories. A predatory desire rose inside him
wanting to strike at the evil men who had
destroyed the system. His mind was clouded with
rage. All he wanted to achieve was a successful hit
at the system, at its foundation and cripple the evil
that seemed to forever plague his country.
Tomorrow was the big day and he was ready for
the events to come. The sense of having immense
power, that made him capable of crippling the
whole monetary system and making the giant
powerful corporations fall like a pack of cards,
made him smirk.
He started to walk away from the sea shore,
pondering over the ill effects of the existing flawed
system. Assurances had become hard to come by
these days. The newspapers were filled with
revelations of the government's instability. Scams
and frauds were on an all-time high, more so
because they were being unearthed now on a daily
basis. Sting operations were becoming so common
that even they couldn't raise the TRP's of news
channels anymore.
Since the nation's independence, the system had
been taking advantage of the low levels of public
attention. It was now entering an evolved stage
where obscurity could be controlled from within;
paying money to buy out the eyes and ears of a
country. The media was out for sale; political
parties were pumping huge sums of money to
doom the opposition. It was a dangerous
proposition by any logic. The unregulated economy
too was hurting the country; the currency was in a
state of free-fall, creating an army of worried faces
all across the country, more so in its financial
capital. Topping it off, this was the worst rain that
had hit the city in many a seasons.

Sea Face
The universe and times were simply vibrating out
of control.
As he made his way to his hotel through the water
clogged streets, he looked at the restless faces that
drove past him, eager to make it home on time. As
always, the most unpredictable Metrological
Department with their legacy systems had
forecasted the weather to worsen in the next forty
eight hours.
In this time of uncertainty, he had made sure of one
thing. Tomorrow it would rain down even harder.
He was confident of everything he had done in the
last few years. Every decision he had taken was
taken with full certainty. His mind was flooded
with doubts and confusions. Why was he chosen
for bearing all these miseries? What wrong did his
parents do of those corrupt politicians? Why had
life betrayed him?
Ever since he had driven his car out of his ancestral
hometown with his father's briefcase, things had
changed drastically in his life. The calm of his life
was gone. The dreams of living a stable life in his
forties with two kids and a loving wife were all
abandoned midway. The abandoned dreams and
his unstable life had given rise to stability of a
different kind with purpose that had remained
unchanged for some time now. Like Arjuna from
Mahabharat, his aim was sharp; for him hitting the
bird's eye was destruction of the corrupt politics of
India.
Every time he thought about the way his family
was murdered and his life destroyed, he was
enveloped by rage. His life was uprooted every
time it made an attempt to flourish. Initially his fits
of rage would start with a shudder in his spine and
then jump to his brain, blinding him with a
destructive and painful agony for hours. With time,
Vikram had learnt a way to manage his fits better.
He had succeeded in gaining some control over
them. Now, there were just a few occasional
shudderings in his spine. He had naturally forged a
symbiotic relationship with his anger as he learnt
to feed it with regular doses of direction. The
otherwise destructive rage rewarded him with all
the bursts of motivation he desperately needed to
achieve his next target - a financial doomsday.
His lean silhouette had an air of unwavering
confidence against the stormy night sky. He was
walking upright with his head held high; he saw
the bald patriotic man with his walking stick who
had stood pure at heart and untarnished for the
last century. Vikram felt that his own stature
matching the famous patriot; he was going to do
what should have been done much earlier. He was
going to liberate his beloved country. He was going
to rob the system of the money it boasted about
and was going to bring it to bankruptcy.
His face was emotionless and it glistened red with
the reflections of passing tail lights. His hands were
relaxed inside the front pockets of his jacket and
his breathing was steady. Only he knew what was
to come. Only he had a measure of the power that
he held that night.
At one corner of the road he saw a few policemen
stopping every other person on a bike and
harassing them until they extracted some money
out of them. His anger surfaced as he saw the
Public guardians of the city seeking bribes from the
bikers and he expelled it in the form of a loud
shout. This is what I will end. This corrupt system
is what will cease to exist once I am done with my
plan.
Grimly, he appreciated the skill that was required
by these men to seamlessly turn themselves into
uniformed mafia members. They seemed to be
managing pretty well for themselves. This
uniformed mafia had perfected the art of spotting
fear in the eyes of their prey.
They carefully avoided the elite and nabbed the
most simple city folk. With time, they had forgotten
their real duty and, now, instead of safeguarding
the interest of people, they were just busy
safeguarding their own monetary interests.
His anger eliminated any remaining guilt he felt for
his act of cleansing the state, i.e. taking whole of
the police department for a ride by breaking into
their criminal database. He had done that for a
purpose, but the police department, as usual, had
missed the bigger picture.
Though minor thefts and security breaches were
potent victories for Vikram, but the purpose
behind them was to find a security loophole in the
Arms and Ordinance Node placed at Srinagar in the
police headquarters. It was also the only gateway
to their regional criminal database.
His prior experience at WARP Cyber Security Lab,
one of India's foremost and advanced cyber
research lab and security solutions provider came
in handy. He conducted the entire operation in
such a precise manner that it went unnoticed by
investigators. They termed it a routine hack failure.
The security watchdogs documented the incident
as a routine virus when they failed to catch a whiff
of what was actually happening.
To them, it seemed as if some rogue code had been
unable to maintain its hold on the central
repository for more than a few seconds. But,
Vikram had designed his code to do precisely that.
A few minutes were all that Vikram had needed, for
his plan was simple. A favour for an old friend,
Ashfaq, did not need more than three steps.
Enter into the server of the department.
Break into the right server.
Clear the name of his friend, Ashfaq, from the list of
arms dealer with a pending investigation and get
out unscathed.
Ashfaq was his dear friend from Srinagar High
School. Their friendship went back to the time
when Vikram's father was posted at the Srinagar
branch of Indian Centre for Data Analysis. In the
past few years, his friend had managed to make
quite a name for himself as an illegal arms dealer.
But soon what had started off as a small time
business to provide fire-arms to the innocent
families living in the border areas, so that they
could protect themselves from militant attacks,
took form of an illegal smuggling of arms and
ammunition.
The Intelligence Bureau, unable to stop the illegal
trade somehow got Ashfaq's scent and had him
jailed for illegal arms dealing.
Ashfaq's limited resources and favours were soon
exhausted and he couldn't save himself from the
continuous harassment by the local police. Finally,
help came in the form of Vikram, a trusted friend,
who had not hesitated for a single moment to look
into the matter. And thanks to Vikram's two
minute operation, Ashfaq was able to make a fresh
start. He promised Vikram that he would drop out
of his network and cease all his activities. That was
all Vikram had wanted to hear.
Thank you, my friend. I am forever indebted by
what you have done for me. Ashfaq blurted before
breaking down in front of him.
For those few moments time stopped for them, and
the memories of their childhood came rushing. In
that moment they were once again the same
twelve year olds with an unconditional friendship.
I will not accept any thanks from you. This was my
duty as a friend and I would do it again, smilingly,
if the need ever arose. Besides, this was a moment
which was bigger than any of us could have ever
imagined. We would be remembered by the billion
others who stand to gain from it. We are creating a
future; a much needed transparent one. said
Vikram, as he took his leave.
As Vikram left with a smug smile on his face,
Ashfaq wondered what those words really meant
but he smiled through his tears. Vikram was his
true friend.
It being his first hack attempt, he was bound to
make mistakes. And he did too. He did not cover
his tracks. But, thankfully, the lazy investigating
officers were not interested in the incident.
Ironically, the laziness that he hated the most in
the system was something that had helped him
escape.
The police department never worked
wholeheartedly towards completing Vikram's
profile and publishing it in their database.
Obviously, they had not faced any pressure from
the higher ups to turn up the heat and catch this
small time mischief maker. Why would the higher
ups be concerned about these trivial matters when
there were larger schemes that begged their
attention?
The lure of those schemes was irresistible.
His second big act was played in Pune - a tricky
and tidy experience for Vikram. And this time it
was the Reserve Bank of India (RBI) which was to
be hacked. The RBI was no ordinary place and it
maintained its own constant vigil over its facilities
where thousands of crores of rupees were
transacted every second.
His aim was to track all the banking transactions
occurring in the country, but it was easier said
than done. It required entry into secret vaults of
RBI datacenter in Pune which was protected by
black cat commandos placed every hundred
meters of the perimeter, the CCTV surveillance and
high end biometrics solutions. Without any doubt
it was the most guarded place in India.
The datacenter was out of reach of anyone and
everyone except the person who had access to
the designs of the architecture of the whole system
for RBI, at WARP Cyber Security Research Lab;
Vikram, an ex-employee of WARP Cyber Security
Research Lab.
It had taken Vikram a little longer than expected to
gain access to the server room. The advanced
systems in the premises of RBI had just one thing
that was old fashioned and that were its air
conditioners. The cooling systems were old and
reflected the lethargy of a government
maintenance contract. For dodging the security
checks, Vikram found a perfect disguise as an AC
repair man and the frequent visits to set right the
problematic old air conditioning system ensured
that on one of his many visits he found the right
server where the piece of code, especially designed
by him, had to be targeted.
As he stood in the server room of RBI, he saw the
optical fibre cables that transmitted thousands of
crores worth of digital money from one server to
another. It was a state of the art system which left
him mesmerised. The array of servers with a
complex network of cables gave the techie in him
an adrenaline kick. Regular visits meant that he
was no longer an object of suspicion. The criticality
of his activity lay in going unnoticed. He carefully
placed his signature sniffer on the main Analog to
Digital convertor as the A-D converter was a
perfect place to sniff on the bank's transmission
data. Even after his task was completed, he kept
coming to the facility for a couple of days to kill any
suspicion on him or in case the bug was detected,
and once sure that the job was executed as
planned, he left unnoticed with a smug smile on his
face.
With his third strike he wanted to take on the
Democratic Alliance Party (DAP) who had been
ruling the country undisputedly for past twenty
years. The Democratic Alliance Party ruled from
the centre with its trademark high-handed style.
This style was developed over the period of last
twenty five years intrinsically, as the party had
evolved with progressing times.
The key behind this undisputed rule of the party at
the centre was the ideology of 'Divide and Rule'
which was implied both within the party and the
country. Prime Ministers and national agendas
kept giving way to one-another but only one thing
was constant in the 25 years of rule, the party's
hunger for power, and to achieve that there was a
continuous shuffling in DAP's cabinet.
With an ever changing party complexion, Krishna
Chaturvedi had played the role of the script writer
of the strongest political party in India. The
wrinkles on his face were a testament to his
immensely experienced, cunning and well-
articulated mind. As a student of socio-political
landscaping, he had developed a formidable
combination of political theories and a practical
way of pulling the ropes to get things done.
In his party's ongoing fifth term, Krishna had
forecasted the high dependence that Indian politics
would have on alliances and coalitions. To
maintain an easier degree of control and tighter
rope on his ministers, the ingenious Krishna had
decided that he would have a database, containing
all the dirty work of his fellow politicians that
would lie beyond the eyes of the world. In the
truest sense, this database would not be linked to
internet or any other system and hence would act
as an independent network with no external
transmissions whatsoever. It would be for his eyes
only.
Krishna knew it well that politics was a game of
leverages that had ever changing forms of favours,
promises and investments. Thus collecting dirt on
his own party members, allowed him to gain that
leverage on proceedings. The party funds had to be
tracked to a great depth in the long hierarchy of
corruption to maintain order. After all, bribes were
the most significant investment to maintain power.
His brainchild had collated data for almost a
decade now and was the crux to maintain power at
the central level. Almost no one had any idea of
such a system existing, not even most members of
his cabinet.
Vikram always believed that there had to be a
system to manage those thousands of party
workers in this age of authoritative centralization.
He knew that for an organization of a national
magnitude, like DAP, to sustain for these many
years at the pinnacle of all business, economic and
political power, it would require a coordinated
effort of an equivalent magnitude through a
computerized system.
Since his search over the internet had not shown
any such system, he was convinced that the mother
ship was very safely guarded and was yet to be
found. And he had to go exploring in DAP to find
out the existence of the king maker's server.
But unlike other times this time he was not going
to risk himself, as it was much easier for Vikram to
get his work outsourced. The Home Minister, Mr.
Ramanujan Thayal, had chosen an ambitious peon
in Anand, to get things done around his office with
some energy. This was a mistake of a rookie.
Politics did not have any place for raw energy. It
was a place for endless calculations and calculated
risks.
Vikram targeted Anand and convinced him to place
a black dot in the receiver piece of his employer's
phone and a pen drive in one of the party servers.
In return, Anand got the money he had demanded
to fulfill his dreams. In a few days, with some
money in his pocket, Anand left the job and went
back to his village to try his luck at his father's
kirana shop.
As tapped transmissions led to information on
open bank accounts, social media, and internal
applications of the Ministry, Vikram's neighbours
started noticing an ever increasing smug smile on
his face.
Days started passing, but even his continuous
efforts at sniffing the internet traffic through his
sniffers were not yielding any positive results in
locating the system. Sometimes he doubted
whether such a system even existed, but then his
gut feeling always indicated that such a system did
exist. In fact, the near future depended on its
existence.
Vikram snapped out of his thoughts as water
dripped from his brow. He let his mind drift to
humanity as he had often done in his college days.
He pondered over the polar opposites that lived in
both man and nature. Man would never rest, and
nature would never budge from its position of
authority and power. This was a dialogue that
designed an intricate and beautiful continuity that
all sciences worshipped and in the hearts of
academicians they acknowledged the existence of
such an interconnection.
Vikram knew that he had battled too many
questions of his own for too long. These questions
had changed the way in which he perceived things
to exist. Life, for him, was turning out to be a Ponzi
scheme played by an expert hand. The scheme was
a complex one and was riddled with traps which he
had meticulously unmade one by one. It was now
time to attain answers. And he had found his
answers in SNAGROM a device conceptualized by
his father, but built and made operational by him
with a few modifications to avenge the death of his
patriotic father who had sacrificed his whole life
for the progress of beloved country, India, only to
be publicly humiliated and pronounced a terrorist
with links to Pakistan's ISI by the ruling party of
India, The Democratic Alliance Party.
He was standing with firm feet on his neatly cut-
out masterpiece. Now, there was this one last
lethal move which would set a trail of events in
continuity moving towards a beautiful end.
- The chapter has been taken from the novel The
Hackster written by Sankalp Kohli and Paritosh
Yadav. Born and brought up in Kanpur, Sankalp is a
MBA Graduate from NMIMS, Mumbai. An
entrepreneurial soul with an imprint of a
perfectionist, he is a workaholic who believes in
turning every single moment of life into something
constructive and fruitful.
He is a person who holds his parents above all, especially
his mother. All his dreams and aspirations are driven by his
wish to make his parents feel proud.
His earlier works with the pen, in form of BecauseEvery
Raindrop is a HOPE and When I Found You, I Found Myself
has resonated loudly with his readers. With his third book,
Equilibrium he has ventured into a new genre where his
contemporary and provocative self comes alive in a sci-fi
thriller. Besides, At the age of 23, Paritosh Yadav has
travelled and lived across different cultures. He graduated
from NMIMS University in 2013 as an MBA in the field of
telecom technology.
His enthusiasm for reading, and his extreme fascination and
passion about the ingenuity in designs and ideas inspired
him to begin writing his debut novel, Equilibrium.
His unique perspectives about life are derived out of his
diverse set of experiences. He has been writing since the
age of 12 which turned him into a blogger and eventually a
song writer for his college band. He has a collection of short
stories too in his unpublished work. He pursues his
interests in technology when he is not busy writing.
He is inspired by the limitlessness of imagination and
incorporates it in his innovative writing. He is very attached
to his realistic and life like characters and is able to bring
them to life in his work.













Sankalp Paritosh


























































































































































Nandita Dharkar, a strikingly
beautiful and talented architect,
relocates to Mumbai from Delhi,
seeking new horizons and
compelling explanations about
ghosts from her mothers past.

As she revels in her newfound
independence and forges new
friendships, her job at a prestigious
architect firm brings suave hotelier
Aryan Rai into her lifeand she
falls hopelessly in love with him. But
when her best friend, the carelessly
handsome Aditya Arora, suddenly
lands on her doorstep, Nandita
realizes how fickle the heart can be.

In the midst of it all, she is unable to
forget the mysterious letter she had
discovered in her mother's
jewellery box. When she embarks
on a quest to find out the identity of
the letter writer, shocking secrets
about her mothers past come to the
forefront.

Will this shatter Nandita or will she
heal through forgiveness?









Road Craze

A man is no longer sage, but he is in a cage
to road rage that is how my blog looked a
few days ago, reminiscing few of the
instances from the cacophony of memories.
I was driving back home and was weaving
through plethora of cars hurtling past mine.
Beads of rain were decking my windscreen
and I stretched my palm out to soak it in my
senses. Mellifluous saxophone on the car
stereo set the tone right. I could feel myself
prancing with the undulating breeze.
My utopia was jolted to a stuttering snarl. I
could hear hollering at the top of
somebodys exhausted lungs. I did a quick
recce of the area and my eyes met
descended upon a Honda CRV and Hero
Splendor bike. The young lad at the wheels
of the SUV was livid and was gesturing at the
Splendor rider who still wore the helmet
(Archaic commodity for Gen X & Y). There
was a heated argument between the two of
the reasons that were unknown to me and to
other patient bystanders.
Then came the twist to it, a burly man
disembarked the fuel guzzling vehicle and
took the reins in his fists. He started raining
fists at the alarmed biker and the entire
amphitheatre of spectators applied
screeching breaks to savor the IRRL, Indian
Road Rage League. The uncouth young
assailant kept plonking blows at the elderly
uncles helmet. He almost smashed the
daylights out of him; it was their hollering
which revealed that the tussle was about the
bike scraping the sides of the SUV.
I kept cogitating about the victim who was
an elderly and how he would be feeling
about the whole incident. The ones who
assaulted him were good enough to be of his






sons age but that never occurred to them.
How that gentleman faced his family that
night? Did he sleep peacefully? Were his
eyes evading the gaze of his family? These
questions rose to a crescendo in my
conscience.
Are we trying to usurp Gods role? Have
unbridled emotions/ hormones driven us to
insanity? Why are the numbers of road rage
incidents spawning exponentially? Scrap of
metal that you drive; is it more valuable than
the human life? Has flexing muscles on road
become a trend in vogue? Why is a man in a
cage to a road rage?










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.
















The Colors She Wore
- Shruti Fatehpuria
She brought colors in the life of her Mum which
was otherwise colorless. Her Mum named her
Color and despite being a different name, she loved
it.
She always loved colors and made it a point to
dress in as much color as she could. She radiated
happiness and brought smiles wherever she went.
One day, she met a guy who stole her heart with
his tales. He had too many stories to tell and she
felt like someone had truly painted her canvas in
the brightest of shades. For someone who spent
her life bringing colors in other lives, she vibrated
alive at finding someone who could bring color to
her life. It didnt take her long to realize that
Ranganathan was the man she wanted to spend the
rest of her life with.
She was so fascinated by his tales of India that she
decided to leave her life in the upscale cities of
London and settle in India with him. She bid her
mother a teary goodbye and promised to stay in
touch.
Color went to India to share her vibrancy and
shades in one of the most culturally advanced
country of the world. She was loved by one and all
and why not? After all, she brought in instant
happiness and joy wherever she went. She
continued dressing in her style, but once in a while,
she would wear the Indian saree but made sure
that it had more than three colors.









She loved Ranganathan and the area where she
lived in; people started calling the pair as Ranga
and Rangi. She was thrilled to know about the
Hindi version of her name. After three years of
their marriage, Ranganathan had to leave her for a
business trip. It was the first time they were
parting and she was immensely sad. However, she
was a strong independent woman and so they
kissed and whispered their goodbye.
Three days later, as Ranganathan was about to
return, he called his wife while driving. They were
talking of the forever promises when the line was
sharply cut. Immediately, Color knew that
something was amiss. Her world was shifting and
she could sense how the colorful colors were
draining away slowly but painfully from her face.
After four hours and forty five minutes, she
received a call that confirmed her psychic senses,
Ranganathan was dead in a road accident. So much
for her colorful life! She was devastated, but she
knew life is not about drowning yourself in grief.
Ranga would die after his death to see the love of
his life die like this. She vowed to live, but it was
then that the culturally rich country showed its
true color. A widow couldnt wear colors; she was
chained in white saree and stripped of the bindi
she loved so much. It was time for Color to live a
colorless life of a widow. Wow, so much for the
glorious culture. The oxymoron stared at her. The
colors mocked her and so did her name. !!











The next thing that I knew was that the excruciating pain had
faded abruptly.
Before the state of bliss that suddenly took over had sunk in, I
saw him- the dark skinned one.
He had big eyes, which were closed as if in half-sleep. His flute
created a harmony that left me bereft of feeling anything except
the perfect melody that encompassed everything.
He stopped suddenly. He looked at me, and smiled, and was
about to resume playing his flute when I interrupted him
inquisitively.
The colorful feather of the peacock that waved on his coronet
was almost submerged in the greenery of the background. I knew
who he was. What I didnt know was, what had happened to me.
I was in the middle of the War, Kanha, in the middle of the flurry
of bullets, skillfully avoiding each one of them, when I felt that
pain. And then I am here with you, Kanha. Where am I now?
He didnt even bother to explain.
Does it mean I am dead?
Going by your definition of the word, I may say, yes. he said
casually.
And what is going by your definition of the word supposed to
mean? Does it mean that there are worlds which I will now
enter?
He smiled. Your world is what you think it is. Actually, your
world was what you thought it was, simply because you didnt
know yourself.
I am dead. I dont know what my wife is going to do, or how my
mother is, or whether my daughter will be safe. Dont you see I
scarcely have appetite for your riddles?
He laughed. A clear, shimmering laughter!
You held the body of a warrior. Not entirely misplaced, I may
add. You were fighting someone down there. Now you are
fighting me. What an irony- I am all that there is. So technically
speaking, your life is over, your war is not.
Wait, wait, wait. What do you mean I was fighting you? Why
would I fight you? I was deployed by the Indian Army, fighting
the infiltration on the borders of the country, when you killed
me, and now you are punishing me for fighting you? Go back in
history, and see. In fact Kanha, I was praying by your name for
protection- you obviously didnt heed to it
He was unaffected, examining his golden flute with keen eyes.
Oh, forget it! You wont get it yet- how I wish you did! Whom
you were fighting was a manifestation. Of you. Or of me.
Whatever you want to call it. As for the punishment, look, I am
unbiased and disinterested in these matters. As you sow, so shall
you reap my friend. Dont blame me for things which I dont
determine, simply because it is convenient for you. Comply. And
trust me, Karma is the only unfailing justice that there is, was or
shall be. Take my word for it.
He resumed his music.







Nothing else seemed to matter. The bliss was comprehensive, as
if it was all that there was. I dont know what made me interrupt
him to ask my plight.
Dont worry. You are being reborn. A cute little girl child is on
the way. Hang on for a while.
That is my punishment for fighting you?
Shut up. Why would I punish you? I mean, why?
I stood there, unnerved.
Dont worry he said consolingly after a while you were close to
the Nishkaam Karma as a soldier. You did your duty, and were
not too worried about the consequences. A human body is the
second best place to be in. There you go!
And what is the first?
A wry smile spread over his face That is why you are being
given the human body. To seek the answer! Ironically, you came
close, but you arent there yet. And you have to go back, because
you are still stuck. Go now. He waved.
I had loads of questions, but felt myself drifting. I was being
thrust into the world he was sending me.
I hope, Kanha, that you are sending me into the world through
the body of a Hindu woman. I wouldnt be worshipping you if I
wasnt.
He looked at me. It suddenly descended upon me a flash:
SAMBHAVAMI YUGE YUGE
Bye for now. Too many questions. Seek your own answers. Go!
he gesticulated.
But I am yet to receive your answer. You mentioned-Your world
was what you thought it was, simply because you didnt know
yourself. Now what is that supposed to mean?
He broke into an enigmatic smiled that seemed to have engulfed
my entity- That is the greatest paradox of the universe that I
created. Or more appropriately, the universe that is me. If you
knew who I am, you would know who you are. And if you knew
you, you would know me. Either ways, the question is redundant.
That is why, my friend, you will have to be sent back to the world
you came from. Seek the answer. When you get it, you will come
back to me. Or elseyou will come back to me, just to go back.
He winked with a trace of mischief in his eyes. See you in some
time!




When I met Kanha
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.



























































































































































Mahatma Gandhi needs no introduction. An icon revered by millions across
the world, he led a country to freedom through methods and principles never
used before. What was it about Gandhi that made him an icon? How did a frail,
ordinary man bring about a revolution? And how did he manage to rope in
the poor, the working class, the elite and the intelligentsia to work together?

In this one-of-a-kind self-help book, Virender Kapoor analyses Gandhis
methods and derives leadership lessons from his life, explaining how readers
can successfully employ these in their own lives. He reveals how Gandhi
carefully analysed situationsthe precursor of SWOT analysesbefore
formulating the best way to deal with them. It was thus that he formulated the
idea of Satyagraha. He also shows that Gandhi understood the power of
emotional appeal, and used sincerity rather than empty rhetoric to maximize
on this. In other words, he walked the talk. These and other strategies by
Gandhi provide important lessons for leaders of any era, in any capacity. The
key, he reveals, is to adapt, rather than adopt, Gandhis philosophy in action.

Inspirational yet relatable, Leadership: the Gandhi Way is a unique take on
Mahatma.






























































































































































Inked !


A simple glance at your hand
untangles the sepia memory strands,
to the boulevards of past
through the labyrinths of
summer last

Romance splattered and scrawled
splashed against the walls
of lazy Sunday noon
of bleak nights and luminous moons
of
the squiffy sunsets
barren of uninvited regrets.

And I escape this inane
routine, all so mundane,
to the night you dared to ink
your left hand, without a blink.
I always knew, you don't shrink
under what others think.

For you it was, not an aberration
but a pious symbol of veneration,
representing our ties, carnal
and spiritual. Somehow both eternal.

- Vikash Kumar































































































































































I tell you the halaats are so bad, so bad that dont even ask. The
Talibans sitting on top of our heads, bombs bursting left, right and
centre, drones droning away, load-shedding a hundred hours a
day, servants answering back, in-laws trying to upstage you,
friends throwing you out of their kitties and on top of that
elections ka tamasha. Janoo tau is coming closer and closer to a
nervous break out while Mummy is getting sterile dementia. As for
Kulchoo, bhai, dont even ask.

But Ive decided, come what may, I tau am not going to let anyone
clamp my style. Im going to live just as I like-watching my Turkish
soaps, going to GTs and weddings, throwing kitty parties, telling
everyone everything saaf-saaf and of course, doing summers in
London-voh tau must hai na. And Im going to do it in my Jimmy
Choo ki heels and my sleeveless designer shirts and my streaked
hair and my Prada ki sunglasses. This much Im telling you all from
now only. So tighten your seat belts, okay?





























































































































































Where is the heaven?

- Neharika Saxena

Where is the heaven? Can anyone reply?
How can I reach there? Do I have to fly?
Is it above us in the sky?
can I climb up ever so high?
Is it below us down and deep?
Can I ever dig enough for a peep?
Is it hidden far on the land?
Can I ever walk to the place so grand?
I asked this question to one and all,
men and women, short and tall,
old and wise, and young and smart,
to those with a brain and to those with
heart
I searched in the countries, near and far,
from mighty Alps to the barren Thar.
I crossed the seas and strolled in the wood,
got answers so many but none was good.
At last a baby, three years old,
looked into my eyes, laughed, and told,
love gives to all the pleasure untold,
in heart lies the heaven, in young and old















Soulful Sojourn.



Theres a shine in your eyes
It makes my heart go fly
Shining bright like my stars
You take my far away to Mars
Giving wings to my dreams
My desires flare with beam
To have you by my side forever
My soul floats like a wild river
Far away where you reside
Thats where I long to bide
The smile you carry this time
Makes my heart emit a chime
So many words that I wish to say
To your heart itll make a way
And this day shall last till eternity
Together we bask in loves serenity
Swaying with ease and poise we
dance
Slipping away in our ecstasys
trance
Drenching our soul and heart in
love
We rise in our tenderness like a
dove

























































Heena Ahuja is a girl who
loves to scribble the
rhythmic melody of
literature. She lives in
Mumbai.