While I was flicking through some posts on online media platforms, I came across a news article which made me pause and ponder. It was about how the reality television star, Divya Agarwal, was being trolled mercilessly only because she posted a glamorous picture from a photoshoot on social media around a week after her father’s demise.
“Sometimes, I find myself in the pages of a book” – This is a line from a poem I had penned on finding my identity a few weeks back. The latest creation of Writer’s Collective, “Aashi” is one of those books where I found flakes of myself scattered across its length and breadth. Aashi’s story is not my story. Yet, the terrains are familiar; the world seems my own; the core is one. Her passion, her spirit and her outlook towards life – I found myself in the essence of Aashi. This is Author Maitabi Banerjee’s debut novel who makes a glorious entry into the literary space with a story that converses with you like a long-lost friend. You listen, you laugh, you sob, you scream, you believe and you embrace it with all your heart.
2020 has been a year that has gripped humankind by its claws. We do not know when we would be able to break free. We do not know what more is in store for us. The pandemic has hit us so hard that the impact of the blow is perpetual. As people grapple with physical health, mental well-being and economic slump, there is this disquieting feeling of helplessness within me. It has been heartening to see how the common people have risen up to the catastrophe to help and support those in need. We all have tried to do our bit but none of us can really undo the loss or turnaround the situation. I think I have become even more cognizant of my privilege and I count my blessings every moment of the day. With two senior citizens and a 5-year-old at home, I have been quite vigilant from the time the lockdown was initially announced. This means that even though the world has started unlocking gradually, we are sticking to maintaining our self-imposed lockdown. We head out only when it is a ‘have-to’ and not a ‘would-like-to’ scenario. We have learnt to embrace the mundane within the confines of our comfortable abode.
“It’s not easy but it’s doable” – This was the topic of my conversation with noted Screenwriter and Director Alankrita Shrivastava at WICA 2020 – Women at Corporate Allies thoughtfully curated by Women’s Web.
Who am I?
Is this a question
Or a discovery
Maybe, a mirage
Sometimes, I see myself
In the vibrant butterflies
Flying with buoyance
Devouring the sweet nectar
I was aimlessly scrolling up the feed when a comment grabbed my attention. Not surprisingly, this happened because the post was about a person I have always held in high esteem – Sushmita Sen.
A woman had put it across quite bluntly that Sushmita Sen knows nothing about motherhood sacrifices because she hasn’t given birth to her daughters. She mentioned categorically that it starts from when the embryo is formed and all Sushmita Sen has done is give a good life to adopted kids, making it sound like a cakewalk.
The aureate sunbeams percolate through my pores,
Unlocking my shut eyes as the wonted dawn beckons;
The quivering and weary lashes grapple and stutter,
As they endeavour to make way for vision in the dungeon.
“Masala Mix – Potpourri of Shorts” is an apt tile for the latest novel by Anupama Jain, an offering from the house of Readomania. The book is an assortment of 15 short stories which make for a vibrant palette of varied colours. No story can be tied to a specific genre because these are slice-of-life stories and life cannot be boxed into a category. You will find yourself or your loved ones in these stories, which are about relationships and the many shades of life that we all relate to at some level.
She plonked on the chair with her gaze fixed on the array of colourful and appealing craft and stationery items scattered across the table. The manifest image in her mind was soon going to be given a form by her tiny but deft hands.
Few tiny drops, form an ocean in my heart;
Few tiny drops, blossom into intricate art.
Few tiny drops, make the dreary glow;
Few tiny drops, beseech me to go slow.
Few tiny drops, permeate into ebullient laughter;
Few tiny drops, indulge in puerile banter.
Few tiny drops, fuse melody in mundane chore;
Few tiny drops, orchestrate a tune encore.
Few tiny drops, open the door to my soul;
Few tiny drops, amass the smithereens into a whole.
Few tiny drops, nourish the turf to grow;
Few tiny drops, give birth to the mighty rainbow.