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I am often surprised, if not dismayed, when I read those angry articles on women, and especially when it’s penned down by a woman. A few days back I read a piece of article written by a renowned author quoting that the modern woman instead of seeking to be a man should regain her femininity. Whenever it’s mentioned what a man or woman “should” do or be like, it disappoints me. Who decides who should behave like whom? Are these the rules written in ancient scriptures, which were written by no one else but men or women like us who happened to belong to a different era? Are these the rules mentioned by kings and queens who no longer reign? Or are these rules conveyed by the Almighty himself/herself whose existence is somehow dubious for some, if not all, of the people? It must be amusing to look at the world through the tinted glasses one wears; and then whenever a color seems too bright or too pale, to quote it as a misfit. Where lays the liberty of just being human? Is i

Published in Fried Eye on Feb 15, 2014.  Click Here  to read it. Author: Bhavya Kaushik Published by: Parlance Publishers Publication Year : 2013 Number of Pages: 260 Language: English “The Other Side of the Bed” – When I first read the name of the book I thought it to be the story of a person who has lost his better half. Death, I didn’t think it was. I thought it was more of heartbreak in a relationship, the one that leaves you shattered and lonely as you look at the now-empty other side of the bed. As I went through the first few pages, I realized I was wrong; it was death, something that makes you hollow and hopeless from within, for you know the other person will never come back and you will never be the same again. As I went through a few more pages of the book, I realized it is not just about crying for a dear one you have lost. It’s much more than that. It i s about finding hope and learning to be happy even when there is no reason to smile. It’s abo

Published in the October 2013 issue of  Fried Eye “Punugulu,” she said and I considered it to be a joke. I asked her again the name of the food we were served for breakfast that day. And when my room-mate repeated the word, I realized she wasn’t kidding at all. I wasted no time to google up the word and find images of the food that looked exactly like what was on my plate. It’s been two weeks that I am in Hyderabad, yet I find it difficult to recognize the food I am served in my hostel. I was never a fan of South Indian cuisine and hence the ignorance. “Hyderabadi Biryani” is the first couple of words that come to one’s mind when one thinks of Hyderabad. Well, I don’t know of the adjective “Hyderabadi” but I sure had the Biryani in three or more places here and I can say that the Biryani served in Guwahati was different, if not better. These differ, everyone’s view points as well as everyone’s taste buds; and I, being a person who has a sweet tooth, have absolutely no pal

It was either for the scorching sunrise that hurt her eyes or the cold breeze that blew scratching the fresh wounds on her arms, but Disha could tell that her friend had tears in her eyes for some reason or the other. “Nothing,” Razia said, when confronted by Disha, hiding her eyes as she wiped her tears with her hands. “Got paid?” Disha enquired. “Yes.” Lied Razia while walking towards the place she has been calling home from the past couple of years. She headed for the bathroom as she entered her room where two girls were sitting, one smoking a cigarette while the other wearing make-up in front of the broken mirror in the room. Razia cleaned her skirt that was smeared with her blood. She wasn’t prepared for it. After all it was that 14- year old’s first time. Not the first time that she had been “ridden” by men, nor the first time that she bled while bearing the intolerable pain the men gave her, but for the first time that she painlessly bled indicating a cycle o

Come to me when the fear does overpower and I will lull you with the tales of valour fear not the fear lurking inside you like the demons, it will be defeated too Come to me when grief strikes you hard and I will sing to you the songs of a bard grief too will falter, sorrow will leave and the shelter of joy together we will weave Come to me when you think you are all alone and I will show you it sits not on a throne it is love eternal that is within your heart loneliness will elope, don't break apart Oh, come to me when you feel there is evil and I will remind you of your true will for there's good within you, mighty and pious evil will diminish, in peace it will leave us Come to me when cruel seems your life and all that's bad, we together will wipe come to me when nothing seems alright we'll overcome with our spirits blithe...

Published in Fried Eye - the magazine on 15 September 2013 Click  here “Utopian dreams” they call it when a young girl or boy, mostly in their teens, dream of having that perfect life of “one true love” hyped by almost all the movies in the world. Let it be a movie on patriotism or a superhero movie, there always is an element of love present that gives the audience a good feeling about it. Yes, indeed love is important and I believe it is essential too. Because without love how can a mother give birth to her child or how can a father gift his child with everything the little one asks for. Without love there would have been no friendships and no protective siblings too. But when people do not put conditions on their relationships with friends, cousins or parents, why is it that one expects and demands so much from one’s spouse? Why are there the insecurities and jealousies that help the once-good relationship to fail so miserably? And then one is left to cry alone, feeling ch

You know what people can do to you? They can make you feel like you’re on top of the world. And then they can gently give a push so that you tumble down and hurt yourself. They can love you and then they can ruin you. They can make you feel that you’re the best and then they will begin to find the flaws on you. They can show you what’s wrong with you and they can make you feel miserable. They can let you know that you’re beautiful inside and everyone should be like you. And then they can tell you what and how you should be like. Agree? But can they? Really? I believe they can’t. Well, unless, of course if you let them. Thick skin, some people call it. But what I believe is that rather than having a thick skin that is immune to all the criticism of the world, one can just learn to be happy while having a thin and all-absorbing skin too. If you’re peaceful inside and content, not complacent, with yourself how can anyone’s opinion bother you? How can a break-up s

This article is published in Vivid Magazine on 31st August 2013 I hate my brother” says 6-year old Rena complaining about her elder brother who is in class 8 and loves to pull her braids all the time. The little girl thinks he does not love her as he plays with her hair despite of the fact that she doesn’t like it. Rena’s mother tells us that her son loves to annoy his little sister yet loves her and cares for her a lot. However, little Rena is too young to understand this and is now unwilling to tie him the Raakhi her mother brought, on the 21 st  of this month. In a family with more than one child, and esp. when one of them is a boy, there happen these silly fights for no reason. Usually, the boy enjoys the fight while his sister (elder or younger) is left annoyed and sometimes, crying. Yet on the day of Rakshabandhan, every girl lovingly dresses herself in a beautiful ethnic dress, prepares a  thaali  with an earthen lamp, sweets, flowers,  sindoor  mixed with oil for the  t

I was brought up in a different house, not the one I currently live in. The new house, I know it from only a couple of years ago. The old one, it was what I called home. Even when I dream now I see myself in the old house. It was cozy and it gave a comfort my new house could never give. The Sundays were perfect there. My home used to smell of marigolds when I would go by the room where the idols of Lord Krishna was kept adorned with flowers and a censer containing a burning incense spreading its fragrance in the entire room. Mother would be in the kitchen cooking my favourite dal and the smell of the chicken curry being stirred would make me hungry and eager for lunch. The parlour would have the TV on being watched by Dad sipping a cup of Darjeeling tea just before lunch, a peculiar habit. The smell of the tea would somehow remind me of a beautiful sunrise on a faraway field sans people but birds and cattle. And my room would smell of nothing else but books; there were five bookshel

Published in Fried Eye -  https://www.friedeye.com/2013/08/bhaag-milkha-bhaag-a-review.html Bhaag Milkha Bhaag is more than just a tribute to the legendary Milkha Singh. It is not simply a story of how he achieved stardom but it also teaches the viewers how one can overcome his fears and leave behind a macabre past. It also proves those axioms that say hard work pays off and that determination and focus are keys to achieving success. The movie commenced with the epic scene of 1960 Olympics at Rome where Milkha failed to win the race for some reason that appears to the other characters in the movie as a “silly mistake”.  We, the audience, are shown the emotional turmoil our protagonist is going through and the first impression built in my mind was “hats off to the cinematographer”. The director of photography, Binod Pradhan has indeed done justice to the movie. The three hours long movie didn’t seem as tedious as it sounded at first (Of course company matters, but the mov

Title: Kaleidoscope- Different Strokes for Different Folks Published by: Parlance Publishers Pvt. Ltd. Genre: Various Price: 150 INR No. of Pages: 250 Launched in: 25 May 2013 Rate: 3.5/5 Springtide, an online English youth magazine in association with Parlance Publishers, organized a contest inviting Indian writers to submit their short stories on any specific genre. The contest went on for the entire month of April’13 and more than 1150 entries were received to be judged by Ashwin Sanghi, one of the country’s bestselling conspiracy fiction writers. The results were announced by the second week of May declaring the top 25 writers whose stories were later published in the anthology “Kaleidoscope: Different Strokes for Different Folks”. The anthology begins with ‘The Hunter’, a short-story written by Dr. Vivek Banerjee, the winner of the contest mentioned above. The writing is flawless and the story is cleverly written, first indicating a different end for the

(This post is up on write-up cafe on behalf of my team Coup d'East. The 3 ingredients used in this story are - Dead Tiger, Wine Bottle, Superhero. You can also find the story here ) I am called a disbeliever of love; they don’t know I am not. They don’t understand why I prefer to live alone, nevertheless I do. They say it’s ludicrous that I stay away from love; I am not away from love. They say I need a woman, a lover; they don’t know I am in love. To be honest, I was never loveless in my life. Love came at various times, well of course to me, and not to the other side. After the death of my mother, I was probably never loved back in return. But love would never leave my side. Like a little plant coming out from a planted seed, love would always arise in some corner of my heart and in no time, it would fill my entire heart. But unrequited love is difficult, to say the least, if not homicidal. And all my life, I have craved for love only to be turned down by my fate.

[ This is an interview of Indrani Raimedhi madam (IRM), taken by Sanhita Baruah (SB) and Abhinav Bhattacharyya (AB) published in the 2012-13 issue of AECIAN, the annual magazine of Assam Engineering College.] Indrani Raimedhi is a well-known journalist, columnist and writer. She is an Assistant Editor features in The Assam Tribune, a premier English newspaper of the North East region. Author of eight books, she has been the resource person in IGNOU's phone in radio programme on creative writing. Her books have been selected for purchase by the Raja Ram Mohan Roy Library Foundation and the US Library of Congress. In 2004 she was awarded the Kunjabala Devi Award for Investigative Journalism on women's issues. Her fortnightly column ‘The Third Eye’ appears in The Assam Tribune, and has enjoyed great popularity. SB: Madam, we know that your journey in writing started pretty early and you have been writing since your school days. When was it that you realised that you

Let that summer be yours and this winter, it will be mine to keep... the ever expanding white and the naked tree standing alone shamelessly let the green that once was, be yours  and this pallidity will be mine to keep... the coldness the sun fails to obliterate the darkness that falls sooner than ever let that warmth bygone be yours this solitude will be mine to keep...

Once in a lifetime, LOVE enters stealthily through the backdoor of your home built with  high walls, sits in your parlour for a while, so quietly that you don't discover its presence  until it has made its home inside yours... and then it acquaints you with the paradise it  brings..and you, like a little child with her new doll, spend your days and nights inebriating  the contentment it gives.. and LOVE, like an old neighbour, like a sibling, becomes your  habit... But then it decides to leave, leaving you alone in your empty house like a feeble mother of a  debauched son ..  and when it does, it never goes as stealthily as it came... it finds its way to the front door  and walks out breaking the walls you had once built to protect the home which just  collapsed.. but you pick up the broken pieces, and build a wall stronger ... :)