The Stories that make me!

Each one of us  are struggling in our own secret world,
in our own heroic ways.
Each one of us are fighting a battle, you and I will never hear about.
Every happy face is hiding a story , a secret never to be told.
Every piece of colourful clothes is hiding a scar,
almost every energetic soul in that late night party,
for at least  once wants to run away to a faraway land,
away from the chaos ,far away from the people around.
But, at times these stories are revealed.
the scars are shown
the souls break free.
it is when that I have heard these stories,
seen these scars
and helped a lost soul to their way back home.
it was then I came across a few new stories  of the  old faces.



I have heard stories of a pretty little soul,
of her mother who died,                                         
of how her father is not bothered about her,
about her step-mother that she does not share a good relationship with.,
of her grand parents, the one's she calls her own,
and how old they are to be with her for all the years to come.
her stories of  the outside world keeps abandoning her one by one ,
she keeps fighting her own battle with life, with herself for every hour every minute every second of the day.
yes,I have heard it all.
and I want to tell her that
I will be there by her side even when everything falls apart.




I have heard stories of a girl
who was raped when she was in class four.     
i know, that she was raped by her own brother,
by the drawing teacher, over and again.
then she was too small to understand the hideous act she was going through,
and now when she finally did,
all she wants is to wear a white frock and roam around freely,
without the fear of those  dirty hands touching her body again,
                                                                      now all she wants is a little protection,
                                                                      a little kindness from the world,
                                                                      and to recreate her childhood.
                                                                     Yes, I know her secret now.
                                      and I promised her to fulfil this secret wish of her someday.

I have also known of a few happy-go-lucky boys,
crying over their messed up career.
I have heard about the years they lost trying to find what suits them the best.
I know how horrible they feel, when they meet their friends of the same age,
established and well settled.
I know how hard they work to prove the world that even they are capable enough.
so what it took them a few years to find the right path, its never too late to start all over again.
I know their stories of proving the world and also to themselves that they are not losers.
Not hopeless cases or complete failures!
I have known them close enough,
and I know they are not.

I have seen the strong girl,
who always puts up that bright smile on her face.
who helps everyone in need,
who provides them with a shoulder to cry upon,
I know how lonely she herself is.
I know her everyday struggle of choosing between a need and a wish.
I have seen her burying a wish each day,
to fulfil her needs of survival.
for she is financially struggling from that day onwards, ,when her father was murdered,
the only working member of the family.
I know her wishes,
her dreams
chained by financial crisis,
I know of her brave mother too.
and of her, my friend
the bravest of all.




I also know
about,
the happy couple of the class falling out of love.
the girl wondering what went wrong and the boy finding ways to tell her that he might have to leave her now.
about,
the children from the broken families,
faking a smile the minute they step out of their house..
about,
the girl who is afraid of falling in love for her fears of getting her heart broken,
also because she has seen her best friend being cheated by the guy she trusted the most.
I have seen their souls dancing in the rain,
and also crying their heart out.
I have seen them escaping the realities
and I have seen myself doing the same as well.
and after all this while, I have seen myself growing stronger, kinder and wiser.
maybe because ,I have not only heard their stories, but I have felt them and also experienced them to some extent.
I can simply connect with each story out there,
maybe because,
I have a silent role to play,
the role of a listener,
or maybe because,
these are the stories that,          that make me
who I am today.
the stories of my loved ones.




ABOUT THE AUTHOR :- 

A member of an N.G.O, Voices For Animals, Priyanka Chatterjee is a first year student of Comparative Literature from Jadavpur University! Apart from being a responsible citizen, she is a voracious reader and a social critic! J.U students you know?

Lost Heaven

I had a home                           
There in the vale
Under the blue sky
Where the birds flew high
And green all around
Brooks running down
From mountain slopes
Merrily frisking away
Onto the serene lake,
Reflecting the Eternal Trinity
Truth-Love-Beauty
In the ecstasy of sunlight
And moonlit night!

That was my home! My cosy home!

Brimming with unending joy

The inmates held by bond of love and trust

And faith in God and Man,

Despised hate-

Of man by man, faith by faith,

Not swayed by fallacies of

Caste, creed or colour.

I hade a home

There in the vale

A storm swept it away.

An upheaval wrought by brutes

Greed and hate possessed by inmates

They have lost the feeling of love

Which made them share

Mutual joys and pains.

Now enemies within destroyed the home.

My home I cherish to behold

In my dreams today.

About the Author :- 

A bookworm who loves dance, drama, drawing and clings onto quotes like treasure. A Romantic to the core, a real foodie and a passionate movie buff, Poojaa Mukherjee is currently Studying English in Shri Shikshayatan. Some of her other articles are as follows :- 

http://express5515.blogspot.in/2015/12/and-then-she-danced.html

http://express5515.blogspot.in/2015/11/the-girl-in-mirror-for-so-long-i-used.html

Amorous Nirvana

Drunk in amory,
I walked the shores    
Of a barren heath.
Searching for Love.
All I found-
Was a green pod struggling
For survival.
The barrenness rummaging its existence
Every now and then.
And in its promise,
In hopes that fume high in emptiness,
I found Love.

                             

Drunk in amory,

I looked up to the sky,

A thirsty canvas.

Baited breath!

The eternal Artist delivers strokes.

Breathes life into nakedness.

Into artless masses.

And in the lust of colours,

In defining forms,

In aesthetics and the forthcoming creation-

It engenders,

I found Love.

Drunk in amory,
I fixed my gaze on the
Rising flames of a burning pyre.
As flesh and bones pulverize,
I find soulful Love ignited.
Rejuvenated and recreated.
Love that ascends the barriers of flesh!
Love that liberates!
Nirvana is Love.
Or maybe Love Nirvana!










ABOUT THE AUTHOR :-

A FASHION FANATIC BY HEART, ARITRA CHATTERJEE IS PURSUING HIS BACHELORS IN PSYCHOLOGY FROM ASUTOSH COLLEGE, KOLKATA. THE PART TIME PAINTER AND GRAPHOLOGIST IS ONE OF THE CHIEF COLUMNISTS FOR ExPRESS MAGAZINE. SOME OF HIS OTHER ARTICLES ARE AS FOLLOWS :- 

http://express5515.blogspot.in/2015/12/love-and-its-asymmetrics.html

http://express5515.blogspot.in/2015/12/bibi-prodigy.html

http://express5515.blogspot.in/2015/11/wings-of-change.html

JOURNEY

Laughing , giggling cradling in the pram,

She peered through the eyes those spark .

Yet no words of joy were mentioned ,

Just a girl ---- that's why such apprehension ?


In Her little mind , She wished upon a little star 

In a land away far ,


To have a life like in a fairytale,

And there'll be nothing dark and pale.


No need of school , no need of books,

Why disburse on Her , who'll ultimately cook?


Stories of bride, customs those blind ,

''Freedom'' , She chanted in Her mind.


How Her deepest expressions were hidden so well,

From the wicked gape of unenlightenment .

On Her wedding night, leaving all behind

Realising her responsibility -- She bore the stories of plight .


Slowly She encountered the life of a wife ,

Presenting sheer happiness through another life .

Wiping away Her tears ,invisible as air ,

She learnt to live and give in to life ,so unfair .


"For the good of my family", She mourned 

And with the passing years it helped Her soul to grow.


She has built herself as strong as her heart

Which beats with a feel of empowerment , setting Her apart.


Perceiving the many flavours of life ,

She has grown immune to the precarious strifes .

Bringing up Her inside warrior, day by day 

No longer She agrees to be anyone's prey.

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes ,

 She has risen from a life , heaped on with trashes .

With a fading beauty and a stretch of wrinkles ,

She tells many a tale with Her eyes, those still Sparkle.

The many difficult paths She has followed ,

Which were way more difficult for others to swallow.


It's time for Her to embark on a new path,

It's for sure, with emanating inner beauty She wins over the wraths .

The Empowered Woman , now walks in search of Her heavenly abode,

Where she'll live 'Her Life' of creation , without a twinge of hesitation .


ABOUT THE AUTHOR :- 

 Shreya Basak, first year student pursuing Journalism and Mass communication in Shri Shikshayatan College . Dance is her passion and life is a stage to her 

And Then She Danced

Then She Danced

She sat in the corner of the room   
Awkward; hair tied up in a bun
Head buried in a book
Her face caught the sun
Suddenly music blared from the speakers
And then she danced.

She let her hair loose
Her face a myriad of expressions
Her body swayed with élan
Like poetry in motion

She could be anything at that point
The gurgling stream, the steady wind, the shooting star-
All eyes glued on her,
But she was somewhere far...

Far from the reality that crushed her heart,
From the bonds that tore her apart,
From the dreams time stole-
Dancing made her whole.

The music stopped, face flushed, she tied her hair, 
Soon amazed claps filled the air
Slowly she returned to the world of despair. 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR :- 

A bookworm who loves dance, drama, drawing and clings onto quotes like treasure. A Romantic to the core, a real foodie and a passionate movie buff, Poojaa Mukherjee is currently Studying English in Shri Shikshayatan.

The Girl in the Mirror

For so long I used to believe

The girl in the mirror used to be me.

I look at her now, her face stained with tears,

Something is in her mind

Nightmares, worry and fears..

Her stressed out smile,

The way she bats her eyes

Crystal clear, drowned in tears

Her hazel eyes

She looks so scared, so out of place

I wonder what is wrong!

Why is she fighting not to cry?

I look at her face, she mumbles,“At least I tried.”

This can’t be me, she looks so alone

I see her push her hair off her face.

So ashamed, she looks disgraced

I see her smile, but I can’t tell what is behind it

Her memory is so clear, a story, but you’ll never find it.

She wants to collapse,

She no longer wants to breathe,

The monster I’ve become,

This can’t be me!

The tired eyes, that stare right back

She is dripping with misery

And depression dose loom

Oh! How her fake smile lights up the room

Her face lowered to the floor

She silently cried

Who am I now? The girl I despise?

What happened to her smile?

Why is it so fake?

I look into the mirror

She’s just about to break

And as she wipes the tears from her eyes, and turns off the light

Looks back one time, and whispers, “Goodbye!”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Pooja Mukherjee is a bookworm who loves dance, drama, drawing and clings onto quotes like treasure. A Romantic to the core, real foodie and passionate movie buff. Currently Studying English in Shri Shikshayatan.

The Right Amount of Self Love.

I had a daughter           
Who used to paint
When she was five.
Her lines were skewered
Mangoes looked like dandelions, 
Apples looked like horses, 
And shoes looked like trees. 
Believe me, you wouldn't like to hear
Of her tryst with drawing human figures. 
Broken hands, broken legs, 
Mashed faces. 
She then was too young to capture 
Broken hearts
Broken minds. 
I used to look at her 
Shrinking her nose
At every line she drew
Till I couldn't stop myself from saying,
"Hey, this is as wonderful as you. "
This developed. Into a cauldron of words
That took forms like the newt, 
" You are a great artist, Darling! "
She grew up walking on the skewed lines 
She drew. 
Her apples still looked shriveled, 
Were eaten by worms.
Yet, she had learnt to embrace them. 
Her Mangoes weren't juicy, 
Her bananas were a bit too black, 
But she knew that even though 
They were useless to her, 
Those red eyed, winged flies
Would make it their staple food. 
The apples love themselves. 
The bananas no longer ask for 
Fairness creams. 
The Mangoes still hold the promise of life. 
She? 
Has had an inflated ego. 
Many a times. 
She has lost the exhibitions, 
More than once. 
Yet, 
Amazingly, she has plucked
Roses from branches
In autumn, when 
They had refused to bloom. 
Really, 
At the end of the day. 
She astounds you. 
At nights that are
Neutral,
Digging around 
Tight Trenches, 
Always. 
She has learnt that self love
Needs deduction
And 
Dedication.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR :- 

       

  Sayantan is an active queer expressionist studying Biological Sciences in Presidency University. He is the editor-in-chief of ExPress Magazine, and also writes various columns for various other reputed magazines and blogs.

How it happened, or why.

How it happened, or why,

We never found out.

But one morning we went out to the streets,

And the pollen grains of forgotten moments

Had mated with awaiting blossoms of some rare righteous ferocity

And the streets were lined with buds that glowed with an apprehension

As fearsome as it was beautiful.

We were amazed, 

And we were scared.

We could choose to tear apart all we had known and hated,

We could choose to live in comfort and condensed regret.

We smiled.

As the liquefied restlessness of resolve trickled down our fingertips,

We walked over to the little shrubs,

And watered them.

PICTURE COURTESY - BOLDSKY.COM
POEM COURTESY - SRIJANEE ADHIKARI, JADAVPUR UNIVERSITY, ENGLISH HONOURS, FIRST YEAR.

To my lovely mummy, तू है मेरी प्यारी माँ |

Every mother is a special person, a super woman. She is a person without whom a family remains incomplete. She is the one to teach us the good values and scold us for things so that we can improve ourselves. She is the one to make us understand when we are wrong and correct us. She’ll be the guiding light when we are stuck in the dark hour of our life. When everyone leaves your side, a mother will always be by your side. There would be time when she’ll be angry and she’ll shout but you know, there love hidden in that scolding of hers.
Mummy, you were always there with me when I needed someone. Even when everyone left me all alone, you stood by me and helped me recover.

The day I was born, you were the happiest person. With tears in your eyes and a big smile on your face, you held me in your hands. Seeing the new born me, you cried and smiled. That was a memorable day for you and for me as well. Having a mother like you is the best gift anyone can have and you are the most precious gift for me. There are times I make you angry and you’re sad, but mummy, I love you and I’m sorry for all those sad times. There are times I cry, but I hide my tears from you and that is because I can’t see you in pain. A single tear in your eyes, breaks me down and makes me sad. Mummy, from childhood till today, you’ve been my super woman and you’ll continue to be so forever. It’s been 10 years since papa left us and went away so far from where returning is impossible and you’ve always managed to give your love and papa’s love to me and my sister.

You’ve been a super mummy and a father as well. You never let us feel his absence and filled all the gaps with your love. The times I share my stupid secrets with you and you laugh, and that’s a sweet bond of friends we share. Mummy, you’re not only a mother to me but a father as well and a best friend too. The times I irritate you and you get angry and then like a baby, I say sorry to you. There are times when you encourage me to do things which I fear to do and when I do it, I’m successful in it just because of you.

Today is your day mummy, not only today, but every day.
I LOVE YOU MUMMY, MY SUPER WOMAN.
Here is a small poem for you,
Happy Mother’s Day Mummy.

तू है मेरी प्यारी माँ |

माँ, तू है सबसे प्यारी 

और है सबसे अच्छी

तू है माँ मेरी।

जब थी मैं तेरे कोख में,

दर्द दिया मैंने तुझे बहुत,

बहार आके खुश भी तो किया

माँ मैंने तुझे।

सबसे पहला शब्द जो मैंने बोला,

था वो बस तुझे ही पुकारने को,

माँ कह के बुलाया मैंने तुझे,

और आई तू मेरे पास, 

लगा लिया मुझे अपने सीने से।

माँ तुझ बिन ये दुनिया है अधूरी,

तू ही करती है मेरी इस प्यारी सी दुनिया को पूरी,

माँ है तू मेरी, 

और हूँ मैं बेटी तेरी।

-Sunidhi Jain

MAKES A WORLD - A WORLD OF DIFFERENCE!

Mother's day is not just one day. Celebrate each day. For all you happy days are hers; she gave you! With this theme, Grace Sitharaman pens down a beautiful poem.

What grows naturally needs not a label.

The wild breeze just blow through,

with no route map it sweeps the terrains.

As you go up the hill on a chugging train,

Blossoms bloom carefree in the rain, 

Do you know each of their names?

A mother has her own rhyme to bond,

Her words are melting snowflakes,

Sleepy fairy dust on the eyelids of

A playful sleepy child – There is no day for this and neither a name.

The birds come back home at dusk,

We know not how many did the day last,

We just see the flock fly eagerly, towards the setting sun.

Why do we have to celebrate just

‘A’ Day for our Mother? If she’s there

One need to celebrate daily - not look farther.

Every day is for every mother around the world,

Without her you may live but your ‘WORLD’ 

Will not be the same even on Mother’s Day !

-by Grace Sitharaman

Demonic Love

The aura of love can tame a wild soul however is love's chastity can sometimes be treacherously red. It has the power to entrap an undaunted heart in its silver snare. Devil has Evil in himself. Even the evil can be tamed by love. Have anyone of us ever wondered how painful it can be if the Evil's heart is torn apart by an Angel's love?

A beautiful poem by Dipomitra which takes us through an eerie journey midst of a beautiful feeling.

Love?

A cold may smilled at the shimmering hues,

At the serene visage with fire dews.

Even the Evil's fate jeopardised his turbulent heart,

with her brocade smile; he could not part!

This was the Devil himself and the angel in his embrace,

This was the Devil's love and the Angel's vengeance.

He drowned in the hashis of delusions, his evil fate.

Smiles and pink?

Even the Angel endorsed the treacherous red in her evil bait.

He was banished from his own kingdom to enter into hers,

But the evil Virgin only bedecked his Evil loving heart forever with scars.

- Dipomitra Ghosh