Author's Feature:-

Picture Credit : Special Arrangement 

Ruskin Bond (born 19 May 1934) is one of the fellows of the sahitya akademi and a renown Indian Author.He is also known as The Wordsworth of Indian English Writing.His first novel, The Room on the Roof, was published in 1956, and it received the John Llewellyn Rhys Prize in 1957. Bond has authored more than 500 short stories, essays, and novels which includes 69 books for children.He was awarded the Sahitya Akademi Award in 1992 for Our Trees Still Grow in Dehra. He was awarded the Padma Shri in 1999 and Padma Bhushan in 2014.He lives with his adopted family in Landour, Mussoorie, in the Indian state of Uttarakhand. Some of his well-known works include "The Room on the Roof," "The Blue Umbrella," and "Rusty, the Boy from the Hills."

About his book "The Room On the roof" :-

Picture Credit: Special Arrangement 

This is a story about an orphaned boy named Rusty, of Anglo-Indian descent, living in a European colony in Dehra (a place in Uttarakhand) with his guardian Mr. Harrison and the missionary's wife, who wanted him to stay away from Indians and groom him as a pure Englishman. However, in this process, Harrison’s stringent behavior perturbs Rusty’s flourishing teenage years. While walking home in the rain, he was offered help by Somi and Ranbir who go on to become his friends. Rusty is unhappy with his life at his guardian's house and longs for freedom.

He runs away from his home and lives with his friend Somi, who gets him a job as an English teacher for Kishen (Mr.Kapoor's son). At Mr.Kapoor's house, he is given a room on the roof. Mr.Kapoor is a drunkard, who has a beautiful wife, Meena Kapoor. Rusty and Meena fall in love with each other. On the way to Delhi, Meena dies in a car crash. Kishen is sent to stay with his aunt and Mr.Kapoor remarries. Rusty decides to leave India and go to England as none of his friends remain in Dehra. He decides to visit Kishen before leaving for England. In Haridwar , he learns that Kishen has run away from home and become a thief. He meets Kishen and they both leave for Dehra, where Kishen plans on opening a chaat shop and making Rusty an English professor.

"Pani Puri" - By Bhumika Raikote of BA Final Year 

Picture Credit : Bhumika Raikote 

In conversations with self and friends,

About daily struggles and stress,

Until discussions, chickpeas heat up,

And move into the puri’s delight,

Dipped in the flavorful, greenery-infused, spicy water.

Mouth watering in anticipation,

Taste buds eager to savor, 

The spice as struggles,

Sweetness alike happiness,

Heat with chilled peace,

In a bowl, served as a treat,

At the end of an eventful time.

The burst of the puri,

In the world of tastebuds,

Reveals the crisp,

And mixture of flavors.

As one chews and

Moves through the food pipe,

The eagerness for the next puri,

To feel the same again,

Until the taste soul satisfies.

Whether, joyfully unbound,

Sorrowfully constrained,

Weary as toil, or languid as a snail,

Pani puri enchants every emotion.

Author Feature:-

Picture Credit : Special Arrangement 

Githa Hariharan  is an Indian writer and editor based in New Delhi. Her first novel, The Thousand Faces of Night, won the Commonwealth Writers' Prize for the best first novel in 1993. Her other works include the short story collection The Art of Dying , the novels The Ghosts of Vasu Master , When Dreams Travel , In Times of Siege , Fugitive Histories  and I Have Become the Tide, and a collection of essays entitled Almost Home: Cities and Other Places .

About her book "The Thousand Faces Of Night":-

Picture Credit: Special Arrangement 

The Thousand Faces of Night articulates the problems of women on the basis of Indian mythology. Hariharan links the plight of her women characters with the Indian myths as Mahabharata to the gods, goddesses and legendary heroines in the epics of India. The well known anthropologist Malinowski has to say about myth.

The central theme of the novel is categorized as the quest for identity, penance, female bonding, marriage, chaos and dilemma by the rebellious protagonist Devi. Devi has failed to establish her identity in the framework of a male dominated Indian society as a wife in an arranged marriage, or as a rebellious lover.

"My Beloved Brother" - By Muskan Begum of B.Sc FSZC Second Year

Picture Credit : Special Arrangement 

I can’t believe you abandoned from my life.

I still remember our moments - your laugh, your tears, and your smile.

Your laughter, echoes in every corner of our home,

Why did you leave us so soon?

I question myself every day.

I cherish your presence every time, 

I look at the empty doorway,

Hoping, you would come back soon

With a blissful soul and everlasting life.

How can I live without you brother, is this fair enough to write?

Every day, I shed tears longing to see you again for one last time,

Or perhaps just to revive our old memories alive.

They say memories fade away as time flies,

But my beloved brother is my only life .

Author Feature:-

Picture Credit: Special Arrangement 

Arundhati Roy, born on November 24, 1961, in Shillong, India, is a renowned author and political activist. She gained international fame with her debut novel, "The God of Small Things," which won the Booker Prize in 1997. Known for her lyrical prose and intricate storytelling, Roy's work often addresses social injustices and the complexities of Indian society. Beyond her literary achievements, she is an outspoken advocate for human rights, environmental causes, and political activism. Her non-fiction works, including "The Algebra of Infinite Justice" and "Capitalism: A Ghost Story," critique global and Indian socio-political issues. Roy's blend of literary talent and activism makes her a significant voice in contemporary literature and social discourse.

About her book "The God Of Small Things" :-

Picture Credit: Special Arrangement 

"The God of Small Things" by Arundhati Roy, published in 1997, is a Booker Prize-winning novel set in Kerala, India, during the 1960s. It tells the story of fraternal twins Rahel and Estha, whose lives are irrevocably changed by a series of tragic events stemming from familial and societal pressures. The novel intricately weaves themes of forbidden love, caste discrimination, and the lasting impact of trauma through a non-linear narrative. Roy's poetic prose and vivid portrayal of the social and political landscape of Kerala enrich this poignant exploration of how small, seemingly insignificant things shape the broader course of life.

"Memories" - By Bhumika Raikote of BA Final Year 

Picture Credit : Special Arrangement 

I live in memories,

Memories, the unfaded ones,

From the vast past full of memories,

I choose the beautiful ones, our memories.

The moments spent,

In the vibrant hues of VIBGYOR,

The shoulder offered in times of pain,

Peace dwelled in your embrace,

A pillar of support in life's hustle.

From the unpleasant memories,

I expunged the painful ones,

Safeguarded the priceless memories,

The joyous moments fill my heart with love.

I live in memories,

I live in our memories.

 Author's Feature:-

 

Picture credit : Special Arrangement 

RK Narayan was a famous Indian writer globally known for his fictional writings of Malgudi. He was born on the 10th of October,1906. During his career, he published fourteen novels, over two hundred short stories, a memoir, two travel books, several essays, and two plays.

 He was among the first few Indians who started writing Indian literature in English.

He was awarded the AC Benson medal from the Royal Society of Literature, the Sahitya Akademi Award, the Padma Bhushan, and the Padma Vibhusan, third and second of India’s highest civilian awards. Swami and Friends, The Guide, and The Vendor of Sweets are some of his most famous books.

About his book "The Vendor Of Sweets":-

Picture Credit: Special Arrangement 

The Vendor of Sweets by R. K. Narayan, is the biography of a fictional character named Sri K. V. Jagan who is a sweet vendor of (a fictional Indian town) Malgudi. The story beautifully reflects his conflict with his estranged son and how he finally leaves for renunciation, overwhelmed by the sheer pressure and monotony of his life.

The novel was produced into Mithaivalla, part of the Hindi TV series, Malgudi Days, and was subsequently dubbed into English. The Vendor of Sweets tells about the relationship between a father and a son after the death of the mother.

Jagan is the protagonist of this novel. Mali is the son of Jagan. The major theme of this novel is the generational gap. As Jagan was a traditional one, he doesn't let Mali engage in things that were against the tradition and it creates conflict between both of them.

"Mom" - By Hafsa Ahmed of B.Sc FNZC Second Year 

Picture Credit : Hafsa Ahmed 

As her final child,

Yet, never the least cherished,

Her love, my breath's sustainer,

In chaos, her warmth my solace.

When sickness gripped, her tears fell,

She, the tender hand that dried,

Every tear, unfailing,

In her thoughts, I'm never forgotten.

The gem of my existence,

Her presence, my motivation,

Urging me onward, never to falter,

Her heart, a mirror of her beauty.

Eyes, bearing burdens profound,

Yet, love endures, undeterred,

Despite unreciprocated affections,

In moments of despair.

She's the beacon amidst darkness,

Her love, the remedy,

To dwell in her company,

As friend, daughter, and mother.

Is all I seek, all I need,

For true happiness to blossom.

"My Passion: Strokes of Expression" - By Safiyyah of BA Second Year

Picture Credit : Special Arrangement 

Painting is my passion,

I love to paint, it's a narration,

Of my brushes and colors,

I draw flowers, I love drawing.

I spread colors across the sheet,

I paint a parrot and a cage, 

It speaks without words, a profound

message,

As painting is the universal language.

With every stroke, I bring life to the page,

A world of imagination, a vibrant stage.

Through art, Emotions spring to life,

A visual story for all to derive.

In hues and shades, I find my voice, 

A canvas, my playground, my ultimate choice,

With each masterpiece, I share a part of me, 

A glimpse into my soul, for all to see.

"Ricky Stanicky" - Movie Review by Sai Varshini of B.Sc BTCFS Final Year

Picture Credit : Special Arrangement 

Ricky Stanicky, what started as a fun, relaxing, and celebrative evening after my last exam turned out to be a real bombshell! It's the story of Ricky Stanicky, a movie now streaming on Amazon Prime Video (Sorry about the spoiler alert for anyone who hasn't watched). A man who was once a nobody managed to find himself, and all it took was one day. Just one day, and he didn't miss the chance. It's a story where lies come to life and lives turn into a lie.

So, Ricky Stanicky is an imaginary friend that three friends made up as a pushover, a lie that grew too big and for good. 

It was a real journey watching the friends toast to "Ricky Stanicky, the best friend we ever had" from "Ricky Stanicky, the friend we never had."

He was down in the ditches, simply broke, lost, singing sexualised versions of pop hits, running away from people he didn't know how he wronged, and suddenly he was a nationwide hero, leading mergers, dancing the night away with the woman he loved. He had the best social circle, the highest pay and the perfect life! All because he took the chance. He rediscovered himself and respected himself in probably his mid-30s. Ricky Stanicky taught us that it's never too late. It's never too late to come clean and start afresh. And we're all barely 20, what are we waiting for!

All the movies and fairytales show us happy endings, but this one taught me happy beginnings. Something new for a change. And in life not everything happens slow, steady and planned, some things flip around real fast, be it good or bad. This all wouldn't have come off happy if it weren't for Erin, who looked at everything with a different perspective. Maybe it was just a fun comedy and drama-filled movie to some, but this is what I saw. Many of us have had a gazillion of these epiphanies, but we just chose not to act upon it, but Ricky didn't! 

GUESS IT'S NEVER TOO LATE!

"Your Beautiful Eyes" - By Safiyyah of BA First Year

Picture Credit : Special Arrangement 

When I see your charming eyes,

Where all the untold secrets lie, 

Understanding your mysterious gestures, 

Seems as difficult as rolling a dice. 

It is purely white and cool like snow ice, 

Even if it holds hatred, it would still look nice, 

Even the glimpse of your eyes,

Can force many to die.

It shows your sensitivity when you weep, 

Shows your innocence when you sleep, 

It reflect the deepest of the deep, 

It will still express the silence you keep. 

Your lustrous eyes are like crystalline,

Sometimes your eyes lack happiness, 

And they still look fine,

Your stress never affects, it shine, 

And they are as addictive as wine.

Your eyes hold the attractiveness a jewel,

Hence, it feels like drowning into a well, 

Looking into your eyes, anyone would fall,

These eyes are enough to take me to hell. 

As you have these glamorous eyes, 

I wonder how beautiful the eyesight is, 

You need not groom your eyes, 

As I've already been poisoned by these.

"Which Side Am I On ?" - Diary Entry by Devyani Konkati of B.Sc BTCFS II Year

Picture Credit : Special Arrangement 

This work of mine delves into a deeply personal journey of self-discovery as I grapple with a question that arose from a quote that sparked me to deep dive into my own experiences. All of it that forced me to ask: Am I the victim or the villain?

WHICH SIDE AM I ON?

Dear Diary, 

I felt disgusted today. While I was on my usual social media spree of liking thousands of reels and posts, I came across this one quote “The abused becomes the abuser.” I cannot completely describe how I felt, but, only one question came to my mind, to the person who wrote that, “Whose side are you on?”

Everyone in this universe has been a part of a wrong doing just like me, and I think whether to be the abuser or the abused, purely was depended on us and our choices. People intentionally fail to recognise this and always tend to play the part of the abused, because they never want to seem castigated. Although I need to answer as to “Who is the actual abuser?” I find myself trying to camouflage into something that I myself am unaware of what it is. 

When I think about what I have been through and how difficult the course of life was, I blame all those who played a part in leading me there. But that one particular quote got me thinking if I deserved to do so. I find myself asking, “Am I the abused or the abuser?”. Every inch of me accepted I was abused but not a cell of me thought if I ever hurt or abused someone. While trying to answer this, I noticed to tend to just stay in every shoe except mine, so that I could seek as to WHY it happened to ME. I never saw the world from my shoes. But when I finally put every lego piece of myself together, I realised that it was harsh for me to say, the abuser is the main culprit, because even though they knew exactly what they were doing, and what affect it would have on me, it was hard to swallow the fact that even, I knew all of this and yet chose to be a taunting part of the play. 

So, it becomes inevitable for me to say that a minute part of me chose to sit there and let it all absorb into myself. A minute part of me which didn’t fight back enough, which gave up and accepted all of it. Had I been a little more courageous, a little more fearless and a little more selfish, I would have had the chance to switch from, “Why am I going through this?” to “Why am I letting myself go through all of this?”. And this pulled me back to my senses. 

It is true that the abuser shattered me into countless pieces, but it is also true that I gambled those pieces just for them to toy with those again and again. I had been placing those tiny pieces of myself on stake, to knowingly fall into a pattern of getting hurt again. And that way I became them who abused even the minute parts of me over and over again.

It is still not clear to me as to what it takes to break this cycle, but I now know that, when I stop being the abused I will stop being the abuser of myself. It is clear to me I must stop thinking of myself as a wounded cat that is to be rescued, instead to think of myself as a rescuer who carefully picks every single piece of me and still embraces it as it is.

"Writing Culture And Identity" – Report Writing by Hafsa Ahmed of FNZC I Year

   On 6th March 2024, The Capacity Development Program - "Writing Culture And Identity" was organized by the Department of English and Foreign Languages in collaboration with Quills literary club. 

   Tenzin Tsundue a writer, poet and activist born and raised in India who writes and lives for the freedom and independence of Tibet. The session was started by his introduction as a refugee. He had a unique way of attracting the audience with his words. He said he tours colleges to inspire students to become writers and find their writing style. The writer shared his struggle story and his life stories as a Tibetan refugee studying literature and practicing writing In India.  

   The writer kept the audience entertained and active by asking questions and knowing the students opinions. He spoke about how he worked hard in his writings and never gave up inspite of receiving criticism. He shared his writing experiences and recited one of his poems, which was funny yet amazing and was highly adored and enjoyed by the students. The students really enjoyed his poem and were inspired to write and got an idea on how to write using one's culture. He ended the session by narrating a part of his short story and explaining it. The session was really useful and informative for the students and filled the atmosphere with enthusiasm and interest for writing. The students paid keen interest and attention to the writer throughout the session.

     He then introduced his poetry and short stories book "kora" and a book on Tibetan essays and short stories "Nowhere to call home". He brought a few copies of these for the students to buy, which the students purchased with great excitement and interest. The Head of the Department, Dr.M.Suchitra Madam felicitated him as a token of gratitude and respect.

"Valorous Women" - By Ayesha Siddiqua of BA First Year 

Picture Credit : Ayesha Siddiqua 

Be Bold enough to dream,

And brave enough to try,

Be Bold enough to use your voice,

And brave enough to listen your heart,

Be bold and brave, my beautiful queens.

Dare to believe that you can,

Dare to make your dreams a reality,

Dare to live your life limitlessly,

Dare to be yourself,

Be bold and strong enough,

To live a life you've always dreamt of.

"Crumbling Kinship : A Tapestry of Gratitude and Betrayal" - By Prakarshitha Borra of BA Final Year 

Picture Credit : Special Arrangement 

In shadows of kinship, trust was sown,

A family’s embrace, a haven to own.

Yet, the ties that bound, so fragile, so thin,

Crumbled beneath the weight of the unseen.

In halls of family, echoes of strife,

Where once was solace, now a fractured life.

Friends, once allies, turned to wield the knife,

A narrative of betrayal, cutting like a scythe.

Siblings, once pillars, now shattered and torn,

A heart once whole, in fragments is worn.

Extended kin, once a sanctuary, now scorned,

A trust obliterated, a foundation mourned.

Through wreckage of hopes, I bear the weight,

A soul battered, a spirit in its direst state.

Blame not cast on those who participate,

For my trust, my own, I must re-evaluate.

In this crucible of pain, gratitude finds its voice,

To friends, to parents, to siblings, a choice.

To the ones who broke me, yet offered a lesson,

A conflicted thank you, a bittersweet confession.

For every betrayal, a mirror to my soul,

A reminder to rebuild, to regain control.

In the ruins of trust, a chance to be whole,

A journey of healing, a narrative to inscroll.

So here’s my gratitude, wide and vast,

To every actor in this intricate cast.

In the tapestry of life, lessons amassed,

A thank you to the present, a farewell to the past.

“Hey Girl” – By R.Srivally of B.SC MPCS First Year

Picture Credit : Special Arrangement 

If you think you don't have enough clothes, 

Be grateful to atleast own them.

Your parents refrain from sending you after 9pm,

Yet, they do send you before 9pm. right?

You say, they don't respect your choices,

Atleast they gave you choices.

You say, you are not allowed to go for night outs,

But at least you go out in day time.

You say your parents are too harsh on you, 

But atleast thank god you have them.

They love you a lot because you are their child.

“Embracing Tranquility” - By Desai Deepa Samirav of BA First Year

Picture Credit : Special Arrangement 

In this gentle current, there is a brief respite from chaos around. Here, the world’s dissipates and we savour this fleeting escape from reality. In this tranquil embrace, we find a momentary freedom, wishing time would stand still.

Yet, we know this serenity is temporary, a brief pause from life’s relentless current. But every stolen moment like this, renews our spirits, offering a glimpse of peace amid the storm. As the water carries us forward, we are all reminded that amidst all life’s turbulence, we all deserve moments of weightlessness, where we can simply be and breathe.

“I Lost Me, Again” – By Bhumika Raikote of BA II Year

Picture Credit : Special Arrangement

I lost again

When questioned, silence held my tongue,

No words emerged—except ‘nothing.’

I lost anew,

Judged again on past missteps,

My baggage opened for inspection,

My diary, my only confidant,

Was scrutinized and dragged into the light.

I lost again,

World aware but helpless,

No one beside to share burdens,

Pain remains unspoken.

I lost,

Confidence, emotions hanged on,

Steady hands shiver again,

Felt lifeless and loveless.

Again, I couldn’t help myself

From being lost.

I lost again.

I lost me again.

"People Of Greatness" - By Safiyyah of BA I Year 

Picture Credit : Special Arrangement 

Nobody is successful by fate, 

Procrastination is their only hate. 

They are punctual to every gate, 

Neither they deny nor they're late. 

In every situation they'll be brave;

Hence we remember them,

Even if they reach to the grave, 

Success is the only thing, For which they crave.... 

Then comes a moment, 

Which takes everything from them like a wave. 

Story does'nt terminate here, As they restart, 

Having passion like an artist for his art. 

They always follow their plan, not the heart

If people drag them to negativity, they'll stay apart.

They'll never relinquish a rope, 

Which contains the strength of hope. 

They stand ever ready for cope, 

And never utter the word 'nope'.

Finally their battle of struggle won, 

After the hurt of millions of thorn, 

Fame is the vehicle which gives them a horn, 

They've lived the true life, not just born.

"Threads Of Time, Woven With Love" - By Bhumika Raikote of BA Second Year 

Picture Credit : Special Arrangement 

Your unspoken words, I keenly listen

Your untouched feeling, I profoundly feel

The comforting warmth in you soothens me,

Your words, a reassuring embrace, secure me.

The space we lived,

The moments we spent,

As precious as time,

A cherished bond, forever in its prime.

I implore you in my prayers,

I don’t desire you for materialistic reasons,

I yearn to endure this world with you,

When with you, the world seems heaven.

The love you carry for me is the Way,

 I’ve longed to be treated,

Are you real or

Am I Still living a dream ?

"In Search Of Myself" - By Hafsa Ahmed of B.Sc FNZC First Year 

Picture Credit : Special Arrangement 

I’m sorry if I don’t regard anything anymore,

I feel like I’ve lost myself entirely,

Nothing brings me joy anymore.

Even if I smile,

It’s a facade of happiness,

Just to avoid conversations.

I no longer wish to share or speak to anyone.

I just want solitude,

And seek inner peace,

Longing for a peaceful nap.

I don’t even cry anymore,

I cry when I least expect it.

These tears of mine,

Love flowing over my face like a river.

Aloof from studying and living,

Life holds no allure anymore,

Just endure each day.

Day by day,

The pains and burdens

Growing heavier,

Making it more harder to move on and keep going.

Why do the tiniest things hurt me ?

Why am I desolating myself,

When I don’t wish to.

I’m in search of myself

For so long I seem lost,

Somewhere so far away, from where

No one can find me, nor rescue me.