Love: A Touching Short Story by Hari Priya

LOVE

She felt him cuddle her in the middle of the night. 

He felt warm and soft. And suddenly, her nightmares faded 

away.

     

She woke up the next morning, to prepare a mug of coffee. 

She felt him hugging her from behind, his chin resting on her 

shoulder. And somehow, her day started well.

     

She picked up his favourite dress on her. She could feel him 

leaning against the door, smiling at her.

      

She could hear him groan in satisfaction as she prepared his 

favourite breakfast, pancakes with maple syrup.

      

She turned the radio on and started driving. She could see 

him bopping his head to the music. It was his favourite genre.

      As soon as she reached her workplace, she drowned in a 

sea of mails, appointments, and meetings. She forgot about 

him for a while.

      

She ordered her lunch, chuckling, as she remembered how 

his face scrunches up in annoyance at the sight of greasy 

food. She ate it anyways.

    

She returned home in the evening and washed all the make-

up off. He always found her the most beautiful in her 

natural state.

    

She went to the florist to buy daffodils – one of the very few 

things they like in common. She then purchased a bottle of 

wine and headed towards where he currently lived.

    

 She opened the gate, the creaking sound being the only 

thing heard in the neighbourhood. 

She headed towards him with a small smile in her face, as 

she sat opposite to him, placing the flowers and the wine

beside her.

    

 She spoke to him about her day, knowing that he would 

listen without any problem. He always listened.

     

He was listening then too, smiling, as he stared at her. He 

smiled at how angry she got over her boss, feigned 

annoyance as she mentioned her unhealthy lunch, laughed 

with her as she narrated a really funny incident which had 

occurred in the office.

She went on speaking about her day, and he never minded. 

He was enjoying it. She knew it.

     

Soon, a comfortable silence wrapped around them. It was 

getting dark and she had to leave.

      

She kissed him, and left for home. He felt the kiss and his 

heart soared.

      He felt her love for him, even if he was no more.   

To War or not to War: A Report on QLC Meeting 30 July 2016

 Quills Literary Club welcomed  its  members to discuss and debate over the topic " TO WAR OR NOT TO WAR." 

M.Sai Priya talks about the Second World War

 The session started with a recitation of a heart touching poem  by Juveria Tabassum. The poem was titled, "I saw his Eyes" and written by Juveria herself. The poem referred to the horrific July 14th attack in Nice, and was inspired by the picture of a little girl lying dead on the road, covered with a thermal blanket, and her doll lying beside her. However, the poem was also a tribute to all those children who suffer endlessly and pointlessly in armed conflicts around the world.

Juveria Tabassum recites her poem, "I saw his Eyes"

The poem was a dramatic monologue where the child expresses her melancholy to  her mother saying that those all who fight over each other should be given love and not hatred.

The club  for a while was in deep thoughts. 

Members lost in thoughts

Nagina Shashanka then broke the silence with her speech on First World War to educate everyone about how actually it all started during those times and it was followed by M.Sai Priya who gave an introduction about the Second World War. 

Nagina Shashanka talking about the war and its effects

The discussion gradually drifted to a debate  where a few members talked in favour of war. It was indeed wonderful to get some unbelievable facts about how war altered some nations to be powerful on earth and how it benefited in promoting new inventions. 

G.Anusha questioning the members

Supriya.K

K.srinidhi

K.Kavitha Keerthi

It was all again strictly objected to by some of the others, who argued that the damage caused, nullifies any "advantage" that war provides. They said that war not only causes physical destruction, but also  the destroys the interpersonal relations between nations. The staff of English Department also participated in the discussion to boost it up and enlighten students. 

In conversation

The session ended up with the screening of a short movie "The Immigrant", which showcased the arduous journey from Europe to America that the Jews undertook during the Second World War, in order to escape the atrocities imposed upon them by Hitler. The lead role, played by iconic actor Charlie Chaplin, left everyone laughing heartily after a long serious discourse about war but they also might have understood the greatness of the veteran actor Charlie who showcased poor conditions of an immigrant with a humorous touch in it. We moved out thinking what next there yet was, to come from our literary club.




M.Sai Priya

Graves Don't Lie: A Unique take on Life and Death by Sai Priya

QLC presents a unique, profound and deeply stirring short story, Life from the Grave by Sai Priya

Amma, you cannot be this way anymore, I shouted. You have not eaten anything since morning. How many days are you going to be in depression? Please come out of it amma. Life is not all about father. He left us but not on road.He gave us all that we require to live happily ever after. He may not be byour side but he is always watching us and if you do not eat food, you are disrespecting him.

              I was talking a lot  about such stuff and then realized that she dozed off on the couch long back, yet murmuring my father’s name.I could do nothing but go to my room and sleep.I woke up early in the morning with sounds coming from the dining room. I simply rushed and found my Amma weeping in a corner saying

 “Why do they do this all the time? I can’t stand those sounds…its painful.Please ask them to stop it.”

I tried to cool her down and gave her a glass of water.

Amma relax, I will take you to your room.

I did not notice that Chandra had come and stood before the main door looking out in astonishment.

I took amma to her room and helped her lie down.

What sound was amma talking about? asked Chandra, coming inside the house.

Amma doesn’t like those drum sounds that they play when someone is dead. She says that she starts remembering father’s death.

Why don’t you close the windows then?asked Chandra.

Yes, I did.But look!The graveyard is just next to my house and the sounds would have never ended even if I had placed an iron cupboard there.

I think you should not live here any longer, Sravan.

I know, Chandra. But I am totally helpless. I cannot afford a new house in the town right away. I promised amma that I would definitely shift home far away from any graveyard as soon as I get a good job.

Alright, I think I will leave now.

Wait Chandra, I completely forgot asking the  purpose of your visit so early in the morning.

Oh yeah! I have come here to give you this file that you forgot yesterday on my desk. Here, take it.

Thank you so much Chandra. You should not have troubled yourself coming all the way long. I would have collected it in the office.

Naah! Thats ok. I thought you might be in need of the file. So I came to hand it over to you. Anyways, I have to leave now. See you in the office. Take care of amma.

Bye Chandra. See you.

I went back to check if my mother was asleep but I found her leaning onto the wall and looking at the graveyard through the window.

Amma, don’t you want to rest?

No, Sravan, I am fine.

What happened amma? , I asked.

She gave a faded smile.

Do you want to take a break going to aunt’s house? I asked her.

No, I am fine here, she replied.

Alright if you change your mind then let me knowamma.

I got ready and ran off to office wondering if Neelima had already reached there. I was right.She stood near the entrance talking to Chandra. I waved a quick ‘Hi’ and went to park my bike. 

Neelima and Chandra have been my colleagues for a long time that I cannot live in peace in the weekends, because I don't get to meet them.

You look worried Sravan , what’s the matter? asked  Neelima.

Its nothing Neelu. The same old story. My amma is unable to come out of depression.

Then maybe you should tell her about me, Sravan.

How does that matter now?

Your amma will feel better if you say we are going to get married, Neelima giggled.

Haha...fine fine. I will tell her soon about you.

We three walked inside the office discussing about work for the day.

It was half past two and I received five missed calls from 

amma which I did not attend due to a meeting. I  ran out as 

quickly as possible to call her.

Amma are you fine? I asked.

Yes, I am fine. Nothing to worry. Had your lunch?

 Yes but why did you call me so many times?

Err…I was just wondering if it is the right thing to go to aunt’s place for a while.

Finally, I am happy that you have decided to live in peace forgetting the past. Well, I will come and pick you when I am done with my office work and drop you at aunt’s house.

Alright son. I will wait. Bye

Bye amma.

Months passed by and I missed amma very badly. I cursed myself for sending her to aunt's house. The house was gloomy without her. I leaned towards the wall and looked at the grave.

" Only if I had a house in town, my life would be different " I thought.

The doorbell rang and I went to see who it was at this hour. To my surprise it was Neelima smiling at me. I was astonished  and asked her.

"What is this? I would have come to pick you if you had  informed me before , Neelima.

There is no need for such a thing. I am not a kid Sravan. I came in a cab.

A cab? Are you saying that you came in a cab in this dark night. Why do you do such things which scare me.

Alright, I am sorry. I won’t repeat it.But I thought you might be feeling lonely without amma.

Yes, I do. I miss her a lot Neelu.

Anyways comfort yourself on the sofa.

I will be right back with a cup of coffee.

Sure, let’s see how Mr. Sravan makes coffee for his fiancé.

I laughed and went into the kitchen to bring a mug filled with hot coffee.

When I was done I shouted "Neelima, how much sugar do you prefer in a cup of coffee?"

There was no reply. I shouted again, Neelima, are you there?

There was pin drop silence again.

I went to see where she might have gone and I could not find her since she was not on the sofa. So I went to dining hall and there she stood leaning to the wall and keenly watching the grave just like amma.

She saw me but spoke after a long silence.

They are playing drums. Who is dead? Sravan.

I replied in a mellowed tone, "What do I know?" That’s a graveyard and they bury people who are dead.

Hmm, are we going to stay in this house after our marriage? She asked.

I took a long breath and sighed.

Listen Neelu,  I am not going to trouble you. We will move to the town and live a happy life there. But just give me few more days. I swear, I will find a quite right place.

What are you talking about Sravan?

I just asked you if we are going to stay in this house after marriage.

I never said I have any problem with the grave.

Don’t comfort me with your sweet lies, Neelu. Do you think I am a fool to believe you when you say you do not have a problem with the grave. Who on earth loves to reside in a house surrounded by a deadly grave.

Neelima laughed out loud and said It’s me who has no complaints on the grave.

Look Sravan, it all depends on us how we look at certain things. This grave is not that bad anyways. In life, we always run behind fame, riches and name. We never stay satisfied with one thing. We want a house, then a car, then a big mansion, then a different model car and it just goes on.

We want to earn lot of money for our children and also grand children. We simply become greedy each day.

 What do you want to say Neelima? I interrupted.

Just look at the grave, Sravan. Each time when you start your day looking at it will remind you that whatever you do in life, you definitely have to give up all the materialistic things and fall asleep in the grave forever. It will remind you not to be too greedy or not take an issue too seriously. Let life float on the water gently. 

In Memoriam: The Children of Nice, A Poem by Juveria

War in itself is a phenomenon that can never inspire a cheerful thought. The most horrifying part of war is the impact it has had on  children.

To force a child to witness gory death and destruction is to murder their innocence. 

Over the last 4-5 years, the world has been paralysed by war, terrorism and armed conflict. 

The plight of children amidst these war-torn areas is the most disturbing thing.

When the Bastille Day attack happened in Nice this year, The Hindu newspaper carried a heartrending photograph of a dead girl lying on the road, covered by a thermal blanket, with her doll lying beside her. This poem is inspired by that photograph, because it somehow seemed to have captured the silent suffering of all those children facing and fighting death and despair everyday, in different corners of the world. The poem is a tribute to them, in the hope that the screeches of rifles and blasts of missiles, are soon replaced by the delights of childhood in their lives. The poem  also marks our pledge against terrorism of any kind.   

I Saw his Eyes

The wheels were heavy, Mommy.

My ribs couldn’t take the strain.

They cracked and they punctured

My lungs and my heart.

You felt the air and saw the blood

Escaping my beaten body.

How red was the blood, Mommy?

How hot the air?

Did they tell you I once lived?

Will you remember I once lived?

Or will my brief stay 

Make you forget your daughter’s days?

Oh the days I had here, Mommy!

Bright and Cheerful.

Screams of laughter,

Shouts of joy, warm as chocolate,

Sweet as honey, fearless, like the night sky!

Screams, shouts, warm blood, sweet, sad Mommy…

I saw fear in the man’s eyes.

The man behind the heavy wheels of the truck.

They’ll tell you he was a monster.

Do not believe them,

For I saw his eyes.

And  in his eyes, I saw fear.
And I think he never felt love.

It is lonely without love, Mommy.

And you remember, I got scared when I was lonely?

So he was scared, Mommy.

Give him love.

Give them all love.

Not gun fire, please.

Mommy let me hear your voice.

Talk to me.

Tell me, “Sweetheart, it’s time to go home.”

Juveria Tabassum

Can You tell the Artist from the Art?

                 O body swayed to music, O brightening glance, How can we  know the dancer from the dance?

                                 

                                                                                      W.B. Yeats,                                                              Among School Children  

  

  There was a long, white hallway and in the centre was a bright pink spot surrounded by images, colours and strokes. It was the fountainhead from where sprang a million faces, hands, feet and human forms. 

   Three beauties came together: Mind, Brush and Space. 

Ailamma Art Gallery: Harvest is on

  

  The Atelier Exhibition, “Serving, Waiting on Hand and Foot, a Conscious Choice for Creating Visual Art Within Gallery Space” by Koeli Mukherjee Ghose at Ailamma Art Gallery, Hyderabad, 6th-30th July 2016, was in many ways an avant-garde defiance of  theories that rule the contemporary art world. 

   Atelier, a French word, refers to a studio cum workshop. It celebrates the co-existence of the artist and the art.  The calm and relaxed atmosphere was Koeli's retreat and was set  up by renowned calligrapher, Mr Parameshwar Raju. Koeli's paintings, as one would normally expect were not mounted on a solemn frame but clipped to a string, like the unfinished negatives in a photographer's dark room. This was not only Koeli's way of freeing the artwork physically for a more  intimate interaction with observers but also to challenge those who consider art as a feudal act, confined to the upscale ivory towers of society. 

A dark room's twin

  Within a few weeks, Koeli produced more than hundred paintings. Her technique includes, calligraphy, wet on wet and wash painting. The human body forms the core of her work. It is a body in action and abstraction. The defamiliarisation is on as hands and feet waiting and serving merge with colours, figures, isolated strokes and entwined lines. Koeli’s vision defies the Cartesian mind-body duality and moulds itself into a shape of its own. As Koeli said, it acts as a conveyor of everyday socio-cultural sense. The women in her paintings are busy in their household work. Predictable images of women tending children and making peripatetic journeys from inside to outside keep recurring. 

Women in their everyday life

     Koeli’s paintings are also emotions recollected in tranquility. The days she spent in Visva-Bharati , Shantiniketan as a student, as a learner attain a living form in her work. The dense, arching foliage and the fluttering young hearts of the campus find a colourful place in her imagination. The same scenario is rendered differently when Koeli imagines it as a political borderline where people would rather turn away from each other.

Foliage and Fluttering hearts

When borders rise

   There are other paintings that have emerged out of conversations with her contemporaries. Certain works also display a free and spontaneous confluence of the public and the private space.

   Spirituality too forms an inevitable aspect of Koeli’s work. It never, however, floats on the canvas in a sectarian sense but in a subtle,  phantasmic evocation of the unknown through  a very agile colour palate.

    

   Koeli’s growth as an artist primarily began in Hyderabad. Her work is original and fresh. The lines, colours, prominent, fading, blotting create an organic unity that is rare and unfamiliar. Her brush glides uninhibitedly over the paper, travels a sea of emotions and then comes back to its core, its origin which is often the human form both concrete and abstract. 

“Atelier” was a new experience for me. Breaking dimensions of perceptions. It unveiled that art may not be lofty or a wave of tensed and artistic nerves; It may pour forth of a beautiful and calm woman sitting among friends, musing about the physical and metaphysical limits of life and beyond.  

Add caption

                              

                                                                    

Koeli with Mr Parameshwar Raju and Mr Vijaya Rao

      Jhilam.C