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Three Questions : Ashwina GargAshwina Garg has written stories for Woman's era and the novel "Spicy Bites of Biryani" by Srishti Publishers. A happily married Ashwina is

a Mom of two kids. After completing ICWA, she worked as a technical writer and a translator. She used to write financial reports for a US

based company and then tried her hand at fiction. She also takes cookery classes in Continental cuisines and likes to follow financial trends.

Her hobbies include reading, traveling, food, music and watching movies.

Branwyn : It is said that kitchen is the most important place in a

woman's household since it is considered to be inextricably woven

with her nature. How do you think a woman's nature relates to her

culinary prowess? And how much does it differ from writing?

Ashwina : I don't think that the kitchen is the most important placein the household. Any activity that bonds a family together can be

considered important. For example, some families bond over outdoor

activities, family get together or through sports.

I think all women, whether they stay at home or work in an office,have an inherently domestic side that they have to indulge in. It's not

always about cooking. Some woman are good at managing finances,some are good at keeping a good home, some are good at gardening,

some are good with children's activities. A woman should concentrate

on her interests and strengths and delegate the rest. It's no use always

trying to be a good cook when you don't enjoy cooking just because

other people tell you have to be a good cook. I love to cook and I find it

very relaxing. I find it very similar to writing. Both involve a set of

rules that you must follow, yet it's your creativity that makes your

writing or cooking exceptional. Both require patience and dedication

and passion.

Branwyn : Do you think that female authors should

culminate the financial prospect of writing rather

than just scribbling out the boredom.

Ashwina : Ofcourse, if youre a writer, you should

try and find a way to get paid for it. Whatever said

and done, money is a great motivator and a writer

will slowly get depressed and lazy if he/she is not

getting paid for their hard work. Of course, even the

best writers first started writing by scribbling

nonsense. Writing is an art that gets better the

more you practice. So a writer should start by

writing as a hobby but the goal should be to convert

the hobby into a career.

Branwyn : Which habit of women you

find self-destructive?

Ashwina : I feel women find it very

difficult to get the work-family balance

right. Most of them will sacrifice their

personal goals for the family and that is

a sure way to be bitter and unhappy in

life. Women need to have a good

support system of caretakers, maids,

etc so that they can also get time to do

the things that they want do in life.

Thanks for being with us Ms.

Ashwina Garg. Branwyn

Family wishes you all the verybest in all your future

endeavours.

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Writers creatures with a super active mind and unbound imaginations the creatures whose sub-

conscious mind keeps scribbling random thoughts the creature whose inner self is known for never being

at rest.

Then, could we source a moment which actually made them speechless? A moment when they came out of

their safe writer zone and acted like a human?

Branwyn tried to find out

Movie movie Bang Bang

Laxmikant Shukl, author of 5 shades, got his

speechless moments when a Production

House contacted him regarding their

upcoming movie. Truly speechless indeed!

Mere Ghar aayi ek Nanhi Pari

For Mahip Chadha, his speechless moment

was actually a blessing of God Almighty. Ashe says It was a pleasant day in October -

neither warm nor cold when I was sitting in

my office-a young Capitain then, when the

phone rang. A lady calls in a very excitedtone and said Bhai Sahib, Jaldi se aayiye,time ho gaya hai. My boss Major Kuldip

Sharma told me to take his car. I reached

home, gingerly seated her in the car and

picked up a suitcase which she had pre-

packed. We reached the hospital and theMatron looked at my worried face and

smiled. You are not the first ones who are

going through with this ordeal-there havebeen many before you! RELAX! Then she

told me to go home.

I waited on pins and needles till the awaited

call came and I ran up the short cut -uphill

till I reached my wife's room totally out ofbreath!

She smiled at me and handed me a bubble of

joy=our first born -a girl. I clutched her tomy chest =looked at my wife Kiran, to say

THANK YOU. But no words assembled at my

tongue!

I was speechless!

Col. Mahip Chadha with wife Late Mrs. Kiran

Missing Cord

Neoni Dsouza, contributing author at Terehi Liye and Syahi however fell short of

words when she lost her Dad. The momentmade her speechless when she felt that the

ever protective and ultimately caring father

was not with her side.

Dream coming true

For Pulkit Gupta - Compiler & contributing

author at Moonlit Matinee, Author at Life

and Promises and contributing author at

You, me N Zindagi Omji Publishing House

Pvt. Ltd. got his speechless moment when

he held his dream in his hands. As he says -Well there are 2 moments in a person's life

which makes him speechless- one related to

professional achievement and another

related to his personal life. I had 3 of them

last year- One was when I fell in love and got

yes in reply to my proposal, 2nd was when I

cleared CS Executive in a very difficult

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An Obliged Man

An obliged man is a caged bird:

Craving for hearts fulfillment yet

Fluttering unprotestingly

In the unbreakable fetters,

Like Drona, Shalya, Karna or a Dasharatha;

Preferring to pay back

With life Rather than

To displease the obliger.

What else can you hope

From a man doubly cursed

Crutching on obligation?

Shouldnt he sacrifice his identity

Or put brake on his desires

If they come into the obligers way?

Or should he redefine the sense of propriety?

Show guts to do

What his heart wishes him to do?

Should we sacrifice our identity?

Only to payback the obligation?

Can this bartering be true religion?

Alpine Ambergris : Dr Subodh Kumar Jha

Dr. Subodh Kumar Jha has been a

member of NCERT and UGC Workshopsfor the proficiency of English Languagein various study streams! At present, he

is a prominent part of Magadh University

as the Head of Department of English inS.N. Sinha College!

He honoured Branwyn with his specialsegment titled "ALPINE AMBERGRIS".

Alpine means mountain peak which

denotes Subodh Sir's intellectual personaand Ambergris means a fragrant

substance found at sea level.Thus, "Alpine Ambergris" together

denotes the combination of an

intellectual person like Subodh Sir andnovice writers like us who are just trying

to make a difference!

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Miss and Mr. 65

The bus was rolling on the busy road.

The din of the passengers inside was

being continuously punctured by the

creaking of the windows. Nice cool drift

from the Arabian Sea was blowing

across the half-opened windows on

either side of the bus.

Arun was standing near the middle seat

of the bus with one hand riveted to the

hanger for support and in the other hand

carrying a bulky brown-coloured file.Dressed in a full sleeve shirt with purple

stripes, which was un-tucked in a grey

trouser, he looked to be a young man in

early twenties. Standing only a step

behind AnuradhaA young lady

dressed in a white cotton saree and

black blouse with a handbag on one

shoulder and the other hand on the

hanger----Arun was disinclined to think

that the two were completely strangers

in the over-powering anonymity of

Bombay.

'There is a lot common between me and

her. Not only are we co-passengers of

similar age group but our likes/dislikes

may also be similar ', Arun was

engrossed in his thoughts even as

Anuradha stood un-aware though

slightly conscious of the handsome

young man standing behind her. 'Should

I ask her destination, or should I get a

seat vacated for her in this crowded bus

so that she may sit comfortably while I

shall stand beside her.' Questions

continued to pound Arun's mind as he

stood behind Anuradha as if trying to

shield his most prized possession

against the travails of the worldly life.

And, Anuradha stood un-mindful,

completely indifferent to the spell which

her most graceful apsara-like beauty

was creating on Arun.

It is not a less daunting a task to

approach a young woman and strike a

conversation out rightly. Only a few

people have such a privilege like a

policeman on the beat, a teacher in a

class-room or a bus conductor in a bus.

But Arun was none of them. The Indian

Culture doesn't permit a young man to

approach his fellow of equal age but of

opposite sex, with any ease. A battle

between compelling passion and

restraining taboos was brewing up in

Arun's mind.' Who knows me in this

bus? She may also be liking me. She may

appreciate my dare in approaching her

for a conversation. I am an educated

man with a gift of the gab to impress her.

Those who never try can never succeed.

What if I fail but if I God-willing succeed

then?'

May I... as he mumbled, the young lady

moved towards the door of the bus. The

conductor had rung the bell for Borivalli

where she had to get down. Whether she

heard Arun's words or were they lost inthe sound of the bell became a puzzle of

Arun's mind.

Jai Jawan Jai Kisan was the slogan that

reverberated in the democratic polity of

India. There was an air of simplicity all

around. Emphasis on self-reliance, curb

on wasteful expenditures, placing the

nation ahead of oneself were the themes

that dominated the public discourse

among the educated Indians at that time.

The spirit of hard work was in the air.No shortcuts could get success. A farmer

tilled the land with a pair of bullocks just

as a soldier risked his life in the battle

for sovereignty of his mother land.

Arun has just completed his B.A from the

Bombay University. The meager

resources of his family could not afford

him higher studies. Energized by the

chants of Jai Jawan, Jai Kisan he had

determined to join the Indian Army as

an officer. A regular visitor to the CentralLibrary for competitive studies he used

to board a bus from Malad to Bomabay

Central almost daily.

It was a hot sunny day in Bombay when

Anuradha had boarded a bus from

Bandra. Arun was more than keen to

capture a sight of Anuradha whom he

had missed for as long as past three

days. He saluted his luck that Anuradha

had entered the same bus no: 3214

which he had boarded from BombayCentral to Malad. Arun cautiously passed

a glance over Anuradha beware of the

fact that she may not become conscious

of being looked at. Anuradha took three

steps inside the bus and sat on a seat

three rows ahead of Arun but on the

opposite line. Just as he saluted his luck

earlier he was now cursing it that the

seat adjacent to him was not empty and

therefore she could not sit next to her.

Whether she has noted me? May be she

has but is pretending otherwise as most

girls do'. Arun was again in the grip of

fancy.

Anuradha in her black saree was looking

even more beautiful than

Vajayanthimala, the popular actress of

those times. The tears of sweat that

rolled down her forehead tormented her

but she was wiping them off with her

colourful handkerchief. The occasionalpuff of cool air from outside soothed her

a little. The eldest of the three siblings,

Anuradha had dropped out of her

graduation to support her family. Her

father ran a small confectionary shop

from their home itself. She had done a

course in stenography and was applying

for the job of steno in the different

offices in Bombay.

Ting-Ting!. The conductor shouted

'Borivalli' and the bus stopped.Anuradha, shouldered her hand bag and

reached for the door. Arun's heart bgean

to beat at rocket's speed. He got up

unknowingly and trotted towards the

door like a string tied to a kite. Anuradha

was very nimble footed; she had taken a

few steps on the pavement along the

road. Arun felt the pull of a mysterious

force that was over-powering him and

accelerating him towards her. His mind

had become feeble against the Pull

acting on him. As he gained his

consciousness, he started feeling guilty

over his deed of following her.' But what

is wrong in it? Brave are those who try

and Cowards are those who die before a

fight.' Arun's thoughts reflected the

mindset of a soldier that he had already

become even before joining the Indian

Army. Arun was not a jaded lover. Nor

was he a heart-broken Romeo. Infact he

could not recollect any genuine crush

which he might have nurtured earlier.

He was a sincere and determined person

who had chosen the noble path of

joining the Indian Army. Whenever he

felt weak in his mind, he used to

meditate on the life of a soldier in a

battlefield and he was infused with

courage and strength.' I am a soldier',

Arun repeated in his mind. His feet

started speeding up, his heart beat

started normalizing and he started

gaining confidence as he neared in

Anuradha.

A Million Universes : NitinSingh

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Excuse me! My name is Arun Kumar.

Can you please guide me whether there

is any magazine or newspapers shop

nearby?

Anuradha moved her neck to her the

direction from which the voice came. In

a split second she gazed at the young

man who had abruptly broken her silentwalk. The nicely combed hair, white

sober shirt untucked in a navy blue

trouser and a smiling face cast the

impression of an educated middle class

young man. Its round the corner on the

other side of the road.

Arun was delighted that Anuradha was

addressing her. He had long cherished

this Moment.

Are you studying? Arun asked.

No, I am searching for a job.

I am also preparing for a competitive

exam. I want to be an officer in the

Indian Army.

Anuradha nodded her head at the proud

assertion of the young man, who was

now walking along side her. The young

man was mentally enjoying his success

over breaking the ice that he had dreamt

off. 'How foolish I was that I didn't dare

to approach her in the bus itself ',

thought Arun.

You frequently travel by Bus No:2345

Why? Anuradha asked with her

eyebrows screwed up in suspicion.

No-no nothing like that. I asked since I

am also a regular passenger of this bus.'

Anuradha had a feeling that it was too

much to talk to a stranger who she now

realized might have been following her.

She enhanced her pace so as to break

company with the stranger. Arun slowed

down deliberately. He kept looking at

her till she turned at the corner of theroad. His Moment of Success hadn't last

long. 'What is her name?' Oh! What a

fool! I didn't even ask her name.' he

thought.

Next morning, Arun was travelling on

the jam-packed bus with a seat near the

door. As the bus stopped at Borivalli his

eyes began to search for someone whom

these didn't wish to lose sight of. And

there she appeared, this time dressed in

a yellow saree resembling a sun-flowerin its full glory.

Hello! Please sit Arun offered his seat,

trying to hide his expressions about the

marvelous spectacle of her beauty.

Anuradha sat with near silent thanks

while recognizing the stranger who

seemed to have pursued her yesterday.

Arun stood by her and hoped that this

journey would become endless. He felt

as if the stations were coming much

earlier than their scheduled arrival. Was

the driver driving the bus fast or the

distance between the stations had

narrowed down. This time Anuradha got

down at Bandra and left the bus without

looking at Arun.

Arun reached the Central Library and

got immersed in his studies. He had

made a promise with himself to succeed

in the exam for selection of officers for

the Indian Army. He had been good in

English and Mathematics ever since his

child-hood. These two sections weighed

the maximum in the exam. Arun knew

that how much a Government job

mattered for him and his family. In the

war torn economy of 1960s, a

government job was like a kingdom for

the country's unemployed. After the

day's hard work, Arun caught the bus toMalad. His eyes moving on the

passengers at every stop. But his search

didn't turn out to be fruitful.

It was nice evening when Anuradha was

hurrying down the pavement after off-

loading from the bus. It was a

momentous evening for her as she had

got a job after nearly six months of

search. Suddenly a voice interrupted her

from behind.

Hi

She noticed with surprise that it was the

same young man who had offered her a

seat in the bus, the other day.

She replied, Hello!

What is your name?asked Arun.

Her heart beating a little faster, she

stopped and apprehensively replied,

Please dont follow me.

These words evoked a nervous reactionfrom Arun, who also stopped and said,

Please dont take otherwise. I am a

sincere person. My name is Arun. I am a

graduate from Bombay University. I stay

in Malad and I aspire to be an Army

Officer.

Arun had given her un-called for

introduction. He knew that 'it was now

or never'. He knew it was probably the

last chance; 'The Last Chance' his heart

skipped a beat as he thought about his

daring deed.

Ok! said Anuradha and started

walking.

My name is Anuradha. I have left my

graduation studies in-between to do a

job which I have finally got after a long

wait.

Congratulations! I am also studying

daily with good concentration to clear

the exam for selection to the Indian

Army. A smile appeared on Anuradha's

face as she heard 'with good

concentration'. Perhaps the present

deed of Arun was not in conformity with

his stated conviction.

You belong to Bombay? asked

Anuradha.

My native place is Ferozepur in Punjab.

My father was a supervisor in a textile

mill in Bombay. After his retirement our

family decided to settle here itself.

Anuradha was noticing a sense of

sincerity in the conversation of the

young man. He was tall and elegant. His

thoughts appeared even taller to

Anuradha. It seemed that now it was the

turn of Anuradha to fall a prey to the

Cupid's arrows.

Shall we sit here for a cup of tea? Arun

asked her while nervously pointing

towards a road-side tea stall. Anuradha

accepted the offer almost unconsciously.

As the tea was served to them they

started drifting towards an exciting

conversation. The first conversation of

love! There is something peculiar about

when a young man meets his companion

of equal age. They dont know their

ending but they have an inner urge to

know each other thoroughly. They may

not be secure about their future but they

want to remove the clouds of suspicionand uncertainties encircling each other.

In a laughter wrecking tone Arun while

dipping a Glucose biscuit in his tea is

telling Anuradha, I love...

Anuradha is stunned for a second. There

is pin-drop silence.

Arun completes, ... eating tea-dipped

biscuits with every sip of tea. And the

atmosphere reverberates with the

hilarious laughter that ensues thereafteras if two birds have taken on new wings;

as if the crescent moon and the evening

star are enjoying each other's presence;

as if two daffodils are kissing each other

in some deep forest; as if the dew drops

are waiting to be kissed by the new

morning light and sublimate.

Nitin Singh is an introvert

who loves to scribble down

his exploits. His freestyle

write-ups often deal with

day-to-day adventures of

middle class people. Nitin is

a resident of Ferozepur.

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Bhagwat Geeta in Modern Times

To call our generation a confused one is

a clich.

We have reached a stage in humanity

where the societies are becoming more

convergent than ever before. The

revolutions in one part of the world

followed by another in the other isnt a

matter of chance. It is the natural result

of rapid transformations, path-breaking

conquests and shifting paradigms.

I lost my grandfather last year. His last

memory of me would have been our last

conversation on Skype. He saw me

speaking to him on the monitor of the

computer he had placed in his room. He

wasnt surprised; just overwhelmed at

being able to see me from thousand

miles away. He asked me if I was

spending a lot of money on such a

technology. It amazes me as much as it

amazed him to know that such a thing

was free. Barely years back, cellphones

looked like miracles and Skype existed

in the world of Mandrake only.

Not surprisingly either, some great texts

of the yester years have come to lose

sheen. Texts that once were seen as

rule-books to life may now be seen as

obsolete, given the rapid, chaotic

changes that surround us.

Ironically, the rapidly changing world

brings its own challenges. It is against

the basic human instinct of seeking

consistency, and avoiding disparity. It

demolishes everything that may have

been a guide simply because events,

actions and actions occur today in ways

unprecedented.

The Bhagwat Gita is one remarkable

work ofman (!) which has survived the

test of time.

That is, to put it mildly.

At the peril of being graded as a

whatever (it surprises me to note the

evolution of an entirely regressive

nomenclature to describe anyone whouses analogies from Hinduism!) I would

go on to quote that there are instances

which make me wonder at times if The

Bhagwat Gita- literally- The Song Of

God is but a mere text.

Lets consider this.

Krishna, the symbol of the divine, who is

all that there is, is seen in human form.

He preaches to his disciple- a bereaved,

confused yet valorous Arjuna about the

oneness of spirit. All that he expounds

from there- the Gunas, the Karma yoga

(the path of action), Gnana yoga (the

path sublime wisdom), Raja yoga (the

path of Meditation and Spiritualism) or

Bhakti yoga (the path of devotion)

insinuates that the motive of existence is

the awareness of oneness, and all paths

lead to Him- the supreme one, who is

all that there is, and everything starts

and end from within him.

Also, in all narrations of the Bhagwat

Gita, it is assumed that everything (not

just the human Body-mind you!) is

constituted by the five basic elements,

i.e.

ether", air, fire, water and earth.

We sure can contest that. We sure would

receive glares if we started discussing

this in public. We sure would be named

mystiques if there were some kind

people around.

But that was way ahead of the discovery

of the basic concept of atoms and

molecules. Let us appreciate that. On a

closer look, even atoms and molecules

are not solid particles. That is energy

vibrating at various frequencies, at

different levels. All that there is,

everything everywhere, is energyand

that vibrates at certain frequencies.

Either water or air, at the level which is

more basic than what our society terms

as basic, are alarmingly congruent in

constitution.

Energy can neither be created nor be

destroyed (yes, there us a twist; Mr.

Einstein was born- I am aware of that

though). Moves from one form to

another. And by the earlier definition, it

also is the essence of all that there is.

What am I trying to allude? The essence

of oneness? I leave that open to

interpretation. I am too meager in my

identity to attempt to give a final word

on it. What I am however, suggesting is

the possibilities in this school of thought,and the opening of avenues of

interpretation. Is there a possibility of

the existence of (with the scholars of

that era) knowledge even more sublime

in form that that which we pride in

possessing?

J. Robert Oppenheimer, the mastermind

of the first nuclear weapon of modern

times quoted the Bhagwat Gita saying I

am become death, the destroyer of

worlds. Shortly after Oppenheimer,

director of the laboratory that developed

the nuclear bomb, saw the fireball

glowing over the New Mexico desert (16

July 1945), words from the Bhagavad

Gita was quoted by him. The word Kaal

is interpreted differently by Vivekanand-

he assumes it says time, whereas

Oppenheimer says it is death. What if

the pun was intentional? It may just

have been, refereeing to later quotes

from the Gita.

Each time I read it, I hold it away from

my body. The sparks are so real that I

am afraid that flares will erupt in my

hands.

I definitely dont attempt to simplify, or

discuss the Gita. Have the worlds paper

goes on that. What I certainly attempt to

do is to demystify it. It is a relevant text,

more so in the current world of self-

centeredness and dilemma. It is not just

philosophical or religious in approach- it

may be more scientific than what we

assume. And thus, it must be viewed as

a guide rather than a text

What I would like to do is invite

opinions about the aspects of it which

readers would like to discuss. I solicit

your advice, discussions and

suggestions. To discuss further in the

upcoming issues, please write to us (To

Sneha, or to Branwyn on Facebook)

Keenly wait to hear from you.

Mr. Incandescent is a soul never at peace. But

once you ignore his self proclaimed

megalomania with fallacies, you discover that

he stores doublefolds than what he actuallyspeaks out. Adoor from Dhanbad, he lives in

New Delhi and works as an Investment

Banker.

Mr Incandescent Speaks

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/308544.J_Robert_Oppenheimerhttps://www.goodreads.com/author/show/308544.J_Robert_Oppenheimerhttps://www.goodreads.com/author/show/308544.J_Robert_Oppenheimer

8/13/2019 Branwyn Jan 2014

10/18

When affection congealedI was happy tugging onto the dark walls that I had

been confined in from a long time. One day I heard

someone saying from beyond these towering sooty

walls; she is now 12 weeks old, dont delay it any

further. Strangely I have never spotted any nook

or cranny from where the light could embrace me.

Its been ages that I have been swimming in this

vacuum of loneliness. I have been marooned.

Mom had been caressing me from beyond theseimpenetrable walls. When she strokes the walls, I

press my head against it; her touch transcends love

and I could feel it coursing through my veins. I

could almost feel my heart throbbing at a frenetic

pace, my knees knocking against the wall; joy knew

no bounds. One day the nook opened up, I pranced

with glee. I could see a pair of shiny silvery object

(suction curette) heading towards me. I thought

that mom had given me the first gift ever; I opened

my arms as wide as I could. My purported friend

caught hold of my neck, and then its grip started to

tighten. Arggghhhhhh.. it was strangling me, I

could feel my breath getting snuffed. Mom, please

help; I shouted at the top of my lungs but it fell on

deaf ears. I could feel a strong gush of wind and I

got sucked into the black hole. I was reunited with

my divine creator.

Congratulations maam your abortion was

successful. The blood soaked corpse lay swaddled

in a corner.

The Medical Termination of Pregnancy (MTP) Act

ofIndia,1971 clearly states the conditions under

which a pregnancy can be ended or aborted, the

persons who are qualified to conduct the abortion

and the place of implementation. Some of these

qualifications are as follows:

Women whose physical and/or mentalhealth was endangered by the pregnancy

Women facing the birth of a potentiallyhandicapped or malformed child

Rape Pregnancies in unmarried girls under the age

of eighteen with the consent of a guardian

Pregnancies in "lunatics" with the consent ofa guardian

Do you think that the abortion that takes place

these days meets any of the above pre-requisites?

Talking about the statistics of abortion, they have

spiraled from mere 24300 in 1972 to 620472 as

reported in 2010. Think twice before you snuff an

infants life, because those folded hands might be

just praying to embrace you.

Sacrament Sobriety : Gaurav Gill

Mr. Gaurav Gill is a person of

quintessential contemplation

known for his kind and modest

nature. He is a lecturer and lives in

New Delhi.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Indiahttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/India

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Hero of Kargil

The Sun had started

setting towards the West. The

Himachal Roadways bus was

passing through the circuitous

road on its way to Kalka. A

young man in his mid twenties

was looking at the landscape

through the window and was

lost in his thoughts. He was

shaken out of his day dream

when the conductor tapped his

left shoulder for the ticket.

Sanjay, the young man, stared

at the conductor with a blank

look on his face and handed

over a 100 rupees note and

continued gazing at the

beautiful hills and meadows. He

had a sad yet determined look

on his face.

In fact Sanjay, is a young

soldier who was on annual

leave and was enjoying his

holidays in the heavenly state of

Himachal Pradesh. His marriage

had just been fixed and while he

was spending some invaluable

moments of his life with his

fiance, the postman knocked at

his door and delivered a

telegram. It was the call of duty

that the postman delivered at

the door of Sanjay. The call to

sacrifice every other wish at the

altar of the nation. The call to

put the nation before self.

14 years ago a young manjust 24 years old left his native

village in Himachal Pradesh to

answer the call of duty. The

Pakistani Army under the

command of the shrewd and

cunning, General Musharaff had

intruded into vast areas of the

Indian territory in the Drass,

Kargil, Tololing, Mushkoh

sector. Rifleman Sanjay Kumar

alike several Indian Armed

Forces personnel, had to cut

short his leave and report to his

unit to counter the Pakistani

threat. With a heavy heart

leaving behind his loved ones

and his fiance he had boarded

a bus to ferry him to Kalka.

Sanjay stiffened his jaws,

clinched his fists and spoke to

himself. Sherawali ki Kasam,

Jan dekarr bhi Desh ki daman

ko bachana hai. He was

eagerly waiting for his journey

to end so that he can join back

his folks in the Indian Armycamp.

No sooner had he joined

his unit he was immediately

inducted into the formation

tasked to re capture Point 5140

on Tololing hills. Colonel YK

Joshi the commander of 13

Jammu and Kashmir Rifles

briefed his men on the

importance of the mission.

Point 5140 was one of the

important peaks held by the

Pakis and recapturing it was of

utmost importance from the

Indian perspectiveAfter a

fierce gun battle, lost ground

was recaptured by Col Joshi and

his men. The intruders were

flushed out from point 5140and the Commanding Officer

himself raised the tricolour on

the icy peak.

But a soldier has no time

to rest. He may relax, but he can

only rest during the eternal

journey to his heavenly abode.

Immediately after the mission

of Tololing the unit was ordered

to attack Point 4875 another

Pakistani stronghold.

Col Joshi and his

subordinates carried out a

thorough study of maps of the

area and with the inputs; he

chalked out a strategy to

outsmart the Pak soldiers

holding vantage points. Two

companies of J&K Rifles

attacked the Pakistani positions

from the front while others

provided rear support. As usual

Colonel Joshi was leading his

Jaanbaz soldiers from thefront. Rifleman Sanjay Kumar,

the soft spoken yet gutsy guy,

volunteered to be in the leading

party and was tasked to capture

a flat rocky peak which would

make the recapture of Peak

4875 easier. It was nothing less

than suicide. But the devotees

of Sherowali had taken the

oath of saving the dignity of

India and regain lost ground, be

it at the cost of a few young

lives. Sanjay said to himself

Pakistaniyon ne mere

sathiyon ki jan liya hain ,

mujhe unke jan ka badla lena

hain.

Colonel Joshi fondly

called Joe by his colleaguesbriefed his men one last time

and started climbing up the

snow clad rocks. Sanjay Kumar

was in the leading party right at

the front of his platoon. As

thoughts of his fiance, family

members and friends carried on

flashing in his mind, the more

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determined he was becoming to

avenge the death of his fellow

soldiers. Shortage of oxygen,

the biting cold, the steep

landscape and intermittent

enemy fire was making life hell

for these brave young mendonning the olive green

uniform. But not a single soldier

complained. The mission had to

be fulfilled be it at the cost of

my own life was every ones

motto. Over and above there

was Joe Sir motivating his men

leading from the front.

It was 4 th July 1999. As

the Indian troops zeroed in

towards the Pakistani locations

they started firing on the Indian

soldiers. Because of the flat

landscape the Pak soldiers had

a clear view of the Indian

positions and started firing

continuous bursts of Machine

guns. The Pakistanis were

having a target practice andwere shooting down our men at

will, as if they were practising

at a firing range. Rifleman

Sanjay Kumar who was in the

front was hit badly in the chest

and hands. Bleeding profusely

he said to himself I am going to

die but I have to save as many

of my colleagues as I can. He

was almost 150 200 mtrs

away from the Pakistani bunker

when he thought Enough is

enough. Firing continuously

from his automatic rifle Sanjay

Kumar charged towards the

enemy bunker from where

most of the gun fire was

coming.

The Pak soldiers were

surprised by the daredevil act

of Sanjay and before they could

react, Sanjay grasped the fire

hot barrel of the Pak Machine

gun with his bare hands and

turned its muzzle towards the

Pakistanis and pressed the

trigger. Three Pakistani soldiers

were killed instantly by the

volley of fire. In the meantime

the other Indian soldiers

regrouped and seeing Sanjays

heroics they too charged

towards the Pakistani bunkers

shouting Jai Mata

Di.Sherowali ki JaiThe FlatTop was captured by killing all

the Pakistani soldiers but at a

huge cost. A lot of young lives

were sacrificed at the altar of

the Nations pride and prestige.

The unsung heroes bled away

to death. Bodies of men who

dared to save the dignity of our

Nation were strewn around the

snow laden peaks. Sons,

husbands, lovers lay motionless

with their hearts and lungs

punctured due to gunfire. But

there was not a single bullet

injury on the back. Our brave

soldiers took each shot of the

enemy bullet on their chest.

The next morning, the

Indian Air Force flew severalsorties to evacuate the

martyred and the injured. The

Indian Air Force was compelled

to maintain a passive role lest

the Kargil conflict is blown out

of proportion and a full scale

war becomes inevitable. As the

rescue team and medical

personnel reached the Flat top

to bring back the dead and

injured they found Rifleman

Sanjay Kumar alive but

bleeding profusely.

Sanjay the youngest of his

siblings survived the ordeal of

4thJuly. The President of Indian

honoured him on 26 January

2000, with the Highest

Gallantry Award, the Param VirChakra for showing extreme

courage, valour and selfless

service towards the nation. The

shy and humble Sanjay did not

believe the news until he saw

his photographs in the nations

dailies. When the media wanted

to know his reaction, his

answer was straight and

simple..Maine jo kiya woh

kuch alag nahi tha. Meri jagah

par koi aur hota to woh bhi

yehi kartaA decade and half

has passed since the Kargil war

has ended. The heroes of Kargilhave all been forgotten. The

sacrifices of the brave men in

uniform are no longer debated

over TV programmes, the

habitats allotted for the widows

of the war heroes have been

captured by the corrupt and

powerful, yet the survivors of

the bloody battle still relive

those moments of blood and

fire moments of blood and gory.

For Muskan and Neeraj, Sanjay

Kumar their father is nothing

less than a hero of a real life

story. They hear with rapt

attention when Sanjay narrates

those horrific incidents that

occurred over 14 years ago on

the hills of Kargil.

Its my humble request to

all my readers..let us not

forget the sacrifices of these

ordinary men who did

extraordinary things in their

lifetime yet are forgotten and

left to live a difficult life after

retiring from service. Sanjay is

one of the 3 living Param Vir

Chakra winners of this nation.

Jai Hind....

Kaushik Gangopadhyay is an ex-

defense personnel presently

working with State Bank ofIndia. He honoured us by

accepting our request to share

his real experiences and

anecdotes of Air-Force life in

Down Memory Lane

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Fragrance of Heena

Sanguine Wishes

As the old year ends and the new one arrives

The wishes and hopes come along revived

For us a year to be bright with hopes and dreams

Allowing us to weave stories with new themes

Enjoying life bit by bit like flavored ice-creams

Jostling off gloom and bouncing back in gleam

A year enlivening our wishes of weather huesTo us the tinge of Mother Nature will amuse

As we hope less of heat aggression by the sun

So sprawling on the beaches will be fun

As we enjoy luscious greenery in the rains

Its droplets will ease all our pangs and pains

Cool breeze giving shivers through veins

Soon leaves fall when the autumn springs

Depicting lifes phases in a complete ring

As we love the warmth of bed in chilly wintersSipping hot coffee wearing sweaters indoors

Illuminating fireplace in our homes interiors

Measuring the chillness of weather in indicators

Such are my New Year wishes for my loved ones

Along with my care, kinship and love in tons!!

Heena Ahuja is a girl who

loves to scribble the rhythmic

melody of literature. She lives

in Mumbai.

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Always Around You

A freezing dawn of January,

Mystique mist covering the itinerary,

Chilling air reaching inside the cloths,

And then I heard soft whispers,

Saying Don't go back to sleepI thought its an illusion,

And its only my minds creation,

But I heard it again,

Now in a familiar voice,

Saying Don't go back to sleep

It kept saying the mystique,

After a while my tears roll down,

But smile came at the end,

When I heard it all,

It told me to stop for a while,

Turn and dont look back,

But I ignored the last sentence,

And looked back with oddity,

I saw the two worlds meeting at horizon,

I saw the door of second world,

Round in shape with golden architrave,

Full of clouds and it was left open,

I tried looking at the shadow inside,

When I saw my Angel coming,

And said Don't go back to sleep,

Because I am no Dream,

I am in real,

Whenever You will think of me,

I will always be there,

Always around you

Mr YouKnowMe Speaks

Mr. YouKnowMe is someone whom

all of us know yet all of us are still

to discover. He is a biker, an author

and like all of us, a lover of lifeHe

is at present working with an IT

Company.

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Writing is Magic, when I write about YOU

In each story of my life

Where you lived in;

In each moment,Where you were guest to my heart

Every smile of yours

That I treasured in my eyes

Every single time,

When you put your hands

To hold your cheeksIn every heart beats

That jumped in happiness

When I looked at you,

The spell I would cast on our life

Through my pen againFor all those wonderful nights

We laughed togetherFor all those secret moments

I stole without your consent

I still believe in fairy tales

And as a writer

I would bring happy ending to our story

The story of friendship, love and lifeThe tale that has

No dark clouds, no demons, no fire

To burn the dreams

The saga of beauty of life,

The power of love

The play of hearts would be

Where everyone believes in loveWhere even the nights

Are brighter than the dayWhere everything around

Is enchanting and beautiful

Even I, your princess

Need not have to kiss a frog

To get you my princeWhere I can listen

To the voice of your heart

Where imaginations

Paint the realities

The world

Where each bird that whispersAbout your love for me

I would write a story like this

From our heart

Where every time we meet,

We have the feeling of that first love

Where each time we kiss,We can sense the curiosity of first kiss

Each day where life has tasted

The joy of being together

I would write for a journey

Where memories

Would never be our destination

We would never travel across the placesOf anger, sorrow, nightmares

There would be flow of words

That would be sweeter than the honey

The story would end with the rarer gift

That would be gifted to me-YOU

- Ms. N. M. LEEPSAL. M. Thapar School of Management

(LMTSOM), Thapar University, Patiala, Pin -

147004Email:n.m.leepsa@gmail.com

TO KNOW THAT I DONT KNOW

We always want to live under the impression that we know everything.

Here I am not talking about nuclear physics or any such subject, the

attempt is to make one realize that there is nothing wrong in accepting

that I dont know.For example in your day to day conversations how

many times you must have said, I Know, does this ring a bell?

Yes, you know but in fact you dont know, thus does not it become

increasingly important to concede to the fact to know that you dont

know. My experience over the years, I have noticed that while

frequently using the phrase, I Know, one actually shuts the door to

learn more about the situation.

Are you under the impression that if you dont know something is going

to hurt your ego? Well if you are under this perception then you have

caused more harm to yourself than good.

Knowledge is strength only when you have the information you require

at that moment of need, thus always being aware, I know that I dont

know, also gives you an edge over others, because you realize your

limitations and are aware there is always room for improvement, for

knowing what you dont know.

How does this become your strength in the personality buildup? Very

simple, what you are doing is a character trait which few want to

develop, honesty. Once you are successful in being honest with yourself,

you achieve a sense of satisfaction, which goes a long way in helping

you achieve your desired goats with pride.

This trait in ones character carries a lot of weight in any field you

would like to work. It also works as a great motivator, because one

carries no mental blocks all the passages possible for knowing more are

open, thus assimilation of information becomes a continuous process,

for you I know that I dont know, becomes a constant motivator to

keep on urging you towards new vistas of knowledge.

My experience over the years have also taught me the tough lesson that

it is better to accept the fact that it is not possible to know everything

but I can always create a strong mental attitude, that I do not fall prey

to this syndrome, I know.

Reality has never hurt anyone, thus will never hurt you but to live in a

real world you need to be practical and pragmatic. By exercising this

style of thinking and living, the most important element you develop in

your personality is that facing reality remains a positive attitude of

looking at all situations.

Getting the best and giving your best under all circumstances reinforces

the need for more information. More information better is the

judgment which in turn helps you take swift decisions leading to high

achievement of success.

Hardaman Singh

I WIPED HER TEARS

She was alone,

Sitting in a bench of a park,

In a shabby dress,

With her stick and baggage.

Her son has deserted her in grief,

What she expects now,

Only death,

Amateur Scribbles

mailto:n.m.leepsa@gmail.commailto:n.m.leepsa@gmail.com

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Because no one to have

Sympathy on her.

I saw her tears

Wetting her innocent face,

I asked her the reason,

Then she told me her sad story

I made myself her sonAnd put my head in her lap

I felt as if she was my own mother,

She Loved and kissed my forehead like son,

Oh from my mouth,

The only word came

Mother (for me it is a holy word) .

I wiped her tears from her eyes,

I relieved her pain

And sang a hymn for her,

She felt serene and delighted

She poured her loved again and again over.

Smiled and laughed at me

Oh I felt that I was the only one

Who felt her pain in her loneliness

A blessing from the Lord

A blessing from the Lord,

Coming in plenty without any cost,

No matter how much you lost,

You will get from his blessing a lot,

Wipe out all your tears,

Sing your happy song without any fear,

No devil will take your ship to a tear,

Because you are the Lords child very dear,

In blessing his presence is a lways there,

If you dont collect his blessing he is no more there,

You put always yourself under his care,

So he will remain with you in your every tear.

Here lies a poet dead

Here lies a poet dead,

After going through deep melancholy of life

In the bed of death

Sorrow doesnt engulf the poet any more,

And silence takes him in its core,

The poet does not cry now,

The world mourns to lose a shining star,

Which always shined in all dark

Who will come again to love?

The sad world ponders

But I must come in the other form again to love

And compose beautiful poems

For my beautiful world that has shed its tears in my memory..

A man of thoughts,

No more poetry he pens down

But he sleeps peacefully In his grave,

And the grass grows green, the dew fallen upon

What a beautiful morning

To a poet,

He wakes up with the Mother Nature

The sun shines bright upon that,

And the poet smiles to feel all this

Over his grave

The birds sing their song

In the early morning

And the poet rests at peace for longThe stars like the little drops of rain twinkle,

In the sky..

With a poet they all mingle

And the night hugs him tight

In its sweet dreams..

I miss all the creatures,

As they gather near my grave to make a prayer

Their crying makes me sad,

But I cant touch them

As I know that my soul is touching them.

- Pushkar Bisht

NEVER MIND

Here, again with my words, sad, upset & this time really ALONE ,

Now, totally am down , yes ! I am shedding those tears that I have never

SHOWN !!

Don't even know what's running through my mind?

Might be it is now almost blank, or possibly, MESSY,

But , somehow I realize, for the thing I desire for ,

Yea ! I want to look at me, again, being HAPPY!

I have lost the smile, that I used to put on all the way around, in each

MOOD,

Hey , where are you ? Yes, you the one,

Come & bring me laughs , i f you really COULD !!

Though, I am trying it by my own,

But , alas ! I am unable do SO ,

Thus , here , I need someone else ,

Else the one , who can exactly understand how I am ? Yeah! The one

who can love me back always & never ask me to GO !!

You know whom I am talking about,

Hmm...Here, I am calling you, come soon or I'll DIE,

Need you , yeah , only you.....

Need you, yeah, only you.....

Oh.. please come back where are you ?WHAT ??

You never existed....in my life...he answered,

I wanted to cry bitterly but spoke out I NEVERMIND !!

- Lalima Yadav

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Random Reveries : Sneha GuptaThe best part of my day starts when I come home from office. And the magical moments begin when after having dinner; I come to my study room. There are large

windows in my study room which create magical path for the moonlight to enter my room. And I, sitting beside the windows, watch the moon. We talk endlessly.

Sometimes, moon shifts its position from my continuous gaze to give me the clue of the nearing dawn, so that I could have the amount of necessary sleep as per suits

of my biological clock. Otherwise, my eyes refuse even to wink and lose the sight of moon for that much moment.

Losing the sight of the moon could not be acceptable that easily.

Moon and I share good compatibility.

Several hours we spend talking to each other.

Several speechless talks... Moon also loves the night and me too...

Moon was also afraid of loneliness very much and me too...

But later, moon also developed affinity for this loneliness and me too...

Moon sings the songs composed by the clouds. Wind makes the lyrics.

Moon loves music and me too...

Everynight, it seems as if moon covers the same path in the sky.

But actually, moon is on a never ending journey. A journey which goes through new hopes every night. A journey beyond the clouds, beyond the sky, beyond theuniverse. Is this journey actually a search for someone? Moon doesn't reply. Neither do I...

[Sneha Gupta belongs to a small

town in Bihar. She is a banker byprofession and breathes to write.

She is the author of two published

books and received several awards

for her writing ventures. She is the

founder and editor of Branwyn.]

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