Branwyn is the Goddess of love, beauty, mischief and mystery. It also relates to genuine literature. The name has been tossed by Lavkesh Kumar Singh.

Publisher and Director: Vineeta Gupta

Founder and Editor-in-Chief : Sneha Gupta

Managing Editor : Parul Parihar

Contacts :

Email : snehagupta01989@gmail.com

sneha@branwyn.in

Website : www.branwyn.in

[Picture courtesy in few articles: google.com]

Editorial :

Dear Readers,

Due to some unavoidable circumstances, the April issue of Branwyn got delayed. I regret for the inconvenience for keeping you waiting. However, your feedbacks kept adorning my mailbox and your suggestions helped a lot in improving it.

So, here is April issue in your hands with some exciting new segments and several new members.

Thanks in anticipation for each and every second you are going to devote in reading it.

Keep reading, keep writing!

Share Branwyn with all your friends and spread the magic.

Regards,

- Sneha Gupta

ENERGY BOOSTERS [Compilation of a few of the thousands of unsolicited feedbacks]

I went through Branwyn, March issue and found that to comment on a magazine like branwyn is not a simple thing. Right from the editorial, the spell begins and never ends. The reader awaits for the next issue. In the March issue, Kaushik Sir’s column, Amateur Scribbles and Men, Boys and Beasts touched me quite deep. In all, I would say that your magazine is a good compilation of things readers need read these days. No wonder Branwyn touches heights. Keep it up and all the best wishes for next issues!

- Anuj, New Delhi Kudos. Not because your work is flawless Because it isn't. Not because this brings you to the brink of greatness. It doesn't. It is plagued with fallacies. It has a long way to go before it joins the ranks of the worthy. It has the contributions of the eminent, but is also inadequate in that which it stands for. So why does it deserve applause? For its intrinsically sanguine soul, for its purposeful defiance of its own limitations, for the megalithic hopes it carries on its meager shoulders. For being the right step in the right direction, however insignificant it may look in the beginning, and however less taken path may appear. Definitely not literature at its best! Definitely endeavor at its best.

- Lavkesh Singh, New Delhi

Branwyn : "The other side of the bed" Which side of the bed does your novel talk about? Left side? Right side? Or Wrong side? haha secret agent waala section is intriguing and hilarious Men, Boys and Beasts is short and so so true amateur scribbles is yet another intriguing section n i loved dat poem-beauty in disguise overall its good, simple yet attractive - Pratyush Srivastava, Chennai read ur article in brawn march edition Men, Boys and Beasts was very awesome, thoughtful nd creative too. It was the best one in the magazine, short yet creative and thoughtful read d book – review, it was perfect u covered almost every aspect it seemed unbiased too good wrk only one part seemed unnecessary in the whole magazine. hope u take care of it. apne liye to sab krte hn bt u r dng fr others dats commendable more importantly u r dng for literature - Prakash Kumar, Allahabad

My dear Sneha, Branwyn March is much ahead than Branwyn Feb. Cover page to end, it is full of 'life'. Hats off to the editor-in chief and her team. Im not very much comfortable in enjoying english posts but still i found it to be very beautiful magazine and I trust, our younger generation will appreciate it a lot. May God be with you and grant you success in everything you do. - Uttam Singh, Lucknow It was great, I loved it I loved that article written by Ishita Bhown the most Baaki sab bhi bahut acha hai Too good, and so artistic - Bhavya Koushik, Jaipur Branwyn March has improved a lot than feb. But remember, improvement is a never ending process. The guy attitude was not his best in 'blood spilled all over'. Ask him not to divert his attention. Discontentment took me over. That was a real gem. Happy to know that young guys are coming up with such masterpieces and congrats to u for bringing them together. Feb was remarkable for modernization and March for discontentment. May these two stars of your magazine keep twinkling always. Keep working. You are born to win. P.S. - Do not change the name of your columnists next time. - Randheer Ahluwalia, New York HI SNEHAJI, I'M WORKING IN ONE OF THE ASSOC. BANK OF SBI.I HAPPENED TO READ YOUR MAGAZINE'S FIRST ISSUE "BRANWYN". IT IS UNIQUE WITH ITS NAME ITSELF.YOUR HARDWORK IS DEPICTED CLEARLY.I AM HAPPY THAT YOU DID IT WITH ALL YOUR HEART.THE CRAFT,ARTICLES ALL ARE GOOD. I WAS ABOUT TO SUGGEST THAT U SHOULD INCLUDE STORIES, YOU MADE MY MOUTH SHUT BY DECLARING THAT IT WILL BE THERE FRM NEXT ISSUE.ALSO I SEARCHED ABOUT YOU IN THE NET .FROM THERE I CAME TO KNOW THAT YOU ARE A AUTHOR TOO.I WILL TRY TO READ THOSE BOOKS ALSO.......I REALLY LIKED MISS ANGELA'S WORLD. IT WAS GOOD AND ALSO THE REVIEW ON BRAHMA PLEASE TELL US MORE ABOUT THAT BOOK. .BESIDES ALMOST ALL ARTICLES WERE GOOD.I APPRECIATE & RESPECT UR SPIRIT.KEEP IT UP. CONGRATULATIONS & MAY GOD BLESS YOU

- Reshmi Ravindran

Very nice, Sneha! Ma glad to join you. Interview was well. Discontentment was interesting. - Hannah Teikero, California

The Man who created BRAHMA…

Dwarka, Sector-12, New Delhi

Address of the man who created Brahma! No, it should not be mistaken with the mythological legend of Hastinapur being re-told. This is the address where Abhishek Leela Pandey resides. Abhishek is the same person who has somewhat shaken the minds with his quintessential contemplations of applied Mathematics. And when he announced the release of his much awaited book Brahma, Branwyn couldn’t resist the greed of grabbing a chance to interview him.

Fortunately he agreed.

Rules are made by Laws. Laws are made by

Theories. Theories are made upon Theorems. Theorems are proved by Axioms. And Axioms are created by BRAHMA...

However, one should know that getting an appointment from Abhishek and actually meeting him in person for an interview are two totally different things.

When Branwyn reached Abhishek’s apartment, his manager opened the door to inform – “Sir is a bit busy.

He will be coming soon. Till then, please comfort yourself.”

And as the words ended, the manager left for a corner in the drawing hall itself where he got busy in arranging some documents… perhaps related to Brahma…

That was the moment when Branwyn got a chance to have a look at the surroundings. Neatly arranged bookshelves surrounded the drawing hall clearly revealing the deep love of the author for books. A series of books on Quantum Physics, Astrophysics, Applied Mathematics, Calculas… books of John Keats, Paulo Coelho etc… Abhishek has a particular pattern in the arrangement of the books in his bookshelves which somewhere relate to the Mathematician author’s

being highly influenced by the Harmonic Progression of Algebra…

After a long wait of approximately one hour, finally Abhishek appeared in a black shirt and blue levis jeans. He held a glass of juice in his hands.

Finally!

“Sorry I am a little late.” He apologized as soon as he came in.

Abhishek counts hours in seconds. An hour is just a little time for him…!

“It is cran juice. My favourite.”

Cranjuice is Abhishek’s favourite drink.

The conversation started from Abhishek’s childhood – “I was blessed with dyslexia when I was a child.”

Blessed with dyslexia???

“Yes,” he elaborates. “I suffered from dyslexia. I spent most of the time thinking about the things I couldn’t understand and then there came a time when I made up my mind to scribble down my thoughts. And that is how I started to explore my brainstorms.”

Few people in the world take a positive insight on the disadvantages of their life. Abhishek happens to be one of them. Having a thoughtful childhood led him to the

efficiency of perception and their logical analysis. And that is how, he got into a nationalized bank without much effort. However, the restless soul of Abhishek couldn’t find solace in the monotonous banking job. He left banking very soon and got associated with several educational institutes including Career Launcher, Magic Bricks etc.

How did the concept of Brahma come alive? What is actually ‘Project Brahma’?

Abhishek says that in November 2012, he felt an utter urgency to write something on the most neglected God Brahma! He is soon to release the first book of Brahma trilogy. Brahma is more a revelation than a book as Abhishek says. Brahma is all about Vedic science and its proof of being the origin of all sciences. Brahma is a

mythological story of adventures, thrills and mystery. It will be releasing in 4 languages.

Brahma is a mythological story of adventures, thrills and mystery.

Abhishek is a big fan of John Keats and Paulo Coelho. Besides literature, Abhishek loves to play chess. He is a music lover also. He is planning to raid some other spheres of arts also… During this short interview, Abhishek looked at his wristwatch for more than 10 times…. An unclear formal word for ‘leave’.

When Abhishek is checking his wristwatch too often, he is actually formally asking you to leave. A kinda ‘Don’t disturb me’ type of guy!

Branwyn got up to leave and Abhishek, looked dead eager to resume his lots of work.

But he is not tired. He is a cruel instructor to himself.

Cruel self-judgment is my accolade : Abhishek

Lover of the indoor game Chess, Abhishek succeeds in mystifying everything.

When a number of readers are waiting eagerly for Brahma, it becomes necessary for Abhishek to meet the expectations. Thus, without taking his much time, Branwyn decided to leave and Abhishek got back into his world of Brahma…

Three Questions : Aabhaas K. Maldahiyar

Aabhas K. Maldahiyar represents that breed of writers who believe in the Catharsis theory of Aristotle. Making a strong stand with his social thriller ‘Crossing the Lines’, he stands firm with his view of literature being a media for the purgation of the society.

In a special conversation with Branwyn, Aabhas clarifies his views:

Branwyn : In the contemporary Indian literary scenario, when everybody is busy in 'bridging' the relations between hearts, why did you choose to 'cross the lines'?

Aabhas : It is indeed, one of the most flyer questions which keep popping to me. As to me, nothing should happen without a purpose, I've landed in literature just to finish with the aim I aspired for, long back i.e. a clean, corruption free, problem-free mother India. Literature is one of the steps to do so, likewise other steps include, my passion for teaching, involvement in other art forms and many as such.

As of now, most of us know the devastating problems our nation is going, most of us even know where the solution lies but unfortunately we hesitate to take steps as it will make us breach conventions. Bridging relations between hearts has been happening from long, as the mythology brings evidences, so does the historic literature which still continues as a convention. My purpose won’t have found path towards destination, if I won’t have tried “Crossing the Line” or tried breaching the conventions.

Branwyn : What role does literature, especially pulp fiction play in society? Please elaborate your take on that.

Aabhas : Literature plays essentially a very important role in society. Literature is after-all, replica of society and writer is the form of ray making this happen. Whatever happens in society comes out through the pen of a writer in form of some story or other literary creations. Apart from this, also vice-versa act comes into play, we often tend to connect our lives with the story we come across. This effect can be both positive and negative, depending on the individual’s perception and the adjective, a book holds.

Branwyn : Does your writing have any limitation? If yes, then what? If no, then why?

Aabhas : Everything on this earth has some limitations along with many indefinite. My writing too has few limitations, like; it will never be anything vague at the context of humanity or good living. On the other hands, it’ll always be breaking shackles to get great things implemented and root-off evils in the society.

Thanks for being with us, Aabhas! Branwyn Family wishes you all the best in all your future endeavours.

The Lion of Publishing Industry

There are two kinds of people in this world. First, who watch wonders happen and second who make wonders happen. Kunal Marathe belongs to the latter stand.

A young entrepreneur, all of 23, a hardcore biker and an old classic songs fanatic, Kunal’s success story can actually stun the world. In a very short time span, Kunal Marathe has created sensation in the publishing world. Launching multiple literary brands and running them successfully demands a strong will-power and the ability to take daring decisions. And Kunal possesses all the characteristics of a successful businessman.

When Branwyn decided to cover a story on Kunal, a hidden fear secured its place in a little corner of the world. Kunal is known for his short-tempered nature. However, he is equally protective to the people he cares for. His nature made his near and dear ones to give him the title of LION.

“I want to bring a very important element in the Indian Publishing Industry: Money.” - Kunal Marathe, CEO, Author’s Empire India

It took Branwyn 3 days to finally get an appointment with Kunal. And finally the day came, the occupant of the Director’s cabin in the Headoffice of Author’s Empire India in the Sapna Sangeeta Main Road of Indore came and sat on his chair in the typical – Sara shaher mujhe LION ke naam se jaanta hai style. There was humble

Kunal sitting in front with his yet again dominant and consistent impressions.

Kunal’s cabin in Author’s Empire Headoffice, Indore

And as the interview proceeded, Branwyn was served with fresh seasonal fruits, coffee and biscuits. The conversation started and Kunal gradually broke all the myths of his arrogance and showed a total different persona with his all incredible success story.

Kunal was born on 25th August 1989 to an Accountant father and Health Professional mother in a very small town of Anjad in Madhya Pradesh. His sister is a lecturer and Kunal is the pampered guy of his family. However, always being a person of his will, Kunal left education after 12th in science and started working in a small restaurant. An year later, he resumed his studies and became a graduate in Hospitality.

Kunal’s career graph has also been strange. In his own words, “At the age of 16, I went to Mumbai to join Merchants Navy, but by 18, I was in a five star hotel as a waiter. Even in Hospitality, my career graph was not like my other co-workers. It’s said and known that to get a job in five star hotel, one needs to have a degree or diploma in hotel management, however, I got a job in one of the biggest hotel chains of the world even when my result of 12 th was pending.

During my first interview in a five star hotel, there were 22 candidates for 3 vacancies.

Every one of them, except me, either had a degree or diploma in Hotel Management, or had a great experience. Whereas I was just 18, didn’t even passed 12th, and only had a few weeks’ experience in a small café. And I was shocked that after that 6 rounds’ interview, I was among the three selected candidates.

My promotions were, too, very fast. When most of my co-workers, and even seniors, were still waiters, I was the F&B Executive.

At 21, I left the hospitality Industry and started working as a freelance Editor, and by 22, I had Author’s Empire.

At 23, I own 3 literary brands, and hold maximum number of shares of Author’s Empire Publications Private Limited.”

As he mentioned ‘Authors’ Empire’, a glow appeared on his face and an unintentional smile started playing across his lips. Contentment of Achievement!

What actually is the motive of Author’s Empire?

Kunal says, “Being very frank, I want to bring a very important element in the Indian Publishing Industry: Money. It’s sad that publishing industry is not as profitable and glamorous as film industry and others. I want to change this. I believe that even this Industry has huge money and potential… all we have to is: make some changes and improvement.

Author’s Empire is basically divided into two: Author’s Empire India and Author’s Empire Publications Private Limited. Author’s Empire India has three brands: AE Book Marketing & Promotions, our upcoming self-publishing unit, Empress Publishing, and The Fountain Pen Guild. Author’s Empire India is solely own by me. Whereas Author’s Empire Publications Private Limited is a private limited firm, and has two directors.

We have our office in one of the most premium areas of Indore, and have more than 50 people from all over the India who work for us. In terms of Authors, Author’s Empire Publications Private Limited have 28 authors whose books will be published in 2013 and 2014.”

By the time the interview ended, The Lion of Publishing Industry had consumed two cups of coffee. He was in a cheerful mood and having the last sip, when his telephone rang. It was his personal secretary whom he winded up in two words – ‘Yes, coming.’

“Anything else, Ma’am? I have an important meeting with my printers.”

As soon as Kunal uttered the question, Branwyn found it the right moment to ask the question which had disturbed Branwyn’s judgment.

“Kunal, frankly… I had not thought that you would be such a cool and polite person. I wonder how and why they call you short-tempered!”

“Ha ha ha…” he laughed, “I am a very cool person. Break my favourite glass in front of me and I won’t say a single word to you. But you see I hate double-faced persons. Those who are fake and pretentious always get on their face.”

Gutsy!

So, Kunal is gutsy, cool, cheerful, intelligent, protective and handsome! Basically he possesses all the qualities of a guy whom girls would die for. Then, why is he still single?

Kunal smiles, “Yes I am single. But I won’t say much on this issue. Sorry, I can’t allow a public magazine enter in my private life.” His smile grows wider.

It was the time to leave. Branwyn was thankful for such a wonderful interview. The courteous Kunal joined Branwyn to the exit of his office. At that moment, Branwyn asked him for a message for Branwyn readers. Kunal smiled and his words echoed in the surroundings :

“LIVE LIKE A LION. BE THE KING OF YOUR OWN LIFE.”

~~~~~~~~~

Miss Mishti’s Corner THEY ALWAYS DID, AND NEVER SAID.

. .

WE ALWAYS SAID, AND NEVER DID. . .

They spared their today, to decorate our tomorrow, but they never said. . .

They stayed happy with basic necessities, to save money and not let us be deprived of luxuries, but they never said. . .

They always wished to see their children rising above them, and we screamed that they expect a lot, but they never said. . .

Confused with infatuations and materiality mingling around us, we often forgot to realize that they do exist and play a vital role in our lives, but they never said. . .

The foundations that they laid and, the walls they erected around us, to keep us safe from this world, landed them in old age homes, but they never said. . .

Whenever we lied or hid anything from them, they smiled coz they knew the truth and, we smiled back thinking they are ignorant, but they never said. . .

The more they grew old, the more they needed love, respect and attention, and we gave them inverse, but they never said. . .

They loved our company, and we were occupied with the metro world around us, but they never said. . .

They demonstrated and taught us discipline and values, and we named it Generation gap.

Years passed, Decades passed, and we gave them detachment in return of their attachment, but they never said. . .

They never said anything, they really never did. And they never even will. Because they have always been the ones, who believe in “work” more than “word”. It had always been super easy and a piece of cake, to say that we’ll

construct big palaces for our parents, that we’ll show them world, that we’ll buy them every happiness they desire, and blah and blah. But the real fact is, no happiness can be bought and not any of the bought luxuries, comforts them. As long as we are there to understand their silence and give them eternal peace and happiness, they’ll be in heaven on earth. The moment we think of ourselves so big and occupied, is the moment we go on the track that will take us nowhere. Or even if it gets us the most dreamy-cream, we would be having no one to share our smile from heart.

Adopting western culture is good, listening western music is fine, eating western food is yum, but keeping our Indian values intact and respecting parents with all our might is our duty, more than responsibility. It’s not a story of one family or one house. It’s a story of all the bees of this hive named India. So it adds to our duty to realize what they never said, and what they always wished. Here we present few points that should be practiced by all, modern-orthodox, small-big and together-parted children.

Express:

An ‘I Love You’ from beloved knits the family, and the same from the kiddo, decorates the family, filling and lacing it with various colors. Confessing and Expressing is equally important as Loving. Not just love, but we should even express our sorrow, something that they always quote as sharing. We often feel that we have the best parents in this world, but it’s

incomplete without a warm embrace and expressing. Express, whenever needed.

Surprise them:

They say that there is no age of surprises. Surprise them every time you get a chance to. Organizing parties and celebrating do not need a boundary of age-limit. They really wrap neat and cherish these occasions. Plan outings, for children may have time for their parents or not, parents always do.

Small excuses:

Never miss a chance of having meals as a family, or clicking snaps, or watching TV, or having prayers together. These small moments brings a small family and each member together. Let the day pass any way hectic, but these moments are the real refreshers, stress-breakers and mood-makers.

Prioritize:

Make your parents, your first priority always. With you growing up, they too are growing old. With every passing day, month and year, they need more love, care and attention. Give them that, and believe me, it’s not that difficult or attention demanding. They gave you blood, they are and they’ll always be your priority, saying is not enough, you even have to show them that by your deeds.

Choose their Choices:

Once in a while wearing your mom’s favorite color, or having your dad’s favorite food won’t do any bad, but it won’t even do any small. Every small thing we do becomes big for our parents. Make their choice your own, once in a while. It will cost you nothing, but will pay you a blessing, a sense of satisfaction, a sense of happiness.

Miss Mishti is a CA intern living in Mumbai who enjoys and licks every bit of life like a chocolate…

Branwyn : That Book and Me…

JOHHNY GONE DOWN

[Vishal Anand]

‘Johnny Gone Down’ is an adventurous journey of Nikhil Arya who was an Ivy League scholar with a promising future at NASA. The story is mesmerizing; the pace is fast and the action plentiful. I could closely relate myself to Nikhil’s character, someone whose life has gone completely out of control, who wants to get out of his maze, but is unable to do so. One thing heads to the next, and he is inefficient to break free. He feels desolated, incapacitated and bewildered. He finds faults in himself for taking the wrong decisions. But at the same time, life is not just about facing tough luck. It is surviving in the midst of a juncture, and having the braveness to move on. The best point that the author, Karan Bajaj makes is that kindness, just like corruption and sadism, is universal. No matter where you go, whichever country you are at, there will always be someone to help you and guide you. That’s something which goes beyond the language and culture barrier. I feel this point has been highlighted quite well.

Considering the different events as individual occurrences then it seemed that they are describing different persons rather than the same lonely hero.

But as I reached the end of the book, I realize that those events are all inter-connected, and form bits of a rule, which might seem non-existent or quite elusive at first. But slowly the pieces begin to untangle themselves, and I was left gasp with awe. It makes the life of a normal, common Indian man look like that of a Hollywood film flick. Quoting one line from the Back Cover of the book, ‘An innocent vacation turned into an epic intercontinental journey that saw Nikhil become first a genocide survivor, then a Buddhist monk, a drug lord, a homeless accountant, a software mogul and a deadly game fighter.’ Sounds rather confusing, is it? I found it a hotchpotch of events which apparently make little sense at the start. But, the climax and the ending are very inspiring and motivational. There is suspense in every page. I was forced to keep reading till the author completes the novel, it’s that addictive, and thrilling. If you are an aimless person, miserable with the way things have been going on with you, desiring change with hopeless temperament, then you are surely going to love this book. - Vishal Anand

New Delhi

[You are also invited to share your reading experience. Check announcement box for details.]

Alpine Ambergris : Dr. Subodh Kumar Jha

Nailed Throat

My wishes have betrayed me To unparented patterns Of our sleeveless surroundings Why didn’t you Enrighten me, father? Whenever I beamed My academic future “I am going to be toplisted, father I’ll set in a new record, And there will be no dearth Of employment then And I will provide you The much needed rest.” Tears of tender prayer Would tickle down your aged cheeks Fully apprehensive of the Way of the world Yet why didn’t you confide Your apprehensions to me? Why didn’t you school me To be on guard Of devouring democracy – The foul mouths of academic life That have now nailed my throat sobless Letting my soul wreathing

For passionate survival In the unchartered land Of Divine Bliss.

Dr. Subodh Kumar Jha has been a member of NCERT and UGC Workshops for the proficiency of English Language in various study streams! At present he is a prominent part of Magadh University as the Head of Department of English in S.N. Sinha College! He honoured Branwyn with his special segment titled "ALPINE AMBERGRIS". Alpine means mountain peak which denotes Subodh Sir's intellectual persona and Ambergris means a fragrant substance found at sea level. Thus, "Alpine Ambergris" together denotes the combination of an intellectual person like Subodh Sir and novice writers like us who are just trying to make a difference!

Branwyn Short story

A Love Story

"You know your eyes are still so demoniac", he said looking deep into her anomalous eyes.. Her eyes started feeling the amore of his voice, tiny tears were streaming down her cheeks.. Placing his jittering hand on her apathetic face, he brushed off the tears immediately.. "Dont cry my angel.. I hate these tears.. Actually I envy them.. Because they touch the most beautiful part of yours.. Your Eyes", he said with aroused feelings of unconditional Love.. She did not articulate a single word.. No agitation at all.. Mutely she was hearkening to every single word he spoke.. Words that were adjoining her soul.. "You know I had a great day today.. John and I played cards and that old fellow lost it again.. And see what I won..", he added with a briskness in his voice while taking something out from his pocket.. Even her eyes got impertinent to know what he wanted to show her.. "Ahaa.. Look this is it..", he continued taking out a dry rose from his pocket.. "I won it for you my Love, you always grumbled about mine buying you no gifts", he said with sparkling eyes.. "Let me put it on your hair.."

"It seemed as if he was putting flowers on her GRAVE.." Adjacent to the door a nurse and the old John were left dolorous after catching the sight .. "Uncle Michael loves her so much..", said the nurse while wiping her tears off.. "Umm..We are living in this old age home from so many years.. But the love Michael holds for Henna is unbelievable.. Who can say Henna is in Coma from last ten years..? It seems she is living every moment with him." he annexed with a deep bemoan in his voice..

- Parul Parihar Chandigarh

[Do not forget to send your feedback to Parul. Drop a mail to sneha@branwyn.in] [You also can send your short stories. Check the announcement box for details.]

Mr. Attitude says Thy body is a temple

Where silent priests hum

Who got stuck in shamble???

And leaders keep mum

Oh! You have hid the scars

On your breasts

Was my love farce

I keep burning you in jars

The snake bites on your back

And scratches on throat

Concealed by flak

The lawyers in courtroom

In the name of penal codes

Boast…

Why the background is red

Is it the fantasy of

Your creator?

Or the blood that I spilled…

They say I shall be

Hanged till death

Is that my punishment??

Or your wish…

My sons are pimps

And daughters are sluts

Has Morris failed??

Thy body is a mosque

I want to bend on it

Or a church

Lemme light the last candle!!

Mr. Attitude is a psychedelic writer known for writing controversial flames. A genius mathematician is his identity besides being a stylish author.

DOWN MEMORY LANE Kaushik Gangopadhyay

The year was 1996. I was posted at Air Force Headquarters Vayu Bhavan and resided at Palam. It was a hot and humid afternoon and the sky was pouring down heavily. I boarded a blue line bus at Palam of route no 727 to go to Nehru place. As you all are aware, Delhi bus drivers are notorious for their rash and negligent driving. This wretched fellow driving our bus was no different. He was whizzing through the Delhi traffic with utter disdain for other road users, hurling abuses at them who dared to challenge his supremacy. Quite familiar and used to this, I tried my best to focus my mind away from this nonsense. I was occupying a window seat in the middle section of the bus. Gradually we crossed Hanuman Mandir, IGI airport, Subroto Park, Vasant Vihar. All the while the conductor was urging the driver to increase the speed. While passing through RK Puram, trying to overtake a car at breakneck speed, the driver lost control and the bus hit the road divider and then hit a traffic light post. The next moment the bus was flung into the air. Before I could react the bus landed with a big bang somersaulted to rest on its left side. Probably I had closed my eyes as I could only hear shrill cries, groans of pain and sounds of metal and glass falling apart. It took some time to fathom that the bus had met with a serious accident. Suddenly I realised that the rear section of the bus had caught fire. The front windshield of the bus had broken

completely and the hapless passengers were running out through the opening. As I tried to free myself from the debris and escape, a few times and came I felt my legs were getting entangled. When I used my hands to free my legs I found that the lady who was sitting next to me with a child on her lap was trapped underneath a broken seat. I somehow managed to free myself, and then I dragged the woman and the child out of the bus. As I was thanking the Almighty for saving my life I realized that my handbag was left behind inside the bus in which I had my wallet, credit card and Indian Air Force identity card. Without giving it a second thought I scampered back into the mangled remains of the bus and to my utter disbelief found my bag. As I was trying to escape from the hell for the second time (within a few minutes), I saw a body in white kurta and pajama lying on its face just behind the driver’s seat. Instantly I recollected he was the same person who had boarded the bus at Vasant Vihar. I tried to pull him out but he didn’t respond. May be he is unconscious, I thought. His hands were stuck between the mangled metal of the ill fated bus. As I used force to free his hands they started bleeding. Somehow I managed to bring him out. In the meantime a large crowd had gathered. A few people helped me to carry the injured man to the footpath (later I came to know that he had expired) I could hear people shouting, someone offered me some water, I could feel pats on my back and at the same time pain and burning sensation in my neck. I felt as if my brain and nervous system was not responding any more. I don’t know how long it took me to come to terms with the situation. In the

meantime I heard a loud bang and the rear portion of the bus went up in huge flames. I remember seeing police vans and fire tenders coming to the spot. I had parked myself on the edge of the footpath. Sometime later a Delhi Police constable came up to me and said in chaste Hariyanvi “Chore Tere Ko To Kafi Chot Ayyee Hain.” I was taken to Safdarjang hospital along with other passengers of the bus. I was discharged after being provided First Aid. I somehow managed to return home. Today I don’t remember exactly how I reached Palam from Safdarjung Hospital. May be some good Samaritan or Delhi Police PCR van had dropped me to a point from where I boarded a bus. When my newlywed wife answered the calling bell and opened the door, she was shocked to see my wretched condition. She started weeping like a child. Months had gone by since the accident took place, when one fine morning my commanding officer called me to his office. I was a bit nervous and scared. The CO rarely called people of my grade to his office except when he had to reprimand us. If he would have to pass any order or message he would do it through our superiors. I put on my service cap and started walking towards his office thinking all the way what could be the reason of the summon. I almost tripped at the doormat of his office and somehow maintained my composure. As I entered the Commanding Officer’s office and saluted him crisply he asked me to sit. “Son, you didn’t bother to inform me that you met with an accident of this nature”… was my CO’s blunt and no nonsense question. As I tried to muster some courage and fabricate some acceptable answer he shouted “Come on speak out.” I murmured “Sir to avoid all those complicated

questions which the Air Force enquiry team would have asked me to ascertain the cause of the injuries, I concealed the fact. Even before I could finish my reply the CO flashed a sheet of white paper with the emblem of Delhi Police embossed on it. They had congratulated my Commanding Officer for being the commander of a person who had dared to risk his own life to save others. They had mentioned that I had helped Delhi Police by saving the lives of a mother and a child. As I was reading every word of that appreciation letter, flashes of that accident passed through my mind, until my boss thundered in his typical sardar style “Oye putter tusi bahut hosiyari da kam kitta. Keep it up.” I could not control my tears of joy ……….

Kaushik Gangopadhyay is an ex-defense personnel presently working with State Bank of India. He honoured us by accepting our request to share his real experiences of Air-Force life in ‘Down Memory Lane’ section of Branwyn.

Mr. Incandescent speaks…

Of Generations, Of Bonds

Who notices the old man whiling away his time in one corner of the seventy room mansion he built? Only his family. Mostly the toddlers. Mostly the ladies who married his sons. Who knows that he will curse every time they take him food? He will probably try to strike a conversation saying that his food is pathetic, just to get someone to speak to. In the middle of cold nights they will hear him scream, and will have to rush to his room. He will pretend that he is dying, and make them massage his body for an hour, before he says he is well. They know he wasn’t dying. I don’t try to remember him. He reminds me that he is, on a two minute call every evening at around seven, in which all that he says is that he is. Just that he is. As if out of a fear that he will be forgotten by me. He is my grandfather.

His phone calls have ceased to irritate me. Everyday he says that he is. And asks if I am doing fine. I always say I am. Everyday, for two minutes at around seven in the evening. He was not always the same. That is not the image that most people would carry of him. He was born the poor grandson of a literal king. His father became a sanyasi when he was in his mother’s womb. His mother chose to accompany her husband through the path he chose to tread, the Ramayana being the way of life then. And thus started his tale of penury and accomplishments. He ate what most people would not call food. The blood of a king rode the back of oxen, taking them to bath in pools. The blood of warriors immersing himself in prayers and deep meditation. None associated act of bravado with him. Till one day, he was called to join the Indian Air force. But his mother was sure that the Whites had built the planes so that they could crash the Indian into it. Thus his dreams to fly were nipped in the bud. Well, not quite. Because fly he did. I can imagine a well built, fair lad looking at the palace with lustrous eyes; the palace that righteously belonged to him. The palace that his father had chosen to abandon! I was born into the house which must have been an exact replica of that palace. Every brick placed by the man who knew where he belonged. My earliest recollections are of him are that of a very well built old man sitting on the porch of his house, receiving guests, most of whom called him “malik”. I sat in his lap, enjoying nuts that he always brought for me. A very well built man. With tilak smeared on his head. Whose feet people bent over to touch. Who had fixed up a colour television in his drawing room in the early eighties for people to see the telecast of Ramanand Sagar’s Ramayan. His stories becoming folklore amongst the people of his area… Here he is today. A shadow of his glorious past. Nothing that anyone remembers, or comes to see. He lies in his bed,

waiting for something forlorn. It’s been a decade. His eyes won’t allow him to read or watch TV. His food is healthy but his intake is frugal. He waits for people everyday who never turn up. Everyday he gives me a call at seven, and says that he is. And if I am there as well. Craziness!

I live in Delhi. I work in an investment bank. I have taken up a challenging career. At times I find it unacceptable. I have loads of things to worry about. Apart form the fact that he is. If I can’t answer his call, I hear his silent sobs later, amidst subdues words. Such childish behavior never helps anyone. It is only adding problems to my own existence. But the old man has no notions of that. In a quite hinterland he assumes that my life is as uneventful as his. Makes me angry. His call telling me that he is. And if there was anything “new” in my life. He complains that there never is anything “new” happening with me. I had begun to ignore his calls.

As if my own challenges weren’t enough, life aggravated it a little more. My brother, who stays with me, suddenly encountered typhoid before his final Company Secretary exams. That was last December. Those were tough times. In my fifteen hours working schedule, laden with ambitions and worries, it suddenly became difficult to take care of my younger sibling. Friends came in to the rescue. They lend a helping hand in everything they could. After an excruciating fortnight, having to see your sibling groan before you, he recovered. By the way, all men should have lady friends. Away from your mother, it keeps the maternity flowing… A lady friend, Suparna, insisted that it was time for him to go to my hometown, to his family and rest, and that she was going there and would accompany my brother. As usual, there were no tickets. As usual, she arranged them for me. As usual, she came in to render support even when I never asked for it. I kissed my brother at the railway station, just as the train began to pull away. I begged my friend Suparna to take care of him, even when I knew I didn’t need to ask her.

The train pulled by. Standing at the platform, looking at the giant ‘X’ mark in yellow at the rear end of Duronto express leaving New Delhi, I touched the corner of my eyes with the tip of my fingers. It was moist. An emotionless investment banker showing signs of emotions, looking vulnerable, looking humane. I felt an impulse to pick my phone up and call my brother. To find out if everything was fine. Minutes after he disappeared from my sight. That was insanity. I couldn’t do that. And my hands picked my phone. I dialled my brother. He answered immediately, in an irritated tone, as if he was expecting me to call him. Suddenly, I felt an overwhelming spurt of realization take over me. I was doing what the old man does. Every evening at seven. That night, he didn’t call me up. I called him. “Baba” I said. “Baba! I miss you today. Very badly.” He didn’t understand what I said the first time. He didn’t believe his ears the second time. Silence! Second drifted by! “You remember me?” his voice had faltered, the first time in years. My tears came down like rains from emotion laden clouds.

He is my grandfather. He lived at his home he built for me. I want him to know that being born in his family is the greatest honour of my life…

Mr. Incandescent is a soul never at peace. But once you ignore his self-proclaimed megalomania with fallacies, you discover that he stores double-folds than what he actually speaks out. Adoor from Dhanbad, he lives in New Delhi and works in Tecnova.

Branwyn : That Book and Me…

THE UNTRODDEN WAYS

[Anuj Kumar Dhiman]

Reading “The Untrodden Ways” was backed by a few reasons, such as- the theme of the book being a science fiction and obviously, “For What You Are”. “For What You Are” established Sneha Gupta as an author. I had read the book and was impressed by the talent Sneha possesses.

I ordered the book and was amongst the few lucky people to get 5 copies signed by Sneha. Sneha had already created thrill amongst the readers by way of her Facebook updates about the book. There was curiosity in my mind. When I took the book in my left hand, I made a careful effort not to touch the photo of Shruti. Scary! I was dead eager to find how a story written by Sneha turned into a spine chilling novel.

Right from the word “GO”, the book created a nascent charm. On the first day, I read only one or two pages due to some busy schedule that day. But the book had left its impression on my mind and I wanted to finish it as quickly as possible. I wanted to finish the book in one go. And I chose a perfect time to read a horror book. One summer midnight, I turned the pages and started from where I had left.

At one midnight, I was reading a book,

The one-eyed girl gave me a scary look.

I was reading the book and feeling the beat,

And my chilled spine was beating the heat.

I found “Transfusion of species” described on page 43, a plausible imagination. No wonder there may come a day when some scientists will stand up and proclaim that they have made a similar

achievement. So the fiction factor or the imagination factor in the book was quite a possible one. I liked the characters of Prof. Sain and Srujan a lot. I hate Dr. Maverick. All the scenes were perfectly written and inter-connected. I was all alone in my room and felt panic while reading the book. The most touching scene is at page number 81 where Prof. Sain talks to his wife. Every bad possible thing happened with Shruti and I wondered if anything good was there in the end for her or not. Then came Srujan! And the things turned the other way round.

He was a hero who did not do something heroic but he fell in love with Shruti and it was the power of his love that made both of them triumphant in the end. All is well that ends well.

How did this book touch me?:

The book is a perfect work of Hard Science Fiction, based on realistic speculations and perfect understanding of some scientific knowledge. Readers of Hard Science Fiction often try to find inaccuracies in stories, a process called "the game". But the book is a perfect one. The book has left a good impression on my mind and I have read it twice later.

I gave away four copies to my friends also and they also liked the book the same way. It gives more thrills every time I read it. I have booked a special place for the book in my bookshelf. For What You Are, The Untrodden Ways…. Now waiting for the third one… Let’s see what is next…………

- Anuj Kumar Dhiman, New Delhi

[You are also invited to share your reading experience. Check announcement box for details.]

Branwyn Short story

DEATH, NAME AND ITS FATE

After 75 years of dreary existence, I had taken my last breath just a few moments ago, and suddenly people had given me a new name “Dead body”. They were referring to me, using phrases like: "Bring the dead body", "Lower the dead body"

Then I realized: “My final breath had also taken away my name with it, whose fate would be decided by the life I lived. After our demise, either our names perish into nothingness or echo in the ears of the people telling our achievements, our success stories, and the goodness of our hearts…”

I could see my name frowning at me, and I couldn’t even make an eye contact with it. Its anger was justifiable, as I hadn’t given anything to the world, for the people to cherish it. It would soon be forgotten. But I couldn’t undo my life now; I could only regret.

Sensing the remorseful look on my face, my name came closer to me and whispered in my ears:“It’s true, you couldn’t have taken anything away from the world, but you could have given something to it, that was your name,”

“But nothing is going to happen by regretting now. C’mon! Smile and wish me a warm goodbye. Bye! Bye, My body.” It bade me the final farewell and my son ignited my funeral pyre.

Before completely vanishing into the mother earth, I wanted to tell everyone present there at the cremation spot: “One day, you all will have to leave your homes, but nobody can ever remove you from the hearts of the people you shared love with. Live in such a way, that even if your material presence deceases, your name stays behind forever.”

- Prakash Kumar IIIT Allahabad

[Send your feedback to Prakash. Drop a mail to sneha@branwyn.in] [You also can send your short stories. Check the announcement box for details.]

Mr. YouKnowMe

Caged Bird

When she did things which others only dreamt of,

They started calling her mad, arrogant and rude,

They failed to accept an uncomplicatedly stupid fact,

She might have reason which made her silent from a long,

And if it brings her peace of mind then what’s wrong,

They started feeling that she is flying with her thoughts,

They started teasing her and calling her strange,

They often tease by saying she is flying inside a cage,

They never realize that she flies out of their sights,

No one ever tried to catch her because of inhibited minds,

They kept doors of their heart closed & had no window too,

But she never cared of anyone and kept flying like a free bird,

When her mind submerged in desire of the caged thoughts,

She flew out, away and high, breaking the cage with her wings,

And the cage just fall apart she flew over a destined path,

That she never let anyone realize but was what she chose…..

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 life… He is at present working with TCS.

Fragrance of Heena

Blossoming Spring

Here comes the en-kindled spring Bursting up into colors of several

hues Fields filling up with lushes green

grass Gardens covering colors that amaze Daffodils waving with a dash of

yellow Giving them prettiness in the day-

glow Flowers blooming in wreath of

numerous shades Eye-pleasing view that we wish never

fades When the weeds that we wish never

fades When the weeds blossom into life Some bloom into; with a little

strife Such happiness that takes all the

blues away Soothes our soul which never dismay Some plants growing little by little

In their warm earthy bed of soil Some are so weak and brittle

With proper care they won’t uncoil Here I am welcoming the blossoming

spring

With Lily, Begonia, Bluebell together singing

The fiesta song of budding flowers and lovers

Greeting dear spring with immense pleasure

Slowly comes the awaiting April showers

Accompanying with greenery and flowers

Pure beauty of flowers and green grass

Nearby river reflects it like a mirrored glass

Such pleasant aura taking my breath away

I wish that it would always stay……!!

Heena Ahuja is a girl who loves to scribble the rhythmic melody of literature. She lives in Mumbai.

Amateur Scribbles

Sing her, A dirge

Going through the rough times is inevitable part of life, we all fall, suffer, keep up and grow. The tale of never giving up is life. And those same people praise you after you get famous or you get known. Growing up is the same story. Knowing, growing and hating are all faces of a coin!

Born a bug, in a shrub no one saw, caused no flaw, saw so green, every screen every scene, lived in no mien Caterpillar as we call, visual to no-one, seen all to ignored by all, made by god to live a curse, die all tod !!!! Grew day by day, every ray seen, ate late and gain weigh lived in leaves, and flower thieves all alone, start to weave egg as white, like moon-light shining prow, like rainbow removing prune, of cocoon bright to fly, The butterfly Will follow, who never saw you

will praise, who called slaw you will try to have you in their arms who threw you will want to give you charms!!! Oh my, oh my, oh my urge!, who will sing her a dirge ? Leaves, flowers or her mud shrub, herb, every bud Why oh my? cry on sight when were you none, who removed you as a purge oh will you accept, their dirge ? Fading in sand, or will you wait admirers your, are coming late who emerge after,so high you verge wait will you? Forfaker's dirge. When were you none,too small to observe they called you waste,even worse when were you sun,too high too disburse same they, follow you now, love immerse. Who to say! Who to say, the pain today never who cared? Or, who love today! Arrogance, killed you yesterday? or Ignorance ,killed you today? who to say? , the paining verse, say to them?, pain who serve ! . Oh my, oh my, oh my urge, who will sing her a dirge.!

A lot of pain can be cured but luring it to discussions. Sharing the depth of feel inside with the people whom we trust and love can relive most of the cries of hearts. But how to find them? The people gone, are of arrogance, and coming, are of ignorance. The ones with we were real, small and even poor never noticed us. And when we grew with aloe-vera coated faces and beautiful life, they come to us for grace, for fame and not for who we are. It’s too hard to share. Who to say, the paining verse? , say to them? Pain who serve! I wish we all had a butterfly to sing us, our dirge.

- Manu Lahariya IIT Kharagpur

End of the World

It was a cold and chilling night. My mobile showing time 1’o clock. I was continually seeing the moon from the window of my hostel with textbooks in one hand; just like most of the engineering students do and thinking about my breakup which happened last morning. I told her to go away from my life and sworn to never meet her again even if she is the last girl alive on earth. I avowed that I will study seriously and will become a scientist. No parties, no movies, only hard work, to fulfill dreams of my parents. I never had been this serious about life, tonight was something different. I started reading my nuclear science book and within a few minutes I dozed off. It still works effectively as a good sedative. Better than any sleeping pill.

I was just sleeping then I heard an ear deafening noise. It sounded like a heavy blast. Before I could get back to my senses I felt as if someone slapped me with a great power, and hammered my toes, it felt like being thrown from a roller coaster. I fainted and collapsed in no time.

When I opened my eyes, I was beneath my study table while everything in my room was shattered. I became numb after

seeing it all. I shouted my room partner’s name… “Rohan!!” but no reply came. I saw a poster of Lord Jesus and thought maybe lord would save my life, but nothing happened. I lay there, bearing the immense pain for a few hours, and then somehow made my way out from the room.

When I came out, what I saw wrenched my heart. Dead bodies, hundreds, thousands of dead bodies, scattered everywhere. All buildings were either demolished or about to collapse. I started running here and there, in hope of seeing a sign of life. But found none. It was mid of the winter but I was sweating heavily. The weather was warmer than usual. I thought it may be because of burning trees and buildings, but the air was really suffocating that I was struggling to breath.

After a while I realized it was useless to run around, so I decided to rest for a while and sat beside a car. When I calmed my mind a bit, I started analyzing what it could be. And analyzed that it's not just an earthquake or tsunami; it's something bigger, bigger than anything that I could imagine. I started thinking about the time when was listening to 9’o news on radio, where they told about US’ secret plans to execute a nuclear-attack on Iran, while Iran also planning the same on US! And how the rest of the world is forced to take a side, making it a World War III.

Then I realized it was a nuclear-attack and it’s bigger than Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I felt a pain in my heart, feeling the burden of the situation I started shouting desperately, deluded running randomly , and searching for human presence. After searching for a long hour, I realized it is of no use, and felt a twitch in my stomach. I was hungry and thirsty too, but no water was left. No water taps had water due to helium and other harmful gases that came from nuclear attack. Now I had nothing but my own urine and blood of many dead bodies to drink, and their flesh to eat.

I was in a terribly miserable situation. . No electronic equipments were working, no water, no food, Nothing. I cried, shouted, did everything, but I knew nothing was going to work at all ...I am the Last man on Earth. It was the moment when I decided to move out, and look for human presence at other places. I have to recreate this world. I felt like I’m Adam of the mythical stories and now I have to find my Eve. When I thought of Eve, I thought of my girlfriend. How amazing she was. Sweet, caring and honest! When I told her to stay away, and never meet her again even if she is the last girl of the earth, I never meant it. Now I so wished her to really be the last girl of the earth, be my Eve. But I knew it's just a wish. Now I had no option other than finishing up

my life. To suicide. I thought of jumping into the river, but no river had water anymore, then I decided to jump off a high cliff.

After walking for many days without a break, I found one. After a lot of struggle I somehow climbed on it and looked down. It was high. Higher than I thought. Enough to break me into pieces. I closed my eyes and said my final words…

Dear God,

If you recreate this world, please make humans without brains. Give them a good heart only. What their brain did to this world would never be retaliated. They don’t have the power to think beyond the petty issues. A good heart will bring harmony and peace.

And then… I jumped, defying the law of survival, ended up my life. When I fell on the ground, I felt it cold, like a floor of my room. And heard the giggles of Rohan. And felt a kick on my back. He was there!

I asked him how he survived. He replied “Abey Chad gayi hai kya!!! You were speaking nonsense since last night, and fell off the bed shouting.. GOD I AM COMING!!! ”

Oh! It was just a dream. I thanked god. And called up my girlfriend to say sorry and start afresh.

- Hitesh Borkhade Jabalpur, Madhya Pradesh

Communiqué

No words spoken

& no gestures made.

Yet, I could convey

& he could understand.

Between us, was so much of space

And lot of crowd in between

Yet it was as if, we sat very close

I could smell his breath

The day was done

And we dispersed on a happy note.

But my heart-felt heavy

And my eyes cried silently.

I lived close by

But my travel seemed far

When I reached home

I was there but not at home.

My eyes slept

But not my heart,

‘coz it was a never ending wait

Of course, for the dawn.

When I reached the spot

My eyes scanned for him.

There he was,

Sitting in a corner.

No words uttered

But our eyes met.

None of us ever spoke

Yet, we expressed a lot.

It was called a day

& we parted again.

There was grief in the air

And a big lump in my throat.

With a heavy heart

I started to walk.

I was completely lost

And my senses went astray.

Small droplets pierced my skin

I looked up in the rain

& stood there fully drenched

I writhed & shivered.

Then came a magical umbrella

I looked around .

& it was ‘he’ holding it for me.

Standing a little away & bathing in the rain.

I pulled him inside

& held him tight.

Again, not a word uttered

Yet, volumes communicated.

A voiceless promise,

A silent commitment,

A strong bond,

That binds us till today.

- Rajalaxmi Barath, Anugraha Satellite Township,

Pondicherry [Send your feedback to sneha@branwyn.in]

Secret Agent Quixote Conservative case, Outstanding outcome :

Rachit Bhushan

Rachit Bhushan.. An author, Doctor, Model, Singer and an actor too (Atleast..Leave some profession for people like us..) Talking about his popularity rate.. Well I would give him a 5 on 10.. His popularity status is confined only till the unbeatable Medium of Social Interaction Called Facebook.. (Come on..A guy who updates almost TEN statues, ten photos a day and run almost ten i.d.s , who won’t know him..) Dr. Bhushan is a renowned Surgeon but still he has found No Cure of the disease he himself is infected from.. The Disease called "SELF LOVE" !! (Hey that is the decent way to call one Self Obsessed..) He Talks a lot about LOVE.. Which gives a Hint that either this 27 years Old is madly, deeply and truly in love or has experienced so Much in Love that made him talk this Way.!!! He Encourages New Talent.. Yes well that’s True.. But Ha! he encourages Only That Talent whose TALENT nobody else can Recognize..!!! (Well.. I still wonder where the Talent is .??) For me Rachit is one of those People who Simply LOVE Attention and Even Attention keeps Following them.. I would call him A Stylish Doctor.. I can actually make out that he must be earning really Good.. (All THANKS to his Female Love Patients) "Kisii Ke Hath Na Aayega Yeh Ladkaa" Well yes Readers you guessed It Wrong Again.. (As Always) No girl is trying to woo him by this track.. Rac-Hit actually keep singing this song.. for Himself to make him feel So So Special and Important.!! "I am very difficult to Please", says Mr. Bhushan. People Get Drown in Some one's angelic Eyes or someone's deep Love but he just Loves drowning In His Own Sea..

Enough of Leg Pulling.. This young Man too have some Worth Liking qualities.. His cute Smile can make Million Girls Skip a Heart Beat (Fortunately They All Are Still Alive..MAGIC..) His great styling sense will add one more Cherry On his Cake.. Beware Fashion Designers..You have a Tough Competition On Your Way.!!! (People like him just promote deforestation.. When he could have been a Model, designer.. Then why wasting papers on Writing for which people don’t even know you..??) "Simplity Ruled And Style will Rule" This Phrase Go Quite Well With His Personality.. This guy loves being stylish so much that before uploading a single photo, I bet he tries all PHOTO EDITING SOFTWARES.!! Dr. Rachit Bhushan for me have every Quality to Be an Actor or Designer But as a Writer.. Umm.. Will discuss sometime Else..

Agent Quixote is Branwyn’s secret agent hired to do the leg-pulling of authors.

Disclaimer – The ‘Agent Quixote’ section of Branwyn is meant only for ‘healthy humour’. Articles published under this section should not be taken seriously or personally. Branwyn does not intend to hurt anybody. This section of Branwyn gets handled by the writer acting as Agent Quixote and is totally free of Editor/Director’s control.

(A)

Branwyn will be publishing short stories. Short story writers are invited to submit their stories. Every published story will win a cash prize of INR 500/-.

Following is the guideline for submission:

1. The story should be original and should not violate any copyright issue.

2. Stories should not contain any vulgar content.

3. There will a time-span of 6 months between considering entries from the same writer.

4. Any writer found violating the copyright issue or indulged in plagiarism will be banned from Branwyn forever and he/she will be condemned publicly in Branwyn’s coming issues.

5. Stories should be precise not exceeding 300 words.

6. Branwyn holds the sole right of accepting or rejecting the stories and also the time-to-time changes in the T&C. No clarification will be made from Branwyn’s part in this regard. Writers are requested

7. to send their stories in a word file with their small pictures,

8. Branwyn Announcements :

9. name, location and

company/college name. They are requested to copy the following declaration in the email : I,…..[name]…., s/o / d/o / w/o ……..[guardian’s name]……, hereby declare that, a) The story titled ………[title

of your story]….., which I am submitting in monthly magazine Branwyn has been written by me and it is my original piece of work.

b) It does not violate any copyright issue and is free from plagiarism.

c) It is a fictional work of creative imagination and I, by no means intend to hurt anybody’s personal emotions.

d) If my work is found violating any copyright issue, then I am solely responsible for it and not Branwyn.

Send your entries to sneha@branwyn.in

(B) Branwyn, in a new segment "THAT BOOK AND ME", invites all the readers to share their experience of reading a book which made them feel and spoke their heart out. Share your experience how a particular book made you feel. You can quote particular segments from the book, share your mental condition while you were reading them and how they made you feel special. Share your words with millions of other readers and authors out there... Send your entries to sneha@branwyn.in or snehagupta01989@gmail.com with your write-up not exceeding 400 words, your name, location and small picture. Only the entries about Indian books will be considered.

(C)

If you love reading and writing, then Branwyn would love to publish your work in AMATEUR SCRIBBLES. Send your fiction, non-fiction articles to sneha@branwyn.in or snehagupta01989@gmail.com

We, the Branwyn Family eagerly wait for your response. Do not forget to give us your feedback.