Naina Agarwal

Come to the Land. A lump of life-giving sorrows. Here everything is passion. Free and fettered . Obsession. Poison. Can you not notice the roots? Where the forests began.  The forests are still dense.  Just like your eyes.  As dense as Sundarbans.  Riddle  We live in the society wherein breaking of a coffee mug, dropping off an  iPhone , and the news of a lover’s death induces almost the same reaction- a dramatized one coupled with hatred for the whole of humanity. Maya  Far away from the  citylights  in one of those slums (with heaps of garbage and dry gutters) where hungry orphans lick water from the pits during Monsoons, there lives  a pair of eyes  with hope. They wish to come close to the  citylights  that always seem like stars. But starlight is an illusion.  Seasons A train whistle bringing flowers to the moon.  Brown fire  igniting rocks and pebbles. Cold wine celebrating the first monsoon shower on the hot pavement. And Serendipities. Faint glimm

Portrait of Jane Austen by her sister, Cassandra Born on December 16, 1775 in Steventon, Hampshire, Jane Austen is considered as one of the best English novelist of all times. Her stature in the English Literature is so great that she is sometimes rightly referred to as Lady Shakespeare. With just six complete novels, a few unfinished manuscripts, and a handful of letters written to her family members, mainly her sister, Cassandra during her lifetime, Austen has left an indelible mark on the heart of literature. Her characters are timeless and her themes universal. About her own writings, in one of her letters, she remarked, "the little bit (two inches wide) of ivory on which I work with so fine a brush, as produces little effect after much labour." Austen's wit, social realism, biting irony, and sense of humour make her novels extremely delightful. Here's to remembering The Lady on her birthday: Famous Quotations Providing Love Proposals From Austen's Her

Picture Credits: Yuvraj Soi You paint nature  on the canvas of life -  As per your whims,  fancies and pride -  Using your tools,  you give colour to eyes,  Hair, rainbows, dreams,  wind, water, wine.  You give colour   to memories sunken dry, Dust, light, air,  space, night, sky,  Fire, leaves, laughter,  hopes, future, stars;  You give colour  to present and past.  But then you snatch it all  away in your hunger and greed, Thirst for power,  pleasure of skin;  Abusing these colours  with careless might,  Spilling them over,  welcoming plight.  You scrape colour from the mountains  to build your walls,  Steal some from the rainbows  to fill your flags,  Snitch colour from the night  and force it on the heart,  Seize some from the whales  and invest it on the lips.  All at a heavy cost!  And now you don't own your loss.  You are a terrible artist.  ***