Crown of wild, unruly curls
Heart of fickle fire
Soul with the wilful wings of want
She was no angel nor devil
But oh , oh why would she ever be just a human?
She was so much more ….
Life in evermore !
She was the beyond, the belief, the beauty
And so much more ….
Life in evermore !
~ By Kaisera Kanwar
21st June 2019
Entry I
As we celebrate the ancient practice of yoga on this day and as I complete my fourth yoga class at the Sivananda Yoga Centre (https://www.yogashowstheway.com/), I have decided to document the journey of discovering yoga and the many muscles of my feet !
Yoga often knocked on my door in the form of school mandated lessons and Yoga Day celebrations. I enjoyed it but never regularly practised asanas. About two months back I found myself with more time than I could hope to while away on my bed and hence decided to try my hand at a trial yoga class. The experience was great ! I felt stretched physically and relaxed mentally. The Om chanting reminded me of the powerful Omkar meditation I had tried my hand at 3 years back at Isha Foundation in Tamil Nadu (which I had thoroughly enjoyed and practised thereafter). All in all, I could have easily joined then and there, but due to some academic classes (and sheer laziness) I chose not to.
Fast forward to now, with a highly motivated partner (in form of a cousin sister who has just flown down from Bombay) I am enrolled for a month at the centre. I highly recommend having a partner, it helps with waking up on time and you can also share ‘muscle discovery’ notes!
The next post will dive deeper into what the first few classes were like, so stay tuned ! (This series will be limited to 10 posts or less)
Lastly, do drop a comment if you have / are currently practising / plan to practise yoga ! What has your experience been like ?
~ Kaisera Kanwar
Founder YWC
Saloni Sharma lives in New Delhi and likes reading mystery novels. She is also interested in art. She uses poetry to express her thoughts and emotions.
By Saloni Sharma
I try to speak
But I can’t find my voice
I try to talk
But I can’t find my words.
Why am I so silent ?
I don’t know
In the maze of this world
Where am I supposed to go?
I have no voice
But I want to be heard
I can’t talk
But I want to sing like a bird.
I hear , I see
But I can’t rejoice
Because there has to be someone out there
Who can hear my silent voice.
Aryaman Kumar is an occasional writer, based near Pune (Maharashtra). He is inspired by strong opinions, beliefs and real life experiences. Human emotions find a significant foothold in his work. He hopes to be a medical professional in the future and raise awareness about medical illnesses.
By Aryaman Kumar
I was walking in darkness. I didn’t dare think about it, because then I would drown.
And if I started to drown, I know I wouldn’t be able to save myself.
Breathe.
Was all I could do. I was a ghost with a beating heart.
All around me, was the abyss of nothing. Yet, in the nothingness, there was everything. Every sort of pain.
The inescapable frozen claws of fear gripped me constantly, and I felt the cold, cruel, yet peaceful wave of emptiness flow over me.
Breathe.
I don’t know why. I don’t know why I kept walking aimlessly.
All I knew was
Breathe.
Why was I even breathing?
I collapsed, a single tear falling off my face and onto the destitute ground.
Until I saw the light.
Breathe.
The light was warm, and it chased away the demons that lurked in the shadows.It dried my tears, and sewed the pieces of my heart together.
Thanks to the light, I finally had a reason to
Breathe.
~
{ Title inspired by non-fiction autobiographical book written by Paul Kalanithi. }
By Aryaman Kumar
Tears roll down my eyes,
As I sit under starry skies.
The stars shine, in the deep black sky
I sit and stare, travelling anywhere
My mind’s a mess, for its under distress
Those memories hurt, as the mind crumbles.
All this serves to make me humble.
As I recollect my faults.
From those deep, deep vaults
I miss you still, my heart isn’t still.
It breaks and tears, along my stay
I do still cry though I’ve lost my way.
I do miss you still, and I’ve done this before.
I’ll break myself as ever more.
Thunder strikes
The skies break
The rains begin, with a brake
Even nature stares.
Ever all human and we make mistakes,
Only to lament after we’ve lost our stake.
The heart is beaten black and blue
The mind has vanished askew
The soul is lonely, pale and stale.
For it’s shut its doors on life and ale
I’ve grown to try and escape
But alas I can’t let go of my mistakes
Seeking redemption on every door
Will you but not answer my call ?
The promises made , will be kept
Tis for that , I have wept.
Feelings of disappointment pain and betrayal
Words said with out scale,
Meaningless as they are.
They still strike without care.
And I look beyond the valley
And fade away.
Aayush Gugnani is an amateur writer based out of New Delhi. He uses free style word play to express his political opinions and occasionally dabbles in poetry. He uses the world as his canvas and believes in expressing his thoughts and feelings openly.
By Aayush Gugnani
In the breezy summer
With the golden sun,
Shimmering at the horizon
I stood there in oblivion.
Standing at the worlds end
Waiting for you to come back,
I clinged on to my memories with you
Cherishing our moments as a pack.
What once was a dream for me,
Became a reality.
Once I was an ill fitted piece
Soon we became family.
We held each other in times of despair
And had each other’s back here & there.
Never had the world,
Seen such a ravishing pair.
We were unbreakable,
Like a covalent bond.
At least that’s what people said,
To which we replied it was a miracle of the gods’ wand.
Alas ! Now you’ve gone too far
Away from the gusty winds
Away from being what you were
Or who you are.
I’m not complaining for the woes
Happy you finally got what’s yours.
I’ll be there if and when you return
To fill your saddened pores.
Life without you in the beginning was tough,
Nights were endless and rough.
Though I learned to cope with them,
Yet, I wonder how can I pacify my sinking soul.
O how do I break myself from these shackled chains?
To go back to being what I really was.
Don’t ever think I’m not with you.
I’m an undercurrent,
You might not be able to see me
But in all your times of both happiness and despair,
I will be omnipresent.
Life’s a chaos without a pattern
One moment we’re here,
The other we’re not.
Yet, I try to maintain positivity in life.
Try to look up and find the northern light,
Look down to see the sea shimmering bright.
The haze maybe temporary,
But the maze is permanent.
Our laugh maybe fading,
But our love for each other,
Our love is effervescent.
Shiuli Sural is a young Indian writer based out of New Delhi. She mostly writes fiction, underlining a social message in her stories. Besides being an avid reader and writing, her hobbies include drawing, listening to music and cooking.
By Shiuli Sural
Ahoy there! The land approaches
The soldiers rejoice, the prisoner reproaches
They’ve come back from another battle
Destroyed houses, people and cattle
So the kingdom is now safe again
From enemies, treachery and disdain
The brave-hearts fought with all their might
To win each and every fight
But,
Those who had been martyred
On both sides, winners and losers
Shed tears for their families from above
They had been husbands, sons and fathers.
A war can never decide
Who is wrong and who is right
What is big and what is small
Who will rise and who will fall
What war does,
Is that it divides the world
Into more pieces and erects more walls
How can a broken heart ever rejoice
With restless nights and a dying voice
My world , my people, my near and dear
Let’s live in peace with love and care
Holding hands we all will say
That we renounce war from today
There are more pressing matters to be dealt with
Changing climate, rising poverty and filth
This beautiful blue mother Earth
Needs us to acknowledge her worth.
By Shiuli Sural
It was not long ago
When the world looked dark to me
It made me question myself
My life, my choice, my ability
I turned around, looking
For help to forget my strain
Instead I found, a white substance
An answer to my pain
I felt so high
Like I could almost fly
This was ecstasy
No more did I cry
My very own world
No one to be seen
None to be heard
Here, I was the queen
A day arrived
Though not all of a sudden
When this world of mine
Was ruled by Satan
What I’d created in a frenzy
Had now turned it’s back on me
It clenched my throat
How I choked and choked
In the ocean of despair
Was my life’s sinking boat
But,
Then a change that was long due
Came in little by little
And I started to realise
Why my life was so brittle
I reached out for help,
Support, hope and empathy
I found oceans of all this and more
In someone who saved me
My therapist proved to be
An angel in disguise
Light and love she made me see
And freed me from my ties
Now,
I see the world with hues of hope
And the earth bejewelled with light
My mind and soul dream and smile
I find joy in every sight.
Ishaan Garg is a positive boy of 19, who hails from the heritage city of Gwalior and is currently studying at Christ University, Bangalore. The habit of writing developed accidentally, when he was somewhat in a state of stress. His writings decode the reality of life, world and the holistic learning, he received from the society, and also one’s understanding towards it.
कुछ सुनने की तलभ थी,
दिल ही दिल हसीन सपनों से भरी एक नदी थी,
इशारों भरे समझौतों में वो बेशरत प्यार कि बर्नी थी,
उसके हाथों में मेरा हाथ देख, वक़्त की भी साँसें थमी थीं,
इन सबके बीच, बस उस प्यार के इहज़ार की कमी थी,
जिसे सोच कर मेरी दिल की धड़कने भी सहमी थीं,
कुछ ऐसी उनकही सी थी वो प्रेम कथा,
जिसकी दास्ताँ सिर्फ़ ख़ुदा के दरबार में बनी थी।
कुछ बातें अनकही सी, दिल ही दिल दफ़न हो जाती है,
होंटों तक आती है, पर बयाँ नई हो पाती है,
कहो, तो सज्जन्नों को तख़लीफ पहुँचाती है,
ना कहो, तो मनुष्य को अवसाद के चक्रवूयह में फाँसती है,
क्या वर्चस्व है, ऐसे लोकतंत्र का,
क्या महत्व है, इंसानियत से भारी भावनाओं का,
जब दिल ही दिल, चंद अनकही बातें,
मनुष्य का बहुमूलए जीवन, उससे छीन जाती है।
गुमनामी की सरहद पर भटकता,
एक प्यार का प्यासा जीव,
बस एक ख़्याल दौहरता, गुनगुनाता,
पल भर बस यह सोचता,
यह क्या ज़ुल्म है जो समाज को बर्दाश्त नहीं,
यह क्या वाक्य है जो आज की आराधना नहीं,
यह क्या गुण है, जसकी कोई शिक्षा नहीं,
यह कैसा प्यार है, जिसमें कोई बंधन नहीं,
यह कौनसी इंसानियत है, जिसमें कोई मानवता नहीं,
क्या यही है मौजूदि दुनिया, जिसमें स्नेही प्रमाण नहीं,
या यही वो भरम्माण है, जिसमें बसी गुमनामी कहीं।
Saanya Sodhi is a young writer, based out of New Delhi. Saanya uses free style poetry to give form to her feelings, thoughts and opinions. Love is one of her favourite feelings to give shape to through her writings. She wishes to grow more with each passing day as a writer. She goes by the pen name Spero and also uses the hashtag #speŕowrites🌼, to display her writings.
By Saanya Sondhi
At 5 in no time, I scroll through all my content apps,
I scroll through my social media
I see how songs from another age make my friends feel warm
I however lay here, in this infinite cold just scrolling.
I have so much content, content to go through, so many words to learn and study through
But all I want at this brink of dawn is to talk to you
Talk about how the universe was made, how the matter that’s light is not even one-fourth of this universe
And how we’re just a tiny speck, a nothing in that something.
How I’m something everywhere, but how I’m not everything
How my memories juxtapose at this time of the twenty four hours
I want to talk to you about the marvels of the universe and the marvel cinematic universe,
I want to talk of everything I know and listen to everything you have to say.
I want tell you about my fascinating horror of numbers
I want to tell you about my love letters, the ones I wrote to space.
I want to hear about your life and about your last love,
I can talk hours about love only if you’d like to listen….
I’ve written speeches on ambition, on dreams that are yet to take form,
I could tell you about how I’ve adored and waited for the stars when everyone I knew was busy clicking the sun lit sky.
Just like I waited for them I’ll even wait for you,
For that night to come one day when we’d talk about life, analyse Beauvoir’s works, appreciate Marsha’s existence
When we’d, undress each other’s scars and listen to our heartbeats and to our hidden muffled screams.
For that day when the galaxy will shine and the universe will align
I’ll wait for that night, for you to realise …..
By Saanya Sondhi
Good with words,
People say I’m good with words
How my words are raw and how I am great at putting alphabets in lines that make sense.
I’m still scared to go deeper with my cuts, more than I am scared to go deeper with my words
I think it’s a good thing, maybe for the world it is.
The colour red pacifies me when the ques of alphabets don’t
Maybe if I was gone, maybe then someone would see me.
I’m screaming for help
But the buds of their own life are between me and them,
Why am I too poor for them?
There’s a voice screaming in my head,
Laying, saying maybe I’m not worth it,
pictures showing maybe I’m not.
My conscious knows I believe in case studies, my mind making me my own.
I am my own victim, I am the universe’s victim.
But I can’t say it out loud.
Knowing that I don’t have happiness is so much easier to accept,
than knowing that I’m meant to give is so much beautiful than what it truly is.
Tears have put me to sleep more than sleep when it came to lie with me,
Screams have tired me more than fatigue,
when I saw starvation as a pretty look on me.
The voices that become miserable sounds in my head tell me that I am my own victim.
Those sounds overlap to become cries of help to no one listening.
I often wonder what can be more important than me on the verge of dying for them.
I often wonder where they are when I’m closer to the knife than I am to my bed on which I’m lying.
There’s not miles but even more of skin that I can see is wrong.
There’s this figure in the mirror that I can see is not worth it.
As I tip-tap my fingers on my screen my cheeks become wet,
as I pull down my panel to see my hopes fade away.
I shouldn’t, I know, I shouldn’t be angry,
but when I see them crying over a broken heart
I want to show my soul to them.
I want to show how no adherent could fix the cracks the shreds of black.
I’m closer to death than I’ve ever been to life.
By Saanya Sodhi
Young love makes me as happy as the feeling of my cotton dress on my legs, flying in the direction of the wind, going with the wind
I recently learned what a pluviophile is, euphoria took over me as I found another word synonymous with my name
The petrichor makes me feel at home even when I’m not, the wetness of the rain replaced tears on my cheeks
I feel happy in the rain, imagining and re-imagining scenes from movies that happened and from my life that never did
I see a lot of young love around me today, I’m at that age when the little girl that was always scared of the rain thought she would live through young love
But all I live is see and the only way I live, vicariously
I was once scared of the rain, I thought it would flood our homes, that was before emotions flooded my heart and numbness my body
I thought our house would break under the pressure of water but that was before the pressures of love and life scared me much more
I used to think after the rain only wooden boats could save us, the boats of hope have proven otherwise
The me then wanted to live to see love, the me today wants to live for the same
Just that then I was a girl who was in love with love, no complexities, no questions
And today I am the girl who wants to understand all about Aphrodite, Apollo and Inanna
I am heart broken and a boy didn’t break my heart.
Harshini Misra is a young Indian writer based out of New Delhi. She expresses her opinions and concerns about societal problems using free style poetry. She tries to find a balance between fiction and reality within her writing.
By Harshini Mishra
They told me that it was my fault.
My skirt was too short and my shirt was too tight. I drank too much, I was out too late, I resisted too much. And that maybe, just maybe, if I hadn’t provoked him like that, if I hadn’t rejected him, if I hadn’t angered him then he wouldn’t have been compelled to force me.
The police officer who hesitated to write my FIR when I came rushing in- make up smeared and crying- asked me as she judged me by my clothes and my appearance disdainfully- if it was really worth it because ‘boys will be boys’. As if by recognizing the injustice done to my body, I was the one committing a crime. As if it was within his right to touch me the way he did, to beat me the way he did because he was a boy. And boys will be boys.
So I asked them whose fault it was when the two-year-old was raped by her own uncle. I was curious to know how she provoked the 43-year-old- was it her under-developed breasts or her inability to form full sentences. Whether playing with her toys was too much to handle for him, whether her fondness for her favorite relative was too provocative for him.
Whose fault is it when he gets drunk and beats his wife again?
Whose fault is it that I am told to cover every inch of my body, that I am told to make sure that I show no skin but he is not told to control his urges? Whose fault is it that the fact that I am covered inch by inch doesn’t stop him.
Whose fault is it that I don’t feel safe in my own country, in my own city, in my own colony, in my own home?
Whose fault is it when my dad starts worrying after 7pm, when he starts calling me every hour, when he starts praying. Praying not only for my safety but praying that he never has to face the dreadful day when his daughter becomes India’s next daughter.
I had screamed and kicked and shouted and begged. For my safety. For my virginity. For my dignity. But, they told me that it was too late because, after all,
It was my fault.
By Harshini Mishra
The school of my imagination would be a place which I could call MY safe space.
A place where it doesn’t matter what I want to study, where no subject is inferior and where students can study what they actually want to.
A place where no one is labelled- where the word nerd, geek, popular mean nothing. A place where it doesn’t matter whether I’m gay or straight, whether I’ve had no relationships or far too many.
A place where my gender doesn’t signify my abilities. A place where it doesn’t matter how high the length of my skirt is or how tight my shirt is, a place where boys are told to control their actions and girls aren’t told to lengthen their skirts.
A place where boys are allowed to cry and talk about their feelings, where they’re allowed to speak up if someone (of any gender) makes them uncomfortable.
A place where students are not labelled in the “economically weaker section” and even if they are, they aren’t treated differently because of it.
Yes, these are all issues which burden all the people, not just the students, but my safe place should be a place where each and every person should feel safe, at home, where no one has to ever feel the pressure of changing themselves just to fit in or be accepted, a place where no one is ever ashamed to be who they actually are.
The school of my imagination would be one where I could drop the facade and just……..
Breathe.
A Modern Sonnet by Shiuli Sural
" Young Writers' Collective" 