Poetry 2013 Shortlist

Flash Fiction

Poetry

Short Story

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Long Story

Longlist		Shortlist		Winners
Aditya Gupta	Chandrama Deshmukh	Chandrika Krishnan	Nisha Kapoor	Arka Datta
Vishal Gupta	Babita Chakraborty	Arpa Mukhopadhyay	Minu Varghese	Max Babi
Saima Afreen	Manasa Kumaravalu	Nilanjana Adhya	Megha Nayar	Uzma Falak
Vinita Agrawal	Sayantini Bhattacharya	Sudeshna Thakurta	Nidhi Khurana	Rinzu Rajan
Rashida Arsiwala	Sanathkumar Pasupathy	Saptarshi Dutt	Sayujya Sankar	Sai Somuri
Heema Shirvaikar	Sriram Venkateswaran	Sudeshna Baruah	Amar Agarwala	Harini Rao
Talha Ehtesham	Prateek Jhunjhunwala	Megha Mathur	Nithin Francis	Vysakh R
Rachna Gupta	Priyanka Roy Banerjee	Manjit Banerjee	Romila Chitturi	Shloka Shankar
Swarnava Mitra	Swechcha Ponnekanti	Vinayak Pandit	Suchithra Pillai	Anupam Sinha
Siddhartha Lal	Riyukta Raghunath		Sunanda Khosla	Bindu Saxena

Poetry 2013 Shortlist Arka Datta

 Stained Goodbye

I’m writing this letter,
From a platform café.
I’m running out of time,
But there’s so much to say.

Let me say I am sorry,
For leaving you in sleep.
I wanted to remember your eyes,
Like the last night’s dream.

And I love you, I must also say.
You asked me if I do, just the other day.
But I find it easier with this napkin, the coffee stain,
And I seldom see this tender rain.

When you read this,
I’ll be long on my way.
You can just kiss my scent on it,
And whisper, if anything you have to say.

There’s too much to ask you, still,
From what’s on the radio to how do you feel.
I’m feeling so forlorn and empty now,
Just like this café and the sugar bowl.

I hear the whistle from my iron carrier,
The time to say adieu is inching near.
I will come back to you, wounded or scared,
Just when the war in North ends, you have my word.

I am sorry again, if you still feel gray.
And I love you, I must also say

Poetry 2013 Shortlist Chandrama Deshmukh

Books

Flipping pages inhaling words
Like open arms and fluttering birds.
A clay pot, a blue sky. Paddy fields passing by.
Just touch each word, it comes to life
With laughter, anger, pleasure and strife
I travel with people living in books
Resting under trees, hidden in nooks
Dusty jacket and a frail spine
An old bulky volume groans a whine
A lean booklet peeps from the shelf
Casually asks ‘Do you need help?’
Histories, spaces, fantasies and facts
Stubborn pages, refuse to react
With greed I read, I plead I bleed
Snooze a chapter, catch back the speed
A patch of self they paint with colors
Worth more than a million dollars
I love faces hidden with books
Crafting a bond with familiar looks

Poetry 2013 Shortlist, Prateek Jhunjhunwala

Walk of A Ghost

I trudged once again on those dreary paths,
And reminiscing I recalled how lonely I was.
An abrupt surge of melancholy cornered me,
And I cried once again in that bleak yard.
 
I sat once again on that lofty boundary wall,
And gazed at the now old couple passing by.
I looked for the majestic Pine tree nearby,
And descried a milestone instead standing by.
 
I looked again for the regal house of mine,
Neither the orchard was there nor any kin.
I probed around with tremendous destitution,
And once again I lingered over killing my time.
 
I sighed once again on the morbid fate of mine,
And withdrew for my heavenly abode faraway.
Amidst those twinkling stars and cheery lights,
And i yawned pulling up starlit sky.

Poetry 2013 Shortlist, Riyukta Raghunath

Secretly Scarred

I have survived every blow
The blue and the black that's come my way.
I have wiped your repentant tears
With a battered hand more than once
And kissed you forgiveness
Whilst leaving dry blood on your cheek.
I have concealed them wounds
With gags and yarns to save your skin
And only heighten my suffering.
For some reason I can't remember today
I kept you safe in a bright corner of my mind
And labelled you the scar of my past
I still cringe when I hear a clangor
And anticipate with horror, a brawl, even a bickering
But your nasty secret is still safe with me.

Poetry 2013 Shortlist, Megha Mathur

Closet of A Mangled Past

Every now
And then
I go back
And rummage through
My closet
Of cluttered memories
Crumpled moments
Haywire fragments
I heave a sigh
And then give it a try
Do away with all
I no longer need
All that binds
Me to a past
Chains me
To pain
All that stops
Me from holding
The reins
Of my life

Poetry 2013 Shortlist, Harini Rao

Cool Green Love Story

Ms.Young Crop :
                U pour on to me n I keep splaying away...
                 and you still chase me...
                 with your firm, you amuse me!!!
                 you are not tickling...
                 and I am not chuckling...
                 you flow on to me like a rocket...
                 what if I am tagged as a coquette???
                 from now, don't you pour...
                 and make it much sour...
                 you gotta know this right???
                and now you get out of my sight...
                why aren't you juzz going away???

Mr.Cool Breeze: 
                   I am a sturdy wild wind...
                   is what all you think...
                   but it’s your young green color...
                   makes me go gaga for you, lover...
                   I don't know if you find me wild...
                  but it’s your touch, makes me mild...
                  it’s all your fragrance...
                  my yearning, I do balance...
                  I love you n that's why I embrace...
                  now don't tell me it’s all a waste...
                  For your image you boot...
                  but I know you want me to reboot...
                  n that's OK, for my image its doesn't suit...
                  still with my every visit I'll pay a tribute...
                  I can't leave you. No, never...
                  I will love you for ever...
                  and ever...and ever...

Poetry 2013 Shortlist, Vishal Gupta

The Song of Sun and Earth

The first time Sun saw Earth, he did not like her
she was nothing like he’d seen before
no heat no fire, yet she seemed to be brimming with life
Sun saw her for a while, not knowing what to say
while she innocently danced around
By the time Sun realised he was staring her
staring her was all he knew
and he did so at every opportunity he had
for the sheer joy in her beauty
to see her flowing like the rivers within her
were too much for Sun to take off his eyes
Not that there weren’t other beauties around him
He had Saturn’s rings and Jupiter’s moons to gaze
But somehow this little lady with blue eyes
sometimes who saw him and sometimes shy
captured his imagination
Sun was in love, before he knew it
and if there was joy, it was in Earth’s smile
Earth, unsuspecting, danced along with her life
she took life from Sun, but knew not what he had in mind
Sun waited, to be a little brighter
so that one day his rays could shower the love he had for her
Sun waited, perhaps a bit too long
for by when he was ready to proclaim his love to the world
She’d fancied a new partner
one, who’d hurt her in the past
one, who’d sprung out of her
one, whom Earth fancied and Sun fancied Earth
Earth smiled, in moonlight
Moon, showered his love on Earth every night
Every day, Earth would talk to Sun
every evening, when Moon arrived, Earth would bid goodbye
Moon waxed and waned, Sun remained constant
but now he knew, he was to be a friend
Earth’s happiness lay in moonlight
and her smile was Sun’s joy
One day, unable to hold his feelings
he let her know, he wished to be near
But could not, for he would burn her
He could neither go too far, for Earth needed him for her life
His curse for his love was to stay
to watch his love choose another way
To watch forever, as Earth moved on
To never come near, yet not too far
They danced along, in a heavenly trance
circling each other, never seeing
Earth knew not, he still kept a watch
for now she waited, for moonlit nights
Sun wondered, if on moonless nights
she remembered him, and silently cried
if she ever wished, to speak to him again
if she knew, moon blotted him out on some days
if she knew, he still stays close
and would come, at her slightest haul
Sun wondered, and got used to crying
he shed no more tears, just watched them fly
He once thought he had time
but then from nowhere, came night
Our lives, the same, we think we have time
we live each day, hoping to work the night
and night we know, tomorrow comes
and live another day, waiting for the night
It’s the night which deceives us, yet that’s for what we wait
Our dreams our hopes, silently walk by
while we wait, for the right time to arrive
Perhaps if Sun was first, she would’ve been his
perhaps she would’ve said no, and asked him to leave
but now was too late, for him to go
and now he was surrounded by loved ones, yet utterly alone
For his eyes would not leave the one he once loved
for he still lived in hope, she might return
she never did, could never do
and Sun waits, for the day in his pain he erupts
engulfs her, makes her his, destroys himself
and leaves generations who see from a distance the splendid tale
there once lived a man who loved someone
spent his kips, in dreams of someone
lived like a star, and died like one
found no love, but loved someone
‘Was my life a waste?’ the final question he asks
or was it a testament to my love, which beyond me lives on

Poetry 2013 Shortlist, Nilanjana Adhya

His Death - This Too Shall Pass

(Written in the memory of Filmmaker Rituparno Ghosh.)
Not an excruciating pain,
Not an injury of the irrecoverable kind,
Not an event in history that can repeat itself, Yet
A displacement –
In the mind of certain others.
The displaced-
Have no form and
Cannot be measured, Yet
They are emotions which shall just pass; and
Onto certain others,
When I die.

Poetry 2013 Shortlist, Vinayak Pandit

26/11

Tell me, O Cop!
When you geared yourself
With the fugitive guards
What was on your mind?
Your own life ahead!
The religion of the terrorists!
The curses that were fired on you in the same day’s newspaper!

Tell me O Cops and Commandos and Civilians!
When you decided to head on the mission
What was on your mind?
You were the only dutiful and loyal citizens!
The scarce resources at your disposal!
Your parents and your off springs!

Tell me O Moshe!
What were you expecting on your second birthday?
Your day will start with your rabbi father and your mother caressing you!
Your deep sleep will separate you from your parents!
You were the only God’s child!

Tell me O Taj!
What was on your mind?
The monument after which you had been named
Raised from a tomb of a pure love
And you would arise as a tomb of hundreds of innocents
And of hatred!

Tell me O Nation!
What was on your mind?
One has to give so much for
The unity in the diversity!

Tell me O Qusab!
Were you ever deterred from the thought?
Of helping one’s beloved family
With mere a lakh and a half
By creating such mayhem!

And tell me O neighbour!
On what grounds you have demanded your own regime from us long back?
Do you fulfill as a responsible nation?
Do you respect your only citizens?-
Which have fled from us to you, creating mayhem here?
Do you respect only the so called proofs?-
With which you would never be satisfied with!

And tell me O rulers!
And the arrogant hermaphrodite forces you have created all over the world!
What do you think?
You will ever be successful
By starting you’re so called campaigns
By raising your selfish flags
On the ashes of the martyrs!

And… and…. finally O infinite intelligence!
What is there on your universal mind?
Do you act as a silent witness at such times?
Does there exist the phenomenon of justice?-
Or the innocence has to exit forever?
Tell me!!!

Poetry 2013 Shortlist, Swarnava Mitra

The Shards

delirious voices rise up through my vein
as words of knowledge rot  behind a cold masquerade
dozens cry and dozens die
still they hang on to the branches of a windless sky
surrender this brown leather in a flame so red
so that the venom will run wild and the night will melt into furious lead
a seedless virus will crawl under your bed
testing your will and the mighty blade
forget the moment and remember the brave
as these are minutes in anonymity behind the shards of pain

Poetry 2013 Shortlist, Sunanda Khosla

Sleeping Beauty

The story starts, with a Queen and her daughter, much as they often do-
Our fairytale-tellers never thought that magic happens, with commoners, too.
The Queen forgot to call a half-witch half-fairy to her daughter's christening
Obviously back then PDAs or "Cc to all" weren't such a common thing.
The fairy/witch crashed the party and threw a curse
(Not like the inconsequential abuses we utter, much worse),
At sixteen, the little girl would injure herself with a spindle and die!
Thankfully, a good fairy was close by-
She changed the curse- the girl wouldn't die, she would merely sleep
No nightmares, all peaceful, warm and deep
(These days this good fairy goes by the pharmaceutical names Calmpose and Valium)
To sleep, till her true love may come.
And of course she grew up to be the most pretty little thing around
Beautiful as poetry in motion or a picture in sound-
And of course she pricked herself with a spindle and fell asleep
And of course the Queen and all the castle did weep-
The good fairy realized that by the time she woke up everything would've grown
And nothing would be left as she had known.
So she put all of them to sleep- everyone in that castle slept with her.
Time froze with them in their sleep, all together.
The Sleeping Beauty still lies sleeping,
Somewhere, in some dark forest's keeping
Dreaming, peacefully dreaming still-
No Prince ever found her; no one knows if he will.
She's slept through the ages, and arrived in ours
Where no one believes in magical powers.
Thankfully, they haven't manufactured "Please Wake Up Soon" greeting cards
The bushes, the trees, their thorns be her guards-
Our Princes would send her diamond rings, or other such prepackaged bliss
They know not the power of a single true kiss!
Let her sleep, for in her dreams she has her Prince Charming (or whatever his title be)
Let her sleep, her magic isn't meant for us to see!

Poetry 2013 Shortlist, Sudeshna Baruah

Ragpicker's Rhyme

Her tender hands, daubed in the muck of labour,
She forges herself with an indestructible will power.
The buxom tree she leans on for her bony body to rest,
Inspires her for her forthcoming quest,
Along the heap of modern-day waste.
In its sturdy and verdant shoulders, she finds her story
Of everyday efforts and unsung glory.
“What could lie in the wombs of the debris,” she ponders
Even as her eyes glisten and her fingers over the maze wander.
Valueless they may be to her peers

Born in palatial towers
To her they are but a box of tattered treasures.
Lo! the crushed plastic bottles, cylindrical containers, the scrap heaps,
They all come to her with a hope for tomorrow
With their help she shall embrace mirth and shed her sorrows.

Poetry 2013 Shortlist, Siddhartha Lal

Scenes from a Lonely Dinner

Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention, please?
Ah, much better.
Tonight, we won’t be serving our excellent pinot noir,
for we fear that inebriated conversations,
piping to the rhythm of the soft tinkle of delicate cutlery
and held captive by four courses of the finest Italian cuisine,
often result in confidences being shared too easily and
inhibitions being shed at the slightest hint of
a touch;
one slip is all it takes for
this night of loneliness to culminate in a crescendo of muffled moans and suppressed sighs.
And while restless lips, looking for some semblance of escape,
are drowned in desire,
the morning after stands a silent witness to
an ancient shame
as shadows of the night,
who had morphed into one,
quietly slip away into the
anonymity of the light.
We shall not have some half-famous and already forgotten rock band
distracting our troubled patrons from their errant thoughts
or their murmured vows of silence —
thoughts that have now begun to run haywire in circles,
in turn
struggling, strangling, and stimulating.
Our well-trained busboys will refrain from making any offhand remarks
that might unwittingly provide you with an insight
into the human condition that has so far escaped your keen intellect
and, what is even worse, prevent you from swallowing
that painless pill tonight.
In anticipation of lengthy conversations with oneself,
and considering the glazed look in the umpteen eyes that scan this weary space,
we have suitably dimmed the lights in this singular establishment
so that the other distressed faces here,
stuck in a world of isolation and
creased by concerns, real as well as imaginary,
are ultimately lost in the swirling haze of smoke and loneliness
and are alienated beyond redemption,
denying you of the guilty comfort
that is often found in ignorance and the mock familiarity of ordinary company.
Ladies and gentlemen, you wear the scars of a million battles with dignity.
Your disdain for emotion and mere existence is matched
only by the relentless assault of your own conscience
and, in keeping with the timeless tradition here, we welcome you all tonight
to the company of your own solitude
and a heavenly ride through silence.
Thank you for listening.
Bon appétit.

Poetry 2013 Shortlist, Romila Chitturi

For Another Time

For another time
Again the raindrops screech,
With sound of distant prayer calls
A numbness sets in
Pink, purple, point
Quietly gets into a hazy spin
Turning colourless.
With the smell of coffee, blueberries and chips
My emotion relieves,
Rage fades into melody
With sight of umbrellas afloat,
Cement sets down
In pasty blocks beneath the sun.
This wears off my deadness
And cars are loud and maddening again
Making me rush off my dream.

Poetry 2013 Shortlist, Rachna Bansal Gupta

Etched In My Mind

The city beckoned me and drew me into its folds.
It enveloped me with its mystery.
It lured me with its history.
And mesmerized me with the old world charm it had retained.
As I drove into the city,
Old trees that stood among the tall buildings greeted me.
They spoke of a time they remembered, they cherished.
They remained deeply rooted to the ground; strong and steady.
Each tree looked ready to devour anyone or anything that dared to touch their roots to broaden the road.
The temples loomed large in the distance
Devotees offering their fervent prayers,
Praying for miracles or just thanking God for their prayers being answered.
Some, like me just sat that enjoying the solitude and reading about the history of the wonderful creation that was present in front of my eyes.
And then, the vineyards drew me into its folds.
It captivated me with its aroma and then called me to learn about its beginning
- from the field to the bottle.
I watched, I absorbed and I drank.
At the end of the day I lay intoxicated - Was it the wine or the city; I still do not know?

Poetry 2013 Shortlist, Suchithra Pillai

How Am I Different?

Who am I
Some called me princess
Took me in their arms
And the world looked so beautiful
With caring cuddles and hugs
I was pampered with love
With all desires fulfilled
The birth looked like a blessing
As the time flew by
There was something beyond intellect
They told it was pre decided
My way to live was pre written
The way to walk, to dress
To mingle in social circles
The mannerisms, behaviours
Everything started having boundaries
My look-alikes in legends were powerful goddesses
With power to conquer everything
But it was nowhere to be seen
In this so called perfect world
I saw my counterparts struggle
Fighting for their share
But I wondered in awe
Why to prove, when the world is also ours
Some said it was needed
For some it was the only hope
All pointed on the same fact
They said it was a one-sided world
Held with strong clutches
With waves of violence ready to pounce on
All the eyes were on us
As we were meant to be scrutinised
What should I call this sudden change
From princess to caged parrot
As a piece of beauty I stood
Just as a showpiece to use & throw
To the world, let me ask you
What way am I different from you
Breathing the same air
Living the same life
How am I different for you
Let me know, O so-called superior sex
How do you justify the change
As I still wonder in awe
Let me know, who am I
The day won’t be far away
Standing with no choice
But to retaliate or succumb
Struggling to find the answer
Just to realize on ...
Who am I and who are we.

Poetry 2013 Shortlist, Arpa Mukhopadhyay

Rum In One Hand And...

Time had travelled back to 1945 at Rar’s, the local country club
He had gulped down his first four, and would hang on for a few more
He sat his old signature style,
Rum in one hand, and in the other - a knife
He was in charge again - ready to face his life
The rains played him a rhapsody; they tapped and twirled on the tiled roofs
They invited him out of his confines, into the alleys, lonesome and dark
The mist teased him and mocked him, and transformed into her lovely shape,
The winds welcomed him with a smile, just the way she once did
And today, no one could hold him back at Rar’s,
He decided to rush out - rum in one hand, and in the other - a knife
The day was silent, the night was cold,
He was ferried back to the moment; she had walked out of his door,
Her once mesmerizing face had lost all its beauty, all its charm
She was packing her belongings; she would leave behind no trace
He wanted to stop her so, but his demons let him not,
He stared instead at her descending silhouette - rum in one hand,
and in the other - a knife
He had realized his folly, and had decided to mend his ways,
But she had moved on; while his life went astray
Ages had passed since, but the leaves still lay dead on the ground,
Today he was back at Rar’s, the same place they first met
With his only companions now - the knife to cut the sausage,
and the rum to drown his pain
Nothing could stop him tonight, as he dragged himself out into the storm,
She would either drive him away for good, or would wrap him in her arms,
His heart beat faster, reminiscing their years of togetherness
He tripped and plummeted to the ground, as he was nearing her doorway
She opened the door and screeched at the withered face,
"You here again? Will you never go away?"
His bottle came clanging down the stairs, in a voice choked, he said,
"Adieu to you, my love, my life"
He smiled at her one last time, and then gave in to the wishes of the knife!

Poetry 2013 Shortlist, Saptarshi Dutt

Nocturnal

This isn't real ,
It can't be,
A vagrant spirit,
Creeping with echoes,
Shadowed,

Asphyxiation
Strangulated as hernia,
Causes pain,
Risking death,
Shallow ground,

Drip drop,
Walls are melting,
Smells dank,
Hanging in the atmosphere,
Encasing frightened ears,

Being aware,
For whilst asleep,
Can you weep,
Hate the dark,
He keeps me sleeping,

Dawn shatters night's illusion,
Tension released after sleep,
In joy you awake,
Night creature released,
Cobwebs washed away!

Poetry 2013 Shortlist, Nithin Francis

Discovering Me

I’m on a quest,
I’m following a path.
Probably a path of no return!
Or maybe, I might return.
Changed, but unstained.
Yes! I’m on the road,
Strolling, pacing, running,
Doing anything that would help me,
Help me, know what I started for.
I’m trying to discover something.
But what?
Oh Yeah! I’m discovering me.

I’ve reached those branched roads.
The one all great thinkers reach.
I guess I’m to get confused here,
Wondering which one to choose.
I think its right, so I go left.
Am I confused?
No, I’m just not sure.

“You can do anything,
That you put your heart into Son.”
“You can win the world!”
“Yes, I can sir” I said,
“I sure can”.
But what can I?
So I ran along and searched a job,
Anything to reach the top.
Chip me a dime sir,
And I’ll work for both yours and mine.
“Bother me not son,
I have to think.”
The world is small sir,
But it can sure house the thoughts,
Of yours and mine.

“Where are you from Son?
You look familiar”
I’m you Sir, The inner you,
Lost deep inside,
In the name, of “The Dream”.
So, I wake up,
And “The Dream” was HIStory.

But the quest is still on,
And the path seems too long.
No one told me it would be easy,
And probably I might not return.
Or maybe, I might.
I’m on the road
And I’m discovering me.