Four Clover Life- By Namrata Shailendra Singh

This July, Hope, Perseverance, and Ingenuity launched towards our neighbor- Mars, on their  7-month long journey, each assigned with the task of unraveling the mystery of the red planet. I  am amazed at the tenacity and fortitude of our space missions and the teams in the face of the  crisis we all, unfortunately, find ourselves in. Howbeit, I am also struck by the beautiful  coincidence of what is up there, and we need down here on planet Earth-Hope, Perseverance,  and Ingenuity to stand tall in front of the invisible mighty opponent. There is hardly any aspect of life where the 'virus' has not sneaked into and turned our life  upside down. The center of our narrative has shifted heavily, and as I write, the noun has  immense possibility of becoming a verb-You see, in the year 2020, we got 'virussed,' and then life  was never the same. What started in late 2019, spread over 2020, and we know- we have to  wait, hang in there for some time bef...

Literature, on its own, I wonder, can change anything? The qwerty key could be mightier than the virus( isn’t that the most potent weapon available) but words alone don’t bring change. People do. Hence I write. Though, as I write, the word ‘change’ rushes adrenaline into my system so fast that I am ready to vomit. Click on the link  I feel lonely with the Virus  to read the full story on Medium.  Image credit-Pixabay

The clouds were full of ink, and the beach was dead silent except for the gentle waves, which didn't seem to care much. The shower came almost in a hurry, rain falling in wild anarchy, the gusting wind carrying them in wild swirls one moment, a straight downpour in another, and diagonal slaps the very next. I deserved it. Every bit. He was disappointed in me...I had failed him. The mist created by the downpour and the ocean stood between us. I had found him quite by chance that day near the Scripps Pier in San Diego, watching the neon bioluminescent waves, the air smelling of sulfur. He wore a long robe the color of ash. Intermittent sparks of lightning illuminated his face and the long flowing hair and beard, the color of a pearl.  “Shosroddho Pronam Kobiguru.” I tried hard. He was startled by the name, then let a smile unravel, the most tender, like dew on a maple leaf. “You are right; I was remembering you for a long.  This is my fifteenth year teaching- Where the mind is...