Four Clover Life- By Namrata Shailendra Singh

We had 200 miles of straight road ahead. With rain falling straight on our car like drums overhead and cymbals on the windshield mirror with the wipers gyrating tirelessly, the traffic moving straight in three rows, and the heart going roller coaster, I dismissed the question saying their owners will come and take care of them. It is difficult to handle two disquieted hearts. To read the award-winning story, click on The Cow . Image courtesy-Pixabay

Our society places beauty that high. When you fall, it fractures you from within. But I choose not to fear anymore. I want to be proud of myself. I am willing to let go of what I should be to who I am. Until I die, I want to continue to be list further possibilities and not a defined label. And that is being FEARLESS. Labels with their ingredient and the calorie count are good with a hamburger, not with human beings.  To read the full story click on Bold and Beautiful Image courtesy-Pixabay

Are you insane? Do you see the future of the country in me? How did you forget my boundaries passed on to me as a decree I am no pilot in the armed forces, no judge of the supreme court No officer in the Indian army, holding no responsible fort I am not your Durga or your Kaali, neither am I your Parvati I am not your Ganga or your Tulsi, nor I am your Saraswati To read the poem, click on A pair of boobs and a vagina.  This poem was penned just after Priyanka Reddy's bone-chilling brutal rape and murder. You can click on the link to read more about the story- Priyanka Reddy . The words erupted from within and spread on paper like lava. Our girls don't deserve this. We don't deserve this. 88 rape cases in a day- that's how grim the statistics are- India Today . Image courtesy-Pixabay

Being a hoi-polloi, I find joy easily, and fear seeps easily too. I laugh easily, and I tremble easily. I thought COVID was a Wuhan thing and continued with life until it came knocking on my door, and I was horrified. I tried hard to dismiss it and pretend it cannot be my door. The knocking was relentless; it grew louder and louder, much to my chagrin. I chose not to open the door. Right then, it barged in, breaking the bolts, and I stood there feeling tiny and defenseless. Why did it come to me? How did it come to me? From where? Why? Who? all I had were questions and a tsunami of answers from all possible communication channels, each posted 'to share information, each doing just the reverse' create more fear.' So, I did what the rest of the aam aadmi does- RUN. To read the article, click on Hey Corona Image courtesy-Pixabay

  “And how do I know that?” “You will always know it, Naina. I am your conscience. You can never stop me. If your actions bring peace, you know what you are fighting for is worth the cause; if not, you know you are betting on the wrong horse.” The noise in her head grew louder like the whirlwind beats of a dhol. Naina stood in a stupor, her eyes transfixed on the Mangal sutra hanging from her mother’s slender neck. She stood coyly next to the man with whom she shared 38 years of life. Clad in a red banarasi sari, red vermillion along the part of her hair shining bright against her bronze skin, she looked most imperfect standing diminutively next to Naina’s father – fair-skinned, tall with an Englishman’s look in a single-breasted plaid suit. To read the full story, click on  The Unbecoming . Women's Web with Anuja Chauhan(who has worked in advertising for over seventeen years and is credited with many popular campaigns. She is the author of five bestselling novels (The Zoya Factor

A willow grows on my head,  Surrounded by patchy buckthorns and crabgrass, Their roots penetrate and prick my aortas, In the background, we play masks and plexiglass.   A haircut would do me a world of good, I have let them grow way too wild,  Stereotypes and Prejudices cling to the grime, In the background, the power struggle refuses to reconcile.     They tangle easily and snag at the bottom, Split ends caused by hatred, resentment, and abuse When did we start to devour each other, In the background, we play 'which color do you ‘choose.'   Pediculosis Capitis ravages through the scalp, The pieces of broken dreams continue to pelt, It gnawed a large  part of  our identity and grace, In the background, the Alaskan glaciers melt.    White dandruff flakes abound all over, Hope suffocates as we itch in dark, We let a lot fall through the cracks these years, In the background, flicker the mutinous sparks.    We all need a hairdo and some introspection, So

Dear Students, Being your coach( I think I deserve a National Bravery Award here for surviving three turbulent and tumultuous years with you and coming out alive in one piece ), it is expected to produce exemplary sample writing which can impress my disciples and make me worthy of the hard-earned dollars your parents' deposit through an easy transaction in my bank account every month. So I wonder what sort of satire writing will work for enlightened minds like you? Several topics crossed my mind- political, social, and some even didactic. Later, I decided upon talking about something that defines me more than anything else- failures, failures that come in a variety of forms, and each of them has one thing in common- Hurt, not the kind that hurts but the kind that the world at large chooses not to acknowledge. JK Rowling spoke about it at Harvard, Steve Jobs at Stanford, and so did the former president Barack Obama at Wakefield High School; it almost seems like a rite of passage fo