February 2018 Issue

INK DRIFT
FEBRUARY 2018
28
Eight Steps to Achieve
your Reading Goals
Atelier
This picture was like coming up for
fresh air. He was drowning in the negative
emotions of life and the...
Timeless
The old man was a retired police officer.
After having served the country
for about 30 years, he decided to live
the last few years of his life with his
wife in peace and togetherness.
Special Issue
Neil D’Silva
The Top Writers Chair

CONTENT
February 2018
Volume 02 Issue 07
16
WAITING FOR YOU
The raindrops falling like pearls from the tip of the leaves.
A cold zephyr blowing to hit my face and make me feel the
most special one alive. I can hear the bird’s chirruping pleasuring
the nature with their sweet sound.
O4
O6
O7 A
O8
11 A
12
13
16
They said it
Famous quotes that would feed your
creative consciousness to its core.
Editor’s Note
A note by our managing editor.
In Search Of
beautiful poem by Aishwarya Ashok.
Timeless
A prose work by Shimaila Taher.
The Love-Agement
poem by Ankit Madaan.
He Brings Me Home In The End
A poem by Bhavya Goyal.
The Brown Beast
A story by Sreya Sarkar.
Waiting for you
A short note by Anamika Tamuli.
17
Walls
A poem by Prabha Prakash.
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18 A
20 A
21
22
23
24
25
27
28 An
30 A
31
32
About Coffee Breaks, Marlboros and
Leftovers
story by Sebin James.
Herb
poem by Nitin Kadekar.
You Own My Heart
A poem by Anupreeta Chatterjee.
Vocabulary
Handpicked words to enhance your vocabulary.
Diary of a Learned Soul
A poem by Shivani Jha.
The Traveler’s Quest
A poem by Nithya Muralikrishnan.
Book Review: The House of Clay...
Book review by Shumaila Taher.
Atelier
A photograph by Soumitro Das.
Eight Steps to Achieve your Reading
Goals
article by Pratikshya Mishra.
Dreams
poem by Samiksha Kedari.
The Top Writers Chair
Writers around the world get to sit on one
chair of wisdom. Who’s next?
Book of the Month
More to read...
25
The House of Clay and Water: All throughout my journey of
reading this novel, the only thought that kept coming back,
constantly hovering around was the inability to write a review
that would do justice.
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Ink Drift Magazine 3

MASTHEAD
Nikita D’Monte
Amy Johnston
Assef Ali
Poorvasha Kar
Shumaila Taher
Karuna Shah
Gabrielle Thompson
Anushka Pandit
Sheetal Bhardwaj
Kasy Long
Neena John
Palak Handa
learn more about us at www.inkdrift.com/team

THEY SAID IT
“You make me happier than I ever thought I could be.
And if you let me, I will spend the rest of my life
trying to make you feel the same way.”
-Chandler Bing (Friends)
“Oh, Eva.” He rubbed his cheek against my damp face.
“I must’ve wished for you so hard and so often you had
no choice but to come true.”
-Gideon Cross (Crossfire Series)
“ Ever thine, Ever mine, Ever ours.”
- Ludwig van Beethoven.
“The things I do for love.”
-Jaime Lannister (Game of Thrones)
“ I love you once, I love you twice. I love you more than beans and rice.”
-Desperate Housewives
“ Pick me. Choose me. Love me.”
- Meridith Grey (Grey’s anatomy)
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Ink Drift www.inkdrift.com
Magazine 5

EDITOR’S NOTE
“
T
he only way for a woman to get my attention is to be you.”
I read these beautiful lines written by Sylvia Day in the Crossfire Series while sipping my coffee one fine
day of February. It wasn’t long before I felt myself falling down the track of nostalgia, reminiscing how
the weather of love had treated me so far.
Yes, it’s February, the month of love, the month of Valentine’s. And love acquires its most mesmerizing embodiment
when spilled out as ink. Letting your heart out on paper has always been a nice habit most people
prefer hanging on to.
Handwritten love letters will never go out of style. They are the most alluring way to communicate with
your significant other. But with advancement in technology, we hardly see them anymore. In this issue of
Ink Drift, we aim to collect the best pieces of love spread out on paper, unsaid words and letters that never
reached a person, because, there is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.
Also, read our cover story, “Eight Steps To Achieve Your Reading Goals” by Pratikshya Mishra which describes
best how many of us lean towards registering for reading challenges around the year but few reach the goal
by the year-end. Read it on to find a few pointers to help you accomplish your bookish goals.
With this issue, we introduce new sections in the magazine. I hope you’ll find them to be good reads.
Enjoy the season of love. Keep reading!
Anushka Pandit, Managing Editor
6 Ink Drift Magazine
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IN SEARCH OF
AISHWARYA ASHOK
The perennial ocean in search of it I flow, A tireless brook.
The voracious mind in search of it I go, An untouched book.
The radiant sun in search of it I grow, A blade of grass.
The distant land in search of it I blow, An evening zephyr.
The chink of light in search of it I blink, A dingy hole.
The ray of hope in search of it I run, A solitary soul.
The peaceful path in search of it I dive, A disturbed mind.
The happy bond in search of it I thrive, An unrequited love.
The binding soil in search of it I extend, A sinuous root.
The lovely tree in search of it I dreamt, A tiny fruit.
The incessant rain in search of it I came, A nimbus cloud.
The beautiful dawn in search of it I wane,
A lustrous moon.
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Ink Drift Magazine 7

TIMELESS
SHUMAILA TAHER
The hospital room looked like most hospital rooms do, terribly sad. The kind of sad that
doesn’t believe in sunshine, colors or even rainbows. It is surprising how one place can
bring to you happiness wrapped in glitter paper yet leave you dry and lifeless. It was
sultry and the harshness of the summer was here to make the insides of the human body melt.
The fan kept moving in circular motions making the room humid, the air smelled of sweat and
medicines and of emotions leaving one’s soul. Somewhere near I could hear the ambulance blaring,
a few doctors and nurses rushed to the main entrance to attend the patient who had a heart
attack. There was a flurry of activities with silence resuming as quickly as the storm was arriving.
My visits to the hospital are not very routinely but sometimes my headaches get the worst of me.
On waking up this morning, my head started to explode like a thousand loudspeakers set off at
once. The painkillers failed to give any relief and I almost collapsed. I saw a few newspapers and
magazines lying around and to occupy myself I kept flipping through them. The doctor was stuck
in traffic which meant I had a lot of time in my hands. After about an hour, when the waiting became
monotonous, I decided to stroll and stretch my muscles a little.
While walking down the aisle, I passed a room which was slightly open. I heard someone
singing. It sounded like the voice of a man. Deciding to not let curiosity get the best of me, I kept
walking. The voice kept getting louder and before I could open the door to understand what was
happening, an old man came out of the room looking tired. He looked a little taken aback by my
infringement on his privacy but I apologized for the misconduct and admitted it was just out of
sheer curiosity. He listened and then laughed. Unfamiliar as it may sound; his eyes bore a tint of
belongingness and comfort. He turned around and closed the door slowly, making no noise while
gesturing for a cup of coffee. Hesitatingly, I obliged.
The next few moments changed my life and how.
The old man was a retired police officer. After having served the country for about 30
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years, he decided to live the last few years of his life with his wife in peace and togetherness.
On inquiry, I found out he had no children and no regrets. In the middle of our conversation,
he stood up, went into the room and returned. He kept doing this after every ten minutes.
Before I could say anything, he sensed the uneasiness starting to develop, the air getting
denser and that’s when he spoke. “It started when we went on a trip post-retirement to the
hills. She loves adventures and I don’t. But her enthusiasm always wins over my resistance
and we end up visitingdifferent parts of the world. While we were returning, she forgot the
names of the places we visited. It was strange but not unusual. On another occasion, she
couldn’t remember her favorite TV shows or where the locker keys were or where the laundry
clothes were kept. Blaming it on old age, we didn’t pay much heed to her forgetfulness
which we believed happened to everyone.
He paused a little, wiping the tears that came running down. Once again he stood
up and went to the room. He returned and continued,” Sometimes I wish, I had known. But
there are certain things in life that are beyond your capacity and control. When we were
having dinner at a dear friend’s house one day, she forgot the names of the people she was
surrounded with. And that’s when it hit us. The reality came crashing down and before we
could realize what was happening, it was too late. The months that followed kept getting
worse. In between everything that was happening I kept telling myself we’d sail through this,
we always did. That no matter how extreme the disease was it won’t tear us apart and for
a few weeks it felt like there was hope. But as fate would have it, she didn’t remember me.
She woke up one morning with terror in her eyes and a scream so deafening it shattered my
whole world. I tried to calm her down but nothing would make her feel better. Maybe I knew
this would happen. I wasn’t ready to accept it. Nobody can handle such a blow. My wife and
I have been married for 60 years and I have never needed anyone else in my life. Seeing her
in a state of such helplessness broke my faith in ways more than one. It is difficult trying to
be a new person every day for her because she doesn’t remember me; it’s like living a life
wondering whether I will ever get the old her back. Most days, she refuses to look at me.
She is scared of my face, this stranger that I am becoming to her. “I’m sorry to hear that.” I
mumbled.
He went on, “But you know what kept me going?” I nodded. He smiled and whispered,”Her
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Ink Drift Magazine 9

love; I could not for the life of me be who I am had it not been for her. That’s when I decided
my story wasn’t over. It could not end like this. There were parts of her still left that loved me
and appreciated me and I wasn’t going to give up so soon.”
It was time for my appointment with the doctor but I refused to go. The old man was
staring at the walls of the cafeteria, looking at nothing but I knew his mind was with his wife.
A gentle smile spread across his face. He looked at me and I knew. He was reminiscing all
those precious times he spent with his wife when they went on adventures along with their
nights spent lying under the starlit sky and when the world was cruel but their love wasn’t.
After sharing a few minutes of silence, he stood up for the last time. “But why were
you singing?” I asked. “When I sing, her eyes lit up like a million fireflies and even if it’s for a
few seconds, it’s worth a lifetime of happiness for me. And if you have a wife who smiles like
that, you know you’ve found the one.” And he went inside. I don’t remember how long I sat
in the cafeteria. His words echoing through my mind, his unwavering faith and the courage
to keep believing opened my heart to a new dimension. I walked down the aisle once again
to go back home but this time things became clearer and calmer. How do you define love
then? I thought. Is it when you build a foundation of faith so strong that even fate trembles?
Or when you see the one you love slowly disappear yet you keep holding on to the damaged
parts till there’s nothing left? Maybe we will never find out. Or maybe we might just get lucky.
10 Ink Drift Magazine
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THE LOVE-AGEMENT
ANKIT MADAAN
It was a day, Yes indeed, it was a day much colorful and pleasuredome.
I remember the day, the date and the moment,
When you stood by my side and everyone stared;
With a score of people watching us apparently
That how God had made us be paired,
You wear a fairy dress made of white weft,
And a princess like a diadem shining on your head;
Never seen a queen beautiful than you
A word of fineness, when you smile, is spread.
The priest then read your name with mine,
“To be together always ever after”, is fine?
You said ‘YES’ and next turn was mine,
I thanked the god, the almighty divine.
Everyone clapped their hands in glee,
‘You may kiss each other’ the priest announced;
Happiness transported to everyone as air,
Because it was a result of wishes and prayers.
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Ink Drift Magazine 11

HE BRINGS ME HOME
IN THE END
BHAVYA GOYAL
Fine. You’re the fire to my soul.
I struggle to breathe as you,
Ignite me with your touch.
You’re the stormy whirlpool
Which strikes on a peaceful night.
You’re gushing down on me
Taking every inch of me with you.
Your earthly body could take me to places
That I’d never go alone.
I’d indulge in the greatest sin
And I couldn’t care less.
You’re the only air my lungs long for.
Our carnality is blowing me away, babe.
And I would fly anywhere with you.
Baby, you’re my world.
You’re a catastrophic killer
Who still brings me home in the end.
12 Ink Drift Magazine
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The
BROWN BEAST
SREYA SARKAR
Colonel Bagchi glared at the ruined state of the mesh
he had carefully canopied on a patch of soil with
new seeds. It instantly curdled his early morning
mood. He knew the culprit of course. It was the brown
beast again, living in the woods behind his house, regularly
feasting on the young saplings and greens he was trying to
grow in his garden. He noticed muddy paw marks leading
away from the patch towards the animal’s burrow, giving
him all the evidence he needed.
Brijesh Bagchi was a retired military officer, an ex-colonel,
but people around him addressed him as Colonel Bagchi,
even after ten years of his retirement. He had moved to a
secluded town near the woods just a few miles from Darjeeling,
following his retirement. After spending most of
his life managing insurgencies and upheavals in the northeastern
part of India, he had seen enough bloodshed to
grow a permanent aversion towards mankind. His straight
and sturdy body had not grown tired but his mind had
aged and needed rest. When he moved into the old cottage,
with creaky floors and drafty windows, that he had
bought on a whim a few years ago, his grown-up children
were aghast at the prospect of him living alone. Colonel
Bagchi though was rather obstinate about his decision.
After his wife passed away, he realized that he was not obligated
to spend time with human kinds, but little did he
know that there were creatures other than human beings
that could wreck his world as well. They seemed harmless,
a part of the bountiful nature around him, but now
the squirrels and birds and especially a brown hare—the
brown beast, were proving to be quite a challenge for his
happy existence.
The extra space around his cottage had given him an opportunity
to nourish his gardening skills. He soon went on
from growing easy vegetable plants to Magnolias and Orchids,
the activity giving him a sense of discipline that he
was used to in his career. Colonel Bagchi discovered that
he enjoyed gardening. There was something about touching
the soft wet soil that gave him the satisfaction of doing
something worthwhile with life. He had seen so many people
getting killed in combat that he felt refreshingly optimistic
to see saplings raise their young head from Earth. The green
shoot breaking through the topsoil was a celebration of life
over death, creation over destruction, somewhat like Earth’s
triumph over mankind’s destructive nature.
He muttered under his breath following the paw track with his
eyes. This was the second time this week that the hare had disrupted
his plan to grow his garden. To take his mind off the disturbance,
he rode into the nearest big town with his gardener
to get new seeds from the nursery, along with his daily grocery
and medicines. His pension money was enough to support his
simple lifestyle and that made him feel happy and independent.
The next morning, he caught the brown beast staring at him
with an open audacity. He pretended to concentrate on the
newspaper in front of him but looked at the animal surreptitiously
every now and then. It hopped towards the tomato
patch and started chewing on a low hanging tomato with a
natural ferocity that made Colonel Bagchi fume with indignation.
It was as if the beast was mocking him with his decided
impudence. Such was the degree of his annoyance that he
took out his rifle and cleaned it thoroughly instead of cleaning
his cluttered study, as he had planned to do the night before.
As Ashwini the cook, came to discuss his meals for the day, he
seemed distracted. The grumpy middle-aged cook planted her
hands on her hips and let out an exasperated breath. Colonel
Bagchi was not in a mood to stand yet another soul’s insolence
that morning, so he said quietly, “If you are such a hurry always,
you don’t need to cook at all. You take what I owe you
and disappear for good.”
Ashwini blinked a few times and retreated from her bold
stance. “Something seems to be bothering you. What is it?”
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“Its none of your concern. Get me my wallet from the bedroom.
You take your salary and leave!”
Ashwini scratched her chubby chin and retired to the kitchen.
She knew the perfect solution out of this conundrum.
She made him a cheese omelet and coffee, a peace offering
that Colonel Bagchi could not refuse, given his love for
eggs.
After his breakfast, his bad temper disappeared but his dismay
at losing his young plants remained. He told Ashwini
about how the hare was eating up his garden. A week ago,
the vegetable patch was walked all over, the beets, sprouts
and parsley leaves were all gone. “That brown beast is
treating my garden like its private salad bar!”
Ashwini squatted down next to him, trying to come up with
solutions.
“Try slicing soap bars around your garden, rabbits don’t
like the smell.”
“I have tried that already; this monster ate the soap as
well!”
“How about mixing Tobasco sauce with water and spraying
on the plants?”
“It likes spicy vegetables; can you believe that!”
Ashwini’s crooked, tobacco-stained teeth came crowding
out of her mouth making her look like a hideous ogre, only
not green in color. She gave out a cackling laugh that made
Colonel Bagchi look at her with disdain.
Bahadur, his gardener had just stepped in and contributed
to the conversation without really being invited to it. “I
tried planting onion and asparagus, and that didn’t work
as well.”
Colonel Bagchi looked at his wiry gardener with a hippy
haircut and threw his hands up in despair. “I give up. I don’t
know what to do.”
Bahadur and Ashwini continued their animated conversation
about the problem in hand while Colonel Bagchi
thought of a fresh idea.
“Hey Pakhi, Dadu needs your help.” Pakhi, his sixteen-yearold
grand-daughter was the only person who was willing
to do internet research for him anytime of the day. “How
does one get rid of wild hares from their garden?”
Pakhi googled up the information and asked her granddad
to note it down.
“Okay…okay……fine. Thank you, dear.”
That afternoon, Bahadur and he located a “potent” toxin in the
market. Colonel Bagchi was determined to defeat his enemy in
the garden field and protect his troop of young plants.
The hare was no show for the next two days. The sneaky animal
had somehow sniffed out his intention.
On the third morning, as Colonel Bagchi stepped out for his
breathing exercise, his feet almost stumbled on something
brownish.
It was the confounded hare. It had got so alarmingly confident
that it could come right up to his doorstep. This was ridiculous. As
he turned to look at the animal, he found it lying down. He waited
for it to look up at him with its beady red eyes, but the animal did
not stir. The gall of the monster. First, destroying his garden and
then taking a power nap right in front of him. He fumed while he
waited on. The hare lay limp. This was not usual. Shouldn’t it slip
away as fast as it could? As he took another step forward he saw a
ring of flies circling him like vultures circling a corpse.
XXXXXX
His garden was safe again. The flowers were untouched, the
young spouts were upright and perky, the beauty of his creation
evident once more. Bagchi sat having a cup of first flush outside
alone. He had won his battle against the hare and that should
have relieved him. But he felt no jubilation, no elation at his victory.
As Ashwini started the day’s cooking she asked him what he
would like for breakfast.
“Nothing. I am not hungry,” he said rinsing his teacup in the kitchen.
He went to his study and started tidying up, a task he had been
avoiding for a while. There was an unusual sluggishness in his
bearing, a bewildered listlessness in his conduct.
Ashwini followed him into his study. She cast a worried look at
him. He was not eating well. “What is it now? The hare is dead,
your garden is looking beautiful again. Doesn’t that make you
happy?”
“I have brought some tomatoes from your garden, I can make
soup for you, if you want,” she added, hoping to inspire him.
Bagchi closed his eyes and flinched. “How can I eat tomato now?”
He walked to the front foyer to put on his sneakers. Fresh air
might do him good. He lmost walkeur who was getting off his bicycle.
Bahadur jumped aside alarmed at his speed.
“Where are you going in such a hurry? Didn’t you want to go to the
town and visit the nursery?”
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Ever since the hare had died, Bagchi had avoided talking to
him properly. He wondered why. He had also lost interest
in caring for his garden.
Ashwini had scribbled their names on it. Colonel Bagchi let out a
ragged breath and looked at the baby rabbits again, a small smile
forming on his puckered lips.`
Bagchi continued walking past him without responding to
his question.
XXXXXX
“What is going on with Colonel?” asked Bahadur when he
saw Ashwini.
“No idea. He seems to be brooding over something but he
does not want to talk about it?” said Ashwini sipping her
morning tea noisily.
“Ever since that confounded hare died on his doorstep, he
seems depressed,” said Bahadur.
“Oh…that is the reason why he said he does not want to
eat tomato…”
“What?”
“I offered to make tomato soup for him and he left.”
“Did he?” said Bahadur after a long pause, contemplating
on something profoundly deep, beyond Ashwini’s understanding.
Bahadur knew that in spite of how unpredictable the Colonel
seemed, he was a kind soul. He had a tough shell with
a soft interior, which he did not like to admit.
“I will keep something in his study on his table. Tell him to
take a look at it when he comes back, okay?” he said in a
hurry and left Ashwini to finish her tea alone.
Colonel Bagchi came back from his morning walk, sweaty
and exhausted. Ashwini had made an omelet for him again.
“Do you want to kill me with cholesterol?” he snapped at
her. Ashwini took a deep breath and bland facedly told him
to take a look at his study table, just the way Bahadur had
asked her to.
“What now?” he muttered storming into his study. There
on the table stood a bottle of unopened rabbit poison.
Below it was Bahadur’s handwritten note in Hindi. “I did
not kill it. See, the bottle is still sealed. It died of old age.”
Colonel Bagchi re-read the note several times and threw
the bottle in the garbage bin.
Next morning as he made himself a cup of tea and stood
out on the balcony, he saw a basket covered in a blanket.
He uncovered the basket to find two white baby rabbits
inside a cage. A note was attached to the latch. We could
not find a wild hare so we got these instead. Bahadur and
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Ink Drift Magazine 15

WAITING FOR YOU
ANAMIKA TAMULI
The raindrops falling like pearls from the tip of the leaves. A cold zephyr blowing to hit my face and
make me feel the most special one alive. I can hear the bird’s chirruping pleasuring the nature with
their sweet sound. But I had someone more special on my mind. Someone who was more special from
this beautiful scenery. I could remember your image blazoned in front of my eyes, laughing with them
and not even knowing that someone is adoring you. Admiring your every beauty. That makes me so
happy
. Happy from the inside. Today you called my name. For the first time. Oh! my name seemed so special
from your mouth! Today I love my name. I can feel my heart getting closure to you. So close that I fear
of losing you. Even though you are not mine. It’s funny how you fall in love with someone who doesn’t
even know your existence. I want you to see me and understand the words from my eyes, understand
what my heart is speaking in its inside. Want you to feel happy by seeing me as I do. I believe you’ll do.
one day or the other. The day is not far when you’ll be mine.
16 Ink Drift Magazine
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WALLS
PRABHA PRAKASH
Sometimes I forget to build those walls-
Yes, those rigid and ugly walls
Around myself.
Even as I could see shrewd minds masquerading effortlessly
Within the flexible edges
Of the erstwhile stiff structures;
I quiver and twist within my own self
Incapable of shielding the vulnerabilities
At times of uncertainties,
I wonder and stare
Baffled at the crowd;
Checking out the virtual looking glass from the corner of my eyes-
And witness a hundred brittle walls
Dilapidating into superfluous fragments
Teaching me countless lessons on doctrines of realism.
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Ink Drift Magazine 17

ABOUT
COFFEE BREAKS, MARLBOROS AND
LEFTOVERS
SEBIN JAMES
We have traversed the full
length of this ring road. A
maze of unpredictable curves
and memorable pit stops comes to an
end. I don’t know if there is a divine
entity that observes us, but you definitely
believe in one. Ask him whether
he satirically laughed off the plight of
two inferior beings. He might even tell
that both of us were complete idiots, to
hope that we would never be sucked
into a swirling whirlpool. Probably, he
finds humor in the irony of choosing
the same cafe for closure ceremony as
well. Tell him that I am relieved to make
him feel better about himself when he
clearly cannot handle gross injustice,
war, and death.
I think I acted a bit much awkward last
Sunday. I might have found it unsettling
that two years have passed since we
parted our ways. It could also be a desperate
attempt on my part to show that
I am unaffected by everything we have
been through. Each time, I fail miserably.
But again, whichever explanation
you prefer. You are likely to go with the
second one, aren’t you?
I remember blushing like a nine-yearold
about to sing a song in front of the
school assembly. The waiter was pissed
off when I said ‘whatever’ to ‘hot cocoa
or café latté?’ I will tell you a secret. I
was rather taken aback to see that you
have slimmed down, while I am beginning
to worry about my receding hairline.
To put across in simple words, I am
jealous. There was also an Indie rock
band’s clumsy background track for our
company. I mean, come on they used to
play great music four years back.
Luke Bryan started humming ‘Drink a
Beer’ in my head. I nodded along with
your answers for the ‘what it might
have been and what if’ routine talk in a
meet up of two former lovers.
“Are you listening, Deb?”
I heard everything you said, dear. But
does it really matter?
“I am. You were saying that you are
tired of summer classes.” Apparently,
I couldn’t stop blushing.
You took a sip of your favorite ristretto.
I didn’t even know about ristretto until
you took me to that posh café in the
north end.
I looked into your eyes and my hot
brewing cocoa on the table. This
damn drink was never sweet enough.
A spiral of brown coils disappeared
in a bustle with the spoon. The sliding
door of our café showcased fuzzy
images of vehicles rushing along the
new highway. It’s a rush hour in the
rainy season and people want the
comfort of their homes. Nothing’s
wrong with that.
Home, it is a vague word when it
stands alone. The most celebrated
words in linguistics are all confusing
when they stand alone. Wasn’t there
a time when we wanted love to be our
daydreams about green farmlands,
blue lagoons, and rugged mountains?
Faith was all about walking down the
hallway, hand in hand. Joy meant
your music and my books. We hoped
that we could wrap around each other
instead of our pillows and shed a tear
on chilly winter nights.
In one fine Sunday morning, love became
letting go of each other when
there was no way forward. We grew
distant and apart. I searched frantically
for joy, faith, and hope in the
remnants of a pyre but in vain. There
were days when I was so near to falling
into the depths of a chasm. I was
always there on the verge, but I never
fell off the ridge.
“I have been talking too much. Deb,
tell me. What’s new with you?”
I won’t lie. I am doing okay; no more,
no less. You wrecked my whole belief
system when you took everything you
could and left. But you are not at fault.
This was supposed to happen when I
poured in everything I could to make
an elixir. Though there is so much water
under the bridge, I just hope that
everything will fall into place one day.
“Everything’s great, actually. College
is good. I have wonderful friends. I
have been busy for the past couple of
weeks. We organized a Web technologies
workshop recently that turned
out to be a great success. Probably
I should take some time off all the
hustle now.”
“Oh! Good. Congrats Deb.” You still tilt
your head sideways and smile while
you compliment someone. I always
wanted a picture of this quirk of yours.
There was never a good time. “Waiter,
I will have one more sandwich cake.
Do you want anything else, Deb?”
“I think I will take another cup of hot
chocolate.”
“You and hot chocolate, still a better
love story than Twilight.”
“And how old is that phrase?”
“As old as your relationship with hot
cocoa.”
One-to-one conversations never lose
their charm when you are there. On
one of our daily commutes, I told you
that Wong Kar-Wai is the greatest filmmaker
when it comes to the portrayal
of intertwined complexities of life.
You liked Richard Linklater more and
argued that Wong Kar-Wai’s films of
the 21st century lacked subtlety. Although,
I did realize on our way back
home that I should never underestimate
you ever. You had drawn a flow
chart on the degrading quality of my
favorite director’s movies when both
of us were supposed to balance the
equations of organic compounds.
You were insane back then. You are.
“Deb, I would like to say something.”
18 Ink Drift Magazine
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“Is this a toast from you? Then why
can’t we go to that beer parlor right
across Riviera?”
“No. Listen, Deb. It’s about me. I think I
love someone.”
“Oh. Huh. Who is he?”
“From college, obviously. I have known
him for over two years. But...”
“What is it?”
“I fear it might ruin our friendship.”
That is a genuine concern given how it
ended between us.
“Huh. Maybe.”
See, that was my emotional threshold
point. I thought I could survive a conversation
with you after two years. To
my dismay, my heart was still a weakling
in your presence. Even if there
comes a day when south sea pearls are
washed ashore, I can never be a mere
male acquaintance who blurts out that
he is happy for you, when you declare
your new-found love.
Why did we pre-plan everything happening
on this day? Why couldn’t it
have been something surreal?
As always, I would be sitting right here,
hesitant to finish off my drink. Perhaps
I would ignore the call of any of my
friends who want to know whether I
am in town or not. I would notice every
female and their minute details as they
come and go. Haruki Murakami would
help me in eavesdropping on conversations
around my table, which I believe
will become the plot of my stories
someday. The whole evening would go
by, with the pages of my life and Sputnik
Sweetheart still unturned. When I
am about to leave, unusually long fingers
with finely manicured nails might
place a cup of ristretto on my table. In
that split second, déjà vu would strike
a chord with all the mess that I am. I
would sit there, stupefied by the whole
world and you. I would sit there, breathless
and unable to determine what intoxicated
me. I could barely move my
legs, let alone run away from you. You
would look at the specials board and
the book that I am reading, but you
would pretend that you didn’t recognize
me. We would be two random
strangers on a coffee table for a while.
Torn between you forgetting me and
now that you have, why I couldn’t, I
would reach out to pay my bill. All of a
sudden, you would burst out laughing,
take hold of my hands and place it in
your palms. Being naive enough to buy
into your little play, I too would laugh
at myself. But what would happen
when the laughter ceases, dear? We
would try to fill a void with fine pleasantries,
drink coffee and part. I would
rather take away my hands from yours
and leave, without saying anything.
You would know what that means
since you have had the privilege to
spend time with me beyond my ‘all
aloof and distant’ stage of interaction;
I leave places before the lump in my
throat materializes into tears; the hypocrite
in me still believes that tears are
not so manly in a public place. Moreover,
I wouldn’t want you to see me in
an emotionally vulnerable state yet
you would know that I am.
Let’s drop it and focus on what happened
for real.
“I am going to run to the washroom
before we leave.”
“Don’t run by. Take your time, Deb.”
You chortled.
We left the coffee shop. Neither of
us was sure about what to say next.
There were no promises to keep in
touch and no vows taken to remain
‘good friends’. That can be counted as
the one thing we did right that day.
On my way back home, our conversation
started playing on a loop before
my eyes. One thing led to another
and I had the feeling that this was
no longer about us. All is now solely
about me, dear. It must be. I owe it to
myself and the soul that I have been
tormenting for all the wrong reasons.
It was time to lift off the painted veil
stuck to my face. This has got nothing
to do with love, dear. If anything,
this is redemption. People should
stop using the word ‘love’ for things
they cannot work out and things that
go wrong in a relationship. I was too
late to accept that two persons, at
any point in time, can fall out of love,
even when there is so much love and
affection for each other. Falling out of
love is almost similar to running out
of means to express your love. When
unhappiness and irritability take reins
of the mechanism through which you
vent, what lies beneath is irrelevant to
what meets the eye. Sadly, brooding
over lost love for the namesake of love
does not count as love either.
There was a lot more to my breakdown
than turning into a lost traveler
in the realms of love. A few years back,
life was more vibrant and alfresco.
After a few back to back fiascos, I
was no more comfortable in my own
skin. With a lot of time to spare, I have
made some serious observations,
introspections, and retrospections.
They have all contributed to the flesh
and blood of the person that I have
become. Though the popular opinion
says that he has become a sad soul,
I like him. It was not easy at first, but
once you get to know him he is not
that bad. He is cynical, but he has integrity.
I mean, sure there is a hell lot
of work to free himself from the pangs
of guilt, fear and his unhealthy fixation
with you. Apart from that, I can
slowly teach him to give his reasons to
people who are worth an explanation.
When he begins to feel what it takes to
stay somewhere, he will always make
it home from his secret getaways; finally,
he can resist his desire to not
return.
So why don’t you go away? I beg
you, the silhouette of lost love; don’t
come creeping through the windowsills
while my eyes struggle to attune
to the moonlight of June. I beg you
not to come with that guitar of yours
and sing a lullaby that makes my ears
bleed. I have roadmaps to look at and
there are abandoned towns to search
for before she fades out. I give you my
word, I will find the colors you lost in
the sunsets of horizons far west.Till
then, I will smoke Marlboros and my
lungs will ache; but she won’t see you
amidst the ghosts of smoke I made, to
carry you along with me. This will be
our little secret, our last one. Do not
demand anything more, the silhouette
of long lost love.
It’s time. It’s time to try and make everything
right.
www.inkdrift.com
Ink Drift Magazine 19

HERB
NITIN KADEKAR
A dab of the dawning of imperative consequence
arrives.
Instinct takes over and I feel alive.
I feel the need but I don’t have to feed it.
It’s there but I don’t have to acknowledge
it.
I have dismissed it before,
more than once.
But this particular time I want to lunge.
So I make the journey bearing the costs.
Like I don’t give a damn about the fact
that I’m lost.
But I do see light at the end of the tunnel.
I’m fighting my way there.
It will probably never stop and never end.
All I know is,
it is warmer and pleasant as I move
forward.
If you are not able to make this transition,
you are probably a coward.
Fortunately, the night is young.
I say this because it doesn’t take long.
We sit and the green fades away.
It’s tranquil here.
It was the right decision after all.
We have a fecund existence.
I find yet another strand in my hair,
so to speak.
It’s the metaphorical company that I
keep.
After a beautiful flurry, I revert to my indifference,
my version of it anyway.
I’m wiser.
I can feel it.
Like that northern wind on the pale skin.
I see that the walls are falling.
It’s fine,
they can go.
I’m more free by the passing minute.
More open.
I feel the endearment.
It’s strong and frankly a little uneasy.
But, I guess this is how it should be.
Food tastes good.
Now I have Justin Timberlake telling me,
Whatever goes around comes around.
Meanwhile, I’m writing.
It happened,
Now it’s time to move on.
And she’s the last thing I think about,
Before my day is done.
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YOU
OWN
MY
HEART
ANUPREETA CHATTERJEE
Frozen glances
with stirring minds
find places to announce
what love, is to us.
I would love to have a chance
to dance on my favorite togetherness vows.
My love for you
often gets published
in midst of rumors which never notice us.
You own my heart
and I know you admire me secretly.
You lean by my side
without making me feel worried.
I am preoccupied with my starring adventure
of describing you in my poems.
You own my heart
and this poem is dedicated to ‘unseen’ you.
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Ink Drift Magazine 21

IT’S NEVER LATE TO ENHANCE YOUR
VOCABULARY
1. Abecedism: Word created from the initials of words in a phrase
2. Aberration, noun: a departure from what is normal, usual, or expected, typically an unwelcome
one
3. Abolla: A woolen cloak worn by men in ancient Rome
4. Abraxas: Gem engraved with mystical word and bearing human-animal figure
5. Abuse
ü Verb: use (something) to bad effect or for a bad purpose; misuse.
Treat with cruelty or violence, especially regularly or repeatedly
ü Noun: the improper use of something.
Cruel and violent treatment of a person or animal
6. Acapnotic: Non-smoker; Non-smoking
7. Acerbic, adjective: (especially of a comment or style of speaking) sharp and forthright
8. Accoucheur: Male midwife
9. Accoucheuse: Female midwife
10. Admonish, verb:
ü Reprimand firmly
ü Advise or urge (someone) earnestly
ü Warn (someone) of something to be avoided
11. Affair, noun: an event or sequence of events of a specified kind or that has previously been referred
to OR a love affair
12. Affaire, noun: a love affair; (often confused with ‘Affair’)
13. Alacrity, noun: brisk and cheerful readiness
14.Anachronism, noun: a thing belonging or appropriate to a period other than that in which it exists,
especially a thing that is conspicuously old-fashioned.
15. Anxiety
ü Noun: a feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease about something with an uncertain outcome.
Strong desire or concern to do something or for something to happen
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DIARY
OF A
LEARNED
SOUL
SHIVANI JHA
Dear You,
I could stay for you, I wanted to.
But only if you knew the value.
I would have poured my heart, every ounce of Love that I had,
every pinch of affection that I knew, I would have loved you
with everything at my disposal.
But
I guess you were a bit too busy looking for something else.
May you get what you needed.
I wish you all the luck.
I am going away, not because I stopped loving you. I never
possibly can. I left because I know that as much I love pouring
my heart on you, I need some of it back too.
It empties me to keep waiting for you.
It kills me to see you going everywhere.
It empties me to see you do not care.
I sound stupid to you, don’t I?
I look stupid when I fall for your smile.
I look stupid when I skip that stair because I was looking at
you.
I look hopeless when I come back to you over and over again.
Yes, it’s true I love you, but I love me too.
I am going because I am a river, you won’t be able to take me.
I am going because I deserve an ocean, one who can dare to
open his arms for me;
One who can hold me with all my raging waves.
Thank you for staying away.
Had you not, I would have spent my life fitting into a dam,
a pond,
Or a vessel
Now, I am free to flow
To break dams,
To trickle down the cheeks,
To rise in a wild oceanic wave
To settle like a dew on the flower.
Not needed to fit in “we” and “our’
I am free to be me,
I am free to pour
Free to devour.
“It is not easy to trust, not easy to be heartbroken,
not even easy to accept that the relationship will
fail. But the toughest thing is to see and learn. This
brings the courage to close certain doors, and open
others. This is an honest reflection of a learned
soul.”
www.inkdrift.com Ink Drift Magazine 23

NITHYA MURALIKRISHNAN
THE
TRAVELER’S
QUEST
A traveler embarked on a journey,
After having played many a tourney,
The road seemed to be full of hedges,
That seemed to cause a lot of wedges.
The road seemed to extend on and on,
He walked, with all his hopes gone.
Then, he suddenly saw chrysanthemums,
Farther ahead, next to the plums.
Mesmerised by the myriad hues,
He looked around, as if for cues,
Twirling the flower tepidly,
He stepped into the bushes, gingerly.
Lo! The thorns struck his foot,
All he could do was to howl and hoot.
He retreated, flinching in pain,
With all of his energy down the drain.
He deduced that he had digressed,
And had thus, not progressed,
He had moved away from his goal,
And so he was on the dole.
Each man has his destiny, learned he,
With neither sorrow nor glee,
He resolved to reach his final station,
Before he ran out of all ration.
We are all travelers on the road of life,
Where obstacles and troubles are rife,
Some paths may be treacherous,
And people, pretty contemptuous.
Thus, the traveler walked on and on,
Till the mirage was gone,
He reflected on the path traversed,
Until the day he was interred.
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BOOK
REVIEW
SHUMAILA TAHER
THIS HOUSE OF CLAY AND WATER
All throughout my journey of reading this novel, the only thought that kept coming back, constantly hovering
around was the inability to write a review that would do justice to the masterpiece that is This House of Clay
and Water. How would I ever put into words what Mansab did so elegantly? And then I realized it didn’t matter.
It didn’t matter because a book like this one, needed to be read, to be preserved and referred to. What the author has
portrayed through the book has so far only been scoffed at, or spoken in hushed tones. Her promising debut novel is
a fresh voice to Pakistani Literature and is sure to create ripples for times to come. It’s not a story you forget easily. It
keeps coming back, to stay with you. It’s a novel you often think about. It’s a story that becomes a part of you.
This House of Clay and Water is a story of love, of freedom, of identity, of betrayal, of courage and the need
to belong somewhere. It’s a story of three lost souls, who are trying to find meaning, who are trying to fit in, to have a
purpose. It’s a story of two women and a eunuch. It’s about Nida, Sasha and Bhanggi whose paths are meant to cross
each other. Nida, an intelligent woman, married to Saqib who belongs to an affluent political family, tries to comply
to the standards society has set. Nida, is also our protagonist. Burdened by the patriarchal system and belonging to
the elite class, she struggles constantly. Her imagination, her ideas, her feelings have been reduced to nothing. Her
life is supposed to revolve around her marriage, her husband, whose idea of an ideal wife means being submissive to
him and functioning according to his convenience. After all, that’s what a woman is for. Nida is broken. She says, “I’d
morphed, altered, nipped and tucked away bits of my personality for so long, I no longer recognized myself. I feared
that one day, even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to identify myself. I’d be forever trapped in an image of another’s
making, and there would be no escape because I would have forgotten to want to escape”
Sasha, on the other hand, belonging to a middle class family, married with two children, dreams of a luxurious
life and an escape. Both the characters seem to be caught in a web of their own insecurities, hurt and shattered
dreams. The third character, Bhanggi, a eunuch, belongs to the most neglected marginalised minority group
in Pakistan. All his life, he’s been considered worst than pests, called a stain to humanity and beaten black and blue
by everyone he comes across. He says, “I cannot rid myself of the affliction called hope. I scoop up its broken shards
within the cups of my hands. I hold it fast to my heart every time it shatters against the monolithic reality that looms
at every, in every human eye.” For Mansab, to attempt to portray a hijra as a normal person with natural feelings is a
brave effort. No other writer could have done it so beautifully.
The three characters; Nida, Sasha and Bhanggi meet at a Dargah. Here starts a bond of friendship and of
www.inkdrift.com Ink Drift Magazine aurore 25

love. The characters evolve and undergo drastic changes throughout the novel which makes it even more compelling.
The plot is smart. The author’s narrative technique and form played an important role in transforming the story.
Mansab transitions between first person narration and free style. The reader will automatically adjust to the change
because it’s not abrupt but rather smooth.
The novel is based in Lahore and the author has aptly described the social structure of the society; where
hypocrisy, money and power dictate how lives should be led. In the novel, Mansab, portrays the regressive nature of
the people, of breaking stereotypes and how women continue to be exploited in the name of religion. It’s as much a
story of redemption, of lost love as it is about outdated societal norms and disillusionment. This House Of Clay and
Water is a powerful and moving novel, one that has dived deep into the psyche of humans and has opened up room
for sensitive issues which are only discussed in closed rooms.
“Some words are prisons. They’re labels of reduction. They’re like stones catapulting through mouths, hundreds
and thousands of mouths, to target and hurt”.
Author: Faiqa Mansab
Publisher: Penguin Random House
Pages: 272
Format: Hardcover
Rating: 4.8/5
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ATELIER
RIVER MAHISAGAR, VADODARA, MAY 11, 2017, 04:49 P.M.
BY SOUMITRO DAS, 5082 X 3354 PIXELS, CANON EOS 550D
Gujarat born, amateur photographer Soumitro Das is winning hearts and minds through his
collection of travel and street photography.
This picture was like coming up for fresh air. He was drowning in the negative emotions of life
and the children playing in the river saved him. They teach him to be happy for no reason, stay
curious and fight tirelessly for anything and everything, not worrying about its result. He says,
“Laughter and innocence of a child is the light of the home.They are the pure essence of pure
hearts. No differentiation.”
He captured this view on his visit to the beautiful river of Mahisagar, Vadodara. His clicks are
simple as anything but can carry within them a million words.
This picture is an example of how one should care less and enjoy and live in the moment of
their lives. You never know what future holds in it for you.
Ink Drift Magazine
27

EIGHT
STEPS TO ACHIEVE
YOUR READING GOALS
PRATIKSHYA MISHRA
Many of us tend to register for reading challenges around
the year, but few reach the goal by the year-end. So here are few
pointers to help you achieve your bookish goals.
Reading habits vary from person to person. Someone likes
to read before going to bed while someone prefers reading the first
thing in the morning. Someone reads fast, someone reads slowly
taking his own sweet time. Someone prefers to listen to a novel
being read aloud to him, rather than reading it himself. There are
various reading challenges all over the internet- the Goodreads, Epicreads-
varying on the basis of the number of books you are committing
to read in a year, or the genre of books, or even color-coded
challenges based on the book covers. Read 101 Classics challenge,
LGBT books, Banned Books, Poetry Books, translated books, etc.
Weird ones, challenging and interesting ones. Here are a few steps
on how you can achieve your reading goals if you tend to lag behind.
1. Choose a time-slot
You need to be dedicated to reading every day. Choosing
a particular time of the day to read can help a lot. It can be while
traveling to or from your work or institute, in the morning hours, during
lunch hours, tea breaks, evening strolls, park visits, or late night
before going to bed. Since I am essentially a morning person, I love
to start my day with reading. Leverage weekends, rainy days, and off
days.
2. Set Daily Reading Goals
It can be 50 pages a day or minimum 5 pages a day, but
make sure to set a daily reading goal and stick to it. Having a good
bookmark handy works wonders. I am a bookmarks frenzy person,
I use anything and everything pretty looking as a bookmark, be it
strips of craft paper, clothes tag, a thin bracelet, a crochet, anything
woolen, newspaper cutouts, photographs, etc. I commit to reading
at least 5 pages a day, the more the merrier.
3. Listen to audiobooks
Sometimes it does happen that we are neck deep in official
works and other routines, then we don’t have energy left to hold
a book. That is the time having an audiobook handy on your smartphone
and a good quality earphone helps. You can immerse yourself
in the world of stories without having to strain your eyes, just
make sure that you like the reader’s narration. These days classic
audiobooks are easily available on Youtube, apps and other public
libraries- Librivox, etc. If you are into short stories, 60 dB- Season
of Stories- is a very good option. It has episode wise narratives, offered
in chunks for the busy readers. I have listened to ‘Eat, Pray
and Love’, ‘My Cousin Rachael’ and a few short stories by Jhumpa
Lahiri and Haruki Murakami in recent times.
4. Choose your genres and titles and mode of reading well
If you are a regular reader, you must be aware of your
own tastes and preferences. Consider a book after going through
ratings, reviews, author details, and author interviews. While experimenting
is great, try to make sure it’s worth your time and money.
You can borrow books from a local library or a friend, if you are not
sure whether you’d like it, instead of buying and hoarding bookspiling
up your cupboard without actually reading it. Goodreads,
Amazon etc offer recommendations for you to check out related
works, those are worth a browse through. Modes of reading can be
paperback, Kindle, ebooks, or even a weekly email subscription.
5. Have your own reading tribe
A reading group helps keep your interest in and around
books. It can be online or offline, but have a habit of connecting
with your tribe, and share your recent reading experiences while
they share theirs. I personally love discussing books, online and
offline, so a group who pays attention to my rants, and provides
meaningful recommendations hugely helps. A community keeps
you updated on the recent book release, book signings, and another
book buzz. There are too many good books out there and too
little time, so your tribe helps you come across your kind of books.
It is through such an online Facebook group that I discovered my
love for memoirs and travelogues, from reading just romantic YA
novels, thrillers, mysteries, and mythologies. Subscribe the right
sites, blogs, pages and sign up to join the active groups.
6. Review the book you read
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I sincerely consider it the fundamental duty of a reader to review the
book he/she reads unless it is deemed as not worthy of her time or
way beyond his expression through words. I make sure to review
almost every book I read, however short and long. ‘Eat, Pray, Love’
by Elizabeth Gilbert took three posts on my blog- it was the longest
review ever. I just had to include those feelings, descriptions, and
quotes- I couldn’t do without it. Haruki Murakami’s novels make way
for a minimum 800-word review, while some others, I just could not
review. It overwhelmed me to even put to paper the feelings that
bubbled inside me while I read those books- it was way beyond me
to review these masterpieces. One of them I remember is ‘River God’
by Wilbur Smith and another ‘The Palace Of Illusions’ by Chitra D.
Banerjee.
I continuously review a book, while reading it, every day
a few points or lines that made me think, chapter by chapter, as I
know I won’t remember the intricate details when I reach the end.
My personal journal would contain quotes, symbolism, metaphors,
and other trivia from the novel I am reading. And if I fall in love with
the book, it’s characters, narration, and plot- I stalk the author online
to know about his/her next writing in progress. And as you know authors
love being stalked. (Laughs!!)
7. Choose your reading challenges well
There are various annual reading challenges that are provided
by sites, book clubs, libraries, etc. Choose it well, considering
the time you can devote, the expenses it might require, the reading
tastes, and intellectual/emotional worth.
8. Finally, Not all books are meant to be swallowed
And that’s okay. If you feel the book that you are almost
halfway through is not meant for you, it doesn’t match your expectation
at all, doesn’t satisfy your reading thirst’s and obsessions- allow
yourself to stop reading that book. Let it go. Make time for some other
better book instead. And, others opinion do not matter as much
as your own. I left reading ‘The Wuthering Heights’ halfway through.
While the narrative was spellbinding, phenomenal, I hated the lead
characters and the darkness involved was messing my mood. I don’t
regret my decision.
Reading can be a wholesome experience if you engage
completely in it. It can be life-changing, deeply satisfying, and healing.
Reading can be a therapy if you allow it to be so.
Express gratitude for reading a good book. Review it honestly
on your blog or share your views on it on the social media. Recommend
it to friends and other book readers in your community.
Spread the word. The author deserves it and you are the mediator,
facilitator of a great work, the person that connects the book with
many more readers. Feel good about it. Take pride in it. You are an
essential part of the network of readers, the worldly connect. And
if you are more than a little obsessed, just like me, engage in book
Instagram, create book quotes, book arts, fan pages dedicated to the
characters, write fanfictions, there’s so much more to this!!
Happy Reading!!
www.inkdrift.com
Ink Drift Magazine 29

DREAMS
SAMIKSHA KEDARI
The world that has another edge towards things that stay as is in ours deserve to be
written about and hence can play a significant part of our dreams.
There exists a world in the sea of our dreams
far from this reality where every moment gleams
where faces happen to be one of the happiest places
also, the eloquence which each and every smile chases
where oceans are rising waves of fantasies
while even hurricanes pronounce joys of
eternal ecstasies
where peace is found in the spark of each star
a light so loud, it heals your every scar
where the sun rises with a hope in its eyes
and the moon spells beauty of all untouched skies
where mountains touch galaxies and echo their own voice
rhythms play symphonies of the humanity’s choice
where the horizon laughs at the mess of the
entire confusion
and time remains a part of a mesmerized illusion
where no one is ever willing to give up, and
no one needs saving
none sounds a lie, each glad about the path
they’re paving
some dreams live within their own smiles
stories wrapped in mysteries buried in deep
distant miles
and some dreams are just meant to be
however more or less we happen to agree
there always lives a world away from here, or so it seems
far from this reality where each and every moment gleams!
30 Ink Drift Magazine
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Neil D’Silva
The Top Writers Chair
With six books to his credit one of which is a motion picture, Neil D’Silva is a known name in the Indian literary sphere.
His stories have found universal appeal and acclaim in both the literary world as well as the world of visual media.
He has been titled as one of the Top 7 Indian horror writers to be read by UK’s DESIblitz magazine.
Neil D’Silva is a membevr of the international Horror Writers Association.
He was a winner at the Delhi Literature Festival Short Story Competition of 2015, which was in association with Readomania.
His book Maya’s New Husband also won the title of Entertainer of the Year at the Literary Awards 2015 that was
co-hosted by Authors’ Ink Publications and Inside Stories.
www.neildsilva.com
TOP BOOKS BY NEIL
www.inkdrift.com
Ink Drift Magazine 31

BOOK OF THE MONTH
EXIT WEST
MOHSIN HAMID
LIVING IN AN UNNAMED CITY UNDERGOING CIVIL WAR, NADIA AND SAEED, A YOUNG COUPLE IN LOVE, FIND THEIR LIVES
BEING TURNED UPSIDE DOWN AS THEY’RE FORCED TO LEAVE THEIR HOME, AND EMBARK ON A JOURNEY THAT’S FULL
OF HARDSHIPS AND STRUGGLE. AS THE CITY BURNS, WHISPERS OF A DOOR THAT CAN LEAD THEM TO SAFETY BEGIN
SURFACING. THEY SOON FIND OUT THAT THESE DOORS TAKE THEM TO DIFFERENT LOCATIONS. DEVOID OF A CHOICE,
WITH THEIR LIVES CRUSHING IN FRONT OF THEM, NADIA AND SAEED, DECIDE TO LEAVE EVERYTHING BEHIND THEM
AND ENTER A DOOR FACING AN ALIEN WORLD AND AN UNCERTAIN FUTURE.
PRAISE FOR THE BOOK:
“MAGICAL VISION OF THE REFUGEE CRISIS.”- THE GUARDIAN
‘A MASTERPIECE OF HUMANITY AND RESTRAINT.’- OMAR AL AKKAD IN THE GLOBE AND THE MALL.
SELECTED AS TIME’S TOP TEN NOVELS OF 2017.
BARACK OBAMA INCLUDED EXIT WEST IN HIS LIST OF BOOKS HE READ IN 2017.