Coffee Table Book, Volume 1

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Cc. Which happened first----poetry or painting? Do you think they are interconnected for you?

NS. During my shows, a question, which I’ve already mentioned, often pops up, “Which came first----poetry or painting?” Reporters seem to be very keen to know. It is really difficult for me to answer this question. When I write, colours start moving and floating around me, and words start taking shape in different forms. Similarly, when I paint, it happens the other way round, and each stroke shoulders a moving poetry all around.

Cc. Your latest book O Ree Chiraiya that is going to be released soon, is a collection of short stories based on your real life experience of counselling girls who sought your guidance. How much did it impact you in real life? And what was the main thing you found quite common in the situations of those girls?

NS. My story book O Ree Chiraiya is based on real incidents; those counselling days still haunt me with scary eyes of the girls, fumbling dialogues, yet a ray of hope in their eyes and a sigh of relief in their hearts about sharing the secrets. The most common thing that inked them all was their joint family background besides their acquaintances. In spite of all that, I’m really happy that I had one-to-one conversations with each of them, in no one else's presence. I still remember that great sigh of relief and their calm-composed looks. Two decades have gone by since then and I’ve not met with them, barring a few really happy ones. Yet I reaffirm that those memories still haunt me.

Cc. Did you ever face any difficulty on account of being a woman gifted with a hand for both painting and poetry for which you needed to step out, given that women in those days were usually expected to stay within the four walls?

39

Chocolaty Affairs &ScandalsStories & Poems

mother also filled their hands with these bars of joy whenever they came home. That was a wonderful feeling indeed. A semblance of our earlier life was returning.

Back to school ☆

-3-

Another turn of events took me away to another vastly different world. I made my first entry into a city home soon after. Lack of educational opportunities displaced my mother and me. Hurtled into a strange society again with its separate set of rules and standards was a turbulent experience. The sound and fury inundated our senses. Communication seemed impossible. Strangers at every turn of the head bewildered me. Mom too was unused to the chaotic city life. Public transport was an indomitable challenge. Living by us was another hard factor. But it must have been harder for Dad to return to a lonely home in that remote place. He started making regular flights to the nearest Air Force station deliberately, to meet us as often as he could. And like before, he came loaded with chocolates. This time, there were even more cartons. I realized he seldom had any chocolates by himself. The chocolate sorties' rations were all saved for us. My sister of course received her regular quota of magic cartons in her hostels. As did my fast friend from back in the mountains, who too was in college in Chennai by then. To the utter delight of their hostel friends, they unpacked those marvels. The joy of receiving parcels by post in those days was singular by itself. When they contained such marvellous contents, their collective joy knew no bounds. And sorrows too. For oft the parcels got picked somewhere in transit. And the inland letter informing them that a carton of chocolate was on its way, brought unending wait. And unrequited expectations. But on our part we did share our joy as much as we could. Of course, the regret of not being able to share with our former school friends lingered throughout. How could I partake of such pure bliss, un-quantified and incalculable in its immensity, all by myself? For chocolate was pure love! Relating to it in solitary wonder seemed strange and immoral. Chocolate started giving me its pangs of guilt now. But only momentarily. It's special addictive qualities made them disappear like mist whenever we shared a bar after dinner.

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49

Himalayan ChocolateDr. Pooja Gupta

It had been really long since she felt so excited. Meeting Sameera, her best friend, after a gap of almost two years was nothing less than a celebration time. Sameera was very dear to her. So, on the day she relocated to Mumbai for work reasons, Manisha fixed an extended plan. She planned a dinner followed by movie and then chilling out at their favorite hangout place...the River Ghaat.

The entire evening was all planned out. Manisha was a little apprehensive when she started from home earlier, "I am meeting Sameera after two Years; this is a pretty long gap. I have heard that people change. I have heard that their outlook changes. Has Sameera changed too? Is our friendship as important to her even now as it used to be when we both cherished this bond?” "Could Sameera see our friendship in the same way as I do?” She was afraid. She had every reason to feel skeptical. Of late, Manisha had started to feel that Sameera didn’t call her often or even chat enthusiastically as she would do earlier.

72

The Perfect PlotSharanya Mishra

The perfect cup of hot chocolate, with the dreamy, steamy swirls rising from its decadent depths, making their way through the bubbly, frothy, marshmallowy surface, is no easy game. It requires precision, and patience, a wait for the ideal moment to blend the thick, gooey, brown, molten chocolate in. Do it right and you get a drink, lush and rich, fit for the Gods. And for men. But for a Hot Chocolate fit for the Devil, the kind that I make, you need one extra special ingredient.

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"Poison". I smile as I place the steaming hot cup before him on the study table, careful to use his favourite coaster. The table is strewn with papers, books, letters. Max looks up at me, his brows meeting each other in a frown and I automatically feel tense for a moment, before reminding myself that I have no reason to. He takes one last hard drag on the cigarette dangling from his mouth and then puts it away, reaching for the cup.