tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43341140235757159672012-02-16T12:24:42.218+05:30life, reflections, ruminations...stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.comBlogger501100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-13304069641944219372012-01-13T14:23:00.000+05:302012-01-13T14:23:34.457+05:30

Rangeele

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-30857287970571950212011-11-29T09:14:00.002+05:302011-11-29T09:24:43.493+05:30

Underneath is an article published in Seven Sisters Post, in its Sunday literary Supplement on 27th November, 2011. At some time or the other in our lives, we have all read his words. In subsequent times, those readings have inspired us. Especially in our younger days, his children’s books have played a significant role in shaping our thoughts. Burhi Air Xadhu – literally, Grandmother’s

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-87441127102496314962011-06-05T23:55:00.002+05:302011-06-29T20:43:48.238+05:30

suddenly it dawns.  i do not figure in your life anymore. somehow, roses stink satin pricks somehow, somehow, i'm thrown by the wayside wallowing in a shallow pool of tears.

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-64603226684899637022011-06-05T23:50:00.002+05:302011-06-06T00:10:44.386+05:30

when the moon shines on her face i breathe even softer afraid.. lest my selfish breathe  pushes the moon beam away.

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-42374297925971573802011-06-05T23:46:00.004+05:302011-06-06T00:09:03.224+05:30

this ashen morning i sit alone snuffling tears trying to wipe away memories with a smile.

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-21460592792313549462011-05-08T00:46:00.006+05:302011-06-05T18:12:49.756+05:30

White heat.Souls scarred by dusty winds. The azure bowl lends no respite,Tired leaves forget to flicker.  Hope is a forgotten foe.Memory, the stain of dried tearsImagination, dots of paint at the tip of a quill. Meanings eludeSilence stifleslike an age old curselife skulks as I stand On the crossroads of Time. 

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com2Guwahati, Assam, India26.147129 91.7355511000000726.0821815 91.60066810000006 26.2120765 91.87043410000007tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-41713634090084616552011-03-13T00:11:00.212+05:302011-03-15T02:39:57.904+05:30

Three years ago when her sister died, Bina had stood alone in that dark stenchful corridor of the tiny government hospital, with newly born Minu in her arms, and a soiled and crumpled photograph of a dark, mustached man. On the back there was an address written in a scrawling hand. Bina knew the hand. It was Nina's. She knew the man too. He was the one with whom Nina(her sister) had eloped--

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-73548953366713155842011-03-12T00:35:00.013+05:302011-03-13T00:03:34.533+05:30

it was a cloudy Monday morning. A five-year old, with an orange-black bag on her back, and a red mango water bottle dangling from her neck—with wide limpid eyes, dragged the few steps from her doorstep to the car standing at the gate—clutching a father’s hand. It was a distance that on other days this kid could cover easily with a hop, skip and jump.As her mother dressed her in an odd grey  skirt

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-85381230676272892662011-03-11T01:30:00.006+05:302011-03-11T01:38:55.572+05:30

this watery-yellow afternoon sand--laden winds left behind their imprints on a parched city. *faagun  ('falgun') the eleventh month of the Assamese calender. characterised by strong winds and dust 'faagun' is dedicated to Lord Shiva, the Hindu god. 

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-30399771781833317612011-03-11T00:39:00.004+05:302011-03-11T09:30:06.975+05:30

deathlurks at the corners of his eyesa snaky chill brushes past himhe breathesbut the air turns pricklyan averted gazehe suffers ignominy of loyaltyof love for a causea cause, as harmless as his frail widowed aaiunable to bear any longerthe forceful kicks on his shinsthe repeated assaults on baiti's  honourunableto bearthe pain of not committing a sinkonpona decides to walk awayleaving the

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-69944168236293762332011-03-06T23:24:00.002+05:302011-03-06T23:24:32.920+05:30

i seek to mend a broken fence, but  each time a  swift swirl of wind thwarts my efforts; and yet undaunted, i pick up the scattered fragments of love and seek once again to mend the broken fence.  

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-18078000849447731372011-02-05T19:04:00.000+05:302011-02-05T19:04:57.757+05:30

languid thought lurks in the caverns of her mind.teasing, teasing a weary soul. silence cuts swathes into memories, ruminations fly off in  flakes leaving behind, a lonely thought...(that) languid, silent lurks in the corners of her mind reminding death is not far behind

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-77836159047537571452011-02-04T22:23:00.001+05:302011-02-04T22:25:02.051+05:30

The day sinks. And i weave for you a tapestry of dreams, out of silken moonbeams.           and send it                       flying... across spacesacross darkness to distant lands where charming hopes fragrance the night For You.

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-79276780895388328072011-01-22T17:41:00.001+05:302011-03-09T02:10:56.244+05:30

[it is with much trepidation that i am about to paste on this page, the following poem. it is about my most favourite place in the entire city--Panbazar. For anyone acquainted with Guwahati, this is one of the most familiar of places. historically laden, scenting of books, Panbazar is a living story of Guwahati's past. of course, the following composition is my tribute to this beautiful place...]

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-68762773564515679062011-01-15T19:41:00.002+05:302011-01-16T09:38:29.029+05:30

ennui settles like cobwebs on a restless mind, where skies blush no longer-- on mornings, nor on evenings. untold fears explode unheard cries cascade, and torment unseen emotions lurk like venom, beneath the sheen silence swathes the world creating, little islands.

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-7883808192266670982011-01-15T15:56:00.000+05:302011-01-15T15:56:41.643+05:30

Naked tree on a field of coal Festers of pain Gagged cries… The tree rots with time as wrinkles blot a strange face wizened with servitude. (for Sethe from Toni Morrison's Beloved)

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-78651396129420877192011-01-15T15:52:00.004+05:302011-01-15T15:54:22.002+05:30

ribbon of sunlight descending on a solitary road ensheaths a poor child, afraid... lest the dirty eyes of a passing car Devour its innocence.

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-40901680719320343482011-01-15T15:51:00.002+05:302011-01-15T16:17:58.748+05:30

Silence hangs in the air as an emaciated wintry sun plunges into the River, Splashing orange on red-blue. Silence screeches...

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-77335208504598165322011-01-15T15:49:00.003+05:302011-01-15T16:18:32.380+05:30

The setting sun sings a song of desperation (as) a wanton night stealthily sails in: the satin moonbeam humming a eerie tune. Silence ruminates....churning out meanings.

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-10645507406207188542011-01-14T19:00:00.001+05:302011-01-14T19:14:34.821+05:30

When the mellow sun diffuses in the horizon, Leaving behind a lonely feel, Golden sands reflect the last speckles of fading light, Reminding us, Tomorrow we meet again. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, When filth sheaths you in, When mist blinds you, remember, Hope will pierce through, and let light flow and thus,  begin a new story.

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-39788927614534542052011-01-12T10:02:00.003+05:302011-01-12T10:38:50.062+05:30

She stood aloneOn a silky evening at the edge of a cliff Watching the orange sun melt in the nape of a hill beside a ribbon of blue. She could smell tangerine. Cacophonous notes broke into fragments where she stood. Nestled amidst nowhereshe sat, counting moments drifting away.Solitude was her best friend. Evening melted awayas dusk forayed in.She looked up,A lone star shone in the deep

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-27096062189796513962011-01-07T17:12:00.007+05:302011-01-07T19:10:25.060+05:30

a tornado rages, voices whisper surreptitiously-- walk off, walk off, She deserves you not, She desires you not. A smirk blots out all reason. Indeed, says he, i'm a wastrel i've hurt who have loved, loved who has betrayed. And today---- Let me end all agony Let me, oh let me pine for her no longer She desires me not, She desires me not. the Tornado rages on Voices grow Louder-- "Walk off".

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-73617667726173910962010-11-28T23:50:00.005+05:302011-01-12T19:45:21.327+05:30

(dedicated to that very eclectic and chaotic part of my city..which we call Paltan Bazar. i had been passing through this part for five years at a stretch and inspite of the noise and the stench..to my  surprise this morning i realised how much i had fallen in love with it...after all this spot..alongwith all the other spots in my hour long journey from home to college had attained so special a

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-11852994592433699952010-11-21T20:34:00.003+05:302010-12-08T16:57:50.500+05:30

as i stand on the shores of a new road i grapple...i sweat..i cry anguish stifles-- dreams sigh, and pass by memories linger to welcome...another day gone stale dreams sigh, and pass by and i wait for the shadow to crawl on and on and on. The shadow stinks i recite songs from my memory Songs--fragments of desires, of love, of lust gone stale. Songs??? what songs do i croon? wha..oh..what tune

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-67214032809907610702010-08-26T22:57:00.003+05:302011-01-12T10:14:55.042+05:30

the sky sings.. dreams whisper... clouds ring whistles of love. yellow books remind honey...time for you to rewind... candied memories melted, wisdom sugared words flavoured patience counts moments on your fingertips... life takes on a new turn.   [Reflections out of my new experiences as a teacher]

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-19144151110400002612010-07-28T22:55:00.015+05:302011-03-11T09:36:54.774+05:30

 The shrill ring brought Darpana out of her reverie. Another of those customer care calls. Of late, these call centres are turning out to be a bother. The number was saved on her phonebook; so she had no difficulty in  canceling the call. A sigh slipped out of her. Something made her glance upward--she couldn't see  herself in the rusty mirror, ...and yet she knew that her lips were parted...

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-9505790603543480152010-07-18T12:21:00.002+05:302010-07-18T12:37:08.818+05:30

we paint with colours....we paint with words....and we paint with feelings as well. as i sit down at my computer this rain drenched morning, i witness a beautiful sight just outside my window...an emerald countryside, with lush green paddy on either side, as far and as wide as the eye can see....bluish hils in the distance, and a silent solemn Kopili sailing beside. The road is bumpy, and full of

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-76411879320384910072010-05-20T15:37:00.001+05:302011-01-15T16:25:58.412+05:30

a strip of ice floats over the azure sky, ramola gazes, open eyed...        her eyes...                  caverns of her soul. Sprinkilng love, she croons pristine melodies ... ramola gazes open-eyed... a strip of ice glides across an azure sky Sprinkling hope ...the parched earth would be quenched soon...

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-15735655834992197262010-05-05T20:40:00.000+05:302010-05-07T10:48:01.562+05:30

as is sat before my computer this afternoon, to check my mails...something told me this was to be an afternoon with a difference. (Sounds clichéd ..ain't it? but then we are all made up of clichés ....) anyway....i felt an urge...there were those strange waves at the pit of my stomach....a strange tumult that i have long not felt...a feeling which is excitement, thrill and glee mixed in sweet

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-21015341065273464372010-04-17T13:28:00.000+05:302010-04-17T13:28:28.231+05:30

We can hardly think of Bohaag Bihu without remembering the Bihugeet. In fact, the festival of Bihu, particularly Rongali Bihu is incomplete without the rendition of the bihugeet to the accompaniment of the reverberating dhol(drum) , the throbbing gogona, the rhythm of the toka, and the melody of the baahi(flute) and the mohor xingor pepa (instrument made out of buffalo horn); and the eternal Bihu

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-61278095330042620382010-04-13T18:47:00.001+05:302010-04-13T18:47:39.103+05:30

Even as these words appear before you...thousands, if not lakhs of girls across the country are compromising with their lives as their careers are put on hold simply because their parents can afford to ‘support’ just one child and that fortunate one is inadvertently the son.....Fortunately (as we are wont to believe) things are changing for the better. Yet when viewed from a broader perspective,

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-28515084868101105182010-03-09T23:54:00.000+05:302010-03-09T23:54:52.866+05:30

Death be not proud, so had written the poet John Donne. What is death?the end of life?the ultimate destiny of man’s existence?we know all this, and yet does this knowledge not console us. On the 4th of March, 2010, I lost my brother..........Dr.Shekhar Goswami left us all for his journey to the nether world. This loss was tragic: the family had lost a son,friends lost a great human being and

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-47616117821281757712010-01-24T20:25:00.000+05:302010-01-24T20:25:57.247+05:30

Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful emotions recollected in tranquility, so said William Wordsworth. It is “…a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary”. (Khalil Gibran) It is “… a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away” (Carl Sandburg). Subsequent generations might have argued, agreed or differed from these statements, yet the space

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-26608178661758273252010-01-21T00:01:00.000+05:302010-01-21T00:02:43.192+05:30

A year ago, on a certain Black Thursday, Guwahati and Assam came to a standstill. A series of explosions perpetrated by a heartless bunch of beasts-in-the-garb-of-men shattered the lives of many. On that day, it was humanity that died a sad death. There were many spontaneous outpourings of protest, and much rhetoric that had emanated, particularly from the powers-that-be. A year later, life is

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-72137233482283512962010-01-19T23:12:00.000+05:302010-01-19T23:12:34.855+05:30

In a world of coloured horizons, where Mother Nature weaves her magical tapestry, where every morning the rising sun glints on many a smiling eye, where a red river and its many tributaries sustain life like the veins in the body…in such a world do festivals offer a manifestation of this magic, life and colour. To such a world, do we proudly belong. As the December sun,moving into January

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-17941321752847452482009-10-25T20:45:00.001+05:302009-11-05T21:56:35.211+05:30

She stepped into my life all of a sudden, stepping into the emptiness of my world one dark night, and there was light. Her beauty illumined the darkness, overwhelming me. She bore dignity ; i could clearly see the marks of violence on her...she must have been a sufferer. Her soft brown eyes spoke of pain so deep of agony, so intense .......it wrung my heart to see her cry. A drop of tear rolled

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-50254732219734758142009-09-26T21:03:00.001+05:302009-09-26T21:03:52.927+05:30

Today being an age of intense competition is one of job scarcity as well: employment avenues are not opening up at the pace in which our colleges, universities and other institutions of higher learning are churning out graduates and post-graduates. Whether it is in the government sector or in the private sector, it is only the best (in the fray) who can hope to acquire a job in accordance with

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-21324718932501810322009-07-20T09:11:00.000+05:302009-12-22T19:45:04.703+05:30

As winter bids adieu, and spring rolls in –accosted by the melody of the cuckoo, the rainbow colours that nature donnes and the aromas that waft the air—life takes on an exciting turn. Bohaag Bihu or Rongali Bihu—that biggest and most colourful of Assamese festivals is celebrated in spring.Being the melting pot of Indo-Burmese, Mongoloid, Austro-Asiatic, Aryan, Dravidian strains of culture, in

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-43355471158804034982008-07-19T17:26:00.000+05:302008-07-19T17:51:26.212+05:30

d other evening i was enetertaining a guest...a niece of my neighbour......d girl's my age..n i'd thought initially dt it'll be fun spending sometime together....since we shared the same major in our grads--english language and literature....especially sinc i hurt my knee i hv been feeling somewhat lonely --having to sit or lie on my bed..since d doc advisd me bedrest.....bt things were not meant

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-58937136908795932272008-06-22T10:57:00.000+05:302008-06-22T10:59:54.419+05:30

Sir, Suspected ULFA militant have blown up another oil pipeline in Sibsagar district , causing losses worth probably crores of rupees. It is really intriguing as to what the ULFA intends to achieve by such dastardly , and more importantly , foolhardy acts. The ULFA was formed with the objective of gaining independence of Asom. With their genuine grievances against the Central Government

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-18822534188553612672008-06-22T10:55:00.000+05:302008-06-22T10:57:35.670+05:30

There is no doubt that the much-hyped peace process in Asom is floundering . Yet we wonder as to what the ULFA intends to do , or rather achieve , or should we say prove , by killing innocent citizens . this is a question only a terrorist organization as the ULFA can answer. Mr. Paresh Baruah & Co. say they want to attain independence from India . But judging by

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-37286349854786614402008-06-22T10:53:00.000+05:302008-06-22T10:54:46.323+05:30

The recent decision of the central government to suspend Army operations against the ULFA in Asom is a welcome decision . This was long overdue ; but then , it is better late than never. This announcement actually comes as a whiff of fresh air into a region wearied out by excesses of bloodshed and other vices as corruption . Once again , this region ,as the Prime Minister

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-32601532064396705802008-06-22T10:49:00.000+05:302008-06-22T10:51:39.487+05:30

With the congress back in power, it must be party time in those campsthat intend to contribute their share towards making Assam apart ofBangladesh. However , Mr. Tarun Gogai seems to have taken a bold standin regards to the AUDF. With the passage of time , will his stand dilute?One can not so easily forget the Congress stand on the IM(DT) Act which enabled countless Bangladeshis to settle in

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-54072193049980387152008-06-22T10:44:00.000+05:302008-06-22T10:48:48.573+05:30

The gruesome murder of Purnam Hazarika has sent shock waves throughout the state, especially in Jorhat, since Jorhat was the home town of Purnam. The worst part of the whole incident is that Purnam was brutally killed by his very own friends. Seeing all this, one cannot help saying that moral values are on the brink of extinction today. Friendship, trust, love—all these words carry no meaning for

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-18471066680070012162008-06-19T20:50:00.002+05:302008-06-19T20:55:20.346+05:30

Scars inflicted on the mind take longer to heal than the ones that afflict the body. Peaceful co-existence amongst the diverse ethnic communities that dot the social landscape of the region has long been a hallmark of life in this northeastern corner of Incredible India…Yet of late; the region has been a witness to a spurt in violence owing largely to ethnic unrest. Although reasons for this are

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-32032302364278815752008-06-19T20:40:00.000+05:302008-06-19T20:42:04.160+05:30

How often have we paused to think about the kind of persons we need to bow down to? Whether we like it or not, the prominent ones are always the politicians, high-ranking officials, celebrities, the rich and the famous…for they are the ones who wield ‘power’. The rich and ‘powerful’ relative [powerful because he is rich] is the one likely to draw greatest chunk/number of visitors to the home…

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-1193342628814100592008-06-19T20:38:00.000+05:302008-06-19T20:40:39.196+05:30

We complain and grumble for what we have not--we grumble about our problems but hardly do anything to ameliorate those,...indeed we are a land of malcontents. A topper in his respective school comes and falters in college, and is constantly unhappy. Love blooms and withers…brewing unhappiness. The system fails…and we grumble at the government. We speak of equality, but will not let our children

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-83474545016565785252008-06-19T18:29:00.000+05:302008-06-19T20:32:10.560+05:30

From the Editor’s desk…..It is with profound hope, immense pleasure as also with muchexpectations that we are bringing forth the third edition of 'VOICES’, a unique literary magazine of the student, and by the students of the Department of English, Cotton College.The times are bleak, no doubt. Yet, to say that there is no silver lining beyond the dark clouds that overcast the sky would be an

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-90350031140821049602008-06-18T20:34:00.000+05:302008-06-19T18:40:24.207+05:30

would you know my name , asked clapton--if i saw u in heaven???But heaven has no place for tears. Heaven--paradise--swarg--god's country...and what not.But where does that holy land reside. Isn't it in us? Like the billions and zillions of sunspots that together make up sun's incessant beam of light, so also the trillions and zillions of li'l specks of souls within each tiny particle of life--

stuti goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14562701173752150501noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4334114023575715967.post-4985432369774225972008-06-17T11:11:00.001+05:302010-06-03T12:49:29.192+05:30

rain is heaven pouring its love onto Mother Earth. But when one looks around today to see all the mud, slush, grime...it hardly feels so. The garbage at the sides of the road--the stinking colourful decorations on urban(e) development is a grim reminder of how far we still have to trudge till we can call ourselves 'civilised'. In fact, looking back to the past, we realize that our ancestors were

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