Dear Crafters ✍️,
Welcome to the seventh edition of Ink & Insight!
With every new edition of this e-magazine, we are happy to share voices, ideas, and creativity of our ever-growing Content Crafters community.
This collective carries pieces that are thoughtful, honest and some, deeply personal. From reflective blogs to expressive poetry, from powerful storytelling to insightful quotes, each contribution reminds us why we started. Words matter and so do the people, who write them, with conviction and courage.
With gratitude and ink stained smiles,
Team Content Crafters.
Editor's desk:
Jui Purohit,
Founder, Content Crafters.
Editor, Ink & Insight.
Hello readers!
I'm a published poet and a writer who collects words -just like we collected stamps in our childhood: too many yet not enough! Ergo, my first book of poetry is 'Words became Poetry'. Later, I published two more books, 'Words Became Poetry - All About Love' and 'Echoes of Seasons'. Six online published novellas, numerous blogs added to my kitty, and with a passion of storytelling, I intended to start a community to encourage more writers. In a hope of growing together with them, sharing words and shinning together, I started Content Crafters.
And here, I wear two hats -as the founder of Content Crafters and the editor of this e-magazine, Ink & Insight.
Through Content Crafters and Ink & Insight, my aim has always been to nurture creativity, celebrate consistency and help writers see their words find a meaningful place.
As you read through the pages of this edition too, I hope you smile, pause, and maybe even pick up your pen again. Because Ink & Insight isn't just a magazine, it's a reflection of each of you and your craft.
___________________________________________________
Swati Mohandas,
Creative Partner Content Crafters.Co-editor, Ink & Insight.
Hello readers!
I have always been drawn to words, their power and it is thrilling to see my work take shape. My debut poetry book, ‘Myriad Whispers‘ has been a dream come true and the award is a cherished recognition. I have also had the pleasure of contributing to anthologies, sharing my musings with others.
Content Crafters is a community that celebrates creativity and when the creative partner role came up, I knew I had to jump in!
I am looking forward to reading, sharing and creating prompts that ignite imagination.
Ink & Insight, is an e-magazine that spotlights on the incredible power of words, showcasing talented writers and engaging readers in a shared love of literature.
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Penfluence
Where powerful pens leave lasting impressions, and our prompt winners leave echoes long after the page is turned!
Winning posts of the Month of Match 2026 - for all prompts across the platforms.
- Twist-it Tuesdays is a weekly challenge that takes place on Tuesdays on the Content Crafters' WhatsApp community platform.
We are always overwhelmed with numerous embellished submissions on the prompts.
Winners -
Week 1: Write a poem about Holi from the perspective
of a mischievous color.
Sunita Menon (2poems) -
1. First, he used me on the partition of her head and forehead
But that was a clever ploy to deceive all the elders gathered
Then as soon as he got her alone
They played with me in wild passion
Can't blame them coz they are the newly weds
And such individuals are indeed
adventurous with me, the red.
2. I was there, heaped with other colors on the table
All were used joyfully but none touched me, until
The septuagenarian came gradually walking towards me
And smeared me with little water on his palms lavishly
As he lovingly painted her hair and the two laughed
wholeheartedly.
"Saved the money on this week's
dye", she cracked loudly.
Arwa Saifi -
*The Diary of a Naughty Splash*
I’m Electric Blue with a splash and a spin,
Tickling your cheeks and tinting your grin.
I hide in your hair, then jump to your nose,
Mixing with pink wherever it goes.
By the end of the day, can’t you see?
You’re a walking rainbow – all thanks to me!
Sadagi Mushrif -
I bursted out of the packing and instantly everything and
everyone turned a shade of me, yellow!!
Suddenly, I was in someone’s hair,
I smeared on someone’s glasses,
painting someone’s right ear,
even entered someone’s nostril, uff!
Soon I met my friends – Red,
Green, Purple and Blue .
Like me , they too had escaped ,
spinning and spreading everywhere.
What a day it was to go on a ride with Water !
She took me through buckets and pipes,
through guns and barrels !!
Finally when I saw myself in the
mirror,
I was not alone , I found laughter, fun, mischief and joy
giggling – with me and at me.
Anuradha Rajagopal -
Blue, green, yellow take a bow,
over you all, I, harsh red stand out!
Smeared hastily all over his face,
I stand out!
He is smiling, but looks as
though red with anger!
He smiles at her, showing teeth bright yellow!
She smirks and runs away from this unrecognisable fellow!
Navita Goel -
Crimson Hues!
As the Sun comes out spreading its resplendent multicolors in
azure blue skies,
On the green turf men, women and children play Holi, laughing
and dancing as riot of colors flow.
I am crimson color, always bold and bright,
When I touch your fresh face it takes a festive shine,
Joy of season begins when splash of emerald mixes with me
to match your grin.
The magic of friendship and laughter unfold as your skin
starts to shimmer when gold blends with us,
And everyone looks the same
vibrant, unrecognizable, and unified.
Week 2: Objects that hold stories you don't tell.
Sujata Maggoo (2 paragraphs) -
1. An old diary rests quietly in my drawer,
its pages holding stories I never speak aloud.
A faded photograph smiles from between the lines,
reminding me of moments time tried to steal.
Some objects never fade with years,
they simply guard the memories our hearts still whisper.
2. It is a small brass ring with a cloudy stone,
once my grandmother’s. I held it through exams, grief,
migrations. It never promised magic, only steadiness.
When life trembles, I roll it between fingers and remember
how her quiet faith made ordinary survival feel brave.
Even now, decades later, it warms my palm like a living memory.
Bhawana Sethi -
My old 90’s radio sits quietly in the corner,
holding the static of a childhood long gone.
I remember the late nights spent tuning the dial,
listening to FM songs that felt like secret whispers.
A memory I hold close and never speak aloud.
Charulata Panigrahi -
The spatula in my kitchen is still in use. It was given along all the
utensils required in the kitchen on my wedding long ago selected
properly by my Maa.
All in the family wonder how I love it so much. How could they know
the sweet memories associated with it.
I remember my loving ma each time I turn something with it.
Anwesha Bhattacharya -
The dried up rose enfolded in the yellow pages of my first diary,
brings back a rush of memories. It was gifted by my husband on
our first valentine's date together. Though the petals have withered with time,
the remembrance still lingers in my heart.
Shashi Thakur -
My beloved Mummy’s black shawl given to me after my wedding and a
woollen red colored scarf knitted by her when I was 9, are few of my
prized possessions till date. Come winter and I've been gleefully covering
my head with that beautiful red scarf, when I went to school.
For a decade or two I used the elegant pure-woollen black shawl during
parties.
Now in my fifties, I adorn that shawl and scarf together at home to protect
myself from the severe cold. Both of them bring fond memories of Mummy
and the love, care, warmth and homeliness shown by her.
Poornima Sivaraman -
I found a old photo which was smeared a bit. It was in my old file
when I was a teacher in Patna. It was a class photo of my 1st batch of
students in 1987.
Omg! Tears rolled on when I saw a teacher sitting next to me.
She passed away two years ago and with great difficulty, I could
recollect her name as the names in the photo were not clear.
She was close to me.
Nibedita Rajguru -
She frantically dug into the mud,
The spade cutting through damp
earth.
Then — a hard surface.
A knife, shining in the moonlight.
The blood had dried,
But memories rarely do.
The night.
The rain.
His filthy eyes.
His hand on her bare skin.
Then the silence.
Ssshhh.
Sunita Menon -
A plain looking bangle that I have been wearing since my teenage
years till date. It was the first gold purchase for my mother by her
father when she became a teenager.
My grandfather an agriculturist by profession had four daughters.
Every time there would be a bumper crop he would immediately set that
amount aside to purchase gold for one of his daughters, as a security
for their future. The bangles , of a design , that probably isn't
manufactured any more, sits beautifully, one in my mother's hand
and the other in mine. I hope it continues to adorn the future
generations too, not as a valuable piece of gold but as an invaluable
piece of love.
Writa Bhattacharjee -
Lost under a pile of junk in my drawer is a wristwatch.
It stopped working years ago, soon after my friendship with its giver soured.
So many times I thought of throwing it away, this bitter reminder of affection
turned to hate.
So many times my fingers disobeyed, reminding me of the secret life lesson those frozen gears hold: Life is a tapestry spun with memories.
Navita Goel -
Nearly forty years ago, on mymGraduation Day, my mother
presented a sleek, elegant silver bangle to me. She kissed my
forehead and gave so many blessings. My long hair was neatly
pleated, I wore a brand-new raspberry pink suit and the silver
bangle on my arm for the Ceremony.
It was one of the happiest day of my life and I was feeling proud of myself
for having crossed a milestone. I wore my silver bangle hundreds of
times after that and so many pleasant memories come rushing
back whenever I see my favourite silver bangle, still having a place of
pride in my old jewellery box.
Marilyn Evans -
I found you in my very old box,
Wrapped in a quiet memory that time could not unlock.
You were still shining just as I remembered,
But more than your shine, it was the trust that lingered.
You were the necklace he had given me,
The first gift that truly brought me happiness deep as the sea.
K.B.Janaki -
The Pencil That Remains
An old lead pencil lies quietly in my drawer,
Shortened by the hands that once held it.
It belonged to my brother, who left in 2013.
I never use it, yet I never throw it away.
Its faded wood carries words we never finished.
Some stories stay silent, sharpened only in memory.
Pragyan Parimita Nanda -
A pair of pearl bangles adorning my jewellery box was the last gift from
my MIL, just a few months before her death. I wear them on special
occasions to feel her warmth, a memento of affection. She poured a
shower of blessings that will last a lifetime.
Shirin Munshi -
The pair of jeans gifted by my Mom, when she was alive.
It's three years now, and they manage to fit me in. (While other
clothes don't).
It's a blessing, to me. I wear it on my special occasions, dinners
and also I feel that she's still here, with me, and will soon give a
compliment.
"Dekh kitni mast aa jati hai tujhe, ab bhi!!"
Shilpa Chakravarty -
I own a letter which is about thirty-five years old. A small piece of
paper- pale- white, brittle at corners, with words in faded ink.
I stayed nearby so my letter was sent to him by our house-help,
Sukhiya Tai.
After an affectionate greeting, I wrote whether he had
received the medicine. His reply was in his mature handwriting,
written overleaf, and handed over to me by Sukhiya Tai; nothing was
so special about it, but his prompt acknowledgment delighted me. As
a girl of class one, who was just taking tiny steps towards cursive
writing, it was indeed something special. The first letter sent to me
made me feel special. It was the first, and the only letter I have received from my grandpa. How can I ever lose this gift?
Week 3: ‘A letter written to your future self from your past self’.
Sujata Maggoo -
Dear Future Me,
I hope that you still carry with you the same kindness and strength that once
helped you overcome your darkest days. If life has made you stronger, do not let it
make you harder as well. Remember the kindness that once came so easily to
you. Follow your dreams, but never at the expense of your own peace and the
people who have been with you all along. If ever you find yourself lost along
the way, always remember the small things that once brought a smile back to
your face. I hope that you have learned to forgive, grow, and always
believe—because this is what I am trying to do right now.
Bhawana Sethi -
Dear Future Me,
I hope you have finally mastered the art of the perfect dosa without it sticking to
the pan like a stubborn life lesson. Please tell me you have not traded your
favourite pens for a digital stylus, and that the house full of boys has not finally
outrun you.
I trust you are still soulful and still finding the magic in a steady book over a flickering screen.
Sunita Menon -
Dear girl,
I am proud of what you've become after facing the lowest phase in
your life. Not only you accepted the challenge but bounced back with more
strength and energy. Please keep this spirit alive and do not go back to the
older version of yourself where you prioritised others over yourself. Speak
your mind, respect your feelings and intuitions. Remember that in this world
each one is unique so embrace who you are and love yourself like no one else
can.
Writa Bhattacharjee -
Dear Future Me,
If you’re reading this, then congratulations! You’ve done something
remarkable. You’ve battled the demons in your head – my head? – and won.
You’ve succeeded in getting through the hurdles of imposter syndrome and self-
sabotage. You’ve hung on when the world seemed impossible. So, well
done! And don’t forget to hug the cats and dogs!
Love.
Vrinda Ramesh -
Dear Future Me,
I hope you have gotten everything you have dreamt of...and if you
haven't...keep on trying. You are capable and you are worth it.
Don't ever forget the principal's and morals you stand for.
If you feel depressed or stressed...reminisce these words and don't ever
lose hope. Keep on walking on the path of spirituality as you do now and do your
duty. See the world as it is...not how it should be. Seek happiness within!
Shashi Thakur -
Dear future me,
I assume you are stronger, lively, and more stable, after conquering numerous
blocks of hurdles and medical issues for your existence. It would be a miracle if
you're still alive ten years from now.
Hats off to your resilience. But you must remember one thing, and that is, not to
trust or be friendly with just anybody too easily. And to set boundaries for your
mental peace and sanity. Hope you've learnt a skill or two online, at the comfort
of your home, to achieve your targeted goals, to boost your own self-esteem
and happiness.
Your caring past.
Poornima Sivaraman -
Dear Miss Poornima I am addressing
you so, as many have been addressing
you as a young Lady who do not grow
in kind. Be yourself, enjoy what you
have been doing all along, knot a
sweater for yourself in a good warm
wool as your mind may be young, but
the body does not know it as it grows
weak and the mind can be kept young,
to sing and dance.
Ananya Gadade -
Dear future Ananya,
When asked whether the glass was half full or half empty, you chose to see the
dust particles dancing on its surface. You have always been a dreamer,
restricted by the hope of a secure future.
But I hope that one day, you don’t have to choose- that someday, you can
breathe the melody of your dreams into reality. And if the time arises for you to
fall into the life of your dreams, I hope you muster the courage to leap off the
cliff of your constraints without the parachute of fear, knowing the clouds of
your dreams will catch you in their embrace.
Week 4: ‘A poem about the spaces between words.’
Poornima Sivaraman -
Spaces Between
In the spaces between our words, silence softly grows,
Unspoken thoughts like shadows, only the heart knows.
Between each pause, a thousand feelings lie,
Hidden in glances, in a sigh that passes by.
Relationships breathe in what we leave unsaid,
Where silence speaks the loudest words instead.
Nibedita Rajguru -
She spoke—
eyes still, lips unmoving,
parched.
I shook her with all my
strength
until my limbs ached.
My voice broke—
powerless, feeble,
my knees trembled.
A wail tore out
from my eyes.
How she always wanted me
to sit with her,
to listen—
just a few words.
Now, numb, lifeless,
she lies—
peaceful
in her deepest slumber.
Pragyan Parimita Nanda -
The space between words,
Is a silence that speaks louder than voice,
A breath that hovers after a sigh, a tender ache,
A pulse of longing or a promise of hope,
That gently fills the cracks of distance
Even apart, we're never truly alone.
Sunita Menon -
In the gaze that lingers long after one goes
In moments when heart speaks louder than words
In goodbyes that are embraced in tearful hugs
In smiles that reach the eyes beyond lips just
Are the words that remain unspoken and unrealized
But in such silence resides, the most beautiful aspect of life.
K. B.Janaki -
It Shapes
In the quiet gaps, meaning begins to breathe,
where voices pause and eyes learn to speak.
Anger finds shape in the silence between us,
not as distance, but a truth asking to be heard.
In those pauses, it softens into understanding
and returns as redemption, holding us together.
Arwa Saifi -
*Unspoken Spaces*
Between what we say and what we hide, there lives a
pause we cannot guide.
A breath, a glance, a quiet plea -
The truth sits there, silently.
Not every feeling needs a sound, Some speak best
when words aren’t found.
Divya Gosain -
*Unspoken Whispers*
The spaces between words hold life's deepest shades,
unvoiced emotions, unveiled pains, and unseen tears.
One carries the heaviest baggage of thoughts,
the constant fear of losing smudges everything within.
We mask our true selves for the world, but...
the soul within cries out to be heard, a desperate heartfelt
sigh: "I am in pain".
I mirror your steps, your every move,
yet a fragment of me yearns to be truly known, to be
heard anew.
I whisper my tale in the hollow & vacant spaces,
longing for eyes that see me, understand and prevail me.
Week 5: Write a love letter to your reflection in the mirror, describing all the things you
adore about yourself.
Sujata Maggoo -
Dear me in the mirror,
I admire how you carry both storms and sunshine within you
with such grace.
Your gentle heart, though tested, still chooses love again and again.
I adore the quiet confidence you’re building, step by step, day
by day.
Even your scars shine like proof of how deeply you’ve lived and
healed.
And in this moment, I see you—not perfect, but beautifully, undeniably real.
Marilyn Evans -
Dear Marilyn,
Today I saw my reflection in the mirror. I realised that life comes
with error and terror.
Mirror, mirror on the wall, you said I am beautiful above all. You
love my smile and my positive attitude, so do I love my good
aura. You don't hide emotions like my heart and we are
unbreakable.
Your admirer,
Marilyn.
Anwesha Bhattacharya -
Dear Self,
Walk with the quiet confidence that you have endured storms
nobody knows about. Carry your unwavering faith and kindle love
everywhere you go, in your inimitable way! Know that you
have a heart of gold that is untainted by the opinions of
others, and walk fearlessly down the aisle of your dreams!
Your simplicity is your charm-- don't let go of it!
Yours forever,
Anwesha.
Writa Bhattacharjee -
The mirror unveils a person I know well!
At times without cause, yet always a rebel.
Battling demons of the mind and surviving,
Always up for new challenges, always striving.
A sharp mind couched in honest, sincere mien:
Watson on the outside, Sherlock within!
Arwa Saifi -
Dear me,
Wow… look at you, completely chill and fully satisfied - what a
rare species!
I adore how you’ve mastered the art of being unbothered while the
world keeps running a marathon.
Your confidence is so calm, it almost looks like laziness (but we
know better… or do we?)
That easy smile of yours says, “I’m good, thanks,” and honestly,
I love that vibe. Life would be quite boring without you - so stay
exactly like this!
Shilpa Chakravarty -
Dear me,
I never told you that I like your smile, when you hold a line of
tear at the margin of your eyes.
I had liked your gestures, when you rehearsed recitation in junior classes.
Your untamed hair, that never have a uniformity, allow the
breeze to pass through. I love to admire you when I perfectly
outline my eyes with the kajal and the liquid lipcolor in one stroke...no mess at the edges....I am sure I will be happy to see you grow older, but stay young at
heart.
__________________________________________________________
- Wordplay Wednesdays a weekly challenge on Facebook, gives our writers a chance to spin a 100 word story on the given prompt. A prompt that instantly sparks imagination and nudges you to come up with a narrative that can be heartfelt, quirky or even one that leaves the readers with goose bumps.
Thankyou for weaving beautiful and heartfelt stories for the prompts.
Winners -
Week 1: Write a short story where Holi isn't about colours, but about something that finally washes away.
Anwesha Bhattacharya -
The spirit of Holi infused colour in the otherwise colourless and greying life of the old-age home. It instilled a sense of joy in the heart of every member, and at the same time, washed away the grime collected on their withering souls.
While some reminisced their youth, others healed from a troubled past, as the cool water became an elixir to their pain. The colours reminded them of the beauty that was still left, and the camaraderie that tied their hearts together.
For the golden oldies, Holi became a time of remembrance and renewal.
Bhawana Sethi -
For years, I wore the expectations of others like a heavy, suffocating coat of paint. Every should was a layer of dust, and every judgement was a streak of mud that I felt I had to clean off. I stopped scrubbing this Holi. I stood still while the world threw their colours. I did not grab a towel to wipe away their whispers or a shield to hide the truth. I just let the water fall. The weight went away as their thoughts flowed down streams. I finally don't hear their noise anymore. I don't care. I am light.
Marilyn Evans -
The evening sky blushed pink and gold as Marilyn stepped out to buy vegetables. The air smelled of gulal and gujiyas, laughter drifting from every corner. Though she never played with colours, Holi lifted her spirits.
Her basket brimmed with brinjals, green matar, and fresh coriander when a familiar voice called, “Holi Mubarak, Bhabhi!” She paused; it was Aakash. Memories of 8th-grade balcony glances surfaced, when she called herself “Nisha” and he watched from his terrace. Her mother had noticed, beaten her, and he had left the city for higher studies. Years later, his greetings sparked nostalgia warming her heart.
K.B.Janaki -
Holi wasn’t about colours anymore. It was about satisfaction.
Ravi stood at the edge of the street, watching children throw colours into the air. Years ago, he had walked away from his father after a bitter argument. Pride had kept him silent since then. That morning, instead of picking up colours, he walked back home. His father opened the door slowly. No words came first, only a long pause. Then Ravi said the one sentence he had carried for years: “I’m sorry.” His father placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. In that moment, something heavy finally washed away. And Ravi felt lighter than any colour could make him.
Sujata Maggoo -
This year, Holi came without colours.
Pink clouds were nowhere to be found. Nor were green peals of laughter. Nor were blue hands.
This year, it brought me clear water.
I stood under an invisible deluge of it and felt something lift. Not my clothes or hair. Just the weight of months.
Old guilt. Untold anger. Old habit of blaming me for things done.
The water simply lingered, and soon the weight began to lift.
When it was over, there was nothing different about me.
But my breathing was deeper.
And for the first time after long, I felt light.
Shilpa Chakravarty -
“Look at Rashi. No shame - hardly six months gone, divorce and father’s death- and, she is celebrating Holi, as if nothing has ever happened!” Rashi’s aunts kept discussing, but she was waiting for someone, with a plate of homemade delicacies. By afternoon, her guest arrived with present. “Happy Holi, Rashi” she said, opening a warm hug. She overheard the aunts. Smiling, she said, “Let her live her life… Life doesn’t stop because of adversities. Her father’s soul must be glad to see her happy. She may’ve divorced my son, but I’ll always love her.” Her mother’s eyes had moistened….
Week 2: Write about two emotions arguing inside someone's mind.
K.B.Janaki -
Two voices argued inside my mind all day.
“What if you fail?” the first one whispered, circling every thought I had. “Better stay where it is safe.”
“But what if this is the chance you have been waiting for?” the other replied calmly.
The first voice listed every mistake I had ever made. The second reminded me of every time I had stood up again.
They followed me everywhere, tugging at my decisions.
Finally, I paused and listened closely. One voice trembled with fear of the unknown. The other stood steady, asking me to trust myself.
Only then did I understand their names, doubt and confidence.
Sujata Maggoo -
Inside her mind, Hope and Fear were sitting at a table with no sound between them.
“Don’t try,” Fear whispered. “What if you fail again?”
“But what if she succeeds this time?”
Hope smiled softly in response. “I protect her from pain.”
“And I show her the reason to try again.”
“She’ll be hurt.”
“She’ll grow.”
For a moment, silence filled the room of thoughts
“I only want her safe.” “And I want her alive, not just safe.” They looked at each other and finally agreed—
She would walk forward with Hope in her heart,
and Fear holding her hand.
Charulata Panigrahi -
Dipti sat with her cup of tea.A turmoil was inside her mind. Had she done the right thing allowing her son to go abroad?She was in the hope that after few years he will comeback to settle in his home land. Reasoning laughed, "has anyone ever returned from abroad?Mother's love assured," you wanted the growth and happiness of your child. So why worry?You feel alone.Everyone in this world has come alone and gone single.Ekla chalore. "
She smiled. Accepting life as it is the best decision.Reasoning everything may bring doom. It will take out peace.
Bhawana Sethi -
Ambition: "The workshop starts at nine. We have worked years for this recognition, do not let the household noise drown out your professional voice."
Nurture: "But the little one has a cough, and the elder one's exams start tomorrow. If I leave now, I am just a guest in my own home."
Ambition: "You are not a guest. They need to see you thrive, not just serve."
Nurture: "The guilt is a heavy backpack. Can I really be 100% in both places?"
The Mind: "Stop. We are not splitting in half. We will teach the class, then we will heal the home. We do both because we are both."
Sunita Menon -
Self respect sat there unperturbed , calm
Delivering a shot that'd been long pending enough
But the peace-keeper fumed and began threatening
"How'll you survive estranging your kith and kin?"
"To survive, you need yourself first,
Something you'd forgotten since decades
A people-pleaser facade is all you've got
Look for genuine ,it isn't always about blood"
Self respect walked away saying the above
Its opponent sat there, searching for words
"But what will people say ? Your reputation will be ruined "
Came the final attack, to which the winner opined
"Who cares about others
Once I rise, everything else disappears".
Week 3: The truth slipped out before I could stop it.
Charulata Panigrahi-
I felt what a blunder I have done.But words once uttered can't be taken back.
Her expression changed ,confusion first, then hurt, her face turned dark.Why did I tell her the truth in our conversation?The wise say talking too much should be avoided.Truth shouldn't be told if it becomes bitter for someone. She was happy as their daughter. Now I had put a drop of poison on her love and faith by saying she is adopted.The guilt would stay with me to my last breath. My bad,why did I say that to the girl?
Jayanthi Kiran -
"The problem is with Vishal not me" the truth slipped out before she could stop it. Shilpa watched in horror as she saw her mother-in-law's expression change from anger to disbelief. Shilpa and Vishal had been married for 4 years and didn't have any children. Her mother-in-law constantly taunted her about it.
Today Shilpa had heard her mother-in-law talk to her daughter on the phone , bad mouthing her about not being able to have a child. Something inside Shilpa just snapped and she had blurted out the truth angrily. Her mother-in-law was shocked into silence . Shilpa felt vindicated at last.
Madhu Mehrotra -
"But, Sir, we just stepped out to take the cake. We didn't go into the jungle.” The truth slipped out before I could stop it.
We twelvers had been sent for a three night camp to Rajaji National Park. Riding the Gypsy we realized it was Grehaa's birthday. We persuaded the driver ‘bhaiya’ to arrange a cake for the midnight bash.
Our plan seemed watertight, full proof with no leaks, but then boys will be boys and teachers will be teachers. Good old party escort, Veekas Sir, couldn't be dodged.
He dutifully marched us to the Head office on return.
Week 4: Describe a place that holds more emotions than memory.
Nibedita Rajguru -
The swing moved back and forth. I stood outside the rusted gate, watching. The damp walls pulled me back to when they were freshly painted—marigold, orange with a tinge of gold.
“Raima, don’t touch,” Shekhar Uncle said, his husky voice brushing past me. I stepped away, palms sweating, clutching my frock.
He visited often. My father’s friend. They sat on the swing, laughing, sipping tea.
But his eyes lingered too long.
His hand rested too easily. His whispers came too close.
I pulled away once. Said nothing.
He smirked.
The swing still moves.
Back and forth.
It still remembers.
Purnima Santhakumar -
The Anchor
The raised platform of the small Ganesh temple serves as a seat. This seat had anchored me when I drifted into an emotional vaccum two decades earlier.
The two pink lines should have brought me joy but there I stood overwhelmed by fear and despair of the previous miscarriage. I sat there oscillating between joy and fear. The flickering oil lamps cast a dull glow on Ganeshji's idol. And slowly, I started feeling calm and peaceful. I had found an anchor amidst the turbulence! Even today as I sit on that temple platform, I remember the turmoil and the peace!
Writa Bhattacharjee -
Bricks. Birdsong. Bullet holes.
The silence squeezes my chest. The hairs on my arms rise. My heart thumps. Every time I step into the Lucknow Residency.
1857. The Siege of Lucknow. A time filled with death and dreams, despair and desperation. The ruins still give evidence of the horrors.
History tempts with tantalising snippets. If I reach out, I can hear screams, hoofbeats, cannon fire. I can see red coats, black soot, pale faces. I smell smoke, blood, rotting flesh.
I draw back to the present—calm, tranquil, expectant. A veneer waiting for me to pass through again.
Marilyn Evans -
Nisha loved the narrow space in her bedroom between the cupboard and the showcase.The showcase wood became her blackboard and silence felt like safety. She was eight her uncle, McDonald, furious after failing a medical test that stopped his plans to go abroad, blamed her parents instead. In a burst of misplaced rage, he flung kerosene into the air and lit it. Fire balls grazing the ceiling looked scary. No harm happened. Years later, the showcase was gone but the corner remained. Nisha still sat there, knowing some fires don’t destroy homes; they settle quietly inside, waiting to be understood.
Shilpa Chakravarty -
My grandma’s kitchen is lying in a dilapidated state, layered with cobwebs and dust. Once a hub of aroma and flavours, rising from her culinary expertise- this she blended with love to serve the ordinary food, that tasted extraordinary. Her warmth, and her scolding (when we hated the bitter-tasting “shukto” or “neem begoon”)- I can still feel there. Old age had stopped her from cooking. Tiled floors, exhaust fan, new switch boards, when fixed during renovation, looked superficial- without the queen, the kingdom had lost its glory. Many emotions still remain in that room- giggles, tears, stories, games- resting silently.
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- Thursday's Titles is a weekly challenge that takes place on, Thursdays, on Content Crafters' Instagram platform. Here we provide a picture prompt and the task is to give it a title in one line, a caption or a quote or a micro-poem.
We are grateful to all the Crafters who wholeheartedly participate in this challenge every week -consistently.
Winners -
Week 1:
Priya Gole -
Kaleidoscopic innocence.
Bhawana Sethi -
Where bright cheeks glow, joy shows in every splash of colour.
Poornima Sivaraman -
Should we mix all the colours and show the elders that staying and huddling together, can bring in hope and happiness?
Amrita Mallik -
Colours of innocence never fade.
Kinjal Jain -
The smiles and colours are always a vibe.
Brought together makes the happiest tribe.
Week 2:
Madhu Mehrotra -
A pretty painting entitled Silence by an artist whose turbulent mind seeks calm.
K.B.Janaki -
Whispers in my mind,
Echoes of what wasn't said,
Heavy as the night,
Oh! You are Silence?
Anwesha Bhattacharya -
The gurgling river breaks the misty silence,
As I lose myself into pages lit up by the warm glow of lamp.
Pragyan Parimita Nanda -
Twilight hosts the final dance,
Fleeting moments, a timeless chance.
Peace settles in solitude and silence,
A cup of tea, a book, and me, ultimate solace.
Week 3:
Pragyan Parimita Nanda -
Sitting by the lake, light pours in,
Eyes, once dark, regain their shine,
The heartbeat's rhythm and the sound of solitude
evoke a love for nature anew!
Priya Gole -
Sanguine serenity.....reminiscent solitude!
Anwesha Bhattacharya -
Reflecting by the placid lake,
My heart echoes to the new dawn's wake!
Nibedita Rajguru -
Shall I ask the sun to stop by and hear my woes, before it sets behind the night sky?
I fear the darkness.
Marilyn Evans -
She didn't come to the lake for answers.
Just a quiet corner where the water body wouldn't ask questions!
Shilpa Chakravarty -
Reflecting upon the whole day,
the dusk heaved a sigh;
the lake's golden ripples, the soft evening breeze,
kept crooning to the sky,
The day was bidding goodbye-
Week 4:
Sujata Maggoo -
Sunlight spills like quiet gold,
petals rest where stories unfold,
a moment soft, a herat at ease!
Bhawana Sethi -
A jar of daisies, a flickering light,
Petals scattered on the floor,
A gentle knock at the morning's door.
Nibedita Rajguru -
A fragrance fills me and I see divinity in the corner of my home
where the sun reflects in the darkness. If I embody darkness,
the rays reach me seeking, giving and choosing me unflinchingly.
Marilyn Evans -
Some flowers withered, some flowers bloomned.
Some found solace in a fragrant candle light
while some went in the search of sunlight.
Pragyan Parimita Nanda -
Delicate daisy's subtle aroma and candle's glow
bathed in amber rays,
steal the shadows, escalating tghe ambience.
Amoli Bhade -
Their sunlight, their own spark,
and us a little pale beside it.
Yet holding a warmth that's entirely our own.
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Poetry corner
Where creativity rhymes! 🎵
Sometimes prose isn't dramatic enough, so we need tiny lines and big feelings.
And some words remain with us forever.....
Nibedita Rajguru -
Words the earth kept
She walked quietly,
carrying her anguish and pain,
and buried it inside a crater,
sealed with soil.
The earthy smell of mud
calmed her frayed nerves.
Her tears watered the arid sand,
and in days… a plant sprouted.
Small white roots formed,
gripped the crust,
while green leaves
spiralled upward—
in the quiet.
She spoke to the plant every day,
touched it with care.
The plant grew into a tree.
Each morning, fresh dew
glistened on its green leaves,
trapping beams of sunlight.
It smiled, sang, and wondered,
looking up at the sky.
The tree had a soul.
It whispered in the dark
all the words
it had heard from her.
Poornima Sivaraman -
Cooperation
Is cooperation needed to get any work done?
Yes- it starts from home,
Where every member must share the load,
To keep things running smoothly.
A teacher and students
Hand in hand,
Must cooperate
For learning to bloom,
People in a society
Must join hands and hearts,
To live in harmony.
And move ahead together.
If you take out ‘ co’ from cooperate,
Only ‘ operate’ remains,
But without the ‘ co’
How can the machine of life run well..
So let’s gear up-
To add that ‘Co’
Back in,
And work together,
To create better outcome for all.
Women's day special poetry by our Crafter,
Arwa Saifi -
A Woman’s Light
She carries strength within her soul,
A quiet power that makes her whole.
With gentle hands and a caring heart,
She heals the world in every part.
Through every storm she finds her way,
With hope that never fades away.
Her courage shines in all she does,
In simple acts of love and trust.
Today we honour the light you bring,
The grace, the strength in everything.
For every woman stands so tall,
A beautiful soul admired by all.
World Poetry Day special poetry by our Crafter,
Bhawana Sethi -
Not All Magic Wears a Crown
Some people think that a poem is a soft cage,
A dusty ghost on a page that has turned yellow,
With flowery sighs and "thee" and "thou,"
That makes you want to roll your eyes.
But not all magic wears a crown,
The coffee spill looks like a town.
It is the way your heart jumps awkwardly.
When the elevator stops suddenly.
Poetry is just a smart thief,
Taking the salt from a heavy heart.
It takes the mess in your head,
And gives it a nice place to spread.
It is like the Check Engine light for the soul.
Fixing the leaks and filling in the hole.
It changes a Nothing into Something.
And makes a quiet life come to life.
So do not be afraid of a little rhyme,
It is just a way to stop time.
Not all poems are feel good ones, some have spooky feeling too!
Durriya Sakharwala -
Title: The Haunted Phone
'Tringgg Tringgg'
Tringgg Tringgg'
Two trembling hands reach out in terror
A husky, broken voice whispers near -
'Hello'
Piercing winds slice through the night
A hiss erupts from the shadow’s fright
The ancient haunted phone shudders with dread
'How are you doing?' a ghostly voice smirks.
The moon flickers in the darkness
Shadows swirl—an ominous arc
Haunted with slithering screams
A blood-curdling shriek shatters the dreams.
Raven nails scrape the dial
Colder than death, the receiver flails
The caller screams in frantic fear
' Tringg Tringgg Tringgg' echoes near.
A bloodstained head drifts inside
The cursed phone coils like a noose too tight
Entwined in terror, in a cursed embrace
The phone rings—' Tringgg Tringgg' in disgrace.
A lonely phone booth on a shadowed lane
I haunt the brave, the lost, the insane
Myth and terror cling to my guise
Trance me - and you hear my deadly cries.
'Tringgg Tringgg'
Answer if you dare
Or I'll haunt your nights, your every prayer
Before you blink, you'll be gone.
'Hello' - Its your turn to answer my call.
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Member Book Spotlight
Where books born from passion are featured with pride! 📘
This is our way of honoring the authors among us -shining a light on their journeys, their books, and the words that deserve to be read far and wide.
We don't just write......We Promote. We Shine. We Inspire.
You'll find new voices, real stories, fresh reads. Supporting creators in our own way.
This month's Spotlight is on K. B. Janaki author of 'Story of the Storey'.
Available on Amazon and Flipkart.
K. B. Janaki -
It all started in two places, one in an examination hall and another at home with my father.
In language question papers, there is always a section that asks students to respond creatively. During one such exam, I attempted a question in a slightly unusual and creative way. When my answer script was returned after correction, my father noticed that particular piece and found it interesting. We noted it down and worked on it together.
That small moment became the beginning of something meaningful, reading and writing slowly became a part of my life. It happened when I was 14, in the ninth standard, more than a decade ago.
Over the years, my writing has evolved through constant practice. I have written on platforms such as YourQuote, Mirakee, Instagram, Facebook, my personal blog, weekly writing contests, monthly contests, morning pages, April Poetry Month, and November Novel Month.
Through all these experiences, writing has not only shaped my voice but also sculpted my life and healed me in many ways.
To watch the 'Member Book Spotlight' video,
click here -
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The Crafting Table
Where conversations spark and ideas simmer!
Every writer carries a different inkpot of thoughts. Here we pour them together -sharing the responses from our polls, weaving many perspectives into one creative conversation.
We had asked the Crafters -
"What helps your creativity most? Solitude/Conversations...."
Writa Bhattacharjee - For me, conversations fuel ideas, while the craft of writing flourishes in solitude.
Shirin Munshi - Solitude, but then conversations help a lot, getting the most new ideas.
Nibedita Rajguru - Solitude.
Durriya Sakharwala - Both work for me. At times, I need soilitude, and at other times, conversations spark ideas.
Amrin Sathar - I take the talk to the silence to create...
Shashi Thakur - Solitude always.
Marilyn Evans - Many a time, it is the solitude but at times conversations with friends give me a new story board.
Sheetal Dhandhukia - State of being.
Pragyan Parimita Nanda - Lessons from life, that trigger me to ink emotions.
Bhawana Sethi - Solitude.
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Community Highlights
Where we relive the buzz of the month!
We have a challenge 'Insight Shots', every Thursday 9 P.M. to Friday 9 A.M., on WhatsApp community.
-For the crafters who craft their musings in the stillness of the night.
We gave away badges to few members who caught everyone's attention with their musings.
1st Prompt – What if you could ‘save’ and ‘reload’ a specific moment in your day.
Anwesha Bhattacharya: Humor Hacker
I'd save my gym routine and reload it whenever the urge to binge sets in!!
Bhawana Sethi: Humor Hacker
a. I would save the quiet hum of sleeping house. Reloading that stillness when house
goes wild.
b. I would save the victory of finding matching socks for my son reloading that win to keep
my cool.
Arwa Saifi: Moonlit Musings
a. I’d save the moment someone says my words touched their heart, reload it when
doubt tries to start.
b. I’d save the comfort of a gentle prayer, reload it when worries fill the air.
Durriya S: Words of Soul
I'd save something positive in a new day, and reload it inside my journal during bedtime
to multiply my gratitude.
Sunita Menon: Words of Soul
I have saved the golden words “This too shall pass” in my mind’s recorder. Whenever I
begin to take life too seriously I begin to play this record.
Shirin Munshi: Scribe of Moments
I'd ‘save’ the new words my little one is learning to say.. (in an improper manner
though). ‘Reload’ it through the day, which could bring a smile on my face.
Writa Bhattacharjee: Scribe of Moments
I would save the purring of my feline fur kids and reload it whenever life starts to feel
too much!
Poornima Sivaraman: Scribe of Moments
I would save the talk of my grand beti and her song she sung for me and listen to it and
have a good sleep.
Sujata Maggoo: Scribe of Moments
I would save the moment my children laugh beside me and reload it whenever distance
feels heavier than love.
2nd Prompt - Complete this phrase, ‘What if I told you...’in your own unique style, twist and
turn the way you desire to.
Bhawana Sethi – Weaver of Whispers
What if I told you - low battery is just your phone way of asking for
a nap from your scrolling.
b. What if I told you - your filter coffee is just a subscription fee
for your brain operating system.
Shashi Thakur – Humor Hacker
What if I told you the hen arrived first, as God created the hen who
can produce eggs later.
Marilyn Evans - Humor Hacker
What if I told you that I am a CID and l have tracked all your girlfriends and
shot them on head.
Nibedita Rajguru - Humor Hacker
What if I told you to stop snoring the whole night. I have to get up early in
the morning.
Writa Bhattacharjee – Humor Hacker
What if I told you I remember a million lifetimes of you forgetting half
the items from the shopping list I gave you?
Poornima Sivaraman - Humor Hacker
What if I told you to order food today from outside, any guts to deny it?
Arwa Saifi - Word Weaver
a. What if I told you I’ll save some cash, then online flash turns plans to ash.
b. What if I told you I’ll rise on time, then snooze again… “just one more time.”
c. What if I told you I’ll eat just right, then snack at night… one little bite.
Pragyan Parimita Nanda - Words of Soul
What if I told you that I'm still unhealed and show you scars, will
you accept or take advantage?
Amrita Mallik - Words of Soul
What if I told you, your irritability is a reflection of your own unhealed
sounds, and not my behaviour?
Sunita Menon - Words of Soul
What if I told you that whatever you see is just a myth and what’s hidden
is actually the reality.
S V Pillai – Words of Soul
What if I told you that our parents are greater than any God or goddess
ever.
Sujata Maggoo - Phrase Architect
a. What if I told you time doesn’t heal, it teaches wounds how to
whisper instead of scream
b. What if I told you Mondays secretly wear party hats, but only
coffee notices and laughs
c. What if I told you content crafters stitch chaos into stories, turning
everyday moments into magic people didn’t know they needed.
Durriya S – Phrase Architect
What if I told you, I've made my LPG myself?
Learning, Practising, and Giving...
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- This International Women's Day, we had invited the crafters for a 'Poetry Prompt' challenge -
Prompt: Write a poem from the perspective of a woman's hands- hands that have held, cooked, worked, healed.
Winners -
'CC Golden Authors' Challenge -
Introducing the Golden Authors Challenge — a monthly creative initiative where our member authors share inspiring prompts and offer their own books as prizes. A celebration of storytelling, creativity, and the vibrant voices of Content Crafters.
Join us 3rd Sunday of every month, in celebrating creativity—pick up the prompt, pen your thoughts, and become a part of this growing circle of storytellers.
Write, create, and stand a chance to win a story while telling your own.
Golden Author of March 2026 - Bhawana Sethi
Author's Prompt: Write a story in the format of cooking recipe, but the ingredients are abstract.
Give away: Tapestry of Soulful Stanzas.
Winners -
Sujata Maggoo -
The Secret Sauce of a Long Friendship -
Serves: Two hearts (or more)
Preparation Time: A lifetime
Difficulty Level: Tender but rewarding
Ingredients:
• 2 cups of unconditional trust
• 1 bowl of shared laughter
• A handful of childhood memories
• 3 spoons of patience
• A pinch of honest apologies
• A dash of silly arguments
• 4 warm cups of understanding
• A drizzle of loyalty
• A sprinkle of late-night conversations
Instructions:
1. Begin by mixing unconditional trust with shared laughter in a deep bowl of time. Stir it gently, because true friendship grows best when handled with care.
2. Add the handful of memories—those carefree days, secret giggles, and stories that only the two of you understand. Let them simmer slowly, allowing nostalgia to release its beautiful aroma.
3. When life begins to boil with challenges, add patience and understanding. This keeps the friendship from burning during the tough times.
4. Next, add a pinch of honest apologies and stir well. No friendship is possible without learning how to say “I’m sorry” and “I understand.”
5. Occasionally, add a dash of silly arguments. Let it cook for a while, then add laughter to keep the flavor sweet.
6. As the years go by, add loyalty to the mixture. Stir it well with late-night conversations, tears, and silent support. This step thickens the mixture of the friendship, giving it the depth of the sauce.
7. Finally, let the mixture simmer on the gentle heat of time. Do not hasten the process. Great friendships take time to develop, just like your favorite family recipe.
Serving Suggestion:
Serve with warmth during moments of joy, heartache, and celebration. Serve with honesty, presence, and a promise to stay—no matter how life changes the seasons.
Chef’s Note:
The secret sauce of a long friendship is not perfection—it is the promise of returning to the same table even after the storms of life!!
Sunita Menon -
Sue, the spicy, extroverted, fiery but ready to mix and mingle with all met the syrupy sweet, introverted, Lucy for the first time in high school. Neither thought much about the other because they knew that they were poles apart and had no chance of cooking up something great together. But universe had other plans. Opposites got attracted not once or twice but umpteen times and thus they decided to prepare a Hot and Sweet Sauce together.
They put in:
1. The bold , outspoken and devil-may-care attitude of Sue.
2. The charm , softness and doe-like innocence of Lucy
Preparation time: 25 years and still counting....
Method of cooking: With stark contrasting personalities whenever the two got together there was a splutter in the pan in the initial stages. Ideologies and differences were roasted in the oil of teenage years. But as they simmered in the liquid of worldly responsibilities and duties , they mixed effortlessly through the highs and lows of each other's flavours. After few years they kept each other's secrets with a lid that cooled them with open hearted conversations about everything. Eventually when the much awaited Sauce was bottled and served to others, it surprised all with its unique taste. A flavour that brought a smile to your face with its sweetness but would also make you shed a tear or two with its one-of-a-kind spices.
Madhu Mehrotra -
Secret Sauce of Friendship Recipe -
Measure for two
( not necessary that doubling will work for four - for four follow the next recipe)
Ingredients
1. Two caring hearts
2. A generous amount of time - seven hours a week or more
3.Patience - At boiling point
4. Loyalty - as the sauce simmers
5. A mouthful of assorted words - caring, kind, teasing
6. Listen - stir gently, the murmurings
Method:
Take two strong hearts, place them side by side.
Open the hearts in conversation, remove the seeds of unfamiliarity. Peel any hard feelings.
Marinate the hearts in words of kindness - sweetness, caring - savoury flavours, with a pinch of words of teasing- sour bitterness.
Pour the oil of loyalty as the warmth of affection rises.
Avoid reaching the boiling point. In case, the heat rises, add patient listening to prevent a boil over.
For best results - let the Friendship Sauce simmer, at least seven hours a week, preferably distributed as one hour a day.
A smooth sauce, highly palatable, will hold out for a lifetime and be ready to be served with all types of cuisines and laughter.
( Freezing the sauce is taboo).
Writa Bhattacharjee -
The Secret Sauce of a Long Friendship
The Secret Sauce of a Long Friendship is most nourishing for life. It sustains you through summers of desperation, monsoons of heartbreak, and winters of discontent. It is easy to make, but while the sauce is cooking, you must take great care and stir regularly, or the sauce might burn, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.
INGREDIENTS
* Green young kids – 2 pcs
* Accidental Meeting – 1 pc
* Adventures – a handful
* Misadventures – 2 or 3
* Long conversations – as many as you prefer
* Handwritten letters – a couple dozen
* Late-night phone calls – as per taste
* Shared Secrets – a pinch or two
* Memories – a handful
* Nostalgia – a sprig or two
SERVES: 2
TIME TAKEN: Thirty-five years
HOW TO MAKE
* Step 1: Take two green young kids and throw them in the bowl with an accidental meeting. Stir well. Make sure that there is enough tossing of chit-chat about interests, families, and mischief.
* Step 2: Add a handful of adventures, 2 or 3 misadventures, and a few long conversations. Stir thoroughly.
* Step 3: Remove the two young kids from the mixture. They should have bloomed into slightly matured youths by now.
* Step 4: Place the youths in two different locations, while joining one to the other with a couple dozen handwritten letters and many late-night phone calls. Don’t forget to sprinkle some more long conversations at this stage too.
* Step 5: Let the sauce simmer on low for a few years. By then, the two hero ingredients should have baked into young adults.
* Step 6: When the sauce begins to thicken, add a pinch or two of shared secrets. This elevates the flavour profile. Again, add some more long conversations and stir well.
* Step 7: Let the sauce continue to simmer for a few years more. By the end of this step, the hero ingredients should be full adults with careers and families.
* Step 8: When some more years have passed, and the sauce has thickened well and truly, it is time to serve it up with a handful of memories and two or three sprigs of nostalgia.
Anwesha Bhattacharya -
The secret sauce of a long friendship -
Serves: Two or more people
Time to prepare: 2 or more decades
Difficulty level: Easy if the warmth is intact
Ingredients:
1. A chance encounter conspired by the universe
2. Two or more individuals
3. An ambient environment
4. Loyalty and empathy in abundance
5. Oodles of trust
6. A dollop of enthusiasm
7. Spoonfuls of adventures and misadventures
8. A bridge of memories
9. Plenty of conversations
10. Caring hearts
Method:
Step 1- Take 2 or more individuals and simmer them in the warmth of a chance encounter
Step 2- Create a pleasant environment for them to keep cooking stories, secrets and adventures
Step 3- Ensure that mutual trust, empathy and loyalty do not get cold with the passage of time
Step 4- soak the hearts with playful enthusiasm until they melt
Step 5- Mix in a promise of tender memories
Step 6- Add a dash of healthy conversations every now and then
Step 7- Sizzle the dish with warmth, patience and caring hearts, until everything dissolves in a potpourri of feelings
Serve with the richness of a lasting friendship!!
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'Reigning Queen' 👑 of March 2026 is
'Anwesha Bhattacharya'
This crown goes to you, as your pen ruled supreme across all the prompts of Content Crafters' platforms, winning the maximum spotlights and stealing the show with your creativity. Your words didn't just answer the prompts— they inspired, sparkled, and set the bar high for all of us. Here's to your reign, may the ink in your crown never dry!
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Interactive Corner
Where creativity gets collaborative!
The '1500-word blog' prompt for April is -
"A place that holds more than just memories".
Send in your entries by the end of April 2026 to our email id: contentcrafters03@gmail.com.
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Last month's prompt winners -
1. Love That Stays
Mentioned in plays
Seen on pathways
Radiant as the rays
Bright joyfilled days
Not for a big show
Just a simple bow
Hold it forever now
Forget the silly row
Words perhaps unsaid
Simply speak no dread
By the eyes quietly read
The soul raises its head
Shown in a million ways
The thoughtful action says
Over the depressed days
For it is all love that stays
Brings an encouraging joy
On calm waters sailing. Ahoy!
Calms the sorrow spirited boy
Happy with his new found toy
A calm, gentle balm it lays
Lasting for years and days
For sure, no one for it pays
It is the kind of love that stays.
Personal Narration -
Involvement with the daily life, the will to carry on and look forward to spending time with a beloved motivates the human mind.
Of my many literary compositions, a favourite is Fifty Years of Love.
I am overjoyed to share a few extracts from the same in this blog
Extracts
Fifty years, yes, fifty years, like the sun I have taken the same trajectory to meet the one who drives me crazy. "Usee deek kar, main bauraa jaata hooin".
A goatherd, hardly literate, how do I know the count of years?
The year I first took to the path, with my grandfather, was the year when the name Himachal Pradesh was given to the land of my ancestors. At the time I was looking at things and learning ways which were very new to me.
***
I, a little boy, was now a big boy. I was no longer little. I could leave my hill home for months, sleep under the stars, hear the wild cat growl without retreating or looking out for my mother. A sharpened dagger was my defence. If the need be I could shed blood to save my goats and sheep.
“Go, my Son, be a Man.” said my mother and grandmother, placing their rugged, wrinkled hands, one by one, on my soft, curly hair.
“Learn from your Father. Look after your grandfather. Count the sheep.”
“See the moon. We shall see it and think of you.”
“And when there is no moon?”
“The stars, see that one, it will be there after dark” Grandmother said pointing somewhere in the sky “a star always shines there.”
“If there are clouds, no moon, no stars.”
“Then feel the wind, it will come from you to us. Touch the water, we have touched it here. It carries our love to you, our dear men, when you are away.”
I placed my arms around their waist and inhaled the scent of their bodies, overpowered by the odour of soil and kitchen aroma.
“Ah, don't worry, we will be back soon, as soon as the snow and ice is gone and the animals can graze here.” said I wisely, comforting them, when I needed to be comforted. I was going away for the very first time from my safe haven. I was being brave. Courage was my shield.
***
Moving through the forests I began to understand. Forests, the ultimate nurturers of Mother Earth.
"Catch a falling leaf" - is a sign of good fortune. I would run, tumbling down the slopes in hope of catching a red, orange, yellow or faded brown leaf. The shapes, colours, sizes of leaves, leaves one astounded at the work of creation.
The tree foliage determined the kind of forests we were moving through - deciduous, evergreen, alpine. We never went to rain forest, swamp, coastal or desert forests.
The forests are the original home from where life emerged to create a very modern concrete jungle. Each time I thought about this over the years, I would get a vision of my beloved, my Amrapali, in the company of Manjari.
Ah, the one who drove me crazy. “Tumhe dekh kar main baura jata huin.” Each year I pleaded
“Chalo, travel back with me".
The reply was "You are a wanderer, like the wind and water, I am a child of the earth, like a mountain, destined to stay steadfast in one place. You can come and see me, I am, forever yours, Yours forever".
Fifty years, a hundred thousand changes have taken place. Our hill path is criss-crossed with tarred roads. We, often, are at the receiving end of vehicle drivers and policemen's ire, as the cattle stroll along casually, causing a traffic jam.
The mobile has taken a large space in our hands too, like in those of many others, but it is of no use to converse with the one who I go to see year after year. The mobile towers and cables surround the premises that bind me to the one, who I silently pray is still there.
People celebrate fifty years of companionship, so I am overjoyed, my weak muscles have an energized spring, it's fifty years.
Fifty years ago I said "Chalo, travel back with me".
The reply was "You are a wanderer, like the wind and water, I am a child of the earth, like a mountain, destined to stay steadfast in one place. You can come and see me, I am forever yours".
***
This may be the last walk, to the turning point, perhaps this time, a point of no return.
Now the younger members have taken charge of our wandering cattle. I can well afford to sit near the home hearth and warm my hands on a cold, snowy day, while the clouds and aeroplanes fly past.
Ah! There, there, in sight, adorned in the best blooms, with a fragrance, so divine, it drives one crazy. “Main baura jata hooin”
Exactly, as the beauty was fifty years ago. Then the beloved had seemed tall, now again the beauty was taller, my back slightly bent, my gnarled hands resting on a strong oak stick, as I halted, took a deep breath, to gaze at my beloved, standing in the gentle breeze, permitting the fragrance to spread, attracting the bees.
***
There in the most magnificent colours, stands the one, to whom my message is "Forget me not", surrounded by petals of the same name.
I walk, trying to speed up, but then gentle steps are enough. No need to hurry, I have three days with my beloved.
Ah, the embrace, my arms around the trunk.
The gentle digits touch my hair, back and face, as I stand close by to inhale the scent that fills my heart. “For one last time, I'll spend three joyful days and turn back for ever, after fifty years” I thought.
Three days, two nights, I sat with my head resting on the trunk. My companions brought my share of food and water. I moved only for a few minutes as the dawn broke and was back before the red ball turned yellow.
The goat kids pranced about, the lambs almost danced as I played my flute. I only play the flute, in the shade of my beloved’s shadow. My music is for my beloved.
The unsaid lyrics praise the beauty.
The world says ‘Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder’ may be, but my beloved is a beauty, everyone says so. I heard my grandfather praise its beauty. My grandson saw my beloved two years ago. He, too, is besotted by the fragrance.
Bye, Bye, Dear Amrapali, my beloved mango tree, laden with blossoms named 'manjari'. The residents say 'bauur aa gaeey', ‘the tree is in blossom’.
I say “Mai baura gaya” “I am driven crazy” “Main baura jata hooin” So, so beautiful, perfect, sweet scented, waiting for me.
Dear, where you grow, the plains begin and we of the hills can't stay here any more. This time I must bid a final farewell, give me a bloom to add to those in my cap, I requested silently.
A blooming bunch fell to the ground, a monkey baby was up to its pranks. I joyfully placed the fallen bloom in my cap.The fragrance was intoxicating. My unbridled love, my unabashed love was with me. My love was not unrequited.
- Madhu Mehrotra.
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2. The Kind of Love That Stays -
Love is one of the most spoken about emotions in the world, yet it remains one of the most difficult to truly understand. Poems are written about it, songs celebrate it, and stories are built around it. Many people imagine love as something dramatic - grand gestures, passionate declarations, and unforgettable moments that seem to shine brighter than everything else.
But the truth is that the most meaningful form of love is often far quieter.
It is not always loud or extraordinary. Sometimes it lives in the smallest acts of care, in the silent understanding between two people, or in the steady presence of someone who refuses to walk away when life becomes difficult.
The kind of love that truly matters is the kind that stays.
In a world that is constantly changing, where people move quickly from one phase of life to another, staying is not always easy. Relationships are tested by time, distance, misunderstandings, and the many responsibilities life brings. Yet the love that survives these challenges becomes stronger with every passing day.
Staying is not simply about being physically present. It is about choosing someone again and again, even when circumstances change.
It is about patience when misunderstandings arise, compassion when someone is struggling, and faith when the future feels uncertain.
The kind of love that stays is not built in a single moment. It grows slowly, like a plant that takes root in the soil and gradually reaches towards the sunlight. It needs care, attention, and trust to flourish.
Without these, even the strongest feelings can fade.
Many people often remember the beginning of love - the excitement, the curiosity, the joy of discovering another person. Those moments are beautiful, but the real depth of love is revealed much later, when the novelty fades and what remains is the genuine connection between two hearts.
That is when love becomes real.
It becomes the comfort of knowing that someone understands you even when you do not speak. It becomes the reassurance that someone will stand beside you during difficult days.
Sometimes love that stays is found in friendship.
Friendships that last through years of changing circumstances are among the most precious relationships in life. Friends witness different versions of us as we grow - the hopeful beginnings, the uncertain moments, the victories, and even the failures.
A true friend does not disappear when life becomes complicated. Instead, they remain present in quiet ways.
Sometimes it may be a message asking if you are alright. Sometimes it is a shared memory that brings a smile during a difficult day. Sometimes it is simply the comfort of knowing that someone understands your story.
These small moments create a bond that time cannot easily break.
Family also represents one of the purest examples of love that stays.
From childhood onwards, family members become the first people who shape our understanding of care and belonging. Parents wake up early to provide for their children, siblings share laughter and disagreements, and relatives offer support during important moments in life.
Often, these acts of love are so familiar that we forget to recognise their depth.
A mother remembering her child’s favourite meal, a father offering silent encouragement during uncertain times, or siblings standing together during difficult situations - these are expressions of love that remain constant.
They may not always be spoken aloud, but their presence is deeply felt.
Then there is the love that grows between two people who choose to walk through life together.
This kind of love is not always simple. It requires understanding, compromise, and patience. Two individuals bring their own dreams, fears, and experiences into the relationship, and learning to grow together takes time.
However, when two people truly care for one another, they learn to support each other through every season of life.
There will be days filled with laughter and joy, and there will also be days marked by worry or exhaustion. Yet love that stays does not disappear during those difficult moments.
Instead, it becomes stronger.
It becomes the quiet reassurance that someone will remain beside you, even when the road ahead feels uncertain.
In many ways, enduring love resembles the changing seasons of nature.
Spring represents the beginning - fresh, hopeful, and full of excitement. Summer symbolises warmth and growth. Autumn brings change, reminding us that nothing remains exactly the same forever. And winter can sometimes feel cold and challenging.
But even in winter, the roots beneath the soil remain alive.
Similarly, relationships experience different seasons. There are moments of happiness and times of struggle, but love that stays continues to exist beneath the surface, patiently waiting for warmth to return.
One of the most beautiful aspects of lasting love is its ability to forgive.
No relationship is perfect. People make mistakes, misunderstand each other, and sometimes fail to express their feelings clearly. However, love that stays does not hold onto resentment forever.
Instead, it chooses understanding.
It recognises that every human being carries imperfections and that relationships grow stronger when people are willing to learn from their mistakes.
Forgiveness does not mean forgetting the past completely, but it allows two people to move forward with greater compassion and wisdom.
Another powerful element of enduring love is trust.
Trust grows slowly over time, through shared experiences and consistent actions. It is built through honesty, reliability, and respect.
When trust exists, relationships become a safe space where people can truly be themselves. They do not need to pretend or hide their vulnerabilities.
They know they are accepted for who they are.
In today’s fast-moving world, where technology connects people instantly yet sometimes weakens genuine relationships, the value of lasting love becomes even more important.
Many interactions happen quickly and disappear just as quickly. Messages are sent, conversations begin and end, and connections sometimes feel temporary.
But love that stays is different.
It is patient. It grows steadily. It is not measured by how often people speak but by how deeply they care. Sometimes distance may separate people physically, but true affection continues to exist regardless of miles or time zones.
Memories, shared experiences, and heartfelt conversations create bonds that cannot easily fade. The kind of love that stays does not demand constant attention. Instead, it offers quiet reassurance that the connection remains strong.
It is the love that waits.
It is the love that understands.
It is the love that remains even when life becomes busy, complicated, or unpredictable.
Perhaps that is why it is so precious.
Grand gestures may capture attention for a moment, but it is the steady, unwavering presence of someone who stays that truly touches the heart.
At the end of the day, people rarely remember every word spoken or every gift exchanged. What they remember most clearly is who stood beside them when they needed support.
Who listened when they felt unheard.
Who remained when walking away would have been easier.
That is the essence of lasting love.
It is not perfect.
It is not always effortless.
But it is sincere, patient, and enduring.
And in a world full of temporary moments, the kind of love that stays becomes one of life’s greatest blessings.
Author’s Note:
Love is often described in grand and poetic ways, yet in everyday life it is usually much quieter. While writing this piece, I found myself reflecting on the simple relationships that shape our lives - friendships that remain steady over the years, family members who support us without expecting recognition, and the rare bonds where understanding exists even in silence.
To me, the kind of love that stays is not about perfection or constant happiness. It is about presence, patience, and the willingness to remain connected even when life becomes complicated. In a world that changes so quickly, relationships that endure become a gentle reminder that some things are meant to last.
Perhaps the most beautiful love stories are not the ones filled with dramatic moments, but the ones that quietly continue, day after day, simply because two hearts choose to stay.
- Arwa Saifi.
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3. The Kind of Love That Stays…
Love is perhaps the most complex, yet also the most universal emotion known to us. While some saints and philosophers claim that ‘Love is God’, insisting that true love can be found in our quest with the divinity that lies within, in everyday nuance we find love manifesting itself in uncountable forms.
The purest form of love is unconditional, like the one shared between a mother and a child. Parental love is tender and caring, seen in almost all species of life that exists. A mother nurtures her offspring without a thought of merit or reward. Her love is never calculative, and she showers her affection unbound by any rule. As a child grows up, she becomes the safe space they can always rely on, and even in adulthood she often remains a symbol of reverence for her child, when the noise of the world seems too loud.
Thus, in our formative years, our idea of love revolves around the affection received from parents. Gradually we learn of sibling love, with the arrival of our little brother or sister, who equally vies for the attention of our parents. The initial phase of rivalry, often melts into another lasting bond, as we grow up playing, fighting and sharing secrets with our partners in crime—our siblings. At this juncture, we also make some lasting friendships in places of social conditioning like schools and our neighbourhood.
While some people may appear on our timelines for a short span, only to leave with memories, good or bad, there are those rare gems who stand the test of time as our friend for all seasons. This love, although it is platonic, etches a mark on our being, as we start treasuring the presence of this friend, who sees us through the highs and lows of life, unflinching in their loyalty toward us. Love in all its shades, remains cherished and beautiful, until one falls in the whirlwind of another kind—the ‘Romantic’ love. Researchers, the world over, are yet to fathom the intricacies of this emotion and the range of feelings that it encompasses. Philosophers and thinkers, writers and scientists, commoners and kings, have all been smitten by this kind of
love, that surpasses definition!
However, it is this very love that forms the backbone of creation on earth. For, without the communion of man and woman, there would be no progenitor of life! Romantic love often stems from desire, which should not be confused with lust. This love doesn’t ask for a reason, but is often conditional. A love which is unrequited leaves a longing hard to overcome! On the other hand, a romantic, passionate love which is
reciprocated by both the partners, leaves one satiated and fulfilled. Often this kind of love, results in a harmonious matrimony which may last a lifetime, thereby bringing a steadiness to life and society as a whole. The couple seeks to bear children together, growing into a nurturing family, endowed with love in all its colours.
This however, remains a utopian vision largely, considering the rising number of separations and dysfunctional families in today’s society. Couples are unable to live up to each other’s expectations and tolerance flies out of the window, with unmatched preferences and viewpoints. To add to it, loyalty goes for a toss, when one or both partners deviate from the vows of marriage, indulging in infidelity, which ensures a point of no return. In such a scenario love easily loses its lustre, resulting in hurt and repentance. A broken heart is often unredeemed, as it finds it difficult to trust and open up to a fresh, new love. But when it does, it marks the beginning of a new innings in the individual’s life, appearing as a second chance.
Amidst the chaos and uncertainty, with the institution of marriage gradually falling apart, there is still a silver lining among the clouds. When we see an old couple, who has managed to remain together and thrive in each other’s company over the years, we look upon them with awe. A lot of such couples have been questioned about the secret ingredient that kept their love growing and burning like a steady flame, despite the vagaries of life. The most common answer that resonates among them is ‘mutual trust’ and ‘unwavering faith’ that everything will work out despite the adversities. They never let go of each other and remain a pillar of support to each other even when things appear to fall to bits. They listen to the voice of their own hearts instead of lending an ear to the opinion of outsiders, mending the frayed edges of their relationship through constant communication and unending love. Though it may appear as hard work initially, but a couple that stays in love, is often resilient and passes through the turbulent storms of life, as a shield for one another. They find joy in the little
gestures of love, and do not necessarily depend on grand occasions to rejoice. They do not publicly display their affection, keeping their love simple yet deeply personal.
Mythology shares the love saga of Shiva and Shakti as the rare and ultimate union between the two genders. While Shiva is the absolute masculine force that embodies the supreme consciousness, Shakti is the divine feminine energy that nurtures and nourishes the universe. For humans, it may be difficult to imbibe the same kind of love, but we definitely idolize the love between Lord Shiva and Ma Parvati as sacred. Their love provides a template for us mortals to follow, defining the ideal nature of a man-woman relationship. Another immortal love lore is that between Radha and Krishna, which is easier to perceive, as both are visualised in a human form. Their earthly romance has been a matter of discussion among poets, writers and artists worldwide. Later in life, Radha’s separation from her beloved has stirred the imagination of several creative minds, who have depicted their love and longing through their art. Divine love, though hard to attain, remains an epitome of the purest form.
Love flows through us in its multihued states – at times bringing out the genius within, yet at other times drowning us in agony. The kind of love that truly stays is never materialistic; it is not an attraction bound by flesh, but a longing that comes from the heart.
True love overlooks the superficial and dives into the depths of one’s soul.
A soul-to-soul connection can only be established when we are first connected to our own soul, that lies within. A person who is in tandem with himself, easily forges strong
connections outside, too. Such a person is capable of loving and nurturing, as he has learnt to inculcate self-love.
Therefore, it is essential to bridge the gap within, through introspection and self-knowledge, before we proclaim our love for another individual. For love to stay, one must first be content in one’s own company and have enough self-worth. Such a person is endowed with a tremendous power to heal, understand and empathise with another soul, which are all ingredients required for a lasting love that never loses its spark and continues to inspire!
- Anwesha Bhattacharya.
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Closing Notes
As this edition of Ink & Insight comes to a close, we celebrate the words that filled these pages and the voices that brought them to life. Thank you for being part of this creative journey with Content Crafters.
Until next time, keep crafting stories that only you can tell. Keep your Ink flowing and your Insight glowing.
- Team Content Crafters.
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Disclaimer: Pictures used as illustraions for poetry in 'Poetry Corner' are submitted by the poets. This magazine doesn't own the pictures or is not aware of the sources, and hence doesn't accept any liability.
Dear Admin,
ReplyDeleteThanks for another amazing issue of the magazine, Ink & Insight.... congratulations to the team Content crafters and the lovely crafters of the group...we loved to be a part of this issue.
-Dr. Shilpa Chakravarty
Thankyou so much for your kind words of encouragement dear Crafter! 💙
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