Some other place, somewhere, some other time - a tentative start to a novel that may be renamed later

It must have been so. There, then he might have been a man and treated her cruelly while here, now it is just the opposite. He is still a man but being treated cruelly by her, a woman. This makes it symmetrical, aesthetic, if nothing else and hence, in that way, a matter of satisfaction. This does not lead to any kind of satisfaction, however, such a thought. What matters is not to be treated with cruelty and not treating someone cruelly.  Of course, there are no other lives or planets or universes, it is here itself that they have both been one thing or the other to each other. The blame is equally distributed or apportioned as is the praise. It is only in such encounters that one finds out how much of the worst and the best one can have brought out in one and bring out in the other. Looking at it in that sense such encounters are truly significant as harbingers of self-knowledge, if not worth having or beneficial. Maybe they are that too. Maybe in the long run, they turn entirely poisonous or malignant or entirely benign, like cancer cells, if such a thing is possible.

I gave you my everything, finally
Because I never will, again

When you finally get really, really hurt
it ceases to matter if it was meant or not
if to hurt was the intention from the other side
or it was only the ignorance of selfishness
There's just the shock of getting hurt
of knowing something this time got broken
and that it cannot be repaired
There's only the tears you never shed
There's only the blood you never bled, in this place
The lonely room and the empty space
When you really get hurt, hurt, hurt.

A couplet

I would of have been glad to stay
If only you had not driven me away

Goodbye.

It was a dead end
(but) even dead ends (reach their) end
It (too/finally) did

It was a one-way street
a one-way ticket
That is why since day before I gave it my all
after understanding just who you were and I looked like to all
It was my farewell gift
after understanding how well you are able to make me die
and fall
You did not hear the terrible thud
it made
when
I killed (y)our love
as it ended
the music
dying in my room
of my love for you
a sound softer than the sound of a dying fall
If you had you would have wept
as the one that died, it's true, lost
but nothing as much as to what you lost
compared
to what you would have got
in the many years still left to it
if you had not done this (at) all.

God and I + you and I

Only God

can create or make

something out of
nothing

Only God

can let people never die

make them drink of the fountain of everlasting youth

reverse or halt aging or disease

heal in a second and fully, miraculously

make people live forever
Only God

the philosopher's stone

overcomes death

brings back people from the dead

can be in two places at the same time

and travel into the past and the future, melt time

If I was God

having loved you

I would

unmake and remake you

as what I want you to be

from or out of thin air

give you youth and beauty

eternal

never let you die

bring you back from death if you did

let you always be with me
invisible to  others if and when needed 

and also in the past and the future

just in case there are other lives

or were

and to go one better than Him

would prove to this clone of yours

that by granting you or her

and not me

all this

it still would be 

as hopeless

as my love for the other, earlier you

again.

This is why I am not God
This is why it is clear
I am
only a lover
a failure
and that you are not anywhere in the picture
in the first scenario
or the second.

Adverb poem - Brightly

Brightly the fire burns in the hearth, of the home 

where the children are sleeping quietly.

Brightly the moon shines in the night, above the loam

where the grass is soughing in the wind gently.

Brightly the cat’s eye glows yellow at night.

Before it winks shut, it turns green slowly.

Brightly  and  spread out are the city’s lights

that look like fireflies shimmering softly. 

Brightly the sun sends its blessings from its heights

to the land down below, and then blazes hotly.

Brightly the stars glint before sleep closes one's eyes

and dreams come to chase us in its meadows, playfully.

©  Koshy AV

Adverb poem - Brightly

Brightly the fire burns in the hearth of the home

Brightly the moon shines in the night above the loam

Brightly the cat’s eyes glow yellow at night

Brightly  and  spread out are the city’s lights

Brightly the sun sends its blessings from  its heights

Brightly the stars glint,  before sleep  closes one’s eyes

Copyright, Koshy AV

SHAMAN

You take the half-grown python, with no teeth, from its receptacle
She waits, naked, to be imbued with power to procreate
You write runes on the parchment
Make her fertile
Bind sterility's curse
Initiate, bring new life to her womb

The symbol, most potent; the most ancient one, stirs
(You are fully at ease
Born to do this
Awake, alive!)

You hold the snake firmly, make its cloven tongue kiss
Her eyes, her eyelids closed

Then move it over her face
To her lips, circle it down to her breasts
To make it flick-lick her nipples
Circle both her areola
And her breasts
Down, further
Rhythmically
Past her soft, flat stomach and belly button
Making a bee-line...
She
Complies
Reclining, lying down, opening...
Certain
You know what you're doing

The living mortar pestles
The Milky Way
Entering, head first, entirely, its entirety
Through the dense underhung
Tangled black
Worming, being pushed in, squirming...

The engorged passage

Makes curds and whey

You, the medium of the Absolute
At-one with the Spirit
The snake, yours
She, a willing vessel
You, the snake and she - One
With the silent universe
Dark as your hand
Lit with the veins on its skin
The pattern on the snake
Stars blossom, black and white, burst and fall
In the deeps of inner space

Her breathing
Becomes peaceful
Still

Like yours

The snake
Curls up

Meat. Dead beat.

(c) KOSHY AV 8.5.2016

SHAMAN

You take the half-grown python, with no teeth, out from its receptacle
She waits, naked, to be imbued with power to procreate
You write the magic runes on the parchment
That will make her fertile
Bind the curse of sterility
Initiate her & bring about new life in her womb
The symbol, most potent, the most ancient and powerful one, awaits
(You are fully at ease
Born to do this
Awake, alive - You!)

You hold the snake firmly and make its cloven tongue kiss
Her eyes, her eyelids closed

Then move it down over her face
To her lips, then circle it down to her breasts
To make it flick-lick her nipples
Circle both her areola
And her breasts
Move down, further
Rhythmically
Past her soft, flat stomach and belly button
As she
Complies
Lying down, reclining, opening up
Certain
You know what you are doing

The living mortar pestles
The Milky Way
Entering, head first, entirely in, in entirety
Through the dense underhung
Tangled black
Worming its way
The engorged passage

Makes whey

You become the medium of the Absolute
Totally at-one with the Spirit
The snake, yours
She, the willing vessel
You, the snake and she become One
In the ritual
With the silent universe
Dark as your hand
Lit with the veins on its skin
The pattern on the snake's skin
Stars blossom, burst and fall in the deeps of the inner space of the cosmos

Her breathing
Becomes peaceful and still

So does yours

The snake is returned

(c) KOSHY AV 8.5.2016

Shaman

You take the half grown python, with no teeth, out from its receptacle
She waits, naked, to be imbued with the power to reproduce and procreate
You have written the magic runes on the parchment
That will help to make her fertile
Bind the curse of sterility
Initiate her and bring about new life in her womb
The symbol, the most potent, the most ancient and powerful one, awaits
you
(You are fully at ease
Born to do this
Awake, alive - You!)
Ready to be used

The ritual starts

You hold the snake firmly and make its cloven tongue kiss
Her eyes, her eyelids closed
Then move down over her face
To her lips, then circle down to her breasts
To make it flicker over her nipples
Circle both her areola
And her breasts
Move down further
Rhythmically
Past her soft, flat stomach and belly button
As she
Complies
Lying down, reclining fully, opening up wholly
In the certainty
That you know and are sure of what you are doing
In control, and will not harm her

The living mortar pestles
The Milky Way
Entering entirely
Through the dense growth in the jungle
The black forest of the night
The engorged passage of Life

Makes whey

You have become the medium of the Absolute
Totally at-one with The Spirit's force
The snake is yours
She, the willing vessel
You, the snake and she become One
In the sacred ritual
With the silent universe
Black as your hand
Lit with the veins on its skin
The patterns on the skin of the snake
Stars blossom, burst and fall in the deeps of the inner space of the cosmos
And her breathing
Becomes peaceful and still

So does yours

(c) KOSHY AV 8.5.2016

Anniversary

https://harivarasanam.wordpress.com/2015/09/01/the-contributors-having-their-say-the-significant-anthology/

Too many love poems

"There are too many love poems in the world."
"Yes."
"It gets boring after some time. Or maybe there aren't enough."
"I don't write love poems. Mine are more like love poems that are hate poems.They have a bite."
"Yes."
"Like we can't write without being inspired by women and we can't write unless we are free from them?"
"Yes"

A "story" someone told me today.

He is this young chap I know from on Facebook. We talk off and on, for some strange reason. Dylan is a connect and so is Cohen and I surprise him at times by writing something he considers way out, on par with Kerouac and others. He writes rhyming poems that all read like Dylan during his best years, to a large extent. But they are good in themselves and very readable. He also writes good fiction. He has a dad and he does weed. He is a college dropout. He periodically posts saying he is in some asylum or the other. We always have extremely sane conversations, though. He has a grandmother. I told him of my son today and he told me that his dad said he was autistic, but we are both not I told him. He agrees.
I said that we always have sane conversations but today it turned bizarre. He said he had jumped off a bridge once and it was because of Dylan. When I asked him which song and which line of Dylan's made him do it he said, no, I met him.
He told me he had once been admitted in some place in Warwickshire for doing weed and was on rehab mode but it was there he had met D. His name also begins with D. Anyway he told Bob that he wrote fine songs and asked him where he could get some acid. He says the trip turned sour on him then,  there and he was "Sectioned." It ended with the bridge thing, I guess. He says he knows "what really happened". Despite it being 'written of in the papers and things as something else.'
I asked him if I could steal his story
What for, he asked.
To write as a story or poem, I said.
Sure if you don't use my name, he said.
I haven't.
Wish he hadn't danced with Mr D.
No song finer than Idiot Wind which he, his dad and I all like. The fist line in it seems to have got into his jugular.
Fifty years on, since Blonde on Blonde, and Visions of Johanna.
My son has a lot of very small pots on the balcony of my rented house that he takes and removes the plants from, then pours the mud out into his hands and pours it back. The plants die. They are weeds mad Mary brings. More about her some other time. The pots empty. I  say nothing. I have a video of it but do not know how  to transfer it from Whatsapp or my mobile phone to here.
That is something that "really happened."
Wish my friend becomes alright.

Introspection.

I am thirteen books into writing now or fourteen or fifteen or sixteen depending on how I look at it.
Plus I have tonnes of published material and uncollected material etcetera lying around. Of my books,  "Art of Poetry," the most popular one that I had a hundred copies of, has only two copies left (I think) and  "The Significant Anthology," edited by me, Reena Prasad and Michele Baron has also sold out its first edition. "Wake Up, India: Essays for our Times," that was co -authored with Dr Bina Biswas sells. My first officially published solo collection of poems "Allusions to Simplicity" is also selling.

However it is time to think, not of taking a break from writing but of where it is all heading. Have quit at the peak of my game just when it is beginning to pay off as writing needs not just one being prolific but one being quality conscious too, eventually. My books so far were all above average and not mediocre, according to me, but that is not enough for me, as I desire something more.

I am working on an anthology of short stories, along with Michele Baron, and my own collection of short stories and a long poem with notes next, as well as planning to collect all my published and unpublished stuff and perhaps revamp and re-edit what has already been brought out. These are ambitious plans and time may not permit it.

I came across several or many prolific writers on Facebook, like Neelam Saxena Chandra, Mahesh Dattani, Chitra Lele, Dr Santosh Bakaya, Santosh Alex as a translator, Dr Bina Biswas, Dr Sayantan Gupta, Pramila Khadun and many others, all with books running into more than ten or many to their names, anyway.

I recently read an article that says it is the one who collects rejections most and/or who writes prolifically who becomes good. There is some truth in this.

I also read one on Bad Writing and some sentences struck me particularly.

"Bad writing is almost always a love poem addressed by the self to the self. The person who will admire it first and last and most is the writer herself."

"...good writing is a way of making the self as vulnerable as possible."

"Conversely, bad writers often write in order to forward a cause or enlarge other people’s understanding of a contemporary social issue. Any attempt to write fiction in order to make the world a better, fairer place is almost certain to fail. Holding any value as more important than learning to be a good writer is dangerous. Put very simply, your characters must be alive before they seek justice."

"To go from being a competent writer to being a great writer, I think you have to risk being – or risk being seen as – a bad writer. Competence is deadly because it prevents the writer risking the humiliation that they will need to risk before they pass beyond competence. To write competently is to do a few magic tricks for friends and family; to write well is to run away to join the circus."

"Your friends and family will love your tricks, because they love you. But try busking those tricks on the street. Try busking them alongside a magician who has been doing it for 10 years, earning their living. When they are watching a magician, people don’t want to say, “Well done.” They want to say, “Wow.”

Writing on Facebook for so many years has both helped me and hindered me, by making me both raise my standards in one sense, the competitive one of trying to create or carve a niche for myself, and drop them in another sense, in the one of being forced to be nice to writers who are often only novices and beginners as part of my teaching approach, from doing what I love most in life and do well, it also being the only thing I know how to do in a way, which is to write.

Taking a break from it, meaning writing on Facebook, will help me to focus on what I really do again which is to write properly till I burn out and produce something great on the way that others will not willingly let die.

The quotes are from: https://www.theguardian.com/books/2016/may/20/what-makes-bad-writing-bad-toby-litt

I have been critic, collaborator, poet, editor, co-editor, anthologist, compiler, co-author, writer, author, book maker, book producer - and so many more things in such a short time but am still dissatisfied as I have evaded the main question which is of how to be all this in such a way that I am not one of the better writers just because we live in a mediocre age but as my writing is truly timeless and universal. Blogging is probably the way out as here with no audience I can write what I want, and re-invent myself,  relearn, keep learning. That is the way forward.

There are other questions to tackle too. Should I be a critic or a poet or both? These are my strengths, and in that order. Explore fiction and drama too? I feel these issues sort themselves out naturally. The challenge for me is fiction, the short story and the novel and the novella or novelette.

Or should I work for autism and at encouraging other writers to come up, especially not forgetting ones in my own family. And my friends. And what about spirituality and my job?

It is all worth thinking about.

Has my poem read by Harish Bhatia in there. Played at New York at Ink Spot by Indigo Soul or S Dot Hope
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/wordemup/2016/07/02/the-ink-spot-radio-showopen-mic-nite

Reuel Prizes 2014, 2015 and 2016

Allusions to Simplicity

A Digression | Sanskrit, Dravidian, Indian and Grecian Literary Criticism

A Digression | Sanskrit, Dravidian, Indian and Grecian Literary Criticism: This article compares and uses Sanskrit and Dravidian Indian literary criticism with Grecian criticism on English text with examples from India mixed in too.

Notes On Literary Criticism by Dr A V Koshy - Learning and Creativity

Notes On Literary Criticism by Dr A V Koshy - Learning and Creativity: The whole concept of literary criticism arises, maybe, out of a question: On what basis do we judge a book/text as being better than another book/text?

Why Sergei Parajanov and His Films Matter - Silhouette Magazine

Why Sergei Parajanov and His Films Matter - Silhouette Magazine

Why Sergei Parajanov and His Films Matter - Silhouette Magazine

Why Sergei Parajanov and His Films Matter - Silhouette Magazine

Duane's PoeTree: A. V. Koshy writes

Duane's PoeTree: A. V. Koshy writes: Elegy for the Dead in Paris.  May your blood, O slain, cry out to the sky;  for an end to our endless pain.    --Yanito

reuel prize

A Review of The Significant Anthology - Learning and Creativity

A Review of The Significant Anthology - Learning and Creativity

The Roseate Sonnet: An Experience in Learning the Art of Poetry (with a CONTEST & PRIZES!) - Learning and Creativity

The Roseate Sonnet: An Experience in Learning the Art of Poetry (with a CONTEST & PRIZES!) - Learning and Creativity

Interview with Reena Prasad

https://incrediblewomenofindia.wordpress.com/2015/09/02/reena-prasad-in-conversation-with-the-members-of-rejected-stuff/

A review of THE SIGNIFICANT ANTHOLOGY - PART ONE by LALIT MAGAZINE.

PART ONE of a review that is going to do justice to The Significant Anthology by Lalit Magazine who is in his own right a great writer!

REVIEW OF THE SIGNIFICANT ANTHOLOGY

Divided into three parts: Prose, poetry and a long poem, Oh Hark!, this
anthology of more than 300 pages is indeed a treat for bibliophiles.
Bringing out an anthology of this magnitude where young and old,
veterans and amateurs, Indians and foreigners rub shoulders, is indeed
a very significant achievement. Allow me to add my voice to that of
Dr. Ampat Koshy, who says:

“The best thing about the anthology is that it stands for peace. Here,
Pakistani and Indian, young and old, man and woman, black and white,
Muslim, Christian, Jew and Hindu, and people from all professions and
walks of life or ones without jobs as well as from places as far flung
as Ghana or UK or Australia, all nestle together in the pages of the
same book, with no wars amongst them.”

As Reena Prasad so poetically puts it in the introduction:

As submissions kept pouring in, “Opening the mailbox was like
opening the clinic door, and finding graceful birds, comic bears,
erudite foxes, and angry cheetahs waiting in orderly chaos …….”this
line itself is a scintillating piece snipped from a literary gem
which glints and shines with the brilliance of 176 writers from all
over the world . Poems- big and small, prose pieces, stories and a
play, all set an example of peaceful co-existence and orderly chaos
.Tragedy and comedy, satire and surreality all coming together to form
a heady brew , leaving a taste which lingers and lingers, wanting one
to go back and again have a second and third helping, without the fear
of indigestion. ".Some books should be tasted,, some devoured , but
only a few should be chewed and digested thoroughly ."
And this book, is one such book, which is meant to be digested.
Francis Bacon would have surely remarked thus about this book.
All the prose pieces offer something, but some pieces tugged
at the heartstrings with their tragic intensity. The Keepsake by
Namrata Privy Trifles, from India, Father and daughter, by Animesh Ganguly, tire by
Michele Baron from U.S. A were some such pieces. The effortless ease
with which Michele Baron’s prose flows is indeed amazing.

The boy who wished for rain, by Ushnav Shroff from India, I found
exceptionally well- written, and touched a chord in the heart. So did
Pamposh Dhar’s reminiscences about her father. Shriya Pant’s Cauldron
of Dreams, poetic in expression, with its refrain,” the wispy dark
woods have secrets of their own”, was another piece which gripped me
completely. Tearful Memories, by Sajini Chandrasekera, from Srilanka,
a poignant piece about tragedy and devastation in the aftermath of
Tsunami, made me cry unashamedly at the injustice of it all. Tribhawan Kaul’s piece The Present left a lingering smile on my lips.

Let me hasten to add, that all the pieces are commendable pieces of
art, and I feel pathetically small in the face of such greatness to
review all pieces. You need to grab your copy soon to partake of
these literary delicacies.

The solo short play by Jawaid Danish, from Canada, is indeed the tour
de force, short in structure, but monumental in its message – a power
punch of a play .One lives the emotions of the mother of the autistic
child- the narrator- with every printed word. Through this intensely
moving play, I could sense the magic in the child’s eye, and “his
sweet smile, the spark in his eyes, his unblemished innocence, his
playfulness”.

Reena Prasad further says:

“To read an international anthology of poetry is to glimpse how life
treats people in different parts of the world. Each time the twenty
six letters of the English alphabet are rearranged into silences, into
music and thrown into dance moves using a refreshingly unusual grammar
and unique structure, our limits of ‘English’ imagination expand a bit
more - till all images foreign seem to communicate effortlessly with
more rustic, close to-home voices, literarily yelling to each other
over neighborly walls.” Yes, indeed, this anthology with its varied
themes, carries fragrances from all over the world and they waft
across to us singing the tune of peace and love.

The second part of this anthology focusses on poetry, and has some
immensely great poems, which refuse to leave the mind, even when one
has finished reading the poem. One such poem is by Christopher
Chiwanza, from Zimbabwe. This sensitively written poem touches one to
the core. In one stanza he says:

“And I’m going to teach our son

Not to be man first but to be human first with women

And I’m going to teach our daughter

Not to let patriarchal pretenders usurp her greatness

I’m going to wring apologies from every patriarchal man in this world

Until they ring in the echoes of truth and sincerity

Because woman, you deserve to be deserved

You deserve to be served

A buffet of love, respect and honour”.

The poem which completely bowled me over was A Boy and a Girl Sat By A
River, by Joanna Sarah Koshy, India. Its narrative style transported me
back to the classical poets, and I found myself reading it aloud.
.Here is one poem which enchants by its mellifluous strains, and
here is one young poet all set to create waves in the literary world.

I read the almost hundred page prize winning poem Oh Hark ! with a
finger –in – the mouth awe. Intrigued by its weird characters, I found
myself chanting with the three witches and the selfie scene had me in
splits.

Let me congratulate the indomitable editors, Dr. Ampat Koshy, Reena
Prasad, and Michele Baron for enriching the literary world by this
praiseworthy effort. It has something to suit all sensibilities.
Soothing and sensuous, sublime and stunning, it is pregnant with the
promise of proving a wonderful companion in long journeys, and a
permanent part of one’s book-shelf. The poems enthuse and energize,
initiate and inspire, stimulate and stir, throb and titillate, they
caress the emotions and soothe frayed nerves. The stunning use of
imagery and metaphor is indeed praiseworthy. Some poems with their
gut-wrenching intensity are like a poetic squall sweeping right
through the literary world rearing to knock down retrograde beliefs
and skeptical mindsets. One has to read the anthology thoroughly to
believe what I, with my pathetic vocabulary , am trying to convey.

Taking into consideration the high quality of the literary pieces
here, it would indeed be gratifying to see this book adorning the
shelves of college and university libraries. The publisher
George Korah, Morph Books, Bangalore, also deserves hearty congratulations
for this stupendous effort.

Hoping to see more such literary magic, some more sleight of hand and
heart from the invincible editorial team of Dr. Ampat Koshy, Reena
Prasad and Michele Baron in the future .

(to be continued.....)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! - with Santosh Bakaya

Worldwide Launch of The Significant Anthology - Learning and Creativity

Worldwide Launch of The Significant Anthology - Learning and Creativity

The Significant Anthology - Michele Baron, A V Koshy, Prasad Reena - Bok (9789382759096) | Bokus bokhandel

The Significant Anthology - Michele Baron, A V Koshy, Prasad Reena - Bok (9789382759096) | Bokus bokhandel

Writing, Theory and the Making of Verse. - Learning and Creativity

Writing, Theory and the Making of Verse. - Learning and Creativity

Samuel Beckett’s English Poetry: Transcending the Roots of Resistance in Language - Learning and Creativity

Samuel Beckett’s English Poetry: Transcending the Roots of Resistance in Language - Learning and Creativity

Curating Micro-narratives: The New Creativity - Learning and Creativity

Curating Micro-narratives: The New Creativity - Learning and Creativity

Reading, the Reader and Readers.

There are several direction one can go in as a reader.

There is that of reading the text carefully and taking into consideration what it signifies or refers to or means and also taking into consideration the author's intentions and motives, as well as what critics have said on a text and its historical context. This is the traditional method and it is one where the reader acts like a truth seeker, trying to please himself as a reader of his analysis that he has got it 'right,' regarding the conclusions he has drawn.

There is that of looking at a text in terms of placing it in different contexts. This is how literary theory comes in. Here we can read a text  by framing it with or by feminisms, Marxisms, psychoanalysis, culture studies, new historicism, modernism, post-modernism, ecocriticism, structuralism, post-structuralism, super-structuralism, formalism, lemon squeezer criticism or close reading, reader response theories, narratology, stylistics, linguistics, discourse analysis, post-colonialisms etc.

There is that of the intra- and inter and transdisciplinary methods of reading whereby we can connect a text not only to itself within or to other texts but also to other disciplines like branches of philosophy of which aesthetics is one, psychology, sociology, eco-aesthetics, theology, eco-spirituality, comparative literature, anthropology, the sciences, new disciplines like design etc.

There is that of studying it in terms of literacies where one compares medium to medium which is really a new approach where, to take but one instance, one would learn to 'read' a book and then 'view' the film based on it in two entirely different ways, and compare the two not in terms of better or worse but on new methodologies of interpretation that are only evolving but are worth following. The beginnings of such an approach can be found in Marshall McLuhan, to some extent.

Jacques Derrida, Franco - Jewish philosopher, deconstructionist, thinker and writer.

In a film on Jacques Derrida made in 2002, the world famous deconstructionist and philosopher was asked about his extensive personal library by Amy Ziering Kofman. She asked him if he had read all those books. He replied 'no, but I have read about four of them carefully, very, very carefully,' or words to that effect. This is similar to T.S. Eliot who once denied having read Marcel Proust as he had not read it with pencil in hand and paper to make notes on etcetera, meaning 'very carefully,' to repeat Derrida again. This also reminds us of Ezra Pound's refusal to read Wallace Stevens and vice versa as it would take too much time. This is true, that great writers and books demand a lifetime of reading from us and it can be very taxing and strenuous, but the gain is immeasurable as ultimately it is the reader who gains most, more even than the writer who often does not know the full significance of his work, of both what it means and what all it may come to mean or stand for.

The reader and the readers are the real kings. Readers make writers great and keep them alive or consign them to oblivion or the trash cans and garbage bins of history. It thus matters that the writer learns to write in such a way that readers come to love his writing enough to want to keep it alive.

To give an example of how to read one can turn to this poem by Barva Paramaz, a Laz poet from Turkey known for being a poet, writer, novelist and writing a manifesto on what world socialist poetry should be like, being anti- Islamic, working with Diamanda Galas, working for the Armenian Christian genocide survivors, criticizing even Marx though he says he is a Marxist  etc. As he told me once in response to my telling him I am a peace loving anarchist, his heart is anarchist but his mind is Marxist. However, this poem of his fits best into psychoanalytic criticism, as a framework for it to be interpreted.

Love Fucked My Mom, Baby

My heart is a swear-word ever after
Which I spit at Love
I vomited my youth to Pain's atlas

Love fucked my mom, baby

My long hopes crumbled up
Mountains tumbled down on my dreams
I kiss Death from its lips

Love fucked my mom, baby

Now shoot me from my verses
Crucify all my syllables
Barbarian cavalcades of my tongue are at full gallop

Love fucked my mom, baby

(c)Barva Paramaz, 2007
(from "Men's Heartbreak Anthology" published in USA, collected by Karineh Mahdessian.)

The love that 'fucked' the poet's or narrator's mom is obviously the Freudian father figure who castrates and that haunts him all his life. This also has biographical overtones. The poem contains in it barely suppressed images of violence towards the end that both historically refer to, perhaps, the poet's own empathy for the Armenian Christians who were killed by Islamic fanatics as well as to an anti-Freudian peace loving desire to be killed rather than to commit the crime of killing the father-figure, though the father figure is hateful. This is the poetry of the quintessential rebel who stands against all forms of authority and tyranny who has a long list of forebear-poets in this like Rimbaud and more recently, the late great Jim Morrison.

In the lyrics of the song found in Francis Ford Coppola's famous American film Apocalypse Now (that is based on Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad and T.S. Eliot's Hollow Men and the Vietnam War)  in a song called The End, Morrison - the lead singer for the cult rock band The Doors who died mysteriously probably of drug overdose at the age of 27 -, puts it more blatantly, from the point of view not of the castrated 'son' who tries not to kill the father but of the one who does not repress or suppress the libido or the ego.

Jim Morrison, American singer, songwriter and poet and the lead singer of The Doors

"The killer awoke before dawn, he put his boots on
He took a face from the ancient gallery
And he walked on down the hall
He went into the room where his sister lived, and...then he
Paid a visit to his brother, and then he
He walked on down the hall, and
And he came to a door...and he looked inside
"Father" 

"Yes, son?"
"I want to kill you."
"Mother...I want to...**** you.

(Morrison screams)"

Sigmund Freud

Those who have read Sigmund Freud's Interpretation of Dreams and his reading of the play Oedipus Rex by Sophocles will easily understand both Barva Paramaz's poem and what Morrison is writing. Freud can surely and definitively be called the father of psychoanalytic literary criticism.

This is why it pays to learn how to read. It makes texts easily accessible to us and also explains why certain kinds of art fascinate us. Here what holds us is the expression in the language of poetry of the irrational or subconscious/unconscious sides of ourselves that deal with sex and violence or Eros and Thanatos, which also find an echo in us as they deal with primary and primal relationships and urges, desires and drives that all of us do not speak of but none of us can deny, as they appear in fractured forms in slivers like broken glass that can cut our hands in our dreams and - yes - in our nightmares and from our past wounds, bleeding but transformed and bringing us (at times, salvation) through their re-making into art and poetry.

http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/doors/theend.html (Lyrics of The End)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2_JHeHcjrIg (The video from the movie of The End.)

Canons | Literature DIY | Dr Ampat Koshy

Canons | Literature DIY | Dr Ampat Koshy

How To Enjoy a Poem: Taking the example of Langston Hughes' 'Harlem' or 'A Dream Deferred .' - Learning and Creativity

How To Enjoy a Poem: Taking the example of Langston Hughes' 'Harlem' or 'A Dream Deferred .' - Learning and Creativity

Indian English Literature, Literary Criticism and Theory - Learning and Creativity

Indian English Literature, Literary Criticism and Theory - Learning and Creativity

Keralite Writing in English-II | Literature DIY | Dr Ampat Koshy

Keralite Writing in English-II | Literature DIY | Dr Ampat Koshy

Poetry and Keralite Writing in English - 1 - Learning and Creativity

Poetry and Keralite Writing in English - 1 - Learning and Creativity

Written on August 18, 2012

The diary of leaving Leaving is not leavings. The landscape of a childhood with its plantain trees yams and creeping bitter gourd vines is the richest source for one's future discovered much later. The language unlearned is a loss. Living in books, printed pages and far away realms of the imagination is not enough, dear Breath Looking at the 'kaduvas' from a distance and not knowing what the others were up to, not being sunk in native soil as if they were oddments, all of it was something that added up to and increased my losses. Not that I don't hate the culture terrorists or the moral police and the religious fanatics but the broadening, widening canvas of colours also loses much specificity. Search for essence makes one lose all sense of belonging. The child now forever floats in an empty sky like those winged seeds, tiny parachutes in which unseen fairies cuddle my 'appooppan's thaadi' with its silvery gossamer filaments so ethereally beautiful, but searching desperately for crannies, places to lodge, safe catchment areas, sheer and mere good ground to call home and flourish but all that's left is the nature of the 'udumbu' Won't you love me? We are different and most of what you are or what I am will never be known by each other separated by languages and customs and rituals and rites and a million other things of strangeness and differences. Yet love me, please - sex is not a construct and touch, taste and smell can create memories - a new his and herstory that can overlay if assiduously pursued an eternity of palimpsests and give us for a while or ever , if destined, a feeling of completeness but even that is not real anymore in these new whorls where the voice I hear is once removed from reality as is the moving image I see, the words are not material; your hands made no paper want to make you blush and the writing is deflected as if by the lack of calligraphy that might have charmingly hid more than it revealed. So, as in under the water experiments for seismic disturbance from a great distance I hear the earthquake faults being plumbed and if everything collapses like the new games that thirst more for destruction than alleviation or value, brownling, my Breath, let us close our eyes and return to our childhood gardens, a little kanthari will spice up our poor man's meal of kanji and salt and a few button onions balance it off while the swing awaits and your ribboned pleats fly in the air already in anticipation of the hands that will push you up up up unreachable into the infinity of the blue sky and the spinning green up there and the white clouds and sunlight dazzling in the summer with crow pheasant calls and kuyil songs the leaves falling down occasionally under the mango on your hair and blouse and skirt. Still the heart beats with restless questions. Who am I? Why born? When to die? What is life? Like the pulse and breath and heartbeat, air, water, food and the other unanswered because unasked question Do you love me? Did you ever really love me? Will you, forever? Eternally? Village girl, can't you see it was that in you that I loved and that imaginary imagined child that usurped my heart leaving me and you helpless, bleeding silently mutual this suffering but endless now my wandering leaving leaving leaving... walking endless roads alone. Is this leaving like leavings? I refuse to acknowledge it.

Organic

Not just the size
the shape
the form
the feel
the colour
the smell
the texture
the taste
the contours

all -
matter

Earthshake

Earth, you are killing
unreasonably
not where you should
but where you want
Have you also turned
human like us?
Please return
to your goddess-ness

It hurts me

It hurts me
only when I think of you
trapped in a body
wordless

Maybe it hurts me more than it does you?

The tears fall from my eyes
like torrential rain
thinking of how
when I go away
you cannot express -
I cannot ever know -
what you feel, then
and when I return
you cannot express -
I cannot ever know -
what you feel, again
and then, thinking of that one day
when one goes away to stay
my chest constricts more
my tears fall faster
even as I pray
that I will not be the one to, first
or you
or she or them
but it may all happen together
though I know such prayers are not answered
so I hope again, that it may happen the other way
you first, then she and then I
but if it  goes the way of nature
then I know it will go thus
I first, then she, then you

Thinking of that
I get upset
but do not know what to do
except to wipe my eyes
go on
as if
there is a choice
when there never was one.

War Plane

War is over
but it is never "Happy Christmas"
anymore, on earth
Copters still fly overhead
Border skirmishes continue
Last night a bomber flew overhead
loud and thunderous
penetrating into my sleep
so deeply
that war seemed  real, its price as steep
as ever, and night its only natural keep.

http://www.rankopedia.com/CandidatePix/35396.gif

Reuel

Can you understand God?
Do you need to? No
For to you He is not the Word.
Is He the Image?
You do not need to understand God
You "live and move and have
your being in Him."
He is for you beyond word and image
in love, in deed and being.

Earth, make me move, under my feet

As earthquakes have an epicentre
so are you mine

Wild, the tremors rip through me
in increasing magnitude
The last one was 7.6
on the Richter scale

The bed was shaking
the lights swaying
though the time was day
and the windows, closed

I wondered if it was Exorcist
and you had come to possess me
lovely in your disheveled state

You are my earthquake
but I cannot stay away
anymore
though the panes are rattling
the pots and pans
haunted by your sway

Whether the tremors subside
or you kill me
I want you there, to make us quake
I want  you, to stay.

Breaking the Rules

When I said she should pay
she went away.

The Significant Anthology

Review of Wake Up India by Shruti Goswami (Bengali poetess)

Review by Shruti Goswami (writer) of Wake Up, India Essays for Our Times by Dr A.V. Koshy & Dr Bina Biswas

A Review:
I have been asked by Dr Koshy to read and comment on the book Wake Up, India Essays for Our Times by Dr A.V. Koshy & Dr Bina Biswas jointly .While going through the book the first thing that came to my mind was that both in our schools or colleges, we have been mugging up the same syllabi and most of the teachers and professors have been passing on the same notes down to us over generations with little or almost no updates to them. Here, I felt we need more teachers like Dr. Koshy who dares to think out of the box and also dares to implement them in his own way.
I am not much of a reviewer. However, I found almost all the topics in this book related to my interest areas, either personally or professionally or as a mere reader who takes interest in a variety of things. In this book, a variety of subjects ranging from population to poverty to land to autism to planning to politics and politicians to environment has been dealt with in a new way. For example, in the chapter where Dr Koshy addresses poverty and creates a new index for it, far removed from what we know as the standard parameters for determining poverty, namely, clean air, potable water, access to health care etc as against the calorific measure of food intake is an idea worth pondering. Similarly,Dr Koshy in his attempt to rationalize the fact that we must be informed enough to oppose development, mainly in moving from the primary to the secondary and tertiary sectors, and that blanket opposition without even knowing the pros and cons of a particular development does more harm than good,is something I heartily agree with. India, as he rightly points out, is a fertile land and most states have double cropped land. Since land is an essential component for any development, crying hoarse at every instance some double cropped land is taken in public interest isn’t really conducive for development and people should be well informed before opposing such a cause. The case in Nandigram is one such glaring example where neither the car factory came up nor the land could be returned to the land owners due to land policies that exist.
Since Ananya has already touched on the autism project which is also very close to my heart due to personal reasons, I would just like to mention that people need to be more sensitized specially in respect to differently abled persons. That, to me is proper education. Dr. Koshy has started an excellent job regarding this and I wish him all success. The plans for his Autism village are an excellent one and I hope it translates his dream into reality. His take on Mahatma Gandhi is also different and while I would say he was a great politician, I am not very sure about him being a great person, having read his book My Experiments With Truth. But then very few people in India actually can dare to bare all in their autobiographies. His take on black and white money and gradual loss of faith in politics and keeping faith in humanism only is something I can identify with and yet, it is educated people who should foray into politics and not goons and muscle men if we are really to have some work done for the people of this country.
I found one thing lacking in areas where Dr Koshy has proposed new ideas. It is the lack of statistical backing of such ideas or the quantification of those ideas. Many a great idea never translates to reality or is not executed due to lack of statistical parameters. I would request Dr Koshy to look into this area in his next edition. With proper quantification, they might well turn into some path breaking ideas.
Dr. Bina Biswas's writings are very concise and a pleasure to read. The feminist in me could well relate to the struggle of the Irom lady and admire and look up to the life and deeds of An Sang Su Kyi. Most people turn the word feminism as a tool to ridicule the fights of women for other women. Feminism is not demeaning the rights of others. It is to restore the rights that women have as human beings and they are for nobody to give. Sadly, most men don’t realize it. Dr. Biswas has also rightly pointed out the plight of the North East people and how they are discriminated against. The issues of E- waste are a burning issue and it’s an irony that countries like USA who are among the leading ones to produce it did not sign the treaty. Another topic, the loss of honesty in today’s world is something I can well relate to. The moral fibre of the citizens of a country very often determines its progress. If each and person decides to be honest, we wont need god men and god women and corrupt people preaching about honesty. Honesty is imbibed during the formative years, and then thrown for a toss because people have started measuring success in terms of money and power and not by the kind of person he or she is.
The book is a must read for people who want to have a different perspective of the same problems we face and for students who are tired of reading the same text books that have seldom anything new to offer.
-----------------------------------------------------------------

by Shruti

Reflections

The houses I stayed in were always full of books, the main treasure my dad and mom had to give me, over and above love, food, shelter, coffee, clothing and education. It was my eldest brother's gift to me too. When I won the Shanker's I got a huge cheque and went to Pai & Co in Trivandrum with him and my elder brother and sister and we bought books to our hearts' content. I did not know what to buy but my eldest brother did. I got my first Tintin that way, 'Black Island', and became a lifelong fan of Herge ever since. Though we were Christians we did not buy any book based on the Bible but when Shanker's sent me the certificate and anthology with my poem in it they also sent me, strangely enough, a book of Bible stories, beautifully illustrated and published from abroad! Four such incredibly unique collections made of unforgettable children's books by four of us prize winners in the same family made up my infant years of reading! As a result I started to live in my own imaginary world and was often found talking to myself. I never wanted to visit the places in the books I read as visiting them in my head seemed a better option, besides which such things were, of course, beyond my reach then. As I grew up my love for children's literature remained. Though led astray briefly by the tortuous language of literary criticism and theory and by the impenetrable density of philosophical language what I really got from years of reading children's books was the ability to write in a clear, flowing, transparent and limpid style that was easy to understand.

While doing my P.G. and my research I found many of my friends going abroad to UK, USA and Canada. I also tried for a scholarship once but did not make it. I did not pursue it by applying for more and more scholarships being tied down by the feeling of not having enough money or by what I now recognize as false ideas of patriotism or rather by a world view that taught me that excellence has no need of the props given to it by things like validation from foreign shores or universities and other colonial crutches. 

A long, long journey later through many jobs, I had learned to read carefully, analyze well, interpret well, and do critical thinking all on my own without knowing such a term existed, for a long while, In all this I was and am like Siddhartha. I was naturally led to writing which was where it could be put to most use and teaching, where its presentation-al and spoken skills aspects could be used. In a way my whole life has been, you could say, not about making and doing but about reading, thinking, speaking, presenting, teaching, writing, observing, describing, imagining, analyzing, questioning, critiquing, seeking and finding etc. But as all things are connected one cannot stay out of making and doing and learning by hands on experience eventually, and remain only in the ontological realms of being and existence, and I too started to 'do,' as the world around me changed from being word centred to technology centred.

I am on the verge of becoming fifty. I have achieved much and will more. I am naturally thankful to all who helped me on the way but most of all to the new technology which made it possible for me to realize what my gut feeling told me, which was that excellence cannot be hid under a bushel for ever, whether it has to face adverse circumstances or not. Seven books old now, my hugest successes have come about, not in terms of money, but in terms of popularity, respect, fame, name and influence, as a teacher, yes, but in more recent times in larger measure through making use of the global reach of the internet, new media and mixed media and not through the so-called to- me- outdated traditional routes of quality validation.

When tempted to get discouraged that I have not got much recognition in places I would like to get more of it in, a little bird on my shoulder tells me the other side of the story, how for a slow learner and late starter, I have achieved much. By writing to my readers directly, that too from the heart, I have carved out a niche for myself in their hearts and won literally thousands of readers. I have not let middlemen interfere in the process, my greatest strength. My books appear in Googlebooks, Amazon, Kindle, Smashwords, Barnes and Noble, Kobo and many other international online book portals and Indian portals like Flipkart, Infibeam and homeshop18, though not yet in bookstores for which I blame not myself but the partiality driven, cruel, faulty world of publication, advertising, marketing and distribution, a system that exploits writers and readers. Many people in all the English speaking countries and even other countries have read what I write in part or full and have liked it. All kinds of big writers and scholars and writing Prize nominees have told me that my writing skills as a poet and critic are extraordinary. Most of all, my readers keep on reading me and keeping my works alive, against all odds, and coming back for more. I am most grateful to them as they are the ones who have really made this whole enjoyable journey of discovery as a reader and writer online exciting and possible. Starting from on journalspace where I used to appear in the top ten often, under five different aliases, and going on through being 'learnertransmitter' to Urgent Evoke where everyone in the community waited eagerly for my posts to appear, to Facebook where I get enough attention without tagging I have proved, not alone, but along with the help of many other beloved friends, some of whom are also writers, that if one gives all one has to what one loves, which is writing in my case, being unsparing on oneself for the sake of what one considers as the best, which for me is the great books I have read by the great prolific authors of the past, the likes of whom are not so easy to find now on earth, one cannot but make it eventually.

With all my love and respect, and written at a point when I am going through what seems to be a trough in my life but is not, I wish this reflection finds you all in the best of spirits and wish you all too all the best.

To all my many readers and sincere and genuine well wishers,

Dr Koshy A.V.

Latest interview of Dr Koshy A.V. by Ajit Kumar for The Criterion

http://www.the-criterion.com/V5/n4/Ajit.pdf

Book Review by Dr Santosh Bakaya of Wake Up, India! Essays for our Times by Drs Koshy A.V. and Dr Bina Biswas

REVIEW OF “WAKE UP, INDIA! ESSAYS FOR OUR TIMES by Dr A.V. Koshy and Dr. Bina Biswas

by Dr. Santosh Bakaya

“Wake up, India! Essays for Our Times” is a cornucopia of 36 essays by two acclaimed scholars of our times; Dr Koshy AV and Dr Bina Biswas.
22 of the essays in this "extremely idea riddled book" have been penned by Dr. Koshy in the first part- The Road to Shangri La and 14 by Dr. Bina Biswas in the second part - Corrective Seeds. Most of these essays have the potential to wake India up from its sonorous slumber, jerking it out of its Rip van Winklesque sleep.

I have no qualms about conceding that as an almost comatose citizen of my sleepy nation, some of the essays made me sit bolt upright in bed , making me knuckle away sleep kinks from my eyes and look at the world undulating around me with new eyes; the vision being provided by these two scholars.

This enchanting eclectic mix ranges from themes such as reservation, ideology, poverty and class, population and land, politics and the populace, corruption, debt, black money, the Grand Narratives, inflation and yes two more articles which delve into the personality of Gandhiji, trying to answer the question whether he was a mahatma- a term Gandhi himself was never very comfortable with.

In the second chapter [pp 4 to 16], Dr. Koshy deals at length with ideology, reiterating that ideologies tend to work only if they address injustice and aim at distributive justice across all borders, but the moment they start propounding systems, stultification starts, and they end up" tilting at the proverbial windmills a la Don Quixote." [p12].

The piece de resistance are the twin essays- the 20th-The specially gifted and Shangrila and 21st - Shangri La-The dream of an autism village in India- which set the mind churning and the heart burning with the ardent desire to shake our comatose nation out of its callous indifference to the needs of the specially gifted, and shame it into doing something for these special children of special parents.
With a heart -wrenching honesty, the author tells us that none has looked at the world through the lens of a differently abled child, and poignantly enough the needs of a specially abled child were revealed to him accidentally; by his son who, he says, has influenced him the most in his life.
"Autism, like death, is a great leveller," he says and goes on to outline his dream of an autism village where money will definitely be used for building up the edifice but happiness, love, compassion, peace, patience and mercy..... will rule graciously and gracefully.

Part two, titled Corrective Seeds , has been penned equally beautifully by Dr. Bina Biswas, having a variety of essays on Irom Sharmila, Aung San Suu Kyi, Jawahar Lal Nehru, Arvind Kejriwal ,Tagore- the poet eduactor, honesty in today's world, dreams vs reality of FDI, the lessons to be learnt from the first war of independence, biodiversity, E-waste,and the future of the Indian youth.
The essay on the Irom lady, in the context of her recent release and arrest is very topical.
How many among the youth know that 'this' iron lady, Irom Sharmila, has been protesting against the AFSPA for the past fourteen years? Caught between the official view that AFSPA with its overriding powers of arresting and killing is absolutely essential and the simmering public discontent, it is human dignity that has been mercilessly bludgeoned in this story of resilience and incredible moral courage. The essay pleads for a repeal of AFSPA, maintaining that "at the centre of it all, steadfastly, inspired by the Gandhian way in a land no longer Gandhian, the Irom lady has gone on, unperturbed, to make a visible dent in the infrastucture of India's democracy,"[p146], and unless her grievances are redressed, India will not be a democracy in the real sense.

I would happily gift this invaluable book to my student who asks,"why reservation?", and to the one who raises a quizzical eyebrow wanting to know who Irom Sharmila is and to the blatantly ignorant drifter not knowing what to do with himself, and yes, to the authorities who are in a position and have the wherewithal to convert the autism village into a reality - into Tagore' s "tangible poem", where love and compassion abounds.

Running as a common thread through these two parts is the theme of Truth, non violence, compassion and the almost obsolete values of honesty and sincerity, which even succeeds in tying the two parts beautifully into a meaningful whole. Honesty, the author believes has almost become extinct in the present world , where we merrily turn a blind eye to injustice and a deafening silence in the face of gross unfairness has become the accepted way of doing things.

The book is addressed specially to the youth who, alas, are breathing the toxicity unleashed on them by selfishness, in a world fragmented by narrow domestic walls, which is smouldering in the fires of orchestrated hate. In the article on the youth of India co-written by Dr. Koshy and Dr. Biswas, the two scholars hope that the youth of the country will move from selfishness to altruism, and with fearless minds tirelessly strive for perfection , and tackle the burning issues of food security, water security,rapid urbanization and education. They hope that the youth , armed with Truth, rationality and broad visions will strive tirelessly towards a world "where the mind is without fear, and the head is held high", "where knowledge is free" and the "world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls."

Hats off to the erudite scholars for this timely and intellectually stimulating book, and also to the publishers Y S INTERNATIONAL who have done a wonderful job. No , the book does not merit "any book or author burning", but yes hints at a fiery annihilation of all negativities that have plagued our country and our youth.
As an educationist who has been dealing with students of all hues, I highly recommend this book for all students and hope to see it adorn the shelves of all university and college libraries.

Published by YS BOOKS International YsBooks Intl Mahip Chadha

Pages: 195
ISBN -13 978-93-837932-0-4
Available at: http://www.homeshop18.com/wake-up-india-essays-our-times/author:dr-bina-biswas/isbn:9789383793204/books/education/product:32548565/cid:10735/?pos=1

Sole (c) for this article Santosh Bakaya 27 August 2014

Book Review

I got this email today to cheer me up  Comes from an eminent scholar and lady who is most probably or rather surely the foremost and leading oral historian in India today. 

"Dear Koshy,

Thank you for giving me a copy of your book "The Art of Poetry". I read it quickly and enjoyed your reflections. I am sure this will be of great help to those teaching language and creative writing so I shall pass on your book to ********* who heads the writing centre at ********** now."

Book launched finally on the online portal homeshop18.com :D

Our book is finally out on homeshop18.com. Thrilled beyond words and thanks to YsBooks Intl YS BOOKS International Mahip Chadha once again. This is a grand debut and unveiling to the world of online portals for this book.

with Bina Biswas

http://www.homeshop18.com/wake-up-india-essays-our-times/author:dr-bina-biswas/isbn:9789383793204/books/education/product:32548565/cid:10735/?pos=1

Our latest book page

https://www.facebook.com/avkoshybinabiswashttps://www.facebook.com/avkoshybinabiswas

My fb page

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Dr-AV-Koshy/232091103474997https://www.facebook.com/pages/Dr-AV-Koshy/232091103474997

Two essays from Wake Up India: Essays for Our Times by Dr Koshy A.V. and Dr Bina Biswas

Our new book's teaser -read and enjoy two essays, one by each of us, before it hits the stands.
The book will be released on August 9th 6pm at Cafe Coffee Day by ColChadha with both authors being present
Tivoli Talkies, Tivoli Gardens & Cinema, Rani Gunj, Bolaram Road
NCC Ground, Gunrock Enclave
Secunderabad, Andhra Pradesh 500003
AT SIX PM AUGUST NINTH, 2014.
ALL ARE CORDIALLY INVITED
Signed copies will be available for buying. Cost: 400 Rs

http://www.destinypoets.co.uk/?p=13051

https://www.facebook.com/avkoshybinabiswas