A Celebration of Stories from within by creative pen holders.

 We organized a Short Story Competition, and writers caught our eye who paid attention to details and showed incredible skills by portraying their words on the creative plate in front of us. We want to share with you some of the amazing masterpieces that were worth winning. 

1st Winner - Bhawana Sethi. 

The Wellspring Within. 

In the heart of Bangalore, amidst the whir of tech and the hum of daily life, lived Aisha, a middle-aged woman navigating the complexities of family and self. Her days were a carefully orchestrated dance - managing a household, nurturing two sons, and supporting a husband whose demanding job often kept him late into the night. Her eldest, a teenager on the cusp of adulthood, was exploring his own identity, while her youngest, still a child, filled their home with boundless energy and playful mischief.

Aisha’s life, though full, often felt like a series of tasks, a checklist of responsibilities. Beneath her capable exterior, a quiet yearning resided. She meticulously arranged the plates on the dining table, each one perfectly aligned. Her husband would be home late again. As she placed the last plate, her gaze drifted to the empty chair beside hers, a familiar ache settling in her chest. She imagined him there, the easy comfort of his presence, sharing a laugh, telling a story about his day. A sigh escaped her lips, and she quietly removed his plate, the clatter echoing in the silent house.

She longed for a deeper connection, a space where she could nurture her own soul amidst the demands of caring for others. She craved a love that acknowledged her not just as a mother, wife, and homemaker, but as Aisha, the woman with her own dreams and passions. A quiet insecurity sometimes whispered that her own needs were secondary, a feeling that was hard to shake off.

One afternoon, seeking a moment of respite from the familiar routine, Aisha found herself drawn to a small, independent bookstore in the bustling heart of the city. It was a sanctuary of quiet amidst the urban clamour. As she browsed the shelves, a book titled "The Art of Self-Love" caught her attention. It seemed to call out to her, a gentle invitation to explore a part of herself she had perhaps neglected.

The words within the book resonated deeply. It spoke of the importance of self-acceptance, of embracing imperfections, and of recognizing one's own worthiness of love, regardless of external validation. Aisha realized that she had been so busy pouring love into her family that she had forgotten to nurture the wellspring within herself. She had been so focused on everyone else's needs that her own had become a faint whisper.

Inspired by the book, Aisha embarked on a journey of rediscovering herself. She rekindled her passion for penning down her thoughts, the stories and reflections that swirled within her mind. The act of writing became a form of meditation, a way to connect with her inner self and give voice to her deepest feelings. It was her escape, her personal haven.

Cooking, too, became more than just a chore. It transformed into an act of self-expression, a creative outlet where she could experiment with flavours and create dishes that not only nourished her family but also satisfied her own soul. The aroma of spices and the joy of creating something delicious became a source of comfort and joy. It was her way of adding a touch of magic to her everyday life.

Aisha’s journey was not about grand gestures or dramatic changes. It was about small, consistent acts of self-care and self-compassion. It was about recognizing her own value, not just as a caregiver, but as a woman with her own unique talents and passions. She began to carve out time for herself, even if it was just a few minutes each day, to write, to cook, or simply to be still and listen to the whispers of her own heart.

As Aisha embraced self-love, she found that her capacity to love others deepened. She appreciated her family even more, recognizing the unique individuals they were. She found new ways to connect with her husband, sharing her thoughts and dreams, creating a deeper intimacy. She cherished the moments with her sons, witnessing their growth and celebrating their individuality.

Aisha’s story is a reminder that self-love is not selfish; it is essential. It is the foundation upon which all other forms of love are built. It is about recognizing one's own worth, nurturing one's passions, and creating a space for joy and self-expression, even amidst the demands of daily life. And as Aisha continued her journey, she realized that the love she had been seeking was always within her, waiting to be discovered.

The wellspring within, a source so true,

Refresh and renew, what is waiting for you.

Nurture your spirit, let it take hold,

Self-love's the story that must be told.

2nd Winner Reubenna Dutta. 
In the Woods.

She joyfully jumped forward, relishing the cool breeze that brushed against her face. This side of the woods always had a pleasant and calming atmosphere. Although she wished her friends could be with her, it was still early in the morning, and most of them were likely still asleep. With excitement, she headed toward the banyan trees, where she loved to swing from the aerial roots—such a fun activity!

As she navigated between the trees, she suddenly heard a peculiar sound nearby. What could it be? Her mother had advised her not to venture too far into the woods, particularly past the end of the lake. Yet, here she was, once again exploring beyond the boundaries she’d been given. Perhaps she would stumble upon a wonderland, much like Alice!

Bringing her focus back to the present, she scanned her surroundings and was surprised to see a monkey observing her from the aerial roots of another tree in the distance. A wave of concern washed over her—what if it got angry and bit her? Monkeys could be unpredictable! Deciding to be cautious, she quickly climbed down and began to walk away, but the monkey unexpectedly followed her.

“Why did I venture this far?” she mused, a hint of regret creeping in. As she walked backwards to reassess her situation, she noticed that the monkey was mimicking her movements.

“Why are you copying me?” she called out playfully. The monkey paused and made curious sounds, seemingly attempting to repeat what she had just said. “So, you're a bit of a copycat! That’s fine by me!” she thought, amused.

She decided to turn the encounter into a game. Walking faster, she encouraged the monkey to keep up with her, and it did. When she slowed down and began tiptoeing, the monkey mirrored her actions perfectly. She delighted in their playful antics—running, slowing down, and jumping—all while the monkey mirrored her every move.

As she approached the gate marking the forest's boundary, the monkey hesitated and stopped behind it. She stepped beyond the gate and turned back to see the monkey watching her intently. With a smile, she waved her hand goodbye, and the monkey responded by waving back, echoing her gesture.

Feeling a sense of joy, she resolved to return the next day to continue her adventures in the woods, eager for more playful moments.

3rd Winner Ayush Tiwari

The  Last  Day.

In a quiet nd dark corner of the kitchen burst in a brilliant ay of  October morning,  illuminating the whole space, transforming forbidding silhouettes into familiar objects.

Parichay awoke drowsily and lit the stove to prepare the morning. In noiseless movements, he put an owl of water on the burner.  As it came to a boil, he released a handful of dark,  tiny leaves from the eel container and dispersed them to the bubbling liquid,  followed by some ilk.  It was the basic procedure,  but here, a singular magic in Parichay’s hand that led to the most fragrant and delicious constitution of the beverage.  Its profound effect helped him win and nurture the affections of  Megha in their eight years of marriage.  When  asked  about  the  secret  to  such  a  persuasive  blend,  Parichay  declared, “It’s  an  art  and  I’m  an  artist.”  

As the hair turned colour,  Megha quietly entered the kitchen.  It wasn’t until she 

pulled a chair that  Parichay grew aware of her presence.  Greeting her with a smile,  he 

filled his cup and settled on another chair next to her.

“Today is his last,”  said  Megha.

“I  know,”  Parichay replied often.

They  discussed  the  great  and  small  affairs  of  the  world  around  them–  their 

Neighbour Anil lost his cat  (again), and a new mall was inaugurated  

And the rice of lentils had nnoup.  Parichay poked continuously about the frivolities of 

ordinary existence until his attention shifted to he portrait of his father suspended on the 

wall.

“I  should’ve used brighter colours for your hand,”  he said.

“They seem alright to me,”  replied  Megha.

“I’ll keep the finest one today.  Only  the  bedroom  is  left  without  your  picture.”

Megha solemnly nodded in agreement.

By  now,  the  warm  daylight  was  flooding  the  spaces  of  the  house,  revealing 

scanty furniture nd  Megha’s many portraits adorning the interiors.  Reading,  laughing, 

working  or  idling,  these  canvases  seemed  to  have  captured  all  layers  of  her  character—a 

sheer  testament  of  Parichay’s  skill,  his  love,  and  adoration  for  the  Baroque  artist 

Vermeer.

He went bout his house to fetch his rushes,  paints,  easel, and canvas while drawing a few curtains to welcome the sun, ays glorified his artistic triumphs.

Parichay began organizing his paraphernalia in his dream.  It was a simple 

personal space,  most of which was occupied by he wooden bed exuding antiquity 

through its large headboard and the carvings of traditional motifs. A  dressing table littered 

with  Megha’s iridescent glass bangles,  packets of bindis, nd lipsticks,  stood facing the 

bed from the side.  The last object to claim space was a vase resting on a tool near 

the window.  It was early without flowers, but siatic lilies emerged 

from its mouth.

“Fond  memories!”  Megha  cheekily  remarked  upon  catching  Parichay  staring  at  the 

bed.

“And errible ones too,”  Parichay replied with a fallen face.

“Come now,  my ailments raregone.  No  more  painful  reminiscences.”

Having  positioned  the  easel  and  canvas,  he  instructed  Megha  to  pose  on  the  bed– 

half reclining with loose hair nd looking out of the window.  Then,  with most 

dexterity,  the tist sketched her proportions and laid out the hole position. His

palette was crowded with vibrant scarlet,  rose pink,  warm reens d  yellows.  “How 

Pale she had grown when he was ill,”  he thought,  looking at Tegha.  And today it 

seemed as if we moved niintoorm.  The luminescence emanating 

from her hallenged the bright glimmer coming from the window.  Parichay felt s spirit 

rejuvenate her senses.

Breaking  away  from  the  trance,  the  artist  launched  his  paintbrush  onto  the  canvas 

with  great  enthusiasm,  making  quick  strokes  with  a  large  brush  to  block  in  the  main 

subject and its surroundings with an almost magical quality.  The  tints  and  shades  soon 

chiselled  out  identifiable  forms  out  of  the  initial  layer  and  allowed  both  poetry  and 

realism to enter the picture.

The session continued for hours with little intervals filled with eating nd 

conversation.  Sometimes the rush moved boldly,  sometimes precisely,  the picture 

assuming an almost angible nature as a result of their combined effect.  It was hard to 

say if  Parcichay had lost the sense of temporal changes or the whole room had actually 

risen above he space-time continuum,  for nothing seemed to exist outside its canvas. 

The clock was moving as it would,  and the day was passing by,  but the painter nd his 

muse were locked in a higher dimension where there was neither material joy nor 

suffering.  This spell was only broken when he evening, knocked on their inwindowwith

a hue that diminished the lustre of gold.  Megha was free to move now as he was painting 

required no other reference.

“You  should  get  something  to  eat,  you  must  be  famished,”  she  told  a worn-out 

Parichay.

“I’d  rather  just  go  to  sleep.”

“You  have  to  leave  tonight, so  don’t  go  on  an  empty  stomach.”

“But…alright,  I’ll go buy a delicious meal."

Parichay went out to get a substance that satisfies both his hunger and taste 

buds.

He returned sometime later with polythene cradling leaf plates wrapped in 

newspaper pieces, oiled with oil.  A  pungent,  hunger-stimulating smell caped

and into the house.

“Ah!  Chole bhature,”  Megha heard Parichay settle and tie he items. 

Famished as e wahe,  he wasted little time in devouring them.  Soon,  the leafy vessels 

were fluttering in the breeze.

“How’s  the  painting?”  Parichay  asked  Megha  as  he  returned  to  the  easel,  full  in 

stomach art.

“A  masterpiece!”

“Then  I’ll  say  my  life  is  fulfilled.”

Parichay examined the work one last time and gave it the final touch.  The painting 

was finished along with the day, nd exhaustion eased with he darkness. 

Although he was reluctant to go to sleep as it was still early,  Megha persuaded him to 

clean his face and put on a comforter over the lonely bedsheet.  As soon as  Parichay fell

on the bed,  he felt the arkness growing on him.  The last thing he saw was his life 

mumbling something before unconsciousness robbed him of his senses.

The sky was showing pink when  Parichay’s eyes flipped open.  He felt a strange lack of 

all sensory experiences and looked around for its cause. Everything  in  the  room  was  the 

Same as it was last night, except there was no sign of  Megha.  She  had  promised  to  take 

him with er at awn.

Confused,  he staggered to his feet nd faced he dressing table.  In its mmirror

saw his reflection—not standing,  but lying on the bed,  pale and helpless.  Perplexity 

seized.  For a moment, he stood still,  unable to comprehend whether it was a dream 

or reality.  

“Come,  it’s time,”  announced a reverberating voice.  

Parichay turned around slowly.  His woes were instantly gone when he saw his 

beloved wife standing near he window,  glowing lute divinity and beckoning 

him with tender arms.  He realised the truth they both waited for.  Looking one last 

time at her portrait,  he went into her liberating arms.  A  bright cloud of illumination filled the room before the two souls vanished,  leaving behind mortal remains and an art that 

would tell he world how  Parichay spent his last.

Runner-up - Deepikha Barathan.

A small boy enters a Forest. He wonders about all the things around him in the new place. He sees a

tall figure bigger than him and asks Who are you? I am a tree says the figure. Trees are green in

colour, says the boy. He asks what you do here. The tree replies, I absorb all the carbon dioxide and

supply oxygen in return. He asks why you are sad. It says my friend is not there. Some people have

cut him down. The boy suddenly finds an animal running behind him. He too chases it. The animal

stops near a big hill. The boy is about to touch it, but again the deer moves away. Again, the animal

stops near. It runs again slowly in a very tired manner. It stops near a pond and drinks some water

from it. He asks the animal Who are you? I am a deer, says the yellow colour animal. And why were

you running till the pond? The deer replies I was thirsty and ran in search of water. He plays in the

pond and splashes water all around the ground. The deer asks the boy to stop playing and come out

of the pond. The boy never comes. So, the deer pulls the boy out and tells him there is no water in the

forest. All my friends don’t have access to water to drink. The boy cries and asks why there is no water here.

The deer says it is very hot here, and there is no rain in the month of August. He is very inquisitive

in nature, and this quality in him makes him ask many questions. The next question is why there is no

rain? All the trees are cut down, says the deer. He sees another animal and runs to it. Het was playing

with his mother. The boy asks Who are you? The animal replies I am a rabbit. Suddenly, it asks for

food. The mother rabbit says there is no carrot. The baby rabbit starts to cry loudly. The boys ask

why there is no food. It says there is no water, and the plant has withered. He sees a huge Tiger

behind him, and the boy runs in fear. The tiger stops near the boy and tells its story. I have nfriendsnd

here. Where is your family asks the boy. All my members of family members are dead, and my brother is

taken to the zoo. The boy didn’t understand anything and felt very tired. It is almost afternoon

in the forest. He falls asleep below the shadow of the trees. He wakes up and finds himself in

bed. The boy realises that everything is a dream. He writes everything in his diary. Suddenly, his

mother enters the room and finds this diary open on the table. She reads the story and feels about all

the harm done by the beings to the environment. She worries about the dangers that will

happen to her child in the future. We have to save the planet.

So do follow us for more interesting stories and competitions.