Fablery Newsletter Issue No.

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Editors Note
As it is every writers dream to get her/his writings published and there are thousands of worthy stories out there that are waiting to be heard, we wanted to create a platform for those stories so that they wont remain unheard. Hence, Fablery happened. Last year, we limited ourselves to short stories that are about 5,000 words or more, as a result many fiction writers across the globe wrote to us requesting to accommodate writings with fewer words. So, we decided to circulate a newsletter every month containing interviews of literary figures, short stories, poetry and various articles related to English literature - to all our readers. We believe it will become yet another medium for writers to reach their readers. We hope you find the contents of this newsletter to be informative and entertaining as well. We invite short stories and articles related to literature for our next (newsletter) issue. You may send them to contact@fablery.com. You may also write to us if you want to advertise on our website or got a query regarding the services we provide to writers.
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Nethra A, Chief-Editor, Fablery.com Based in Bangalore, she obtained Masters in Business Administration this year and is a graduate in Computer Science & Engineering. She is a voracious reader and a fiction writer, who puts quality writing over everything else. Her interest in good stories and writing made her start a platform, Fablery.com, which provides aspiring authors a gateway into the publishing world. She is also working on her novel that she hopes to complete in the near future.

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A Short Story Writing Competition

Fablery in association with Lifi Publications presents another short story writing contest. Genres: 1. Romance, 2. Suspense & Thriller, 3. Horror, 4. Paranormal, 5. Humour, 6. Action & Adventure, 7. Philosophical and 8. Occupational Jury: 1. Ritu Lalit, Author 2. Nethra A, Chief-Editor of Fablery Prize(s): Top ten entries will get published in our anthology (Paperback) and will also receive goodies from Fablery. Word limit: 7,000 to 10,000 words. Deadline: 30th July 2013. For more details regarding the contest, log on to Fablery-2013 Ritu Lalit, Author Ritu Lalit is a post graduate in English Literature from Delhi University. Her short stories have been published by CBSE and other publications. She is also an avid blogger and posts frequently at her blog. Her debut novel A Bowlful of Butterflies has been publish-ed by Rupa & Co. Her second novel, Hilawi, a fantasy thriller was published by Popular Prakashan, and her recent novel Chakra: Chronicles of the Witch Way was published by Authors Empire.

in Historical Context

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Superstar By Pooja Sharma Rao

Trishna enjoyed her morning walk in the park every day; it was here that she planned her day in her mind; chose phrases for her next column and listened to her favourite music on the I-pod. Most of the other walkers in this park were elderly couples or youngsters, none her age so she was often the odd one out. Though unlike in her teen years, she was at ease with this anonymity because it provided her the privacy she valued so much. Shail, her husband was away on a business trip and Meeras hours in London were awkward to call often. So Trishna basically had all the time to herself. She remembered when Meera was a baby, how much she wished to have some 'me-time. This walk in the park was a rare luxury and so was her writing. A few walkers had gathered near the corner bench of the park. A cursory glance revealed nothing more than a bundle of rags under the bench. But the bundle seemed to be shivering and mumbling. Two young boys gently pulled it out. A bedraggled grey-headed man was now looking at the people around him like an animal from a cage. Trishna had always feared destitution; to be abandoned and homeless, to be without a family or roots. So she felt compelled to help people
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like this man and take them to the nearest shelter homes or more often to an NGO run by a friend. As the boys tried to speak to the man and give him a bottle of water, he looked up. Trishna felt the ground beneath her feet sink. It was him. A faint, distant image of the superstar he was decades ago but definitely him. She didn't remember what she said next. The two boys and her driver had helped him in to the rear seat of her car. She didn't have the courage to look back even once during the drive as she took him home. Once safely back home, Trishna instructed the cook and the driver to feed and bathe the old man. She called Shail immediately. He was as surprised as her but far more composed. Shail was the only one in her life to know about him. He suggested that she should look up online for family, friends or anyone she knew from his past and if everything else failed then call the police. She searched online and found just a few fan pages or links to his films. All impersonal. She knew his first wife had passed away and the second one had publicly disowned him after the bankruptcy reports. He had no siblings. After a lot of searching, she found out the contact details of Prakash Chaudhary, his old solicitor. The only person she remembered clearly from back then. When she mentioned Rakesh Kumar to him over the phone Mr. Chaudhary narrated a long tale

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of Rakeshs financial and film disasters. The last he had heard was that Rakesh had become a sanyasi somewhere. He didnt have any clue about any one related to him. It was almost afternoon now, she tip-toed towards the guest room and peeked through the half-open door. He was fast asleep. Trishna metamorphosed into the 8 year old little girl peeping into the octagonal seafacing room. It had no bed but was completely padded in a deep mattress. Large blowups of the handsome star adorned the walls. Electronic gadgets, film magazines, cigarette packets were carelessly thrown on the floor. Trishna was the only staff kid allowed into the sanctum. She remembered the night of the party so well, even though it had been almost 30 years since then. It was a huge party; another of his films was a golden jubilee. Rakesh Kumarthe superstar, the charmer, the man she idolised was celebrating the success. Fans kissed his car and lined the road, cheering and chanting his name. Her mother - always dressed in her best saree for these parties - supervised the menu and gladly played hostess. Once all the guests left, songs from his latest hit film would still be blaring. He would sometimes share an ice-cream with the staff kids or teach them his signature moves. The real man, who would always hide behind his film star image, smiled his real smile. Only in these brief moments they were one happy family. Later that night their dream had ended. She heard her mother sobbing and packing
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their stuff. Next morning they left for Nainital. She was put into a good school there. He paid for everything they needed till her mother took a new job. Trishna would often find letters from him for her mother in the mail and more regularly the money orders. For a few years she accompanied mother during Puja holidays to Mumbai. There they would stay at a hotel and briefly meet him. But once she was old enough to understand the uncomfortable silences between him and her mother she never went there again. Her mother never spoke about him to her but they both knew what that meant. All her certificates mentioned Late Mr. Pradip Singh as her father, but she knew no such man ever had ever existed. She was 23 when mother passed away but she chose not to inform him. She sold the small house in Nainital and went abroad for a few years. Now, with Shail and Meera in her life, she had erased him completely from her memories. The doorbell broke her reverie; it was their family physician - Dr. Dey. She could trust him not to share this secret with any one, especially the bite-hungry media. She knew that if word got out, the gossip hungry media would come swarming to have another juicy scoop on how badly the mighty had fallen. Unlike the people in the park, the cook and the driver, Dr. Dey seemed to recognise him instantly. He looked at Trishna questioningly. He couldnt believe that it was really him, the

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legendary superstar. His drunken brawls, his fall from grace and his cancer were all open secrets. She told Dr. Dey that he was her mother's old employer. The doctor suggested rest, a good diet and a few tests; initial check-up indicated an advanced stage of cancer untreated for long now and dementia. When Shail arrived next morning, they immediately went to see Rakesh. He hadnt spoken a word since he was brought there. When they entered the room he was standing near Trishnas mothers photo on the wall. He slowly turned around and looked at them curiously. His voice was wavering and his hands shaking but some residue of his impeccable style still shone through, he asked, Is this Sudhas new house? Where is she? I went to her house in Nainital. She was not there. Trishna, our daughter, is not attending her school anymore. She is twelve now. I and Sudha will get married and all will be well again. Those people from the bank have taken the house and everything else, but I still have some money saved up with an old friend, should be enough for the three of us. Holding back her tears she walked up to him and hugged him. Life probably wanted her to accept him now, much more than he had finally accepted her and her mother. She was still not sure whether she had forgiven him but she knew that the healing of an old painful wound had just begun.

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Pooja Sharma Rao She believes she is a poet's soul, who is a writer/editor by profession and a blogger by coincidence. All her formal education has been in the English language and she has a M. Phil in English literature, but her soul babbles in Hindi as much as it does in English. Issues of gender, race, and identity have always intrigued her. She reads Chinua Achebe, Emily Dickinson, Eve Ensler, Paulo Coelho, Salman Rushdie and Khaled Hosseini in the same breath as she does Premchand, Harivansh Rai Bachchan, Gulzar and Sadat Hasan Manto. When not working or reading she writes at her blog and learns life lessons with her daughter. Her writing is about her conversations with life and the pauses in between. It has been published in several online and print anthologies in India, UK and Canada.

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Ten Shades Of Life: Book launch

The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Lao Tzu A year ago, when the first Fablery contest began, it wasnt just the contestants who were anxiously biting their nails wondering if they would be getting selected. The team of Fablery too lived few anxious moments wondering if we could pull off such a venture, getting ten stories of distinctly unique genres worthy of publication. But we had faith in our convictions and began our journey: a journey which reached its fruition this May with the official book launch of Ten Shades of Life.

Ten Shades Of Life In times when anthologies dwell on prosaic romantic accounts, Fablery presents Ten Shades Of Life - ten wonderful stories from ten different authors. Contributors: Miss Cheyenne Mitchell, Monika Pant, Dr Roshan Radhakrishnan, Shankar Raman A, Bruce Memblatt, Karthik L, Reshmy Pillai, Deepa Duraisamy, Vinaya Swapnil Bhagat and Rahul Biswas.

Fablerys first anthology featuring contest winners across ten different genres was officially launched on the 4th of May in Bangalore by Author Preeti Shenoy at Atta Galatta bookstore in Koramangala which
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Issue No.: 1 provided a very cozy and personal atmosphere for the event. Though we had hoped to get all ten authors to assemble together for the first time, professional and geographical constraints meant that some could not make it. Nonetheless, it was gladdening to see authors Vinaya Bhagat, Shankar A, Karthik and Dr Roshan Radhakrishnan under one roof. Following the cutting of the ceremonial cake, the authors sat down alongside Editor Nethra A and Preeti Shenoy to have a discussion on the thought processes that went into making their individual contest entries. Preeti shared her experiences and motivations while writing a novel while Nethra spoke of what she looked for while reading the numerous entries that arrived throughout the contest. The authors also answered questions from the audience and read snippets of their individual stories, giving everyone a preview of what they could expect from the stories. The authors then moved on from the event hall of Atta-Galatta to the wonderful homely atmosphere of the main store where they obliged all those who came with personal auto/photo-graphs. It is with immense pride that we noted that all the books meant for the book launch and for the store were sold out within the hour. For photos of the book launch, Click here. You may acquire your copy from any one of these ebookstores: Flipkart.com, Infibeam.com, HomeShop18.com or BookAdda.com
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Preeti Shenoy She is a writer and painter based in Bangalore, who has authored four top selling books in India named, 34 Bubblegums and Candies, Life is what you make it, Tea for two and a piece of cake and The Secret Wishlist. She was recently listed in Forbes India celebrity 100 long list.

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A Dinner With The Son By Yasaswini

Kamala was a little annoyed. She disliked getting ready to go anywhere. And her son knew that. But he was insisting on meeting her for dinner today. I am sure youll be happy to meet Sammy again, he had said. Why should she be happy? And who was this Sammy anyway? He was old enough to be the father of the bride and he was bringing home a new girl every month. It really was very trying. Life would have been different if he had just married that nice girl he liked in college. What was her name? Kamala had never been good with names. And it was 30 years ago anyway. What a long time ago that was. She had been sweet and, well, harmless looking. Kamala remembered, a little sadly, that she had made quite a fuss about them getting married. Quite effectively nixed it, in fact. Running between his mother and the girl, Rakesh seemed to have given up on the girl. She couldnt remember him saying anything about it but he had just stopped talking about her. And Kamala had let it go. She regretted those days sometime. That girl really had been quite nice. Why had she taken such an objection to her? Now she had to get ready for this dinner. To meet Sammy. Kamala had already decided that Sammy was going to be quite horrible. Now all that remained was to salvage the evening.

Maybe she should dress up a little. Yes, that sounded good. Shanti! she called out to the live-in maid. More companion really. Shanti bustled in, giving the impression of brisk but kindly efficiency. Shanti, bring me that new purple sari that the neighbours gave me. I want to wear it when I go out tonight Shanti stood there blinking a little. Kamala got irritated. Why are you goggling at me? Go get the purple sari. Dont you remember? The one they gave me two weeks ago. For their daughters wedding. I kept it aside so I could wear it on a special occasion. So bring that now. I cant really move about too well, or Id get it myself Shanti returned after a few minutes and silently left the sari on the bed. Ah, thank you. This is exactly the one I had in mind. But it is a little fragile looking, I see. People dont make good quality stuff anymore. Even new saris look as if they are going to fall apart very soon. In our time, we could wear the same sari for 6-7 years and it would still look new. This one looks like someones worn it almost every day for 20 years Shanti didnt say anything. She just looked a little relieved. Kamala dressed quickly. The dinner went surprisingly well, though, and Kamala took to Sammy. At

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least she was of a sensible age, thought Kamala, with a sigh of relief. Had grey hair and everything. It would be so nice if they settled down together. Rakesh hadnt yet realised how inconvenient it can be to live alone. They drove her home and Sammy insisted on escorting Kamala to her doorstep. Kamala had been quite touched. Sammy? Whats your full name, by the way? Samyukta Lovely name. I used to know someone by that name, did you know? One of my sons friends. Between you and me, she said, lowering her voice, His first love, really. You should have seen the way he used to go on about her! But they were young and just out of college. So things didnt work out, said Kamala happily distorting the truth And now here you are. It was really nice of you to come all the way up. Really nice! Not too many people care about such things anymore. Thanks! And just before stepping in, Kamala turned around and said impulsively I really like you, you know? I hope you two get married someday. My son is lucky to have you in his life. Sammy looked a little confused and shocked. Kamala realised that she had been indiscreet. But she really hadnt been able to resist. And it had been a most comfortable dinner. By some lucky chance, everyone had ordered only Kamalas favourite dishes. The girl managed a smile and waved goodbye.
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When Sammy returned to the car, she looked at Rakesh. She told me that she would be happy if we got married Rakesh gave a twisted smile. They both sat silently for a bit Dont you think she should come live with us now? asked Samyukta suddenly. What if she stops recognising even you one day? You never know with this condition, right? Yeah, you never know, said Rakesh tiredly. Just odd, when you think about it. We had to work so hard to make her say the exact same thing 30 years ago

Yasaswini She grew up in Chennai and did research in biology for a while. After a few years, she left it to become a schoolteacher. Now she lives in Assam and teaches basic conversational English to little children after school. She loves summer rains, airplanes as they land in the night and like writing long, rambling letters.

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Asylum, A Literary Sanctuary

Harsh Agarwal, C.E.O, Asylum Asylum. When I narrowed down on this name, I was greatly criticized. I was told that asylum meant a hospital for mentally incompetent or unbalanced persons. I frowned alright, but kept mum. I didnt justify my decision. To be frank, even I was curious about Asylums future. And today, when people write to me or on Asylums Facebook page that this is the kind of place they had been searching for since forever, Asylum find its purpose and I feel ecstatic indeed. Well, Asylum is a refuge for authors, where debutantes are provided with all kind of services needed before and after entering the Indian Literary Market - something I could do with when I was introduced to the literary world: a helping hand, some guidance in this messy maze and, most of all, motivation. I had always wanted to start something like this but could do it only after I resigned from my previous jobs.
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Harsh is a young writing enthusiast who made his debut in the publishing industry at the age of nineteen. An excursion of insight is his second novel. Harsh, basically a third year Mechie from NIT Assam, is a voracious reader, a professional freelancer, and a book-reviewer as well.

Issue No.: 1 At Asylum, we provide editing services and internships and, of course, the commissioning projects. We are also a literary agency. The first project of its kind was completed recently and it will be out in the market in the near future Other similar projects are in the pipeline, of course. Registrations for Say it with ink are over and the response was tremendous. Now, we are waiting for the judges to make their verdicts known. The theme is wonderful and I sincerely hope it will spread positivity in readers. The motive of Asylum has been to create quality fictions and we are trying our best to provide good stories to readers, who desperately look for the same. If you are one of those nice readers I am talking about, I bet that you will like our work for sure. And if you are a budding author, Asylum awaits you to turn your dreams into sparkling reality.

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A Journey To Amen! By Sharanya Bhattacharya

Once a day I got in train, With a heart full of desire. And then kept thinking, what it'll be, As cool as water or as hot as fire? So many people, big and small. Harsh of them are few. And then I saw with a heart's delight, Numerous children extending the crew. Then we got a place to sit, And settle down at our master. After that the train got its pace, Slowly faster and then faster It was night so couldn't see, Where we reached and how? Just could feel the train move, And we were in our first stoppage now In our compartment, there was a family, And we were scattered all through. So, made our beds and tried to sleep, Though I knew, you never have to. There was a boy, maybe nine or so, He played with me all through. He was naughty but I thought, He was sweet and cute too. The next morning came upon, Good or bad I don't know. Just the face, it gave me pleasure, But I was missing you though. Station by station passed upon. And the only thing I knew, Was the open sunrise and the fields That only captured my view
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Sharanya Bhattacharya Also called as Vanya, is a passionate writer and an avid reader. She is basically a writer by influence. She loves writing about situations and everything that crosses her path. A part time content developer by profession, she is also preparing for chartered accountancy, and she loves multi-tasking like teaching and counselling...

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Do I have to explain in words? The feeling I went through The sky went black and then I knew, The rain was coming soon. I passed by fields that once were mine, And I could move wherever I wished. But now they seem so new to me. And they didn't lose their eternal bliss. Do I have to say it now? How much I loved it then? I am again on a train today. Just to bid one thing to God- Amen!

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The Strangest Thing By Aniesha Brahma

Strange things have happened, but seldom does it happen. - Henry Bliss Roshni had waited patiently all night for Dev to wake up. She had been delighted at how effortless it had been to sneak into his room. It was their anniversary today. They had been together for a year now and the first thing she wanted him to see in the morning was her face. She stole impatient glances at the watch on his bedside table. I wonder if the boy ever cleans up his room, she thought to herself, eyeing the cluttered table. Everything had been placed pell-mell on it. His bed was placed at the centre of his room, overlooking a jumbo sized window. Everything looked cheerful and nice to Roshni. Oh just wake up, already, she groaned. But Dev slept on, oblivious to his girlfriends presence. When the Sun rose, the first few rays fell across Devs room, and rested on his face. He stirred a little, and Roshni immediately jumped up from her perch. Happy Anniversary, dear! she shouted joyfully. But he merely grunted in his sleep. Dev pulled the covers to hide his face and went back to sleep. No amount of prodding or shaking would get him to abandon his sweet slumber.
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When he did wake up, almost two hours later, Dev still did not say a word to Roshni. He was ignoring her. And the girl was nearly beside herself with anger and frustration, wondering how to fix things with Dev and racking her brains to remember what had gone wrong previously. Are you mad at me because we got into a fight? she asked him, softly. There was no reply. Dev went through his morning routine of cleaning up and dressing up, and Roshni sulked by herself in a corner. Half an hour later, without so much as acknowledging her, he went out of his room. Hey Marlowe! Havent seen you all night, buddy. Where had you been? Roshni could hear Dev talk to his pet cat. She could almost hear him fondle that stupid animal of his. So he had all the time in the world to cuddle the cat and not a second to even greet her? She had half a mind to storm out of his room at that very minute and shout at him. But fearing the racket may awaken his parents, she decided against it. Your food is in the room, go get it, Dev said, Ill go out for a bit now. Okay? Be good. Meow, said Marlowe. Roshni flopped down on the bed, and waited for the cat to enter the room. He did so in style, pushing the rest of the door open with one paw. His ears were alert, and nose constantly sniffing to locate whatever was making his owners room stink so badly.

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Oh my! Marlowe marvelled when his coinlike blank eyes fell on Roshni. Its you, is it? he asked. And then you couldve knocked Roshni down with a feather. Never in her life had she even imagined a talking cat. Not in the world she lived in anyway. Oh my God! she exclaimed. Youre talking! Marloweshouldnt you justmeow? Well, I reserve my talents, said Marlowe, shaking off his astonishment, But that is rather rich, coming from a walking dead girl! Excuse me? cried Roshni, almost falling off the bed, as though shed been electrified, Dead? I cant be dead. Im sure Dev was just ignoring me. Yeah! Yeahyeah! purred Marlowe, And perhaps its just a nightmare in which you are talking to Devs cat. Right? She blinked her eyes a couple of times hoping it would wake her up from her dream. However, Marlowe was still in front of her, in all his white and brown patched glory and he was even giving her a very questioning look. What? she snapped at him. Arent ghosts supposed to roam around in those white gowns? he asked, tilting his head to one side. I am NOT a ghost. Oh face it, honey, said Marlowe, squatting on his hind paws and licking his front paws. Youre just in denial. Much against her will, she stood in front of the mirror and sure enough, she couldnt see
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herself in it. She didnt have a reflection. But more than the fact whether she was dead, she wanted to know how shed died in the first place. Marlowe, she said, facing the cat, who was now following her with his eyes. Do you know how I died? Car accident, they said, said Marlowe, indifferently, I didnt really pay attention to it. Till I sensed Dev sinking into depression. Dev? Oh my God! Where is he? asked Roshni, alarmed. The usual, Marlowe said, nonchalantly, He went off to that damn park to run. He is always doing that these days. Hes up to no good this morning, said Roshni, urgently going towards the door, I know it in my heart. Dead hearts can feel? asked Marlowe, getting up and following Roshni, swishing his tail behind him. One more word from you and Ill pull your tail off your back. You cannot touch me, good lady. Youre dead. When they arrived at the park Dev was darting around, almost bursting for air, but not giving up. Finally, he fell down on the grass, crumpling. Oh dear God, said Roshni, hurrying towards him, with Marlowe at her heels. So ghosts believe in God now? Just shut up!

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Dev was lying there, face buried in the grass, trying to breathe easy. Roshni placed a hand on his head, and he suddenly jumped. Im sorry. Sorry, he muttered. Im so sorry. Whys he sorry, Marlowe? asked Roshni, curiously. Im sorry I made you a promise I couldnt keep, Dev went on, bitterly. I didnt know things would get so bad. What the hell is he talking about, Marlowe? asked Roshni, surprised. Meow, said Marlowe. Hell! Talk human, you stupid cattell me whats wrong. Roshni, I meant to come on time. I meant to come and pick you upbut I got delayed. And youwhy did you take that damned auto? he wailed. I wouldve been there in five minutes. DEV! He looked up. Roshni wondered whether hed finally been able to hear her voice. But she was disappointed to see another girl walking up to him. Hey, whats wrong? Another of your cramps? she asked, kneeling down beside him. She felt his forehead pushing his sweaty hair back. Dev refused to look at her. He wouldnt look into the eyes of his fellow jogger. Its not another one of my cramps, he grumbled. And didnt I ask you not to bother me anymore. I really dont feel up to socializing.
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Aniesha Brahma She is the author of The Secret Proposal. She is about to complete her Masters in Comparative Literature from Jadavpur Univeristy. She'd pursued bachelors in the same before, and was schooled in Dolna Day School. She loves writing, reading and listening to music, and honestly believes in the philosophy that you should never give up on the one thing you cannot go a day without thinking about. She can be write to her at aniesha.brahma@gmail.com

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You werent in this mood the other nights when she began angrily. Shut up, Keya! The girl got up, her anger matching his, Dont pretend, Dev. Just dont. I wonder what your precious Roshni would say if she ever found out Dont even go there! he warned her. that the last thing her boyfriend did before she died in a freak accident was cheat on her! she screamed as loudly as she could. What? asked Roshni. How could you, Dev? She knew her heart wasnt beating anymore. But whatever was left of that dead organ seemed to be crumbling into pieces. Ill say this to just one more time. Go away. said Dev, through his gritted teeth. Why isnt he denying it? Marlowe, why is he quiet? asked Roshni. Marlowe tilted his head to one side and said, Perhaps its true. Roshni flopped down on the grass beside Dev, who was already torn in anguish. Then, looking at him, she said, slowly, I dont think I want to live anymore. Well, honey, said Marlowe. You already got that wish. You see, youre really dead.

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