LitScape

Y 2018
2 I FEBRUAR
3 I ISSUE
VOLUME

RATHER THAN THINKING OUTSIDE THE BOX,

THINK WHAT YOU CAN DO WITH THE BOX.
 From Team 
editor's note
LitScape

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
These are, perhaps, the best-known and among the most oft-quotes of lines that Robert Frost ever
penned. Yet, they’re also among the most misunderstood—as a close, careful reading of “The
Road Not Taken” will reveal. Throughout history, these lines, and various others, have been an
exhortation for individuals to stand out, do things differently, and be ingenious.
We at Litscape, in choosing this month’s theme of “Inside the Box”, considered how the constant
pressure to think ‘outside the box’ actually leads to a lack of innovation, whereby individuals are
not allowed to simply think as they want to. Every idea is as original as the next, every person
similarly unique—emphasizing on the formulaic ideal of originality and newness kills the zest to
do things the best we can, and because we choose to.
I would like to extend my heartfelt gratitude to all those who contributed to this edition of the
magazine to make it what it is, as well as congratulate them on their achievement. I hope the
readers find the same joy in engaging with Litscape that we do in creating and bringing it to
them. And I hope that whatever road we take in life, leads us to a place where we can look back
upon it to call it the one less traveled by, simply because it was our choice to take it.
- Editor
 From Team 
editor's note
LitScape

“Those who don’t think outside the box are easily contained” This saying is probably something most of
us would have encountered in our life at some point or the other. One would have been constantly told
to be different from the crowd to bring a revolutionary change. But have you ever wondered about
staying inside the box and then try to bring a change? Just follow what others have been doing but in
your own unique way? Seems to be complicated? Well, not anymore. Litscape brings out its second
edition for the year themed “Inside the Box”, a unique journey of multiple interpretations of being within
the box. The issue with its theme gives you a variety of interpretations sprouted out in the minds of our
young writers trying to bring a change by being part of the norm. With a collection of poems, short
stories, essays and photographs, this issue will surely prompt you to stay within the box, and yet be
different from the rest. It is always not necessary to be the change in order to bring the change. And
we at Litscape have proven so with this Febraury issue. So sit back and enjoy the journey we have
charted out for you. Hope you like it.
- Co-Editor
 LitScape 1

‘FULL’Y
EMPTY Pragathi R.
Oh the sweet teeth chattering that was often dismissed,
Or the feigned familiarity to each time I said something was
amiss.  
Like flies plastered on a crumbling wall,
My plight fails to grab the onlooker’s eye.
Perhaps it was the lack of the vibrancy of it all-
Or them merely wallowing in their blissful ignorance.
Explaining you was hard,
Because staring at blinding beams of light, while
Wanting to divert my gaze, putting up a desperate yet timid
fight?-
I could easily comprehend the listener’s perplexity.
Hands would fidget until they scraped skin
And thumbs toggled the knobs of my trivial future,
As my hope dismally ambled into a darkened void.
Growing larger with each passing day,
Wreaking chasms in me while painting my world grey-
My anxiety clawed deep into my collarbone and into my
regularity.
My insides lurched as I grasp my knees,
The laboured breaths ensued-
Tormented by the lingering fear of countless ‘what ifs’.
Just when submitting into my uneasiness seemed like an easy
way out,
The dawn of simplicity washes over me.
Did I go out without a fight having won,
Or with gashes on my arms, and scars bright?
Unaware-
I’m merely left with the immensity of it to mull over. 
 LitScape 2

trapped
Bhavya Aggarwal 

Issue 27 | 234
 LitScape 3

It was a dark and windy day. The sky was filled with black clouds coming together as
if to warn about an impending doom. The leaves were swaying with force and the
road lights had started to flicker. A thick fog had started to settle. The howling of the
dogs could be heard. The roads were deserted and not a soul could be seen. It was as
if the grim reaper had sucked the light right out of the living. I was walking on the
road, with an anemic and bloodless face, a box in my hand. The box was shaking
vigorously as if the thing inside wanted desperately to come out of its prison. I started
running. I was running blindly, not knowing. Just running because I felt something
lurking behind. Something that was ethereal, quiet and elusive. I wanted to run away
from it as fast as I could. I had no place to hide but I knew that if I stopped, it would
be the end. I was tired, I was panting really badly, my legs were hurting but I forced
myself to run. The thing that was following me and was getting closer and closer. I
could feel the chill run down my spine. The object inside my box was stirring
frantically now. My hands were trembling with fear and I could barely hold the box. As
I came across a turn, I felt something grab me by my legs, forcing me to fall hard on
the road. The box fell from my hand and it went berserk as soon as it touched the
ground. As I opened my eyes I saw a silhouette come in front of me. As soon as it
touched the box, it became still. I tried to get up but it was as if my body wasn’t in my
control anymore. I couldn’t feel anything. The silhouette took a more detailed form. It
turned towards me and looked me right in the eye. It opened the box and in it was a
breathing heart. Suddenly I felt an excruciating pain in my head, as if my soul was on
fire. Everything went blank for a second and then suddenly I got up. My heart was
pounding really hard and I was sweating all over. I was relieved to realize that it was
only a dream. But somewhere in my mind I knew that this was true. Deep down,
somewhere, an evil pernicious entity was trapped and of that I could do nothing.

Issue 27 | 234

STUCK
Vansheeka C Verma
My wife sobs beside me. And I? I want to
comfort her, I want to hold her hand for
one last time and tell her to stay strong. I
want to tell her how much I love, her but I
can’t; I don’t have time anymore. I have
been dead for forty minutes now.
I used to read it in papers, how your brain
stops functioning first and your heart
stops beating an hour or so after that. In
some special cases, it’s vice versa. Your
brain isn’t dead even after your heart
stops. Turns out, it isn’t actually special—
it is an existential horror when you
experience it yourself. I know things
around me—I know when my heart
stopped, when my pulse went down, how
my body lost all heat, and I became just a
shell of flesh with my soul caught up
somewhere inside of it. This is scary. I
remember things. I can hear people talk
but I cannot do anything. My brain is
getting slower by the minute, registering
things, but that is only stretching the
agony of death. Looks like death is taking
its own sweet time tugging at my brain
wires.
LitScape 4
Then he walks in. I can easily make out his
heavy voice. His breath must have been
laced with the stench of alcohol, as usual.
He must have laid a finger on my body.
I’m pretty sure he is crying. He should,
according to societal norms. This stranger
I am talking about is my business partner,
my other half, my secret keeper, my
blood brother and my murderer.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers to Kacey, my
wife, who is sobbing uncontrollably. “I
came as soon as I heard.”
“Sure you did!” booms a voice from
behind. I can detect sarcasm dripping in
the harsh tone.
“Kacey, could you give us a minute?” he
says softly.
She leaves. I can just make out the last of
her receding footsteps as the unfamiliar
voice continues, “Mr Bill Stems, seems
like your brother was murdered.” I’m half
thankful. My hearing abilities are waning
by the minute.
“Murdered?” my shocked murderer
hedges.
“By you,” the voice states bluntly. I’m
assuming it is an officer, his voice
hardening by the second.
I wish I could have smiled. That brat
deserves to be jailed. They’ve caught him.
Yes!
“By me? What non-sense!” Bill stammers.
“What do you think? The legal system is a
fool? We found the poison you used to kill
him and where you got it from. Seems like
your people aren’t that loyal after all,”
The officer gloats.
 LitScape  5

“There  must be some mistake.” Bill is sweating. I know he is.

My brain is receding. The voices are becoming mere whispers. I don’t have more than a
few minutes. I want to hear them take him away. You’re caught, Bill! Good luck explaining
it to them!
“Cigar?” the officer offers.
“There is some confusion.” Bill whispers…or not. I don’t know.
“Calm down, kiddo! I’m not here to throw you behind bars. I have had my share of those
good old days, when I had nothing to worry about. I’m an old man now, I have needs. Fifty
thousand dollars—that’s all that I need to keep my mouth shut. I’ll hand over all the
evidence to you, but after you transfer the money to my account. Then we can shut your
brother inside one of those beautiful wooden boxes and seal the lid forever. You’re happy,
I’m happy. Nobody needs to know what happened—but fifty thousand dollars. No
negotiations.”
Bill is silent. I know he can afford that if he sells everything, and becomes a pauper. He’ll
be left begging on the streets if he ends up arranging that sort of money. This is his hope,
his last resort, but also a great danger.
At last he speaks. And though I try to listen, all sound has finally faded away forever…
 LitScape 06

Have you seen him?

Kanika Dixit

There was once a boy,

His name was Jack.
He lived in a box,
Made of dreams and clouds,
With hope as the ladder to climb inside,
And goodness in his heart to keep him alive.

He believed that the world was warm and cosy,

With people wrapped up in blankets,
Looking up to the stars everyday,
Believing in things unknown,
Because belief is the fuel,
That people cannot exhaust .

One day he wakes up,

To find his home filled with holes.
Burning at the edges where the bullets kissed
The fire was too much for him.
Breathing was an ordeal task,
But he lingered on, wearing masks.

The world could never find him after that,

Or maybe they never searched hard enough,
Or turn stones to look for pieces,
Just kept asking each other,
Have you seen Jack in the Box?
 LitScape 07

C I G A R E T T E S T O
M Y J A S M I N E

SANJANA RADHAKRISHNA 
 LitScape 08

moulded " linto flesh. Every Body

The evening has turned the
has a place, a name, an identity.
cyan sky into a blaze of
Resisting the call of society
receding blue. Naked people
paves the way for anarchy. But
wearing clothes of
what good is a society where
expectations walk through.
there is smoke in the air, chains
The moon rests amongst stars
by your feet, a hollow ghost by
overlooking the robust
your cheek and a numbness to
streets, churning goods into
your lips. There is no way out of
money and money into more.
the box; no way out of the lead
Cars and mortar vehicles pass
encased shrines holding onto
by like smudged paints of
deities who wish to disappear, no
blue, grey and black lost
way out without the peering eyes
amidst the city’s various
of onlookers whispering words
scents, drowning in the
into ears. How do I carry the
pleasant jasmine tendrils. On
weight of all these expectations?
the other hand cigarettes were
Bound by these rules I don’t
held between lips, passed
understand? Entrusted with this
amongst fingers, burnt ash
body I know nothing about? Who
and desires of the beholder on
put me inside this box?
the other made it impossible
The evening ends this way.
to smell anything else. All the
Always. Confusion is a state of
serene beauty and ugliness
mind and conflict, so abundant,
encased in the garlanded
it’s art of the state. The velvet
boundaries of olive vines.
ceiling turns black. The ones
Nothing inside the box is
weak stray, tepid with haze and
special, it is all fuelled by
drift with smoke and some of
desire, emotion and fear.
them, the lucky ones find the
Inside the box there are souls
jasmine in the air.
 LitScape 09

VEDANSHI
MISHRA LOST AND
FOUND
There are voices blurring,
There is pressure building,
I can hear them, erupting in my
head,
I can feel it, gushing through my
veins.

“Out of the box”

The say is the mantra,
But I like regular over large,
I wish to stay in, not barge.

There are times when I whine,

And I know that is the sign,
Of being surrounded by an eclipse,
Spotting the gleam in the mist.

We were told to colour within the

lines,
Then why do the rules change with
time?
I now possess an unset mind,
Tangled in the web of time.

I want to breathe in my own skin,

These voices clogging the dream
gill.
I’m a creature of the sea,
And blue is my liberating
boundary.

These lines are my creative

factory,
These lines mark my individuality.

RIGHT- WING AUTHORITARIANISM
UNCHECKED SINCE BJP CAME TO
POWER?
BY
PRAGATHI R.
A cowardly attack orchestrated by the Shri
Rajput Karni Sena (SRKS) on a school bus in
Gurgaon, Haryana on the 24th of January, as
part of the protest against the release of the
film Padmaavat has fuelled utter disbelief
and widespread condemnation across the
country.
Karni Sena is a social organization which started out
as a Rajput association demanding reservation in
government schools and jobs on the grounds of
caste; it is now known for vandalism, staging caste-
based protests and breeding intolerance. Although
not officially affiliated with a political party, SRKS’s
actions have always made its stance in favoring the
right-wing parties very evident. Rashtriya Swayam
Sevak Sangh or the RSS has long been established
as a far-right political party with an unflinching
ideology of ‘Hindu’ nationalism. Along with
conservatism and Gandhian socialism, this ideology
also  happens to be on the chief doctrines of the
Bharatiya Janata Party- another party with a
national status on the center-right of the Indian
political spectrum.
The right-wing political parties or politicians in India
are slowly turning into flag bearers of Hindutva and
being very liberal in hurling "anti-national"
accusations at anyone they have an ideological
disagreement with.  mum on this current issue.
LitScape 10
These have also begun to associate the idea
of ‘nationality’ to propagating Hindu-ism, portraying
India as a "Hindu"; the nation that fell prey to the
onslaught of invaders which resulted in the
dissolution of the country's then-dominant religion
and culture.
There has been a notable increase in the right-wing
tyranny and autocracy since the coming into power
of the BJP government spearheaded by Prime
Minister Narendra Modi in 2014. Atrocities by
organizations such as Shiv Sena and the RSS have
largely inconvenienced the public with their usage
of political disorder as means to endorse a
certain religion. As there is not a dispensing of
indiscriminate services and equal consideration for
all castes and religions, there is a threat looming
over India’s plurality and secularism. How does one
propose to run a religiously-diverse nation by
endorsing a single religion, while having evident
disregard for the rest?
Rampant social media outrage along with
numerous journalists and liberals voicing out
their concern for this sort of mindless protesting and
objections haven’t swayed PM Modi
enough to issue a public statement condemning the
attack as well as the perpetrators.
While the BJP social media handles don’t tire from
praising the Prime Minister and his
initiatives on a daily basis, they have chosen to keep
LitScape
Presents to you the minds
 behind the pages...
Co-ordinators Publicity & Marketing:
Malavika Mohan Nimisha Singh
Riya Chauhan Dhanusha Koshy
Tamanna PM
Chief Editor Tapasya Vohra
Akankshya Subudhi
Photography:
Co-Editor Shivaashish Sabesan (Head)
Chaithanya Nair George Cherian
Ramapuram(Head)
Proofreaders: Lavanya Nathany
Preksha Bhatia (Head) Aritra Sikdar
Sunaina Sanjay Ullal Bhavana Karthik
Kanhai Parasharya Pranesh S
Disha Gupta

Content Writers: Graphic Designing:

Kanika Dixit Madhuvanti Ramesh
Sanjana Radhakrishna Angelina Elma Naomi Morrison
Vedanshi Mishra Sanchit Tuli
Bhavya Agarwal
Vansheeka C Verma