Issue 02, 24th April 2016

DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH

LITSCAPE

An ENGLISH HONOURS INITIATIVE

C
O
N
T
E
N
T
S

Editors Note
03

Hourglass

Ode to the dark

hour
05

Black and White

Our Dear Dear Men
06

An open letter to my
contact lens
11

Art Corner
Colours
16

One down,
Two to go
17

Designers Note
19

LitScape 2

Editors Note
Ideal and Purposeful
We at LitScape are extremely happy to bring out the second issue of the
LitScape magazine - an English Honours initiative. The first issue saw us
make a mark amongst our readers with our eclectic selection of art: our
luminous collection of hazy dreamscapes. Likewise, the second issue burns
brighter in its quest to translate idyllic imagination onto paper and alike
thinking minds. The poems, prose-pieces and artwork are all akin to the
utopic dream space where possibilities open up without the hindrance of
real world obstacles. They are self-explanatory and wait for none at all, yet
they succeed in making an impressive impact on the reader, just like how a
dreamer cannot stop thinking about his neigh impossible dreams. We hope
the readers can revel in the creative space of the artist.
At a time when all of us are enjoying the summer break, and busy with our
internships and summer projects, let LitScape be a reminder of the ideal.
Whether it is the summer heat that gets to you, the unrelenting hours of
your internship or simply a dull feeling of lethargy, let art remind you of
the Ideal and of the thousands of us who are striving for that Ideal. On the
other hand, if you are basking in the delight of the summer break with
friends and family, your great gig and the sunny weather, let art remind you
of Purpose. The Ideal and the Purpose seemingly make up life. Art too
operates on the whim of a purpose and an ideal- a question of what you
want to convey and how beautifully you convey it. Once, a friend of mine
LitScape 3

very profoundly remarked that, The meaning of life is just to find the
meaning of life. I think that was as insightful as it was simple, for meanings
vary between you and me. Let art be the impassive guide to your search for
meaning.
On a lighter note, I would like to thank everyone who contributed to the
magazine by sharing their work with us to coming up with photos and
reports of all our activities this past year. I thank the Editorial Board for
their perseverance in making LitScapes second edition just as successful as
the first. I thank Ms. Gaana and all of our teachers for their continued
support and guidance.
Creativity will always find a home at LitScape, and therefore we extend
invitations to our readers to contribute to the magazine and have their
works featured in the upcoming issues.
Happy Reading!

Meera Vinod
2 B.A. English Honours

LitScape 4

The Hourglass

Ode
to
The
Dark

You come and go in darker hues

Of purple mystical butane blues;
Wakening the nightingale to sing around,
Waiting for the nocturnals to make a sound.
Oh! Beauty of Nyxs stroke
Ingesting the earth in lamplight now;
The fireflies sing of just one songOf your portraits and of your crown.
Oh! Sovereign queen of natures lyreThe other divide to Thalias shire;
Spirits that waltz in your gloomy youth,
Eternally ebrious on your sweet tooth
Assign cards at your overcast deals.
Moirais thinner thread weaves
Embroidering fireballs into my palm:
Lycus warned me of your charm.

And still an hour or so to spare,

And still a venture to dare.
And still is my lovers love affair
The orbs in her eyes do stare;
At Es spreading saffron arms
Divya Chauhan As she rose; curtains drawn.
2 B.A. English Honours2Those that dote upon the truth of black
Are versed with secrets from Insomniac.

Hour

LitScape 5

War Girls
BY JESSIE POPE
There's the girl who clips your ticket for the train,
And the girl who speeds the lift from floor to floor,

Black & White

OUR

There's the girl who does a milk-round in the rain,

And the girl who calls for orders at your door.
Strong, sensible, and fit,
They're out to show their grit,
And tackle jobs with energy and knack.

DEAR

No longer caged and penned up,

They're going to keep their end up
Till the khaki soldier boys come marching back.
There's the motor girl who drives a heavy van,
There's the butcher girl who brings your joint of meat,

DEAR

There's the girl who cries 'All fares, please!' like a man,
And the girl who whistles taxis up the street.
Beneath each uniform
Beats a heart that's soft and warm,
Though of canny mother-wit they show no lack;

MEN

But a solemn statement this is,

They've no time for love and kisses
Till the khaki soldier-boys come marching back.

An adaptation of War Girls

by Jessie Pope LitScape 6

As the rest of the octogenarians

surrounded me and sat down with
eager eyes, I began my tale.
I think it was the year of 1914, I
was stationed in the city of Ripon
of England. I had just moved here
from New York City, a stowaway
from the financial pressures of the
urban environment. The world was
in shambles and the papers showed
that this was indeed the beginning
of The Great War. I was working
as a mere conductor on a train that
travelled from Ripon to Mulberry.
An occupation like that may seem
bland but the inconsistent and
interesting part about it all was the
people. Most of them were men,
with
bandaged
arms
and
memorable faces. An abundance of
expressions with a vast array of
different tales to tell, all pointing
to the act of war. The train would
stop at Mulberry for hours at a
stretch and then take a trip back. It
was liberating to work in what we
knew as the mans world. It

somehow didnt matter that we

women were a mere commodity to
fill in for our dear dear men. My
travels revealed the very inglorious
nature of warfare and the
entrapment of women caused by it.

Mulberry was a small town in

Eastern England that served as one
of the refuges for wounded soldiers
transported there from the
battlefield.
The
common
population primarily consisted of
women as most men were called
out to war. I made quite a few

friends there. I remember these two

girls Nina and Arabella.
The former was working as an
operator of the elevator at the train
station while the latter used to
cycle around town, selling milk to
anyone who cared. The two of
them had such enthusiasm about
their jobs theyd talk about them
all day. Nina would talk to me
about the tiny tales of grit shed
overhear from generals traversing
in the elevator. Arabella would
describe tainted souls shed notice
when shed sell milk to sad women
who never heard from their
husbands again. Another girl; I
seemed to have forgotten her name,
was working as a servicewoman,
taking orders from soldiers and
generals at the station about
sending a letter or two to different
offices. I would meet her on the
train, when shed collected enough
letters and was waiting eagerly to
resume her job as we reached the
station. These women felt

important. Rather, were made to

feel so but who cared? On the train,
there would also be an assemblage
of supplies of resources that would
travel from Ripon to Mulberry. A
woman named Georgina would be
standing right next to the meat
supplies throughout the ride. She
was smart and funny and seemed
like the kind of lady men would
put their hearts on the line for. She
would tell me about how she
would travel around town in a
heavy van driven by her companion
Eugine and would sell portions of
meat to shops. When Id tell her
that she fills the shoes of a man
perfectly, shed remind me that we
are women. Her eyes would tell me
that we are women; we dont need
to be men or fill in their shoes.
We are women, we wear our own
shoes. She once told me about a
friend of hers, Anna. Anna was the
kind of girl who used to whistle for
taxis. Anna was the kind of girl
who used to play in the mud. She
LitScape 8

did everything so perfectly that

these characteristics were owned by
her. They werent things that boys
would do but they were things that
Anna would do.

All these women had one thing in

common their service to the
nation. They were each strong and
full of intellect, as they struggled
through their lives, pleasing the

government while the dear dear

men were shot down like animals
out on the field. But that did not
stop them from doing their part for
the nation. It did not stop them
from waiting. You see, people
make a terribly common mistake
when they believe that it was just
the men who were fighting. The
men were the important ones, the
papers used to say. We women
seemed to walk by, unnoticed.
Little did they know that we were
fighting back here in the town as
well. Maybe not with guns, but
surely with our physical efforts to
ensure that the economy stayed
stable, men stayed fit and the war
was won. Beneath all our uniforms,
our hearts and minds were termed
as soft. The feminist movement
that we know today did not exist
and we were sure as hell put back
in place once it was all over,
confined. It would only be a dream
for us women to fight at the war
front. While the men had war
glorified for them, it was the
LitScape 9

opposite for us. There was still this

longing that I felt. There was no
other emotion I could feel. I
needed to feel. The war made me
feel.

anything other than for it to end. If

I would ever be asked to choose a
friend, it would be her. If I would
ever be asked to choose a lover, it
would be her. But hush!

We did not have a lot of time for

ignorant emotions such as love.
The only conversations we would
have would be through our jobs or
during meals. Despite all this, I
vested a human mind in myself that
could not help but get attached to
someone with the same tale as me.
Lydia was a beautiful young
woman, working in the same
position as me on the train.
Spending hours every day with her
allowed me to understand her
better. Her husband had been
killed in the war and she was
working on the train to support her
family. While I had a longing to
pick that gun up, she was eternally
furious at the war and did not want

There was one day when I called in

sick, and did not board the train.
That was the day the war injured
me more than what was sustained
by any soldier. That was the day I
felt. Lydia was on the train when it
was bombed by a German airplane.
Most of us were like her, really.
Although we enjoyed the
temporary importance we obtained
through our occupations, we
wanted the war to end. We had no
time for love and kisses till our dear
dear men, the solider-boys of the
nation came back for us. Came
back for us to sweep us off our
feet?

- Anney Roy
2 B.A. English Honours2
LitScape 10

An open letter to my
contact lens

- Osheen Pathak
2 B.A. English Honours2

LitScape 11

Dear fresh look sapphire (-3.50),

Its not easy being with you. To
begin with, you were really
expensive. You are uncomfortable.
You need constant care and
attention and yes, there are times
when I wish to live in a parallel
universe where you were not a
biological obligation for my
myopic cornea. But all said and
done, I am glad I have you, and I
know I act ignorant, I know I often
ditch you for a flimsy pair of
glasses but I just want you to know
that you bring out the best of me
and I love you for that.
I remember back in high school
(which was when you and I were
strangers) I was just this shabby
little girl with messy hair and a
nerdy pair of glasses. I sat on the
last bench to avoid any human
interaction. I used aggression as a
strategy.

I intentionally did not have any

friends. Not because I was too
proud or too fancy. I was just
scared. Scared of what? I was scared
of people. Cause people talk. They
tell stories and ask questions.
Well, to keep it simple, I was
scared of questions. What
questions you ask? All sorts of
questions my friend, all sort of
questions which I did not have any
answers for. Or even if I did, they
were answers that held the power
to shatter my peace of mind. I was
a troubled little girl back then. I am
still a troubled little girl but I have
learnt the art of smiling and
nodding.
I saw the world through my
smudged black-framed glasses.
The clarity of my perspective, it
seemed, was completely dependent
on this cheap plastic frame on my
nose. I felt like I was, biologically
and otherwise, deprived of a basic
human need. When you cant wear
LitScape 12

sunglasses without bumping into

the table cause you are basically
blind without your glasses, when
you cant swim in the sea without
melting the sky into the ocean
cause your vision is blurry, when
you cant stand in the rain, when
you cant dance, when you cant
run, when you cant kiss without
being hesitant, you cannot exist
without needing this certain article
and as a consequence you tend to
lose a certain sense of self, you start
thinking less of yourself, you feel
incomplete and its not long before
you lose your confidence. Hey!
Dont get me wrong, I completely
understand how I sound right now.
I know, I know worse things
happen every day and I should be
thankful because I am blessed with
more than most. But in my defence
I am a teenage girl in a very bad
economy. I believe I have a licence
to have my moment of weaknesses.
My moment lasted for years
together but thats a totally

different story, a totally different

scar.
Last year when I came to college, I
cut my hair above my ear, had
unusual piercings and a revolting
tattoo in an unlikely place. My
isolation was bleeding into my
personality. My mind had become
a confused and chaotic place. I
desperately wanted acceptance and
I was not ready to accept that I
wanted acceptance. Funny thing is
I wanted people to like me but I
made no effort to make myself
likable.
One day, for a photo shoot I was
introduced to you. At first, I felt
really uncomfortable with the
concept of sticking a wet and sticky
piece of plastic in my eye (please
dont mind) but I had a little say in
my professional environment. You
were worse than I thought you
would be, you were stubborn you
know? It took me a good 20
minute to put you in and that was
not the worst part! You burnt and
LitScape 13

itched and made my eyes all teary

and red but that only lasted for a
few minutes. I felt normal
physically but I believe I felt
conscious of your presence and
that made me uncomfortable.

a frame, I was looking at the world

in its entirety.

He took a seat in front of me and

said, You have really pretty eyes.

After that day you and I became

inseparable. People loved us. I
loved them. I was finally making
friends! I was so happy with you
that I became obsessed with you; I
owned all your colours and brands.
Sometimes Id have eyes as calm
and blue as the sky and someday Id
have green exotic and mysterious
eyes.

There is nothing amazing about

that line but I remember feeling
this immense satisfaction after he
said that. The guy went on flirting
with me for a while and I just
smiled and nodded which is, as I
mentioned before, was an art I had
mastered. After he went back and
we were packing up to go home, I
looked at myself in the mirror with
you and decided to keep you. That
day I felt more than content with
myself. I walked differently, I
talked differently; it didnt feel like
I was looking at the world through

We were becoming the talk of the

campus. People wanted to talk to
me and I felt that for the first time
I was not scared of questions so we
talked and laughed and smiled and
nodded. It was all well and good.
But it didnt last long. I realized
eventually that you were simply an
illusion. I am still the same girl and
I still had my insecurities. The fact
that the one good thing about me
is synthetic eating me up. Did I
reduce myself to the colour of my
iris? Was I that desperate for
acceptance?

I finished the shoot, I was not very

good but the photographer smiled
at me. He walked up to me later as
I was about to take you out.

LitScape 14

I became frustrated and angry. I

ditched you and sent you to the
bottom of my drawer and wore my
old cheap plastic glasses like a
crown made up of thorns. One day
I was walking through the campus
with my head hanging low when I
bumped into a classmate and she
started making small talks on our
way to the class. I was smiling and
nodding when she suddenly said

myself to the colour of my iris; I

had reduced myself to my
insecurities
regarding
my
disabilities of sight.

You have such perfect teeth, I

wish I had teeth like yours and she
flashed me her not so pearly whites.

It feels good to come in terms with

my own flesh and it feels amazing
to not be scared of question
anymore; fire away because after
all, there is only one question that
matters.

In that moment I realized how

subjective looks are and how stupid
I had been. It was not you because
of whom I was finally getting
acceptance it was because of what I
was with you which made me
acceptable. You made me happy
and people like being around
happy people. I had not reduced

I love you I really do but I have

realized that I dont need you, you
were just an extended luxury, you
are a piece of sticky wet plastic and
I am more than you. I am more
than what I wear and what I do. I
am I, and I am enough.

Are you happy?

Yes I am.
With Love
Osheen

LitScape 15

Art Corner
Colours

Vishakha Sen

2 B.A. English Honours2

Think of colour. And maybe how good life can be if you have someone with you.
But mostly just think of colour and ripped off Google images. Not everything in
life has to be either black and white or full of coulurs. Not everything has to be
original. One of the important lessons of life is to live and let live. Human life is
complex and no matter how hard we try, it is impossible to unearth reasons of
everything that happens. Sometimes the blank gutter between the panels become
our reality an indefinite oblivion of sorts.

LitScape 16

One down, Two to go!

About a year ago, we each of us stood amongst fifty odd faces that we had never seen
before in our lives. It was the beginning of a new chapter. The first emotion which tiptoed
in our hearts was shyness a feeling of innocent fear to be oneself.
It made us retreat to our shell to be safe from vulnerability. Soon came along the
realization that we needed each others companionship to grow and be fulfilled.
While the heart was fragile, the mind was courageous.

Some were conquered by the strength of mind, some succumbed to hearts apprehensions.
LitScape 17

The struggle was real. But as time passed, we understood what it means to be a family. We
found that a part of us belonged to the common core. We shared an identical strain of the
fabric of our being. That was the day which made all the difference.
That was the day when we realized that -

We are one.

LitScape 18

Designers Note
One can endlessly debate about
the consequences of Renaissance
on the understanding of art and
culture, however, for the common
folks like us, its absence could well
have been arts existential crisis.
For the 19th century artists, this
phenomena was a birth of their
purpose in art. It was this logical
and reflective cognizance that they
seeked to counter. These artists
knew well that with each passing
year, reality will bend under intense
scrutiny. I will claim that the
theorists who believed in this
philosophy would be tugged in
their
graves
with
relative
contentment. Reality has become a
subjective term, free from
definitions of popular moulding
and social constructs. The beauty

of abstract art is, that it exceeds the

scope of the names that we have
ascribed to emotions. The
perception of reality is not
superficial, but deep and basic to
the human core in abstract art.
Paying homage to this philosophy,
LitScape will feature a design
which is inspired by it. The
boisterous nerve of the omnipotent
trinity Literature, Nature and
Life throbs with the same spirit of
unpredictability
and
preposterousness that the vague
lines and curves depict. Every swirl
and edge is a transcendence - the
birth of a vision and the death of
an idea that has run its course. The
intricacy in the flow of lines are
like the stream of serenity which
surges in the swathe of literary
landscape. The two points of a line
LitScape 19

are infinite and incomprehensible

beginning or ending determined
by the voice of psyche.
LitScape, quite literally envisions
the land of literature where the
peaks rise and the marshes are
carved from the words that are
rained upon by our readers.
I hope that the readers will find
meaning in the whimsy of the
caricatures of distant reality one

which we have not seen but felt

some time or the other during our
lifetime. I earnestly wish that the
reader will find the magazine to be
aesthetically appeasing; and if not
conventionally pretty, at least,
oddly satisfying.
- Srinjoy Dey
2 B.A. English Honours

LitScape 20

Visit us on Facebook: www.facebook.com/litscapemagazine

Our website is now LIVE!

litscapemagazine.wix.com/litscape

Want to get Published ?

Write to us on

litscapemagazine@gmail.com
LitScape 21