fledgling

Dear mates, we all know how hard and harsh the handloom weavers' years had been to them. Especially on the rise of polyester, satin, latex, fur, muslin, etc., we have forgotten the long-lost indigenous soft cotton our farmers grow. The cotton, which is when dyed using local organic colours, is separated into thin threads. These are then rolled into yarn and distributed among poverty-stricken handloom weavers of India. After months of hardwork, precision and artistic weaving, the once-plain threads are transformed into beautiful, gorgeous cotton sarees in various native prints such as kalamkari, worli, etc. That's where the weavers meet their true demons. People, especially the youth, are attracted to synthetic fibres which cause immense damage to one's health and the environment. This results in the decline of Indian handloom weavers and lets our culture die. Below is a heartfelt dedication to the weavers written by me- Cracked fingertips are what they are left with Y

Subbu glanced at his watch. It was 9:45 p.m. Way past his dinnertime. He hated the very ticking of the expensive cuckoo clock he had bought recently out of pressure, not able to tolerate his wife pressing on him for it. Tick. Tick. Tick Subramaniyam, better known as Subbu, was a clerk hailing from Bandra. Last night after being hooked on a very interesting conversation on phone, his wife had been soaring in seventh heaven and was so excited that she didn't even notice or hear him narrating the story of his promotion that he got today. Subbu was puzzled. "Why is she acting so weird?, I wonder why..." he thought to himself. He tossed and turned on the bed. After a long turmoil, his mind drifted off into an uneasy slumber. However, the next morning she seemed to be really busy and preoccupied. Before he could blink, she tore through the house and dashed out. Subbu had never seen his wife go in top lightning speed, especially when the job involved going to the

Mary had a Little lamb Who never knew any hate! Mary's poor little lamb, sadly Landed on my plate! Plates and forks clink and clatter as waiters, bustling around with activity, multitask and manage things while the families are chatting and relishing the biriyani while kids devour their plate of noodles. Yes, you guessed that right. It's Hotel Paradise Biriyani! Known for its creamy Irani chai, succulent mutton kebabs and fragrant Hyderabadi biriyani, it has two proud outlets in Chennai, Perungudi being one of them. A piece of Hyderabad in Chennai. The ambience also scores well, having a calm, relaxing feeling. The walls tell stories on the ancient history of this revolutionary dish. As we go upstairs, we reach the main hotel. After a long time of waiting, we receive our Chicken garlic kebab, one of their signature kebabs. It is a creamy, mild, not-so-spicy chicken kebab with a hint of garlic and hummus.Just melts in your mouth. Seriously delicious and

I bolted awake, completely drenched in shimmering droplets of sweat on my forehead. To this moment, I am not very sure what awakened me. As I wearily reached out to my glasses on the oak nightstand, my heart skipped a beat. To my disbelief, my hand passed through the bedside table as if it were made of nothing but gas. Moments later, I found out that it was not only the table that was no longer solid, but also my hand. Ten silent seconds passed. I was really panicking. I felt a warm, misty feeling go all through me, turning myself into a mere blurry haze. I was anxious and also equally puzzled. So I counted my footsteps and tried to make little to no noise. Little did I know that something unforgettable was in store for me. Let me explain. As I tip-toed towards the door , I heard a peculiar noise which went something like, "whoosh-tick-tick-poof"💨👻  With every step, the noise seemed to get closer.....things started to get creepy. It was pitch black outside. Though