Authors


Dr Divya Saksena earned her PhD in English from The George Washington University, USA I 2003. She has taught English and Women's Studies in the USA, Canada and India for over 18 years. She is an avid reader and prolific writer.		 Dr Amita Kapoor is fond of traveling and observing life as it comes, still learning in the school called  World. Her philosophy "Living life as it comes.... No ideologies, no goals, no morals, no ethics, no rules.... Everyday IS". She writes under the penName: Amy Hofstadter and Dunija Rothschild

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Glimpses of Eternity - Part 2

Author: Divya Saksena “ Mad, ” was my annoyed unspoken judgment, “ clearly insane, poor fellow. His people oughtn ’ t to let him wander about, jumping people like this. ” Shrugging my bruised shoulder and wincing at the slight twinge of pain, I too turned away to resume my interrupted perusal of the ancient thermopolium entrance. Slowly, forcing myself to relax, I let my gaze travel over the heat-cracked but still brightly colored paintings of the long-departed owner ’ s family gods on the inside wall of the tabernum , down to the deep, beautifully tiled ovens for the earthen vessels of hot food, waiting so many centuries for the customers that would never come. Were the gods still here, waiting too, for the offerings denied them for so long? Unbidden, an unwelcome picture that I had been resolutely shutting out thrust itself again into my mind. Jerking it away with a toss of my head, I straightened my tee-shirt, readjusted the shoulder-strap of my bag and put my best foot forwar...
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Glimpses of Eternity -Part 3

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Author: Divya Saksena We stared into each other ’ s faces, oblivious of the exasperated snorts and shoves of the populace whose progress we were obstructing. Then, very slowly, he put up his hands to straighten the clasp of his cloak that had gone awry as he had pulled me off the road. He looked around us as though waking out of a stupor and then addressed me again. “ Well, if you ’ re sure you ’ ve suffered no injury, we may as well try and pick up what ’ s left of your basket and its contents, ” he observed. His voice carried the arrogance of a man clearly accustomed to having his commands obeyed and without delay. But I knew I was responding to that unconscious assumption of my compliance contained in his casual “ we. ” He bent down to retrieve the few flat loaves and olives and fruit that had not been trodden on by the impatient pedestrians pushing their way around us. His helmet had tumbled off and rolled into a recess at the foot of the small drinking fountain that gush...
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WE SHARE... Part 1

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Author: Divya Saksena en.wikipedia.org Browning bent his head to his task, methodically scrubbing the gravestone with his handkerchief that he had wetted at a garden water-tap. The sun beat down, its searing rays finding their way through the spotty shade of the few trees clustered in the small churchyard of St James’ Church, Kashmere Gate. It was the first church built by the British in Delhi, and had suffered much during the War of 1857. Numerous monuments to the richer members of the British community stood crumbling among overgrown patches of dry grass. Surprisingly, compared to the other graves, this stone and the space around it was relatively clear of the weeds and thorny plants that sprang up so willingly in the humid Indian pre-monsoon weather. As each letter of the inscription emerged from the protective obscurity of dust, the splintered shards of memory began whirling through his mind.              ...
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