Shades of Life: The Anthology’s Colors (Part 4)

It has been a dream to have a story or a poem of mine published in print. That dream came true when last year, I was selected to be part of an anthology titled Shades of Life. The book, which also features 37 other selections in fiction and poetry, was released in March of this year. While I am not going to review my own story, or rate the book, I thought I’d share my thoughts on the other stories and poems. This is the fourth of five posts.

Index of Posts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

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Poetry

  • The Path of Life, by Monojit Dutta:
  • The poem talks of the poet’s experiences as he walks on the path of life. The depth of poetry can be felt, as the poet uses even personification to make his point. The length of the poem though didn’t appeal to me, but it’s a personal choice, not a universal let down as such.

  • Rainbow: An Ode to Colorful Life, by Rishabh Pandey:
  • The poet not only brings out the colors of the rainbow, but compares it to the colors of life as well. The poem is a simple one, and I liked it. The line that said colors can ease the pain we feel, in particular, was memorable.

  • Hues of Life, by Kirti Garg:
  • Yet another poem that compares the colors with life, I liked the poem for the rhyme and also the ending verse, which is something many people would be able to relate to.

  • Embellished in the Blue, by Arna Sarka:
  • A story in verse of a love that’s strong, yet not realized, the poem is a poignant one. It shows how a particular color (in this case, blue) can be imprinted on the mind for a long time, reminding of the memories and the search.


    Fiction:

  • The Balloon Seller, by Sanjay Thampy:
  • The focus of the story is the relationship between a father and his daughter, one borne not out of blood, but out of love. What I liked in the story was the ending, which was thankfully, a happy one, and which went the way I thought it might. The story reminded me of a movie in Malayalam that followed a similar vein, though not exactly the same.

  • Sometimes Black, Sometimes White, by Leena Walawalkar:
  • How the rich play with the lives of the poor and the desperate and at times, abuse them. And how that abuse comes from the most trustworthy of people too. The plot is not something new, and I’ve read similar plots before as well, and seen it in some movies. But I liked the ending. I wished the story of Radha and Kishen wasn’t left as an open thread, as it was an important part of the story.

  • Double Jeopardy, by Enakshi Johri:
  • After the darkness, comes the light. Or so they say. It doesn’t always work that way. The story and its main protagonist Anna seems to fall from one difficulty into another, ending up with her becoming depressed. I honestly liked the plot and the characters, but not the ending. I felt the story could end only in two ways, and the ending it deserved wasn’t the one it got.

  • Life is Worth Waiting For, by Shruti Mall:
  • It’s easy to give someone our heart, but how they take care of it is something beyond our control. The protagonist of this story goes through ups and downs of this kind, before rising up to become a success story. The story had possibilities, but there’s quite a few open threads that are left to the reader to finish. And one thing I do not like seeing in a book is emoticons, which brought down the poem it is used in, and the story as well.

  • Wavering Hues, by Anushree Basu:
  • The color of jealousy is what makes the story turn the way it does. When someone takes up the attention of a loved one more than us, it feels difficult to accept, even when we try to at first. I think that’s what makes the story feel familiar. I liked that. I liked it more for the way the boy rises past adversity and becomes a success. I could predict the ending, but that didn’t affect the story’s charm.


    Index of Posts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5


    (© 3rd June 2016)

    Leo_new_sign1

    Poetry & writing to me are to me, a breath of fresh air in a life that is sometimes covered by the smoke of sorrow or self doubt. They also become the sweets I share to celebrate when life offers me a reason to. But most of all, they are to me, my life. For each word I write is a piece of my heart, a thought that just had to find its way into the world.

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