Manish Pathania | Author

Writer | Traveler | Artist

Won short story contest 2018 organised by Juggernaut.in

Jan
19

‘The Glitch’ won the Juggernaut short story contest 2018. The Juggernaut Short Story Prize is an annual short story prize that runs for two and a half months and invites entries from budding writers all across India.

“The results are out- while there were so many entries that made us think of life and literature in a new way, these three in particular stood out and hence bagged the prize:

First Prize- The Glitch by Manish Pathiani

The winning entry, this particular story was the one that we found most gripping and innovative, making it seem like an episode of Black Mirror.


A man sits in a bar and meets a woman, who turns out to be the owner of a startup that produces virtual reality devices that allow you to experience someone’s life in real time, from the bits they choose to show to you. The man agrees to be a beta user, and becomes obsessed with an Indian woman DeeDee who shows him glimpses of her life through the VR device; a glitch in the device however makes him see much more than he could ever wanted to…”


Read more at
http://blog.juggernaut.in/the-winners-of-the-juggernaut-short-story-prize/

You can read the story here .

Jul
20

BOOK NOW AVAILABLE

Jul
19

“poems that tell stories,
stories about promises,
promises of love,
love that transformed into art,
art that manifested through poems,
poems that do not rhyme”

‘Poems that do not rhyme’ is a collection of poems written in the form of free verses.

Although the individual poems seem unrelated at the first glance but the poems are arranged in such an order that they traverse through the journey of an alcoholic man who accidentally falls in love with a girl who was still in love with her ex-lover.

The poems revolve around his character, his love for her, his alcoholism, his hatred, his lamentations and his regrets for losing her.

Book now available on amazon :

Buy Now

Goodreads reviews

Incomplete

Jul
19

I reclaim myself,
from the remnants of you
that I had kept hidden
(even from my ego)
on the margins of the old books
that we once shared,
and on the pale pages of the forgotten journals
that escaped my heartbroken carnage,
and on the four digits combinations of lockers,
and the passwords,
and the pins codes,
and the signatures,
and all the other little pieces of you,
that I had used to build my world.
I, finally, become myself again,
however incomplete.