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Monthly Archives: July, 2010

Rejoice – Giridhar Murali

Giridhar Murali As a gentle breeze ruffled through my hair, my thoughts roamed wide and far; Though many years have passed since, as if it was only yesterday...

Kamala

Dileep Ramachandran (Kamala Dileep), Born and brought up in Anayara, Trivandrum. A Post graduate in English Literature from Indira Gandhi National Open University. At...

Babitha Marina Justin

Born in Kerala, South India, Babitha Marina Justin had her PhD in travel writing and gender studies from the University of Hyderabad and an...

Thara D’Souza

Thara D'Souza, a postgraduate in English Language and Literature, hails from Kerala and has been involved in poetry writing from young age. A passionate...

Sasidharan Cheruvattath

"I worship being a sail that grasps the aesthetic wind.......... to propel me onward in the turbulent seas of awareness to reach the shores...

My Life – Sandhya S.N, Kerala

My life an unstable restive pendulum With irregular unmanageable pro-lapse I hung on its hand Grouse, sob, whine and sometimes smile whatsoever My heart rumbles as a roaring sea Its tides...

Recording and Reviewing Our Times

“I am a camera with its shutter open, quite passive, recording, not thinking.”- Christopher Isherwood We have been in an elated mood ever since the launch...

A Dreaming Rock – Sasidharan Cheruvattath, Kerala

Sasidharan Cheruvattath A midnight dream of a post meridian sun upon a redundant shore, of lurking iconoclasts, behind introspective rocks ruminating to set free the incarcerated icons, waiting for the idolaters. Voiceless, in the...
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Latest

The Forgotten Daughter of Port Adamaro

The story entails the political-historical period of the 1970s when the Dalit Panther movement was soon, to begin with, the influence of the Black Panther movement of the west. The following short story speaks of the relationship of two sisters under the premise of the revolution.

Resurrection

i have arrived at my altar. hark! i rise, i flourish, i pirouette on my one toe and float like a...

Stalking Prisons

The streets are empty with no one in sight, I check the big clock of the tower behind the basilic of Saint Francis of Assisi. It’s 2 o’clock on a mid-summer Tuesday afternoon. Everything’s shut. Everyone’s resting. My heart’s hitting the walls of its all so tight ribcage, as I need to cross the brightly lit square and go to the other side.

Must read

Reviewing ‘Obsession and Wild Pigeon’ by Ismat Chughtai

My interest in Ismat Chughtai developed when I first...