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Monthly Archives: February, 2011

Celebrate Literature

Literature cultivates minds and this is a great mission. Cultivated and cultured minds make better humanity and better world to live in. This cultivation...

“Neglecting mother tongue is suicidal” Poet, Sachidanandan

P.A.Noushad: Could you name a few most influential international writers in your life? Sachidanandan: It is very difficult to tell one particular writer, though I...

My Sister – Ashish Nandwani – Chandigarh

The dizzy mornings, Delight of waking you up, Romping with your eye lashes, My stage craft and dramas.. Adamance to make you smile at the first light...!!! Hitting my...

Ecstacy – R.K.Das, Delhi

Let a million tulips Blossom on your footpath As you walk on Your journey of life On the rugged and harsh course. Let a million birds Sing a unique orchestra That...

Oh Grandson! I Forgive You – J.T Jayasingh

I am ninety one now, A rare member of a Generation past, On the verge of a welcome extinction, Perhaps your father Might have forgotten or At least couldn’t...

Alone – Not Lonely – Jayaprakashan Ambali, Kerala

Rajesh slid the sofa to the recline position, to watch the shimmering greenery of the mountains in the setting sun. He is back after...

Cry of Humanity – Abha Goel, Delhi

Blood, despair, dismay, Terror shadowing the town, Everybody is silent, by some unknown eyes We are being eyed.. And deep inside the cucoomb, The hearts are crying... Step by step,...

Discovering myself – Christina Alex

It was a long lost vision, a dream, That flew away along with the stream. It seemed like the thing I’ve always wanted, The path to which...
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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...