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Monthly Archives: November, 2011

Girl, Immortal – Renjini Rajagopalan, Kerala

We die, us women, Such everyday deaths, In our everyday lives, Resurrected by sorrow, only to die again. We are ripped From our mothers womb A haven, you would gladly...

Indian Romance on Mobile Phones- Jayaprakashan Ambali, Kerala

They were in love, long chats and text messages were the proof. Then Vinita lost the mobile phone, lost the phone numbers. The love...

Feathered friends- Geetima Baruah Sarma, Assam

The veil of darkness fell As refreshing dawn emerged, The stretch of silence snapped As feathered friends twittered. A wish to watch their frolic, I peeped through the pane, Oh,...

The Scent of Frangipani – G.Krishnan, Kerala

It was one of those rare occasions when the modern paintings of M V Devan and some others were being exhibited in Thiruvananthapuram and...

Are we afraid of our children? – Kalatharan, Tamilnadu

The other day, I and my wife were strolling in a mall, just to while away time, rather than intent on any purchase, and...

Reviewing Amit Upadhyay’s ‘Good is God and Evil is Evil’ by Dr. Anil Kumar, Delhi

A bouquet for senses, this purely literary work is an exceptional creation in almost all the respects…Superb plot, extraordinary expressions, excellent language and author’s...

The Missing Links – Namrata

Life is all about relationships...........Beautiful, entertaining and invigorating relationships. Relationships give us a sense of emotional bonding with one another. They are the...

Sailing Hearts – Mathews Kurian, Kerala

All a day of festive great Floats flowers in drifting boats Brought away from gardens far To make a day of endless cheer Boats beside we sat,...
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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...