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Monthly Archives: January, 2012

Lies in White – Aarya, Kerala

Lies in White I hated the color white. I hated its every offspring. And today I was stuck with my ivory white sneakers, because the black ones...

Sohan Papdi – Saikat Banerjee, Haryana

Air has become chilled, dry and the warmth of sun seems to be pleasant. The winter has just peeped in. Woolens are still not...

Hues of Rain! – Sethu, Kerala

Never before was the rain so enchanting, murky and placid lay the deserted shore, mushy wind brushing by, chirping birds shiver and shy, lazy dawns and sopped twilight, memories...

 Life has so many y’s? – Abha Goel, Delhi

Life has so many y’s?? I sat in front of her weighed down by the unjust, redundant ways of life, It was unwanted, undesired but to...

After Death – Hemambika Varma, Kerala

When I am gone, Oh Lord! Let the sun be as bright And the moon spread its light Let the flowers bloom as now And the birds sing...

Fashion high street for Indian Palette – Prathiba Devi Wilson, Tamilnadu

Fighting over Monday morning blues, I was rummaging through my wardrobe for a perfect outfit that would enhance my spirits and preserve my fashion...

Dr Mamoni Raisom Goswami, the Jnanpith winner bids adieu – Geetima Baruah Sarma, Assam

Dr Mamoni Raisom Goswami is a distinguished name in the world of literature. In the year 2000, she was honoured with ‘Jnanpith’, the highest...

Tagore’s Idea of Nation and Nationalism in Gora – Nakul Kundra, Amritsar

Gora (1909) is the fifth in order of writing and the largest of Tagore’s twelve novels. It was serialised in a literary magazine Probasi...
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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...