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Monthly Archives: February, 2012

Sonnet Mondal’s Diorama of Three Diaries: A Collection of Mysticism, Sensitivity, Sensuousness & Subjectivity by Dr. Shamenaz, Allahabad

"Be like a crystal; the more they break you, the more rays you scatter…" These words are really applicable for Sonnet Mondal, who is an...

The Images Transcend Time – P A Noushad, Kerala

"You came to it very slowly yet you achieved it as your whole life deserved it nonetheless than the poetry you reached", we also...

Come to Nature – J T Jayasingh

Dear reader, come with me today, we can go for rather a slow walk. We can peep into nature’s elements and fly in imagination...

Dreams – Shrikanth Veeravalli

Day 1 The baby looked reddish pink, all of 2 hours old. Something suggests that it is not an ordinary baby. Features appear sharp...

A Goose Keeper’s Frustration – Mathew George, Kerala

Our two and a half year old grandson was coming to stay with us for Christmas and we were debating as to what we...

‘Go Rhymes Go’ – Abhishek Rath, Orissa

Go rhymes, from my poetic heart, As best as an eminent painter's art. Be not shy to collect all her feelings, Return back quick and tell me...

To the Wide and Free Lands! – Rekha K. Amar

The dance and winepress of mind’s desires The cerise passions of untamed instincts Beckon me into ego’s haunting fortress I step then into prison’s earthly mould I need...

Rediscovering Life – Shobitha Bhaskaran, Kochi

There comes a time in life When you crave for a break From the dull routine Of daily life Of responsibilities Of Worries and uncertainties.. To dive headlong Into the warmth Of...
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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...