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Monthly Archives: July, 2012

Thoughts in Book Form

A book is like a garden carried in the pocket -Chinese Proverb Having a glimpse of one’s creative ideas in book form is a greatest...

Rubaiyat – P.A Noushad, Kerala

'Another voice, when I am sleeping, cries,/The flower should open with the morning skies./And a retreating whisper, as I wake-/The flower that once has...

Condemn Nuclear Projects! – Sandhya S.N

It is really unfortunate to see the trivial comments of the politicians of our country on Nuclear Power Projects. Minister for Electricity, Government of...

Silent Moments of Melancholy, an anthology of Poems by Amol Redij – Dr Shamenaz, Uttar Pradesh

Silent Moments of Melancholy is a collection of poems by Amol Redij, who is a budding poet and a new star in the field...

Caged – Nikhil Chandwani, Tamilnadu

I asked Vani how she felt about the caged humans. “It’s painful. It’s an emotional abortion. It’s disgusting.” If that’s your answer then, “still you want...

Recurring Nightmare – Vrinda Prahladka, Uttar Pradesh

Perhaps you have had the ill fortune of being acquainted with Barbara Winthrope. If not then I strongly suggest that you consider yourself extremely...

You Are Me – K Pankajam, Tamilnadu

Hold me like a child, the way a mother does; caress me gently as leaves by the breeze, be that, what the rain is to earth upon which ...

Bio-Cultural Diversity and Globalization, C M Bhandari, Gujarat

The year 2010 had been declared as the ‘International Bio-diversity Year’. As usually happens on such occasions a number of seminars and other activities...
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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...