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Monthly Archives: August, 2014

A time travel to SIGI – Hrishikesh Roy, West Bengal

The year is 2780, I was sitting on my bed had nothing to do so far. The week was hectic as I had loads...

The Curse of Female Spirit – J.T Jayasingh

They called their land ‘Mother’ And even ‘Mother’ they called their seas ‘The Ganga’, ‘The Saraswati’ They made the rivers female And washed their sins in them.   My female...

Only great literature cultivate cultured minds

 “I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.” ― Charlotte Brontë When people have integrity  they...

C.S. Venkiteswaran about the book ‘The Liquid Gallery’ by Pushkin E.H.

In a world seemingly reeling under excess – of words, sounds, images, narratives, information, responses.., one soon loses touch with oneself; we tend to...

“There is discrimination even before they can dream of being a writer” Shivani Gupta, Founder of AccessAbility

Shivani Gupta, author of No Looking Back, is the founder of AccessAbility, a consultancy for promoting physical accessibility. She became involved after attending a...

On the Wings of Dance – Sandhya E., Kerala

I danced And danced Bare footed On the green grass Each time Feeling the first touch of your lips On them. Because that was only when They felt bare. My hair Then blew to...

Humility – Aman Chougle, Maharashtra

People get under my skin no matter who they are. You meet someone too often, and eventually they become distasteful.   At first I thought maybe because they were not like...

Which fits you? – Gurleen Saluja, Indore

 I have shoes of all sizes.. Which fits you? Choose them accordingly You may lead or mislead through!   Based on your deeds Be it good or bad, They govern your...
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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...