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Monthly Archives: March, 2017

SMSF 2017

Samaagati in collaboration with Indian Ruminations SAMAAGATI MOBILE SHORT FILM FESTIVAL – 2017 We believe a one minute movie explains well than a 1000 words....

Irom Sharmila, the Iron Lady of Manipur got only 90 votes

Manipur Assembly Election 2017 have come out with a shocking news that the human rights activists Irom Sharmila got only 90 votes. She observed 16...

Life with Cosmic Consciousness

Gazing from the Dover beach the Victorian poet Mathew Arnold could only have the glimpse of the darker sides of life. The sea revealed...

Women – the discriminated Godesses ?

It was in 7th January 1997, women for the first time entered Palayam Jumma Masjid in Thiruvananthapuram to offer Ramzan prayers. Yes, it never...

Disaster of identity contestation: the fate of Chemmeen – Praveen Pilassery

It is definitely worse of times – at least for writers and other activists who live with freedom to express. It was two weeks...

The long lost continent Zealandia in Pacific

“There are still wonders left in this world”. Yes, even though embarrassing, it is believable. Zealandia is expected to be recognized as a continent...

Expansion without Inclusiveness: the Achilles’ heel of higher education in Kerala

1. Introduction In the rapidly changing global society, quantity and quality of human resources determine a nation’s competency among others (Tilak 2001). Enhancement of human...

Vishnu Pranoy, a victim of privatisation in education

It was on 6th January 2017 evening Jishnu Pranoy committed suicide in his hostel premises. He was the first year Dept. of Engineering student...
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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...