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Monthly Archives: June, 2017

Translucence – Aakriti Kuntal, Bangalore

Translucent is the color of the day Clouds with silver membranes rolling the city into conical streams of beetle leaves A Palm tree freezes in the wind And...

David Grossman and Jessica Cohen won the Manbooker International Prize 2017

David Grossman the Israeli writer and his ttranslatorJessica Cohen won the Man Booker International prize for his comedy novel A Horse Walks Into The...

Leo Varadkar, the Prime Minister of Ireland.

The Indian based young politician Leo Varadkar selected as the new prime minister of Ireland. A parliamentary vote confirmed the country’s youngest and...

What’s that thing – Neerali Patel, Philadelphia

What’s that thing. that close to impossible harmony. that makes us sing. the yearning for someone. to look at us. with the burning intensity. of someone. who has seen us for...

Prospects – Mehak Jain, Punjab

Prospects It was way past early morning and the sun peeped through the window. As the bright yellow rays kissed her cheeks, she rubbed her...

Terror attack on Finsbury Park Mosque – one dead and 10 injured.

London has woken up to the news of another appalling attack on muslims near a mosque at Finsbury Park. One man has died and...

India of my dreams – Sameera S Prakash, Kerala

Seventy years ago, our forefathers won us independence.  Every year, we celebrate Independence Day.  But after all the years, have we achieved what the...

Axis of peace cooks war on Qatar

This is nothing but a shadow war on Qatar and it is going to deliver pain and distress to common man and profit to...
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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...