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Monthly Archives: June, 2017

Condemn this cultural emergency

We condemn the Ministry of Information & Broadcasting’s denial of giving censor exemption for three documentaries from showing in International Documentary & Short Film...

Firing on agitation is attack on Democracy

The Mandsaur firing (at Madhya Pradesh) on farmers is a political message from the ruling government. They are silencing people by firing them. Since...

On an Evening – Akshat Shukla, Uttar Pradesh

The rustle of the wind Caresses my hard-skinned imagination As I float On the surface of thoughts; The blueness above Saturates my craving to soar Beyond what I perceive; The rustic...

Shweta Mishra about her book ‘What is a Woman: This is Trash. Leave It ‘

Dr. Shweta Mishra ‘Shawryaa’ works as an Assistant Professor of English at M.B.P. Government Post Graduate College, Lucknow, Uttar Pradesh. She has done her...

Condemn Beef Divide

We condemn the beef divide created by the right wing Hindutwa in India. In a society where a large number of people are struggling...

No desire to be alone – Aafrren Chaudhry, Delhi

I hide my face, I hide my heart I tried to cover it all. I pulled a sheet, Above everything I felt could see, Didn’t spare the windows,...

Words for a wordsmith – Anandita Tewari, Mumbai

The lamp was still there in the room, with too many wicks burning. The oil could flare away at any time and the flames...

Rhythms realizing the Limits: the Life of an Unusual Performer

The art whether performing or exhibiting; holds the emotions sentiments and creativity of the person whom it creates. The performers had the choice...
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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...