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Monthly Archives: May, 2018

Who’s is a Friend of T.S.Eliot – Ramlal Agarwal , Jalna

Almost a hundred years Yet the poem remains intractable A chiaroscuro for the poet For us the Holy Grail Over intellectualism lead us astray Let...

A mother’s trauma – Geetima Baruah Sarma, Assam

Shanti lifted the folds of her sari, tucked them in her waist and hurriedly ascended the flight of stairs to the first floor. She...

Fair Child – Nuzhat Khan, New Delhi

It was a very happy moment for Birendra and Mamta Negi. They were going to have a child soon; their first. Soon the news...

Indian Army – Parv Arora

The day goes off… They are still working… The night goes off… They are still working… They spent their whole life… In only defending defending defending… They sacrificed their life... By...

Rise Women Rise

History of women’s life and their struggles for freedom has witnessed innumerable ups and downs by now since time immemorial from being an equal...

Your privacy is no longer private – Thasni Salim

  The world was seriously discussing about the data leakage from facebook recently. Do such a data can make changes in a society?  Quoting...

Essence of life – A book review on Debashis Barah’s Wisdom Capsules from the Diary of the Visionary of Truth by Mahesh Krishnan, Trivandrum

Wisdom Capsules from the Diary of the Visionary of Truth belongs to the category of self-help books. But unlike the run-of-the-mill books that belong...
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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...