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Monthly Archives: August, 2019

Cages and Prison – Snigdha Jain, Rajasthan

Cages don’t need to be visible, Prison don’t need to be tangible, Entrapped as we all are, Despite the so called freedom we...

Midnight Thought – Paavni Agarwal, Bengaluru

"Its 12 am, and mom thinks you are asleep, yet you lie here, but you are not gleaming at me. What makes you think...

A Memory – K. S. Dave, Gujarat

A Memory If I die today, Hundreds of poems will be buried with me, Unheard, Unsung; Am I a poet? No. 'I' is absent in 'ME', ...

Rebuild, not with profit, but with Nature

Natural disasters cannot be prevented but, we can take precautionary measures at different levels of society to minimize its impact on the people and...

Other face of growth & development: ‘Labour is not safe’ – Dr. Razeena Kuzhimandapathil & Praveen Pillassery

When all hail international labour solidarity as a public holiday, the rate of unemployment in India increases steadily revealing its employment creation rate drop down to...

The Fictional World of Henry James – Ramlal Agarwal

In the second half of the 19th and the first quarter of the 20th century there was a surge in creative writing and...

Field Investigations- Some Lessons Learnt – M.S Menon, New Delhi [Sankupurana – Memoirs of an Engineer]

After arranging for the closing and shifting the office and staff from Gopalapuram to Venkatapuram, I went to Vijayawada to apprise Subbaiah of...

Reminiscence – Srinjoy Bhattacherjee, Mumbai

A million questions remained unanswered. Blood was spilled before sunset – though not killed; spared because it was an auspicious day, the daughter of the village...
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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...