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Monthly Archives: August, 2019

How to Fix a Faulty Marriage with the Aid of an Asylum? – Hiya Mukherjee, Kolkata

You’ve been secretly carrying The Pine River Mental Institution inside your bosom for quite a while. Your husband doesn’t notice. He’s too busy dreaming...

Life Partner – Fate or ? – Pratibha Haridas, Mumbai

She was our next-door neighbour living alone. She had come to stay here only a week before. Nobody knew her or spoke to her because she...

The girl who dreamt – Rajshwii Bhattacharya, New Delhi

Part 1 The sky was an elixir where all that man thinks to be magical and enchanting comes to life in various hues...

In the vast lake – Harjeet Singh, Punjab

Man of letters enters the vast lake with soaring hope. In the vast lake he reads the art of past great personalities...

A Rare Exile – Sujoy Bhattacharya, Mumbai

Post modernism polishing posterior part of civilization. A raven raised its bruised beak to battle with the ugly bestiality. A bovine call...

The Sarasvati! – Vidya Pandarinath, Mysore

Lost in the infinite, loose dunes of sand She is still said to be in affluent retreat In the main artery of the...

A Silence Within – Sanjay Das, Tripura

Even a word may dethrone the king, or his heir, I kept on drafting and deleting my mind, All annoying thoughts kept aside...

Ramadan- Irtika Kazi, Pune

The slender crescent of the moon Ticks the beginning of Date nights – Mainly Ajwa or Anbara Huge clusters that grow...
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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...