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Monthly Archives: October, 2019

Classroom- Rajshwii Bhattacharya, New Delhi

The tubelight above flickered just like my eyelids hampering one’s vision in a glimpse of blindness. The white walls that surrounded a class of thirty-nine were...

Loss – Ghulam Mohammad Khan, Kashmir

Long back in early nineties there used to be a deserted cone shaped piece of land on the backside of our village mosque. Apart from the...

A Sunless Day – Avijit Roy, Kolkata

" Light,  give me some light in my dark days, I wanna wake up in your world of love.”---- a popular song by Bob King...

The First – Amrita Gudral, Mumbai

It was a warm sunny day. The sun had almost risen up until the helm of the building and the light streamed through the grilled French...

The parting Song – Neenu Mary Francis, Kerala

Love, when I die Celebrate my funeral. It's the monument of my life. The ways I trod, And the place I reached....

From the bottom of my heart – Swetha Vangaveti, Hyderabad

Dear world, At the outset, I would like to introduce myself. I am a homeless parasite, well known for making my host's life hopeless....

I am strangulated – Salil Saroj, Bihar

I am strangulated By the awe and travesty That makes My Democracy A mediocre That runs out of solution For every supine...

Nothing much for Minors – Sahaj Sabharwal, Jammu

Minors are those less than eighteen, As they don't have knowledge in keen. They don't have a driving licence, As...
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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...