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Yearly Archives: 2020

Help Us Serve you Better.

Dear Reader, We won't hit around the bush today - we need your help. Indian Ruminations, for over a decade, has been working to showcase...

Reviewing ‘Obsession and Wild Pigeon’ by Ismat Chughtai

My interest in Ismat Chughtai developed when I first read her 'Lihaaf' (The Quilt), which was banned in 1942 for its erotic and lesbian...

I will Never Read Shakespeare – Vivek Sinha, Bihar

Things were better when she wasn’t here, Days and nights were passing reading Shakespeare, I would sit on the window looking on the...

Gauthama Buddha – P.A Noushad

Stream flows in my heart as it flows years ago your words still in my mind with the swelling echoes, as an enchanting...

MS Dhoni – The Signature Legend of Indian Cricket Retires

Cricket has never faced the scarcity of record-making players. They entertained viewers throughout but legendary players were very rare among them. Even among those legendary players, very few...

A Grey Matter – Why are intelligent Indians not celebrated in our movies?

There’s a forward all of us has received at some point of time. It talks about the percentages of Indian doctors in the US,...

The Grey Shades of Schools: Formation and Reproduction of Social Class Identities -Sharmila Rathee, Delhi University

The contested terrain of school education in India is entering into new levels of contradictions along with the Corona crisis. As the schools are...

The Brevity – Rijin Rajan

Let your priorities succeed,Redeem the costly beats,It is very brief for indecisions,It is very brief for vacillations,Many argues for a fight,Fight among nations, a...
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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...