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Yearly Archives: 2019

No War Anymore: They are Cemeteries of Truth – MAK & Praveen Pilassery

The world is moving through rising conflicts everywhere. Increasing tensions between neighbouring countries in every continent is becoming an unsurprising truth. Between India and...

Protest for language; protest for human rights as well

Kerala has recently viewed the uncompromising agitation by United Malayalam Movement (Aikya Malayala Prasthanam) in order to ensure question papers in mother tongue, Malayalam...

The Mid Afternoon Hara – Kiri – Monisha Raman, Chennai

The late afternoon stillness blanketed the valley. I decided to sow the last of Ragi seeds in my possession today, much to the annoyance...

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....
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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...