By Lopa Banerjee
Her expectations to relish the pleasures of a new book, a new writing, new exciting news or other sources of amusement diminished; there was nobody she would have to sew for, to write for, nobody for whom she could buy any precious gift.
By Haris Ahmed
The man was shivering; a young lad shoved him down on his knees. Another man loaded his rifle. Before the crowd could react, the man lay lifeless in a pool of blood. The crowd began cheering and roaring in frenzy.
By Mosarrap H. Khan
Our land will not tolerate fascist forces, inhuman policies and barbaric incidents of murdering people on the sectarian or religious grounds. India will not be allowed to turn into a ‘Hindu Afghanistan’.
By Lopa Banerjee
Bhupati sat beside Charu on the ground and touched her softly, without saying a word. He did not know how to give her solace. He did not understand that when she attempted to smother her pain, she did not like the presence of a spectator in the ordeal.
By Faiza Farid
Aatish Taseer’s The Way Things Were is a literary delight that reminds of Fitzgerald and Proust and Rushdie with the occasional entry of V.S Naipaul. A story that stays with the reader.
By Lopa Banerjee
While she looked into Amal’s face, Charu had noticed his thin, frail form today. The youthful charm and vigor of his appearance had withered away, and she felt an unexplained sting in her heart to see that. She had no doubt that he was plagued by his forthcoming farewell, but then, why did he behave so strangely with her?
By Lopa Banerjee
Bhupati did not have anything to give Charu that day, nor did he have words for her. He had come to her with empty hands, seeking her love. Just one question of concern from Charu or a bit of her attention would have worked as a remedy to his bruises and pain. But the treasure-chest of Charu’s love and affection remained locked that day.
By Lopa Banerjee
At his summoning, Charu suddenly regained her consciousness and stood up. She didn’t really expect Bhupati’s arrival now. He came close to her, and as he softly stroked her hair with his fingers, he asked her, with all his affection: “Why are you sitting alone in the dark, Charu? Where did Manda go?”
By Tanushree Ghosh
The Lucknow search hadn’t yielded anything; it seemed the missing person complaint lodged with the local police station continued to be low on the priority list. This was the final hope and the floodgates to tears and grief would fling open if he didn’t show up in his proper yet slightly yellowed kurta and pajama, holding his treasured US traveler roll-on that Sourav had brought home few years back.
By Lopa Banerjee
The little, humble sanctuary of literature, that Charu had built as their own clandestine world, had been shattered by a hailstorm of praises. Charu felt as if an enormous hail had attacked and destroyed that world entirely, and it pained her immensely.
By Lopa Banerjee
What was that fateful moment when she stimulated his desire to write? Could she exert her influence on Amal now, the way she could do earlier? Amal was now being fed by the pampering indulgence of many; he would be unaffected if he omitted her from his life.
By Lopa Banerjee
Amal has earned considerable repute among his circle of readers recently. His stance, of late, has transformed from that of a humble school student to that of a respectable and elite gentleman. He reads essays in literary associations and meetings, and is often sought by editors or their spokespersons who invite him, request him to join their associations as a member or even as their president.
Cafe Dissensus Everyday 