By Lopa Banerjee
Constructing a vivid picture of the ‘women’s culture’ that Austen herself was surrounded by, Kaplan directs us towards a central question: “What made it possible for Jane Austen to write?” Seeking an answer to this question, she illustrates the contemporary female friendships that represented the socio-cultural context of Austen’s novels.
By Anna P. Monaghan
Pickard glowed in private memory of his kindnesses, but he desired greatly for a new language of love. This was not just kindness, he thought – this was a man’s right to feel! To feel and express his feeling! Would his snobbish relatives ever understand? How would they react if they knew François was in his will? A man has the right to pass on his legacy – it is his right! And François was safe.
By Bhaswati Ghosh
Given the ongoing nature of personal histories forged by the Partition of India, re-storying seems not only a worthwhile but even a necessary exercise, if one is to make sense of the histories that stitch the lacerated subconscious of the populace scattered over India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh.
By Achyut Dutt
Oblivious that the traffic had now started moving once again and some very angry folk were blaring their horns behind him, Arjun kept his foot jammed on the brake pedal and stared back at the lovely face of Nandini Shyamrao. She had known he was in Pune but hadn’t told him she, too, had connections with Pune. Far as he knew, her folk were spread over Bangalore and Chennai.
By Achyut Dutt
This time, he waited till he saw a cyclist approaching the bike path that ran along the length of the bridge. He wanted his death to be witnessed. He did not want to make Shalik and Sparsh suffer the agony of not knowing, not having a closure that would help them move on.
By Achyut Dutt
He had then taken her by the hand, up the grassy slope, onto the narrow walkers’ path that ringed the lake. Exactly ten years from that day, they were married. He had a few conditions that she had respected. That she’d walk into his home with only one suitcase filled with just the things dear to her.
By Achyut Dutt
In the beginning, she’d been reserved, hesitant about talking of herself. He was just an unknown strange man who wrote outrageously funny notes that made her burst into laughter. As the days went by, though, the levee she’d hurriedly constructed seemed to look like it was made with cotton candy.
By Achyut Dutt
The meltdown came in what seemed like a flash. Two months into their friendship, she’d expressed that she wanted to talk. He called her up the following weekend. It was to be their one and only phone conversation. And a delightful conversation it had been.
By Rabindranath Tagore
The other boys were overjoyed to see these results almost before the games had started in earnest, but Photik became very anxious. Makhan scrambled up immediately and attacked Photik, hitting him with blind rage.
By Achyut Dutt
Indian women, those days, didn’t feel sane unless they were battered in some way, even if it was by their own child. Is it perhaps universal with women everywhere? The more you treat a woman like dirt, the more she adores you and thinks you’re cool? I saw this in my own mother as a child and took full advantage of it.
By Achyut Dutt
The years have flown fairly quickly after that. After moving to the west, Rani and you had one more child, a son, Arnav. He is going to Stanford since last August. Tina lives with her husband Dieter in Schwedt. They have a cottage by the Elbe. And Rani. It’s now a year since the very light of your life, your Rani, passed away, consumed by the cancer which had galloped unchecked through her thyroids.
By Achyut Dutt
The ritual thereafter began predictably. Like hundreds of other evenings. I gave Sally a quick peck on the cheek at her door and walking down the length of the hallway to my apartment. And she waited till I reached my doorstep and gave me a tiny wave.
Cafe Dissensus Everyday 