By Rituparna Borah
The director, Theo Angelopoulos, almost certainly aims to illustrate through the movie how humanity, disillusioned, aspires to go back to where it began: to its roots.
By Prasanta Chakravarty
Delhi is a kind city
(contrary to the myth)
The rake’s boudoir
The scholars’ club
The pizza delivery boy’s tip
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 Tikuli
cigarettes, float like decomposed corpses
bloated with memories, voices, tense with
longing, rustle through the trees, possessed
and restless the midnight lingers.
By Safia Begum
One fine day, I went away with him and started living with him. We never married but lived together. I suspected that I might have been pregnant.
By Kalpana Sinha
The food is Indian, South Indian;
The clientele Malaysian;
This is Devi’s Corner, Bangsar, Kuala Lumpur,
A part of my Malaysia.
By Rituparna Borah
Ever so subtly, with a diligent play of colours, facial expressions and moving monologues, Kar-Wai brings home the anguish of homelessness with acute finesse, thereby kindling unwonted emotions even in those of us, who wallow in the feeling of having a home.
By Usha Pisharody
And not one offers itself
After the foreplay.
Such teases.
By Asma Anjum Khan
May I rent my home to a person from a different sect? May I make friends with a Deoo or Barell? May I eat goodies prepared by them? May I donate blood to a Salafi or may I have Barelvi blood in my veins, if I meet with an accident?
By Raj Shekhar Sen
and suddenly Bukowski walks in through the doors
and before he jumps out the windows
he tells you like he would,
all great art is horse-shit,
buy tacos.
By Namitha Varma My Grandfather is a King My grandfather is a King. In the dusk of aristocracy, he is a tottering monarch, a dimming light…
By Lopa Banerjee
Two poems on urban life.
Cafe Dissensus Everyday 