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 Manash Bhattacharjee
This Monsoon: A Ghazal
By Paromita Mukherjee
Poem: Finally Free
By Alisa Velaj
Seven poems by Albanian poet, Alisa Velaj.
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 Ajit Kumar
I was asked to leave Brown University for not doing any school work. I struggled with alcoholism and bipolar disorder as a young woman, but managed to graduate from Barnard College.
By Goirick Brahmachari
Every fucking word is holy!
Holy marriage, Holy infidelity.
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 