The Blog of Cafe Dissensus Magazine – we DISSENT

Posts from the ‘Non-fiction’ category

A pilgrimage to the tomb of Qutubuzzaman al-Sayyid Alawi Mouladhawila

By Mohammed Mishad K
The ceremony re-enacts, as if, Thangal’s message of interreligious harmony. An inspirational presence in his time, he presided over some of the Hindu religious festivals. Kozhikkaliyattam – a festival of lower-caste Hindus in Munniyur, near Mamburam – is held every year on a Friday, the day of Muslim congregational prayer.

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Photo-Essay: In God’s Own Country

By Neha Basnet
The all-encompassing silence seemed to be a tangible presence around me. The world was, as if, meditating. Along with sea waves and the chirping birds, I was part of it.

Rampur: A City of Royals

By Syed Kamran Ali
The first part of the minaret at the bottom is built in the shape of a Mosque, the part just above this resembles a Church, the third part reflects the architectural design of a Sikh Gurudwara and the top most part of the minaret is built in the shape of a Hindu temple.

For our tomorrow

By Sutapa Basu
Capture of Tololing Knoll on19 June, 1999 was the first victory of the Indian Army and has gone into history as the turning point of the Kargil war.

My Gift

By Sutapa Basu
What had I done? Was it their hunger I had appeased or assuaged my guilt? Here I was, unthinkingly buying inessential food to mark just a festive occasion and there they were… starving for just a morsel!

Family Matters: Telling True Stories

By Lopa Banerjee
During a trip back home, a visit to an old pond/creek in the old neighborhood where I had stayed as a child triggered memories in an unexpected way. The pond brought back memories of one of the first, formative experiences of rain in my childhood. While roaming by the pond on a rainy day, some snippets of my grandfather’s death came to me in a flash, and I remembered the downpour that had occurred then, the rainy holiday I was enjoying in my mother’s maternal home, and how that day brought about my first brush with death.

Caged

By Lopa Banerjee
Being born a girl, I should have sensed when invaders had pushed through the padding of closed doors, throwing me back into the irredeemable domain of bruise and hopelessness. By now, I should have learnt to focus on my own life as an outcast, to thrive in my madness and be pleased to walk alone amid the crowded city streets with impetuous fools.

Nemo: When we go to war, they go to war

By Achyut Dutt
That was the fun side of Nemo, but there was another side, the one he was trained to be. A killer. That was something everyone who came in contact with him had to remember, including his handler, me. Nemo was trained to be a cold-blooded killing machine when the order was given. And the kill order was usually a terse, “Get him!” Unless he happened to be a very good shot and quick on the draw, the other guy wouldn’t survive the encounter.

My India

By Elena Vinokurova
You have no future and all that awaits you is death from an overdose of sun, freedom, and chili peppers…and, then, you wake up in a gray city apartment in a gray concrete high-rise under a gray sky among people dressed in gray ties.