By Nishi Pulugurtha
On the day of the school reunion, we school mates looked different, we were different, but that day when we met and spoke, we became school girls all over again – those giggles, that laughter, those stories, it was as if that time in between had not wrought much change.
By Dev Chaudhry
I took my pen from the counter and we left the shop, without saying anything. Nobody spoke anything on our way back to school. We had never had such a long journey in our life before. A senseless journey with dead feet and lead laden hearts.
By Binay Majumdar
I told Mona—Hey Mona, do you know Leonardo Da Vinci was born in a village near Akuli Hills in Italy? He painted the Mona Lisa. You are a Mona; and even she is a Mona! This Leonardo was an engineer and a mathematician too. His hand-painted pictures of helicopters are still there.
By Moinak Dutta
A song played at the bar. ‘Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy…’ Poorvi took the shots. They were lovely. There was a slight burning feeling in her throat. But that was better, much better than all the burns she had borne within.
By Debarshi Mitra
She kept gazing at platforms outside while the ‘Rajdhani’ sped past them, past the paddy fields and the temples, the streets and the factories, the garbage piles and impoverished men in decrepit houses. I did little to break the spell of silence.
By Arifa Yesmin
Muslim culture, which is assumed to be more rigid on sexual promiscuity, can never approve of Arif’s clandestine relation with Sumitra. Arif’s looming fear becomes a threat to his love for the woman. This timely story also reflects on the ongoing communal struggle in the country.
By Tanushree Ghosh
The eldest son – super successful, IIT topper – mother’s pride and joy – touted as a model to the entire clan and community…homosexual…
By Nishi Pulugurtha
Khirer Putul tells the tale of a King who had two queens – the suffering, ignored elder Duorani who lives in poverty and neglect and the pampered younger Suorani, the king’s favourite.
By Amita Roy
The unassuming, short, and insignificant Utpal on stage was a transformed personality, sending out positive vibes keeping spectators spellbound. Everyone was engrossed as his sonorous voice glided over a poem of Jibanananda Das or Shakti Chattopadhyay with full throated ease.
By Tanushree Ghosh
Next morning Ramu reached outside 702 Pitampura last, finishing all other houses in the row first. To his delight, the trash was all outside – the big bin and extra plastic bags – shining in the morning sun supplementing the garbage strewn around the gully.
By Tanushree Ghosh
‘That’s why it takes you all forever. Doing your chores while clients wait.’ Meena’s fingers were now frantically styling through Reetu’s hair, relaxing her. ‘What did you have for lunch? Beef?’ Reetu continued.
By Dev Chaudhry
Our now-almost-famous writer had written a story of a woman from Bediya community in Morena district in Madhya Pradesh. This was a story of a girl, who rebelled against her destiny of becoming a performing artist, which was each girl’s fate in her community. Instead, she decided to go to the school that Snehi Baba ran for girls like her.
