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 Parag Mallik
K icking you in the chest with feet of dejection and pessimism,
L ovingly looping around your neck with
M alice mangling every will to survive,
N ever able to cross the flames of happiness.
By Goirick Brahmachari
The stoned heat that grows into your day
The night winds of partings – half-constructed subways
Your Deccan heart breathes in
Through the hazy, yellow, cyber highways.
By Abhiruchi Ranjan
Last year, the self-styled custodians of Hindu patriarchy, Akhil Bharatiya Hindu Mahasabha wrote to the dalit UPSC topper, Tina Dabi’s parents, reminding them of their social responsibility to persuade her Kashmiri Muslim boyfriend for a “ghar wapsi”. The prospective matrimonial alliance of a popular Hindu woman with a Muslim man was seen by the Mahasabha as a dangerous precedent.
By Urba Malik
The very idea of loving beyond the traditionally set parameters of caste, religion, class or color is liberating, not humiliating for us. In fact, what is humiliating is the idea of constraining one’s emotions under the garb of societal honor; what is insulting is the exercise of societal control over someone’s choice.
By Lopa Banerjee
A house, a bed that remains
smelling of flesh, burnt out songs, wrinkles of coital nights.
Yes, the splinters and cracks of love,
Pushing a tear-stained face, birth marks into the pillow.