By Puja Roy
We chatted over cups of tea and gradually the emotional doors opened. From a lighthearted discussion the mood slowly turned towards a somber and painfully nostalgic recount of an era long forgotten yet very much fresh in the minds of its victim. Mr. Choudhury started speaking, as his wife looked on.
By Kamayani Kumar
Ammi had been violated; her pristine chaste body had been trespassed upon by men while my father watched in horror. He had been incapable of resisting the mob, largely constituting of my Sikh ‘uncles’ from the neighbourhood.
By Shankha Ghosh
It was Dwadashi, the Twelfth Day of Durga Puja. Today Neelu and others would leave. Since morning, he was lying down quietly in the attic. Something so terrible had happened yesterday and still no one could figure it out. People were silent in the house.
By Sameer Khan
There were a few boys, who were throwing red gulal (vermillion) on the mosque walls in a provocative manner. The crowd surged as we tried to move forward jostling amidst the many faces, laced with gulal. In the melee, someone hit me on the back and screamed, “Pakistan Murdabad” (Death to Pakistan).
By Safia Begum
What also adds to the strength of the book are some hitherto unexplored sources like his personal unpublished letters that he received from his friends and admirers, also known as Manto Papers. No scholar has so far accessed these letters and these new archival sources offer a rare glimpse into Manto’s life and his times.
By Bhaswati Ghosh
Given the ongoing nature of personal histories forged by the Partition of India, re-storying seems not only a worthwhile but even a necessary exercise, if one is to make sense of the histories that stitch the lacerated subconscious of the populace scattered over India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh.