By: Saima Afreen Kidneys. That’s what everybody called those pockets of the city. The grimy tents cleared the city’s junk: the industrial excretion or cremation of a dozing old building. Hillocks of metal scraps grew and vanished everyday. Continuos cling-clang-clangety…
By: Saima Afreen It was just another day. Another life with usual-yet-unusual breakfast of boiled peas, cucumber slices and a boiled egg with its mouth open in the yellow bowl. Her mouth gaped at the puff of smoke rising before…
By: Raymond Greiner Working as an archeological researcher unveils discoveries mixed with complexities. I was summoned to this institution of learning as an instructor, teaching knowledge attained from data gathered relating to humankind’s historical pathway. Time and archeology fuse solving mysteries…
By: Saheli Khastagir Thank God they sent Milaan bhai with me. I don’t like the other one! I mean…I don’t hate him…I shouldn’t. He is the one who got me to the city in the first place. But he is always…
By: Adreyo Sen Till I was fifteen, I was very close to my grandfather. In the evenings, I would sit by his side as he rummaged through the uneven country that was his desk. My grandfather had been, for forty…
By: Linda M Crate damask faces everyone looks at me blankly no one recognizes the girl staring back at them, and i admit i’ve changed since they last have seen me; wrote a few books and had one published— these…
By: Linda M Crate i have no more words for you we’ve dried up you can’t force water from a rock without divine help, and i don’t think our withered friendship is even worth the effort; the blame does not…
By: Linda M Crate my silence to you should speak volumes enough i have no words i wish to say to you i am not your sister we are no longer friends, and the more you try to hold onto…
Indian English authors have outclassed their global counterparts by simply penning the fine fictional/prosaical works. Many of the Indian authors are thought to be leaders in certain genres as their works are definite benchmarks for the aspiring authors. Their works…
By: Debleena Majumdar “You are not my friend” She shouts, voice quivering, Eyes firm, tiny hands on her hip. A friend lost for all of one week. Next week they will play again Angry words forgotten, arms linked, But the…