By: Rati Girish I have often heard my father say, “This is a dog eat dog world.” He would be flipping through the pages of the newspaper, when suddenly his eyes would focus on a particular section. He would stop, squint…

By: Caroline Healy   he sat at the bar and drank. Intermittently, he glanced at the headlines of the newspaper on the table in front of him, scanning the tragic and the comic, hoping that something would jostle him, evoke…

“My Journey” by APJ Abdul Kalam, fomer President of India, is a journey into the vintage time of India’s yore years which garners true events from Kalam’s life. The book records the transformational journey Kalam went through to emerge first…

By: Sai Diwan PART TWO An age cannot escape history. And an age with history cannot escape literature. That is the story of the 1980s in India. It was the decade that commissioned the awakening of the Unnamed Genre. As…

By: Kousik Adhikari I walked into the garden Light decorated the offspring of light, So many flowers inexperienced Before the first rain, first fraud, Innocent breeze playing magic, Enchanting every live, every leave, But some moths waiting for first dream, Patiently…

By: Kousik Adhikari Dear. Charming-Artemis! Urbashi! I have sprinkled all These name-traps To catch your bird like beauty Galloping from twigs to branches, Blazing sword glances Over Adam’s progeny In what furious dance! Men curious from birth Dealing with roses-…

By: Shloka Shankar  Another school year came to an end, and another heady, dizzying summer lay ahead of us. Earlier that week, my school had closed after what seemed an interminably long academic year, and I had passed into fifth grade…

By: Shloka Shankar  Incessant rain pattered Across my shoulders; I soaked in the atmosphere And smelt the earth-ravished scent That kindles a passionate desire So well-known, and yet so indefinable. Bleary-eyed, I waded through Puddles and lost myself in Childhood’s delight;…

By: Shloka Shankar   The clock looks at me indignantly And I wonder what I did to upset Time; I’ve whiled away countless minutes Twiddling my thumbs, Or contemplating a lost thought, Or in self-delusion. I’ve had my share of insomnia,…

By: Shloka Shankar  There was a time when Things were surreal; I was happy. . . As evasive as that vixen is, I’ve been abandoned Time and again. From us and we, I stand as my lone self; Something was between…