By: Adreyo Sen When I was a boy, my mother was the district magistrate of a tiny little corner of India. Magisterially disapproving of my tendency to disappear in my books and diaries, she’d take me with her on her week-long…

By: Richard D. Hartwell You could say that the trip decided itself. In the car, on the way to Adalanto, neither of them can agree who had brought up the idea first, let alone how it was finalized. But by six-thirty…

By: Chandra Shekhar Dubey I stretch like an endless desert You flow like a perennial river I have nothing to hide, nothing to give you have in your sleeve a store of a giver. In your eyes there is confluence…