As Ananya basked in praise, Meera clutched the memory of Ajji’s tale, aching with a hurt she couldn’t reveal.
Silence gathers around us, and in that pause, Pablo Neruda lets the trembling world reveal its hidden wounds and brief hopes.
The Spiti Valley is the land between Tibet and India, located in Himachal Pradesh.
Snow, silence, and duty converge as Daru faces a moral crossroads on the lonely Algerian plateau in Albert Camus’s *The Guest*.
Amid ruins of war, a mother and soldier confront loss, finding hope in a child’s crayon-marked declaration: “This our home.”
A surreal journey through Keats’s visions — nightingale’s song, steadfast star, and autumn’s fading warmth merging into dreamlike abstraction.
A Nepali boy in Japan navigates hidden identity and uncertain future, capturing a quiet diaspora of migration and resilience.
The narrow, dingy lanes packed with partly crafted idols, the scent of mud and clay, and the artists working all day and night feels like
Aunt Veda’s silver saree shimmered as she danced, whiskey in hand, while I hid behind my book, quietly watching. Writes Ishani Chowdhury...
Once the goddess is believed to have “accepted” her share, the bhog is distributed among the devotees.
I should collect all the chits from these people so I can calculate the amount of pain in the world.
This city has become an inferno. Name a place where we are safe. Can you?
Will we meet on the auctioned banks of our boats in mid river of unspoken news?
Franca Mancinelli’s poems, in John Taylor’s translation render the ordinary, the natural, many-hued and wondrous.
