Creative Writing

By Jhanvi Latheesh When I inherited the old gothic mansion from my great-aunt Gertrude, I thought: Cool! Free house! What I didn’t expect was the house itself wanted to live with me. On my first night, the chandeliers flickered and whispered, “Welcome, new roommate!” I blinked. “Uh… I’m just here for the rent-free living, thanks.” The portraits on the walls weren’t just staring; they were gossiping. “Did you hear? The new tenant thinks she can ignore the ghost in the attic!”

By Sonia Arora As I lay in the delivery room, clutching my mother’s hand amid unbearable labour pain, anger welled up within me. She had never prepared me for this—never told me just how excruciating it would be to go through this pain. I noticed the unspoken guilt in her eyes, her helplessness stemming from a struggle to articulate something she herself had faced. "If I told you how painful it is, you’d have been frightened," she whispered softly in those vulnerable moments.

By Laura Marie Deep in the corners of the earth, there was Christmas Cheer and Gloomy Sneer. They beamed down upon the earth, especially at Christmas time; into the hearts of men, and women, and children.  The Gloomy Sneer felt lost, alone, distant from others. Miserable and grumpy, and sad.  The Christmas Cheer felt loved, wanted, close to others. Joyful and happy and glad. Each person on the earth would feel both cheer and sneer, but often one much stronger than the other.

By Mallika Badwal Some days, I wake up, and the world feels smaller than I remember. I think about my life in fragments, pieces of the past that never quite fit together neatly. Memory is a strange thing; it stretches and bends, leaving some moments impossibly striking and others buried in the back of my mind that I can never fully grasp.   There is a peculiar ache in remembering, not because it saddens me, but the kind of ache from remembering things that can never be recove

By Monika Shobha Shahaji Salke पौर्णिमेला पूर्णत्व देणारा चंद्र, अमावस्येला मनुष्याचा  सुक्ष्म नयनासमोरून काही काळासाठी हरवतो पण तोच चंद्र पुन्हा पौर्णिमेला परमेश्वराचा विशाल नयनात उजाळतो आणि चांदण्यांनाही लाजवतो.लंगडया हरणाची शिकार करुन वाघ रुबाबत जंगलात वावरतो पण त्या हरणाचा संघर्ष वाघाच्या विजयावरही विजय मिळवतो. अशाच प्रकारे दुर्बलावर विजय मिळवलेले भलेही विजयाचा धुंदीत असतील पण समोरच्याचा अंतिम श्वासापर्यंतचा लढा, डोक्यावर चढ़लेल्या या धुंदीस पायदळी आणण्यास पुरेसा आहे.दररो

By Rachana Shukla It is the voids that enhance the filled spaces. Its just the matter of perspective. People always appreciate intricate designs. And moreover the blank spaces between the design gives it the detailed version. A full solid block of wood or marble is not appreciated as much as a carved one. It is also more beautiful to look at. The setbacks that you encounter before reaching your destination, makes it more sweeter once you reach there. It is then more enjoyable

By Kuru Am I bipolar? First, I complained about the warmth. Said it was too much — too sticky, too close, too constant. Now? I can't bear this cold. coughs I'd gotten used to the warmth. And now it's all gone. — it's not about the temperature. Funny how we curse the sun when it shines too long, but fall apart the moment it disappears. Some people are like that too. Too giving. Too present. Too much... until they're not. And when the warmth that once wrapped around you vanishe

By Kuru It sounds simple, almost too blunt, but maybe that's the point. Not every hand deserves entry. Not every attempt is meant to succeed. We twist, we force, we fumble — blaming the lock for being stubborn, broken, unyielding. But maybe the lock isn't at fault. Maybe it's simply waiting for the shape it was built for. And the thing about locks? They exist for a reason. To protect. To keep safe what's inside. A wrong key isn't just useless, it can damage the lock, leave it

By Kuru Some people are like black holes. Without your knowledge, they pull you in, absorb all your light. You fight, you flare, you try to shine brighter — but nothing reflects back. Because some things are too dense, too consuming. Even light doesn't return after touching a black hole's grave. I first thought this in physics class. Sir was teaching about escape speed — the minimum speed with which an object has to be projected so that it escapes a planet's gravity. At escap

By Anmol Sharma [Scene I] “The king… the king has fallen!” The words as though a jagged thunderbolt shattered the golden calm of the chamber, reverberating against walls lined with centuries of valor. The messenger, who had been sprinting for quite a long time, sank to his knees on the marble floor, face pale and hands trembling. “Veer Maharaj… he fought like the mountain itself, holding the enemy at the battlefield of ‘Garh’… but… the men… they overwhelmed him… they… they…”

By Kriti Arora Is a puddle really a puddle if I’ve never jumped over it, in comedic fashion, not to illicit snorts or stares from passers-by, instead because my movements can be best defined as jerk-y and comedic, splashing icky water on my ankles? Longer strides.  One foot in front of the other, marching into oblivion, for when your thoughts are spiralling out of your control, all you can do is put one foot in front of the other, relishing the sight of your mud-laced sneaker

By Rashmi Sah Life is not predictable at all. Sometime we have to spend whole life under one roof and sometime getting a permanent roof a dream. We have to take different journey in our life. Some like it, realise it, enjoy it. Some do the journey without even knowing that they are on journey. Actually we all are doing the journey only. This life itself is a journey. Here is a journey done from one part of country to another part, making it as essential part of the profession

By Kalpana Kumari Pushpa 2 is the story of a red sandalwood smuggler’s “rise” or more accurately, the cinematic worship of a man who cannot be defeated. He says, “Jhukega nahi saala” and everyone from police departments across states to mafia bosses from Japan, Central ministers, a sitting CM, an ex-CM, business tycoons, traders, and even the entire administration collectively agrees. No one dares to “jhukao” him. Pushpa is fire. He doesn’t need negotiation or strategy. No “s

By Anchita Jayaprakash Narayan The allure of laziness is undeniably comforting, wrapping me in a blissful haze of mystery. Despite the mounting chaos, I find solace in surrendering to its numbness, its tranquil chaos. It’s ironic—I lack the will to resist, knowing full well the regret I’ll face later. Yet, I’ve already yielded to its grasp. The effort to rise seems monumental, daunting. Will I break free from it? Perhaps not. But in this moment, amidst the quiet and the clamo

By Akanksha Shukla We know that much of the architecture population is getting frustrated, changing directions and not getting into practice.  An enormous number of malpractices in the path of learning architecture may surface, each with varied implications. If not corrected forthrightly, they cultivate a lenient perspective and a mindset that focuses merely on wrapping up tasks rather than producing quality work—the very essence of any meaningful project. Countless participa

By Vanshika Vangani I can't take the batteries out of my clocks and stop time, maybe it'll stop for me but it won't for you. You bought new batteries and a new clock and life went on for you. I stopped and stayed with the broken one, for a little longer. How could I just abandon the hands that had shown me all moments so utterly loving, so irreversibly mine that I was guaranteed that these shall be the only hands that concern me, the only clock I'll ever own.  It sat so well

By Raghav Badrinath It was a simple car ride. The kind that usually passes unnoticed, a blur between destinations. I was seated in the backseat, leaning slightly against the window, watching the landscape slide by. The world outside was painted in shades of green, soft and endless, the trees bowing gently to the rhythm of the wind. Sunlight spilled through the leaves, scattering like liquid gold, and the hum of the engine blended with the distant call of birds. Everything fel

By Shanaya Singh There once was a boy named Jack, who had a sister named Jina. It was a sunny afternoon, so they were playing football in the open area in their society together with their friends. It was Chhoti diwali so they were extremely excited for tomorrow. Jina and Jack both got new clothes, money from their relatives and got some gifts from their close friends. Eagerly excited for tomorrow they played joyfully in the park, until Jack kicked the ball a little too high,

By Esther Malsawmtluangi By Esther Malsawmtluangi

By Anu Radha जिंदगी की जुस्तजू किसे नहीं होती, कब नहीं होती, हर एक इंसान जीने की ख्वाहिश रखता है। यह तो अलग बात है कि कोई जी भर के जिंदगी का मजा लेता है। तो कोई तमाम उम्र को बस किस्तों में ही जी लेता है । कहने के लिए जिंदगी इंसान को बहुत कुछ सिखाती है पर साथ साथ छीन भी तो जाती है बहुत कुछ। चार पल की कही जाने वाली जिंदगी किसी इंसान के लिए चार सदियों से भी लंबी हो जाती है। जिंदगी में कब क्या को जाए ,क्या छीन जाए ,कौन बिछड़ जाए ,क्या मालूम। दुनिया का सिलसिला तो है खोना और पाना ।