Short Story

By Anjali Saxena By Anjali Saxena

By Anjali Saxena By Anjali Saxena

By Anjali Saxena By Anjali Saxena

By Anjali Saxena By Anjali Saxena

By Anjali Saxena By Anjali Saxena

By Aishani Ghoshal She sighed as she lay in her bed, her bangles clinking as her hands moved restlessly. In her old age she had naught to do; and yet she looked not her age. Her old hands were not as withered as they should be; her face, perhaps only slightly more wrinkled than that in her youth. Her health, a subject of admiration to those around her; she could not call them her friends, for she knew them not; all she knew was gone. She could not call them her enemies, for s

By Hiya Chatterjee The auditorium buzzed with excitement. The most anticipated performance of the Annual Programme was about to begin. A dance duet,  based on the eternal love of Radha-Krishna,  was being performed by Aratrika Saha,  once alum of the school,  now the youngest English teacher known for her mastery in Katthak and Laksh Mukherjee,  a fellow classmate and close friend of hers and now an engineering student. The curtains rose as the performance began. Everyone's b

By Hiya Chatterjee The low hum of the ceiling fan filled the living room. Kanishk furrowed his brows as he checked the essays. Being the IR professor had its sparks. Sure,  the subject is interesting, and when you are the DPIR of the department,  what else can you want?  But at the same time,  it also had its downsides. The subject is also tricky. It takes a lot of effort to really understand the matter, almost like Physics but with more Philosophy than equations. The  studen

By Animesh Chowdhury “One bed is there and get her admitted…” uttering those words Divakar again plunged into unbearable silence. All of you must be surprised or thinking what those meaningless words must be! And if you are actually thinking that, you cannot be blamed for.  Mumbai Rajdhani Express was running in full speed in the open field of saffron twilight in the approaching dusk, towards New Delhi and those words were heard from inside the AC-Second class coach. I am rea

By Arpita Bhatt By Arpita Bhatt

By Raghav Badrinath Listen, and I shall tell you a tale whispered by the winds, a tale older than the first cry of a child, of how the sky once loved the land. In the beginning, when the earth was silent and creation still dreamed within the void, the sky stretched wide and endless above, watching the sleeping land below. She looked upon him and saw beauty in his stillness, in the way the mountains rose like breaths from his chest, in the way the rivers wound like veins of si

By Kenisha Kapur When I was fourteen, my grandmother gave me a typewriter and said, “Élodie, this is a typewriter. I’m giving it to you. It’s yours now.” I didn’t know what to make of the unexpected gift, but I thanked her and went home. I placed the cherry red Remington on my desk. It was dusty and ancient. I wondered if Grandmother had ever written in it. I filled it up with paper and positioned the roller. I was never into writing. Writing was a special talent possessed by

By Kenisha Kapur “Your luggage, Ms. Élodie.” I stared at this man’s tall and lean structure longer than I should have, but who’s to say what’s right or wrong? Besides, the entire train journey I had been stuck inside my mind. And that can be a dark place. “Would you like assistance of any kind, Ms. Élodie?” Élodie, yes, surely that was my name. I wasn’t subjected to hearing it much, so it often slipped my mind. Surely, he was addressing me. He had to be - his gaze was fixated

By Kenisha Kapur If my childlike self could see me right now, she would cry, to say the least.  Little Élodie wanted to be a princess. Little Élodie wanted to wear elaborate dresses and twirl in front of the mirror, and have tea parties with princesses across the globe. Little Élodie wanted a castle with a high canopy bed and a never-ending wardrobe. Little Élodie wanted her own private jet so she could travel the world with her royal cat. Could you blame Little Élodie? She w

By Surabhi Sharma What makes something precious? Price……..Or priceless!! The country of Azad has three states: Auratgarh, Mardgarh and Sabzipur. Mardgarh being the oldest whereas Auratgarh the newest. Mardgarh referring to the bastion of the males was one of the largest states till 2000 when it was bifurcated to form Auratgarh. A state where there are more hookah and liquor shops than essentials, Mardgarh has always belonged to the men. A land of men, for men and by men . Wom

By Kayal S Sometimes, some things are better left in the dark… As they are… To play out… _________________________________________________________________________________________________ Solitude in the light of the sunset.  The ravishing sunset, revelled in a spectrum of colours, fading into one another. The bold tropical hues gave way to twilight, streaking the sky, its blank canvas. Carefully curated colours painted it over time. The decadent atmosphere caressed the wooden

By Kayal S A congested amphitheatre, bursting at the seams, rose up from the regal terrain at my feet, cramped within velvet heels, geometric and unnatural to my naked iris, in comparison to my furnished and embellished physique, oriented and abated to fall under the pretentious matrix of the paradox that is our civilisation rationalised by competition. The baroque gown that hugged my skin, with its minute embroideries of flamboyant gold thread and fixtures of pearl and gem,

By Kayal S An angled, shagged stroke of lightning split the canopy of wild, dusky branches, dappled with musk and sap, the scene a wash of enchanted timber tints, a composition of celtic greens, driftwood brown, grounded by dilute streaks of nevada grey,  blossoming clouds of dark threatened to surge, in the process dousing the phoney brambles of the rich, cultivated nature that was Pine Barrens.  A spine chilling, and nerve tingling roll of thunder ricocheted off the treetop

By Kayal S “Sunny skies, crystal clear, mystic vines spread galore. People rejoice, with pride and vice, the melody of patriots so very near. However pure, the wretched core strikes open the abyss. The never-forgiven oaths taken by the popes, a lie to run amiss.” The artificially interrupted hue of twilight glow fades sputtering, as it chokes out its last text. The flat screen turns to black, leaving a retained soft amber flicker, emanating as a helix, ashen around the circul

By Kayal S Not luck. Just leverage. A lavish request.  Poetic, painful, pleasure.  A storm lashes out on a cliffside. Lightning edging its way closer, scattering lustre and foreboding belly-blown bellows of thunder refracted by the rippling surface of the salty sea, flooding the plains in the middle of who knows where.  The macabre throbs of electricity trembled the glass, droplets of water racing each other to meet the pastel of the rickety, rusted door of this shelving unit