Ink Between my Swollen Fingers

A sad small affair Goes past In the street — men and women And budding generations Ferry along In a disenchanted cluster Merrymaking With old folk songs, timidly whining from a brand new tape recorder.


I came home on the first of May. The train pulled into Sealdah station fifteen minutes after its scheduled arrival time, at 10:45 AM. Platform number 9B was a petri dish full of the city’s live culture of people, teeming, bustling, and sweating, profusely sweating.

Jackfruit Season

The clouds leak constantly. I imagine someone doing laundry up in the sky, trying to wash dark smudges from the rain clouds, wringing them dry into white fluff once again. The clouds have no shame. They weep constantly, not caring that all eyes are turned towards them.

Songs for Mattur and Hosehalli

Two almost-forgotten villages stretch on either side of the Tunga. Here, centuries of exile have created a lineage that speaks remnants of a faraway tongue, borrowed vocabulary from others, made the land’s syllables her own
Mehmood Khan by Namrata Jain

The Lost Night of the Desert

Tourist’s camel ride– With a promise to find the location for shooting Of Chandani… I had imagined the throes of love with an older man at the age of fifteen, The film had given me gooseflesh. The bonfire and kalbelia dance I was ready.
Woman from Kashmir

Poems for Kashmir

Today, while they show you the colour of Jhelum —bathed in red do not let them forget The Lidder’s water— splashed with blood in ‘89 Turning lives to stone Peeling the skin of kith and kin reminding them—you never were our own The foundation of the dry blood coating the streets of Srinagar remains of Lassa Kaul.
Koniak (Konyak)

Trip to the Land of Borderland

Can you ever imagine your bedroom in India and your kitchen in Myanmar. Isn’t it bizarre and wouldn’t it be strange to know that your home is divided not between family members or even relatives but between two nations? As bizarre as it sounds they exists!
Lalgola Raj Bari

Lalmohans and other Fictions of Lalgola

Can one walk into a sleepy town in the early hours of morning and feel like one has entered a novel? A bodily jerk on the electric rickshaw has thrown one into a story and shaken away all vestiges of daily life, that have to be reclaimed as phone chargers and bills in handbags. One’s erstwhile chronicles will find no co-ordinates in the fictional life of this small, nondescript border town in rural Bengal.
Fatehpur Sikri_Equal Caramelized Accusations

Equal Caramelized Accusations

In that first photo, you have a bouffant updo and bangs “The Sadhna cut was all the rage” Squarish face, with just a hint of the heaviness that will come later. Large eyes and a direct gaze. Not a hint of a smile. Even for this, the biye-er chhobi.
Rohith Vemula_Hyderabad Central University

Rohith Vemula’s Impossible Journey

It would not be wrong to say that today a spectre is haunting India, the spectre of Rohith Vemula. What Rohith was unable to do in life, his spectre has come to do in death. It haunts honourable ministers and prime minister alike; it is the rallying point around which gathers and revolves the nationwide student’s movement of 2016. His return after death as a symbol of the caste discrimination millions of Indians suffer daily has come to haunt the dreams of the powerful.
Kamarpara Aro Akash

The Loss of a Horizon: Kamarpara

A thatched roof with muted light seeping through what appeared to be stained glass had caught our attention. Stained glass in a village with barely any sign of urbanisation, in the red laterite district of Birbhum, not one of the more affluent and developed districts of the state?

When Moonje Met Mussolini

While M.S. Golwalkar is the better known ideologue of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh or RSS, Dr. B.S. Moonje was no less influential in the formation of the ethos of militant Hindu nationalism. A brilliant ophthalmologist who discovered a new way of treating cataract, he was the head of the Hindu Mahasabha from 1927 to 1937, when he was succeeded by V.D. Savarkar. He was a close friend and mentor of Hegdewar as well. After attending the Second Round Table Conference in England in 1931
Indian Railway Poetry

No One Got down at Ludhiana

Twenty two houses for every village and an endless paddy field. We glide over the iron tracks, across the valley, watching lights flicker from the distant horizon. Night brings moon, spreads its wings over the vast fields. An ancient snake screams out its disgust. Leaves only smoke when its gone.
Jawaharlal Nehru University Ambassador, JNU row, Anti national slogans

The University with an Immortal Ambassador

Such an imagined land might as well be the abode of idle lotus eaters, or the dwelling place of ferocious sexual fiends, with a propensity for red meat with their alcohol, and a fervent dedication to various modes of family planning. Sandwiched between the realms of fanciful imagination and mundane reality, the Jawaharlal Nehru University exists almost proverbially, like the folk song, it never was new, and it never gets old.