“Do you want to play with us?” He looked at them warily. He was used to being ignored. This was...
2018
Institute National Des Langues et Civilisations Orientales INALCO, (Paris) has included acclaimed Urdu novel Rohzin in its academic study from...
The sulphur gas hissed and smoke was issuing every few metres from the porous rocks. The clouds churned in the...
They said the fog was made of the tears of the old soldiers, those who left the town to make...
By Mitali Chakravarty Shweta Taneja's story named as pre-finalist in French Grand Prix de l'Imaginaire The Best Asian Speculative Fiction...
When she walked into the room, every eye in that place rested on her, as though she was a magnet...
Translated by Abhisek Sarkar Chhabi has expired. Chhabila died close to day break. She had been choked to death. Her...
Gopuji tore away the blanket. His shirt was drenched in sweat. He dragged himself out of bed. When he foamed...
The only thing I could do for him was take his picture. So I heaved my DSLR up—it had to...
Irati had green fingers. A darker green than most gardeners’ fingers. She could twist and fix and grow and stunt....
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