Tanya Mehra Part 1: Swipe Left on Sanity Mehul Mehta was the kind of man who walked into cafés with the confidence of a founder but paid for coffee with borrowed Paytm credit. On the second Tuesday of February, as the Koramangala sun turned everyone into sweating overachievers, Mehul stood outside BeanBag Labs, a co-working space that smelled like ambition and stale sandwiches. He adjusted his Zara-but-says-Gucci blazer, turned to his reflection in a glass door, and whispered, “Today, destiny gets an upgrade.” Inside, Tara Jacob sat hunched over her laptop, surrounded by four open coffee cups and a fifth…
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Renuka Chanda Chapter 1 It was early morning in the small town of Rewa, Madhya Pradesh. The Mishra household was in complete chaos. Shrikant Mishra, the head of the family, ran around the house holding the tickets like they were some ancient treasure. “Lalita! Did you pack the pickle? We cannot eat outside food every day!” he shouted, wiping sweat from his forehead though the fan was on full speed. Lalita, his wife, stood in the kitchen stuffing the last of the theplas into steel dabbas, praying that the luggage would close. Pintu, their 12-year-old son, had already put on…
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Ravi Venkatesh Part 1: The Open Mic War Begins In the buzzing alleys of Bangalore, where biryani is a second religion and tech startups bloom faster than rain-soaked mushrooms, something curious had taken root—stand-up poetry. Not quite comedy, not quite theatre, and certainly not for the faint of vocabulary. By 2025, it had morphed into a strange new beast. Think Netflix drama meets spoken word, with a dash of ego and cappuccino foam. Two open mic venues had risen to cult status—Café Metaphor in Indiranagar, and Rhyme & Roast in Koramangala. Each claimed poetic supremacy. Their Instagram reels were savage.…
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Abhinav Sinha Chapter 1: Burnt Toast & Burnt Out Samar Bajaj had never seen a toaster explode. Until now. It was 7:42 AM on a perfectly miserable Monday morning in Bangalore. The rain was coming down like an overachiever, and Samar, dressed in a bathrobe and one sock, stood frozen in horror as his third toaster of the year smoked like a bonfire for ants. He had tried to toast one slice of bread. Just one. But somehow, smoke had poured out, the fire alarm had shrieked awake, and his cat—who wasn’t his cat but kept showing up—leapt out the…
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Soumitra Deb 1 It was a lazy winter Sunday in south Kolkata—the kind where the sun was gentle enough to soften the edges of reality, the kind where even alarms gave up and let people sleep a little longer. In the modest Ghosh household of Lake Road, Mr. Biswajit Ghosh was already up by 7:30 a.m., fully dressed in his house kurta, socks on, and sipping tea while reading The Telegraph, shaking his head every five minutes at something he claimed was “kintu bipodjonok”. Purnima, his wife, had just started preparing luchi-alur tarkari when she heard a firm clearing of…
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Pritam Mehta Chapter 1 The morning began with the sharp clanking of steel utensils and the hiss of a pressure cooker — routine sounds in the Pradhan household — but this time, there was something different in the air. Madhuri Pradhan stood in the middle of the living room, hands on her hips, eyes fixed on the old brown sofa like a general inspecting a battlefield. Its once-beige upholstery was now a tapestry of curry stains, dog hair, and timeworn sagging. One of its wooden legs had been replaced with a stack of old Amar Chitra Katha comics and the…
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Amit Bhattacharya Chapter 1: The Morning the Lights Died It was a Thursday morning like any other in the quiet neighbourhood of Lakshmi Niwas Cooperative Housing Society. The air was already heavy with humidity and promise—promise of yet another gloriously uneventful day. Birds chirped, autos honked, and pressure cookers whistled in unison like they’d all rehearsed a morning raga. In Flat 5C, Mr. Aniruddha Biswas stood in his kitchen, peering suspiciously into the refrigerator. He did this often—not because there was anything mysterious inside, but because at 64, routine was a sacred thing. Open fridge, scratch head, sigh dramatically. That…
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Mridul Sharma 1 Aditi Sharma stared at her laptop screen as if sheer willpower could make the pending presentation design itself, but the only thing her willpower achieved was making her eye twitch for the third time that week. The Gurgaon office was as loud as ever — colleagues banged away at keyboards like they were fighting off demons, someone’s phone blared a Bollywood remix ringtone on loop, and from the adjacent cubicle came the unmistakable sound of someone noisily slurping instant noodles. Aditi exhaled, rubbed her temples, and took a sip of her now-cold black coffee, its bitterness mirroring…
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Avantika Deshpande Chapter 1: The Almond Milk Allegation “Sunitaaaa!” The shrillness of the voice pierced through three closed doors, one bathroom exhaust, and the sacred morning silence of the apartment. Sunita Bai didn’t flinch. She was elbow-deep in a stubborn sink full of greasy kadhi bowls. With the reflexes of someone who’d survived three decades of joint families and four generations of soap dramas, she calmly wiped her hands on her pallu and sauntered toward the battlefield—aka the living room. There, Mrs. Riya Mehta stood—yoga pants tighter than her tolerance, holding a carton of almond milk like it was a…
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Kabir Banerjee One Mihir Sen’s life had always hovered somewhere between barely-functioning adulthood and low-key disaster, but even he didn’t expect to be evicted on a Sunday morning because of a bag of popcorn. It had started innocently enough. The flat was silent, his flatmate Advaith was off at one of his weekend silent retreats in Coorg, and Mihir, in his red checkered boxers and a Bob Marley T-shirt that hadn’t been washed in a week, decided to reward himself with a Netflix binge and some butter popcorn. But fate, as always, had other plans. The microwave had conked off…