• English - Crime

    The Last Passenger

    June 12, 2025 - By 

    1 The rain hadn’t stopped in twelve hours. It came down in long, dirty sheets, soaking the streets of Mumbai in a miserable, sticky silence. Neon signs flickered through misty glass. Puddles pooled over cracked footpaths. And somewhere between the dripping lamp-posts of Andheri East and the rust-red gates of Lokhandwala, a yellow-black Premier Padmini taxi came to a halt—and never moved again. That was the only fact the police could agree on. They found the taxi parked awkwardly on a side street near DN Nagar Metro Station. The driver’s side door was ajar, rain pooling in the footwell. The…

  • English - Crime

    The Kalighat Murders

    June 12, 2025 - By 

    Ritam Sen  The Body by the Ghat The tram squealed as it curved past the Kalighat temple gates, the clattering wheels echoing through the alleyways still soaked from last night’s drizzle. The city was stirring — morning prayers floated out from open windows, chai stalls hissed to life, and vendors set up shop like they had every day for years. Kolkata, in its timeless rhythm, was waking up. Inspector Arjun Dutta was halfway through his first cup of tea when the call came. The voice on the other end, a young constable posted at the Kalighat beat, was unusually tense.…

  • English - Horror

    The Fifth Floor at Dadar Heights

    June 11, 2025 - By 

    Karan Mehta 1 The humidity hit Nisha Deshmukh like a slap as she stepped out of the cab in front of Dadar Heights. Her cotton kurta clung to her back, damp with sweat. It was past 11 p.m., but Mumbai’s summer showed no signs of cooling down. The street outside was quiet, punctuated only by the occasional honk from a distant rickshaw. A few stray dogs lazed near an old lamp post, while the flickering light overhead cast long shadows across the cracked pavement. She looked up at the building—five stories of faded pink paint, streaked with years of monsoon…

  • English - Travel

    Windswept Roads

    June 11, 2025 - By 

    Ishani Sen The Road to Leh The plane shook with a sudden jolt as it dipped through clouds, drawing a quick gasp from the passenger in seat 14A. She gripped her window armrest instinctively, then laughed at herself under her breath. “Relax, Tara. You’ve been through worse,” she whispered. Below, the Himalayas looked like a sea of frozen waves, pale under the morning sun. Tara Mukherjee had seen many corners of the world—Peruvian rainforests, Icelandic black beaches, the neon chaos of Tokyo—but India, in all its chaos and contradiction, always called her back. This journey wasn’t like the others. It…

  • English - Crime

    The Howrah Hunting

    June 11, 2025 - By 

    Aritra Mukherjee Chapter 1: It was a sultry April morning in Kolkata, the kind where the air feels heavy enough to drown in, thick with humidity, sweat, and the dull weight of unspoken things. The city, always loud and unapologetically alive, had barely opened its sleepy eyes when the scream echoed along the concrete ribs of Howrah Bridge, bouncing off the iron like a banshee’s call, scattering a flock of pigeons into the early light. The chaiwalas had just begun their first boil, the fishermen were dragging their nets near the Hooghly’s edge, and fruit vendors were still unpacking their…

  • English - Crime

    Stardust and Shadows

    June 11, 2025 - By 

    Mira Devika The Girl Who Dreamed in Technicolor Aarya Vardhan arrived in Mumbai on a humid June afternoon, the kind where the sky smelt of wet rust and ambition. Dadar station was a swarm of people—hawkers shouting, suitcases clattering, children crying. She stepped off the train in worn jeans, a cotton kurta, and sneakers that had seen too many miles. Her suitcase was secondhand; her dreams were not. She stood still for a second, letting the city breathe on her. It smelled of diesel, dust, sweat, and something else—possibility. For a girl from Jabalpur with no industry godfather, Mumbai was…

  • English - Travel

    Echoes of Delhi

    June 11, 2025 - By 

    Rahul Kumar The sun had barely risen over Delhi’s hazy skyline when I stepped off the train at New Delhi Railway Station, my backpack slung over one shoulder and a nervous excitement buzzing through me like static. I’d heard stories about the city, each one painting it as a place of endless motion, where ancient empires still whispered in the wind and the present rushed forward like a river in flood. My first steps onto the platform were met with a collision of smells and sounds that hit me like a tidal wave—chai brewing in metal kettles, the sharp tang…

  • English - Crime

    The Red Envelope

    June 11, 2025 - By 

    Raghav Sethi Hauz Khas, 3:47 AM It began with the sound of dripping water. Inspector Ayaan Malik wiped sweat from his brow despite the midwinter chill and stepped further into the abandoned house in Hauz Khas. His torchlight danced across graffiti-covered walls and shattered glass. Rats scurried over dried leaves on the floor. The report had come in anonymous—just a single line typed in Courier font: “You’ll find her where memories rot.” That could mean anywhere in Delhi, but the envelope it came in—red, thick, wax-sealed—was dropped off at Hauz Khas Police Station. No fingerprints. No postage. Just a symbol…

  • English - Romance

    Whispers of the Ganges

    June 11, 2025 - By 

    Priya Malhotra 1 The train rattled over the iron bridge, the wheels clattering like a mechanical mantra, carrying Priya back to a city she had almost forgotten. Varanasi. Benares. Kashi. The city of gods, the city of death and rebirth, the city of her childhood summers spent under the watchful gaze of the Ganges. As the train slowed, she caught sight of the river, a glint of silver under the pale dawn sky, snaking its way through ancient ghats and crumbling temples. She leaned her forehead against the cool glass, exhaling a sigh that fogged the window. Grief still weighed…

  • English - Comedy

    A Corpse Called Monday

    June 10, 2025 - By 

    Rajiv Dubey Part 1 Monday mornings have a reputation for being soul-crushing. For Ramesh Tripathi, forty-two years old, rapidly balding, and spiritually bankrupt, this particular Monday was… something else. He woke up at 6:45 a.m., precisely two minutes after his alarm, which he had snoozed in a half-dream state. The fan was whirring, the neighbours were already arguing, and Meenakshi, his wife of seventeen mostly silent years, was banging utensils in the kitchen like she was avenging her past life. Everything was painfully normal. Until he walked into the bathroom and screamed. There, on the cold, slightly cracked, blue-tiled floor,…