Suchismita Das Chapter 1: The Meeting The monsoon had arrived early in Kolkata that year, painting the city in shades of grey and green. Rain-soaked College Street bustled with people, umbrellas jostling for space, the sweet smell of wet paper wafting through the narrow alleys of booksellers. Riddhi stood near Dasgupta’s Bookshop, her saree damp at the hem, thumbing through a stack of dog-eared paperbacks. She loved this place. The chaos, the stories hidden in every shop, the memories of her father bringing her here as a child to buy books. Today, she was on the hunt for a worn…
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Neelima Verma The Wedding Dream The mehendi hadn’t yet faded from her palms when Siya stepped into the grand foyer of her new home—her new home. The deep maroon stain curled along her fingers in delicate paisley patterns, a reminder of the rituals, the singing, the whispered jokes between cousins, and the scent of jasmine that still clung to her hair. Her wrists were heavy with glass bangles, red and gold, and they jingled with every hesitant step she took across the marble floor of the Malhotra mansion. Her heart fluttered with a strange mix of excitement and nervousness. At…
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Debasis Mukherjee The Return to Bishnupur The scorching afternoon sun beat down on the dusty platform of Bishnupur Railway Station. The faint scent of baked earth, mustard fields, and incense from a nearby temple filled the air. Arindam Roy stepped off the train, his leather bag slung across his shoulder and sweat forming a light sheen on his forehead. Though it had been ten years since he left this town, the past welcomed him like an old ghost—unfamiliar, yet unforgettable. Once a sleepy princely town in West Bengal, Bishnupur was known for its terracotta temples, Baluchari sarees, and whispered legends…
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Amal Shukla Part 1 It was just past 3 AM when the neighbors in Versova’s Sea Breeze Heights heard the gunshot. A loud, sharp crack that echoed through the tiled corridors and bounced off the closed windows of sleeping apartments. No one called the police. In Mumbai, people had learned to let things pass. Besides, the rains were hammering down, and it was easy to believe the noise was just thunder. In Flat 9C, Rajiv Mehta lay sprawled on the Persian carpet of his study, a bullet hole clean through his forehead. His right hand was still resting on the…
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Sumit Chakraborty The Letter It arrived without a stamp, wrapped in an old envelope the colour of forgotten books. Arna Sen noticed it only after the lunch break, sitting neatly atop her desk at the Kolkata office of The Bangle Mirror, the online magazine where she wrote a column called Lost Bengal. Her readers expected stories of abandoned palaces, unnamed martyrs, haunted train tracks, and love that rotted in ruins. She delivered all of that with careful prose and light skepticism. But the letter was different. The handwriting was slanted, hesitant. No name. No address. Just one line: “Come find…
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Mira Devika The Bride of Power The rain in Delhi had a peculiar scent that evening — part jasmine, part diesel, part something burning somewhere far away. The same scent Meher Kapoor remembered from her childhood, watching her father practice speeches before the mirror, shirt sleeves rolled up, his eyes alight with some unknowable fire. But now, Meher was twenty-four, and her father was a framed memory garlanded with marigolds in their ancestral home. She stood in front of a mirror in the bridal chamber of the Oberoi, a deep red lehenga clinging to her like memory. Bangles jangling, lip…
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Asmita Dey Ishaan, a travel content creator from Kolkata, grows disillusioned with chasing viral moments. Seeking deeper meaning, he embarks on a soulful journey across Bhutan, Sri Lanka, Morocco, Peru, and Iceland—discovering hidden stories, inner transformation, and the true essence of travel beyond the lens. Beyond the Itinerary is his awakening. Departure from Home The humid air of Kolkata clung to Ishaan like a final embrace. Even in the early morning, the city buzzed with life—tea stalls hissed, street dogs barked, and the occasional tram screeched along its rails like a protest against time itself. Yet for Ishaan, today was…
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Neha Dikshit Chapter 1: The Loudest Goodbye Mumbai never sleeps. Even at 3 a.m., the city sounds like it’s holding its breath before exhaling into chaos. The honking doesn’t stop, nor do the distant wails of ambulances or the occasional hum of trains cutting across the sleeping city like whispers through a crowded dream. Rajeev Menon sat on the edge of his bed in his 14th-floor apartment in Andheri, hands clenched tightly, heart pounding louder than any city noise. It had been three months since Anika died, but her absence still screamed louder than anything he could record. Rajeev was…
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Reshmi Sinha Part 1 Misty scrolled through her phone as the afternoon sun slid gently across her balcony tiles. Her fingers paused, then moved rapidly over the keyboard, tapping out a caption beneath a carefully edited selfie. “Patriarchy has no place in our bodies. #MyBodyMyRules #FeministVoices #BurnTheNorms.” Within seconds, the likes began to roll in—heart-shaped dopamine boosts. She knew her angle, her aesthetic, her voice. On Instagram, she was fierce, unrelenting, a warrior wrapped in reels and carousels. But in the quiet of her one-bedroom flat in South Kolkata, Misty often stared at the mirror and felt like an impostor.…
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The train jerked to a halt at a nameless station nestled between dense sal groves and silent hills. Ananya Sinha stepped down cautiously, dragging her suitcase over the uneven platform. The dusty signboard above her head read, barely legibly: Kandara Halt. The air smelled of wet earth, turmeric, and smoke — familiar yet strange. She glanced at her phone. No signal. Typical. A rusted jeep waited near the exit, just as the letter from Kandara Panchayat Samiti had described. Painted in faded green, it bore the name: “Kandara Gramin Vikas Kendra.” The driver, a leathery man with sunken eyes and…