Arvind Sen Part 1 – Boarding from the West October in New York is always sharper than one expects. The cold doesn’t announce itself in long winter winds but slips in with small betrayals—the sting in the air when you step out of the subway, the sudden bitterness of coffee that seemed warm enough just yesterday, the leaves crackling underfoot before their time. On the morning of my departure, I stood by my apartment window in Queens, suitcase zipped and waiting like an obedient child, and watched the early commuters hurry past in coats and scarves. Their world was turning…
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Ria Mukherjee Episode 1: The First Beat of the Dhaak The city was already stirring with the rhythm of autumn. By late September, Kolkata had begun to smell different—air thick with the sweetness of shiuli blossoms, streets filling with bamboo scaffolds, and paints drying on vast clay structures that would soon transform into gods and goddesses. For Anirban, this season had always meant a sense of homecoming, even though he had never really left the city. Every lane seemed alive with anticipation, and every face carried a hint of secret joy. Durga Puja was not just a festival; it was…
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Maya Dutta Part 1 Anaya had always believed that cities carried memories in their air. Kolkata was no different—every tram line, every peeling paint on a crumbling colonial façade, every smell of frying telebhaja in the late afternoon seemed to hold the invisible fingerprints of those who once walked there. That afternoon in early July, when the monsoon clouds pressed heavily over the city, she stood at the narrow balcony of her rented apartment on Southern Avenue, watching the first drops hit the asphalt. The rain came with its own music, a hurried staccato against tin roofs, a deeper resonance…
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Ritwik Sen Part 1 The Hooghly looked different at night, heavier somehow, as if the current carried with it the weight of centuries, of sailors who had come with strange tongues and strange flags, of traders whose goods had been swallowed in monsoon storms, of nameless villagers who had slipped into its depth and never returned. Anirban leaned over the rusted railings at Bagbazar ghat and lit a cigarette, trying to convince himself that he wasn’t wasting his time. He had been chasing the story for three months—rumours of a ferry that crossed the river at midnight even though the…
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Sohini Chattopadhyay Chapter 1: The Rented Room Tuhina Roy arrived at the old mansion just as the late November light began to fade into the haze of North Kolkata’s dusk. Ahiritola Ghat loomed just beyond the house—a crumbling stretch of stone steps and moss, where the Hooghly whispered its slow secrets. She was here to research colonial bathhouses, but what drew her was something less academic, more instinctive. A longing she couldn’t explain. The house stood like a reluctant witness to time. Faded green shutters flanked its tall windows, the wrought-iron balconies sagging under decades of neglect. A strand of…