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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Rhea Mukherjee Part 1 – Shashthi: The First Glimpse The city had begun to wear its annual costume, and Anirban felt as though he had walked into a memory painted brighter than life itself. College Street was strung with banners, fairy lights hung like constellations caught in the wires, and the air smelled of shiuli blossoms crushed underfoot, mixing with the sharp scent of incense and fried snacks. He hadn’t been here for Durga Puja in three years, not since he had taken that job in Bangalore and left behind everything familiar—his friends, his family, and Ishita. The cab he…
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Rishabh Sen Episode 1 – The Key in the Dust The old mansion on College Street stood between two bookstalls like an unwelcome intruder in a crowded marketplace. Its façade leaned as though tired of holding its own weight, blackened with soot and rain. Once it must have been a proud colonial house with verandahs, high arched windows, and a tall iron gate. Now, the gate sagged on its hinges, its bars eaten by rust, and the windows wore shutters nailed from the inside. Even in the middle of the afternoon, when the book market throbbed with students shouting for…
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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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Tanika Sen Part 1: Arrival The rickshaw slowed as it turned into the narrow lanes of Bowbazar, its wheels rattling over uneven stones slick with last night’s rain. Mira clutched her dupatta tighter, staring out at the crumbling facades of colonial houses that seemed to lean against one another like tired old men. Once, this part of Kolkata had been vibrant, filled with traders, courtesans, and music spilling out of courtyards; now it felt like a relic of another century, with rusted gates and moss-streaked walls whispering of time’s decay. Arjun, sitting beside her, tapped the rickshaw wall lightly, his…
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Amara D’Souza The first real rain of the season unfurls like a forgotten banner over the city—trams sighing on wet rails, buses coughing mist, chai kettles whistling like small lighthouses—and I walk through it with a borrowed umbrella whose stubborn hinge clicks like a throat clearing before a confession, pale dots on the fabric sparking into constellations if I tilt it just so, and there he is again at the corner by the bookstall that always smells of glue and paper, the same man I have noticed three days running: once at the Park Circus stop where everyone stands in…
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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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Maya Dutta Episode 1 – The Missed Train The evening air of Kolkata carried the smell of coal-dust and roasted peanuts, that particular mixture that only Howrah Station seemed capable of holding together. The great iron ribs of the terminal arched above rows of restless passengers, each waiting for their escape or return. Ananya clutched the strap of her canvas bag tighter and quickened her pace, weaving between porters balancing luggage on their heads and families herding sleepy children. The announcement blared across the platform—her train had begun moving. By the time she reached the edge, breathless, the coaches were…
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Eira Sen Part 1: The Crackling The rain always came suddenly in her town, not like the timid drizzles that brushed over other places but like an argument with the sky itself. That evening, Tara was sitting cross-legged on the floor of her grandmother’s living room, tracing lines on her notebook when the storm struck. The shutters rattled, the lights flickered, and the smell of wet earth rushed in through the gaps under the door. Beside her, on the wooden cabinet that had been in the house longer than she had, stood the old Philips radio. Its red dial and…
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Arvind Kashyap Part 1 – The Case Begins The rain had been coming down on Kolkata for three days straight, the kind that didn’t wash the city clean but left it sticky and smelling of wet dust, fish, and petrol. Arjun Sen sat in his office above a shuttered sweet shop on Bentinck Street, nursing his fourth cup of watery tea and wondering whether he should pawn his old Nikon camera. Once, he had been the man behind front-page scoops, the journalist who broke the stories others were too scared to touch. Now he chased cheating husbands through dimly lit…