Ira Sen Part 1 The bus rattled across the endless stretch of Patagonian steppe, its windows clouded with a thin film of dust that the wind seemed to scatter and replace in equal measure. Mira pressed her forehead against the cold glass, staring out at a world that felt larger than any she had known before, a land stripped bare of pretence, where the earth and sky met in an uncompromising line. She had been divorced for six months, though the word still felt sharp on her tongue, and this journey—half impulsive, half deliberate—was meant to be her own form…
-
-
Arvind Sen Episode 1: The Vanished Widow It was on a sultry September afternoon that I first heard of the case that would change the course of my modest career. The ceiling fan in my small office on College Street turned sluggishly, stirring the stale air, and I was almost dozing over a week-old newspaper when the phone rang. The voice on the other end was brittle, lined with suppressed panic, and unmistakably aristocratic. “Mr. Sen? This is Mrs. Chaudhuri of Alipore Lane. I need your help. My sister-in-law has disappeared. No one believes me, but something terrible has happened.”…
-
Elena Roy Episode 1 – The First Glance The rain had come down hard in the afternoon and left Park Street glistening like a polished mirror under the late sun. Rhea walked quickly, her sandals tapping against the damp pavement, the faint scent of wet earth and fried snacks from roadside stalls curling into the air. She had not planned to stop anywhere, but as she passed the corner café with its green awning dripping with raindrops, she slowed. She had been there a handful of times in her college years, when life was simpler and her evenings less scripted…
-
Aanya Deshpande Part 1 – Rooftop Strings The city was heavy with heat that night, even though the monsoon had broken weeks ago. Ruhi Sen pushed open the creaky terrace door of their old two-storied house in Ballygunge, her guitar clutched tightly against her chest. Downstairs, her father’s voice still echoed from dinner, rising above the clatter of utensils: “Focus, Ruhi. No more distractions. IIT is not a joke.” Her mother had nodded in silent agreement. But here, on the rooftop, she was free. The sky hung low, thick with stars blurred by smog, and the distant hum of traffic…
-
Ishita Malhotra Part 1 – The Caller at Midnight The studio smelled faintly of dust and old vinyl. Anika leaned back on her swivel chair, headphones pressing gently against her ears, her fingers drumming idly on the console as the clock blinked past midnight. Kolkata outside was muffled rain and the occasional tram bell. Inside, her voice filled the silence—smooth, warm, designed to keep lonely listeners company. “This is Anika on Midnight Melodies. Sometimes the right song finds you when you least expect it. Stay with me tonight.” She smiled into the microphone, though no one saw her, only heard.…
-
Anirban Sen The tram rattled past Bagbazar and screeched towards Shyambazar, its iron wheels sparking against the stubborn tracks as dusk settled over North Kolkata. The air smelled of roasted peanuts, incense smoke, and an old kind of weariness that clung to the city’s bones. Ananya adjusted her satchel against her shoulder and stepped off at the crossing where five roads tangled together like restless veins. She had been summoned by the trustees of an old zamindari estate, tasked with sorting through a century’s worth of brittle manuscripts and letters that had been abandoned in the crumbling mansion known simply…
-
Rhea Kapoor Part 1 – The Meeting The rain had been falling since dawn, a steady curtain that blurred the tram lines and softened the edges of College Street’s crowded bookstalls. Water pooled in the cracks of the old pavements, making each step a careful negotiation between slipperiness and stubborn mud. Ayaan tightened the strap of his worn leather satchel and ducked under a bamboo-and-plastic canopy where secondhand books leaned against one another like old companions. His hair, damp and curling from the downpour, clung to his forehead, but his eyes held that restless brightness of someone always in search…
-
Mira D’Silva Episode 1 – The Hidden Canvas Ananya Mehta had never entered Professor Hall’s office without permission before. The narrow corridor outside the Fine Arts Department was deserted that evening, the winter light drained from the sky, and the flickering tube light above made the varnished wooden door glow in a tired, sickly sheen. She stood with her hand on the brass knob, half-deciding whether to turn away, but curiosity had its own pull. Hall had sent her a hurried message to retrieve a folder from his desk, nothing more. He had sounded distracted, impatient even, as though every…
-
রুদ্রনীল সেন পর্ব ১: শুরু কলকাতার ভোর সবসময় এক অদ্ভুত শব্দে ভরে থাকে—হর্ণের মৃদু চিৎকার, ট্রামের ঘড়ঘড়ানি, ভাপওঠা চায়ের দোকান থেকে উঠে আসা ধোঁয়া, আর দূর থেকে ভেসে আসা মাইকের আওয়াজ। অদ্রিজ বসু প্রতিদিনের মতো আজও ভোরে ঘুম ভাঙল এই শব্দের ভেতরেই। তবে আজকের সকালটা অন্যরকম। আজ সে আর চাকরিজীবী নয়—আজ থেকে সে উদ্যোক্তা। মাত্র তিন বছর আগে সে নামকরা এক বহুজাতিক কোম্পানির সেলস ডিপার্টমেন্টে কাজ শুরু করেছিল। ভালো বেতন, অফিসের এয়ার কন্ডিশনড চেম্বার, আর মাথার ওপর বসের অনুমোদনের গণ্ডি—সব কিছুই তার ছিল। কিন্তু তবুও যেন কিছু একটা তাকে টানত না। প্রতিদিন সকালে অফিসে যাওয়ার সময় ট্রামে বসে শহরের ব্যবসায়িক…
-
Arjun Malhotra The Broken Lock The house stood at the far end of Chitpur Road like a stubborn relic, refusing to collapse even as the rest of north Kolkata modernized and decayed in equal measure. Its high arched windows were shattered, its stucco walls streaked with moss, and weeds sprouted in wild abandon from the cracks in its courtyard. The demolition crew had arrived at dawn with their rust-colored machines, but Rohan had been there before them, notebook in hand, his camera dangling from his neck, watching as the first hammer struck the gates of the house. Freelance assignments were…