Nayantara Das The House on the Ridge The first time Leela Varman saw Rudra Kaul’s house, it reminded her of her mother’s eyes—quiet, pale, and full of something that stayed just out of reach. Perched like a ghost on the ridge, the stone cottage didn’t greet visitors. It waited. And as she stepped out of the rickety taxi with her sketchbooks and a single duffel bag, the Kumaon wind wrapped around her as if testing who she had become. She had lied to get here. Well, not lied. Curated. She had submitted her portfolio anonymously to the prestigious Kaul Residency,…
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Ayesha Fernandes Part 1: The First Drop The rain came slow, like a lover hesitating at the doorstep. It began with a whisper against the rusted railing of the old apartment on Chapel Road, then picked up its rhythm like tabla fingers on taut skin. Amara stood by the half-open window, brush frozen mid-air, eyes half-lidded in thought. The canvas before her bore the beginning of a woman’s face, unfinished—like everything else in her life these days. She wasn’t supposed to paint today. She had promised herself a break. But the monsoon had this way of stirring her skin, cracking…