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Serendipity
The sky had started to change as the autumn blues replaced the grey skies of summer monsoons. The Ganesh idols had been submerged, the Dandiyas had been put to rest. There were queues outside jewelry stores to bring prosperity on Dhanteras. Vipin had a busy day with the second longest queues outside banks. The ATMs…
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Shrishti’s Guardian Call
Kindness comes in all sizes and Shrishti despite her age was a kind girl. She would share her tiffin with her benchmates and stop on the road to pat puppies or feed them biscuits that she would carry in her bag. Some called her a dreamer. Some claimed her to simply be an animal lover…
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A phone rings in an empty house
The Mukherjees were a lively household. Ridhima was the youngest who loved singing early in the morning. The sound of her harmonium and her Rabindrasangeet filled the air. Her parents were staunch believers of Bangaliyana whether it be a red bordered saree, Rabindrasangeet to start the day or Sarat Chandra Chattapadhay on their shelves gathering…
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Bhoot Chaturdashi
The monsoon evening clung to the Hooghly like a damp, grey shroud. The air was a thick broth of smells—the primal scent of wet clay from the riverbank, a deep, earthy breath, and the high, sweet thread of incense drifting down from the alleyways of the village. It was Bhoot Chaturdashi, the Indian Halloween, and…
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What the River Carries Away
The train exhaled a long, weary sigh as it slid into the station, releasing Arindam back into the air of his youth. Behala clung to him instantly, a persistent humidity of memory. He stepped out, and the years fell away like a discarded coat. The lanes were still the same greedy width, forcing shoulders to…
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The Misguided Message
“What do they think of themselves? Why can’t they respect my privacy? Why do they not have the decency to respect me as a person?” That was the rant that Nancy posted on her Instagram Live. She didn’t expect it to go viral. She didn’t expect to be criticized for being a senseless birdbrained. But…
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The Man at the Corner
A flash of lightning lit up the sky, and in that light, Deep saw the shadowy figure standing at the corner. He froze. The street was empty. The tea shop had closed an hour ago. The rain poured in thick sheets, slapping the tarred road like angry hands. Yet there—just beneath the flickering streetlamp—a man…
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The Great Pickle Truce
The year was 2094. The world had been at war for six months, two weeks, and exactly four days. Not that anyone was counting, except maybe the United Nations Secretary-General, whose eye twitched every time someone said “mutually assured destruction” in a meeting. What began as a minor diplomatic squabble between the President of the…
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The Crow Conspiracy
There was no rhyme or reason to what he did, but who knew that it would become a matter of life or death. Every morning at exactly 4:03 AM, Bonochhaya Sen would climb onto the tin roof of her crumbling ancestral home in North Kolkata and scatter mustard seeds in a perfect spiral, all the…
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The Bell Never Rang
I always hated the rain in Kolkata. It turned the streets to mud, blurred the skyline, and soaked the rusted bell of St. Agnes High, which never rang loud enough anyway. The bell had become symbolic—a failing system, a useless tradition. Just like Subir. Subir Mitra had those too-big glasses and that squeaky bicycle. Always…
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