This is for the fiction section


Amidst Covid19 Depression, A Father’s Lessons To A Son.

The person with the book, standing beside me, as the evening was setting down with its intoxicating beauty, the Sun leading the spectacular main role, sending out a message, We all set one day but before we do, we make sure we reach our full potential to live our dreams. In the process of picturing the image of him, I got triggered with a question, how have you thought that you are interested in the choices you have taken in life and all the choices you took was in the name of good decisions? I asked him in a quest to accommodate more space for the dreams in my life.
The Last Bhangi The opinion

The last bhangi, a Social Construction.

They had hardly gone for five minutes when a man from Thakur sahib’s kothi called out to his father: ‘Oye, Shambu! Come, the master has called. The pipe needs your attention’. Chandan heard no more, for his father took Thakur sahib’s employee to one side and talked in low tones. Chandan heard snatches, his father protesting ‘It’s Diwali… Son…. Firecrackers…’ and the employee insisting ‘Malik… Guests… Two hundred’, and his father walked up to him, looking defeated and placed his hand tenderly on his shoulder, and said: ‘Go home. I’ll come in late tonight. Tell your mother. Don’t cry, we’ll go tomorrow’. Chandan stood, his lower lip quivering while his father followed Thakur sahib’s servant. Chandan went home, threw himself on his mat, and cried, hiding his face under the pillow, and fell asleep.

The story of a bibliophile and her Scotty key.

Books! Is that what you are talking about? Is that what you said to me yesterday,...