The Quiet Death of the Deep Reader
Books once held a monopoly on knowledge. Today they compete with smartphone
The Day The MIst Swallowed My World
At twelve, I was handed a note left at our gate: my father had been marked
Stop Scrolling: What 140 Characters Did to the Way We Think
You probably won't finish this, and that's precisely the problem. We've gon
Am I a Good Parent?
Every parent wonders, "Am I a good parent?" For immigrant parents, this que
The Teacher Hidden Within the businessman
To the world, Santosh Kumar Raina was a Srinagar businessman known for inte
The Accomplice
A wedding, a borrowed bicycle ride, ten rupees spent on gol gappas, and a s
In Focus
Ten Steps Ahead
A few weeks before her final medical exams, a young doctor lost her father — the one person who had wanted her qualification most. Years later, an Excel spreadsheet on his computer revealed the truth: long before anyone else, he had understood she was neurodiverse, and had quietly carried the logistics, the deadlines and the planning she struggled with, never once making a performance of it. A Father's Day tribute to a man who measured love in actions, not words.
Editor's Desk
What The Coil Leaves Behind
The rain made the heat bearable but not the mosquitoes. I tried sprays and roll-ons; finally I lit the tortoise green coil and watched its smoke curl towards the fan. In the morning only a curved grey line of ash remained, a shape that stayed whole until it did not. Three family photographs, taken across decades, registered a similar disappearance: carved latticework and lawns, then an emptied house and finally only steps where a home once stood. The coil’s slow spiral seemed the right image for what time does to memory and to the land left behind.
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