Archive

By Robyn Dajq

By Nashrah Tanvir

By Saumya Srivastav

कुछ अलग था

कुछ नया था

पहले प्रेम का एहसास 

By Ishita Das

By Lopamudra Pal

By Varsha Karnani

By Ksanbor Shullai

Immortalized, by eyes capturing the palette,

A veduta brushed into the painter’s soul.

By Deepak Ahuja

By Debahuti Borah

By Princy Sanghvi

By Japjyot Kaur Chawla

Her subtle gold, and

Embellished suit salwar,

Would hug us on the doors,

By Ali Ashhar

The horizon radiates melange of ecstasy as we celebrate our transformed aura and all the good we did to prevail over evil;

क्यूँ टोकता हूँ तुम्हें

ख़ुद मन की करूँ…क्यूँ रोकता हूँ तुम्हें

छोटी सी ही बात पर क्यूँ दबाता हूँ तुम्हें 

For not paying heed to their exigencies
They said this might be my worst deluge of mistakes
Not being coy enough
Not nodding  to their patriarchal rants

you don't sleep the entire night,

the first time you notice your father talk over your mother at the dining table,

she forces her words down

her throat, a museum of everything deemed less important,

I would tell her to not step in a cab with unknown people

not travel alone,

not wear ripped jeans

I live in a world where the scale of justice was 

tipped lower for a female for the higher societal standards 

we were meant to follow

How my neighbour prohibits her daughter from wearing jeans

in the name of tradition and safety ;

how my cousin is barred from touring the world

ज़्यादा कुछ नहीं चाहिए ज़िंदगी

बस इतना ही कि -

जन्म लेने से पहले ही मरने का खौफ़ ना हो।

बात सतयुग की है,

जब मर्यादा की लाज़-शर्म निभाने हेतु मुझे बीच बाज़ार बेच आये थे

My mother's silence remains clogged in her lips coloured red with blood stains
since the moment baba raped her on their suhaag raat 

By Shireen Khan

And all the alarms are blaring 
and red lights glaring

By Ria Chowdhury

My falling journey you don't want to remember, 
You don't want to write stories for your children. 

By Aarushi Krishnan

‘The village grandma will get Snipped before you do!’ It was as real to us as ghosts or monsters were. 

By Anagha Smrithi 

the evening powders into violet dust,

the sun is distant & dizzy

By Rohan A

As I sit in a corner of my room
smoking the final joint of the day

By Prakriti Basu

They dream while they sleep
When all are but breathing corpses