Think with body, mind, and soul..
Houston, Texas, 1991 Kasturi had built a good life for herself in Houston. It hadn’t been easy—those early years were full of awkward introductions, strange food, mispronounced names, and the constant ache of being in-between worlds. But over time, she found her rhythm. "That’s not going to work, Matthew," Kasturi said firmly, her voice cutting …
20 Years Later, New Delhi, 1991 “To be or not to be… That is indeed the question,” Meena said, walking slowly across the wooden floor of the lecture hall, her voice soft yet deliberate. “But what if the question isn’t about existence, but about choice? What if Hamlet wasn’t deciding whether to live or die, …
Time has its own way of moving on — quietly, unapologetically, and without asking for permission. The letters still came, at first. Folded in familiar handwriting, carrying the weight of memories, each one a little bridge across continents. But then… life began to stretch those bridges. A day passed without a letter. Then a week. …
"Meena,I miss you. Every single day.America is… different. Big cars, big houses, big everything. But it’s not home. Not like our small gali, not like our rooftop where we watched kites fly.I thought of writing to you sooner, but it was really difficult settling in and I felt lost in a new land.Are you?Please write …
It was early morning when someone banged on the gates of the DM’s bungalow. The sound echoed through the quiet, tense air, jolting everyone awake. A guard rushed to open it, hand on his rifle, eyes wary. “It’s over,” the man at the gate said, breathless. His clothes were covered in dust, his face smeared …
The riots were finally dying down. The once deafening chaos of shouts, screams, and gunfire had dulled to sporadic murmurs, like an ember struggling to stay alive. It had been days—maybe weeks—since the neighbourhood had been torn apart. Time had blurred. Inside the DM’s bungalow, life had settled into a strange routine. The large hall, …
The night outside was restless. Chants rose and fell like crashing waves, distant yet deafening in the silence of the DM’s bungalow. The once lively neighborhood had turned into a battlefield, its warmth replaced by the cold shadow of fear. Inside, families huddled together, whispering prayers under their breath. Meena sat with her mother, gripping …
The DM’s bungalow was grand, but it no longer felt like a house. It had turned into a refuge, a place where fear and hope coexisted uneasily. The once-polished floors were now covered with hastily spread-out mats, where families huddled together in small clusters. The grand dining hall, where dignitaries once sat for elaborate meals, …
At 4 AM, the doorbell rang. A sharp, urgent sound that cut through the heavy silence of the night. Mrs. Ghosh sat up with a start, her heartbeat hammering in her ears. Who could it be at this hour? She hesitated, gripping the edge of her saree, her mind racing through possibilities. The riots… the …
The day began with an unsettling quietness, a silence so heavy it felt like the air itself was holding its breath. A tension, a heaviness, like the sky before a storm. Mr. Ghosh had left early in the morning for Bhubaneswar due to some urgent work. Meena was helping her mother fold freshly washed clothes …
Cerebration 