Think with body, mind, and soul..
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 …
Life in Khurda Road was changing, but not in the way Meena or her family had hoped. The air felt heavier, as though the town itself was holding its breath. Conversations at the local tea stalls grew hushed. The communal harmony that had made the neighborhood feel like one big family seemed to be fraying …
The first morning without Kasturi felt unbearably quiet. Meena stared at the ceiling, hoping the hollow ache in her chest would fade with time. But the silence that had settled over her world was deafening. Breakfast was a subdued affair. Mrs. Ghosh placed a plate of luchi and aloo tarkari in front of Meena, but …
Cerebration 