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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, …
It had been a week since the Tripathis had made their decision: they would move to the U.S once Kasturi's school session ended. Mr. Tripathi’s excitement was palpable—his brother had everything arranged, and this felt like the break he had been waiting for. Kasturi’s mother had begun making lists of what to pack and what …
It was a regular Tuesday evening in the Tripathi household. The sun was just beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow across the neighborhood. Kasturi sat at the dining table, scribbling in her school notebook, the smell of Chenna Poda (a dessert made from caramelized grated cottage cheese) wafting from the kitchen where her …
Meena and Kasturi went to the same Government school as the other children of the neighborhood. They had their own gang with Meena, Kasturi, Bhola, Sukuma, and Narayani. Meena, in Class 4, and Kasturi, a year older in Class 5, weren’t in the same grade, but that never stopped them from being inseparable during recess …
For Meena and Kasturi, friendship didn’t need grand declarations or extravagant gestures. It thrived in the small, unassuming joys of life, like sharing meals that felt like warm hugs. Sundays became Meena’s secret rebellion against routine. She would tiptoe out of the house, pretending to go play, but her destination was always the same: Kasturi’s …
The thing about Khurda Road was that it wasn’t just a place—it was a living, breathing entity with a personality of its own. The streets were narrow, shaded by towering palm trees, and the houses that were identical in design but distinct in spirit. They stood like nosy relatives, always up in each other’s business. …
The day the Ghosh family officially moved into their Khurda Road house, it was anything but smooth. With its red-tiled roof and a mango tree swaying in the front yard, the house seemed to breathe with an old-world charm, as if it had stories to tell. Inside, chaos reigned. Boxes lay half-open, furniture sat awkwardly …
The story dates back to 1970, when India was a strange mix of unity and division. The rich diversity of cultures and languages made the country so unique. But on the other hand, there were these silent but strong walls between different communities. One of those divides was between Bengalis and Oriyas. Now, to outsiders, …
Continue reading "The Song Of our Bond- Part 1: A Tale of Two Worlds"
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