Think with body, mind, and soul..
Days at the Morisaki Bookshop intrigued me the moment I saw its cover. a beautiful design that any bibliophile would instantly fall in love with. The thought of a cosy bookshop nestled in Jimbocho, Tokyo’s famous book district, felt like a dream. But for Takako, the protagonist, it was far from heaven, at least in …
Continue reading "Days at the Morisaki Bookshop by Satoshi Yagisawa (Translated by Eric Ozawa)"
After reading a 400-page book for the March prompt, I craved something lighter—a quick yet meaningful read. That’s when I stumbled upon Claire Keegan’s Small Things Like These. At just 85 pages, it intrigued me. Could a story so brief truly leave an impact? The answer is a resounding yes. This novella touched my soul. …
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Later in the evening, Kasturi sat by the window, staring out at the sprawling cityscape. The warm glow of the evening sun bathed the room, but she felt no warmth—only the weight of a dilemma that had been gnawing at her ever since her boss had suggested the trip to Delhi. "Relive the past?" she …
The phone rang twice before Meena picked it up, a half-filled cup of chai still warm in her other hand. “Ms. M. Ray?” “Yes, speaking.” “This is Anuja from RedLeaf Publishing. I'm delighted to inform you… Your manuscript has been accepted.” Meena blinked. “Oh,” she said, stunned. “Really?” “Yes! The team loved it. It’s deeply …
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 …
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, …
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 …
Cerebration 