Think with body, mind, and soul..
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 …
The day Kasturi was set to leave arrived faster than Meena could have prepared for. The Tripathis’ house was no longer the lively place it used to be. Boxes were stacked high, furniture covered in white sheets, and every corner seemed to echo with memories that would soon feel distant. Meena, who had been avoiding …
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 …
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 …
Cerebration 