Ratnottama Sengupta muses on her encounter with the writings of eminent artist and writer, Dhruba Esh, and translates one his many stories, Amiyashankar Go Back Home from Bengali. Click here to read.
All around us, we hear of disasters. Often, we try to write of these as Tagore seems to do in the above lines. However, these lines follow after he says he draws solace and inspiration from a ‘serene lotus’, pristine and shining with vibrancy. He gazes at it while looking for that still point which helps him create an impact with words. That is perhaps what we can hope to do too — wait for a morning where clarity will show us the path to express not just what we see, but to find a way to heal and help. Finding parallels in great writings of yore to our own attempts at recreating the present makes us realise that perhaps history is cyclical. In Rome, new structures rear up against thousand-year walls, reflecting how the past congeals into the present.
Congealing the past into our present in this July’s issue are stories of American migrants — like Tom Alter’s family who made India their home — by Anuradha Kumar in her new non-fiction Wanderers, Adventurers, Missionaries: Early Americans in India. We feature this book with a review and an interview with the author where she tells us how and why she chose to write on these people. We have more people writing of their own wanderings. Mohul Bhowmick wanders into Cambodia and makes friends over a local sport while Prithvijeet Sinha strolls by the banks of the River Gomti in Lucknow. Meredith Stephens not only takes us to the Prime Meridien in Greenwich but also to Carnarvon which houses a science and technology centre in Australia. Devraj Singh Kalsi wanders with humour to discover gastronomical inspiration and hopes for sweeter recompense.
Taking up the theme of cli-fi, Rajat Chaudhuri’s Wonder Tales for a Warming Planetseems to bring hope by suggesting adapting to changing climes. Rakhi Dalal tells us in her review: “It dares to approach the climate crisis through the lens of empathy and imagination rather than panic or guilt. In doing so, Rajat Chaudhuri gives us what many adult climate narratives fail to deliver—a reason to believe that another world is not only possible but already being imagined by the young. All we need to do is listen.” Bhaskar Parichha has discussed the autobiography of a meteorologist and Distinguished University Professor at George Mason University, Jagadish Shukla. In A Billion Butterflies: A Life in Climate and Chaos Theory, he claims Shukla has “revolutionised monsoon forecasting.” Somdatta Mandal has written about Dilip K Das’s Epidemic Narratives: The Cultural Construction of Infectious Disease Outbreaks in India. And Gower Bhat reviews Neha Bansal’s best-selling poetry collection, Six of Cups.
With that, we wind up the contents of this month’s issue. Do pause by our content’s page to check it out in more details.
This month’s edition would not have been possible without all our contributors, our fabulous team and especially Sohana Manzoor’s artwork. Huge thanks to all of them and to our wonderful readers who make it worthwhile for us to write and publish. Do write in to us if you have any feedback. Five years ago, we chose to become a monthly from a daily… We have come a long way from then and grown to host writers from more than forty countries and readers from almost all over the world. For this, we owe you all – for being with us and encouraging us to find fresh pastures.
In a world teetering on the edge of ecological collapse, it’s often children who inherit the burden of our choices. But what if they could also inherit the tools to re-imagine the future? In Wonder Tales for a Warming Planet, Rajat Chaudhuri doesn’t simply tell stories—he offers blueprints for curiosity, resistance, and wonder. This collection of three speculative tales—’Tina and the Light of the World’, ‘The Seventh Sense’, and‘How Did the Oceans Vanish’—invites young readers to explore climate change not as a distant apocalypse, but as an unfolding narrative in which they are already key players.
Chaudhuri, author of acclaimed climate novels like The Butterfly Effect and Spellcasters, and short story collection like Hotel Calcutta, does not offer didactic lessons to children here. Instead he channels the age-old power of storytelling—immersive, imaginative, and intimate—to speak directly to children. His tales empower children not by shielding them from the truth, but by equipping them with imaginative tools to face it.
The first story, ‘Tina and the Light of the World’, revolves around a young girl’s encounter with a solar-powered future. In a town gripped by blackouts and crumbling infrastructure, where the rich have access to energy while the nights of those poor are engulfed in darkness, Tina meets Stoker who takes her to light but vanishes after sometime. Then Tina meets Anu who accompanies her for a while but soon she leaves her too. Finally, Tina meets sun-catcher in a place where people use solar panels to trap sun’s energy. Tina’s journey—from darkness to a solar-powered community—unfolds like a fable of illumination, both literal and symbolic. The characters she encounters—Stoker, Anu, and the sun-catcher—each represent stages in her awakening to the possibility of decentralised, sustainable energy. Chaudhuri while suggesting the alternate sources of energy other than those used earlier, cleverly weaves together issues of energy access, decentralised power, and the democratisation of technology. But the story also touches something deeper: the notion that light—both electric and symbolic—can emerge not from grand solutions, but from the small, often overlooked spaces where ingenuity persists.
In ‘The Seventh Sense’, Chaudhuri turns inward, weaving a delicate tale around Gogol, a neuro-divergent boy who develops an extra sense—one attuned to ecological shifts. What initially feels like a fantasy premise soon unfolds into a sophisticated meditation on sensory perception and ecological empathy. This “seventh sense” allows its young bearer to understand the impact of forest cutting to make way for an urban city. The brilliance of this story lies in its central metaphor: that saving the planet may not be about creating more infrastructures mindlessly in the name of fulfilling the needs of people but about cultivating an intuitive, affective connection to the non-human world. The writing is delicate, almost lyrical, yet grounded in a chilling recognition of the precarity the present world seems to now inhabit.
The final tale, ‘How Did the Oceans Vanish’, moves from the speculative to the cautionary. Told as an oral history in a distant future where seas have dried up, the story is framed as a conversation between a grandmother and her grandchild of a different evolved species. Through anecdotal fragments we piece together a slow-motion disaster — brought about by different methods of geo-engineering ushered without considerable testing — that no one tried hard enough to stop. This retrospective mode of storytelling is effective; it avoids heavy-handedness while building a quiet, cumulative sorrow. But even here, Chaudhuri resists fatalism. The tale ends not with despair, but with a question, almost whispered: What will you do differently now?
Across all three stories, Chaudhuri’s prose remains crisp and fluid. He avoids the pitfall of jargon while subtly integrating scientific ideas— alternate energy, sustainable living, geo-engineering, and more. What binds the collection is not only its thematic concern with climate but its faith in the moral imagination of children. These are not just tales about the future; they are invitations to imagine alternate presents.
That said, the book does not attempt to be everything. The storytelling is intentionally restrained. There are no dramatic twists or action-packed sequences. The stakes are emotional and ethical, rather than physical. Young readers who’ve already begun to sense the ambient anxiety of climate discussions—will find in this collection recognition, reassurance, and a language to speak about what they feel but cannot yet articulate.
Wonder Tales for a Warming Planet deserves a place not just in classrooms or children’s libraries, but in dinner table conversations. It dares to approach the climate crisis through the lens of empathy and imagination rather than panic or guilt. In doing so, Rajat Chaudhuri gives us what many adult climate narratives fail to deliver—a reason to believe that another world is not only possible but already being imagined by the young. All we need to do is listen.
Rakhi Dalal is an educator by profession. When not working, she can usually be found reading books or writing about reading them. She writes at https://rakhidalal.blogspot.com/ .
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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
The story of Hawakal Publishers, based on a face-to-face tête-à-tête, and an online conversation with founder Bitan Chakrabortywith his responses in Bengali translated by Kiriti Sengupta. Clickhere to read.
The Great War is over And yet there is left its vast gloom. Our skies, light and society’s soul have been overcast…
'The Great War is Over' by Jibanananda Das (1899-1954), translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam.
Jibanananda Das wrote the above lines in the last century and yet great wars rage even now. As the world struggles to breathe looking for a beam of hope to drag itself out of the darkness induced by natural calamities, accidents, terror attacks and wars that seem to rage endlessly, are we moving towards the dystopian scenario created by George Orwell in 1984, which would be around the same time as Jibanananda Das’s ‘The Great War is Over’?
Describing such a scenario, Ahmed Rayees writes a moving piece from the Kashmiri village of Sheeri, the last refuge of the displaced refugees who were bombarded after peace was declared in their refuge during the clash across Indo-Pak borders. He contends: “People walked back not to homes, but to ruins. Entire communities had been reduced to ash and rubble. Crops were destroyed, livestock gone, schools turned into shelters or craters. How do you rebuild a life when all that remains is dust?”
People could be asking the same questions without finding answers in Gaza or Ukraine, where the cities are reduced to rubble. While we look for a ray of sunshine, amidst the rubble, Farouk Gulsara muses on hope that has its roots in eternity. Vela Noble wanders on nostalgic beaches in Adelaide. And Meredith Stephens travels to the Australian outback. Devraj Singh Kalsi brings in lighter notes writing of driving lessons while Suzanne Kamata creeps back to darker recesses musing on likely ‘criminals’ and crimes in her neighbourhood.
Lopamudra Nayak writes on social media and its impact while Bhaskar Parichha writes of trends that could be brought into Odia literature. What he writes could apply well to all regional literature, where they lose their individual colouring to paint dystopian realities of the present world. Does modernising make us lose our ethnic identity and how important is that? These are questions that sprung to the mind reading his essay. As if in an attempt to hold on to the past ethos, Prithvijeet Sinha wafts around old ruins in Lucknow and sees a cemetery for colonial soldiers and concludes: “Everybody has formidable stakes, and the dead don’t preach the gospel of victory or sombre defeat.”
We have mainly poetry in translation this time. Snehaprava Das has brought to us Soubhagyabanta Maharana’s poems from Odia and Ihlwha Choi has translated his own poem from Korean. Sangita Swechcha’s poem in Nepali has been rendered to English by Saudamini Chalise. From Bengali, other that Jibanananda Das’s poems translated by Professor Fakrul Alam, we have Tagore’s pensive and beautiful poem, Sonar Tori (the golden boat). Yet another Bengali poet, one who died young and yet left his mark, Sukanta Bhattacharya (1926-1947), has been translated by Kiriti Sengupta. Sengupta has also translated the responses of Bitan Chakravarty in a candid conversation about his dream child — the Hawakal Publishers. We also have a feature on this based on a face-to-face conversation, giving the story of how this publishing house grew out of an idea. Now, they publish poetry traditionally, without costs to the poet. Their range of authors are spread across continents.
Our fiction again returns to the darkness of war. Young Leishilembi Terem has given a story set in conflict-ridden Manipur from where she has emerged safely — a story that reiterates the senselessness of violence and politics. While Jeena R. Papaadi writes of modern human relationships that end without commitment, Naramsetti Umamaheswararao relates a value-based story in a small hamlet of southern India.
We have more content. Do pause by our contents page and take a look.
Huge thanks to all our contributors without who this issue would not have materialised. Heartfelt thanks to the team at Borderless for their support, especially Sohana Manzoor for her iconic artwork that has almost become a signature statement for Borderless.
Let’s hope that next month brings better news for the whole world.
Dhruba Hazarika is a novelist, short-story writer and columnist. The Shoot is his fourth published book, the previous three being two novels and another collection of stories. He has also been a columnist for 40 years, writing for The Telegraph, The Sentinel and The Assam Tribune. He divides his time between Guwahati and Shillong.
In The Shoot, Dhruba Hazarika offers a remarkable collection of seventeen stories set largely in the landscapes of Assam, where the lines between the human and the wild blur with lyrical precision. These are stories in which rivers, forests, and animals are not merely setting or backdrop, but players in a drama as emotional as it is elemental as we can see in the titular story. Through a careful balance of violence and tenderness, Hazarika conjures a world where the rawness of nature mirrors the inner lives of his characters, and where the most subtle gestures—a bird taking flight, a child stroking an injured animal—carry quiet revelations.
The collection is defined by this tension: the everyday friction between cruelty and compassion, solitude and connection. Hazarika’s Assam is not a romanticised escape into the natural world, but a lived-in, at times harsh territory where poachers and foresters share space with schoolchildren and aging widows. Yet amid the reality of rifles, hunting dogs, and worn-out boots, there is also grace—brief but luminous moments of understanding between humans and animals, or between people themselves.
The story, ‘The Hunt’, anchors the collection in this interplay of brutality and regret. A group of men set out into hills to hunt a deer. The thrill of the chase and the shared camaraderie are abruptly fractured when they confront the full weight of what they’ve killed—a doe carrying unborn fawns. It is a moment as visceral as it is symbolic, capturing how deeply the act of taking life reverberates, especially when one is already grieving. The story unfolds with a slow, almost meditative pace, allowing space for both awe and horror.
In ‘Elephant Country’, a herd of elephants blocks the only road to a village. As the local magistrate faces pressure to use force to reach the village because a woman is in labour, the narrative unfolds with quiet tension, exploring the fragile boundary between human authority and the natural world’s quiet resistance. While the elephants stand as a living barricade, guarding newborns in their midst, the magistrate’s ultimate decision—not to intervene—signals a moment of alignment of human instincts with nature. It is a moment when the animal and human worlds come into uneasy but essential dialogue—reminding us that the miracle of life demands not dominance, but deference.
Another story, ‘Ghostie’, revolves around a group of boys who mercilessly torment a stray dog. The tale, told with an unflinching gaze, does not moralise but instead allows the violence to unfold naturally, in all its thoughtless cruelty. What lingers is not just the fate of the dog, but the haunting change in the narrator—who comes to see, far too late, the cost of such disregard. Here again, Hazarika proves masterful in using small, personal episodes to hint at larger truths: the slow erosion of innocence, the gradual awakening of empathy.
One of Hazarika’s most distinctive strengths lies in his depiction of the natural world. Forests, rivers, birds, and animals are not incidental; they pulse with presence and meaning. A snow-white egret momentarily lifts the spirits of a tired clerk. A solitary crow returns night after night to the same veranda, evoking a sense of memory and mourning. These encounters are never mystical in a fantastical sense, but they carry the weight of the intangible—grief, love, regret, and occasionally, hope.
Woven through many of the stories is an awareness of the political and cultural fabric of Northeast India. Hazarika never foregrounds these themes, yet the region’s complex history—its insurgencies, its marginalisation, its uneasy relationship with mainstream Indian narratives—simmers beneath the surface. There is a sense of a land both remote and familiar, with its own rhythms, codes, and forms of resistance. The occasional reference to tribal customs, local deities, or community rituals further grounds the stories in their specific cultural soil.
Hazarika writes with a light, unobtrusive touch. His sentences are lean and quiet, yet they resonate. He gives space to silence, to gesture, to the unsaid. The characters, too, are often defined more by what they withhold than by what they reveal. A doctor mourning his wife, a boatman with a flute, a young boy who can’t understand his own cruelty—these are not heroic figures, but deeply human ones, faltering and flawed.
Amid the more solemn tales, there are a few that flirt with whimsy or absurdity. These diversions offer tonal contrast without ever straying too far from the book’s central themes. Even the lighter moments carry a trace of melancholy, as if joy in Hazarika’s world is always tinged with loss.
This is not just a collection about the Northeast or about the wilderness. It is about what it means to be tender in a world that wounds, and what it means to live ethically in the shadow of violence—whether that violence is inflicted on others, on animals, or on ourselves. In that sense, The Shoot is both rooted and universal, intimate and expansive.
Rakhi Dalal is an educator by profession. When not working, she can usually be found reading books or writing about reading them. She writes at https://rakhidalal.blogspot.com/ .
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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Jibanananda Das’ poems on war and for the common masses have been translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.
A Scene with an Aged Queen, a poem by Ihlwha Choi has been translated from Korean by the poet himself. Clickhere to read.
Tagore’sEsho Bosonto, Esho Aj Tumi(Come Spring, Come Today) has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty. Click here to read.
Pandies’ Corner
For Sanjay Kumar: To Sir — with Love has been written for the founder of pandies’ theatre by Tanvir, a youngster from the Nithari village where pandies’ worked with traumatised victims. Over time, these kids have transcended the trauma to lead fulfilling lives. The late Sanjay Kumar passed on this January. This is a tribute to him by one of his students. It has been translated from the Hindustani original by Lourdes M Surpiya. Click here to read.
Drops of water gather to make a wave. The waves make oceans that reshape land masses over time…
Five years ago, on March 14th, in the middle of the pandemic, five or six of us got together to start an online forum called Borderless Journal. The idea was to have a space that revelled with the commonality of felt emotions. Borderless was an attempt to override divisive human constructs and bring together writers and ideators from all over the Earth to have a forum open to all people — a forum which would be inclusive, tolerant, would see every individual as a part of the fauna of this beautiful planet. We would be up in the clouds — afloat in an unbordered stratosphere— to meet and greet with thoughts that are common to all humans, to dream of a world we can have if we choose to explore our home planet with imagination, kindness and love. It has grown to encompass contributors from more than forty countries, and readers from all over the world — people who have the same need to reach out to others with felt emotions and common concerns.
Borderless not only celebrates the human spirit but also hopes to create over time a vibrant section with writings on the environment and climate change. We launch the new section today on our fifth anniversary.
Devraj Singh Kalsi with a soupçon of ironic amusement muses on humans’ attitude to the fauna around him and Farouk Gulsara lays on a coating of sarcasm while addressing societal norms. Meredith Stephens brings us concerns for a green Earth when she beachcombs in a remote Australian island. Prithvijeet Sinha continues to familiarise us with his city, Lucknow. Suzanne Kamata, on the other hand travels to Rwanda to teach youngsters how to write a haiku!
Professor Fakrul Alam takes us to libraries in Dhaka with the hope that more will start writing about the waning of such paradises for book lovers. Other than being the month that hosts World Environment Day, March also homes, International Women’s Day. Commemorating the occasion, we have essays from Meenakshi Malhotra on the past poetry of women and from Ratnottama Sengupta on women in Bengali Cinema. Sengupta has also interviewed Poulami Bose Chatterjee, the daughter of the iconic actor Soumitra Chatterjee to share with us less-known vignettes from the actor’s life. Keith Lyons has interviewed Malaysian writer-editor Daphne Lee to bring to us writerly advice and local lores on ghosts and hauntings.
We also have a translation by Lourdes M Supriya from Hindustani of a student’s heartrending cry to heal from grief for a teacher who faced an untimely end — a small dirge from Tanvir, a youngster with his roots in Nithari violence who transcended his trauma to teach like his idol and tutor, the late Sanjay Kumar. With this, we hope to continue with the pandies corner, with support from Lourdes and Anuradha Marwah, Kumar’s partner.
Borderless has grown in readership by leaps and bounds. There have been requests for books with writings from our site. On our fifth anniversary, we plan to start bringing out the creative writing housed in Borderless Journal in different volumes. We had brought out an anthology in 2022. It was well received with many reviews. But we have many gems, and each writer is valued here. Therefore, Rhys Hughes, one of our editorial board members, has kindly consented to create a new imprint to bring out books from the Borderless Journal. We are very grateful to him.
We are grateful to the whole team, our contributors and readers for being with us through our journey. We would not have made it this far without each one of you. Special thanks to Sohana Manzoor for her artwork too, something that has almost become synonymous with the cover page of our journal. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart.
Wish you all happy reading! Do pause by our content’s page and take a look at all the wonderful writers.
Old -- almost historical bricks of the house built before Partition, decaying wooden chaukath, deewal*, light on blue home walls, iron rod terrace, and steep stairs to the roof -- Few memories my eyes gather from old pictures like a camel collects water in its hump. My five-year-old self sitting on Papa’s lap next to Amma* and Ma, old black and white TV playing in the background. Papa’s white kurta, Amma’s pastel and Ma’s brown floral saree and my red and white checkered dress. And smiles -- as if that was how we were all to live. Together forever.
*chaukhat – door step; deewal: walls *Amma -- the poet calls her grandmother Amma.
A KEEPSAKE
It is neatly folded, tucked to the farthest stack of clothes in my almirah. Your white chiffon saree -- black and white flowers speckled all over it. I haven’t yet worn it, not even once and I have it for nearly twenty years.
I remember the day you opened your trunk, the only worldly possession you had and said -- have something for yourself.
Did you somehow know Amma, it was to be our last meeting? With hesitation I fumbled through your things till I saw this saree I had always liked.
When you put it on, your tenderness would seep into the texture of the fabric. Its sheerness akin to the spark I noticed at times, in your seldom happy eyes.
Now sometimes I take it out, touch the fabric, rub it against my skin, and put it back inside. Afraid to wear this keepsake, lest it wither away with time.
Rakhi Dalal writes from a small city in Haryana, India. Her work has appeared in Kitaab, Scroll, Borderless Journal, Nether Quarterly, Aainanagar, Hakara Journal, Bound, Parcham and Usawa Literary Review.
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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Tumi Kon Kanoner Phulby Tagore andAnjali Loho Morby Nazrul, love songs by the two greats, have been translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click hereto read.
One Life, One Love, 300 Children : Keith Lyons writes of Tendol Gyalzur, a COVID 19 victim, a refugee and an orphan who found new lives for many other orphans with love and an ability to connect. Click here to read.
When West Meets East & Greatness Blooms: Debraj Mookerjee reflects on how syncretism impacts greats like Tagore,Tolstoy, Emerson, Martin Luther King Jr, Gandhi and many more. Click here to read.
Dilip Kumar: Kohinoor-e-Hind: In a tribute to Bollywood legend Dileep Kumar, Ratnottama Sengupta, one of India’s most iconic arts journalists, recollects the days the great actor sprinted about on the sets of Bombay’s studios …spiced up with fragments from the autobiography of Sengupta’s father, Nabendu Ghosh. Click here to read.
Are Some of Us More Human than Others ?: Meenakshi Malhotra ponders at the exclusivity that reinforces divisions, margins and borders that continue to plague humankind, against the backdrop of the Women’s Month, March. Click here to read.
Reminiscences from a Gallery: MF Husain: Dolly Narang recounts how she started a gallery more than four decades ago and talks of her encounter with world renowned artist, MF Husain. Click hereto read.
Baraf Pora (Snowfall) by Rabindranath Tagore,gives a glimpse of his first experience of snowfall in Brighton and published in the Tagore family journal, Balak (Children), has been translated from Bengali by Somdatta Mandal. Clickhere to read.
Cherry Blossom Forecast: Suzanne Kamata brings the Japanese ritual of cherry blossom viewing to our pages with her camera and words. Clickhere to read.
Two Pizza Fantasies, Rhys Hughes recounts myths around the pizza in prose, fiction and poetry, Click here to read.
An Alien on the Altar!: Snigdha Agrawal writes of how a dog and lizard add zest to festivities with a dollop of humour. Click here to read.
Where it all Began: Sybil Pretious recounts her first adventure, an ascent on Mt Kilimanjaro at the age of sixty. Clickhere to read.
Conversations
Rabindranath Tagore: A Universal Bard.: This conversation between Aruna Chakravarti and Sunil Gangopadhyay that took place at a Tagore Conference organised by the Sahitya Akademi in Kochy in 2011. Click here to read.
Sriniketan: Tagore’s “Life Work”: In Conversation with Professor Uma Das Gupta, Tagore scholar, author of A History of Sriniketan, where can be glimpsed what Tagore considered his ‘life’s work’ as an NGO smoothening divides between villagers and the educated. Click here to read. (Review & Interview).
In conversation with the late Akbar Barakzai, a Balochi poet in exile who rejected an award from Pakistan Academy of Letters for his principles. Click here to read.
Jim Goodman, an American traveler, author, ethnologist and photographer who has spent the last half-century in Asia, converses with Keith Lyons. Click here to read.
InBridge over Troubled Waters, the late Sanjay Kumar tells us about Pandies, an activist theatre group founded by him that educates, bridging gaps between the divides of university educated and the less fortunate who people slums or terror zones. Click here to read.
In Lessons Old and New from a Stray Japanese Cat, Keith Lyons talks with the author of The Cat with Three Passports, CJ Fentiman who likes the anonymity loaned by resettling in new places & enjoys creating a space for herself away from her birthplace. Click hereto read.
Fiction
Aparichitaby Tagore: This short story has been translated as The Stranger by Aruna Chakravarti. Click hereto read.
Hena by Nazrul has been translated from Bengali by Sohana Manzoor. Click here to read.
Playlets byRabindranath Tagore: Two skits that reveal the lighter side of the poet. They have been translated from Bengali by Somdatta Mandal. Click here to read.
Abhagi’s Heaven, a poignant story by Saratchandra Chattopadhyay translated by Aruna Chakravarti. Click here to read.
An Eternal Void, a Balochi story by Munir Ahmed Badini translated by Fazal Baloch. Click hereto read.
The Witch, a short story by renowned Bengali writer Tarasankar Bandopadhyay (1898 to 1971), translated by Aruna Chakravarti. Clickhere to read.
I Grew into a Flute: Balochi Folktale involving magic retold by Fazal Baloch. Click here to read.
Give Me A Rag, Please:A short story by Nabendu Ghosh, translated by Ratnottama Sengupta, set in the 1943 Bengal Famine, which reflects on man’s basic needs. Click here to read
Rakhamaninov’s Sonata: A short story by Sherzod Artikov, translated from Uzbeki by Nigora Mukhammad. Click hereto read.
The Magic Staff , a poignant short story about a Rohingya child by Shaheen Akhtar, translated from Bengali by Arifa Ghani Rahman. Click here to read.
Khaira, the Blind, a story by Nadir Ali, has been translated from Punjabi by Amna Ali. Click here to read.
The Browless Dolls by S.Ramakrishnan, has been translated from Tamil by B Chandramouli. Click hereto read.
No Man’s Land: Sohana Manzoor gives us surrealistic story reflecting on after-life. Click hereto read.
The Protests Outside: Steve Ogah talks of trauma faced by riot victims in Nigeria. Click here to read.
Flash Fiction: Turret: Niles M Reddick relates a haunting tale of ghosts and more. Click here to read.
Henrik’s Journey: Farah Ghuznavi follows a conglomerate of people on board a flight to address issues ranging from Rohingyas to race bias. Click hereto read.
Does this Make Me a Psychic?; Erwin Coombs tells a suspenseful, funny, poignant and sad story, based on his real life experiences. Click here to read.
Phôs and Ombra: Paul Mirabile weaves a dark tale about two people lost in a void. Click here to read.
A Queen is Crowned: Farhanaz Rabbani traces the awakening of self worth. Click here to read.
Borderless 