A personal essay by Mukta Malini: ‘Now, at twenty-one, I draw bodies: bodies that its owner probably hates, but a lover would describe it as squishy, bodies like soggy noodles and bodies like Manda peetha, bodies like sushi.’

Poetry by Aashika Suresh: ‘you arrive at my front door / in dirty jeans and a kurta, clutching / a shovel and a pitchfork.’

Personal Essay by Bharti Bansal: ‘I think I indeed am born in the family of angry, rebellious people who love as strongly as they can. Our loved ones carve paths for each other, or else, how can we ever find where the trail starts and ends?’

Short story by Nandan: ‘“There is no point in all that,” Shankaran lazily shrugged his shoulders, “Anyway, what’s there in a waterfall?’

A poem by Shaurya Pathania: ‘just the sight / of your spit’s spite / being unswallowed / from your throat’

A poem by Ashish Kumar Singh: ‘…even though we have always slept that way, this big word none of us knew the meaning of, made us afraid and we let you bring other hefty men to fix what you said was broken…’

Personal Essay by Aseem Sundan: ‘I remember both the man and his art as a montage of arbitrarily-arranged memories of all seasons and sentiments. Each unique in its way, some of them a fragment of his youth, some of his absurdity, some of his longing, and some just of beauty.’

Personal Essay by Mallika Bhaumik: At the Bengali festival for the goddess, the pomp and grandeur involved in the worship of ‘Nari Shakti’ is in stark contrast to the apathy shown towards the Durgas whom we come across every day.

A poem by Sonali Chanda: ‘‘I ain’t a holy devil; but / a typical weird Eagle / who is about / to take her giant flight’

A poem by Kabir Deb: ‘I arrange / myself like a cook – a guide to heaven / where food is cherished with / the people we fall in love / with

A poem by Sayani Mukherjee: ‘Experienced insides of adult bones / Dilly dally fall / Over the window / A little trinket of shower’

Poetry by Shivangi Mishra: ‘Forgetful of two lithe directions, that damned street, / Faced and faced not in retreat, / Turning its back on dense civilisation’