Short story by Sachin Ravikumar: ‘The pink tabebuia is a picture of quiet grace. It does not impose. Its presence is a welcome respite from a noisy, polluted city perennially draped in tones grey or garish… Was this tree really from here? Were we still in Bangalore?’

Poem by Carol D’Souza: ‘Missing / the wood for the trees. Child. Household. Family / Wielding the holy trifecta as their weapon’

Fiction: “And then whaddayaknow, they did, and here I am, sitting nonchalantly on a park bench on a Wednesday afternoon, half a free man.”

Poem by Ali Ashhar: ‘while he runs into the garden / and hears mellifluous melodies of life / singing to him’

Poetry by Anam Tariq: ‘I run up to place this piece / where the descending snow / spirals into patterns / of stars and visual poetry’

Personal Essay by Shalini Singh: ‘Is time a love story? Maybe time is letterpress printing. A capsule where every printed letter is a love letter to the future. And it’s a letter that doesn’t end with the ink drying or the writer moving away.’

In a tribute to her hometown, Yashnashree presents an alphabet of hope for Patna, an A-Z from the amaltas to ‘hum’ and from Nalanda to ‘yaari’.

A poem by Mitra Samal: ‘Your poem seemed like a dream / hiding under the warmth of / your breath, in the chillness of winter.’

A poem by Sayani Mukherjee: ‘Leftovers for the first time / Syrupy sweet nectarine smudged / Odours of sweet remembrance’

Short story by Michelle D’costa: ‘A man had overdosed that day. Jude remembers the tattoo on the OD guy’s bicep: A dragon spitting fire which held three symbols, Om, a cross, and a star cradled in a crescent moon.’

Short story by Asha Jyothi: ‘I don’t know what in the world I was thinking, but I look directly at him, and he holds my gaze, and looks at my naked teeth. “Pyar kiya, koi chori nahi ki.” I have loved, not committed a theft.’

A poem by Sonali Chanda: ‘The mystery still remains / in the petals of marigolds, / in the peels of oranges that I kept / the mysteries living in me.’