Poetry by Carol D’Souza: ‘An armour is only the skin / that has learned / that there is no such thing /
as face value / The prudent trick / of seeming like a free-flowing ditty / from within’

Prashanth Srivatsa’s The Spice Gate as a spectacular debut fantasy, a feast to the readers who slurp on worldbuilding, while also making them wonder if a freer world is possible. By Akankshya Abismruta

Poetry by Sunil Sharma: ‘a sign / from the heavens, a sighting / rare, a visitor infrequent, in the / urban jungle.’

Poetry by Kashiana Singh: ‘Flushed body of a zombie, burnt silk of raging worms / beholder of lost labyrinths, embroiderer of membranes’

Kiran Rao’s Laapataa Ladies (2024) is a film that makes serious societal commentary on the socio-cultural, economic, and governance aspects of women empowerment, wrapped within a multi-layered satire. By Kausik K. Bhadra

In Aparna Sanyal’s Instruments of Torture, each tale is a deep dive into the abyss of human suffering, portraying characters who are not just victims of their circumstances but also complex individuals grappling with the aftermath of their traumas. By Namrata

In a lengthy conversation, A.M. Gautam, the author of Indian Millennials: Who Are They, Really? (2024), speaks about the many anxieties and opportunities of the Indian millennial, themes of romance, employment, politics, and commerce, and discovering his own self while exploring the larger generation. By Karan Madhok

Vinita Agrawal takes the role of a ‘poetic journalist’ in Eartha, in verses that spark with compassion for all living entities on the planet. By Tansy Troy

Fiction by Chitra Gopalakrishnan: ‘Ganika is, of course, what I chose to call myself. Others in the town called me a woman of the court. Or a woman of the night.’

Fiction by Jigar Brahmbhatt: ‘Their office was fixed in time, no different from any other office: the neat partitions, cold furniture, and glass, glass, everywhere. Like a simple rule to add two numbers, the office was never going to change. Only the folks playing table tennis seemed ephemeral, like shapes made of fumes.’

Poetry: ‘I want to weave lavender flowers into my hair / love my mother, whose anger / is a withering flower / decomposing to memory / in ash burn lavender.’

Nivedita Dey recalls the glory days of Mumbai’s bygone Cafe Samovar, where for decades, friends, family, strangers, students, lawyers, homemakers, thinkers, creative souls, Bollywood icons, Marxists, liberals, and more diverse groups of humans huddled over cups of cutting chai.