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.’

Fiction by Adrija Chatterjee: ‘For twenty-eight consecutive days, there had been no phone call from Oli’s house, from Ravti. You understand how the grave the situation is, an already unelectrified village, perhaps now shrouded in some unimaginable stillness.’

Short story by Rhea Gangavkar: ‘I looked at the hospital’s main gate; how many people were here for the same thing? I looked at Megha. She was staring at the sky as she softly whispered, “It might rain.’”

Short story by Ushma Shah: ‘There was a pale, mouldy smell around him, and then, Abhi smelled himself. He had a stench, too, mouldy, and woody, and old.’

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?’

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

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.’

Short story by Mehreen Ahmed: ‘As soon as she stepped out of the cubicle, the ‘ghost’ disappeared. Perhaps, it was an optical illusion. Like a rainbow where people saw only the colours, not the water particles behind the veil.’

Short story by Ramya Srinivasan: ‘AX09 reminded Otto of all things that he hated about the job. All that craving for power had ultimately led to complete powerlessness. The lack of free will. The helplessness of being a puppet in someone else’s hands.’

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