It Thrives in Winter
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.’
Poetry by Saoirse: ‘let us build a night on the marble edifice / of silence. Spread freshly laundered sheets / over the freckled sky and light / the twin candles of our bodies.’
Poetry by John Copley Alter: ‘In the proximity / of other gods—other sutras— / we muttered our creed—you // pecking / away at your manual typewriter— / carbon copies of personal letters / home—to the diaspora—we // noodling on the keyboard of happiness’
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.’
Seated among old paintings, clocks, clothing, trinkets, and valuables, 76-year-old Hamiz Rizwi maintains a kaleidoscopic antique shop in Lucknow, revealing new stories with every glance. By Ishita Yadav