Short story by Vishnu Bagdawala: ‘Sometimes, I would lie in bed waiting for the tears to come. Sometimes, I would wonder how it was strange that we needed to sleep in order to be awake for the rest of our lives. Until the day when, like my grandfather, we fall into an eternal sleep.’

Short story by Debi Mukherjee: “Unlike the little girls I see outside temples, draped in their pano bhaju’s stringing garlands of Marigolds, I dare not play with the flowers in our garden. Papa cautions me against the rows of Mogras, Shoe-flowers, Frangipanis and a multitude of others. He says that I must not be lured by a flower’s fragrance.”

Short story by Ayaan Halder: ‘I could feed my children chicken and rice for a week, without having to shout at them for not wanting the fried bhendi they’ve been eating for the last three days. I could cover half a month’s rent with that money, for god’s sake! And you spend it on a wretched T-shirt that doesn’t even bear the colour of the sky?’

Author and journalist Sudeep Chakravarty speaks about the stories that drive him, wandering across genres, and his Delhi-based latest work, Fallen City. By Amritesh Mukherjee

Flash fiction by Shaurya Pathania: ‘It was grumpy until it greeted me, he could talk; a crab in my house, a crab in my house that could talk; and that too in standard English. I wasn’t dreaming. He claimed that he had lived there for longer than he could remember.’

Fiction by Mandira Mitra Chakraborty: ‘I try not to behave like my mother and accept a session of pedicure without making it about civilization and its discontents. I am in no hurry to die, but I shall go quietly when He comes.’

Fiction by Ayaan Halder: ‘We tell each other that she must’ve found her peace. But her memory trickles down to my fist, and it feels heavier. As if it were carrying the slow-congealed weight of all the blood that you and I have drawn from each other.’

Fiction by Tansy Troy: ‘It is his image which comes to me now, teaching me mastery over illusion, instructing me how to transform my present suffering into future fortune. When we met him in the flesh, he blessed me with the name Tashi Tsomo. Auspicious feminine ocean.’

Fiction by A.G. Malavika: ‘Jinu took a deep breath and mentally steeled herself for the task ahead. They were diving into a murky world of grief, deceit, and hidden truths. And she knew that only their unyielding determination and intuition would guide them through this labyrinth.’

Fiction by Sakkho Goon: ‘Five years passed since that day. She wiped her tears when she saw him wear his father’s shoes. She was quiet as he boarded the cab to go to the airport. She read his letters but never sent a reply.’

Fiction by Aditi Chandrasekar: ‘She rubs the soap over her arms, her legs, her chest, then squeezes a dollop of shampoo and conditioner onto her palms before rubbing and lathering it on her hair. She wonders if this is what makes Shruti’s hair so luscious. Then, she thinks about Gagan, and wonders how many times they’ve showered together in this bathroom.’

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