The Postcard
Personal Essay by Karan Madhok: ‘My mother handed me the postcard… I couldn’t believe my eyes…Tendulkar had written to me, addressed me by my first name, acknowledged my whole existence with a single thick piece of rectangular paper.’
Creative Nonfiction by Shobhita Rewal: ‘Rotund Japanese purple enlarged. A plushie abandoned. Soot-stained lips float past. Saliva upon the metal in the skin. Chivalry ain’t dead yet, innit? Plebians need the masala but give this to me anyway.’
Short story by Karan Madhok: “Now, Lady, Miss: Please take the flowers and lean into your husband, like this, as if you are falling into him. Just a little. That’s why in English they say, ‘falling’ in love, no? Bas, gir jao unpar!”
Personal Essay by Karan Madhok: ‘My mother handed me the postcard… I couldn’t believe my eyes…Tendulkar had written to me, addressed me by my first name, acknowledged my whole existence with a single thick piece of rectangular paper.’
‘To exist fully as an artist and human, one must be seen, heard, read, and acknowledged’: Farah Ahamed explores Satyajit Ray’s Charulata through the lens of Simone de Beauvoir.