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.’
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!”
What’s in a name? India has a long history of rebranding cities, streets, and buildings to reflect the political influence of the time. Instead of this empty tokenism, Vipin Labroo argues for the country to shift priorities towards its more pressing concerns.
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.’