Prose & Poetry 

In my family, cars were never just machines; they were practically relatives, living and breathing through us. Formula One race weekends turned our home into a buzzing paddock — the living room echoing with engine noise, strategy debates over dinner, and wild cheers each time a dark horse stole the spotlight on a rain-soaked track. My elder cousins listed every F1 champion from memory, each symbolizing dreams yet to be chased. I grew up immersed in this world where motorsport

A gentle wave softly caresses your blistered feet, Do you feel the soft yet sharp vapors kiss your face? Suddenly you are being dragged...

WRITTEN BY, R. MAHIMA RAM

Deeper than the deepest oceans, Portraying a thousand and one emotions, Windows to the soul, they say, You shall find a universe hidden...

A rain stomps through, crushing and flooding everything in her path, the farmers' tears fall, only to be washed away without a trace. For...

I was sitting at home; the place reeked of boredom, while waiting for the Covid19 Lock-down to end. It was really hectic, I’m a teenager,...

Dear Diary, Today felt like just another day, yet as I glided through the city—some peppy music playing, my badge shimmering under the glow—I felt a quiet pride in being more than just a car. I am Storm, your trusty Volkswagen Vento. People might call me a machine, a vehicle; but to my driver, I am a confidant, a caretaker, a friendly companion making every journey a little less ordinary. Tonight, while cruising home, I noticed something that always makes me a little more pro

As a woman above the age of forty, the very idea of taking the Kedarnath Yatra felt both thrilling and daunting—it was to be an experience loaded with stories of devotion, but also of physical struggle and determination. Kedarnath was not just a destination; it was a promise, a promise that beckoned of all those to its ancient temple, deep in the Himalayas. Before embarking on this journey, I patiently researched about options for the pilgrimage, desperate to find practical a

My arrival in Kathmandu brought a storm of anticipation—a riot of airport sounds, foreign perfumes mingling with jet fuel, and the saffron-hued welcome of a Rudraksha garland pressed into my waiting palms. The tactile coolness of each bead against my skin was grounding, like a quiet signal of protection. Stepping into the lush, bird-haunted gardens of the Malla Hotel, every leaf seemed to vibrate with the nerve of beginnings. The nervous energy inside blurred with the scents

When Jyothika walked back onto the silver screen as the protagonist of 36 Vayadhinile, she carried more than a role—she carried a...