7.30 AM. The usual horde of fitness enthusiasts were wrapping up. I was relaxing in my usual corner, taking in the stillness of the wintry
Author: Sanjukta Ghoshal
Sanjukta Ghoshal, born and brought-up in Kolkata, India is an electrical engineer with WBSEDCL. She picks up a pen now and then when she doesn't have her head in the clouds or in books. A perfectionist and a wallflower, she works to earn, and writes to live.
A Lifetime of Waiting
Sleep eludes me tonight As I yearn for that smell Of love and your sweat, In the folds of your drape. How I wish for
An Evening in Paris
“Ouch… Hey lady! Watch your step!” Meghan’s heart skipped a beat as her jade eyes locked with the blue ones, the owner of which she
Amitav Ghost
The story is set in a premise that’s not new, and yet, there’s novelty in the plot that’s replete with references from Norse mythology. The research that has gone behind this is praiseworthy, and the writer has painted a vivid picture from the POV of our protagonist
The Psychopath, The Cannibal, The Lover – Chronicles of a 90s Serial Killer
The story kept me hooked till the end. The language is simple. The only thing that creeped me out was too much booze, drug and the gory details of the violence.
Blame it on the Crossroads
Crossroads… one of the worst places to be at. How I hated indecisive people! And yet, here I was. Never had I deliberated over my
The Nine Gems of Burman House
Finally, things would be back where they belong. The nine mammoth jewels…the prized heirloom! Shubhranjan recalled his late mother’s last words- “Remember Shubh, fortune and
In Search of God
I roamed around the world in search of God, Seeking blessings to salve my troubled soul. I chanted hymns, and bowed to the Divine, I
A Tryst with Death
Death. Certain. Sudden. Cruel. The enigmatic black hole that we all know about, but can’t peek into. And yet, there’s a certain beauty to death.
The Homecoming That Isn’t
Nature, The shy new bride, Fresh from monsoon’s embrace, Decks herself in a festive hue, And waits! That scent, That night-blooms ooze, Wafts across the
My New Friend
I’ve started writing diaries. The good doctor told me to. She said it’s the only way to keep track of things. Yet I can’t remember
Yes, The River Knows
The river has its own language. An inexperienced ear merely hears the incessant gurgles. But she has stories to tell, stories she has been witness
Two of Us in Here
There are two of us in here Locked in a perpetually futile scuffle About who should be having her way- Horns maybe? Or perhaps the