Rituparna Mukherjee

Bambi stands at the window and gazes outside. It’s a hot March evening and her terrace, singed by the sun all day, gives off barren heat when the cool evening breeze touches it. Bambi stares at the rising moon. It’s almost full, ebullient, stained yellow earlier in the evening, now... Read More

Her phone pings on a restless Sunday evening. She glances at it, snatching it from the bed, eyes moving through the screen of the phone, breath unsure. Steadying herself, she reads and sends a careful, fragile hey. She has been rather cautious these days, letting each of the words she... Read More