Prerna Kalbag

  • As a child, I remember being acutely aware of the Other. It intumesced through rusty incidents narrated in the dimness of a drawing room, passed on from each generation to the next, like a septic tumour that had to be discharged, if only through tired, repeated recounts. It lurked inside textbooks ...

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  • Religion – like many of the contradictorily incendiary topics of our degenerated generation, is something which often induces us to either defend or attack. Shamelessly, as if the rousing displeasure that stems from those well thought-out words we spit out actually splits our veins open and ...

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  • It was an unrestrained, lethargic Sunday afternoon. Blurred pungent garlic skies. My living room curtains sat aloof. My books moaned in my purple, accusingly bright shelf. It was the day that would start as dispassionately as most days, but end with something little and precious that I would come ...

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