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18/11/2025
Published by : Tarun Mathur
The monsoon arrived in Mumbai not with thunderstorms, but with a slow, persistent drizzle that seemed determined to seep into every crack of the city, and every crevice of Maya’s heart. For days, she avoided the old blue footbridge that crossed the canal between her housing colony and Priya’s; it had become, in her mind, not a shortcut or meeting place, but a monument to the distance now strung between them....
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22/11/2025
Published by : Tarun Mathur
Raghav Sharma was born in the pink city of Jaipur, where the sandstone walls glowed in the evening sun and the narrow lanes bustled with vendors selling spices, textiles, and sweets. His father ran a modest stationery shop near Bapu Bazaar, and his mother was a homemaker who believed education was the only inheritance they could give their son....
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27/11/2025
Published by : Tarun Mathur
The land of Mewar was a land of colours baked under the sun. In summer, its rocky hills shimmered like molten brass. In winter, the nights burned with a cold that crept into bones. And yet, despite the harshness, something about this ancient land felt sacred — as if every stone carried a memory, every gust of wind recited an old ballad, and every patch of cracked soil was an unsaid prayer waiting to be answered.....
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