Storygrams

Rekha and Nisha grew up in their father’s textile shop, surrounded by the rich smell of freshly dyed fabrics. After their father passed away, the shop was left in Rekha's hands. Deeply rooted in tradition, she continued crafting the intricate, handwoven designs their father had taught her, refusing to change anything about the shop or its heritage.

When Nisha returned from Delhi after studying design, she saw the shop with fresh eyes. While she admired the old designs, the shop felt like a relic...

“Chacha, ek cup chai lagana,”said Aakash as he stirred life with his morning ritual, arranging flowers for his shop. While Aakash was settling his shop, Mira, a young woman in her early thirties, stood by the shop. Being in quite a hurry, Mira asked “Do you have a bunch of white lilies available at the moment?”

Aware that the lilies were sold, Aakash still searched the shop, driven by a lingering hope not to return his first customer for today. After bustling around he said, “I’m sorry Madam, al...

Thoughts flooded Mohan’s mind as he watched Devi walk down the stairs of the Gorakhal Mandir. Mohan wasn’t particularly an atheist but also wasn’t a fan of rituals people followed to impress god, what some people deem as the supreme entity in this world.

“How can you believe in something you haven't really seen with your eyes?”

With a soothing smile she replied, "I won't be giving the proof, you'll have it the day you'll feel it in your heart.” The gaze they both shared was full of affection and...

In a quiet city corner stood a blank canvas-like wall, silently waiting for someone to paint it with stories. Local chief’s requests led Arjun—a man shaped by hardships to lay bare his story.

With a palette of only black and white, Arjun depicted his tales of lost dreams, of battles fought and often lost, of moments when hope seemed as distant as the stars. Immersed in his creation, Arjun felt an increasing void seeing his colorless existence mirrored in his work.

One warm afternoon, as Arjun ad...

"I still remember how excited we used to be as kids for the Republic Day parade and always dreamed of being a part of it," said Avika to her dearest friend, Ashmitaa, as they discussed how fun it had been to be a part of the Republic Day preparations. Avika and Ashmitaa are childhood friends who share a unique bond fueled by their grandparents' military legacy. Both their grandfathers served as military officers, instilling in them a deep love for their country and a profound respect for its tra...

"Amma tum chinta na karo hum jaldi aa jayenge," said the postmaster, as his eyes wandered over the last words of the letter.

Kaaki let out a sigh of relief. Her everyday walk from her home to the village's post office finally gave her hope for her son's return.

"Alright, Kaaki. I’ve got some urgent work here at the post office, so can you drop Raju off at school on your way home?" he asked.

"Come on, Raju. Let's go. And please send my letter to Rajesh quickly. I want to see him once to put my mi...

“Papa!”

I cried, losing all hope, seeing my father drift away from me. I fell on the grainy ground, gasping for the air my shuddering body never received. Soon, the piercing melody of my mother’s laughter filled my soul. The weight of my own body seemed to be crushing on the ground until everything turned red.

The reddish hue of the sun glistened in my room as it ticked away from the horizon. I sighed as I realised that it was yet another nightmare. The buzz in my phone cleared the haziness in m...

Based in the suburbs of Amritsar, Jaspreet, an army officer, and his wife Supreet had been living a quiet life, calm as a summer’s day with less to worry about. Jaspreet was known for his inviolable physique back in his days in the army. He was the strongest of the lot, never to be taken lightly. Then happened the Indo-Pakistan war of 1971, and time veered when bodies flooded the streets. The blood on Jaspreet’s hand was his own, and on his lips, only one word “India.” But you pay a heavy price ...