Author: Ritamvara Bhattacharya

A Haircut

In a series of flash forwards and flashbacks, Ritamvara, following the stream of consciousness legacy, talking about a haircut. And through it, she dwells on the complexity of relationships and associations. My hair has grown long, as dark as the double standard generosity, not greed; sugar, not spite. I decide shall let it away. I think, ‘what has […]

Buddha Smiles

An enigmatic story from Ritamvara, where relations and realities collapse with Kafkaesque horror. The salvation is in Buddha’s smile. The freedom of the sky was an intervening rebellious act in my wait. My wait was uncertain, impossibly pompous, never a fried fish in protest. It was a Thursday night. My brother failed to heat the oven, neither did […]


Ritamvara, an essential Romantic at heart, identifies with lush greenery of nature. In this prose-poem, she travels from the external world into the meditative silence within her; from the din of the City of Joy, her hometown, to the ‘untouched’, ‘unpruned’ greenery of the mountains, the Himalayas. The fever breaks in. I wonder how it is: if, I […]

Little Island

Ritamvara aka the mountain girl, writes from a darling’s heart, Darjeeling (India). In her intense and sensuous piece, a reflective prose-poem, she yearns union with the Himalayas. She writes for the mountains to breathe and echo endless love. The gentlest of fragrance wafts my nose. It insists on making my presence unknown by their maddening blooms. The tall […]

Vaginas don’t have Homes/Dream of Apples

Two sisters, Dishani Roy and Ritamvara Bhattacharya, compose poems in sync. Here’s a jugalbandi of two intense poets and their poetry of protest. A Different Truths exclusive. Vaginas don’t have Homes My body begins in my stomach- A storm that aches, It harbours empty despair. My navel is my mother’s only proof, My blood is always […]


Here’s a jugalbandi in two poems by Ritamvara (as daughter) and Ipsita (as mother). They have been composing poems in sync with each other. Here are two poems by two gifted poets, a Mother’s Day special of Different Truths. I am curled All alone In the base of my grief as dunes. The quilt is winter Covering […]