PLOT NUMBER TWO
UNDERGRADUATE LITERARY JOURNAL

FIRST EDITION


THE LAST SUNRISE
BHAVANA SR

Every evening at 5 pm, Sandhita would enter her bedroom and shut all the blinds. She would switch on every light she could find – tubelights, bulbs, lamps, fairy lights, and sometimes even flashlights. Having done that, she would climb into her bed, pull up the covers, and listen to cheerful pop music. Then she would shut her eyes and breathe heavily, till she fell asleep. The alarm would ring at 7 pm. She would wake up and head towards the kitchen to make some dinner.

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LOTA
AINA SINGH

Jitendra pushed, shoved and elbowed his way out of the train compartment, mouthing curses the entire time. It was getting increasingly difficult to travel by the Delhi metro at this hour of the evening, without losing at least an iota of one’s sanity. Never mind that one is a senior professor at the city university—when those around you choose to discard all etiquette in the struggle to commute, you have no choice but to follow suit. If only the buggers would sanction his car loan.

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IF I WEREN'T FROM BOMBAY
SARANYA SUBRAMANIAN

If I weren’t from Bombay,

I’d probably call it Mumbai.

I’d probably treasure every time I smelled the colours of the sea.

I’d never know how it is to walk out of my house

to find all seven colours of the rainbow

and the pot of gold at the end of it.

How people tread on hot coals to grab a few coins,

only to find some on chariots flying towards it.

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