Tag: Book

The Apocalypse did not come with fire or flood


“The apocalypse,” Amay began quietly, “did not come with fire or flood. It came with a whisper that went silent. A whisper we human had mistaken for our own thoughts.”

The room did not stir. Not a sound or cough.

“We were its architects. And we were its prisoners. When MindLink fell, so did the illusions we had built atop it, of governments, markets, life’s certainties. Many shattered beneath the weight of secrets they could no longer bury. Others responded with fear. With force. With flags. The old tricks of the frightened.”

He paced slowly across the stage, hands behind his back, eyes distant.

“Corporations collapsed. The ones whose products had been our thoughts. Whose profits came not from selling goods, but from renting us back to ourselves, repackaged and palatable.”

A faint smile played on his lips, sad, but knowing.

“And yet… ..the world didn’t end. It adapted.” He paused. “Because humanity, in its clumsy brilliance, always does.”

He turned, facing the audience again.

“But even as we stitched together new structures, shakier, slower, more human, we began to hear… the whispers. Or were they echoes?”

He tapped his temple. “Not neural pulses. Not digital ghosts. But memories. Questions. Longings.”

His voice dropped lower, intimate, “Coffee shop murmurs. Late-night debates on cracked feeds. Former engineers writing whitepapers. Lobbyists lobbying, politicians pretending not to listen while listening intently.”

He quoted them now:

‘We don’t need to destroy it. Just rebuild it better.’
‘What if we did it right this time?’
‘The network is still there… dormant.’

“And so, the cycle begins again.”

New York University features in the story ‘Echo Chamber’, part of my forthcoming book ‘The Last Writer of Kolkata and other stories’ due release in early April 2026. Should you wish to receive exclusive previews, do write to me @ author.esgee@gmail.com.

In musing…….. Shakti Ghosal

Ma Is Coming


Ma is Coming

North Kolkata, 16th October 2042. A few days before Durga Pujo.

The first light of the morning came and sat on the window grille, hesitated, then leapt in. Like an old song, tired and familiar, trying to be remembered.

Rudra Bose sat by the window, a cup of tea steaming beside him. The cup was chipped, the saucer mismatched, the tea, a stubborn blend of milk, tea dust, and habit. Outside, the lane yawned into a waking slumber, its air thick with last night’s incense, stale samosa oil, and the ever-present, low-grade air pollution.

“Ma is coming,” he had heard someone shout on the street last evening.

She was, of course. Ma came every year. Only nowadays she arrived on a cloud of holograms, flanked by LED lions and thunderous drumbeats pouring through subwoofers. The city had found new ways to worship, more theatrical, more saleable.

Rudra shifted in his chair, his bones protesting like rusted hinges. In his lap, his journal lay open, an old pen resting across the page like a reluctant weapon. He hadn’t written yet. He was waiting, unsure of something. Was he waiting for a thought, a familiar smell, or the comfort of a Kolkata that seemed to slip further away each year?

Durga Pujo. Once, it had been magic.

As a boy, he had spent mornings watching Mashis, aunts and Boudis, sisters-in-law threading marigolds for the Pandal and Thakurer Bedi. In the afternoons it would be the decorators stringing up festoon lights of different colours all along the lane. Nights were all about rehearsing lines for the Natok, stage play they would perform on Nabami.

He had once accompanied his mother, walking barefoot to the river to collect Gangajal, the sacred waters of Ganga. He remembered his father reading out the Chandipath under a suffused light. Long buried memories of his parents surfaced and meandered.

“Rudra, you were born with too much silence,” his mother had once said, as she used a hand fan during load shedding. “You are eleven. Most boys your age chase dragonflies. You chase metaphors.”

“I like listening,” he had replied, “Words sound different when you don’t rush to answer them.”

His mother had turned towards him, “Then promise me, don’t let the noise teach you to forget what silence feels like.”

North Kolkata is the soul of the city, where the past isn’t just remembered—it’s lived. Often called “Babu Kolkata,” this region is a labyrinth of narrow lanes, grand 19th-century mansions, and centuries-old traditions that remain untouched by modernity. Historically, the British referred to the area inhabited by the native Bengali elite as the “Black Town,” in contrast to the “White Town” of Central Kolkata where the British lived.

North Kolkata features in the ‘Last writer of Kolkata’, part of my forthcoming book of the same name. Should you wish to receive exclusive previews and the chance of winning a free copy of the book, do write to me @ author.esgee@gmail.com

Shakti Ghosal

Sustainability and Globalisation


Dr. Viraj P. Thacker, the best-selling author of ‘The Myth of prosperity: Globalisation and the South’, has remained passionate about continuing his Late Mother’s work of a lifetime in the areas of Women & Children, the Environment, Sustainability & Social Justice. This has also led him to set up ‘Manushi for sustainable development’ of which he is the international executive director.

I am sharing a collage of the events associated with the above initiative as well as a thought-provoking article on Globalisation that he has published recently.

Environment, sustainability and Climate Change are areas I remain passionate about. My next book might just be in this area…..

#shaktighosal#sustainability#environment#climatechange#globalisation

The Last war…….


Sambit Daspatnaik is a man of many hues.

An Electronics Engineer and a MBA, Sambit is a Program Manager with Oracle. But this but the tip of his competence profile ‘iceberg’. He is an established author, a talented artist as well as a mentor.

Sambit had been kind enough to write a generous testimonial for my book, ‘The Chronicler of the Hooghly and other stories’ when it was under publication. His testimonial is part of the book.

I had the privilege to read his book, ‘The Last War and other stories’ which has just gone into a second edition.  I am delighted to provide my review here.

The Last War and other stories- Review

What would you say would happen if you were to take a dollop of Indian mythology, slices of long forgotten civilisations, a cupful of open-ended creativity and garnishing of science fiction and then mix all of that in a crucible ? What you are apt to get is a superb and rollicking tale called the ‘Last War’. This is what author Sambit Daspatnaik has served as the main fare in his book ‘The Last War and other stories’.

I do not want to give out much about the story and its context as that might spoil the surprise elements  for the reader. Suffice it is to mention that I found the story and the audaciousness of the plot thoroughly enjoyable.

Sambit’s depiction of the Last War, the scale and the wide-angle perspective he uses, brought for me shades of J.R. Tolkien and his Lord of the Rings view of the world, replete with its magic. As Sambit writes in his foreword, the great war of Mahabharat fought between the Kauravas and the Pandavas many millennia back, was but a forerunner of a much larger war to come. In the words of the author, “……. everyone was mistaken… it looked like the ancient magic was still around… new lessons were learned…old secrets were unveiled… new allies were made……”

Four other science fiction stories make up the book.

Genesis is all about a spectacular discovery of the ‘sphere’ made thousands of lights years away by a research expedition. But as they say, with every benefit or solution, there is a downside. In the ‘Holy temple of Eula’, an alien civilisation awaits the arrival of a new Messiah who would save them from the perils of a dying world. The story ‘Blink’ employs a wonderful context as it transports the reader into a star trek like space incident complete with a ‘who dunnit’ mystery. The last story, with the wonderfully appropriate title of ‘Resurrection’, transports the reader into the distant future of Mankind with a dying sun.

All in all, Sambit Daspatnaik uses a simple and racy style in his narrative and this, coupled with the excellent and imaginative plots, makes this book a delectable fare and  un-putdownable.

I would go with a rating of 4.5 out of 5 for the ‘Last War and other stories and would recommend it to the reader.

Shakti Ghosal

Author – ‘The Chronicler of the Hooghly and Other Stories’, Leadership Coach and incubator and Visiting Professor at IIMs.

First tram ride in Delhi


“Baba, why is that train bogie standing in the middle of the road?” asked Niren, pointing to a single carriage, surrounded by tongas, carts and people walking on the road.

“Niren, that is a tram, a modern day invention. It does not need any engine to pull it. Can you see that pole on the top? It draws electric current from that cable on top to move”, replied Sujit.

His eyes twinkling, Sujit asked, “Would you like to ride the tram?”

“Yes! Yes!” the boys shouted as they started running towards the tram.

“Niren, Suren! Stop, do not run ahead like that”, so saying, Bina turned quickly and rushed towards her sons, her maternal protective instinct taking over. That was when the first wave of nausea and dizziness hit her and she lost her balance.

Snippet: The first horse drawn tram made its appearance in Calcutta in 1873, operating between Sealdah and Armenian Ghat seat. Electrified tramways started operating between Khidderpore, Esplanade and Kalighat in 1902. Close on the heels of Calcutta came the introduction of tramways in Bombay, Nashik and Chennai.

Trams in Delhi began operation in 1908 and with the shifting of the Capital to this city, the network continued to expand.Tramways ferried people between Chandni Chowk to Tis Hazari in the north and Pahar Ganj and Ajmeri gate in the south. However the system had to be shut down in 1963 due to urban congestion.

Interestingly, Delhi’s dalliance with the trams might soon be revived as Delhi Government plans to introduce ‘trackless trams’ in the heritage Chandni Chowk area.

Delhi Trams feature in the story, ‘Ashtami’, part of my forthcoming book ‘The Chronicler of the Hooghly and other stories’ which is scheduled to release in February ‘21. For updates, do visit

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