Yesterday’s storm in Kolkata was not merely weather. It was a warning.
87 kmph winds. Uprooted trees. Flooded streets.
The broken branches would no doubt get cleared. The roads would reopen. And life too will resume its familiar rhythm. But perhaps that is precisely how great changes begin—not as catastrophes, but as interruptions. A little more water. A little more heat. A little more wind. Until one day we realise that what we called “unusual” has become normal.
While writing 2056: The Year of Water and Fire, I imagined a world shaped by rising waters and extreme weather. Yesterday, Kolkata offered a glimpse of that possibility. The future is rarely somewhere ahead of us. Often, it is already knocking at the door.
When I met Dr. Laxmi Parasuram to hear her thoughts on The Last Writer of Kolkata and Other Stories, I expected literary observations. What I received instead was a question that lingered.
She spoke of the emotional weight in the stories—the sentiment, the ache, the quiet melancholy. Then she asked, “Why do so many of your stories seem to end sadly?”
The question took me by surprise. I had never consciously thought of these as sad endings. To me, these stories are about ordinary people standing at extraordinary crossroads—where technology, hard trends, and shifting social realities place pressure on the human spirit. In those moments of disruption, what gets tested is not merely survival, but something deeper: memory, dignity, love, identity, silence, moral choice.
And when the protagonists choose to hold on to some irreducible fragment of their humanness—even at a cost—I had seen that not as tragedy, but as resistance. Yet perhaps this is the paradox of our times.
What one person sees as loss, another may see as courage. What appears to be a sad ending may, in fact, be the final refusal to surrender what makes us human.
It made me wonder: Have we become so accustomed to measuring success by comfort, victory, and neat resolutions that acts of emotional fidelity now look like defeat?
Dr. Parasuram’s question stayed with me. And perhaps that is what literature is meant to do—not provide answers but quietly rearrange the questions we ask ourselves.
Four futures. Four hard truths. And the fragile choices that still make us human.
A few Saturdays back, at South City Club Kolkata, The Last Writer of Kolkata and Other Stories began its journey into the world — not merely as a book launch, but as a conversation about the times we are already living through.
What made the evening truly special was the richness of the panel discussion moderated so thoughtfully by Dr. Vishnupriya Sengupta, alongside the deeply perceptive insights shared by Sanjib Chaudhuri, Poorna Banerjee, and Chitralekha Datta. Shawan Sarkar anchored the evening with warmth and elegance.
The discussion moved across many landscapes:
A Kolkata where memory itself becomes a commodity.
A Sundarbans struggling against rising tides and ecological collapse.
A future where human thought can be manipulated through neural networks.
An aging society where loneliness, migration, and technology redefine the meaning of home.
Yet beneath all these imagined futures lay one central question: ‘As the world changes around us, what does it mean to remain human?’
What touched me most was the engagement of the audience — the reflections, questions, disagreements, and personal stories that followed. It reminded me that fiction, at its best, is not an escape from reality, but a mirror held up to the forces quietly reshaping our lives.
My heartfelt gratitude to everyone who attended, participated, encouraged, photographed, listened, questioned, and stayed back afterwards for conversations over tea.
Books may begin in solitude. But they truly come alive in dialogue.
If the above themes intrigue you, I invite you to explore more about the book and the stories at: www.shaktighosal.com
Set in a near future shaped by forces already gathering momentum, this collection explores what happens when irreversible hard trends collide with ordinary human lives. From climate catastrophe and algorithmic control to cultural erasure and institutionalized ageing, each story follows characters forced to rethink love, loyalty, memory, and courage as familiar worlds quietly transform around them. These are not tales of spectacular collapse, but of subtle reckonings—where survival lies not in resistance alone, but in choosing what must still be remembered, protected, and passed on.
The Last Writer of Kolkata In a near-future Kolkata where memory, culture, and even grief are packaged and sold, an ageing writer quietly records a city that no longer listens. When his private words are appropriated and monetized, the story becomes a haunting meditation on erasure, resistance, and the fragile dignity of remembering in a world that profits from forgetting.
2056: The Year of the Water and Fire In a near-future Sundarbans battered by super-cyclones and rising seas, a grieving environmentalist, his resolute daughter, and a sentient AI boat are caught between prophecy and science as fire erupts beneath the ocean. As water and flame converge, the story asks a haunting question: when nature reclaims its power, is survival an act of technology, faith—or human courage to stand and choose?
Echo Chamber In a near future where minds are seamlessly linked and memories can be accessed, altered, and weaponized, a gifted intelligence analyst uncovers a conspiracy that turns thought itself into a tool of control. As truth, identity, and free will begin to blur, the story confronts a chilling question: when belief is engineered, is freedom still a choice—or merely an illusion?
When the Rain Remembered In a near-future Kolkata where ageing has been systematized and kindness regulated, an elderly couple shelter a displaced child inside a gated retirement enclave that has forgotten laughter. As rain, unrest, and quiet courage unsettle rigid rules, the story becomes a tender meditation on belonging—asking whether homes are built by policy, or by the human instinct to care.
The Last writer of Kolkata and other stories is making waves amongst discerning readers. To know more, visit: http://www.shaktighosal.com
I am delighted to mention that on its first anniversary, Amazon has released this brand video of my book, ‘The Chronicler of the Hooghly and other stories’.
Turning, he called out to the guard outside, “Ask my special guards to meet me”.
Two robed men came in. Omichand commanded, “Follow that ayah who accompanied the English woman. Find out all that the woman knows and who all she has met over the last few days. Do what you need to do but ensure that details of Joba’s movements do not get around”.
The next morning, the Captain Commandant’s household was in a tizzy. His wife’s trusted ayah had vanished in the night. Initial suspicion that she had run away with some valuables was quickly dispelled when nothing was found to be missing. Jim got the fort security to investigate but they came up with no answers. The mystery got solved after a few days in a rather gruesome manner when the ayah’s dead body was found floating in the Lal Dighi with her throat slit.
The above is an excerpt from the award-winning, ‘The Chronicler of the Hooghly’.
‘The fire of communal violence was spreading. There existed enough baggage of distrust and enmity between two of the major communities in the country to fan it.
News trickled in about the incendiary speech made by the Bengal Chief Minister Shaheed Suhrawardy and the ensuing cycle of violence which would later come to be known as the Great Calcutta Killings. Since both their larger families were in Bengal, Sujit and Bina were concerned and sent postcards enquiring about the safety and health of everyone. They even offered family members to leave Calcutta for some time and come and stay with them in New Delhi. Mercifully, they got back replies by post that there was nothing to worry about at the moment and all were safe.
But the Calcutta killings and the subsequent incidents of communal violence that followed in several parts of North India were but a trailer of what was to come…………..’
The above is an excerpt from the story Ashtami, part of the Chronicler of the Hooghly.
Book of the Month, Nazm -e- Hayat literary award winner. Available worldwide on Amazon.
Crossings is a Journal of English Studies and is a crossover vehicle into the realms of contemporary English Literature.
I was delighted to see Mr. Rakesh Chandra’s review of the Chronicler of the Hooghly and other stories published in the journal of literary studies ‘Crossings’ of the University of Liberal Arts ( ULAB) Bangla Desh.
I am posting below the very detailed review of the book that has been published.
A New Beginning 