The excitement in the air was palpable. It was 3 December 2015; winter had just set in. Delhi was cold and dull, and the morning remained sunless. Yet, when 10,000 disabled people and their allies, some of them having travelled
At the tenth ministerial conference of the World Trade Organisation (WTO), which got underway yesterday at Nairobi, representatives from 162 countries have gathered to discuss global trade agreements. Many of them hope that the Doha Round of multilateral negotiations, which
Kirron Kher was at her dramatic best during her intervention during the recent “tolerance debate” in the Lok Sabha. Perhaps she hasn’t been as evocative since her role in Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Devdas. There, she had gesticulated with her hands
“Help me, love poem, to make things whole again, to sing in spite of pain. It’s true the world does not cleanse itself of wars, does not wash off the blood, does not get over its hate. Its true.
It is the land of Buddha and Gandhi, said our Dear Leader in London, when faced with a sharp query on intolerance by a reporter. He could very well have said that it is the land of Buddha and Gandhi
Indigenous poets from Northeast India have long been engaged in dialogues that seek self-determination embodied in a desire to articulate a celebration of life in the hills amidst diversity and richness, and to chronicle contemporary realities, often marked by violence.
I was smoking a cigarette lying on the sands of the Thar when I heard, or remembered, a Rajasthani folk song in which a woman is telling other people, most likely her female friends, about how she could have died
Teachers’ Day in September this year was a day of grand celebration for climate-change deniers the world over, and they must be wallowing in self-praise. They got a new chubby pot-bellied member in their club, a high-profile globetrotter whose reckless
वक़्त ये वक़्त क्या है ये क्या है आखि़र कि जो मुसलसल गुज़र रहा है ये जब न गुज़रा था तब कहाँ था कहीं तो होगा गुज़र गया है तो अब कहाँ है कहीं तो होगा कहाँ से आया
ईगो मैंने एक साया अपना पाल रखा है आगे पीछे घूमता है जैसे छोटा ‘पोमी’ है भौंकता नहीं कभी किसी भी अजनबी पे ये अपना ही मिले कोई तो काट लेता है साया मेरा काट ले तो दांत के