the light to see brides in the light to take flights in the light by which noon moves like a dagger into its sheath the light living on in the bottom of glasses the light like a tiger on a
One there, one here, dreams mixed-up, dreams enjoined; Dreams, two of the same kind, like two-in-one, the dreams. Just like that… hand in hand, lip to lip, body to body, mind on mind… Caress me, look into me, says her
This is Pooja Bhandari*. And every morning, even before I edge out from under my ostrich feather comforter, I grab my iPad and start to Mommy Blog. I always begin by composing a prayer of gratitude for my lovely children:
The conversation floated from the efficacy of gender neutral pronouns to Amitabh Bachchan’s misogyny to rape and the visual medium and then it halted at sindoor, Farah Khan’s ek chutki sindoor. My friend wondered whether given the deeply patriarchal connotations of this
“There’re more people trying to separate than to unite [Southasia today]”, says Shazia Khan. Common is the age-old desire for meaning, fulfillment and novelty, amongst other things. Once when a foreign tradition penetrated through the shores and the mountains of
An interview with the Booker winning author, Howard Jacobson. By Debojit Dutta and Manjiri Indurkar. Guy Ableman, the protagonist of Howard Jacobson’s latest novel Zoo Time, is a fiction writer living in an unfortunate age. Fiction is dead, because fiction
Listen o listen: Hark this tale of Khanaa In Bengal in the Middle Ages Lived a woman Khanaa, I sing her life The first Bengali woman poet Her tongue they severed with a knife Her speechless voice, ‘Khanar Bachan’ Still
A coquettish Maria de Medeiros, playing the moll in Pulp Fiction, lounges in bed, practically purring with a self-assured, lazy sensuality. Sleepily, she fantasises about having a potbelly, how she would accentuate it with small tees and how very sexy one
It wasn’t the intrusive smell of cardamom, no. It wasn’t even the spicy aroma of cloves. It was something more secret, sweeter, because that fragrance existed only in my childhood. The smell of overripe bananas with sugar and cinnamon. My
They came in a boat for Kamala Sundari sieving water layer by layer when the wind rose the oars were legs, also their hands when stretched The boats they built later were not for her the waters they slashed was