Rains give life. But not even the most tenacious lives are the same. And they all begin from fragility. Our bodies, delicate as eggs, are stepped over by life, leaving their mark in pain.

Director Kaushal Oza delivers a poignant tale of a visually challenged artist, his family and their quiet defiance in a communal setting

As the poet and the director of the film 'Kaali' (2022) Leena Manimekalai pens down the binary being of the supreme, her words render a voice, 'a wounded bird/ a castoff deity.' She warns, 'She’s coming for you too'

Before she sits down on a bench at night and shares a cigarette with two men of African descent, the woman dressed as a goddess had been loitering around in Toronto’s downtown for quite some time.

With two new parties sweeping polls on development planks instead of demand for statehood, older forces are having it tough

In Punjab’s popular music, the rap is more about celebration of dominance, not of protest

It is a scorching May in Delhi. The air is hot and gritty, a napping dragon’s exhal­a­tions. Our bodies have become sweat machines. The leaves of the gulmohar have charred at the edges, flowers flaking like cigarette paper in our palms. Suddenly, the sky turns into a chameleon, camouflaging from blue to brown to black, gobbling up the fireball of a sun. A tepid rain soon follows. The soft rum­ble of rain turns into a sudden pounding—or, perhaps, as Salinger said, falling in buckets…like a bastard. I am stranded in the library, feeling the city pulse with a sudden relief and vigour—skidding bikes, rushing cars, a bunch of people darting towards the shaded chai-tapri.

In the park overlooking the library, I see the straight march of rain bending the spines of grass. The flailing branches of thick-limbed, perennial trees crack with a distinct snap with each mad swirl of the wind. I look at the saucer­-shaped nest ensconced on one such branch, the two bluish-grey eggs, the size of cherry tomatoes, tumbling in it. There is life in those small eggs, a strange realisation strikes me. How can life—so robust and tenacious that it would dare to fly in the vast expanse of the sky very soon—begin from such fragility?

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