I wish that you were with me, for your Beethoven is very unhappy. You must know that one of my most precious faculties, that of
1 Dropped from the skyCrimson redBroken moon in pieces,Blood? In deep red serum? Plasma never thickensGushing from the stream,Man inserts his hand insideHis own hand,
Hungry Stones is a short story by Nobel Laureate Rabindranath Tagore. Originally titled Kshudhito Pashan or Khudhito Pashan, this short story is one of his
This trip along with a host of others has remained etched in my memory. Another one I can relate here pertains to our Jaldapara trip
After the birth of a child, parents themselves take baby steps into parenthood much like toddlers do – unsure and hesitant. Our first instinct as
I became convinced that as much as I loved to weave on a loom, I loved to get my hands dirty with dyes and paints
The General Manager rushed out to take control of the situation, called Nabin to his office and warned that he would lose his job if
Morning sun. I purrand lick my way along thebrown hair of my limbs,my tongue scratching, elegant.I stretch a polished clawand the soft grass under me
I am at the family home of the British kings and queens for more than a thousand years. It is the largest and oldest occupied
The whole point of a frittata is that you can make it anytime, with almost anything. If you have the fillings cooked already like the
The autumn melody will change the tempo from adagio to allegro at the divine hands of the conductor. The play will reach its climax with
Where joy is both risked and worshipped, / Where tenderness is sought / And god becomes and unbecomes / At every step you take toward
In this book, is that Roy started with a story based on the incredibly true story of a eunuch called Mona Ahmed, made famous by
The greatest festival of the year for us, the Bengalis, has come knocking at our doors. The Durga Puja is not just a festival. It
The firecrackers light up the night skysmiles move from a face to anothershe is happyin India it is Deepavali, the festival of lightstwelve thousand miles
We talked about heads turning into tails, / and my mother’s silverware jumping out of / their drawer and marrying her jewelry.
