My mom has thrown away my Kama Sutra book. At least that is what I think happened to it.
Nascent pictographs created from the controlled symbiosis of needle and ink on nothing but bare skin hold a certain allure for this writer.
The severed head of a goat lying a few metres away did nothing to deter me from peering at it, curious.
The ambiguous Lakshman rekha from the Ramayana symbolises the many boundaries imposed upon female sexuality while growing up.
If you are a connoisseur of films that leave a lingering aftertaste like gourmet French wine, watch Rituparno Ghosh’s Noukadubi.
There is nothing wrong with being an academician. But writing was what I was meant for. Right?
The author reveals the many facets of human nature, where custody battles become a way of trumping one another in a divorce.
Once upon a time, in a book rife with lies, Princess Scheherazade spent one thousand and one nights in bed with Prince Shahriyar… speaking.
A not-so-samajdar-beti decides to take a year off from academia, fly off to the city of her birth, and start working on her first novel.
Labels are not easy to live with, especially hyphenated labels. There is a sense of disorientation when it comes to choosing one side or the other.
Where do women like us expect to find our men? And where and when exactly do these men of today expect to find their women?
