culture
The world makes its own music. And when we try to be in harmony with others, we forget the tune we started out humming.
Ganga, borne aloft, wound her way towards her white marble temple where a million iridescent triangles danced wildly.
Against the rural landscape, where time takes on another pace, numbers like age have a way of being forgotten.
Wait for the right person, the right backdrop, the right season, the right beverage, the right theme, the right everything.
Our friendly religious epic, the Mahabharata, is replete with cases of charitable Brahmins impregnating obedient queens in order to oblige heirless kingdoms.
We have all experienced, condemned, and practised road rage. Now meet its dysfunctional spouse, traffic lag.
The ambiguous Lakshman rekha from the Ramayana symbolises the many boundaries imposed upon female sexuality while growing up.
Ten minutes later we were out cold, long before we realised that the rushing lullaby outside our windows was the river flowing just feet away.
Being a stand-up comedian is no laughing matter. Unless, of course, you’re as exceptionally gifted with a microphone in your hand as Neville Shah.
How alert are we? How agile are our senses? Is our reflex going to be outsourced? Are you going to tell me it can be?
