Contains opinions on Rohini Devasher’s latest exhibition, Hopeful Monsters and the film Kedarnath.
Notes from a notebook. Contains Joan Didion, Instagram and more.
On the plus side, there are baby nifflers.
Learn from Jamie, gentlemen. Or why we all deserve better than a dick pic.
One hundred and sixty-five minutes of my life are gone, never to return. And this is what I get to show for it.
Sabarimala is forcing us to decide what we’d like Hinduism to be.
Indian art — the roost of creepy ‘uncles’ and enablers. Let us give thanks Instagram is around to ruffle their feathers.
Turns out, this column is as relevant now as it was when I wrote it, almost two weeks ago.
Gone are the days when newspaper vendors gave you newspapers hot off the press.
It took two women corroborating Tanushree Dutta’s allegations for everyone to believe her. Until that happened, Dutta was on her own.
"The satiny material of her burkha shone where it caught the sunlight. It stretched, dipped, billowed and moulded against her body because of the wind. The magnifying glass inched down her form, past the arc of her covered head, along the fluid lines of wind-puffed material. Hadpude didn’t blink. He just looked. His eyes travelled from head to toe, from photo to photo."