deepanjana
deepanjana
author & journalist
 
 

Hello hello!

this the online home of author and journalist
Deepanjana Pal

 
 
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Blog
Here Lies The City of Dreams
Here Lies The City of Dreams

It’s 2.19am, it’s pounding with rain and the spirit of Mumbai is AWOL.

Freedom and Lust
Freedom and Lust

I really wanted to like Netflix’s Lust Stories. But no.

The Light Chronicles
The Light Chronicles

Reasons to keep your eyes open and your cameraphone handy.

The Abstract World of Ram Kumar, 1924-2018
The Abstract World of Ram Kumar, 1924-2018

What can you do with a couple of geometric shapes and a few lines? That's all Ram Kumar needed to turn the world abstract and upside down.

The Incomplete Works
The Incomplete Works

I wrote a novel.

Baaghi 2: Heroism ≠ Human Rights
Baaghi 2: Heroism ≠ Human Rights

Baaghi 2 thinks human shields are good things. I can't even 

Bullet points: Black Panther
Bullet points: Black Panther

The ladies of Black Panther are killing it.  

An Army of Saraswatis
An Army of Saraswatis

It's hard out there for a goddess of wisdom.

Seeing Through the Mist
Seeing Through the Mist

It's like walking into a wall that melts away only to gather around you one step later.

Hello 2018
Hello 2018

Of the moon, fireworks and poetry. 

 

snapshots

Where’s the filter? There’s the filter.
Work mode beauty.
We tend to forget bhayanak (fearsome) is one of the navarasa. (Keerthana Ravi at Raindrops 2018)
Raindrops 2018 was the 28th edition of a dance festival organised by @umakathak, @suhani84 and Indrayanee Mukherjee. It’s dedicated to Pt Durgalal and showcases rising stars of Indian classical dance. Keerthana Ravi (Bharatnatyam) and Shweta Nayak (Kuchipudi) were breathtaking.
Skyscrapers. #nofilter #cloudchronicles2018
Are oats still healthy if they’re cooked using a parmesan rind broth and chorizo, and topped with dalle chilli pickle from Sikkim? (that’s a @curatorsofclay bowl, from bygone days)
What a *good* day to wear a white shirt...
Geometry.
 

short stories

"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."

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