• Day of Reckoning No dog in our town was safe. Mo and his gang instinctively reached for stones the moment they saw one. With savage glee they would attack the mongrel as if impelled by some atavistic urge, as if not to hurl a rock would violate some secret adolescent code. Similarly, no schoolgirl could escape their catcalls. When ... Read more...
  • An artist true to himself, true to his soil Every morning after breakfast you will find Abbas Batliwala in his studio communing with his canvas. “It’s the best time of day,” he says. A time to reflect on inner universe. From its unknown depths emerges an insistent creative urge that has defined his destiny and given him his true calling. If not for this urge Abbas would have been just another shopkeeper. “I’m no more than a salesman,” he says. Not for him the airs of an artist. He makes light of his talent and fame. Read more...
  • A fool’s journey, from falsehood to falsehood April is the cruelest month, thus wrote T.S. Eliot. Probably he thought stirring of lilacs from the dead ground, coaxed out by spring rain, is cruel. In a way it is. Life, or renewal of life, with its promise of inevitable death does appear to be cruel – to lilacs and laymen alike. But what would you rather have, life and death? Or no death, and thus no life? Read more...