The Apu Trilogy: Satyajit Ray’s labour of love
There is a distinct disadvantage of seeing works of art very early in life. I saw Satyajit Ray’s black and white films somewhere in the late eighties, when I was in high school. I was aware that…
Maata ni Pachhedi: Celebrating the Mother Goddess
Somewhere among the pages of a thirty year-old diary, which I maintained as a schoolgirl, I still have “Maata ni Pachhedi” scrawled. The diary had questions from Quiz Time and India Quiz, and everytime Siddhartha Basu asked…
Usha Uthup: The bad girl with Kanjeevaram sneakers
Dressed in a gorgeous Kanjeevaram silk saree, her trademark big bindi adorning her forehead, she climbs up the stage gingerly. She is 71 and her hair has streaks of grey. She looks the complete antithesis of what…
The reward for a lifetime of work
I received this picture on a family Whatsapp group yesterday. And this morning it was all over the papers. The lady in the blue saree is my Bua, my father’s youngest sister. Dr Geeta Kumari. She heads…
The revival of Ajrakh
I have always been fond of the Indigo range sold by Fab India and own several of their block-printed kurtas and some sarees. The patterns and aesthetics of Ajrakh have always appealed to me. But I knew…
Jeffrey Archer: I’m more a story teller than a writer
Jeffrey Archer sells more copies of his novels in India than in any other country in the world. He narrates an amusing anecdote where he stepped off the plane in Mumbai and was on a taxi to…
Gandhi and leprosy
When he lived in Sevagram, Mahatma Gandhi used to take long walks. One cold winter day in December 1939, as he stepped out of the ashram, he encountered a man who was carrying a bundle in his…
Jiya jale: Gulzar and his lyrics
Writing subtitles for Hindi film songs can lead to hilarious situations. Famously, the song from Mangal Pandey: The Rising called ‘Mangal mangal’ was translated as ‘Tuesday, Tuesday’! But imagine the chagrin of the person who has to…
Kader Khan: A life that went unsung
I was in school when I saw this film. But the visuals are imprinted on my mind. A foggy graveyard. A little boy crying over his mother’s grave. A fakir arrives and asks the lad about his…
