Amruta Patil and her graphic Re-Interpretation of Mythologies …

Research, reading, imagination and interpretation – these in simultaneity work its way into Amruta’s graphic texts.  Possibly her graphic novels explore the narrative desire in the artist in her. It explor...

January 28, 2017

Born in 1940 in Maharani Division of Margaret’s Hope Tea Garden, Tung, eight kilometers from Kurseong and Sonada, Gokul Sinha has done his Ph.D. from the University of North Bengal as an independent scholar. He did his schooling from St. Alphonsus' School, Kurseong, an...

January 28, 2017


Is it a cradle

swinging in the void

humming a

lull-a-by to

the ever joyful

the ever crying

baby of life

now awake

now asleep?

Is it a pendulum

between two eternities

ceaselessly ticking

on the listless

glassy face of

old grandfather

on the wall

moving yet


for centuries?


January 28, 2017

don't speak badly of my father-- we are all created on the premise of whims not our own, merely fragments of light until we can elucidate things unseen prior to our presence. don't speak badly of candles in grimy windowsills accompanied by prayers-- we can all...

January 27, 2017

Lhamu’s Scar

For years Amla would agonize over a scar on my sister’s forehead. Duplicating my aerial feat, Lhamu trips in mid air, falling like a drunk on the edge of a bed. Blood splatters and her cries summons a mother in her tigress avatar.

 I, too, have scars but the...

January 27, 2017

Sarbajit Sen, studied English literature, worked in a bank for quite a few tormenting years, and yet all along kept doing cartoons and comic strips for some leading dailies in the city.

Finally, he left the bank to be a wholehearted Graphic Novelist and filmmaker.


January 27, 2017

Family Photograph

smooth to the finger paper-thin and silent

the past comes back to life almost untouched

barely a few specks of dust hanging in mid-air

high above the river (was it the Godavari ?)

children’s faces floating one quiet evening

eagerly awaiting their future


January 27, 2017

Picking my nose, scratching my head,

With a batted face, biting my nails,

 I shut down my brain,

Day’s office is over again.

I pass by a public lavatory,

Without grimacing my face.

Patched by hawkers,

Nagged by assorted beggars,

The pavements are littered,

Nothing exclusive.


Perhaps one needs to rephrase the dictum, “the pen is mightier than the sword,” when one encounters the world of Mahasweta Devi. She was mighty both in holding the pen in one hand (artistic production) and the sword in the other (activism). Mahasweta died at the age of...

January 27, 2017

The last few metres of the road up to the Deer Park Institute was under construction, and I parked a short distance away from the gates. As I walked up the cement path between similar rows of houses on either side, elderly ladies in traditional Tibetan smocks strolled...

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