Thakazhi's troubled gaze at '40s India, in a patchy translation
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No recordings of his exist, but every classical musician bows to Ustad Alladiya Khan. In plain vanilla format, here's why.
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What an option it might have been! A Sanskritised landscape! Taporis spouting Kalidasa...LS debates in devabhasha (Krama! Krama! Aham Somanatha Chattopadhyaya vadaami!...)
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The '90s in meltdown. Then an apparition in print. The story, from the gut.
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Everything, it seems, has a limit. Why does the media start haemorrhaging at the prospect of India's fringe breaking its silence? Are we afraid of our democracy?
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The film song is mass hypnotism, an aid to help us forget. But the past never leaves.
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Making bold to explore a humbler method to crack the dimly understood laws of international relations. An unofficial oral history of geopolitics.
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"Sir, what is the time?" Man 2, glancing at watch, gravely, "It’s too late." Too late for what? "Too late for you and me."
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Pakistan’s again at what hacks love to euphemise as an "inflexion point" in its history. Nawaz Sharif is again the paragon of liberty..One feels sorry for Musharraf...
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So we don't just live next door to Absurdistan, it's in our marrow. As Advani once said, "Desh ka vayumandal kharab hai". (He wasn't talking carbon emissions.)
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