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| When all roads are taken |
| Can a new broom sweep away the indolence that grips the state? |
| A shepherd lad who fancies himself a poet in O. Henry’s story, “Roads of Destiny”, leaves home late one night after quarrelling with his fiancée “to seek fame and honour in the great world outside”. David Mignot excitedly anticipates the day when hi... |
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| Towering personality |
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Sir — I was saddened by Nawang Gombu’s demise (“Everest double hero dies in Darjeeling”, April 25). ... |
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| Mixed views |
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Sir — By dying at the age of 84, Sathya Sai Baba proved that miracles and predictions often go wron ... |
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| SHODDY SHOW |
| It wouldn’t have mattered a tinker’s damn if Murli Manohar Joshi had made only himself look ridiculous over the public accoun...|
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| Eternal moments |
| Dance without movement is inconceivable. A dance sequence is like a river that never stops flowing. Photography, on the other hand, arrests movement, stops the flow of time, f... |
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| Something is rotten in the state |
| April is the Shakespearean month, and in a pleasant surprise, Bengali theatre has taken up the Bard’s cause with lavish productions of two classic tragedies, involving such bi... |
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| An ode with a refreshing difference |
| What emerged conspicuously from the exhibition of paintings organized by Black, a group of four young artists, was a refreshing artistic sensitivity. The other thing about the... |
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There is no looking-glass here and I don’t know what I am like now. I remember watching myself brush my hair and how my eyes looked back at me. The girl I saw was myself and yet not quite myself. Long ago when I was a child and very lonely I tried to kiss her. But the glass was between us — hard, cold and misted over with my breath. — JEAN RHYS
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