TT Epaper
The Telegraph
 
IN TODAY'S PAPER
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Since 1st March, 1999
 
THE TELEGRAPH
 
 
CIMA Gallary

Patriarchy and prejudice

India’s two main religions, Hinduism and Islam, are both deeply patriarchal. Their scriptures and their historical practice have relegated women to an inferior status....   | Read..
 
The fairy tale is over
By the old Shwedagon pagoda, lookin’ lazy at the tourists, there stands the tall white-washed tomb of Queen Supayalat...  | Read.. 
 
 
Letters to the Editor
New threat
Sir — It appears that poachers, some of whom are armed with AK-47 rifles and other sophisticated we ...  | Read.. 
 
Free loot
Sir — Egg-selling has now made news. It has been reported that dinosaur eggs, millions of years old ...  | Read.. 
 
Dismal record
Sir — Even after over six decades of Independence, women in India’s villages continue to perform su ...  | Read.. 
 
Erratum
In Partha Basu’s book review, “Innocent adventures” (Feb 8), it has been mentioned that Henry Louis ...  | Read.. 
 
EDITORIAL

NOT THEIR MASTER’S VOICE

The bureaucracy is an integral part of all modern governments. It provides continuity in governance and administration ...   | Read..
 
REVIEW ARTS
Dreaming walls
A petty tax collector in a Rabindranath Tagore short story titled “Kshudita Pashan” (“Hungry Stones”) looses his mind as he is possessed by an abandoned pleasure dome b...  | Read.. 
 
Facile entertainment
Comedy and farce have returned with a bang to Bengali theatre, now no longer embarrassed to entertain. But times have also changed, bringing cheap film/TV caricatures onstage,...  | Read.. 
 
Harmonious rivers
The entire area of Mohor Kunja was filled with music and movement, colour and craft, ecstasy and enjoyment. Dance, music, art and craft together created a joyous atmosphere wh...  | Read.. 
 
SCRIPSI
Today the individual has become the highest form, and the greatest bane, of artistic creation. The smallest wound or pain of the ego is examined under a microscope as if it were of eternal importance. The artist considers his isolation, his subjectivity, his individualism almost holy. Thus we finally gather in one large pen, where we stand and bleat about our loneliness without listening to each other and without realizing that we are smothering each other to death. The individualists stare into each other’s eyes and yet deny each other’s existence. We walk in circles, so limited by our own anxieties that we can no longer distinguish between true and false, between the gangster’s whim and the purest ideal. — INGMAR BERGMAN