The Telegraph
Saturday , November 27 , 2010
 
IN TODAY'S PAPER
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Since 1st March, 1999
 
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CIMA Gallary
Brave young man
He is older by five years since my last audience in the Gyuto Ramoche Tantric Monastery near Dharamsala, slightly more plump but engaging as ever and seems much more confident. That last is an illusion. The confidence was always there for the boy was...  | Read.. 
 
Letters to the Editor
Too many figures
Sir — The report, “Bengal’s migrant underbelly” (Nov 17), dealt neutrally with the failures and ach ...  | Read.. 
 
Cautious step
Sir — It is unfortunate that the source of the controversy over the pope’s alleged comments ...  | Read.. 
 
Stop to think
Sir — The Indian rowing team should be congratulated for its brilliant performance in the Asian Gam ...  | Read.. 
 
EDITORIAL
LET IT WORK, PLEASE
India is a democracy without a parliament. This is, of course, an exaggerated — and many would say, absurd — claim. But only ...| Read.. 
 
REVIEW ARTS
Old patterns revealed in a new light
What constitutes “new performance” (NP)? Since the India Foundation for the Arts and Seagull invite dialogue on their festival by that name, let us comply. To begin with, anyo...  | Read.. 
 
How to create perfect harmony
The rarely heard combination of the woodwind quintet — flute, oboe, bassoon, french horn and clarinet — was a welcome inclusion in the winter concert season this year. Present...  | Read.. 
 
Fancies that cling
Manjari Chakravarti’s exhibition of drawings, paintings and installations at Akar Prakar (Ecriture III... and a few other things, till November 30) captivates the viewe...  | Read.. 
 
THIS ABOVE ALL
Remembering Siddhartha
I got to know Siddhartha Shankar Ray — who died in Calcutta on November 6 at the age of 90 — through his wife, Maya, whom I ...  | Read.. 
 
SCRIPSI
I made my song a coat/ Covered with embroideries/ Out of old mythologies/ From heel to throat;/ But the fools caught it,/ Wore it in the world’s eye/ As though they’d wrought it./ Song, let them take it/ For there’s more enterprise/ In walking naked. — W.B. YEATS