The Telegraph
Saturday , June 30 , 2012
 
IN TODAY'S PAPER
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Since 1st March, 1999
 
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CIMA Gallary

The two Bengals

Of the countries close to or bordering India, I have been once to China and Afghanistan, twice to Sri Lanka and Nepal, and three times to Pakistan. I have declined several invitations to visit Bhutan, but were anyone to invite me to Bangladesh or Myanmar I would accept without hesitation. I am told Bhutan is pretty — very pretty ...   | Read..
 
Letters to the Editor
Vanishing art
Sir — “Intimations of mortality” (June 24), by Mukul Kesavan, is a decent piece of commentary. Test ...  | Read.. 
 
Deep mess
Sir — Initially, India did not produce enough food. Hence a substantial part of our population used ...  | Read.. 
 
Parting shot
Sir — The Indian Railways is in bad shape. Train journeys are now synonymous with dirty toilets, s ...  | Read.. 
 
EDITORIAL

LINES IN THE SAND

The ancients in India had it right. To them, fluidity in sexual identity was not news, as is clear from the ease with which d...   | Read..
 
OPED
Innovative experiments
Bengali theatre continues its liberating excursions with Tagore, particularly his fiction, the realistic style of which makes it more easily accessible for audiences. A whole ...  | Read.. 
 
Bold combinations
It took quite a while to get to the music of the evening. There was the customary half-hour delay followed by long-winded, repetitive introductions, a CD launch and finally a ...  | Read.. 
 
Tilted clocks and clumsy sketches
An exhibition of paintings by the students of Swar Sangam — Summer Hues (June 20-26) at the central gallery of the Academy of Fine Arts — revealed an irregularity in th...  | Read.. 
 
THIS ABOVE ALL
A voice to remember
The news of the death of the ghazal maestro, Mehdi Hassan on June 13 was like a stab in the heart. I had all the CDs o...  | Read.. 
 
SCRIPSI
And I’ll dance with you in Vienna,/ I’ll be wearing a river’s disguise./ The hyacinth wild on my shoulder/ My mouth on the dew of your thighs./ And I’ll bury my soul in a scrapbook,/ With the photographs there and the moss./ And I’ll yield to the flood of your beauty,/ My cheap violin and my cross. — LEONARD COHEN