The Telegraph
Sunday , June 30 , 2013
 

Recasting Ambedkar

Close to Delhi University, 26, Alipur Road in Civil Lines is an enormous property with two wings and two gardens, divided by a large driveway....   | Read..
 
Letters to the Editor
Code Volvo
Sir — The other day, while taking an evening walk, I noticed a ramshackle bus with a Volvo sign par ...  | Read.. 
 
Criminal comfort
Sir — It seems that jails in India have been transformed into entertainment centres, thanks to the ...  | Read.. 
 
Long wait
Sir — The railway station at Kharagpur boasts of having the longest platform in the world. But the ...  | Read.. 
 
EDITORIAL

COURTLY RESOLUTION

The end when it came was not inspired by the local favourite brew, the tea from Darjeeling, but by an external stimulus — cof...   | Read..
 
DIARY
 
bullet Endless search
bullet Space crunch
bullet Smart move
bullet Quick change
bullet Start off young
SCRIPSI
I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet. — SLYVIA PLATH