The Telegraph
Saturday , January 11 , 2014
 

Leave it to history

In his recent press conference, Manmohan Singh said he would leave it to history and historians to judge his tenure as prime minister. This column provides an interim verdict, by assessing his record against that of other men and women who have held the post....   | Read..
 
Letters to the Editor
Brazen face
Sir — Is Cheteshwar Pujara the next god of Indian cricket? Or is it Virat Kohli? Such banter threat ...  | Read.. 
 
Healthy vision
Sir —The West Bengal government’s decision to supply free medicines and offer quality diagnostic se ...  | Read.. 
 
Parting shot
Sir — Facts have shown that sugar can be a menace to public health (“Sugar daddies”, Dec 31). Sugar ...  | Read.. 
 
EDITORIAL

PENS ARE MIGHTIER NOW

First there was Edward Snowden, and now there is Arvind Kejriwal. Each is an icon of gutsy uprightness in his own sphere of a...   | Read..
 
REVIEW ARTS
Quiet voices and rare confessions
The Ganges Art Gallery website has an appropriate quotation from Camus above its entry on its just-concluded exhibition, Conversation in Colour (December 10, 2013 to Ja...  | Read.. 
 
Realistic vision
Topping their previous Tagorean successes in prison therapy with Taser Desh and Tota Kahini, the Baharampur unit of West Bengal Correctional Services staged Y...  | Read.. 
 
Classical yet modern
Each form of classical dance follows a sequence in its presentation. Odissi begins with an invocation that is followed by nritta or pure dance, known as pallavi....  | Read.. 
 
THIS ABOVE ALL
A word from home
On Christmas eve, Leila Seth and her son, Vikram Seth, came here for drinks. Leila had the distinction of being the topper in...  | Read.. 
 
SCRIPSI
Strawberries, cherries and an angel’s kiss in spring/ My summer wine is really made from all these things/ I walked in town on silver spurs that jingled to/ A song that I had only sang to just a few/ She saw my silver spurs and said, “Let’s pass some time/ And I will give to you summer wine.”/ Oh, summer wine./ My eyes grew heavy and my lips they could not speak/ I tried to get up but I couldn’t find my feet/ She reassured me with an unfamiliar line/ And then she gave to me more summer wine/ Oh, summer wine./ When I woke up the sun was shining in my eyes/ My silver spurs were gone, my head felt twice its size/ She took my silver spurs, a dollar and a dime/ And left me cravin’ for more summer wine/ Oh, summer wine. — LEE HAZLEWOOD