The Telegraph
Sunday , August 10 , 2014
 
CIMA Gallary

The sound of music

My uncle returned one evening from a concert in St Paul’s Cathedral with a purloined item; he’d recorded the performance on a cassette. The singer’s name was Subinoy Roy. It was just after the mid-1970s, when I was becoming vaguely curious about Indian music. But Tagore songs were, to me, largely an...   | Read..
 
Letters to the Editor
Noble aim
Sir — In India, about 17 million children work as labourers. In this context, the statement, “child ...  | Read.. 
 
Grave threat
Sir — The picture with the caption saying that an Australian model has posted a nude selfie on Inst ...  | Read.. 
 
Parting shot
Sir — The Communist Party of India (Marxist) and the Trinamul Congress are the same when it comes t ...  | Read.. 
 
EDITORIAL

DRESSING DOWN

Men in the heroic age had no frills; they were men of action unbothered by aesthetics. Warriors had everything tied up and st...   | Read..
 
DIARY
 
bullet Loyalty points
bullet Popular face
bullet Unlucky room
bullet Rude jolt
bullet New choice
bullet Smooth ties
SCRIPSI
We look back through countless millions of years and see the great will to live struggling out of the intertidal slime, struggling from shape to shape and from power to power, crawling and then walking confidently upon the land, struggling generation after generation to master the air, creeping down the darkness of the deep; we see it turn upon itself in rage and hunger and reshape itself anew, we watch it draw nearer and more akin to us, expanding, elaborating itself, pursuing its relentless inconceivable purpose, until at last it reaches us and its being beats through our brains and arteries... It is possible to believe that all the past is but the beginning of a beginning, and that all that is and has been is but the twilight of the dawn. It is possible to believe that all that the human mind has accomplished is but the dream before the awakening; out of our lineage, minds will spring that will reach back to us in our littleness to know us better than we know ourselves. — H.G. WELLS