Opinion

An election to name a child whose astrological chart predicts he will be a political leader is a perfect expression of New India's spirit

Cap in hand

Selective reading

Magic formula

Modern moves

Seen anew

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Sometimes you look out the window and you do not wish to see what you see. For a while now, that has been predominantly the case, you do not wish to see what's happening out the window because it is such a rabid upturning of right things. Imagine men being killed for imagined evil over what they rear and for generations have traded in for the profit of others and their own. The milk thing, you get what I mean. But sometimes windows help; they go opaque, they do not afford a view of the outside. They keep out what is unnecessary and uncalled for, to put it mildly. Then the gaze turns inwards. It turns to necessary things that may not be out the window. Mahadeb, for instance, isn't to be seen out the window. But the wonderment over where he is and how he might be can progress behind opaque windows. In that kindly, and widely disregarded, thing called solitude. Why is it that Mahadeb has come to be so sorely missed? Only a chaiwala, after all. But no ordinary chaiwala, The ExtraordinaryChaiwala, notwithstanding. There is something about Mahadeb; perhaps it is how retro he is. An earthen stove, a coal fire, a pan, or three pans, and what nature springs in the gardens and what cows give, daily and dutifully, off their udders. No vends, no dispensers, no plugs no points, it is all just the pure thing of the jugglery of his hands and the elements. Mahadeb's charm is about fading charms. Like it is about so many other things. Like the writing - or filling, most times - of this column you see. Like how we used to write and how we now write.

I spent a chunk of my childhood wondering what flavour it was. Was it rose? Or was it watermelon? Or was that a top note of pudina (mint) that I tasted so distinctly?

The ground beneath...Belling GuvParadise lost

In some Western countries, copyright to an author's work lapses 75 years after his or her death. In India, the time period is slightly shorter: 60 years. Thus, until 2001 the copyright in Rabindranath Tagore's writings was vested with Santiniketan; till 2008, it was Navajivan Press which controlled access to Mahatma Gandhi's oeuvre. The copyright in Jawaharlal Nehru's writings will be with Sonia Gandhi until May 2024.

No matter how many walls are built, the power of food crosses borders and brings people together. This month, the third annual Refugee Food Festival is being celebrated around the world. It was started by French citizens in Paris in 2016, and developed by the non-profit group, Food Sweet Food, in collaboration with the United Nations Refugee Agency, also known as the UNHCR. It aims to help change the perception of refugees in France and to bring people together over food.

When a gallery is small and the show conceived is biggish, hosting it in instalments turns a drawback into a strategic deviation from the norm. Which is why Art Multi-disciplines decided that the five young participants it wished to present mustn't be herded into a single show because they deserved exclusive exposure as Raconteurs in a string of five 'episodes' to tell their separate stories at length.

Two modern classics in Bengali avatars, about famous artists at the ends of their lives, exemplify the polar opposites of theatrical transference. Jadavpur Manthan merits plaudits for choosing Ibsen's final testament, When We Dead Awaken, neglected because it transcends his usual realistic perimeters. A double ovation because Rajib Bardhan opts for a translation (Satya Bhaduri's Jaganiya Mritajan), not adaptation, given Indian directorial apprehensions against the former approach. But one should always consult a recent translation, in this case the New Penguin Ibsen, for greater accuracy.