As a country that just saw an adult woman’s rights ignored by the Supreme Court and witnessed the brutal burning of a man because of “love jihad,”
Wear What You Want Wednesday is our sartorial finger to any person who thinks they can tell anyone how to dress or behave.
A month ago, Delhi organised an LGBTQIA Pride parade. A friend of mine was involved. On Twitter, he ranted about how journalists were calling him to ask for numbers of people who are gay or lesbian or transgender.
On a Mumbai monsoon morning, I was pottering around my apartment looking for a computer charger. My roommate was a total nerd,
Raghu Karnad used to be the editor of Time Out Delhi. His first novel, Farthest Field: An Indian Story of the Second World War,was shortlisted for the Hessell-Tiltman Prize for 2016.
I’m older, but not wiser, and most definitely fatter. As I turn 35, I think my empathy has grown, and I know my love handles have.
Prayaag Akbar was the editor-in-chief of the Sunday Guardian, and then assistant editor at Scroll.in. His first novel, Leila, has been shortlisted for the Hindu Prize 2017,
If Goa was a person, by 2017 it’s wearing MC Hammer pants, neon sunglasses, and shouting out, “It’s GOAH! Time.” It wasn’t always like that.
Sharp, hilarious, and relatable are three words that best describe Shreya Sen-Handley’s book Memoirs of My Body. It opens with a seven-year-old Sen noticing her streaked underpants upon waking up after wet dreams about a boy who’s “literally from the wrong side of the tracks.” The young girl wonders what the discharge means?
“They fit,” I cry with no small amount of triumph from inside a changing room of a popular high-street store.
Nothing is better than when you pick up a book and find characters so well fleshed-out that they become real people within minutes.