In India, a lot of good things get a bad name. Like charity, like NGOs, like natural calamity funds. So high is the level of distrust that the relief sent will not reach the real victims that instead of sending money, people prefer to give things.

It is that time of the year, when my ears strain to hear the plaintive and wistful song of the koel and the papiha as they play hide-and-seek amid the mango trees outside my window.

Traditional, folk or tribal arts and handlooms have a sense of continuity that comes with repetitiveness.

Traditional, folk or tribal arts and handlooms have a sense of continuity that comes with repetitiveness.

Like millions who have watched the cataclysmic catastrophe that affected thousands in Uttarakhand on television, I am deeply disturbed.

The creative process is something that is of immense interest to me.

There was a time, not so long ago, when people of even modest means would decorate their walls with “scenery”.

Last evening, a friend — who is also a gallery owner — and I were sitting and talking about the visual arts and the viability of the dhanda or the business of art.

I have often insisted that women’s aesthetics and sensibilities have a shared trajectory largely because they have a shared journey.

This week two things happened that triggered off a plethora of memories about Assam: One was the recent report about the Majuli island in Assam, the largest freshwater settlement in the world getting