I can’t make up my mind whether I like Mirza Ghalib more or Faiz Ahmad Faiz.

In an artist’s work span, the most difficult part of the journey is holding a solo exhibition.

The other day I ran into a gaggle of young interior decorators and was amazed at their own aharya or outer clothing.

One of the best things that life offers us is memories. Good, bad, ugly, exciting, indifferent, they eventually end up defining who we are and contextualising our self-image.

In some or the other way, aren’t we all on present continuous voyages of discovery, which in retrospect are like passages of ones’ life?

Traditional, classical and folk arts of African origin have for long been misunderstood and or barely understood by Western scholars who often referred to it as the “dark continent.”

I wonder what constitutes the perfect artistic and aesthetic experience. Is it a wistfully perfect work of art? Is it the scintillating experience of hearing Pandit Bhimsen Joshi sing raga Puriya?

There are times in everyone’s life when faith takes a beating and one questions the sheer existence of God.

This has been a week of losses. I lost two people for who I have a great deal of respect and affection. One was my former news editor from Indian Express R.N.