Posts from the art category.
I still remember the first time I heard Piyush Mishra live — his words flowing like a river that refuses to be dammed, each syllable carrying the weight of years, pain, joy, and unrestrained passion. The air itself seemed to hum with his energy, each note and gesture leaving invisible ripples that lingered long after the applause. Holding Tumhari Auqat Kya Hai now, I realize reading this book is l...
Sometimes a piece of music, something that you love dearly but just haven’t heard in a while comes on. And it puts a smile on your face. The playlist while waiting for Ne Obliviscaris (another band I adore) to get on stage for their set went from one gem to another. And then we were reminded of this piece of art and the genius that was taken from us too soon. Never got to see Cynic live and witnes...
Somedays, I used to ask my father to draw something for me. And he used to. At least, that’s how I remember it . Or, it’s highly likely he might have chosen to try his hand in drawing himself. I don't remember to the point now, but he did draw for sure pretty enthusiastically.When in school, I loved drawing, sketching, painting. The dining table would turn into my art studio, with brushes, pencils...
This thoughtfully created paper bag rekindled my childhood days. I owned one of such book with all this cartoons and used to keep reading the same story again and again. It was fun to do such activities with no track of time. The very instinct that I had after seeing this was to colour it. What else could be the best activity to do on Children's Day!
Some books don’t knock — they slip into your life like a whisper behind your ear. Relics was that kind of whisper for me, the kind that makes you turn around in a crowded café even though you know no one is there. I picked it up on an evening when the world felt a little too ordinary, a little too predictable, and within a few pages Tim Lebbon reminded me why I fell in love with fantasy and horror...
I remember the first time I walked through Dharavi — not as a tourist, not as a spectator, but as a quiet observer trying to make sense of its heartbeat. The lanes were alive with motion — children darting between tin roofs, the hum of machines from leather workshops, the scent of wet earth mingling with chai and sweat. Amid that pulse, there was something else too — an invisible current of resili...
The Cafe that waited for Dawn. There was something different about “Chapter and brew”. It wasn’t the coffee- through the air that carried its warmth like an embrace - nor the faint hum of the old record player spinning in the corner, its melody tender and worn at the edges.No, it wasn’t the feeling the place held - as through the walls had learned to breathe with the rhythm of qui...
It began with the smell of old paper. That faint, woody fragrance that seeps into your skin when you hold a well-loved book — the kind of scent that tells you you’re home. The Bookseller of Mogga by Anand Suspi transported me straight into that world — of dusty shelves, sunlight filtering through slatted windows, and conversations that begin not with “How are you?” but with “Have you read this one...
Sameer Gudhate Presents the Book Review of Tales from the Absurd by Swati BhattacharyyaThe first time I picked up Tales from the Absurd, I half-expected a neat little box of stories where everything had its place, logic tucked in like napkins at a dinner table. But this book? It flipped the table. It asked logic to take a stroll, shut the door, and invited in the wild cousins of imagination — the ...
