By Raju Mansukhani. It takes a philosopher-poet to lead us onto a poet-historian.

By Narendra Pachkhede in Toronto. Francis Fukuyama saw an ending and mistook it for a universal horizon; Faisal Devji does not agree.  

By Baishali Chatterjee. many of these forms of work have been abolished by the government, whether it's bar dancing, or imposing bans on erotic dancing etc, or legal restrictions oon commercial surrogacy.

By Kuhu Singh. What will the year 2025 say about humanity in the year 2075?

By Ratna Raman. In VS Naipaul's semi-autobiographical ‘A House for Mr Biswas’, there are only fleeting glimpses of its most attractive woman character. What if she were to tell her story and that of Naipaul – or Anand, her son in the novel – instead of the other way round? Hence, her story.

By Amit Sengupta. Ditto in Spain and Ireland. And in campuses across Europe and the US. On the streets and public squares. Everyday a new song emerges in the horizon, solo, shared, sung alone and in chorus, becoming an international anthem in the social media. Like Bella Ciao!

By Sivakami. Amit Sengupta reminds us that even in the darkest times, there will always be someone who dares to write, someone who dares to care, and someone who dares to smile. That sudden golden smile is what keeps hope alive.

By Narendra Pachkhédé. Suzannah Mirghani films the burning without spectacle. Flames rise against the night. Wind replaces crackle. Villagers remain silent. The camera holds Nafisa’s face, steady in the firelight, neither triumphant nor penitent but lucid. This is judgment, not impulse. It insists that girlhood is not prologue, but history’s frontline. In Nafisa’s own words, “I will determine my future.”

By Nayeema Ahmad Mehjoor. And those waves still warm me. How Zoona Dub became a lifeline for every household in beautiful Kashmir, and how it became a role model for radio stations of All India Radio.  

By Aayushi Rana. Can a poem stop a bullet?

By Meher Pestonji. Vincent Delacroix’ book, Small Boat, short listed for the 2025 Booker is a philosophically fictitious version of an incident that occurred on the night of November 23/24, 2021. An inflatable dinghy, overloaded with thirty migrants, capsized, drowning 27 refugees.  Small Boat is a startling, unexpected book that philosophizes, as much as exposes the frailty of the human condition today.

By Satya Sagar. There's something about original, creative, auithentic hand-drawn work that AI cannot and can never fully replicate.

By Raju Mansukhani. I have to participate in the attacks, storms, victories and defeats, experience the cold, disease and wounds. I must not be afraid to sacrifice my flesh and my blood, otherwise my pictures will mean nothing.”

By Raju Mansukhani. On his 100th birth anniversary, a tribute to legend Ritwik Ghatak and young, award-winning filmmaker Payal Kapadia whose bridges of realism, surrealism and illusion are building a new world. 

So what happened? Why did the 56 inch government wilfully bow to an airline's demand and compromise on the passenger safety of thousands of people?

By Rao Farman Ali. As the sun sets over Pampore, casting long shadows across the patchy fields, Abdul Hamid Wani sits on his haunches, looking at the small, crimson pile in a wooden tray that represents a year of his life, his hope, and his struggle. It is a sight that brings to mind an old couplet, a nightingale's plea to a stone for a single blade of grass.

By Narendra Pachkhede. James Vanderbilt’s Nuremberg arrives in full Hollywood regalia—swelling score, courtroom spectacle, America once more cast as custodian of justice. Evil becomes magnetic, irresistible to the camera.

By Ajith Pillai. “So, what you are suggesting is that the electoral outcome is always pre-determined!”

By Dr Vijay Chitaman Sonawane. The epoch-making contribution of Lord Macaulay to education in India and the sustained disinformation campaign against his education policy have to be seen through the lens of the Phule-Ambedkar epistemology.

By Arjun Janah. Will we meet, beyond the mountain, The ones we loved and lost? Will we hear the songs familiar—Or will this all be lost?