Every sunbeam, every strain of music, every sapling and starfish is ultimately the regeneration of a previous something, a collection of somethings, taking on new shape. At the most indivisible level we can comprehend, all life is nothing more than atoms and molecules dancing their way through various forms. And if everything comes from something, it stands to reason that everything must go to something as well.Read More
Mythos in Mosaic: Being Multiple with Sahej Rahal.
By Simone Dinshaw, Issue 23, Wonder: Between Nature and Art.
Bathtubs, discarded doors, fake fur and a didgeridoo made from tree branches and a PVC pipe all weave their way through Rahal's art, trailing behind them their personal histories to create a rich and complex...
Disappearing, with Pina Bausch.
By Niranjani Iyer, Issue 20, FORM: THE BODY LOCATED, March 2013
When I see the joy that dancing brings anyone, dancers, “non-dancers”, the old, the young, the blind, the hearing impaired, I wonder why so many people insist they don’t “dance”. Everybody dances.
By Padmini Chettur and Zuleikha Chaudhari, Issue 20, FORM: THE BODY LOCATED, March 2013
In this tête-à-tête, Padmini and Zuleikha talk about the structures and abandonments of a body in a space, providing us with dots to connect in as abstract or constrained a shape as we please.
By Sumit Baudh, Issue 20, FORM: THE BODY LOCATED, March 2013
There is as much difference between men and women as any man differs from other “men” and any woman differs from other “women”. We are all unique and yet we are all the same, aren’t we.
Renewal: Seeing Delhi over again.
By Rattanamol Singh Johal, Issue 20, FORM: THE BODY LOCATED, March 2013
Was the space we were in meant to completely disorient us? Or would it instead serve to dislodge our usual inhibitions and daylight gestures? Our eyes may be the window to our soul but...
Bear Suits and Balance: Making Ends Meet in William Shakespeare's The Winter's Tale.
By Simran Bhalla, Issue 19, Will: A Desire and A Destination, March 2013
As the show begins, early in the evening, it is warm outside with a pink sun, but the moods of the characters rapidly thunder and darken.
By Manjari Kaul, Issue 17, Love, February 2013
If love between two people were to be performed, it would be expressed through the intense awareness that two bodies have of each other, in inertia and kinesis: rolling, sliding, pushing...
Raqs Media Collective: On Triangles, Infinity and Learning Where to Stop.
Issue 16,The End is Where We Start from II, January 2013
The Raqs Media Collective is most often a triangle, sometimes a circle and often a shape elusive to geometry, a bubble, a building, a boat. In being, they create. In creating, they think and ...
Sudhanva Deshpande: On Street Theatre, Cycling and Classic Inspirations.
Issue 16, The End is where we start from, January 2013
Enter: Sudhanva Despande from the main entrance of May Day Cafe and Book Store. He is wearing cycling gear. With his jaunty vibe, he brings into the room a stream of light and ...
Zero to Shunya.
By Charu Maithani, Issue 16, Squares & Circles Issue, December 2012
The journey from zero to shunya is an interesting one. From the nullness of zero to the stillness of shunya, the all-encompassing circle includes and excludes everything and nothing.
Schrödinger’s cat is alive and he’s pissed.
By Waylon D’Mello, Issue 12, The Chance Issue, September 2012
Waylon D'Mello writes a story based on Aakash Nihalini neon geometric cubes. How does our sense of the world shift and how is our awareness of the mundane actually heightened through the accidental brush...
Journey to the Center of the Character.
By Simone Dinshaw, Issue 10, Traveling Art, May 2012
Yog Raj Chitrakar walks the length of Mumbai, from North to South and back. He walks for two days, carrying charcoal and canvas, perforating the ever-shifting membrane between art and life with every step.
The ineffable lightness of ephemeral design.
By Simone Dinshaw, Issue 9, Food Art, May 2012
You look down at your plate and see your grandfather’s face staring back at you. Once every one is done, the Artist asks you to now eat your creations. You begin with the spectacles, made of onion slices.
Making “Sense” of Food.
By Manjari Kaul, Issue 9, Food Art, May 2012
Women are ever so often compared to food in a manner that reduces them to commodities to be consumed by men. Read menu in a restaurant in Chicago “Double D Cup breast of Turkey. This sandwich is so BIG".
By Veeranganakumari Solanki, Issue 8, Mythological Art, April 2012
I feel the subconscious is aware of, and holds, deeper truths to life and existence that are not always physical but exist nonetheless deep beneath our social obligations and reflections.
An Epic Transformation.
By Waylon D’Mello, Issue 8, Mythological Art, April 2012
Tejal instructs Arjuna to disrobe and stand against the pink wall on the far side of the room. Urvashi looks on from the distance as Tejal unfolds a three-legged stand and proceeds to mount an immortaliser onto it.
Wait and Lightness.
By Anirudh Karnick, Issue 8, Mythological Art, April 2012
The flow of the action emphasises abbreviated story elements and acting rather than a linear plot with beginning, middle, and end. A one-act Sanskrit drama which takes half an hour to read takes many
By Kalavati Kumari, Issue 7, Text Art, April 2012
In defiance of the archaic, oppressive system, the tribe decided to tattoo the name ‘Ram’ all over their faces and bodies: a voiceless declaration of faith and its reclamation.
Girls, Goats And Birkin Bags.
By Simran Bhalla
We are cautious and self-aware, and our risks are safe ones: no one has slammed the proverbial (or actual) dead parrot against a shop desk, insisting it’s still alive, for a few decades now.
The White Cube Worn Inside Out.
By Manjari Kaul
His aim to produce pieces that can never be replaced as they were lived out has a political agenda. He feels a glut of material art, which makes art objects to be possessed rather than experienced.
Finally Found My Room Full of Toys.
By Janice Pariat
The paper planes, stark in their textbook paper whiteness, were messengers of the past as well as soldiers of resilience. The act, to begin with, is childlike. The artist folding paper, revelling in the feel of parchment, of sudden,
Of Drawings, Spaces and Machines.
By Oindrilla Maity
The artist plays with this natural instinct. He lures, controls, guides. He dodges, seduces, tricks and transforms ‘realization’. He allows negatives areas to become part of his subjects. He imagines beyond
SOUNDSCAPING THE SOUL.
By Shaheen Ahmed
I wake up everyday to the varied kinds of sounds that seem almost existential to the middle-class Delhi locality where I stay. The resonance of the vegetable vendor’s lustful shouting...
Amid the Order of The Morning Market.
By Parni Ray
The market place is perhaps the perfect site to witness this constant tug of war between chaos and order, negotiations between saleable surface attraction, convenience and the beauty of efficiency.
A Letter on-shore.
By Waylon D'Mello
You know, that feeling he talks about when you look over a ledge, when the fear is not of falling but of the secret craving to accept the invitation that the space below has just extended you.
By Rosalyn D'Mello
This piece hopes to engage with the ideas of the intangible and the immeasurable, both of which punctuate any relationship; and the unspoken, unsaid, and unheard 'matter' which informs its historical past, present and
By Manjari Kaul
The play, The Water Station ends with its beginning - a little girl with a satchel walks slowly towards the water faucet, again.
By Veeranganakumari Solanki
The Performance – Dance? Theatre? Drawing? Reading? Concert? Gallery / Museum? The Audience – Spectator? Performer? It is all Staged.
By Lara Sinha
How do I begin? A question all too familiar to most of us of the creative persuasion or, indeed, of any persuasion, when we are starting something new.
By Parni Ray
B(l)ending Lines: New Fictions and New Realities I am on my way to the KHOJ studios in Khirkee village. Huddled in a corner amid the meager mid-afternoon crowd on the ladies compartment of the metro...
By Janice Pariat
Some cities have their writers. Lisbon, for instance, will forever be Fernando Pessoa’s ~ steeped in the saudade of his words, frozen by his poetry, restless as the disquiet between his journal pages. Paris is haunted by the ghost of Hemingway, tied to his heart and bleeding sweet, bitter wine.