The unimaginable agony in Polanski’s personal life is really no excuse for his act in 1977. There have been plenty of holocaust survivors and most of them have lived respectable and decent lives. Krakow’s Ghetto and Auschwitz are nightmares whose scars cannot be replaced by the accolades he has been showered with. But then, they are no excuse for his sexual misconduct either. And then again, a man, whose wife was murdered, must understand that violence against women is a crime.

They are nothing like the magically beautiful, free, boundless, bountiful nymphs of graceful gait that Kalidasa and the many of his ilk who followed. These women not only do not exist in reality, but seem, even in their inky worlds, not to have feeling, voice or agency but are like deities in temples – perfect stone-women, to be worshipped, adorned and installed in a palace, saved if stolen by a villain. Bankim’s women, on the other hand, cry out their emotions, spark with anger at the fickleness of men, are agents and victims of the politics of the inner quarters, succumb to temptation, seduce the men they love, play tricks and cause intrigue.

The lamps in the room were lit
Amma turned them dim, mellow;
Spreading their welcoming warmth
Bathing her in a dull orange-yellow.

The massive, soft, luxurious bed,
Swathed in a pristine cream satin sheet,
The flower-bedecked ceiling fan
Slowly, discreetly chased the heat

She sat huddled, knees close to chest
Gold-plated bangles clinking together
As her mind followed the random montage
Of memories, floating aimlessly like [...]

She moved like a shadow in the dark of night, slowly she crawled to the edge of his bed; she took the knife out from the fold of her clothes and drove it straight into his heart again and again and again.
He opened his mouth but no scream was heard. His eyes widened in shock [...]

There’s something quite beautiful about the image of a blushing bride. Most western women idealize the day that they will be dressed from head to toe in white, radiating as they float down the aisle. But for Indian women, this color holds a different significance. For them, white is not the color of beginning a [...]

The figure of Sita becomes the point of highlight in the narration as Paley compares her own break up with her husband with Sita’s separation from Rama. Paley’s witty narrative hints that the comparison of a liberated, modern woman from the 21st century with a mythical woman who is hailed as a goddess becomes possible through one defining, parameter: their devotion and love towards a man. Sometimes, the blues become a little excessive but it puts forward and sums up many of themes that this imaginative retelling tries to evoke.

Even after as many as 90 years after the 1929 Child Marriage Restraint Act in India, this practice runs unabated. This is the scenario not just in India but in various other parts of the world as well. There are many who wish that they had the power to curb this practice but feel helpless looking at the enormity of the issue. I’m one of them. On the other hand I’m unable to accept the statement that change doesn’t happen overnight. If it hasn’t happened in 90 years, how long will it take for this practice to end? Are we to wait for the change to happen and read it in papers or are we to be the change?

The following has been inspired by the true story of Caster Semenya, a South African middle-distance runner and world champion. Semenya won gold in the 800 meters at the 2009 World Championships in Athletics with a time of 1:55.45 in the final. Following her victory at the 2009 World Championships, questions about Semenya’s gender were raised.

The Writer starts at the voice. He did not sense the woman’s approach. Yet, there she is. Standing so close! Her long black hair cascades down to her hips. Her skin is dusky and aglow with the rich sheen of youthful health. She is of slight build; her lean form wrapped in a rich red saree. She is bare of jewelry except for the diamonds in her ears and – of course- anklets at her feet.

In the 50’s, women were photographed through a technique called the “butterfly lighting”. In this form of lighting, the light would fall on the woman from the top and make her cheekbones look higher and give an ethereal touch to everything. The man however was yanked from the studio and its artificial lighting and dunked square into natural environment. The way men and women are represented through art and photography is something that needs to be looked upon more closely.