Heritage

Heritage

By the time their sons learn the meaning of sunset,
only father’s hands remain,
and the plow and the field.

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The Art of Chrysanthemums

The Art of Chrysanthemums

Today I raked a melody
with syllables culled from your lips.
But I miss you when you gather
chrysanthemums each morning;

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The Judgment by Franz Kafka

The Judgment by Franz Kafka

Every month, The Reading Room showcases a short story, or excerpts of a book, from some of the greatest writers the world has ever seen.

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(Untitled)

The Editorial Team wishes all readers a great year ahead. Happy New Year.   Image: Gerrit Dou’s Still Life with Globe, Lute, and Books

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A Look into The Lunchbox

A Look into The Lunchbox

Trisha Chatterjee reflects on her viewing of Ritesh Batra’s The Lunchbox

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The Golden Treasury

The Golden Treasury

Robert Boucheron takes the reader down memory lane to another peek into the trove of poetry, The Golden Treasury

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In His Footsteps: Banaphool

In His Footsteps

Maitreyee B. Choudhury reflects on Banaphool’s craft of storytelling

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TBR Recommends - January 2014

TBR Recommends – January 2014

Every month, The Bangalore Review recommends a reading list, also mentioning in brief why each book must be read. This month’s list has been compiled by writer, Suneetha Balakrishnan.

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The Visual Haiku Project

The Visual Haiku Project

Deval Maniar explores Zinabhai Desai’s haikus in Gujarati script through experimental typography.

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Karen's Print

Karen’s Print

This non-fiction essay is an experience from Bob Tomolillo’s days at Piet Clement’s Printshop in Amsterdam.

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Salt

Salt

“… I remembered from the movie that at the end Kiera Knightly keeps getting called ‘Mrs. Darcy’ by the dark brooding guy. So I just looked up that and I got something called Mr. Darcy’s Daughters but apparently he’s not supposed to have daughters yet either.”
He led her to the Austen section, in Fiction, in the A’s. How difficult could it be, really? He had heard of that new film from several years ago. But who had two hours to sit in a dark theater, can’t hear anything, can’t talk to anyone, and besides, that is valuable reading time.

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Josephine's Bath

Josephine’s Bath

“This yellow flower, is called Josephine’s Passion,” she told me, picking a blossom, “did you know she lived on the island, before she went to France, and met Napoleon? So, the flower is named after her, sweet, don’t you think?”

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The Firing

The Firing

They all knew who she was. The only question was who was going to do it. No one wanted to do it. No one wanted to say it.

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Empty Quarter

Empty Quarter

On the eight hour lorry ride from El Fashir to Nyala, perched
on potato sacks, I am stripped of the constant bickering

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Afternoon of Treasure

Afternoon of Treasure

… In my hand,
the Christmas card, a red bird against
a stark background of snow.

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