Your Promise
byPromises made by sunlight are seldom broken.
Promises made by sunlight are seldom broken.
Often, it’s not the storm itself that raises the most difficult questions. It’s the silence, thereafter.
In 1953, a Brazilian poet stepped onto India for the first time and instantly felt at home. Her poems tell the tale.
Can you imagine a moment in a day devoid of electronic screens? Sleep might just be our only escape from the digital.
What goes through your mind when you look at the endless expanse of the sea?
The math of the social sciences can read like a list of names, but each bears a heavy footnote – and a deeper connotation.
A holiday in a log cabin is momentarily interrupted by the thought of looming Reality.
Death is a warehouse, a sunflower, a DTC bus; perhaps even the purpose of life. Or is it all a hallucination?
In 1791, a reader of Madras Courier had enough of noisy tourists entering his garden. He wrote this poem in protest.
We mourn the passing of nature, but forget that its stories live on all around us.
Kashmir is an idealized image for many in the subcontinent. A visit might change that image.
A poem published circa 1790, an english translation of Ameer Khusro’s persian poem, curated from the Madras Courier archives.
We take our lessons in consumption from the television – when we can but look at a mother bird feeding its young.
Rituals are often beyond the realm of rationality. Many make the questioning, rational mind feel like a fool.
Churned out of a schooling system, we are designed to conform. Are schools making us mediocre machines?