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​ A haze of smoke rises from the ghats, mingling with the aroma of tea boiling in tin kettles. I’m standing by my window, witnessing a winter morning in North Kolkata. There’s something quintessential about winters here—something that belongs only to my city, therefore, to me. My family has lived here for generations. Kolkata defines me in mysterious ways. In the following sentences, I delve on some of these mysteries openly. The first sip of cha (chai—tea leaves boiled with

Abhinav Rai is a young man of 32 years who surfs on the choppy waters of destiny with a certain disdain. Son of an army officer, he had a...

Ashish Sharma, 33, is a denizen of Kashmir, he’s neither a Kashmiri Pandit nor a Kashmiri Muslim. A senior photographer with a national...

by MIHIR SRIVASTAVA Ayazuddin Chisti, popularly known as Rais Miyan, is the 18th direct descendent of Hazrat Salim Chishti, the Sufi sage...

The man behind Greenr--VAIBHAV NAGORI--has a vision for healthy living. Food is just a part of it. He is about to launch a pioneering...

THE GERMAN CITY OF LEIPZIG has a prestigious university and a fairly active reverberating counter-cultural scene. I, the traveller, was...

BY MIHIR SRIVASTAVA It was the midnight of August 16 when I entered here. My friend, Johannes, a PhD candidate at Tübingen University,...