The very ink with which all history is written is merely fluid prejudice ~Mark Twain When it snows in Europe at night, for centuries children have bunched up near fireplaces to listen to the Cinderella story from grandparents on a rocking chair. It is...

We shall meet again in Srinagar, By the gates of the villa of Peace, Our hands blossoming into fists, Till the soldiers return the keys and disappear Agha Shahid Ali (1949–2001) Kashmiri-American poet and intellectual Time makes mini memories of...

Ordinary people are for most parts silly. They don’t understand much. Economics. Electricity Distribution. Exchange rates. Hedge funds. State budget. Or Security. Only governments make sense of these things. The mobile phone, for most parts, a...

It is the onset of autumn in Kashmir. Of all the seasons, I reminisce about fall, the most. In evenings, the Kangris have been hurled at the army in the Kashmir edition of Jihad. Who dares call us unimaginative? Around this time of the year in Kashmir...

Every year the Norwegian parliament chooses five wise men to form the Nobel Peace Prize Committee. It is one of the world’s most secret societies and little is known of its modus operandi. All we know is that these old Nordic men shortlist five names...