There are poems that live in books, and there are poems that live in the bloodstream. For me, one such poem has always been the searing nazm by Sahir Ludhianvi -- a poem that arrives like a mirror held up to civilisation.
Republic Day, after all, is not a performance. It is not a parade. It is a pause. A moment when the nation looks inward and asks itself, not how powerful it is, but how principled.
It has been a few weeks since the India Inclusion Summit ended--weeks in which the noise of daily life returned, but the silence inside me deepened. Weeks in which the world slipped back into familiar rhythms, but my own rhythm felt rearranged. In these weeks, I have sat with my sorrow, s
On Day 4 of Lakme Fashion Week x FDCI, Tarun Tahiliani reminded India why he continues to define what modern Indian couture means. His clothes walked like whispers, structured yet soft, shimmering yet still. Across two days, he showed two sides of himself: the fearless couturier who makes
Adore Homes today is a constellation of stories scattered across Bandra -- 15 properties, over 7,000 guests, and occupancy rates that make seasoned hoteliers blink
Through Artoholics, through his collaborations at Dhoomimal Art Centre and Saffronart, through the countless artists and collectors he connected, he became more than a gallerist
She was many women in one. A woman who could wear a chiffon sari with the elegance of an empress and slip into a little black dress and look like a million dollars.
I stood at the red carpet of Jio World Plaza the other night, draped in a silhouette curated by none other than Muzaffar Ali himself--together with his daughter, Sama Ali, under the label they've given the world, House of Kotwara.
The land, known for its stillness and sacred calm, echoed with the crack of gunfire. What began as a quiet afternoon, wrapped in the hush of holiday laughter, became a symphony of screams.