Feasting is the theme this issue. Mahesh Rao looks at excess in Delhi, while Rimli Sengupta reminisces about her widowed grandmother’s kitchen in Bengal. Prabha Chandran looks at the role of culinary diplomacy in forging bonds between individuals as well as nations, Sandhya Mulchandani explores the relationship between food and faith and Alberto Ruy-Sánchez examines the significance of the Mexican Day of the Dead. Shougat Dasgupta savours his memories of “inauthentic” food, while Mahesh Shantaram’s lens lays bare the big Indian wedding.

Elsewhere, Gautam Pemmaraju explores the state of sleep and dreams, Juliet Reynolds views the Sistine Chapel with new eyes and Kanu Gandhi’s photographs reveal his uncle, the Mahatma, in an intimate light. I discover a safe house in Amsterdam with an Indian connection; Sohini Chattopadhyay tracks the evolution of the woman warrior in Indian cinema; Waswo X Waswo goes looking for Europeans in Shekhawati; Kusum Haidar sees a brilliant new theatre production in Kerala; and Amal Allana remembers her father, Ebrahim Alkazi, as an artist.

There is also original short fiction by Jenny Bhatt, Meghna Pant and Shoili Kanungo, and original poetry by Sharif Elmusa and Amlanjyoti Goswami. And, in what will be a regular feature, we have new translations of work by Manohar Shyam Joshi, Rilke, Sant Ram Udasi, and others, by the foremost translators at work in India today.

Let the feast begin.

For this issue, we got writers and illustrators, graphic storytellers and photographers to think hard about borders. What does it mean to be on one side or the other? Literally or metaphorically.
Thus, while Susan Smith documents the suffering of migrants on the US-Mexico border, Parni Ray wonders about all the men who defy the boundaries of their lives to disappear and create new ones. Pushpinder Singh Jamwal’s research on wetlands illuminates the absurdity of human-drawn borders—at least as far as migratory birds are concerned. Vidyun Sabhaney’s graphic essay is a report from a literal border, outside Delhi, where women farmers from Punjab have been protesting what they believe are unjust laws. Ranjita Ganesan tells the fascinating story of a man who lives on the fringes of society—a member of a former ‘criminal tribe’. Latika Nehra’s ceramic works push the boundaries of artistic convention while Thokchom Sony’s art is poised on the cusp of traditional expression and modern technique. Sukhada Tatke tells us about the multiple lines crossed in an interracial marriage while Preksha Sharma discusses what ‘her land’, located near a contentious international border, means to her. Jai Arjun Singh pays tribute to a man who inhabited his household but lived a world away, separated by class boundaries. And finally, Yahin RK’s photographs of the wild remind us humans to not trespass when we visit the jungle. As usual, there’s lots more, including cinema-focused pieces by Rochona Majumdar and Shrayana Bhattacharya, a graphic piece on a great cartoon figure by Bharath Murthy, an extract from architect Ramu Katakam’s memoir… And too much compelling fiction and poetry to list—because this is a special issue again, a particularly special one because it marks IQ’s entry into its tenth year.

For our theme, ‘Seasons’, Arshia Sattar writes about how our epics depict emotions, the weather and nature while Apoorva Tadepalli reflects on the Mumbai monsoon mirroring the intensity of this city by the sea. Parikshit Rao photographs a year in his Himalayan valley and Anurag Banerjee makes images of the light changing from his window through the year. Giti Chandra offers poetic, and photo- graphic, meditations about Iceland’s weather. Saumya Sinha reports on how the pandemic has altered the fashion industry’s seasonal calendar. Shougat Dasgupta explores how time marches differently for sports fans. Sameera Iyengar explains how theatrical performances in rural India are associated with the seasons. And Tanaya Sharma offers new metaphors for the seasons in her art.
This issue also contains short fiction by Ipshita Mitra and Kate Sarah as well as a new translation of Qurratulain Hyder. And our always-exciting poetry section has new works by Alolika A Dutta, Siân Melangell Dafydd, Kunjana Parashar, Ashwani Kumar and Karan Kapoor.
Our issue comes to you in April, the ‘cruellest month’. But hopefully, with such refreshing reading, the summer will go easier for all of us.

This issue’s essays on ‘Escape’ explore the idea in diverse ways. Srinath Perur examines why Indian photographers almost inevitably photograph boys jumping into water. Siddharth Chowdhury recounts the perverse sense of ‘escape’ he felt when writing about Patna boys in Delhi University, himself ensconced in a Scottish university town. Aditi Angiras explores queerness as a form of escape in an impressionistic piece. Siddharth Behl ponders whether Delhi’s street kids who ran away from rural misery found redemp- tion in the big city. Ashley Tellis concludes that escaping from oneself is a near-impossible task. And Shougat Dasgupta’s musings on the many meanings of escapism round off a rich section.
Elsewhere, Bharath Murthy’s graphic essay on cartoon taboos resonates alarmingly in our times. Kushal Kapoor’s photographs have conversations with shadows. And Sucheta Chakraborty takes a criti- cal look at the portrayal of Parsis in Indian cinema. Fortunately, all are not grim tales. Yasir A Bakili’s photographs of nature are studies in beauty and solace.
As always, comfort and diversion are to be found in our selection of new fiction, both translated and original, as well as exciting new poetry. Plenty to help all of us escape an eminently forgettable year—and hope for a brighter, more social and happier new one.

This double-decker issue has two themes—Touch and Together | Apart. Both tangentially related. 

Touch is, perhaps, the first sense we develop, inextricable from the human experience. Across the world we have been commanded by governments to not gather in numbers, to seal ourselves off from friends, neighbours, even family, to effectively suspend all relationships except those of commercial value—that is, our jobs and the consumption necessary to keep the service economy breathing, albeit on life support. Inevitably, we crave nothing more than contact. Physical touch, not necessarily human, is a solace, a boon. We are our own worst enemies, the authorities insist. But the rest of us must ask: can we hold each other hard enough to forget? For, as these pages show, we are forsaken when we are lost to touch.

As an expansion of the theme Together|Apart of this issue, we asked five of our most prolific illustrators to respond to the pandemic. We’re not all in the same boat, argues one. Can we keep it together while being instructed to stay apart, asks another. No man is an island, right? One illustrator is thankful for small mercies. Another suggests that perhaps it’s not isolation that’s the problem, it’s the ersatz feeling of community from being in constant virtual touch. But, qualifies another, perhaps itʼs the knowledge that we can all find support online, feel seen and heard, that makes isolation bearable. We don’t have answers, these illustrators acknowledge, but it’s vital to keep asking questions.

On my first day as a trainee at The Statesman, more decades ago than I care to remember, I wracked my brains for an hour trying to write a tiny paragraph about a flower show. Finally, a senior reporter, feeling sorry for me, asked me to move over and wrote the whole thing in the blink of an eye. Had he not showed me that professionals must, at some point, stop fretting and just begin, that first day would have been my last in journalism. Starting to write, whether it is your first newspaper article or your twentieth novel, is daunting. It’s the fear of the unknown, a fear that we must conquer or forever regret the road not taken.
Arundhuti Dasgupta and Utkarsh Patel explore creation myths in many civilisations, while Razib Khan attempts to trace the origins of Indians and scrutinise notions of purity and Nityan Unnikrishnan, in his comic, tackles the challenge of the blank page. Manidipa Mandal writes about the changes wrought by the birth of a child can bring in its wake, the way birth can upend expectations. Shreevatsa Nevatia mulls over escaping his family and starting afresh. And Rimli Sengupta delves into the history of Vande Mataram; while Harsha Vadlamani photographs protestors in Delhi. To protest, of course, is in part to imagine a new beginning.
As ever, the essays in this issue range widely, and the fiction and poetry sections are rich. Reading that will be a balm in the days ahead, when, courtesy Coronavirus, we will be languishing in self-exile.

Our authors have taken quite divergent routes to the past in our Memory issue. In chapters from her forthcoming memoir, mercifully unsteeped in nostalgia, Shanta Gokhale revisits her childhood with tongue  firmly in cheek. While Ruchir Joshi traces the evolution of his taste buds, Arvind Krishna Mehrotra reminisces about his teaching days and the absurdities of academia. Whereas Poonam Ganglani follows the arc of her grandmother’s journey from pre-Partition Sindh to Chennai, Vidyun Sabhaney writes about and illustrates the effects of Partition on an elderly Sikh gentleman pining for his “mother tongue”. Alok Sarin and Sanjeev Jain delve into the chequered and rather tragic history of Delhi’s  rst mental asylum. Alisha Sett shows us the importance of documenting the unremarkable when it comes to embattled lands like Kashmir. Aditi Sriram considers the varying cities in the public memory of Pondicherry. And Anil Nauriya takes a serious look at how a nation remembers its heroes and villains.
Our essays section is diverse: Stephen Alter writes about his expedition to the Kanchenjunga. Ananya Vajpeyi compares and contrasts Istanbul, Delhi and Venice—all sites for cross-fertilisation. In his graphic essay, Bharath Murthy follows the most notable event of our recent history—the country’s general election. And Philippe Calia’s photographs of Indian museums reveal a wry eye. As always our  fiction and poetry sections are stimulating reads.
With the monsoon here and long hours indoors ahead, good reading is all the more essential. This issue might be a good place to start.

In this issue, writers examine how this subterfuge plays out in both their personal and professional lives. In a timely essay, Sandip Roy writes about telling his family about being gay. While Jerry Pinto discusses the futility of keeping family secrets from close friends, Shreevatsa Nevatia explores the ramifications of keeping grave childhood abuse secret into adulthood. Reliving his boyhood absorption with spooks and espionage, Indrajit Hazra writes about spy fiction and films, whereas Meenakshi Reddy Madhavan, a blogger-turned-columnist, compares impact disclosures made online with those on the printed page. G Vishnu questions the ominous loss of privacy caused by Aadhaar. Shougat Dasgupta maintains that fiction allows writers to portray the truth better. Siddhartha Hajra turns his lens on the secrets of the night
while Ruchita Madhok and Tanushka Karad uncover Mumbai’s near-invisible Art Deco. Elsewhere, we have Manjima Bhattacharjya’s essay on the lives of models off the ramp, Jayanta Roy’s poignant photographs of winter in Kashmir, Rakhshanda Jalil’s essay on the improbable and fascinating world of Ibn-e-Safi and Meren Imchen’s delightful comic about a stud-pig and his pimp. And as usual, our fiction and poetry sections bring you interesting new voices and exciting new translations. Enjoy a winter of deep content.

In this issue, the authors take readers into the deep, dark woods, allowing us to experience their many moods and avatars—in the distant past and the present.
Arshia Sattar reminds us that our epic heroes were banished to the forests and didn’t go there to seek the meaning of life—quite unlike the peaceful dwelling places of the sages depicted in the Upanishads. Whereas trees spring from the soil of the mind in A Ramachandran’s paintings, creating an idealised mythical universe of the Bhils near Udaipur, Jaya Jaitly traces the evolution of Indian heritage crafts from nature, including materials derived from it. In Suprabha Seshan’s intimate musings on her life in the forest, it is difficult to tell where the forest ends and she herself begins. Anita Roy searches for artist David Nash’s monumental work in a wood in Wales. While Dileep Prakash’s pictorial essay portrays dak bungalows in the forests at night, Ishan Tankha captures villagers and insurgents resisting the police and politicians in the forests of Chhattisgarh. Sampurna Chattarji recalls the enchanted forests of children’s literature and Sharif S Elmusa laments the burial of a Palestinian settlement under picturesque trees planted by Israel.

The theme of this issue is black and white. However, in the “real world”, black-and-white views are making our planet a dangerous place to live in. Certitudes can lead to bigotry. The diktat of my-way-or-no-way has resulted in walls being erected between communities, castes, haves and have-nots. We need to be able to dwell in ambiguity.

In his photo essay, Johnny Miller takes a look from above at ghettoised communities through drone photography, while Bengaluru-based Swedish writer Zac O’Yeah ruminates on the modern white man’s burden, what it is like to be a white man in contemporary India. Shashi Tharoor makes the case for Hindu- ism to retain its traditional inclusiveness, Anasua Chatterjee tracks the increasing ghettoisation of Muslims in our cities and Purvai Aranya mulls over the generational di erences and complexities in the #MeToo movement. In conversation with Rukminee Guha Thakurta, photographer Dayanita Singh explains why black-and-white. And designer David Abraham demonstrates the importance of binaries in the work of Abraham & Thakore. Rashmi Sawhney writes about the greys in the cinema noir of Fritz Lang, and Hansda Sowvendra Shekhar examines the presence and absence of black in the sky.

Elsewhere, Sohini Chattopadhyay discusses the lack of an Indian culture of remembrance. Alpana Chowdhury looks at Bombay through the eyes of taxi drivers in Hindi cinema. In photo essays, Chitvan Gill captures the quotidian lives of colourful circuswalas, while Ritesh Uttamchandani focuses on the quirky and the by-the-way. Shoili Kanungo’s whimsical comic asks if we are dead.

We also have translations of T Janakiraman and Zamiruddin Ahmad, new  fiction by Sumana Roy and Salil Chaturvedi, and new poetry and translations by Imtiaz Dharker, Ranjit Hoskote and too many more to list....

Home is the theme for this issue. You will be pleasantly surprised by both the widely divergent (and imaginative) takes of the writers, as well as the echoes across the spectrum of articles.

In a panoramic sweep, Rimli Sengupta uses the story of her family’s exodus from East Pakistan in “House Keys” to look at forced mass migration elsewhere, in Europe and currently from Myanmar westward into Bangladesh. Kaushik Barua writes about the notion of home for the immigrants in Europe and the transient nature of their lives in “The Wandering Tribes”. Rashmi Sawhney scans Indian cinema to uncover the idea of home in di erent scenarios in “The Moving Image”. While Anand Vivek Taneja describes the homes of the self-proclaimed Begum of Awadh,  rst at New Delhi Railway Station and later in a ruin of a hunting lodge in New Delhi in “The Descendants”, Latha Anantharaman writes about a house in Kerala that she and her husband built in “How to Grow a House”. Two archi- tects focus on the kind of homes we now live in or aspire to: Hemant Burte laments the obscenity of Kubla Khan fantasies of homes and high-rises made real in a nation of poor people in “Home Front”, and Gautam Bhatia, despairing of the present, imagines (and draws) sustainable houses in the future in “The Small House”. Mitali Saran’s home is even smaller: turning inwards, she considers her body her home in “Where the Heart Is”.

The Indian Quarterly turns five with this issue.
Love is the theme of this issue, explored in a much larger collection of features. Love is a cliché, much-abused and much-needed; even the cynics can’t really be indi erent. Philosophers, writers, artists and scientists have grappled with the idea and manifestations of love down the centuries. An ambiguous four-letter word, it includes in its embrace sexual love (“chemistry of hormones” or a “fre- quency of energy shared between two people”); the higher love and devotion for the divine; motherly love (and increasingly paternal love); amour propre—a sense of one’s own worth—which can spiral into narcissism and downward into the current malaise of sel es, even death.
No wonder Sanskrit has 96 words for love.

In this issue with class as its theme, Trisha Gupta examines the depiction of servants and their relationships with their employers in Indian cinema. Bulbul Sharma’s sly observations about snobs expose the new games of one-upmanship. Anjali Doshi traces the evolution of the game-changers of cricket in India from the princes and aristocrats to small-town Indians. Michael Snyder advocates the democratisation of table manners and the dismantling of archaic etiquette. In a personal take Shrayana Bhattacharya reflects on the follies of dating a stuck-up princeling.

Our literary section is rich and varied with a new translation of Prashant Bagad’s Marathi short story by Shanta Gokhale, a new story by Jerry Pinto and an extract from Amitava Kumar’s new novel.

An exciting development: from this issue on our poetry section will be curated by poet and writer Sampurna Chattarji. Her eclectic selection includes poems by Anitha Thampi, Doris Kareva, K Srilata, Aditi Angiras and Mona Zote.

The Himalayas  elicit poetic metaphors and myths. For some they stand as a challenge to climb and explore. Often they are subjects of scientific inquiry. Geologists, biologists, surveyors, historians, artists and photographers have devoted their careers to discovering the hidden secrets of mountain landscapes. 

This issue of IQ explores the Himalayas.  We look upon these highlands—from an aesthetic, romantic, scientific, cultural or religious perspective—it is vital that we recognise and appreciate where human beings stand in the context of their natural history.

In this issue, Jerry Pinto ponders over familial bonds and what lies at the heart of the family, while
Jai Arjun Singh, in a deeply personal essay, writes about caring and communicating with an ill mother
he is exceptionally close to. Paro Anand examines the changing nature of the family in the books she
has written for children. Akshai Jain looks at the increasing number of genetics companies in India
and questions the worth of the diagnoses being offered. Mandakini Dubey reflects on the nature of
family ties, particularly hers with her grandmother and children. In her graphic story, Priya Kuriyan
prises open the family closet to let the skeletons tumble out.
Elsewhere, Wendy Doniger revisits the Shakuntala story and scrutinises the role of the lost ring in
myths. In his stark photo essay, Harsha Vadlamani captures the lives of actors waiting for a break in the
Telugu film industry. Anita Roy visits the Lancelot Ribeiro retrospective in London and concludes that
the painter found his distinct voice after casting off the shadow of his celebrated brother FN Souza. In
our Translations section, we have both the old and the new, including poems by 13th-century Marathi
women saint-poets.

Today, we worship at the altar of the body. The obsession with the body has never been as intense or widespread as in our narcissistic age. Gym-sculpted bodies proliferate, as if emerging from 3D printers. Perfect bodies occupy our screens, our magazines and aspirations. 

The Body is the theme this issue. With mordant wit, surgeon Ambarish Satwik looks back at his lessons in anatomy, while Sandip Roy traces the fascinating story of Bengali machismo. Paromita Vohra traces the “evolution” of the Hindi film hero, now primped and hairless; and Shougat Dasgupta laments the commodification of sportsmen and growing soullessness of sports. Manjula Padmanab- han’s hilarious take on learning about the human body has a personal twist. And Leela Samson writes about the equilibrium between the body and mind in dance.

Elsewhere, Prashant Panjiar's quixotic photo essay captures the “we-are-like-this-only” aspect of Indians. Kishore Singh explores the connection, if any, between where an artist lives and his work. In a particularly rich fiction and poetry section we have the last poem by the celebrated French poet, Yves Bonnefoy, written shortly before he died this year.

This issue of The Indian Quarterly is about Going Away, two words that encompass so many things, from middle-class fantasy to the great leave-taking that is death. Escape, whether from pollution, boredom, decrepit public utilities; freedom, from our past lives or the daily drudgery of our current ones; the shuffling off of our mortal coils—our contributors deal with all these questions.
Sudhir Kakar looks at the way different civilisations have approached death and immortality, while Arshia Sattar examines the different ways in which mortality is dealt with in our epics. Nityan Unnikrishnan draws out the urban-dweller’s hankering for a distant, quieter, greener place, while Rimli Sengupta looks at what escaping from the drudgery of routine entails for her maid. Stephen Alter muses over the transformative experience of his first long journey, when he left his home in the hills in India to study overseas, while Omair Ahmad writes about a secret which compelled a family to migrate to another country. Finally, Vivek Singh captures the complexities of loyalties and identities that make the Northeast one of India’s most fraught, fractured regions.
Elsewhere, restorer and author Rupika Chawla uncovers what lies beneath several paintings. Siddharth Sivakumar analyses the influence of the landscape of Santiniketan on the paintings and sculptures of its stalwarts. Amit Mehra’s photo essay is an eloquent and very personal diary. Theatre artist Neelam Man Singh Chowdry remembers the impact Ebrahim Alkazi had on her formative years in theatre.
 Our particularly rich fiction and poetry section includes short stories by Alha Arikha, Manohar Shetty, Sheela Jaywant and Barad Rangan, and poetry by 
CY Gopinath, Manash Firaq Bhattacharjee, Salil Chaturvedi, Aditi Rao and Sumana Roy. 
We also have a few very special treats: an extract from Satyajit Ray’s own storyboard for Pather Panchali, and a graphic narrative of the early years of Begum Akhtar. 


This issue of The Indian Quarterly explores 'The Night' and its various manifestations. 

In this issue Manjula Padmanabhan illustrates the wonderful secrets a child may find in the dark. Suprabha Seshan makes an argument that the night is a fundamental right for all inhabitants of the planet . As a flâneur of the night, Srinath Perur bares the thoughts brought on by the night, while Parni Ray writes about dark hours in trains and in desolate hotels; Janaki Lenin describes the nightly habits of the common Indian krait. Two photo essays explore different aspects of the night: Abhijeet Singh captures the lucid beauty of mountain light while Dhruv Malhotra captures the transience of nocturnal festivity. 

Our particularly rich and diverse fiction and poetry section includes works by, among others, Ruth Padel, Tishani Doshi, Chhimi Tenduf-La, Rabi Thapa, Salil Chaturvedi, Sumana Roy and Anubha Yadav. 

There’s much to keep you busy at night this quarter.

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The Indian Quarterly (IQ) is a national and international magazine. We hope that just as The New Yorker exhibits a distinctly Manhattan sensibility and always contains articles about New York City, IQ will manifest the fact that it is edited and published in Mumbai through its cosmopolitan and open-minded perspective on the world and on India.

In fact, we hope to provide a unique way of interpreting our ever changing culture, and to define our own experiences through the strength of thought, ideas and imagery, be it in the form of fact, fiction, poetry, illustration or photography. IQ is therefore a paean to the polyphonic nature of reflection and the creativity that is its outcome.

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