Jhalkaribai, in Brindavanlal Varma’s novel and dalit historiographical discourse, is Laxmibai’s maid-servant, the woman responsible for the Rani of Jhansi’s halo in history. Jaishree Misra’s novel, Rani, is another such metaphorical interpretation of the Mutiny, not ‘description’, as the philosopher-historian Frank Ankersmit would emphasize, but ‘proposal’, what Misra calls ‘mere interpretation’.
For the last couple of decades of the twentieth century, as Indian diasporic writing carved a niche for itself in the publishing and academic world, the rubric was used as a fairly monolithic one, encompassing a range of what many seem as distinctive conventions and characteristics.
The City of Love is a fascinating novel ranged around the central metaphor of multiple journeys that traverse the globe and the inner reaches of the mind and also recreates in fine ethnographic detail the era of colonial expansion of the early years of the sixteenth century that brought East and West face to face with each other.
This book offers a poetic journey into the art of the Pallava dynasty, celebrating its artistic triumph in inaugurating lithic traditions in southern India. The Pallavas, as is well known, came into prominence in the late 6th century through a burst of activity recorded in inscriptions and art monuments.
Shakespeare has proved to be not only a man for all seasons but for all countries. In India his admirers are limited not only to English literature classrooms but are found everywhere among all classes, and he has become a part of popular culture. His plays have been translated into several Indian languages and are widely staged.
Few recent books on Indian film offer a range of analysis as extensive and insightful as Ranjani Mazumdar’s Bombay Cinema: An Archive of the City. True to its title, Bombay Cinema offers a new set of ideas and a fresh dynamic—the city—to think seriously about how and why we continue to watch popular Hindi cinema.