Navigating the various chapters, one gets a true sense of the wildlife crisis and the need for its management in a developing country. Rahmani is a scientist as well as a policy maker who has to deal with government agencies and explain to the powers that be the need for bringing in certain laws and banning some activities for broader welfare and conservation. But more often than not,
Arabinda Samanta’s essay ‘Imagining an Epidemic: Literary Representations of Plague in Colonial Bengal’ studies Saratchandra Chattopadhyay’s novel, Srikanta, Rabindranath Tagore’s novel Chaturanga and Premangkur Atarthi’s Mahasthabir Jatak to make his arguments. One thing common in these novels is the deep distrust of the colonial state that they reveal. Second is the fact that the horrors of the plague bring out the worst and the best in people.
The investigation of WhatsApp’s characteristics by the authors reveals its significance in dismantling traditional professional hierarchies of top-down communication flow. The call structures outside the purview of the official work space bring in an element of a casual approach in comparison to official emails. However, in stringent professional sectors like administrative services and the army,
Two, Heart Lamp represents a high moment in the history of Indian Literatures in English Translation (ILET, a term coined by GN Devy), paving the way for many more translations from Indian literatures. This literary honour has the power to draw more talent to the field of ILET, which is far from being a culturally valued and remunerative line of work. So, with the Booker, what had always remained a cottage industry has now gone global, becoming a corporate enterprise.
What stand apart from these Ramayana- and Mahabharata-oriented versions are the Jain and Buddhist oriented Tamil epics, Silappadikaram and Manimekalai. The other distinct feature about these two works is that they portray ordinary folk as the main characters, and the ebb and flow of their fortunes. The tragedy of Silappadikaram is overwhelming in its pathos and fearsomeness.
It is no difficult task for the historian to trace the arc of colonial violence across the landscapes of the global South. The afterlives of Empire leave their marks everywhere: etched into soil, folded into language and embedded in law. The exploitation of clove trees in the Moluccas, the Indian state’s bureaucratic indifference to the Andaman and Nicobar Islands in the wake of natural disaster,