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To kill a little bird

By Ambarish Ray There are many ways to make an ass of oneself. In fact, as the list keeps expanding, so does the ingenuity of the subjects to find newer ways. If ever an attempt is made to chronicle all the ways in which men and women have made an asinine display of...

The largesse B in the cosmic bonnet

By Ambarish Ray I have seen many men wear many things on their sleeves. From insecurity to ketchup stains and idiotic ambition to an arrogance that usually comes with the ability to purchase a large SUV and an accent. But never before, repeat very slowly, never before...

Maximum pity

By Ambarish Ray B21 was thinking of Bombay. Its linear designs and its serpentine plans. Its high commerce and its deep art. Its acoustic extravaganza and its stony silence. Its high velocity and, well, its high velocity. Its colours and its monochromes. Its...

Blasts and our pasts

By Ambarish Ray An explosion that kills the surprised innocent by the hundreds, much like rape, is not an act in itself. It is a process, a legacy and a nightmare in gestation. Time. And time again. We have seen this happen around us. So predictably pitiable is the...

A Jobsless life

By Ambarish Ray What the hell can I write, in any case. A few months back, I had felt that there were very few men left to admire these days. Well, one more on that joblist. And as Oscar Wilde had wryly observed, those whom the gods love die young. Or at least, their...