The Pakistani author Faiqa Mansab of The Sufi Storyteller speaks about women’s lives as messy, constrained, and politically situated, of motherhood as both power and erasure, about abandonment as a recurring human condition, and more. By Namrata

What does artwork in Indian public spaces convey about our civic priorities, our mythologies, our heroes, and our gender biases? Nirali Lal analyses the cultural intention of works like the “Santhal Family,” the Statue of Unity, figures of Puneeth Rajkumar, and more.

‘At a time when the world is watching missiles, sensitive diplomatic negotiation, and an escalating war, Indian viewers are treated instead to shrill theatrics, geopolitical illiteracy, and anchors screaming with the urgency of auctioneers selling discounted vegetables.’ By Sanjay Basak

Essay by Srishti Sharma: ‘Love has a stinky feeling… It comes around only once a year. You can try all you like to recreate it, inject it, grow it in laboratories, package it better, sell it faster, but it will still smell and taste odd. It resists standardisation.’

Last year, a road-widening project for access to the Kashi Vishwanath Temple upended the lives of many residents and traders in Varanasi’s historic Dalmandi area. On Eid al-Fitr, Karan Madhok visited the alleyways among the rubble of demolition.  

From Dhurandhar’s Rahman Dakait to Shaurya’s Rudra Pratap Singh, Abin Chakraborty delves into Miltonic rhetoric to explore social media trends of heroism celebrated without moral rectitude.

Photography by Aditya Sharma and Sumit Singh: The message at this year’s Beating Retreat ceremony felt sharper than ever, telling us that a nation’s power can be shown through ordered silence as much as through force.   

In Kashmir, many rare and lesser-known forms of craftsmanship are slowly disappearing. The work of skilled and committed remains unseen, unsupported and increasingly undervalued in a changing economy. By Ayat Adil

Poetry by Ayaan Halder: ‘And then the browning milk that has gushed into his shoes, and mine,  / Carries us over / To someone else’s pyre. / The wind, by then, has ravaged his leaf.’

Fiction by Sanchalika Das: ‘I thought to myself that the god in heaven is just a child playing with clay, throwing it around with disregard and then picking it up with the intention of throwing it again with utter delight. The clay loses and gains in this process.’