Talent Corner

Art Work By Akshita Narula

The Warkari: An artwork which was inspired by a dicussion on Warkari sect during our Ecosophy class. This painting for me is a symbol of individuality and vernacular heritage of India.

Art Work By Ankita Kadam

Art Work By Shambhavi Jha

Be yourself

Unabashedly, unreservedly and with utmost honesty. There is no life after death, no god, no heaven or hell, and no cosmic justice. Everything about our birth - the country, the society, the era, or the family we're born into was arbitrary. There's no proof of reincarnation or that the deeds of a previous birth impact the present one.

We’re here for a ridiculously short amount of time, most of which is spent in trivial pursuits. The least we can do while at it is be ourselves. Be it going against an unjust law or a societal norm or the sweet teachings of your beloved god. Do it. The realisation that death is inevitable should make life an emergency.

-Abhishek Garg

Art Work By Debaleena Bagchi

The right person will take you from the arid forests to the dynamic galaxies filled with love and content They will always see the wonderful art that you are and You won’t find the need to wear those expensive clothes or watches to impress them… You have some charming aspects, some flaws as well and they’ll see them all, but the reason why they’ll decide to stay is because it’ll be no one else but ‘you’ The right person will never compare you to some stranger who appears to be cool on social media, instead they’ll appreciate the beauty you’ve added to their life! They’ll not just add wings to your plane but will also be your copilot in the journeys ahead… For them your company will matter more than materialistic gifts, and the time spent with you will always act as the best therapy! And when you might have a rough day at work, you’ll find them sitting right next to you, ready to give you a listening ear… And if you ever feel you’ve lost your spark, you wouldn’t have to look anywhere else but just in their eyes, because for the right person there’ll be no star brighter than the one standing right in front of them!

-Janhvi Ramesh Khoshe

Mother Earth Art Work By Sagar Malik

Nayan Art Work By Gitanjali

Photographs by Anamitra Ghosh

Art Work By Bala Meenakshi

Vraksh

Vyom

Art Works By Shaireen

Bloody Woman

Art Work By Gayathri K

Ek Yatra

Me tha ek adhuri kahani sa, use pura karna to yha pe sikha, Me tha ek bahti nadi sa, smundar me milna to yha pe sikha, Me tha ek kinare par betha parinda, ghonsla bnana to yha pe sikha, Me tha ek adhuri kahani sa, use pura karna to yha pe sikha,

Me tha ek bejuban prinda, ELM ke pro se udna to yha pe sikha, Me tha ek nosikhiya, CW ki nav se terna to yha pe sikha, Me tha ek bhatka hua rahi, apne raste to chunna yha pe sikha, Me tha ek adhuri kahani sa, use pura karna to yha pe sikha,

Me tha khud sehi anjan, ruh se rub ru hona to yha pe sikha, Bujhi huyi sma si thi ye jindgi, taro sa chamkna to yha pe sikha, Me tha ek siddha sadha snatkotar(graduate), confidently confused, never ending fellowship ka concept to yha pe sikha, Me tha ek adhri kahani sa, use pura karna to yha pe sikha.

-Prameshwar Lal

The pieces are named Acidic and Rastafarian Rick and Morty from left to right

Art Work By Glen Reuben Dsouza

Art Work By Akshita Narula

रेशमी सी इन राह म दलच सा इक मोड़ आया है, दल म तूफां उमड़ता है, शोला सा बदन ये जलता है, इक नम हवा म आकर अभी खुशबू क तरह आ बखरी है, आसमान के समंदर म इक चाँद क कती उतरी है, बोझल सी है ये शाम अभी फू ल म भरी उदासी है, कहना है कतना कु छ हमको फर भी लब पर ख़ामोशी है, सयाह भरी इस नगाह म बस दो मोती से चमकते ह , ये नम तुहारे नाम है जान, इस मोड़ पे छोड़ के चलते ह , कमत पे कसका ज़ोर चले? फ़ क त ही सही गर वल नह, मलना है तुमसे है ये यक, कै से? कहाँ? मालूम नह।

Reshmi si in raāho.n mein dilchasp sa ik mod aaya hai, Dil mein toofa.n umadta hai, shola sa badan ye jalta hai, Ik nazm hawā mein aakr abhi ḳhushbu ki tarah aa bikhri hai, Aasmān ke samandar mein ik chand ki kashti utari hai, Bojhal si hai ye shaam abhi phuulo.n me bhari udaasi hai, Kehna hai kitna kuch humko phir bhi lab par ḳhāmoshi hai, Siyāh bhari is nigāh mein bass do moti se chamakte hain, Ye nazm tumhāre naam hai jaan, iss mod pe chhor ke chalte hain, Quismat pe kiska zor chale? Furqat hi sahi gar vasl nahi.n, Milna hai tumse hai ye yaqiin, kaise? Kaha? Maālūm nahi.n!

-दे वेश (Devesh)

The Girl with Wings! Art Work By Indhumadhi

Art Works By Aryaman Narayanan

Foaling Around An (Un)holy Response to Art

Mandala Art Art work By Soumya Jha Communication Blackout Art work By Afshana Bano

Art work By Ambika Bhura

The experience for the 10th batch of YIF went through trenches and peaks, quite a larger number of trenches, I would say due to the devastating second wave of the pandemic. In a matter of days, in midApril, the environment on campus went from happy and gay to tensed and grey. Students tested positive and were isolated. Several floors in residence halls were isolated. Back home our families, friends and relatives were going through personal losses or fighting the virus. I witnessed resilience and empathy amongst fellows. Our whatsapp and Instagram stories were filled with messages to amplify requests for medicines, beds or oxygen cylinders. Concern for our fellows and their ailing kith and kin was evident. Fellows have spent sleepless nights arranging medical supplies for each other in need. In such trying times, the home we had away from our homes was comforting. The connection we could build with a few fellows is something we can hold on to. Our batch needs to be acknowledged for thriving in an unprecedented stressful environment with things getting harder each passing day, not to mention the toll academic pressure had on us. The sudden mail on 19th April, 2021 created havoc when we were asked to vacate the campus by 26th April, 2021. How quickly we got attached to the lawns and the mess and the residence halls and the people, our fellow fellows who breathe life into all these structures is something we are still trying to decipher. One by one the fellows started leaving. Little did we know that even after waiting for so long to be on campus and finally being there with our friends, our stay would be cut short in the blink of an eye. We bid caged goodbyes to our friends at the main gate. Unfortunately we never got to meet many. We haven’t even seen the faces of a few fellows till date. Dwindling between online and offline mode of interaction the fellowship is concluding with an online convocation on 17th July, 2021 and we will smile in our rectangular boxes, hoping for better days ahead where we will be able to meet fellows in person or visit the beautiful Ashoka campus once again or may be for the first time for some!

-Soumya Jha

Art work By Sanchita Singh

YIF'21 Benaras

Attraversiamo

A downpour there was on that regular day, Unable to leave, unable to play , All we did was rant and complain, The sky so dark shedding endless tears, A sight that bade nothing but sorrow, Only served to dampen our spirits.

But then you came , with a smile adorning your face, Which was not as exuberant as the sun, Or as beautiful as the moon, But with a smile, which was mysteriously …. So like you.

Sneaking a glance out the window, feigning innocence , You asked “why so depressed?” why in such a gloom?” “this is fleeting” you said as you pointed towards the endless sky, “the clouds will not stay for eternity, so why not smile?” “the sight that awaits after this fleeting scene , will be so stunning .” “just you wait, just be patient.”

“a sky devoid of gloom, a gorgeous rainbow with Its stunning shades, a majestic sun in all its glory Or maybe in a beautiful hue of orange! I say”

We looked at you with a tender gaze as warmth seeped in our very being, But suddenly what grasped our attention, Was the chirping of the birds and the light of day Shining down as an answer to our complaints , Or rather, As proof of your resolute testimony. The sight that stood before , was truly heartwarming, Something to behold , a sight that took our breaths away.

And today we stand before you, Who taught us all , Who became our light in the pits of darkness, Who became our hope in times of despair,

With a solitary wish, With a solemn question, With one heartfelt prayer…

Where are you? You, who used to laugh under the cloudy skies…

-Devashri Awasthi

The Quest for Connection: An online Saga Art Work By Harshitha Rayapati

Art works By Varun Kashyap

The Song of Ice and Fire Art work By Deshna Jain

गदश

इक वाब क ताबीर म पाया है मने तुझे, अमा क उस-ओ-इनायत म पाया है मने तुझे, तेरे नूर क जुतजू म म भटका बहोत उस रस-ए-भटकन के सुकूं म पाया है मने तुझे, मौत म पाया है मने तुझे और ज़दगी म भी, पाया है मने तुझे और पाया भी नह।

Gardish

Ik ḳhwaab ki tābiir mein paaya hai maine tujhe, Ammā ki uns-o-inaayat mein paaya hai maine tujhe, Tere noor ki justaju mein main bhatka bohot Us raks-e-bhatkan ke sukuu.n mein paaya hai maine tujhe, Maut mein paaya hai maine tujhe aur zindagi mein bhi, Paaya hai maine tujhe aur paaya bhi nahi.n.

-दे वेश (Devesh)

Art Work By Akshita Narula

Just as I am in my last semester of undergrad, Papa calls me up to ask me the name of my college as he sits with some business acquaintance, his fourth call to this purpose. Spotting Ma, I decided to test her and ask her the name of my course. Rummaging through her mind, she mutters “English” and I give her a pass.

It seems like yesterday when my parents struggling to adjust to the idea of their daughter living away from home in a big guileful city, opened the doors of independence and responsibility for me. I remember my mother’s hesitance when I was to travel alone for the first time and her insistence on someone accompanying me. In my umpteenth flight now, I’m coming with a friend, I tell her and she sighs with relief. Some things never change.

Except that I did. Delhi took me in its hearty arms, rocked me out of my pretty little bubble-like a harbinger of harsh truths, later burying me in its chest as I longed for comfort. I look back at nights of insecurities and evenings of uncertainties and times of unending laughter and moments of plain joy.

The first time I came back home, everything that I saw was cleaner, whiter, bigger. The TV screen had looked so large in front of my tiny phone screen. And the kitchen utensils are so small in comparison to the ones at my PG. On my second visit, all was normal. My brain seemed to have reasoned out the disproportionateness and thus I became part of two worlds that existed in a paradox of interaction and exclusiveness with each other.

The Shreya in Delhi uncovered the layers of patriarchy, capitalism, caste, and other social structures. She grew more and more aware and analytical. The Shreya in Raipur now had answers to things that had confused her little self. But within herself, it remains limited, this newfound weapon of slicing past popular narratives and age-old practices.

On a less cynical note, I have had some amazing experiences and lovely days. I have traveled. I passed out after a satisfying day of work. I sighed in glee when a little kid drew me a car on Teacher’s Day. I have shed tears of joy. I have danced, I have sung. I have written, I have created. Delhi, I’ll leave you with a thousand memories.

-Shreya Daga

Calmness in the turmoil Art Work By Ashish Patil

The Introvert Who Can’t Be By Herself

Many years ago, I’d come across the MBTI Myers-Briggs Type Indicator ‘Introvert’- came the result. Everything about me began to make sense I started to stop punishing myself for wanting to be alone I sat and let myself be alone Reveling in the solitude What a wonderful joy What a wonderful way of being

Solitude was something like my Lover Caressing me intimately I snuck away to be with it Solitude was also my best friend, my encouraging mother, my fastidious father And my rowdy sister – willing to throw a punch or hundred at anything that came to hurt me Solitude became my home

Over the years the trauma set in My inner voice, which was quiet and speculative and curious Now became deafening and paranoid and cowardly Solitude became a stranger A stranger you’re scared of – A stranger you know is hiding knives in their clothes

To escape the knives and the wounds I ran from the stranger in my solitude Instead, I ran to people People who spoke too much, people who spoke too less, people who said too much but didn’t really say anything at all All these people seem so blind, but I found solace in their chatter I love others – don’t get me wrong, but one can’t build a home in others, One can only build a home in themselves I tried, and still try, every now and then to wrestle with the screaming in my head and reclaim my solitude, The worst kind of screams are the silent ones My solitude is a house that’s always on fire Burning and burning and for a second or two it seems like the fire is dying out, but it’s only a trick of the mind’s eye; the fire’s been raging and raging How do you make a burning house your home? Where do you find water in a desert? My penance brings only a few droplets to kill the flames and that’s not enough So, I found others, and I stayed with them

And then came isolation – government mandated isolation The refuge I found in others was no more The screaming in my head was back (How is it that the silent screams in my head silence music, chatter and literally any deafening noise from the outside?)

I just want silence. I just want quiet. I just want solitude. I want my mind back. I want to hear myself talking again, and not screaming. I just want peace. And I’m scared to go looking for it, because if I find it, it might just be the end.

By Anonymous Talent Wall

Ashkon ko chun ke aankhon mein boya karein ge hum Rona tamaam shehr ka roya karenge hum

Khwab-e-adam se dhoond ke layenge raushni Phir zindagi mein dhoop piroya karenge hum

Khoon-e-jarahat-e-dil-na-karda-kar se Aaina-e-hayaat ko dhoya karenge hum

Pehle tamaam shehr ko sehra banayein ge Phir wehshaton ki ret pe soya karenge hum

Lafzon ko harf harf piroyenge sher mein Lafzon se inhiraaf bhi goya karenge hum

Koi imkaan mere bas mein nahin Khwaab ankhon ki dastaras mein nahin

Jism to maut hi ka saaya hai Zindagi jism ke qafas mein nahin

Ab faqat dil ki baat sunta hai Ab mera zehn pesh-o-pas mein nahin

Jism khamoshiyon ka maara hai Koi awaaz is jaras mein nahin

Hijr gar hai wisaal se behtar Hijr ausaaf-e-bul-havas mein nahin ﻢﮨ ﮯﮔ ﮟﯾﺮﮐ ﺎﯾﻮﺑ ﮟﯿﻣ ںﻮﮭﮑﻧآ ﮯﮐ ﻦﭼ ﻮﮐ ںﻮﮑﺷا ﻢﮨ ﮯﮔ ﮟﯾﺮﮐ ﺎﯾور ﺎﮐ ﺮﮩﺷ مﺎﻤﺗ ﺎﻧور ﯽﻨﺷور ﮯﮔ ﮟﯿﺋﻻ ﮯﮐ ﮉﻧﻮﮬڈ ﮯﺳ مﺪﻋ باﻮﺧ ﻢﮨ ﮯﮔ ﮟﯾﺮﮐ ﺎﯾوﺮﭘ پﻮﮬد ﮟﯿﻣ ﯽﮔﺪﻧز ﺮﮭﭘ ﮯﺳ رﺎﮐ هدﺮﮐ ﺎﻧ لد ﺖﺣاﺮﺟ نﻮﺧ ﻢﮨ ﮯﮔ ﮟﯾﺮﮐ ﺎﯾﻮﮬد ﻮﮐ تﺎﯿﺣ ﻨﯿﺋآ ﮯﮔ ﮟﯿﺋﺎﻨﺑ اﺮﺤﺻ ﻮﮐ ﺮﮩﺷ مﺎﻤﺗ ﮯﻠﮩﭘ ﻢﮨ ﮯﮔ ﮟﯾﺮﮐ ﺎﯾﻮﺳ ﮧﭘ ﺖﯾر ﯽﮐ ںﻮﺘﺸﺣو ﺮﮭﭘ ﮟﯿﻣ ﺮﻌﺷ ﮯﮔ ﮟﯿﺋوﺮﭘ فﺮﺣ فﺮﺣ ﻮﮐ ںﻮﻈﻔﻟ ﻢﮨ ﮯﮔ ﮟﯾﺮﮐ ﺎﯾﻮﮔ ﯽﮭﺑ فاﺮﺤﻧا ﮯﺳ ںﻮﻈﻔﻟ

ﮟﯿﮩﻧ ﮟﯿﻣ ﺲﺑ ےﺮﯿﻣ نﺎﮑﻣا ﯽﺋﻮﮐ ﮟﯿﮩﻧ ﮟﯿﻣ سﺮﺘﺳد ﯽﮐ ںﻮﮭﮑﻧآ باﻮﺧ ﮯﮨ ﺎﯾﺎﺳ ﺎﮐ ﯽﮨ تﻮﻣ ﻮﺗ ﻢﺴﺟ ﮟﯿﮩﻧ ﮟﯿﻣ ﺲﻔﻗ ﮯﮐ ﻢﺴﺟ ﯽﮔﺪﻧز ﮯﮨ ﺎﺘﻨﺳ تﺎﺑ ﯽﮐ لد ﻂﻘﻓ با ﮟﯿﮩﻧ ﮟﯿﻣ ﺲﭘ و ﺶﯿﭘ ﻦﮨذ اﺮﻣ با ﮯﮨ ارﺎﻣ ﺎﮐ ںﻮﯿﺷﻮﻣﺎﺧ ﻢﺴﺟ ﮟﯿﮩﻧ ﮟﯿﻣ سﺮﺟ سا زاوآ ﯽﺋﻮﮐ ﺮﺘﮩﺑ ﮯﺳ لﺎﺻو ﮯﮨ ﺮﮔ ﺮﺠﮨ ﮟﯿﮩﻧ ﮟﯿﻣ سﻮﮩﻟاﻮﺑ فﺎﺻوا ﺮﺠﮨ

You loathe the mirrors for the truths they deliver They conspire in feeding your complexes 'You're unloved and nether' they whisper Nonetheless, you indulge yourself in vanity Masking the putrid of your insecurities and the foul odour of your inferiority Following a path of false pride and hatred One day I wish for you to realise the battle lies not against the world But within those mirrors. Assay, introspect; as you stare back into the world that shall reflect the very traits you portray Grow and ripen out of your vices. Tether thyself with poems that soothe. And learn to love, unbeknownst the cruel lies that encompass.

-Sam Dennis

Black Illumination Art Work By Iman Bhattacharyya

I know that we were promised, I know we were chosen, I know we belonged together, I know there were a great many things I know the sky is supposed to be blue, I know we were to be the raging crew, I know we were to see the sun rise true, I know the moon shone bright in the midnight hue I know what happened still holds true, I know we were there despite the fallen troop, I know we went through a thorn filled adieu, I know sweet child, calm down you I know you are wary, I know there was a lot more due, I know we faced it all, I know you have a heart filled to the brim too I know I wouldn't care for the blot, I know we would still chuckle together at a bon mot, I know the year that was, the year with the wicked clot, I know the year that was and I would still choose you lot

-By K Prahalad

Art Work By Kasthoori N

Made using quilling paper & chart.

What makes one happy?... Is it sitting in a book store aisle with a book in hand, or walking barefoot in the sand,

meeting a friend after ages or the taste of tea after a long day,

being at a concert surrounded by people who love the same music as you or looking down at the clouds from an aeroplane,

lying on your bed in your underwear or seeing the stars during a late-night drive,

early morning walks when the whole world isn't really awake yet or sleeping in late on a lazy Sunday,

kissing someone for the first time or completing a long due assignment,

having late-night conversations with a special someone or visiting a place you've always wanted to see,

seeing Christmas lights down your whole street or uncontrollable laughter,

eating your favourite candy or getting a reply from your crush,

doing stupid little things on a daily basis or learning to play an instrument,

waking up in the middle of the night and realizing you still have hours to sleep or receiving compliments from a stranger.

Close your eyes and ponder, and when you smile, you'll know what makes you happy.

What are you protesting against? Asked a friend on campus two nights ago It is important all of us have a clear idea of that, he said I heard myself say 'academic freedom', say 'the freedom to dissent for all' It led me to ask myself another question later that night What does this protest mean to you? To me, it is a reminder that This campus, like other campuses, is not safe It tries hard, with its well-manicured lawns and elaborate dining menus Provides a false sense of security This campus, that had not 'sit-in' against anything for one full day before this Where we might sing 'hum dekhenge' at some point in the next few days But it will feel out of place Like slogans of Azadi do outside India occupied Kashmir

I remember Bab-e-Syed Students screaming, shouting, mostly Their screams, shouts, falling on deaf ears mostly

Have I started to sound condescending already? That I might know more about protests than you do Please know that this is not arrogance This is hurt, this is anger This is more jealousy than judgement That this campus doesn't know What it feels like To sleep under the open sky on cold winter nights Having to rush a friend with asthma to emergency the day after That there are friends I can't talk to anymore, Drink tea with Discuss world dominance with Because they don't provide mobile phones in jails. I don't know how to express that As a person of minority identity As a product of minority institution I have been feeling for long What you're feeling now I don't want to say I told you so - that they'll come for you too I'm sorry instead that in some way, you now know My only hope is, now that you do You scream, shout Not just for you, but for me too Not because I can't fight on my own I've had too much practice recently But because that is the only way to go.

-AISHA

Art Work By Bhavya Mehta

O' mighty mountain, I have a story to tell, I am the breeze that makes the oceans swell; It entails how humanity fell, lamenting nature's voice lay quell;

I roam from shore to peak to pole, icecaps stand subdued by coal, where once I met the wise proud shoal, warming ocean reek their soul;

As foals and birds begin to weep, the human-wolf is dressed as sheep, space frontier puts morality to sleep, sins of expediency began to heap; Enslaving Screens allured the man, death and plunder so began, pococurante machines forged their clan, rendering my pneuma to tan;

O stupendous, I tremble in fear, our home endures from the human sear, survive to grieve and apprise the revere, only if they knew us as compeer;

The time has come to bid goodbye, gluttoned by them, the wry lakes ossify, cancerous soot won't let me fly, with me, their dreams will mortify;

Glossary

Pococurante-Indifferent; Ossify-Turn into bone, die; Pneuma-Soul, Atman. -Aradhya

Art Work By Gayathri K

Ye Chaaaron or bisri huyi shaanti, chuppi, sannaata Ya sabhi ke mano mein phat rhe sawaalon ke jwalamukhi Sach kya hai? Sach ye hai ki ye shareer nashwar hai Ki ye jeevan ka sanchaar, saans lena ya chordhna mere hath mein nahi hai, ki mere paas waqt nahi hai Ya ye ki mere jeevit rehne aur mere jeevit na rehne ke beech mein ek vyakti hai jo mujhe iss paar yaa uss paar le jaa sakta hai Agar uske pass wqt hua toh

Sach aakhir kya hai?

sach ye hai ki main jeevit hun

Ki main apne aaspaas aise bhaybheet kr dene wale manzar ko mehsus kr paa rha hun

Ya ye ki wo log jo zinda hote huye bhi mar chuke hain jinke sath kuch aapbeeti huyi hai or woh sunn pad gye hain, shaant hogye hain.

Sach aakhir kya hai.?

Iss waqt, isko likhte waqt main Hamlet ka woh paatra hun Ki Mere hone ya mere naa hone se bhi kuch nahi badalne wala Ya ye hai ki mera hona ya na hona mayne nahi rakhta

Sach aaakhir kya hai?? Ye ki mujhe apni mahtvkanshaon ko poora krna hai Ya fir ye ki jeevan mein itna kuch haasil krne ke baad bhi hath mein kuch nahi rehta Sach aakhir kya hai?

Ki kayde kaanoon jo banaye gye unke hisaab se chalun or mar jaun? Ya apne manganat niyamon ke anusaar chalun, saari umra logon ki baatein sunun or fir ant mein fir bhi marr jaun.

Sach kya hai? Ki yahan jitne bhi log mere hain..kya woh vastavikta mein mere hain? Yaa mere hone ka dhong kr rhe hain? Kya ye zindagi meri hai? Kya in logon ki zindagi unki hqi? Yaa ye log bhi meri hi tarah kisi udhaar ki zindagi pe zinda hain

Sach kya hai?

Ye ki jo main kehna chah rha hun woh shayd aap kabhi nahi samjhenge Yaa ye ki jo aap samjh rhe hain woh maine kabhi kaha hi nahi

-Shrey Gambhir

Honest Ashoka By Sam Dennis, Tanay Katiyar, Karan Tichal, Janvi Kothari, Ankita Mathew

Codex of Aunoma The cult created by Aishwarya Mall, Namita Varma, Malavika Mahesh, Varun Kashyap, Shraddha Prasad and Prerana N for Art appreciation A normal day in a truck driver's life By Shaunak Raipurkar

Link to the YIF Repository Lets stay in touch! By Anamitra, Anmol, Bhavya

Viewing mother from an Archemedian standpoint by Shaunak-GCS

Stories of Extraordinary women from everyday life, WSCI video by Shaunak Raipurkar, Indumadhi S, Varun Kashyap, Iman Bhattacharya and Gayathri MR

A humorous ode to the fellowship by Moin Abbas Malik

Hermes in Red By Sam Dennis Art Work By Shambhavi Jha

Tawaifnama

The piece is a dialogue between two artists hailing from different eras of Indian history-the pre-independence era (Bano) and the current one (Anjali). While loosely unified by a reverence for their art, they inhabit worlds with differing attitudes towards said art. The emergent difference stems from the dynamic interplay of Art, Gender and Sexuality over timeespecially how the gaze around an art and an artist can change in a gender biased way. This is portrayed by drawing a contrast of these volatile gazes across the two eras- one of transition as experienced by Bano and another of abject turmoil as described by Anjali.

While the piece alludes to the specific art forms preserved and practiced by the Tawaifs of North India-- and their subsequent transformation through the years into sex work-- the exchange between the two characters is making a broader commentary about the nature of Art. One major touchpoint is that of Art and Context. As Bano skillfully observes, while Art creates the zeitgeist of a generation, the prevailing conscience of the time also maneuvers and moulds its art. The British with their Victorian morality- stern and regressive towards women- created a massive disruption (The Anti-Nautch Act) and rendered many art forms redundant or retroactively taboo- one of which was that of the Tawaifs.

The formal element of stark shadows to present the narrative is a nod to how the complexities of this art and artists have been reduced to a black and white morality, stripping what used to be a colourful life to a muted stagnancy.

Akash Chowdhury,Bhavya Mehta, Khushi Pahuja, Maria Siddiqui, Rohan Shyam Chowdhury, Tenzing Palmo

The book of messages from fellows compiled for Aniha and the Programme Team The community called YIF by The Toastmasters Club