Pensha

I wrote this under the "wellness" section for the Sunday supplement. An event notification on Vkontakte, a Russian social networking site, intrigued Julia Kazarina. The event invited everyone to attend a workshop on weaving mandalas or Ojos de Dios (Eyes of God) and therapy. “ I was surprised to know that one can weave a mandala. I knew that we could draw them, or create them from coloured sand, stones and shells. I found weaving a mandala intriguing and new, so I decided to attend it. Three days after the workshop I started to weave them non-stop. Thenceforth it became my life,” says Julia. Julia, who recently held a workshop on mandala weaving in Pune, explains the art of Ojo (pronounced as Oho). Ancient roots Weaving Ojos de Dios is an ancient art practised by native Indian tribe called Huichol, in Mexico. However, similar art forms are practised in other parts of the world like Namka in Tibet and God’s Eye in ancient Russia. “According to the Huichol In

I met Meghna Pant last month when she had come to Pune to promote her debut novel, "One & A Half Wife". This interview was filed for a women's supplement. She juggles numbers and words with equal ease. Her day begins as the deputy editor of a business magazine in Dubai, and at night she escapes into the world of literature. Meghna Pant, first-time novelist, admits that it’s crazy working from day into the night, but wouldn’t like to change her schedule one bit. “My day job and the stories that I write, when I get back home, are both very dear to me. I can’t choose between them,” Meghna, who was in the city to promote her book One & A Half Wife, said. Talking about her “baby,” the 31-year-old business journalist said, “The idea for the novel germinated when I returned to India from the US where I was working with the Bloomberg. India had changed in the two years that I was away — right from the expensive onions to the mushrooming malls on every street. It

This is the unedited piece I wrote for a women's supplement. I’m sorry, I have to take Mr G’s call. I’ll talk to you later,” P cut short our chat. One Sunday, P splashed some water on his face to wash away the signs of the afternoon siesta and took to the wheels. He was to drive Mr and Mrs G to Mumbai. A few months later, he went to pick up Mr and Mrs G’s daughter from the airport. The Gs were always a priority with my husband. And, when I met them a few months later, I realised why. A weary-looking Mr G opened the door and on seeing us, his eyes sparkled behind his lenses and he burst into a wide smile. His thin, bony hands pulled us into the living room where a disheveled Mrs G was sitting. “ Arrre tu...” (Oh! It’s you!) she smiled at my husband. Mr G exhaled a sigh of relief and nodding in P’s direction, said, “It’s a good sign that she recognises you.” “ Aani..hi kon ? (Who’s this?)”, she asked looking at me. “ She’s my wife,” P answered. “ Chhan (N