Since 2016, Neetu Singh has been engaged in long-form reporting, working with Gaon Connection till 2021 and currently as an independent journalist with her YouTube channel, ‘Shades of Rural India’.
we share excerpts from Nusrat F. Jafri’s The Land We Call Home. In this haunting and intimate memoir, Jafri interrogates the colonial and casteist invention of hereditary criminality—through the prism of her own family’s history.
Imagine you were out for wedding shopping and three days later, you die in police custody because they thought you were a thief. Or that you were arrested on suspicion of murder, simply because you were within a 5 KM radius from the crime scene.
“How to ask a woman whether she has been called a daayan?” This was the first question that came to the minds of 46 women who were assigned the task of surveying those who have been victims of witch-hunting in Bihar. In the state of Bihar, as in Assam, Chattisgarh, Madhya Pradesh, and Odisha, witch-hunting is an open secret.
In our third episode, we meet Rupal Oza, a geographer who works with gender and space. In her new book, Semiotics of Rape, published by Zubaan, she talks about the making of the book, the politics of rape, the role of land and caste in cases of rape, and discusses some critical cases that emerged from Haryana in the last decade.
Food has been an issue for most of my life. It has stood like a giant question mark between my relationships, my friendships, outside my home, inside my home.
In Between Us/ Humare Beech Mein is a conversation between two women about making a film on caste. How do we film caste? What do we show? What do we hide? Who has access? Who refrains?
In this new episode of Bolti Kahaniyan, Dipta Bhog narrates ‘Hekdi’, a story by writer Vijaydan Detha. This story is taken from the Hindi translation of his anthology ‘Batan Ri Phulwadi’ published by Rajasthani Granthagar.
History syllabi tell us how Bharata thought of this dance at the behest of the gods; in the theory hours we utter slokas listing physical features that make one an ideal dancer, and in the practical classes we strive for angashuddhi (purification of limbs or movements).
Words scraped against my brain as I Iay down, exhausted, in my stark white hostel room. I tried to find comfort in the lingering smell of the oil my roommate was massaging her knees with—that smell spelt care. Setting my alarm for five the next morning, my innards groaned.
