Mumbai’s film industry was a much-vaunted bastion of India’s secular ideals. Since the rise of the BJP, it’s been flooded with stock Hindu heroes and Muslim villains, and shows and movies are being killed off.

When the state knows that its right-wing affiliates will carry out the kind of violence that it should not pursue, then all it has to do is nothing.

Reading “My Seditious Heart,” you feel as if Roy has been hollering for years, trying to grab our attention, and we’ve kept motoring on toward the edge of the cliff.

Sri Lanka now finds itself in a state of doubled wariness. It must contend with its own nature: its inability to protect its minorities and its proclivity to politicize strife.

There is something touchingly human in the dispersal of these games—in the vision of travellers packing for long, hard journeys and remembering to take with them something to kill time.