The streets of Mumbai are paved with gold; they are also awash with youngsters who come to the city in their hundreds, perhaps thousands, hoping that some of that gold dust will rub on to them.

Last October, when Maharashtra politician Bal Thackeray died, television channels which had been keeping a close watch on his health immediately started analysing his life and legacy. The next day his funeral was covered live by all channels, complete with pundits in TV studios discussing every aspect of his political career. Some anchors and analysts got a tad emotional, recalling their association with Thackeray — most of their memories were pleasant.

Unless you have been living in a cave in the Himalayas or perhaps are a Martian, you would have heard Gangnam Style by now. The song, and the dance that goes with it, are by Psy, a South Korean popstar who has become a worldwide sensation within weeks of it going up on Youtube.

By Mushirul Hasan

Rs 795

Sidharth Bhatia

At a time when cartoons are being viewed with suspicion and hostility and the nation seems to be losing its sense of humour, it is useful to know that this form of lampooning has a hoary past in this country.

The numbers are nothing short of spectacular. In 2004, according to figures declared by his father Y.S. Rajasekhar Reddy, Y.S. Jagan Mohan Reddy’s assets amounted to a meagre `9.18 lakh.

By Altaf Tyrewala

Rs 350

Bombay Noir was the informal name given to crime films made in Hindi during the 1950s. They were in the same mould as Hollywood noir films but had an Indian flavour, such as songs, dances and sometimes a comedy track. The basic ingredients remained the same — rich and powerful criminals who were outwardly respectable, a hero with his own code of honour, femmes fatale. Bombay Noir remains an understudied and under-appreciated genre.
Mumbai Noir is a collection of stories brought out as part of an international noir stories. Is this a contemporary echo of an old style?

Every Monday afternoon, without fail, Mario de Miranda used to come by the office of the newspaper I worked for, and deposit a set of cartoons to be used for the week.

Every Monday afternoon, without fail, Mario de Miranda used to come by the office of the newspaper I worked for and deposit a set of cartoons to be used for the week. We had hired him to continue his

There was no ad film or documentary in the 1970s and ‘80s that did not have Partap Sharma’s voiceover. He was, simply, The Voice, suave, silky and above all correct.

The classification of artists, according to gender, nationality or ethnicity is always a tricky task. When the artist belongs to the so-called diaspora, it becomes even more complicated.