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Red was your first home. And some part of you has never forgotten.

Across India, spice is more than just taste, it is identity. From the aromatic garam masalas of the North to the fiery, chilli-laden curries of the South, every region tells its story through flavour. These spices are shaped by geography, climate and centuries of trade routes that brought new ingredients and ideas into the subcontinent.

On Edition II.

Onwards & Upwards.

Red was the colour of the night before 15 November 1952; Red was the colour that entered Kansas City on the morning of 15 November 1952

From spirituality to science, from politics to emotions, connects human biology, culture, emotion and symbolism, making it one of the most influential colours in human experience.

Bina dard rang laal kaise poora?

There’s something hauntingly beautiful about red. It’ s a melancholy melody that demands every last bit of attention.

a bindi, an evening walk, and a lifelong love

How do we restore faith in humanity?

How do you imagine red? Do you imagine it as I do?

Does red mean power?

Ek Experiment Ka Postmortem. PS.

If you tell me to love you I shall gift you a poem. A poem about a heart break...

She was everything I had once believed my future would hold. I would picture us in fragments of a life not yet lived, playing together, teasing, feeding, dressing her up. These were not grand fantasies, but small, tender rehearsals of a life I thought would arrive on time.

In Pune, he waited at the window like a tiny guard of the garden. Every morning he would drag a stool, climb onto it, press his nose against the grill and inspect the pot. “Has it turned red yet?” he would shout...

The laal between the brows is not just tradition. It is the space where faith meets family. And even today, when Mummy presses it gently on my forehead, I do not just feel blessed. I feel home.

The colour that took over advertising, art and appetite

Where language meets physics

‘Let your Fitoor talk’ with Sandeep Dikshit

A thread of red has run through Delhi’s destiny for over a century. Since it became the imperial capital, and even more so after Independence, the city has been shaped by plans marked by precision and ambition. Yet beneath these grand designs lies another map, drawn not in blueprints but in red ink.

CIELCH (53, 179, 12°)

Presenting Fitoor, a place where anything is possible.

Photos and artwork that capture the imagination and reality of Mumbai!

To the city of restless delight

Ask any Mumbaikar, and you’ll hear the same truth: Bombay teaches you to move fast, and it teaches you to slow down — often at the very same time.

At forty-nine, when I think of Bombay, I don’t think of its chaos. I think of moments—the unexpected hand that steadied me, the stranger who shared an umbrella, the commuter who made a joke just when the day felt too heavy.The city never promised comfort. It only promised truth. It never pretended to be gentle. It simply kept showing up. And somewhere along the way, without realising it, I started showing up too.

The constant honking, and the traffic that never seemed to take a break were too much at first. But slowly, everything changed. I made new friends, the kind who made this new life feel lighter and fun. We shared late night talks , endless cup noodles, and stories about home. People around me started feeling familiar, and Mumbai quietly turned into my second home.

Starting my day with Bun Maska and ending with Bhaat-Mangsho (staple Bengali dish, rice and chicken) — now I am proudly a soul with two cities.

Bombay is a generous city, adjusting its building blocks ever so often to allow people 1x1 feet of space to dream. The best part is that it doesn't ask for anything in return. It only warns me once: "learn to tap your feet to the rythm of my roads, sinkholes open here often."

I think I like experiencing Mumbai in simple metric terms. It comes with excitement and exactitude, it comes with definition. Nothing is ever too far or too close, never too heavy or too light, never too cold or too hot. It's metric, it's rhythmic. ये है मुंबई का माप.

Perhaps home is not so singular; not so definitive that one must clutch, white- knuckled, at it as it flies away. Perhaps I can put it down gently, without shaking and upending, and pick it back up when I want, wherever I want.

For decades, progress has been measured in speed, automation, and connectivity. Screens became smaller, faster, and more powerful. Life moved online.

At 5.30 am in October, Mumbai feels like it’s exhaling; It's drowned in a pink hour.

If a city could feel like a long, comforting hug, it would be Bombay. This isn't just a place where I reside; it is the fabric of my earliest memories, the backdrop to every dream I’ve chased, and the unwavering home I carry in my heart.

The past and the present, the good and the bad, the rags and the riches—this is the story of Bombay, of how it is remembered in memory.

July 28, 2005: A city drowned as the skies opened like never before. We were a bunch of students, eager and restless, standing at the threshold of our professional lives. Less than a month in an institute, we had joined with wide-eyed enthusiasm – the JR batch of 2005 at Xavier Institute of Communications, Mumbai. And that evening, as tragic as it eventually was for the city, gave us the unexpected chance to truly know one another.