Life & Style

Mrugen Rathod’s Mari Vaadi Ma

It is the best of times and the worst of times as Valentine’s season is finally here.

From flowers, chocolates and love letters to the far less sophisticated DMs, love is “expected” to be in the air this time of the year for a fortunate few. But, if you are not one of them, there are plenty of Anti-Valentine’s Day festivities going around, like DJ Nights, single tours and so on.

However, there is a group in between that stands shakily between the two clear boundaries of singlehood and committed relationships. It is where an entire generation persists, albeit meekly.

ALSO READ: Valentine’s Day in Bengaluru: from Nutella hearts to anti-romance parties

Often undefined with the added burden of a ‘ship’ in its suffix, unlabelled romantic or sexual relationships like ‘situationships’ for instance, lack clear commitment or plans for the future, its younger cousin, ‘textationship’, a romantic or intimate connection that relies almost exclusively on texting and messaging or the brief ‘nanoship’, which focuses exclusively on the present, are some other examples of the in-betweeners.

This season, Malayalis seem sure about their take on these connections. Discussions among youth circles are rife with conversations about whether the ‘ship’ has sailed for long-term commitments. Experts seem to be weighing in too.

Kochi-based psychologist Akhilu Thomas says many trends in relationships have emerged over recent years. “GenZ has developed gamophobia, a fear of marriage and commitment. Due to overexposure to social media, the generation is obsessed with the idea of seeming happy rather than happiness itself.”

On the contrary, Revathy*, a 25-year-old social worker, points out that these temporary relationships arise from a desire to find the right connection with someone, both physically and emotionally. Besides this, the conversation also tends to veer towards ‘the right fit’. “These non-committal relationships are ways people are adapting to quick changes in emotions, surroundings, and lifestyle. Many people tend to choose ‘situationships’ because committed relationships require accountability. It is about the ease of leaving something when it doesn’t fit your expectations,” says Ria*, a marketing executive based in Bengaluru. “Another impact I have noticed is that it has made me more comfortable being open and confident when communicating what I want and need from a relationship,” says Ravina*, a 24-year-old writer from Hyderabad, adding to the conversation about ensuring autonomy.

Some say these experiences have opened the doors to meeting new people without the pressure of a large and looming romance. “The person I was in a ‘situationship’ with also helped me express myself more artistically, which was unexpected but meaningful. Mentally, I became more open and reflective, and physically, it translated into a more confident and grounded demeanour,” says Pallavi*, a media professional based in Hyderabad.

People also find these temporary relationships a means to understand themselves after getting out of long-term relationships, this is both in familiar relationships as well as the world of dating apps. Navya*, a 24-year corporate employee in Chennai, is currently in a textationship which began after a serious relationship. “I figured it was nice to have someone to talk to. A part of me also felt validated by that person. Since my dynamic was with a person I know, there was a sense of comfort that came with it.”

However, Navya believes her textationship is not sustainable in the long term. “People choose non-committal relationships because they are scared, after whatever their lived experiences have been. Some people would choose this for the rest of their lives. But it is out of fear of making a mistake again from the previous relationships.”

The art of labelling

Geoffery Shocky, a creative planner at an advertising agency in Kochi, says, “Our generation is obsessed with putting labels on things. Even in our parents’ generation, there were probably people who didn’t want to commit [to a relationship]. The names might not have existed, but the practice has.”

These terms, however, are not all bad, says Soumya Rajendran, 34. “People are now able to recognise a pattern, which they have known for some time. When I was in my early teens and was in college, ‘situationships’ still happened. You could not call it anything, but you were still subject to the same emotions. Terms like ‘gaslighting’ and ‘situationship’ came later, and that’s when people realised what their partners were doing to them.”

Ravina says, “I have had experiences that could probably be classified into labels I do not know of, but in my dictionary, none of them are relationships. It is only one if you are two people in love, working together as a team to make each other better and figure out life, while building something meaningful together, no matter how short or long it is a relationship.”

The demise of committment

So, do ‘situationships’ mean the end of committed relationships?

Geoffery says, “’Situationships’ cannot replace serious relationships. It is definitely true that people might be a little more commitment-phobic now, but there will always be serious relationships.” Pallavi says, “I’ve noticed that my dating life often begins with curiosity and ends with clarity. The connections may be brief, but they’ve taught me to recognise the difference between being chosen and choosing myself.”

However, it is not easy going for love and Gen Z, believes Ria. “Love has gotten complicated over time. Love has been broken down into multiple tick boxes, and only if your partner ticks them all do you win. People have started judging and segregating based on behaviour, looks, actions, words, love languages, gender, status, financial stability, family and so on. Love is no longer a self-sufficient emotion; it needs to be a package deal,” says Ria.

The real takeaway, however, is that, irrespective of whether ‘situationships’ are here to stay, people seem largely optimistic about the importance of love and personal connection.

*Names changed to protect identity

Published – February 12, 2026 05:53 pm IST

In the past decade in India, coffee has grown from being just a beverage, to an entire lifestyle and passion for many. The paraphernalia, the sourcing of the beans, the grinding techniques — are all taken very seriously. “India’s coffee industry is at a defining moment,” says Hamsini Appadurai the president of SCAI (Speciality Coffee Association of India) who are organising the upcoming India International Coffee Festival in Bengaluru with the idea of bringing together the community. The event, which started on February 12 will go on till February 14, will have tastings, workshops, demos, barista and latte art championships and masterclasses. The festival is supported by Coffee Board of India and Nescafe, Nestlé India.

A barista at work

Panel discussions and workshops are the main draw of the festival. Topics such as sustainability, agriculture, and alternative dairy will be touched upon. “The idea is simple: to connect how coffee is grown, processed, brewed, and finally enjoyed,” says Hamsini.

India produces exceptional coffee, yet much of its story has traditionally remained fragmented, says Hamsini. “The festival brings farmers, roasters, exporters, baristas, brands, and consumers together to build understanding, trust, and opportunity across the value chain.“

At its core, Hamsini says, IICF is about moving Indian coffee from being seen only as a commodity to being appreciated as a product of skill, origin, and culture. “It creates a platform for learning, business exchange, and celebration, while helping Indian coffee speak with a more confident, unified global voice.”

Taste tests

The highlights of the festival this year include an innovation hub, that will showcase practical solutions across farming, processing, and café operations. Sumit Choudhary from Kaapi Solutions (suppliers of imported coffee machines in India) will host an espresso brewing masterclass.

“This session is designed to demystify espresso and make it approachable. Guests can expect a fully hands-on experience where we break down espresso brewing step by step, from recipe building and taste calibration to understanding extraction variables and milk workflow.”

Through guided tasting and live troubleshooting, Sumit says, the focus is on helping participants recognise what is happening in the cup and why. “Whether you are a barista, café owner, or serious home brewer, the goal is to leave with clarity, confidence, and practical skills you can apply immediately,” he explains.

Coffee beans
| Photo Credit:
Photo by GREG BAKER / AFP

Akshay Dashrath from the South India Coffee Company, coffee producers from Coorg, hosts a tasting workshop. “At our Alternative Species Tasting Workshop, participants will explore coffees far beyond the familiar world of arabica and robusta. Through guided cupping, guests will taste rare species and cultivars, including Eugenioides, Racemosa, Excelsa, Liberica (Sarawak), and Laurina, while learning to identify key sensory notes like aroma, sweetness, acidity, and body. Expect surprising flavour profiles ranging from tea-like and floral to fruit-forward, spicy, and deeply complex.”

Visitors can also experience the festival through a curated coffee trail. It will take you through experiential zones such as the roasters’ village, growers’ village and the brew bar. Additionally, there are also cultural events such as a stand-up comedy gig by Sonu Venugopal, and a musical performance by Shankar Iyer.

₹499 upwards. February 12-14. At Chamara Vajra, Jayamahal, Bengaluru. For the full schedule head to indiacoffeefestival.com

Published – February 13, 2026 06:00 am IST

Kevin Pietersen
| Photo Credit: Special arrangement

It’s been seven years since India had a national pavilion at the Venice Biennale. Last week, at the India Art Fair in New Delhi, the Ministry of Culture announced its return — sharing the artists and theme for the country’s official pavilion at the 61st Venice Biennale.

While the Biennale’s overarching theme is In Minor Keys, India’s pavilion is titled Geographies of Distance: Remembering Home and is curated by Amin Jaffer, the Indian-origin curator whose career includes senior roles at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London and Christie’s. Currently based in Venice, Jaffer is also Director of the Al Thani Collection, with artworks spanning the ancient world to the present.

Curator Amin Jaffer

The pavilion will feature works by five India-based artists — Alwar Balasubramaniam, Sumakshi Singh, Ranjani Shettar, Asim Waqif, and Skarma Sonam Tashi — connected through their sustained engagement with materials. “My initial proposal followed the single-artist model typical of Venice, but the Ministry felt that India’s diversity called for a multi-artist project,” says Jaffer. “I expanded the proposal, selecting artists whose messages were consistent so that visitors would come away with a clear voice.” The practices of the five artists collectively reflect on ideas of home, memory, and transformation.

India’s fifth artist, Sumakshi Singh
| Photo Credit:
Sunder Ramu

Cosmopolitan and erudite, Jaffer’s curatorial work includes exhibitions in West Asia, including the landmark Islamic Biennale in Saudi Arabia last year. A frequent visitor to India, he is deeply entrenched in the county’s contemporary art community, with friends across various cities. During India Art Fair, to which he was returning after almost a decade, he was a ubiquitous presence at parties and events, from Sangita and Tarini Jindal’s soiree to the Asia Society’s Game Changer Awards.

India’s pavilion is supported by the Nita Mukesh Ambani Cultural Centre (NMACC) and Serendipity Arts Foundation. I spoke to Jaffer — a picture of poise in a sleeveless black bundi over a long sleeve shirt, despite having rushed across town from art collector Kiran Nadar’s lunch — about his curation and what it will communicate to an international audience. Edited excerpts:

What was the impetus behind India’s decision to return to the Venice Biennale with a dedicated pavilion?

About a year and a half ago, I was approached by NMACC to advise on a project for Venice, and I suggested that rather than doing a standalone one, it would be important to support an Indian government initiative. When we approached the government, we learned that the Ministry of Culture had already decided to have a national pavilion.

The Ministry invited me to make an artistic proposal [they had also solicited proposals from other curators]. My initial proposal followed the single-artist model typical of Venice, but the Ministry felt that India’s diversity called for a multi-artist project. I expanded the proposal, selecting artists whose messages were consistent so that visitors would come away with a clear voice. After discussions, the project was selected in October.

(L-R) Kamini Sawhney, board member of CIMAM, with Ministry of Culture Secretary Vivek Aggarwal, curator Amin Jaffer, and artist Sumakshi Singh
| Photo Credit:
Special arrangement

What was the core curatorial idea guiding this pavilion?

Each national pavilion is a different project. The pavilion is meant to reflect the overall theme of the Biennale, which this does very concertedly. The 2019 pavilion was about Gandhiji; this pavilion is rather different. It’s a message and a story that is applicable and representative of India, but not unique to India.

The notion of home, change, continuity is one that’s been of academic interest to me since the beginning of my education. The very first article I published was on continuity and identity in the Ismaili community, which is my community — I wrote that when I was 19. Many of my projects, like Furniture from British India, were about the recreation of domestic life and how western presence changed it… so the question of defining home has been consistent through my career. I’m a member of the Indian diaspora — I feel very Indian, but I was born in Rwanda, my mother comes from Kenya, and I’ve spent a lot of time in North America and Europe.

I thought of the project as very autobiographical. I grew up in two family houses, my mother’s and father’s. Both are now not lived in. They’ll both be demolished eventually. The idea of the erasure of the past, physical changes, memory, future, these are the things that have been playing in my mind. It’s a theme that’s very prevalent in art today, the question of where we belong.

“What is remarkable about Indians is that they retain their sense of Indianness. So many people say to me, you’ve been six generations in Africa. How come you feel so Indian? I’m not unique in this. Indians retain this deep attachment to their core values, to the sense of family, to language, to food, to dress. The pavilion, as envisioned by me, needed to reflect this. The materiality and practice is Indian. The vision of the world is a contemporary. ”Amin JafferCurator, India Pavilion, Venice Biennale 2026

Amin Jaffer
| Photo Credit:
Joe Habben

What is the theme ‘In Minor Keys’?

On the piano keyboard, the major keys are triumphant, dominant, strong, and the minor keys are elegiac, introspective, delicate. When creating a project in minor keys, I felt, we have to look at minor materials. They should not have technology, complex metal, and overpowering technologies. We should be using materials that are fragile, ephemeral, that have a sense of organic origin about them.

My particular mission was to ensure that our artists work with materials that are part of Indian civilisation. We should use techniques associated with our culture. Bala, working with terracotta, for example — terracotta sculpture goes back to the beginnings of Indian civilisation. Sumakshi working with thread; it’s the basis of the Indian economy and a part of the independence movement. Ranjani works with traditional techniques coming out of Karnataka to make flowers. The giving of flowers, the garlanding of somebody, is closely tied to our culture. Asim with bamboo, a material that’s part of our civilisation, but also a material used in scaffolding and the building tradition in India. Conceptually, this is what the project is about.

Asim Waqif’s art installation, Venu, in London. It is designed with 610 poles and 700 strips of bamboo tied together and supported by an industrial metal skeleton.
| Photo Credit:
Getty Images

What aspects of India did you most want this pavilion to communicate to an international audience?

We want to have a pavilion that means something to everyone who walks through the door. This is why I chose a theme that is particular to India, but is universal. What’s important is that India be well positioned in an important pavilion, by artists who reflect the originality and integrity of art practice in the country today.

In India, there is a rapid rate of change in physical space… Old ways of living are replaced by new, old architecture by new. India has 15 million new people every year. There are new townships, cities, neighbourhoods. India is today the fourth largest economy in the world. Could the CEO of Chanel been an Indian 40 years ago? We’ve seen a complete transformation in the identity of Indians and the way Indians are seen around the world.

Do you see this pavilion as a form of soft power?

Every Biennale pavilion is an expression of soft power. While using indigenous materials and techniques, we should produce a project that’s forward looking and contemporary in its vision. We are people who are very rooted in our civilisation. We’re forward looking, we absorb opportunities, we’re very quick learners. There were communities of Indians in Mediterranean ports in Roman times.

What is remarkable about Indians is that they retain their sense of Indianness. So many people say to me, you’ve been six generations in Africa. How come you feel so Indian? I’m not unique in this. Indians retain this deep attachment to their core values, to the sense of family, to language, to food, to dress. The pavilion, as envisioned by me, needed to reflect this. The materiality and practice is Indian. The vision of the world is contemporary.

The sculpture Support by Italian artist Lorenzo Quinn at an earlier edition of the Venice Biennale
| Photo Credit:
Getty Images

Since the pavilion’s announcement, there has been some discussion about whether someone based in India might have been better suited to curate it.

Living in Venice for many years, I dreamed that I would be involved with an India pavilion. It’s something I’ve discussed over the years with curators, with Biennale authorities, with successive friends who’ve worked in an official capacity in the Indian government. It is a sense of great personal achievement, pride, national pride. I’m 100% genetically Indian. I eat Indian food. I listen to Indian music. I celebrate Indian things. I have an OCI status, but I’m an international person. I would say more and more that’s the case of Indians today. You talk to anyone in India, they have a brother in Los Angeles or sister in Chicago. I don’t think that creative vision, sentiment, artistic expression are defined by geographic boundary.

This is a public-private partnership. How do you balance the various stakeholders?

A project like this shouldn’t be directed by one person. It’s consensual decision making. I’ve been doing it all my life. When I started at the V&A in London, everything was decided by groups. Here, we have a steering committee, which represents all the key partners and different cultural institutions in India. Everybody comments, people have the right to disagree. We have a WhatsApp group, and Zoom meetings. It’s a public project, and it’s important that everything is analysed and discussed and approved together. It’s a true reflection of India.

Geographies of Distance will run at the Venice Biennale from May 9 to November 22.

The writer is a Mumbai-based journalist and author.

More than 50 art exhibitions opened in the capital in time for, and alongside, the India Art Fair (IAF). These were in addition to the stacked calendar of private dinners, parties and receptions hosted for the art world which congregated in the city. Since its establishment in 2008, IAF has successfully carved out a moment in the cultural calendar for its home city. A coordinated slot when the work taking place privately in artist studios, collections and archives comes out in public view.

The weekend before the fair, a group of artists, professors, coders and students were in the audience of the Khoj International Artists’ Association’s symposium on digital and machine-oriented life today, held at the Goethe-Institut. The symposium picked cues from a concurrently running exhibition at Khoj’s Khirkee space and the DLF Avenue Mall in Saket, asking the question ‘Are You Human?’. On the agenda were delivery apps, AI (artificial intelligence), online love scams and more. We were also given some creative solutions. Artist Tara Kelton’s project, for example, manipulated a digital gig-work platform to ‘donate’ moments of rest to its workers.

A cascade of exhibitions followed, with Defence Colony’s growing set of well-regarded galleries opening shows on the same evening (two days before IAF), as is now tradition. Pieces of Mumbai and Chennai were lodged in GallerySKE and PHOTOINK. Artist Sudarshan Shetty’s film, A Breath Held Long, highlighted Mumbai’s alternating quiet and deafening roar, and upstairs, photographer Ketaki Sheth captured Bollywood and Kollywood’s 1980s-90s film sets in black-and-white photographs, with the familiar faces of Rekha, Kamal Haasan and Dilip Kumar caught between takes.

Rekha on the set of Souten ki Beti, Juhu, Bombay, 1988
| Photo Credit:
Ketaki Sheth

(L-R) Revathi, Kamal Haasan and Gautami on the set of Thevar Magan, Madras, 1992
| Photo Credit:
Ketaki Sheth

Dodiya and Kallat give pause

At Vadehra Art Gallery, veteran artist Atul Dodiya’s large new paintings reflected on the experience of looking at art itself, with paintings within paintings, including viewers within the frame. A few days later, at a talk on the art market in the IAF auditorium, gallerist Roshini Vadehra revealed that the entire body of work was sold out before the exhibition even opened.

Atul Dodiya’s Portrait of an Artist
| Photo Credit:
Anil R.

It was not possible to race through Jitish Kallat’s exhibition, Conjectures on a Paper Sky, at Bikaner House, nor digest it completely. It was useful instead, to pick one topic or motif and follow its evolution through the artworks made over the last decade. Take space governance. Large ‘sheets’ of the 1979 UN Moon Treaty prohibiting the national ownership or military use of the moon were crumpled and strewn at the entrance, as if a wasted idea. Later, a woven tangle of highway signs included distances to planets and galaxies alongside those to cities such as Melbourne and Rishikesh. Drawings interpreting a cold-war era transmission to the stars were made on paper dyed with a beige-tone known as ‘cosmic latte’, the average colour of light in space. Here was an artist “asking how the world is known, measured, and imagined”, as curator Alexandra Munroe, of the Guggenheim, explained.

Jitish Kallat’s Conjectures on a Paper Sky

From Weiwei to Mehta

On the opening day, the fair’s aisles were dotted with purposeful museum heads and private collectors. Galleries such as Vadehra, David Zwirner and Rajiv Menon Contemporary reported to have sold many, if not most, high-value works available in their booths. Among Zwirner’s highlight sales was a photograph by German artist Wolfgang Tillmans. Photography, often sidelined in art market conversations, has been increasingly prominent at the fair. The photography-only gallery PHOTOINK received the fair’s inaugural ‘best booth’ title from an independent jury. “The last five years have seen rapid growth,” said founder Devika Daulet Singh, noting the role of private museum and collection acquisitions in sparking interest from an expanded, older collector base for the medium.

Later in the day, the mood shifted with programmes starting around the fairgrounds and larger groups coming through. In the afternoon, 30 Indian artists under 30 years of age were recognised by ART India magazine, in an award ceremony with Ghanaian artist Ibrahim Mahama.

The next day, a packed room at the Kiran Nadar Museum of Art (KNMA) listened to iconoclast Chinese artist-activist Ai Weiwei speak during his first ever visit to India — spanning his life, dissident work, and India’s political economy viz-a-viz China. The conversation was hosted outside the museum’s newly opened retrospective exhibition of Tyeb Mehta, a champion of Indian modernism best known for his auction-record-breaking paintings of Kali and Mahishasura.

Ai Weiwei’s Who am I? at Palazzo Fava, in Italy
| Photo Credit:
Getty Images

Among Mehta’s quotes scattered throughout Bearing Weight (with the lightness of being) was one emphasising the importance of Indian art to have a dialogue beyond national borders — “minding one’s business would be suicidal in our situation,” he wrote to his friend and contemporary, Krishen Khanna. As if taking cue, the museum has been working vigorously with arts organisations internationally. It recently announced a new director, Manuel Rabate, currently finishing his time at the Louvre museum in Abu Dhabi, and who will oversee KNMA’s expansion into a new sprawling million-square-feet building in Delhi.

A Tyeb Mehta artwork

Craft gets its due

Artworks that explore the history and delicacy of textiles travelled from the Cheongju Craft Biennale in South Korea to the National Craft Museum & Hastkala Academy. Notable highlights were a series of flags produced by Korean artist Young In Hong working with a women’s craft community in Kutch, and in an almost hidden second room, Bengaluru-based artist Kaimurai’s almost-devotional installation of indigo-dyed cloth.

Artist Kaimurai’s almost indigo-dyed cloth installation

At IAF, conversations on craft have been ongoing for many editions now. It adopted ‘design’, a sister-field to art, as a dedicated section two years ago. This year, artist Natasha Preenja, also known as Princess Pea, was awarded the first-ever Swali Craft Prize, an initiative by Karishma Swali and the Chanakya Foundation alongside the fair to create tangible support for those renewing handcraft traditions.

 Natasha Preenja, also known as Princess Pea

Focus on the grassroots

Adjoining the halls dedicated to commercial galleries, a tent was dedicated to non-profit organisations and special artist projects. Sidhant Kumar showed Studies from a Quiet Harvest, his long-term research into heavy-metal pollution in West Delhi, where he is now based, in the Prameya Art Foundation booth. An installation by Mumbai artist Teja Gavankar, Breathe, which came to the fair from the Serendipity Arts Festival in Goa, had a thatched structure that moved like gills, ‘breathing’ in response to visitors’ weights when they sat on a hinged bench.

Teja Gavankar’s Breathe

The structure ‘breathed’ in response to visitors’ weights when they sat on a hinged bench

The fair’s Learning Space was activated by Assam’s Anga Art Collective, and Patiala-based Kulpreet Singh paid attention to threatened animal, plant and fungi species in an adjoining installation, both presented by KNMA. A snapshot, in a way, of the country’s current art scene.

A detail from Kulpreet Singh’s project Extinction Archive

Arthshila, a newly opened industrial building close to the IAF grounds in Okhla, captured the past 50 years of the leading edge of Indian contemporary art. Some of the most remarkable works by artists supported by the Inlaks Shivdasani Foundation were curated across the building, talking to one another across generations. Particularly arresting were Prajakta Potnis’ haunting image of a frozen egg for use in a future emergency, Sahej Rahal’s co-controller video game set in a post-apocalyptic world, and Abul Hisham’s hazy paintings and intricate wooden beams.

As always, during the closing hours of IAF, its large group of interns and volunteers posed for a group picture in front of the fair’s tent facade. Many return year after year.

India Art Fair team at the end of the fair

The conclusion of the fair week means much-awaited rest for those working behind the scenes. But many of the exhibitions remain open for the rest of us to catch in the months to come. And outside the gallery spaces, don’t miss the 10th Lodhi Art Festival and a new architectural pavilion, Aranyani, at Sunder Nursery.

The writer is an arts professional, offering an insider’s view on the scene.

When we think of creation myths in our country, we usually jump to the big Sanskrit stories: Brahma sitting on a lotus, Vishnu sleeping on the serpent, Shiva dancing the cosmos into being. But India is not just Vedas and Puranas. India is also Bhil, Gond, Santhal, Khasi, Banjara, Dhangar, Koli, Toda, Rabari, Munda, Nicobarese, and Lepcha. Each of these communities has its own memory of how the world began.

For Bhils of western India, the world began when their deity Babo Pithora dived into the primordial ocean and brought up mud. From this mud came earth. Babo and Rani Kajal decorated the earth like a painted wall, filling it with colour and life. To this day, Bhil homes carry pithora paintings — ritual murals that recreate that first moment of creation. Creation, here, is art. God is a painter.

The Gonds say that Bhagavan, the great creator, sent an earthworm to bring up mud from beneath the waters. Then came Lingo, the first bard, who sang the world into culture. In this myth, creation is not complete until someone sings. Music and ritual finish what mud and water begin. It is a reminder that civilisation is not just built but also performed.

Gond art

Of family, loss, livelihood

The Santhals of Jharkhand speak of Thakur Jiu, who placed the first couple, Pilchu Haram and Pilchu Budhi, on a hilltop when the world was still water and sky. A goose brought up mud, land formed, and the couple’s many children populated the earth. The Santhal myth is intimate, domestic, with a clear ancestral tree. It is less about gods and more about parents and children — a family story.

The Khasis of Meghalaya imagine that once all humans lived in heaven, descending to earth by a cosmic tree. But one day, the tree was cut down. The path to heaven was lost forever. The myth explains not only how the world was made, but why we feel separated from the divine. Creation is not just a beginning — it is a loss.

The Banjaras tell of Sevalal Maharaj, who asked for land when the world was covered with water. A fish or turtle brought up the mud that became earth. Sevalal then taught the Banjaras how to trade, roam, and cook. Here, creation is tied to livelihood. The point of the myth is not just to explain the earth, but to explain why Banjaras are forever on the move.

Born from fish eggs and for buffaloes

The Dhangars, shepherds of Maharashtra, imagine that when the earth was barren, God first made sheep, then a man to herd them, then a woman to share his work. Their seven sons became the seven Dhangar clans. Creation here is pastoral. The world becomes meaningful only when there are flocks and shepherds to tend them.

The Kolis of the west coast say they were born from fish eggs. The ocean mother gave them legs so they could live on land, but their heart would always belong to the sea. For the Todas of the Nilgiris, the buffalo came before man. Humans were created just to care for the buffalo and offer its milk in ritual. For the Rabaris of Kutch, Parvati shaped the camel from desert clay and asked Shiva to give it life. The Rabaris came next, to guide the camel across the desert sands.

Each myth reflects its geography. Sea myths make us children of the ocean. Mountain myths make us keepers of buffalo. Desert myths make us guardians of camels. River myths, like those of the Mundas, speak of Singbonga, who sent birds to fetch earth from the cosmic sea so that rivers, forests, and humans could appear.

In the Nicobarese tale, a giant crab lifts the land out of the ocean, and humans are made from the soft inner wood of the first tree. The Lepchas of Sikkim say Kanchenjunga was the first mountain, and its melting snow made the first river, whose clay was used to fashion humans.

Respect for ecology

These myths are not just about cosmology, they are about ecology. They teach us to respect the sea, the forest, the mountain, the desert, the river. They locate human identity in relation to animals — fish, birds, buffalo, camels — and in relation to work, such as painting, singing, herding, trading.

In Brahmanical myths, the world is often created for the sake of yajna, sacrifice. In tribal myths, the world is created for the sake of relationships: with nature, with animals, with each other.

In these many beginnings, we find not one truth but many truths. And perhaps that is the real gift of India — that creation is not a single Big Bang, but a thousand small songs, each sung in a different tongue, each rooted in a different soil, each pointing to a different way of being human.

Devdutt Pattanaik is the author of 50 books on mythology, art and culture.

Published – February 12, 2026 02:50 pm IST

Aruna Nambiar remembers the security guard of her apartment who would regularly feed a community dog in the neighbourhood. “He was an undemonstrative man, but he loved that dog and would steal away to the store to buy biscuits for her, and let her cuddle up to him in the nights,” she says. This relationship between the dog and the security guard appears to be the inspiration for Lucy, one of the 13 stories in her recently released book Aiyyo, What Will the Neighbours Say?

“I wanted to write a story about that from the dog’s point of view,” says the Bengaluru-based writer, whose ideas often come from what she sees around her. While her novels are often “born from a central premise, usually an idea I feel strongly about,” the stories in this short story collection have been sparked by seemingly quotidian things.

“Happier Journeys by a family I observed on vacation, The Great Indian Vacation by travellers I’ve met, Manic Monday by an enterprising little girl I saw at a store, Nothing by an obituary in the paper and Courtroom Drama by the things one sees on television when a politically charged verdict is announced,” says Aruna, adding that “she seems to have this habit of filing things away in my head. When I start to write, they come back to me.”

Aiyyo, What Will the Neighbours Say?, Aruna’s first collection of short stories, comprises 13 witty, twist-in-the-tale tales that reflect the ironies, idiosyncrasies, and quirkiness of everyday life in contemporary India. These stories have been gestating for a few years now, with most written between 2023 and 2024, and a few even earlier, she says. “Courtroom Drama was probably the earliest, which I wrote for an anthology (Jest Like That) published in 2018.”

Aiyyo, What Will the Neighbours Say? is Aruna’s first collection of short stories
| Photo Credit:
Special Arrangement

Aruna, a former banker holding degrees in engineering and management, has been writing since childhood. “I enjoyed writing when I was in school and college…was the editor of my school magazine…used to be the girl who would be writing during my commute on the train in Mumbai, where I used to live.” Then life and work happened, and writing “fell by the wayside” until she moved abroad in the early 2000s and quit her bank job. “When I returned, I thought I should try some writing, so I started writing financial articles for a national daily.”

She forayed into fiction soon after, in 2005 or so, beginning with short stories, some of which were published in a collection by a small independent publishing house, Unisun Publications. “They also asked me to edit a travel collection they were working on. I didn’t know anything about editing at that time, because I don’t have a background in literature, but they told me that since I could write, I could also edit.”

Aruna went on to work for Stark World, which did travel publishing, including some books on Bengaluru and Karnataka. “I did a bit of writing and editing for them. Then, I worked as a freelance editor with Westland Books and Penguin,” says Aruna, who believes that having this editing experience was useful because it helped her hone “my critical eye for my work.”

She began writing her first novel, Mango Cheeks, Metal Teeth, “a social satire, whose central premise was the relationship between the householder and domestic help” , in 2011 or ‘12. “It was published at the end of 2013, and I have been writing fiction since then,” says Aruna, also the author of The Monsters Still Lurk (2019), an exploration of ageing, and The Weird Women’s Club (2022), a celebration of sisterhood and women who do not fit into societal standards and expectations.

Aruna already has several ideas for her next project, though she isn’t very sure what they will become: a novel or a collection of short stories. “Like all writers, I have this secret folder of ideas, some of which become characters, episodes or scenes in a novel, others which become short stories.” Different writing forms, Aruna says, require you to flex different writing muscles. “In a short story, one doesn’t have the luxury of backstory or the gradual building up of plots and characters. Every sentence must earn its place, and often does double duty, moving the story forward while painting a character or describing a setting.”

Irrespective of form, however, one thing ties all her writing together: humour, which she says was “an important part of my reading and writing experience.” According to her, it was books such as Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt and The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon that taught her that one could write about serious subjects with humour and lightness. “Humour steals up on you quite gently but can expose social inequalities and hypocrisies with great effect. It can highlight the pompous and the ridiculous, and reveal the flaws and vulnerabilities of great dictators and mighty institutions alike, thus blunting their influence and changing the equations of power.”

Aruna also loves the work of authors such as PG Wodehouse, Bill Bryson, Dave Barry, Richard Gordon, David Nicholls, Nick Hornby, Helen Fielding, Anuja Chauhan, Marina Lewycka, RK Narayan, Roald Dahl, Daphne du Maurier, Saki, and O. Henry, among many others. “I do feel, though, that writers must, as they mature, move beyond influences and discover their own voice, and I hope mine is one that is contemporary, tongue-in-cheek and rooted in Indian culture.”

Published – February 12, 2026 11:17 am IST

According to Midhun Mohan, a Malayali entrepreneur from Kodungallur living in Warsaw, Poland, the story behind Ayurvod, a vodka-based herbal liqueur inspired by the Ayurvedic traditions, goes back to 2018, when he was out barhopping with his European friends. At one of the watering holes, a friend suggested he try a German herbal alcoholic drink, claiming it was inspired by Ayurveda.

Intrigued, Midhun set out to find the Indian roots behind the drink. While he discovered that the ingredients, such as spices and aromatics for this century-old beverage, were imported from India, it had no direct relation to Ayurveda, despite some equating it with an arishtam (traditional Ayurvedic fermented herbal liquid medicine).

This inspired Midhun to distil Ayurvod, a name derived from the portmanteau of terms Ayurveda and vodka. The drink recently won a gold medal at the 2025 Warsaw Spirits Competition in the herbal liqueur category.

Ayurvod won a gold medal at the 2025 Warsaw Spirits Competition in the herbal liqueur category.  
| Photo Credit:
SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

“After I came across the German beverage, I enquired about alcoholic beverages in Ayurveda with Ayurveda practitioners in my circle. While there were fermented drinks like arishtam and asava, they were considered medicines and not used for recreational consumption. The only alcoholic drinks my friends found in the ancient texts were sura and phalamadhya, which were fruit-based,” says Midhun.

The entrepreneur adds, “As Indians, we do not consider making alcohol a prestigious business. But countries like the Czech Republic and Italy have herbal drinks such as Becherovka and Amaro, respectively. India has the heritage of making such botanical beverages, but other countries are using our ancient techniques.”

Ayurvod vodka
| Photo Credit:
SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

Ayurvod is bottled at around 40% Alcohol by Volume and contains around 75 ingredients, including clove, cinnamon, cardamom, gooseberries, cumin, dry ginger, black pepper, star anise, mace, turmeric, coriander, and dry grapes, among others. “Ayurvod combines the structure of a vodka with the smoothness and aromatic richness of a herbal liqueur,” says Midhun.

During its initial days of production, Midhun had approached distilleries in Poland to blend Indian spices with vodka. However, the flavours were considered “too harsh” for consumption, says Midhun. That was when his friend and distiller Mariusz Pluciński suggested he add some Polish forest fruits to make the taste milder.

“Ayurvod also contains jaggery for sweetness. Usually, people add sugar or caramel but jaggery gives it a completely distinct sweetness that Europeans haven’t experienced.”

The beverage was made with a European market in mind, says Midhun. “Initially, distillers were of the impression that I was an Indian guy trying to make an Indian beverage with historical origins. At each stage, when we released new samples, I was checking with industrial specialists in the country.”

He adds that the European market is easier to enter. “Currently, I am selling only in Poland, but I have clients from Europe and West Asia asking for it.”

Midhun says, “India is a difficult market for alcoholic beverages. The making procedure is also complicated, due to which we cannot easily scale up. I want to sell in India, but not immediately.”

The journalist-turned-entrepreneur recommends consuming Ayurvod neat as a shot. “However, 40% alcohol is not easy to drink. It can be consumed with energy drinks too.”

Apart from Ayurvod, Midhun is currently working on another beverage called Charayam, translated as arrack in Malayalam. “Charayam is trying to recreate what was banned during the prohibition in 1996. I want it to be accurate as before with the same flavour and alcohol volume.”

He adds, “I am also thinking of a beverage based on palada payasam (pudding made using rice ada). There are liqueurs with flavours of dessert. I think we can do the same with palada. I bought some payasam from Kerala last week and I have spoken to distilleries about what the beverage is and how it should taste. I aim to take Indian flavours that can go with alcohol and introduce them to the world.”

Published – February 12, 2026 11:10 am IST

From last year’s Comic Con
| Photo Credit: SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT