Opinion

I am not “that” mother. The one who dotes on her son. The one who waits on him hand and foot. The one who thinks the sun and moon revolves around his sweet cherub face. The one who thinks the kid shouldn’t lift a finger.

Spiritualists back in the day commanded crowds of punters with a handful of cloves. Rows of rough wooden benches lined the narrow cemented pathway. At the end, Trance Aunty’s bright yellow, wood and iron temple nestled in between two towering six-family flats.

When finances get tight, one still has to replace a shirt with a hole in it, but tattered underwear can be worn for longer, writes Kanthan Pillay.

Culture is fluid and we, as women, have the right to shape our own cultures that can complement our modern lifestyles, writes Sheetal Bhoola.