Food Photography

Nobanno | Nabanno

Thursdays are special. These are Lokkhibaar, days when Grandma and Maa offer prayers to the generous Goddess ...

Every year, on the last day of the Hindu calendar month of Ashwin , Grandma would cook a special dal. Eight ...

The doorbell rang. The man and I are in the garden, S engrossed in his email that has arrived overnight, I ...

I have sulked all morning. It’s unacceptable and unfair, I have rehearsed the fervent pitch in ...

I wake up to charcoal bruised heavens and the pitter-patter of rain this morning. It’s not ...

The man has brought home some absolute gorgeous Hilsa, D rattles on the phone, animated and impatient, ...

We would observe the ancient lady at work everyday. She would be at the live counter of the kitchen, dressed ...

We were enamored by the stories my sister-in-law returned with from her trip to Brazil. The indescribable ...

Pizza was not part of my growing up years. The sleepy hamlet of Karimganj had not yet woken up to the allure ...

The otherwise demure laptop started grumbling despairingly last evening, all the space had been exhausted, so ...

It’s a rain-drenched July afternoon. A knock on the door shakes me out of slumber. Such an ideal weather ...

No one in the school, not even Durwanji, with his pretentious twirling moustache, and usually an ...