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Skye Arundhati Thomas
Skye Arundhati Thomas is co-editor of The White Review.

Articles Available Online


Interview with Bani Abidi

Interview

Issue No. 33

Skye Arundhati Thomas

Interview

Issue No. 33

In the three-minute short Mangoes (1999) by Berlin-based Pakistani artist Bani Abidi, two women sit next to each other on a white table, each with...

Art Review

February 2019

Simryn Gill, Soft Tissue

Skye Arundhati Thomas

Art Review

February 2019

I walked into Simryn Gill’s exhibition SOFT TISSUE at Jhaveri Contemporary on one of the worst days of an...

there is no meaning Hanging a picture on the wall I           give           a little too much force to my thumb skin breaks under pressure an orb of blood      red        red to dark red       to dry red       to skin       to iron       to rust      to heat        to sweat        to yesterdays as we move, we move Tuesday Going into the city with the rest of them sliding down the greased pole of means become ends Let me tell you I slipped and travelled against the sharp grain of escalator, one flight of metal before I hit flat floor and crack, to the back of my head I cried like a child oh I oh I said me        am in pain   I was at work by the afternoon At home by early evening feeling burning scratches on the backs of my legs and the bruised curve of my head My mind curved bruised   In bed, the sheets scraped and tugged me sore any way I tried to lie I     face down, looking for a cool place, stretched out an arm and all that was solid dematerialised I     a nothing slipped into water Water, as pressure I felt the water as pressure I’d always thought of pressure as a pushing down     oh      it was every drop of water for miles working into me There was nothing to my fingers, no weight, no force on the pads of my feet, no cold draught wafting past the hairs of my skin, no sound, no sight I couldn’t set my watch to nothing   I waited I couldn’t scream, unaware of mouth or lungs to do so not breathing, not dead, not alive No fear Not yet Eyes wide open into dark, and no sense Unsayable   The Friday, I dropped in on Uncle Padana It was early summer: shadows fold neatly round corners, light warms the backs of the hands until four and cools before six He answered the phone in a lady voice as I stood outside his consulting room door, then buzzed me in, He’s ready for you now He was sitting behind his desk, leaning back in his chair, looking boyish, expectant, tired A Ceropegia hung from the bookshelf and fondled

Contributor

February 2018

Skye Arundhati Thomas

Contributor

February 2018

Skye Arundhati Thomas is co-editor of The White Review.

Bani Abidi & Naeem Mohaiemen, I wish to let you fall out of my hands (Chapter 1)

Art Review

February 2018

Skye Arundhati Thomas

Art Review

February 2018

Loneliness is mostly narrative. It also has an aesthetic: an empty tableau in which the lonely act is performed. In Naeem Mohaiemen’s Tripoli Cancelled...
The characters in We That Are Young reside at ‘The Farm’ – a sprawling house in New Delhi complete with its own topiary of fat peacocks, bulbous pink flowers with English names, Fendi furniture, and a room in which it snows at the press of a button It’s not far removed from reality – Antilla, the world’s first billion-dollar residence for a single family of four, is a 40-storey building that towers over the suburbs of South Mumbai, replete with a staff of over 600 people, its own electrical power grid, ten-storey parking for a collection of unusable vintage cars, and a room, of course, where it snows on demand In dialogue with Shakespeare’s King Lear, Taneja’s debut novel explores the lives of a family that owns a multinational conglomerate, ‘The Company’, to which each character’s fate (and inheritance) is inextricably tied We have our patriarch, the Lear figure, Devraj; his three daughters Sita, Radha and Gargi; and his right-hand man Ranjit’s two sons, Jeet and Jivan The embarrassment of riches makes for an irresistible, if outlandish, setting; Taneja vividly indulges our intrigue in the way the rich conduct their daily lives, letting her words ooze out their luxury – filthy, yet so desirable After a particularly gruesome scene in which Radha administers the plucking out of a man’s eyes, she steps back into her suite and calls for a pot of first flush Assam, and rose macaroons   A reinterpretation of Shakespeare is the perfect postcolonial conquest: he remains the epitome of the Western canon, patriarchal, and repeatedly failing to include representations of the ‘other’ without recourse to parody Mainstream appropriations of Shakespeare in South Asia, such as Bollywood filmmaker Vishal Bharadwaj’s trilogy Maqbool (Macbeth), Omkara (Othello), and Haider (Hamlet), have generally taken us to rural settings, wherein tragedy is relegated to a matter of the lower castes Taneja, a Shakespearean academic and human rights activist, eschews such stereotypes, and goes straight for the jugular: the innate hypocrisy of the Indian class and caste system ‘It’s not about land, it’s about money,’ states the first line of the book, taking
Preti Taneja’s ‘We That Are Young’

Book Review

October 2017

Skye Arundhati Thomas


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feature

June 2013

Jean Genet in Spain

Juan Goytisolo

TR. Peter Bush

feature

June 2013

‘1932. Spain at the time was over-run with vermin, its beggars. They went from village to village, in Andalusia...

feature

May 2012

Film: Palestine Festival of Literature

Omar Robert Hamilton

feature

May 2012

Resistance needs to be recorded. Resistance needs symbols: ideas that can travel faster than speech, last longer than memory....

poetry

Issue No. 10

Letter to a Frozen Peas Manufacturer

Lydia Davis

poetry

Issue No. 10

Dear Frozen Peas Manufacturer, We are writing to you because we feel that the peas illustrated on your package of...

 

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