
Nilosree Biswas
Author, Filmmaker, Columnist at Freelance
Finding intersection writing about #History #culture #cinema #food of #Asia | Author recently of 'Calcutta on Your Plate' | Filmmaker fueled by #coffee ☕️
Articles
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2 weeks ago |
khaleejtimes.com | Nilosree Biswas
Did you know that Jay, Veeru, Gabbar and Thakur, the infallible iconic characters from forever Bollywood blockbuster Sholay (The Amber, 1975), visited Hatta recently in their cutest funky avatar.
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1 month ago |
trt.global | Nilosree Biswas
At this time of the year, Istanbul turns into a mosaic of colour. Sprouting from their bulbs in full bloom, tulips spill across parks, mosque courtyards, and along the Bosphorus promenades, dancing in shades of red, violet, saffron, and white. But tulips are more than ornamental. Historically, they were political symbols, luxury goods, and emblems of identity. In the early 18th century, they came to define a distinctive period known as the (1718–1730), or Tulip Era.
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1 month ago |
aramcoworld.com | Nilosree Biswas
Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn (1606-1669), popularly known as Rembrandt, is arguably one of the greatest artists ever, famed for his myriad creations, which include biblical scenes, resplendent portraits of European elites, and a multitude of self-portraits, intense and nuanced. He was also a printmaker, draughtsman and a keen and voracious collector, acquiring from the world over. As his career progressed over the years, Rembrandt’s collection grew noteworthy.
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1 month ago |
khaleejtimes.com | Nilosree Biswas
The author, food critic and curator on making it in the food businessThe Speaker’s Lounge at Jaipur Lit Fest (JLF) was filled with the delectable aroma of freshly baked chocolate au pain as the pale afternoon light filtered through the curtains and into the space where I was supposed to meet Matt Preston, one of the MasterChef Australia jury members who happened to be my co-panellist in an upcoming session.
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2 months ago |
trt.global | Nilosree Biswas
That year, Eid–a national holiday– fell on August 18, at the peak of monsoon. At home in Kolkata, the stout looking olive-green phone, its thick black wire vanishing behind the ornate legs of our teakwood side table, rang like a rooster with no snooze button. It was Nani, my maternal grandmother, calling us over for lunch. I remember setting off to hers guarded by my favourite big red umbrella.
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