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Ira Mathur

Sunday, March 11, 2018
On a day so crisp this week the trees in the Savannah looked like they were touched up by master painter, the light falling with elongated slants, the shade of branches dancing with the sun on the str
Sunday, February 25, 2018
The images of the rioting out of East Port-of-Spain last Monday could have been from a war zone, with residents blocking the streets with debris, throwing stones, burning garbage and tires.
Sunday, February 11, 2018
It happened on a pre-Carnival night with the pans being tuned in the balmy dark in yards across the city, on the cusp of hills, deep into areas where few dare to venture after nightfall.
Sunday, January 28, 2018
That rainy day when puddles settled in crevices of enclosed car park I stood by the entrance to a building holding the door open to man after man who walked in and out, none seeing the irony of it, no
Sunday, January 14, 2018
“He who awaits much can expect little.” —Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Sunday, December 31, 2017
I will be glad to see the back of 2017. If there is one image that is emblematic of last year it’s my husband and I holding on to one another for our dear lives during an earthquake.
Sunday, December 17, 2017
“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”
Sunday, December 3, 2017
The tall green doors of jail opened. A prison guard peered out, looked me in the eye and slammed it shut. I stood outside with three woman, one with a child, waiting for the guard to reappear.
Sunday, November 19, 2017
History will record that the Islamic State caliphate—a bizarre pseudo-state founded on illusory goals, created by a global horde of jihadis, and enforced with perverted viciousness—survived for three
Sunday, November 5, 2017
Sexual abuse, abandonment, ghosting after an intense relationship: unimaginable cruelty by the predator leaving victims in a dark tunnel.