On her inner left forearm, American teenager Margaret Koukos carries a comforting Biblical line, tattooed in curling, cursive script, “Love never fails…” Taken from Corinthians 1, the popular verse pronounces in the new international version of the Testament, “Love is patient, love is kind.
Margaret is a beautiful 19-year-old American with black hair, a big smile and a bare midriff.
With over 30 albums and a range of songs, the energetic Guyanese-born chutney artiste, Terry Gajraj continues to tour and produce, more than two decades after his biggest hit.
As a child, I heard vivid stories from my father about his fearless mother, a flashing firecracker, who thumped contrite men, foolish enough to interfere with her family and livelihood.
I am related to every person living in the world today.
This year, I received an unusual birthday gift of a small, possible Pandora’s box that seemed simple and innocuous with bright rainbow-like stripes against crisp, white cardboard.
This week, the story broke of California Governor Ronald Reagan calling African delegates to the United Nations, “monkeys” in a 1971 slur that sparked chuckles from President Richard Nixon.
In our family’s music collection is a well-loved classic composition by the old time Trinidadian calypsonian Mighty Spoiler about the magistrate who tries himself for speeding.
With bits of wood and bare rubber bands, the young Hungarian Professor Ernő Rubik created a small prototype cube that went on to become the world’s most popular toy.
French writer, Albert Camus popularised the philosophy of the absurd in his works, including the essay, “The Myth of Sisyphus,” about the cunning Greek king, condemned to a cruel fate.
The Mighty Sparrow offered the most creative explanations for philandering in his classic hit, “Lying excuses” putting to shame Shaggy’s steadfast denials years later, “It Wasn’t Me.”
It must rank as an extraordinary moment in the short, checkered history of the Caribbean Court of Justice (CCJ).
“People shouldn’t be afraid of their government. Governments should be afraid of their people.”
Shortly after dawn, as the sun suffuses the eastern sky and temperatures start to rise, the bees arrive to forage on the bright yellow flowers crowding the wild “carille” vine.
Chugging and coughing, the engine of the launch would settle into a hypnotic hum, as we journeyed up the meandering mirrors of the Mahaica River to my grandmother’s farm.
A beautiful flash of brilliant cobalt blue caught my eye in the Saturday sunlight.
As I opened the front door, a giant hawk glided from the thorny bael tree that is a thirsty tangle of thin branches bleached bare by the harsh drought.
We met in a mall bookstore. She was waiting to purchase the latest publication by Trinidadian historian and author, Angelo Bissessarsingh to add to her extensive collection.
They came for my laughing father late one evening. Dad was playing dominoes with jolly friends outside in the yard, as he did most afternoons after construction work, slamming the tiles with such force, the makeshift table that was really a leftover slab of peeling, painted plyboard, shivered for a second, sprung up and settled back down, shaking with surprise.
As a child I loved accompanying my stout father, Mr Big, to the city sea wall for his regular swim after a brisk walk atop the crumbling Fort Groyne.
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