The public health infrastructure rests on the shoulders of thousands of women who impart care labor without access to any social security net.
Here’s a grim statistic: around 45 out of every hundred people whose deaths were registered in 2020 — the first year of the pandemic — died without receiving any medical attention.
How safe do journalists feel in their field of work? It depends on who you ask. More specifically, it depends on their gender.
India’s latest rundown on health infrastructure and access to care remains laden with grim statistics. One takeaway among the findings of the latest National Health and Family Survey speaks of the health-seeking behaviors among survivors of gender-based violence.
We have a task for all of you. In the end of October, the first year of the pandemic, activist Devangana Kalita wrote to people on the outside.
It is indeed a truth both jarring and recurring that distance can determine if, and how, women engage with their pregnancies.
In 2019, playwright Finegan Kruckemeyer imagined a circuit breaker for climate crisis with his play Hibernation: a world where people could plunge into a deep slumber to evade the catastrophe of heatwaves, floods, and extreme weather.
We live in cities of volatility. Heat waves sweep across parts in a blanket of red and orange, just as easily as devastating floods halt life and livelihood. Droughts, locusts, and natural disasters are becoming frequent and fierce; leaving a city, and its people, to respond to climate crises.
The Indian Bank’s hiring guidelines audaciously refuse to hire pregnant women who have crossed the 12-week mark.
This is a story of a reality sordid and sour, a pride jingoistic and misplaced, and the elimination of a civil right that forever changes the story of women and their bodily autonomy in another country and, arguably, the world over.