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   <title>New Statesman - <![CDATA[Amitava Kumar]]></title>
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   <title><![CDATA[Here, even doctors are not trusted]]></title>
   <link>http://www.newstatesman.com/200209230020</link>
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   <pubDate>Mon, 23 Sep 2002 12:00:00 GMT</pubDate>
   <dc:creator>Amitava Kumar</dc:creator>
  
  <description><![CDATA[<p><em>In Kashmir, it is said, the disputed border runs through every street, every office, every room. Amitava Kumar reports on a country controlled from bunkers</em></p>

<p>Srinagar is dusty, the dust choking the busy streets and clinging to the dark wooden houses covered with corrugated iron. At every few feet stands a soldier with a rifle, his head under a helmet and a bulletproof vest on his chest.</p>
<p>Outside an army bunker is a painted sign: "Please Prove Your Identity". The eye takes in the image of the dust, the rust and the soldier on the  <a href="http://www.newstatesman.com/200209230020">[...]</a></p>
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   <title><![CDATA[A notebook for Mr Biswas]]></title>
   <link>http://www.newstatesman.com/200109030012</link>
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   <pubDate>Mon, 03 Sep 2001 12:00:00 GMT</pubDate>
   <dc:creator>Amitava Kumar</dc:creator>
  
  <description><![CDATA[<p><em>V S Naipaul now argues that the welfare state has created an army of thugs. But, once, his enlightened views on culture and society inspired Amitava Kumar</em></p>

<p>I was standing on a street in Chaguanas, Trinidad, with a camera in my hand. In front of me, across the street, was the house where V S Naipaul spent his childhood. It was February, but the afternoon was hot and the air sticky. Two young black men stopped by and asked me questions. They knew about Snoop Dogg but couldn't place the writer Naipaul. The youths posed for me  <a href="http://www.newstatesman.com/200109030012">[...]</a></p>
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