Samyukta Writes

Goodbye, Asha Ji!

Samyukta Parchure — Thu, 07 May 2026 06:43:20 GMT

This blog could not have come any earlier, as I am still processing the fact that Asha Ji is no longer with us. Don’t worry, this is not going to be any sort of biographical piece about her. Nor am I here to say things like, “I am a huge fan of her voice” or “how melodious her voice was!” Because that is something all of us already know, and everyone is a fan of Asha Ji. Irrespective of age, language, or gender, the moment you enter this world, you automatically become her fan. I think it’s like a default process we all undergo.

My earliest memory of her song goes back to when I was about 9–10 years old and had recently joined a music class. It was the early monsoon season, and my friends and I were busy preparing for the Guru Pournima performance, a yearly ritual our music class followed. I was going to sing Kokila Ga from the Marathi film Baykocha Bhau. My music teacher was quite pleased with my choice of song.

Today, after 15–16 years, I can barely remember my performance. I wasn’t even mature enough then to understand the musical notes or the meaning of the lyrics. However, what I still remember is the magic of Asha Ji’s voice, which I listened to on loop as I tried to perfect the song. Her voice leaves my heart wanting more!

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That said, a question occurred to me: what is the real-time, per-minute streaming rate for songs sung by Asha Bhosale? I asked Google, and it told me that her songs receive around 2.5 million streams daily, which translates to about 1,770 streams per minute globally. This is an amazing statistic because, as I dug deeper, I came across a website that provided song-wise streaming rates, not just in Hindi, but across the many languages she has sung in.

Now, to be honest, I don’t completely trust the statistics from that website, as the list contains several errors and redundancies. However, while going through it, I turned to my Spotify playlist and realised that many of my personal favourites of hers were absent from that list. And some of them aren’t very well known. I’ve been listening to them quite intently over the past few days, and I thought I’d share them with you.

Initially, I wanted to list only a limited number of songs, and I even tried to stick to that. When I started making the list, I made a conscious effort not to include her popular songs. I have been partially successful in this herculean task. Yet, some songs still slithered into the list, and I couldn’t bring myself to remove them. But I don’t think that will be a problem for any listener!

I have categorised the list into two primary groups: solo and duet. Additionally, you will find the name of the movie and its year of release mentioned alongside each song. I have also included the languages for songs other than Hindi. Just click on any song you would like to listen to and enjoy!

P.S.: These songs are just the tip of the iceberg. Many more soulful renditions may be missing from this list. A song’s absence here doesn’t mean I don’t like it; I have simply chosen to keep this list as unique as possible, highlighting some of the lesser-known gems of Asha Ji.

So, I urge you, my gentle readers, not to judge too quickly if any of your favourite songs are missing. I hope this playlist rekindles long-lost memories, reveals hidden treasures and gives your brain a happy dopamine rush! Happy listening (and discovering)!

Click here to find the same playlist on Spotify

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Solo Renditions

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Duet Renditions

Cut Your Veggies Like Abbé Faria!

Samyukta Parchure — Mon, 06 Apr 2026 10:28:28 GMT

My mind was in a fog that day. The person sitting across the table was offering me a deal that would open up fortunes for me. But I already had enough on my plate. By reworking my schedule, it was possible to accommodate this new assignment. Yet my mind froze at the thought that I would be occupied like a bee, wandering here and there from sunrise to sunset.

‘What should I do?’ I asked myself. ‘I just can’t!’

My self-esteem was sinking like the stock market these days, refusing to rise. I was struggling hard to revive my confidence.

And just then, someone tapped me on the shoulder. A man of average height, dressed in a pale green robe, was standing behind me. Layers of his cloak covered his hands, and half-rimmed glasses suited his oblong face. He was wearing a cross and carrying a Bible. He looked like a clergyman. It felt as though he had time-travelled from the 17th or 18th century to a café in a metropolis. A faint smile lingered on his face. I was not expecting to meet such a person in a café, especially in the middle of a meeting.

“Yes, you didn’t call me. I am here on my own!”

‘Can he read my mind?’ I wondered. ‘And why is he speaking in this mysterious Konkani-Portuguese accent?’

“Yes, I can read your mind,” he said, with that same feeble smile.

“You know what,” he continued, “Kator Re Bhaji! - Just do it!”

And like a lightning bolt, I slammed my hand on the table. I felt like I knew this man from somewhere. The sentence he said sounded familiar. It worked like magic on me.

My confidence soared like a bird in flight. I locked in the deal, and we decided to meet again soon to plan the next steps. He left with a poised smile. I sat down again, proudly patting myself on the back. Just then, I saw the clergyman again. By then, I had gathered from his accent that he had a Portuguese background. He was standing in the corner, looking at me with that same faint smile. I had no choice but to invite him over.

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‘Who are you?’ I asked him as he sat down on the chair.

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"The world will ask you who you are, and you will not know the answer, for the world will tell you who you are and who you should be"

I had no idea what he was saying or why he was complicating a simple question I had asked him.

“Have some patience, my dear. I am not here to sign any deal with you. I have come to tell you my story,” he again seamlessly read my mind.

At this point, I gave up on thinking and asked him directly, ‘Have we met before? Why did you come here today? And why are you dressed like this on a hot, sunny day?’

“Lot of questions! Let me answer them one by one,” he said.

Wikimedia claims this picture shows Abbé Faria during his imprisonment in Château d’If. However, I am not sure about this claim.

“My name is José Custódio Faria. The Portuguese called me Abade Faria, and the Frenchmen knew me as Abbé Faria. The English used to call me Abbot Faria. But my personal favourite is the French version.”

What a fancy name, I thought.

“Thanks,” he said, and continued.

“I was a Catholic priest once, as you rightly guessed, born in 1756 in Portuguese-ruled Goa. India, and subsequently the world, were undergoing pivotal changes in power that same year. Siraj-ud-Daula captured Fort William in Calcutta, and in Europe, the British and the French were engaged in the Seven Years’ War. However, far away from all these upheavals, in the lush green hamlet of Candolim, I was born. My father, Caetano de Faria, was a priest. He was a Catholic Bamon (Brahmin) from Colvale. He once told me that his ancestors were Indian Brahmins. Some of our forebears may have converted to Roman Catholicism, and thus that faith continued and eventually came to me”

“The house in Candolim where I was born belonged to my mother’s side of the family. It still exists today as a functioning orphanage. I feel at peace when I look at it now. It seems that people are making good use of it. My sister would have been the happiest person, seeing how the place is being used today.”

Abbé Faria’s sister was an adopted child. It must have been an adventurous decision back then to adopt a child in a country like India, under Portuguese rule.

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“My mother and father had an interesting life,” Abbé Faria continued his story. ‘While pursuing the priesthood, my father abandoned his education to get married. My parents had a happy life with one boy and a little girl. But when I was eight, they separated. My mother joined St. Monica Convent in Goa to become a nun. She eventually rose to the position of prioress in later years.”

I wanted to ask him about his sister. What had happened to her? Where had she gone? How had she dealt with her parents’ separation? But I chose not to bring up that topic.

“At 15, I sailed away from my homeland for the first time. My father and I first travelled to Lisbon, and then to Rome. What happened between these two destinations has long since been wiped from my recollections. But what I remember is a fragile memory of completing a doctorate in theology and philosophy at the University of Rome. If I am not mistaken, my father and I received our degrees from the same university at the same time. Before returning to Portugal in 1780, both of us were ordained as priests.”

It was during this time in Portugal that Faria’s father cried those magical words in a chapel filled with thousands of people. A glaze of delight gleamed in his eyes.

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“On returning to Portugal, with two doctorates under my belt, the Queen of Portugal invited my father and me to preach in her chapel before an august gathering. She was to attend the sermon. The room was filled with Portuguese nobility. I climbed the pulpit and looked at the audience. A few thousand eyes were fixed on me. I was tongue-tied. I had prepared my sermon so well, but the gaze of that crowd drained all my confidence.”

Really? Then what did you do?

“My father, who was standing near me, sensed that something was wrong. He cried aloud in our native Konkani, a language no one else in the august gathering understood,

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"Puta, hi sogli bhaji; kator re bhaji!"
(Son, they’re all vegetables, grass heads; go cut the vegetables!) 
Meaning: This is a simple task, just do it!

At that moment, Abbé Faria looked like a lost wanderer in the forest of his memories. He seemed happy there. I let him wander and continued listening to his story.

“After a few years in Portugal, quite suddenly, we had to flee to Paris. It was 1787 when some priests and military officers in Candolim revolted against the government, planning to overthrow Portuguese colonial rule in Goa. Since my father had served as a priest there, some police officers came looking for us in Lisbon. The police suspected that my father had something to do with the revolt that had broken out in another part of their territory. My father had no idea about any of this. To avoid further complications, we fled to Paris.”

The clergyman’s story was consuming me. His deep, rough voice added weight to every word.

“When we arrived in Paris, I began working as a clergyman, and people started calling me Abbot de Faria. Back then, Mesmer’s theories of hypnosis fascinated me. I read every word he had written. Based on his work, I began developing my own theories. I even became acquainted with the Marquis de Puységur. As far as I remember, I collaborated with him and began experimenting with what is now called hypnology.”1

Marquis de Puységur (Source: Wikipedia)

‘Who was this Mesmer guy?’ I asked

“Franz Anton Mesmer was a German physician. He theorised that a natural energy exists between all animate and inanimate objects. He called this energy “Animal Magnetism,” which later came to be known as “mesmerism.” Shortly before the storming of the Bastille, Mesmer arrived in Paris. He was a tall, handsome man, rumoured to be a magician. Mesmer performed remarkable feats: he could induce local anaesthesia in the skin and tissues of a person. Later, he could convince someone that they were at the seashore or on an ice field, to the extent that the person would feel cold or hear the lapping of waves.”2

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Franz Anton Mesmer (Source: Wikipedia)

Fascinating, I thought. But while I was still figuring out how to pronounce ‘Marquis de Puységur’, Abbé Faria was lost in the lanes of Paris, which, back then, were filled with the air of revolution.

“Both my father and I pursued clerical work in Paris, but we failed to please the authorities. The public mood was difficult to predict. The royal authorities were imprisoning anyone with the slightest connection to the revolutionaries. Even the tiniest hint of mistrust could land a person in the Bastille. Something similar happened to me. I failed to prove my innocence and ended up imprisoned there.”

‘How boring it must have been to sit idly in a closed prison’, I thought to myself.

“It was, it was! But one of the guards there enjoyed playing draughts. That poor fellow used to play alone, and each game lasted only a short while. He had to start over again and again. I often played with him. It was fun for me, and the game lasted a substantial time, which was fun for him as well. For amusement, I even invented a 100-square draughts board, but I hardly ever played on it later in life.”

The besieging of the Bastille, by Claude Cholat, an eyewitness (Source: Wikipedia)

‘But how, of all things, did you find yourself part of the Revolution?’ I asked.

“That’s quite a story. On July 14, 1789, Parisian rebels stormed the Bastille. That triumph truly liberated me. I emerged from prison and became a supporter of the Revolution, fighting alongside the revolutionary troops. After my release, I devoted my life to political activities. I practically exchanged the cross for the sword. I even took command of a division of sans-culottes.”

‘Sans-culotte… what?’

“Sans-culottes. The common people from the lower classes were called sans-culottes. In revolutionary France, military divisions adopted the same title. After all, I was one of them!”

‘But that’s why you ended up in prison once again!’ I was astonished! After all, I am a product of the 21st century. I cannot fathom what it would be like to end up in prison.

Sans-culotte (Source: Wikipedia)

“I supported the Revolution until 1797. But Napoleon’s grip on power was weakening. A series of conflicts had already begun by 1792, and the influence of the sans-culottes was broken by 1795. People suspected of involvement in the Revolution were imprisoned. Since I had spent a significant part of my life leading the battalions of sans-culottes, I faced a constant threat of being caught. My dark complexion, Indian features, and thick Konkani-Portuguese accent had saved me at first, but that advantage would not last forever. I could only flee to the south of France, where the police eventually arrested me. It was the year 1797. I was taken to Marseille in a barred police carriage and sent to the island prison of Château d’If by order of the court. I was thrown into a dungeon, placed in solitary confinement, doomed to a slow and agonising death.”

“Many of the people who were thrown into prison with me went mad in the dark dungeons of Château d’If. But by the grace of God, I survived. During those long years, the world seemed to have forgotten me.”

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Château d’If, Marseille, France (Source: Wikipedia)

‘Your mind must have been in torment! What did you do after leaving prison? And where was your father all those years?’ I asked.

“As far as I remember, he died while I was imprisoned in Château d’If. During my time there, I practised and mastered techniques of mind control and auto-suggestion. Steady training helped me preserve my memory and maintain control over my mind. After my release, I began a scientific study of the mind and of somnambulism.”

‘Excuse me, but you need to explain more about auto-suggestion and somnambulism,’ I demanded.

“Auto-suggestion is a psychological technique related to the placebo effect. You instruct your mind to do a particular thing, and your thoughts, behaviour, and feelings are guided accordingly. In simple terms, you become your own guide. Somnambulism, on the other hand, is a disorder. You might have heard of people walking in their sleep. In psychological terms, this condition is called somnambulism.”

Faria’s theories were starting to blow my mind. ‘So, the theories you brought to the world directly contradicted Mesmer’s!’

“Yes, his theories were incomplete and didn’t answer all of my questions. So I rejected them. According to Mesmer, hypnosis was made possible by ‘animal magnetism.’ He proposed that a universal fluid connects animals and humans to the cosmos, and any disruption in this flow causes sickness. Mesmer treated people using actual magnets, which he believed would restore the flow of this fluid and make them well again.”

“On the other hand,” he continued, “my theories emphasised the power of self-suggestion. I cured many people using the techniques of auto-suggestion, where individuals reinforced their own thoughts through self-hypnosis. I lectured and demonstrated my methods publicly, and they became so popular that people travelled from distant villages to attend. I was the talk of the town. But the church authorities were far from impressed. They denounced my work, and some even labelled me a propagator of occult practices.”

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‘Did those accusations upset you at the time?’

“Of course, my dear. They did bother me at first, but only for a few days. After all, it wasn’t my circus, and they weren’t my monkeys! In Marseille, I became a member of the Medical Society and even worked as a Professor of Philosophy at the Marseille Academy, later moving to Nîmes. Sometime after that, around 1811, I returned to Paris. Those were, I must say, the most fruitful years of my life!”

“Even my seminal work, De la Cause du Sommeil Lucide (On the Cause of Lucid Sleep), was published during these years. If I’m not mistaken, it was in 1819, the year just before I took my last breath.”

‘Looking back on your life now, what do you feel?’ I asked, genuinely curious.

“I am quite happy. I suppose I’ve lived a truly eventful life. I experienced the world firsthand, shared a deep bond with my father, met many fascinating people, fought alongside my compatriots, and even spent a considerable time in prison. Today, my book is recognised as a valuable contribution to the study of hypnotic sciences. What more can one ask for!

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"I believed in many philosophies throughout my life and followed them with complete devotion. And when the right time came, I peeled them away like an orange. After all, it is the sweetness of the orange that matters, isn’t it? At the end of the day, the scraps are meant to end up in the dustbin. It’s the sweetness we remember the longest!”

It was late afternoon. The crowded café of the morning looked almost empty now. Silence hung between us. I gazed into his eyes. They had a twinkle, like dew settling on flower petals on a winter morning. Faria closed his eyes. I wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Was he missing his father? Or recalling the most formative and eventful years of his life? Did he long to live that life again? But I didn’t ask. Even he didn’t read my mind this time. The quiet satisfaction on his face told me everything.

I let him remain in his thoughts and memories. Quietly, I stood up, settled my bill, and walked out of the café. I turned back to look at him one last time. His eyes were still closed, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he lingered in the old memories of his life. I wanted to say a proper goodbye. I wanted to thank him for sharing his story and for lifting my spirits that morning. But I also wanted him to stay happy, immersed in the long-lost days of his life. I stopped the rickshaw and headed home, repeating to myself, “Kator Re Bhaji!”

Throughout his life, Faria never forgot that his ancestors came from India. He met yogis and studied their teachings. Naturally, he could not explain the extraordinary feats the yogis demonstrated, but he understood that auto-suggestion plays a significant role, if not the principal one, in yoga. Even we Indians have not forgotten this humble Abbot from our very own Candolim. A statue, created by the Goan sculptor Ramchandra Pandurang Kamat3, stands today in Panjim. It is a life-size statue of a long-haired monk. His hands are outstretched as he hypnotises a young woman, who is about to collapse onto her back, one delicate foot still raised in the air. In 2006, the world celebrated his 250th birth anniversary. On this occasion, Portugal even issued a postcard in his honour.

Sculpture of Abbé Faria in Panjim (Source: Wikipedia)

Abbé Faria has inspired the world for generations. The celebrated French writer Alexandre Dumas immortalised him by basing one of the characters in his classic adventure novel, The Count of Monte Cristo (1844), on Faria. Today, common people like you and me might find his theories of hypnosis strange or outdated. But I believe we must remember him for the mantra he left us for living life: just cut your veggies like he did, and everything will fall into place!

No one used the term “hypnosis” before 1843. The term was coined by the Manchester physician James Braid. Hypnotherapists such as Mesmer, Puységur, and Abbé de Faria were referred to as magnetizers

Although Mesmer was considered a black magician and an emissary of the devil, he was an intelligent and inquisitive man who sought the truth. He may have made many mistakes and errors, but he discovered phenomena that, even two centuries later, remain as incomprehensible as they were in the late eighteenth century. Without him, humanity would never have uncovered the wonder that the world today calls “hypnotism”

He was the first Indian to be awarded a Gold Medal by the Royal Academy of Arts, London, in 1945

In Search of the Man Who Mapped India

Samyukta Parchure — Fri, 20 Mar 2026 08:24:35 GMT

The cab driver stopped the car in front of a narrow alley. “I can’t drive any further, Madam. The road is too narrow,” he said to me. “No worries, we’ll walk from here.”

I stepped out of the car and started walking down the narrow lane. Finding my way through sheep, cows, goats, their dung, jobless youths, working womenfolk, and playing kids, I stopped in front of a house. “Where’s Kala Gota?” I asked. “There, behind those houses,” a woman said, pointing toward a labyrinth of some cottages.

At a T-junction, I took a right, then a left, and then again a left. At the point where the lane ended, I asked again, “Where’s Kala Gota?”

“Look there.”

She pointed to something behind my back. I turned around, and there it was! A crude pillar-like structure built out of black basalt stones, standing there for the last 203 years. It was for this pillar that I had travelled more than 800 km to a town named Hinganghat. It was here that the first person to map and survey India was buried. That person was William Lambton.

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Photograph taken during my visit to Hinganghat in December 2025

William Lambton, born in 1753, was a man of remarkable fate1. Born in Yorkshire, it is assumed that he completed his primary schooling in the same town. He developed a strong affinity for mathematics and, over the years, learned techniques of surveying as well. In 1781, he joined the British army as an ensign. He fought in the American War of Independence and was even captured as a prisoner of war. After the war, he lived there for a couple of years and helped survey the international border between British Canada and America. Later, he was transferred under Arthur Wellesley2 to Africa, and two years later to India. After arriving in India in 1796, Lambton was promoted to lieutenant.

In India, both Wellesley and Lambton were stationed in Mysore. Those were the times when the celebrated Tipu Sultan ruled over this rich geographical region. During this period, while working closely with Wellesley, Lambton impressed the colonel. Wellesley also noticed Lambton's mathematical abilities, surveying skills, and knowledge of astronomy. Within a few days, Wellesley was convinced that Lambton was destined to achieve greater heights. Opportunity knocked on Lambton’s door in 1799. Tipu Sultan was killed in the Fourth Anglo-Mysore War, and the entire region came under British rule3.

Lieutenant Colonel William Lambton (1756–1823). This oil painting was made by William Havell in 1822 at the Royal Asiatic Society. (Source: Wikipedia)

It is a popular belief that one day, after the war, while Wellesley and Lambton were ambling through teak forests, Lambton proposed his idea of mapping the newly emerged English city. A map of the Mysore province already existed, prepared by the mathematician Colonel Colin Mackenzie. However, it contained only rudimentary details of the landmarks in the province. Lambton, however, was dreaming of something bigger. He wanted to measure distances, lengths, breadths, depths, and altitudes as well. Using trigonometric theorems and the latest equipment of that era - such as geodetic methods and the theodolite - he fantasised about mapping the land in which he was living.

Lambton’s dream was not entirely futile. The power of the British East India Company was expanding. And with this broadening power, it was necessary to consider such an undertaking. A project of this nature was profitable for the Company. With accurate mapping, it could achieve its commercial and political objectives by building the necessary infrastructure. And for building any infrastructure, a map of the region was an absolute necessity. So, how exactly did this journey of map-making begin in India? And how was Lambton connected to it?

The first map-making project of India was called The Great Trigonometrical Survey of India. It began under the guidance and leadership of William Lambton. Mapping and surveying, however, were two very different tasks, and both were equally difficult in those days. Plotting landmarks on paper required exploring the region on foot, while measuring altitude demanded bulky and cumbersome equipment. Extreme temperatures and the absence of advanced technology added to these challenges. To survey the land, fixed benchmarks were required. These benchmarks were established and plotted on maps for the first time during the course of this project. When we look at images of these maps today, they resemble a series of spinal cords spread across India.

A triangulation map in central India, signed by Lambton (left) and Everest (right). Look, how the series of triangles resembles a spinal cord. (Source: Wikipedia)

But the question here is - why did this project matter then, and why does it matter even today? Because it was the first attempt to conceptualise, on paper, the landmass we now call India. This endeavour not only produced the first comprehensive map of the country but also led to the discovery of Mount Everest. It was the first effort to document the subcontinent with scientific precision, literally at ground level. Such an extensive and systematic scientific study had never occurred anywhere else in the world before. As a result, this project introduced modern surveying techniques to the country and provided a scientific vision for future generations of geographers and surveyors.

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The survey for this project was based on trigonometric principles. The logic was simple. Imagine yourself working alongside William Lambton; this is how the subcontinent would have been measured and surveyed. Standing at position A, you would mark two additional points, B and C, forming a triangle. These points needed to be located at higher elevations, such as mountain tops, tall towers, or temple apexes, so that they could be clearly seen from long distances. The first step was to measure the distance between any two of these points. Suppose you measured the distance AB. Next, using a theodolite, the angles CAB and CBA would be measured. Once these angles were known, the distances CA and CB could be easily calculated using trigonometric principles. Using this method, you would obtain the measurements of a single triangle. Then, by taking any side of this triangle as a baseline, you could begin measuring adjacent triangles. In this way, a chain of triangles would gradually spread across the entire length and breadth of India. This work had to be carried out during the retreating monsoon, when temperatures were moderate, and fewer dust particles in the air provided better visibility for marking distant points.

Alignment of the chains of the principal tringles (Source: Wikipedia)

Now, some of you might ask whether this survey or mapping was possible using the principles of astronomy. The answer is no. Why? Because such an approach would have been extremely time-consuming. It would have required a person to sit in one place for years, recording observations. Building the necessary infrastructure and laboratories would have taken considerable time, and the accuracy of the results obtained through this method would have been unsatisfactory. On the other hand, a geometric approach provided faster, more reliable, and far more precise results.

Coming back to the year 1800. Lambton received government approval to begin his survey and mapping project. Although permission was granted in 1800, the on-ground work did not begin until 1802. In the interim, Lambton was busy procuring and managing equipment, which, according to some sources, was difficult to acquire. In 1802, the shores of Chennai witnessed the beginning of the Great Trigonometrical Survey of India. It was during the summer months - April or May. The Dinwiddie’s Hundred-Foot Chain, which was used to measure distances between points, tended to expand frequently in the scorching sun. As a result, the measurements were often inaccurate and had to be repeated. These repeated measurements cost Lambton nearly 400 individual readings and 57 days to measure the base of the first triangle, which had a length of just seven and a half miles.

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First series of triangulations between Madras and Mangalore (Source: Wikipedia)

At that time, the theodolite was yet to arrive in India. The ship carrying it was seized by the French fleet near Mauritius. Unexpectedly, however, they did not damage the theodolite and sent it safely to Madras. How and why they behaved in this manner remains a mystery, but, with the theodolite finally in his possession, Lambton had everything he needed. He continued his survey and reached Mangalore in 1805–06. Many scholars claim that his route took him via Bangalore and Mysore. After completing this first phase, Lambton returned to Bangalore. Using this as his baseline, he sent some of his team members north, toward Hyderabad and others south, toward Kanyakumari.

There is an interesting anecdote associated with Lambton’s survey in South India. Lambton was conducting his survey near the celebrated Brihadeeshwar Temple in Tanjavur. The survey required high points in the vicinity to mark the other two points of the triangle. These higher points provided the visibility needed for accurate measurements. The temple’s finial proved to be a perfect spot to place the theodolite at the top and measure the angles. However, while the theodolite was being lifted to the top of the temple, it fell and broke. This incident likely occurred in 1809. Lambton was heartbroken. With the theodolite damaged, his only solution was to order new equipment and wait for its arrival in India. This process cost him a significant amount of time. He even attempted to mend the broken theodolite himself, but its condition was beyond repair.

The three-foot theodolite made by Cary for the Great Survey of India, 1802. This photograph was taken during the exhibition 'Science in India' at the Science Museum, London, in 1982. (Source: Rare Book Society of India)

After this incident, Lambton went to Pondicherry. The new theodolite had not yet arrived in India, so he had plenty of time on his hands. During this period, he studied astronomy and weather patterns and read extensively about the Earth’s latitudes and longitudes. At the same time, he was meticulously documenting the data collected from the survey up to that point. Eventually, the new equipment arrived in India, and Lambton resumed his work. In the years that followed, the web of the Great Trigonometrical Survey gradually spread throughout the subcontinent. Lambton created small teams to carry out the survey even in his absence. He organised and trained them in such a way that while he was working in the north, his teams could independently collect data and map regions in the south. As he travelled, he moved his office along with him. When he relocated from Hyderabad to Bidar, he made the new city the headquarters of the Great Trigonometrical Survey. That year, 1818, was the first time that Lambton felt the need to hire a geologist for the project. It was at this point that George Everest joined Lambton’s team.

George Everest was a man who would carry the Great Trigonometrical Survey to its completion. It was because of him that the survey was ultimately finished. But that is a story for another time. For now, let us focus on our hero, William Lambton. When Everest joined the team, Lambton was surveying the basins of the rivers Krishna and Godavari in 1818. How Lambton proceeded over the next three to four years remains somewhat of an enigma. However, we do know that by 1822, he had reached the vicinity of present-day Nagpur, as recorded in the accounts of George Everest. Everest had fallen ill shortly after joining the survey team and travelled to the Cape of Good Hope to recover. When he returned to India and rejoined the team, Lambton was on the outskirts of Nagpur - that was in 1822. Upon rejoining the survey, Everest was assigned by Lambton to head west, toward Mumbai. In Everest’s absence, the survey between Calcutta and Nagpur had been completed, and Lambton wanted to connect it with the city of Bombay. Thus, he appointed Everest for this task and went north himself. All of this occurred in the year 1822.

George Everest (1790 - 1866) (Source: Wikipedia)

The next year, in 1823, Lambton was already 70 years old. Yet he remained in the field, surveying and mapping the regions he had travelled through. Surveying had become a true inspiration in his life. After working continuously in the field for 23 years, he passed away at the age of 70 in January 1823, in a town called Hinganghat, located to the south of Nagpur. According to sources, Lambton had previously been north of Nagpur, so how and why he returned to Hinganghat remains a mystery. He was buried there, possibly on a spot near his surveying camp. Lambton’s dream had been to map the entire Indian subcontinent. By then, George Everest had become his second-in-command. Everest took over Lambton’s project and went on to survey and map the entire British-administered region. This same project eventually led to the discovery and measurement of the highest mountain on Earth. In recognition of Everest’s contributions to the survey, the mountain was later named Mount Everest, 33 years after he took over Lambton’s dream project.

Returning to William Lambton, he was buried at Hinganghat, most likely by his colleagues. A stone memorial was erected at the same site. Today, more than 203 years after his death, the memorial still stands, nestled amidst the labyrinth of houses. Do people still remember him and pay their respects? I am not certain. However, one might find photos on Google Maps showing the memorial adorned with marigold flowers and rangolis drawn in front of it. The occasion for such decorations remains, once again, a mystery of time.

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However, after visiting such a monumental place, here is my honest opinion: the site where this memorial stands today is highly neglected. Imagine someone who created the first map of one of the largest economies in the world today - his resting place is overlooked and on the verge of oblivion. There wasn’t a single signboard directing visitors to the site. The approach road was in terrible condition, cleanliness was nonexistent, and people seemed largely unconcerned about the historical and cultural significance of this place. As far as I know, this memorial is classified as a C-grade ASI site in India. Compared to B-grade and A-grade sites, it is wretched. What left me pondering is whether this disparity in basic infrastructure exists because of the archaeological gradation system set by the ASI. A and B-grade sites are generally better maintained, with at least basic facilities such as dustbins, washrooms, accessible roads, direction signs, and security. At the Lambton memorial, goats and stray dogs roamed freely, leaving their dung scattered all over the place.

If this is the case, it raises an important question: why do we need such a gradation in the first place? Is this classification itself responsible for the poor maintenance of certain heritage sites? Does this hierarchy become a hindrance to providing the necessities such as cleanliness, direction and information boards, entry fees, dustbins, and functional approach roads? I am not fully aware of how these gradations function or why they exist, and there must be some rationale behind them. However, if these classifications result in the neglect of basic requirements, it calls for serious reflection on the future of our rich heritage. We want future generations to remember such sites and the people who worked tirelessly for our country. Irrespective of their origins or cultural differences, we owe a great deal to them. They had a genuine attachment to the land they called home, which was foreign to them, and devoted themselves to its betterment.

I consider them heroes of this great land, and our history is incomplete without them!

At that time, India was witnessing civil war in Delhi, while the Peshwas ruled the Maratha power under the leadership of Nanasaheb Peshwe.

The man who won the Battle of Waterloo against Napoleon Bonaparte

Recently, I completed reading an excellent book, ‘The Lion and the Lily’ by Ira Mukhoty. In the last chapter of this book, Ira Mukhoty briefly describes how the fourth Anglo-Mysore War was fought.

Listen here to the story of how Lambton and George Everest worked together and how Mt. Everest was discovered. (The podcast is in Marathi)

Song of the Forest

Samyukta Parchure — Sun, 04 Jan 2026 01:00:56 GMT

Walk past the gate.

Teeming safari jeeps will be standing there. Don’t wait for them. Keep walking. No one will stop you.

Look, the first light of the sun is taking hold of the sky. The cold is breaking your bones. Yet, you can feel the warmth of the daybreak.

Keep walking.

The owlets are taking their last flights before the light occupies the whole jungle. Observe them. Listen to their hoots. Look, a Spotted Owlet is sitting there, on the edge of the burrow. He looks sleepy. Is he tired because of the hunting and hovering all night?

It’s almost dawn now. The sunrays have woken the birds. You can hear their chirps and tweets. The dawn chorus of babblers, barbets, woodpeckers, drongos, bee-eaters, treepies, rollers, parakeets, and thrushes has taken hold of the jungle.

Look, there’s something behind that thicket. Looks like the fawns of spotted deer are ready for the excursion. They are busy having their breakfast. Let them enjoy their munch.

Keep walking.

The walk is taking you uphill.

Here starts the rocky terrain. Why are these black beauties, these Gaurs, looking in that direction? Look how their skin is shining in the golden light of the sun! How can such an immense body exist on a herbivorous diet? They are so huge that their heavy bodies can even knock over a jeep. But why do they keep looking towards those trees? What’s so alluring present there?

Look, something moved behind those leaves! And you can hear a sound. A peculiar sound. Like a saw moving forward and backward. Oh, that’s the sawing of a leopard. He is basking on a broken branch of a ghost tree, telling the world about his presence. He is looking straight into your eyes. Don’t be afraid. Look into his eyes. Admire his piercing gaze. Be marvelled at his beauty.

But don’t linger there. We have a long walk.

You have now come far away from the chatty tourist.

Look that way. There’s the stream flowing straight into the lake. Come, walk along the lake. Let the cool breeze from the lake play with your hair.

What’s that on that perch? Oh, that royal blue. That’s surely the kingfisher. Gazing into the ripples of the water. Waiting for the moment to catch the fish.

And beyond that, on the tall, leafless tree, a Grey-headed Fish Eagle. Sitting like an old man, contemplating the worries of the world. Even he can’t avoid such thoughts.

What was that sound? An alarm call? Yes. A high-pitched, sharp yap of a spotted deer. And here comes the reply, another sharp yap. Perhaps his friend responded. What are they trying to tell each other? What does their call imply? Is there any danger? Are they afraid of anything? They look like they are terrified!

Oh, did you hear that? That was the roar of a tiger. Here he comes. Look at that magnificent beast, the king of this jungle. His every stride oozes grandeur. He is looking around. The forest has fallen quiet. The trees reverence, animals honour, and birds fly away. He is the king; he must be praised, for he owns the forest.

Here, he takes one more stride and bends down. As he bends down, his scapula forms an attractive curve. He laps the water and rises again. Takes a glance at the surroundings. And bends down again. He quenches his thirst and steps into the water. He glides over the lake and is now beyond the reach of your eyes.

Don’t dawdle. Keep walking.

Let that blue water show you the way along its border.

Here comes the smell of the fresh grass. The soil still feels moist. It’s hardly a few moons since the last showers. The sun now shines bright, occupying the blue sky. The bone-breaking cold has now faded away.

Look at those yearly visitors. They have arrived early this year. There are so many that I can’t even count them: the cranes, the ducks, the waders, the geese, the pelicans, the herons, the ospreys.

But don’t let them engage your mind. Keep walking.

Look at that tree! Strange that it stands alone. It is unusual for a tree to stand away from its fellow green, branchy friends. Why is it here, alone on the banks of this lake? Was it waiting for you? Maybe. Do you feel content with its presence? Yes? Then sit down.

Lie your head on the sturdy trunk of the tree. Let the tough bark give your head and back firm support. Let the essence of the jungle find its way into your heart. But for that, your mind needs to be at peace. Don’t be afraid! Close your eyes.

Bring your attention to the sound of the forest, to the song of the forest. Listen to the birds. Listen - the leaves are clapping. Listen - the tree trunks are creaking. Listen to the waves of water.

Any thoughts coming to your mind? Welcome them. And then tune yourself back with the song the forest is singing for you. Listen to the silences, to the void. Even that is a song! Listen to it. Don’t get uncomfortable with that emptiness. They speak volumes about our existence.

Bring your attention to your breath. Gently breathe in… and out… in… and out…

Let this rhythm conquer your mind. Let that tiniest element of air go deep within your body.

Now go back a few million years. Imagine a group of early Homo Sapiens rubbing wood to ignite the fire. They might have wandered through these forests! They might have even sat in the same spot as you! Link your existence to theirs. What might those sapiens have encountered on their walks? Imagine it now…

You did not just walk this morning, but you have been walking for a couple of million years. Your life has taken various forms since then. It has been continuously shaped since then.

Breathe in and out.

Continue with the rhythm.

Let that tiniest particle of air reach the deep, dark vaults of your body. Let it bathe every cell and tissue inside you. Feel that life-sustaining breath of air reaching your mind and soul.

Gently bring yourself back to the song of the forest. Forget the world.

Listen to the forest, listen to the wind, listen to the creaking of trees, to the chorus of birds, waves of water, clapping of leaves, roars of predators, and calls of their prey. Listen to the silence.

Let this song of the forest spread through your existence!

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Perspectives on History, Perceptions of Life

Samyukta Parchure — Sun, 21 Dec 2025 01:00:33 GMT

It was December 2009. Around this time, Nashik, my hometown, is usually swaddled in blankets, coping with frigid winter winds and temperatures that can drop as low as 10°C. I was in 4th grade, engrossed in my own little protected world, unaware of the events happening around me. One fine day, I was selected to participate in a district-level elocution competition. The only theme for the event was Anant Lakshman Kanhere. “Who is this person?” “Why can’t I choose my own topic?” “What’s so special about him?” I bombarded my parents with a hundred questions that day. Really, what was so special about him that the organisers decided to put him in the spotlight? My speech, a collaborative effort between my parents and teachers, answered many of those questions. Anant Kanhere was an eighteen-year-old who assassinated the collector of Nashik, A.M.T. Jackson, on December 21, 1909. The year 2009 marked the centenary of that incident.

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Over the next few days, I became word-perfect in my speech. And in the end, I bagged the first prize. But the memory that stayed with me from this entire episode wasn’t the first prize; it was the story of that 18-year-old boy who sacrificed his life and left a lasting mark on Indian history. I was captivated by his bravery. My history textbooks and mainstream historical narratives only deepened this impression. It wasn’t until very recently that I began to see the story from the other side of the narrative. I let that tiny seed of doubt grow in my mind, and since then, I’ve found it difficult to accept the popular belief about Jackson, the British officer assassinated by Kanhere, as the whole truth. I no longer agree with the notion that he was merely a colonial officer biased against the locals. From that moment on, I decided to try wearing a different pair of glasses to understand him. I went down rabbit holes and uncovered many riveting facts I had once conveniently overlooked. At this point, you might be wondering: Who was this man, and what was so special about him? Why was he assassinated? Let me tell you his story.

Anant Lakshman Kanhere

Arthur Mason Tippetts Jackson was an Indian Civil Service (ICS) officer, an Anglo-Indian civil servant popularly known as Pandit Jackson among the masses. Some sources claim he was born between 1866 and 1867, but beyond that, the details of his early life are wrapped in ambiguity. No corner of cyberspace seems to know where he was born, what he studied, how he came to India, what drew him to Indology, or how and where he learned the vernacular languages. Any information about his formative years and journey to India seems to exist beyond the reach of the real world. According to a few sources, Jackson arrived in India in 1888, but even that detail is vague. He was eventually posted in Nashik as a collector, though the exact date of his appointment remains unclear. Towards the end of the year 1909, he was due for a transfer to Mumbai as a district collector, but before he could take charge, he met an unfortunate and untimely end.

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On the night of 21st December 1909, Jackson arrived at Vijayanand Theatre to watch a Marathi play titled Sangeet Sharada1. The play, performed under the banner of Kirloskar Natak Mandali, opposed the then-prevalent practice of child marriage. Many claim the play was arranged as a farewell in Jackson’s honour; however, there is no strong evidence to support this. Some even suggest that Shankarrao Mujumdar, the manager of the Kirloskar Theatre Group, personally invited Jackson for the play2. Jackson was all set for his upcoming transfer to Bombay to assume the post of district collector. Among the audience that night sat a young revolutionary named Anant Lakshman Kanhere. Originally from Aurangabad, he had travelled to Nashik with a singular purpose: to eliminate Jackson. Concealing a pistol, Kanhere entered the theatre and, during the interval, possibly while Jackson was meeting the manager of the troupe, he leapt in front of him and fired four bullets. Jackson died on the spot. Kanhere was arrested immediately. Though the exact motive behind the assassination remains unclear, several sources suggest that Jackson was targeted due to his alleged role in the arrest and trial of Babarao Savarkar (Ganesh Damodar Savarkar), the elder brother of Vinayak Damodar Savarkar. Jackson’s murder sent shockwaves through the British administration and stunned even Indian nationalist leaders. The Mahratta newspaper, known for its radical views, remarked: “It may be that the law of sedition in India is very vague, but Mr Jackson, at all events, was not responsible for it. Mr Jackson was only part of the system and machinery…”

Arthur Mason Tippetts Jackson

But the real question here is: why did such a well-educated man, a Sanskrit pandit, become the target of such a cold-blooded assassination? As mentioned earlier, the exact motive behind the act never fully surfaced. However, it is widely believed that Jackson was aware of the activities of the Abhinav Bharat Society, a revolutionary organisation founded by the Savarkar brothers. The group was originally established in 1900 under the name Mitra Mela. In 1904, it was renamed Abhinav Bharat, a name inspired by Giuseppe Mazzini’s revolutionary organisation, Young Italy. The Society’s pursuits were considered seditious by the British Imperial Government. Babarao Savarkar, co-founder and later the secretary of Abhinav Bharat, fearlessly led many of its initiatives, often risking his own life. He was imprisoned for a month during the sedition trials of the ‘Kal’ editor Shivrampant Paranjpe. About a year and a half later, he was again arrested in Mumbai, under Sections 121 and 124A, accused of waging war against the Crown and inciting sedition. Multiple justifications were given for this detention, and what intensified the situation was his trial, which took place in Nashik, before none other than Jackson himself. Babarao’s rising popularity and leadership in the revolutionary movement were enough to spark outrage among the young revolutionaries of Abhinav Bharat.

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However, the roots of the growing hatred toward Jackson among the youths can be traced to an incident that occurred well before Babarao’s arrest. An impoverished cart owner named Bhausingh was reportedly kicked, without provocation, by the executive engineer officer J.K. Williams somewhere along the Nashik–Trimbakeshwar road. Bhausingh eventually succumbed to his injuries. The case was brought to trial, with Jackson presiding over the proceedings. Yet, in a strikingly convenient move, Jackson took leave during the trial and ensured that J.K. Williams was acquitted. To many, this act shattered the image of Jackson as a fair and cultured officer. Behind the face of a dutiful and learned administrator, they now saw a façade, a cunning figure who shielded colonial injustice under the guise of law. Though the exact date of this incident remains unclear, it stirred deep anger among the city’s revolutionaries. One of them was Anant Kanhere. The radical ideologies of Tilak and Savarkar had influenced him. In September 1909, during a visit to Nashik, he came across Savarkar’s translation of the Italian revolutionary Giuseppe Mazzini. Inspired by Mazzini’s life and struggle, Kanhere resolved to take similar action - to avenge what he perceived as the immoral deeds of Jackson, for his role in acquitting J.K. Williams and prosecuting Babarao Savarkar. Determined and focused, Kanhere began practising with a pistol sent by Savarkar from London, shooting at tree trunks to improve his aim. He even visited the collector’s office to observe Jackson’s identity and confirm his daily routine.

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Krishnaji Karve, Vinayak Deshpande, and Anant Kanhere, three young revolutionaries of Abhinav Bharat, decided to assassinate Jackson in early 1910. The specific reason for choosing this time remains unclear; however, their plan was soon accelerated when they learned of Jackson’s promotion to Bombay. To them, he needed to be eliminated before he left Nashik. The trio concluded that the night of the drama performance would provide the perfect opportunity to carry out their plan. Anant Kanhere, 18 years old at the time, volunteered to take full responsibility for executing the assassination. They had also prepared a backup strategy: if Anant’s attempt failed, Vinayak Deshpande was to shoot Jackson next. If both Anant and Vinayak failed, Krishnaji Karve would be the last to act. To avoid capture and protect one another, all three had agreed to take poison and end their lives if necessary.

Young revolutionaries of Abhinav Bharat: Krushnaji Karve, Anant Kanhere and Vinayak Deshpande (left to right)

During the interval, possibly while Jackson was meeting the manager of the drama group, Anant Kanhere leapt in front of him and fired four bullets. Jackson died instantly, and two police officers apprehended Kanhere on the spot. He had no time to either shoot himself or ingest poison, as originally planned. Anant Kanhere, along with his two confidants, Karve and Deshpande3, was prosecuted and hanged on 19th April 1910, just four months after the incident. The Bombay Government established a Special Tribunal4 to try those involved in the conspiracy. In the wider investigation, the police tried 38 individuals in connection with the Nashik Conspiracy Case. Of these, many were sentenced to varying prison terms; only eight were either acquitted or discharged. Vinayak Damodar Savarkar was one of the 38 accused and was presented before the Bombay High Court. On 23rd December 1910, he was sentenced to life imprisonment for 25 years on charges of sedition, and his property was confiscated. Just over a month later, on 30th January 1911, he received another life sentence in connection with the Jackson murder case. The pistols he had sent from London were found in the homes of the revolutionaries who carried out the assassination, making it evident that V.D. Savarkar was indirectly involved in this case.

This forms the basis of the popular narrative: Jackson was a British officer who deceived the locals and showed bias against Indians. But how was he as a scholar? Was there another side to this story? The answer is yes, and it’s a side that often remains concealed. Jackson was a learned Indologist, one among a wave of young British intellectuals in the late 19th and early 20th centuries who were deeply fascinated by the Indian subcontinent. Their interest was largely inspired by the pioneering work of first-generation English Indologists such as Henry Colebrooke, Sir William Jones, Charles Wilkins, James Prinsep, and Max Müller, to name a few. Jackson contributed several scholarly papers on Indian history and authored books on Indian folklore and culture. He was not only a Sanskrit scholar but also a man of wide learning and refined cultural taste. He was fluent in Marathi and regularly attended Marathi plays. While his political role and motivations remain a matter of debate, questioning his intellectual engagement with Indian culture overlooks substantial evidence of his genuine interest. He authored three books focusing on the folklore of Gujarat and the Konkan region, and his work was acknowledged as valuable in the compilation of the Bombay Gazetteer. Although little is known about his life before he was posted as collector of Nashik, local accounts describe him taking walks along the banks of the Godavari River and participating in the Simhastha Mela. In fact, it is said, though not documented, that Jackson once claimed he must have been a Brahmin in a previous life, so deeply did he feel connected to Indian traditions.

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Here is the central question: why and how did I suddenly become interested in his life and works? Recently, while reading the autobiography of Maruti Chitampalli5, I came across an intriguing anecdote. Chitampalli once visited a small village named Goregaon, in the Raigad district near the town of Mahad, to meet his guru. As he explored the area, he came across a small temple, built in 1826. According to the sources, two Sanskrit pathshalas once stood in front of this temple. These schools had once been vibrant centres of Sanskrit learning, housing a rich collection of texts. Interestingly, some of the books in their collection bore the stamp of A.M.T. Jackson. It is said that Jackson had donated a portion of his personal library to one of these institutions. Adding another layer to this complex legacy, Durga Bhagwat, one of the early female scholars in Indian studies, wrote an essay on Jackson6. Born in 1910, the very year following Jackson’s assassination, Durga Bhagwat spent a few years of her childhood in Nashik. Like many others, she was introduced to Jackson through a singular lens: as a cruel, merciless officer serving the British imperial throne.

However, over the years, a new facet of Jackson’s personality was revealed to her. She began to question the mainstream, popular notions of him, an unjust and callous colonial officer. Instead, she recognised his intellectual worth and wrote a sincere, unfeigned essay on his personal book collection. How she came across his collection, or how his books ended up in her possession, remains an unanswered question. But what fascinated me most was her avant-garde perspective on perceiving Jackson’s personality. Durga Bhagwat recognised the raw human existence behind masked titles and imposed identities, something that many ideologies fail to grasp. The subtle gradients and hidden niches of a person’s character are often overlooked when reduced to rigid ideological interpretations. In Jackson’s case, she saw in him a man with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, a profound reverence for books, and a prodigious curiosity about the Indian subcontinent; its culture, its people, and the mysteries it had held for millennia. Durgabai observes that his vast collection of texts was not a colonial trophy, but was rather a reflection of his genuine fascination with a civilisation he earnestly tried to understand.

Vijayanand Theatre, present day

After Jackson’s death, his wife endured agonising days. Alone and heartbroken in a foreign land, she found herself without the means to meet even her basic needs and with no funds to return to her homeland. Though some locals held meetings, staged protests, and expressed sympathy for her situation, none of it translated into material support. Her last resort was painful. She decided to sell her late husband’s beloved book collection. With a heavy heart, she approached the Royal Asiatic Society, requesting them to purchase Jackson’s treasured library. In return, what she received was a scant sum of a few thousand rupees. What Durgabai may have experienced when she later handled those very books is something deeply intimate and, perhaps, untranslatable. In brushing her fingers across their pages, breathing the scent of those books or opening the old cupboards that had long held Jackson’s literary treasure, she might have felt the lingering presence of this man preserved in ink and parchment. She has captured those sentiments in her essay, documenting the quiet emotions that arose as she interacted with the intellectual legacy of a man behind the uniform.

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Growing up, we tend to hold tightly to popular portrayals of historical events and figures, often accepting simplified narratives without question. What we frequently overlook in the process is the importance of examining history from a broader, more nuanced perspective, one that is free from emotional attachments and ideological rigidity. What I find most fascinating about historical figures is their hidden complexity. They rarely fit neatly into the boxes we create for them. Branding Jackson as an intellectual, a pandit, or a sympathiser of India feels reductive. These labels are challenged when we consider his role in the Bhausingh incident. Jackson, who could have upheld justice by adhering to the law, chose instead to look the other way. His inaction revealed the deeply ingrained biases that many British officers held toward Indians. And yet, we also can’t ignore the fact that Jackson engaged in extensive, serious research about the country he lived in and served. His scholarship not only acquainted him with Indian culture and traditions but may have given him insight into the psychology of the people. He was studious enough to understand their habits, interests, and values; perhaps to earn their admiration, or cultivate a sympathetic image of himself in their eyes.

Now, let’s revisit the question: Was he really that ‘cruel type’ of British officer? Perhaps yes. Deep within, he may have harboured the same racial prejudices that many of his contemporaries held, an ingrained disdain for the ‘brown-skinned’ Indians, as colonial vocabulary crudely described us. Was he a scholar, a cultured Indologist? Definitely yes. His knowledge of Indian languages, folklore, and cultural traditions is undeniably impressive. Did he possess sympathy for the people he was ruling? Probably yes. At the very least, he never openly displayed contempt for the locals. On the contrary, he was respected, perhaps even liked, by many, and was popularly referred to as Pandit Jackson. So, what does all this tell us? In bold and underlined letters: the complexities of history. Many may feel uncomfortable confronting alternative narratives or unearthing layers that contradict popular beliefs. But to me, asking those questions is vital. They not only offer broader perspectives beyond the simplified narratives we inherit, but they also teach us to engage with the ambiguities of our own lives and the histories we are actively shaping for future generations. Revisiting the past with new questions, challenging our own beliefs, and interrogating long-held assumptions, no matter how uncomfortable, is perhaps the most important responsibility of our time.

Originally written by Govind Ballal Deval in 1899.

The role of Sharada, the play’s female protagonist, was performed by none other than Balgandharva (Narayan Shripad Rajahans), one of the most celebrated figures in Marathi theatre

They were eventually arrested

This tribunal consisted of Sir Basil Scott, the Chief Justice, Mr Justice Chandavarkar, and Mr Justice Heaton. Interestingly, a few years later, Sir Basil Scott’s brother - a London-based lawyer - recommended Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel’s name to Sir Basil Scott when the latter returned to Bombay after completing his law education in the UK.

He was a well-known forest and wildlife researcher in India. He was awarded the Padma Shri in 2025 and was fondly known as “Aranyarushi” (Forest Sage).

This essay was first published in a Diwali special edition of the Marathi magazine Sadhana in 1957. It is now included in her Marathi book Bhavmudra.

Also check out: When Kichak Scared the Hell Out Of Curzon…

Also Read: Governor’s Residence & 22nd June 1897

When Kichak Scared the Hell Out Of Curzon…

Samyukta Parchure — Tue, 25 Nov 2025 00:30:33 GMT

Imagine a play where a cunning minister from a king’s court is killed by the protagonist for his grave mistake. Do you think someone can take inspiration from such a storyline or cultural creation to go out into society and take the same heroic measures to fight against injustice? Sounds a bit absurd, right? But such thoughts might have occurred to some individuals in the 20th century, when people were suppressed from speaking the truth and questioning the government. At least, that’s what the British government thought. How? Let me tell you a story. It’s actually a story about a story. But for that, we will have to travel back in time and take a tour of the era when the five Pandav brothers were wandering in the forest, disguised, and counting some of the last days of their exile. Let’s start our journey!

This story dates back to the Virat Parva from the Mahabharat. The Pandav princes lost a game of dice. And thus, they were stripped of their kingdom, palace, power - basically everything - to the Kaurav brothers. They were forced into exile for 12 years, followed by an additional year during which they had to live in disguise, a period known as Adnyatvas. The condition was that if they were recognised during this final year, they would have to repeat the same duration and pattern of exile. This story took place during that one year of Adnyatparva. The Pandav brothers were living in the city of Viraatnagari, present-day Bairat, ruled by King Viraat. He lived there with his wife, Queen Sudeshna, a son named Uttar and a daughter named Uttara. Uttara would later marry Arjun’s son, Abhimanyu, but that’s a story for another time.

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During their disguise, Yudhishthir became Brahmin Kanka; Bheem was a cook Ballav; Arjun was a dance teacher Brihannada; Nakul was a horse keeper Granthik; Sahadev was a cowherd Tantipal; and Draupadi served as Sairandhri, a hairdresser to the Queen. Like every other story, this one also has an antagonist. He is none other than Queen’s brother, Kichak. Captivated by Sairandhri’s beauty, he became obsessed with her. He tried to win her over, sometimes even with the help of his Queen sister. But Sairandhri was firm in her refusal. She warned Kichak that her five celestial husbands, Gandharva Pati, are protecting her and would not tolerate any injustice toward her. But the arrogant Kichak refused to listen. With his sister’s help, he devised a plan to trap her under the guise of fetching wine. Sairandhri resisted, but the Queen assured her.

Keechaka and Sairandhri by Raja Ravi Varma (1891) (Source: Wikimedia)

She went to the Kichak, where he was waiting for her. Kichak attempted to molest her. When he grabbed her pallu, she yanked it back with such force that he lost balance and fell to the ground. Sairandhri escaped from his clutches and rushed into the King’s council hall. King Viraat was seated there. Even Yudhishthir and Bheem were present there in disguise. Kichak stormed in after her, grabbed her and threw her to the ground. Sairandhri, humiliated, asked Viraat to intervene. She questioned the council, asking how they could sit like dummies while a woman was being molested in front of their eyes? Both Yudhishthir and Bheem wanted to help their wife, but doing so would have revealed their true identities. Yudhishthir was confident that Bheem would not spare Kichak. He then asked Sairandhri to return to her duties. She was assured by him that her celestial husbands would definitely take revenge on her molester.

That night, Draupadi went to Bheem. She told him that if Kichak was still alive by the next night, she would end her life. Bheem had already devised a plan. He asked her to return to Kichak and seek his forgiveness. Draupadi followed his instructions. She even seduced and invited Kichak to the dance chamber that night. As expected, Kichak went to her. It was a dark, silent night. He approached the bed and sat down. Assuming Sairandhri was lying there asleep, he reached out and held her hand. At that moment, Bheem pulled off the blanket and grabbed Kichak by the hair. A fierce wrestling match ensued. In the end, Bheem overpowered Kichak’s strength, crushed his bones and ended his life. That night, Bheem sealed Kichak’s fate.

This entire story was depicted in the musical drama ‘Kichak Vadh’, written by Krushnaji Prabhakar Khadilkar. This drama is one of the finest works in the tradition of Marathi literature. Over the decades, the story did not remain confined to the form of a drama but was even adapted into a film screenplay. The play showcased Khadilkar’s brilliance not only through its music, story, and dialogues but also as his own way of fighting against British rule. His pen was his mightiest weapon, and he channelled his ideas to contribute to the freedom struggle. But how exactly did he use his intelligence, and that too, by composing musical dramas? Let’s find out.

Krushnaji Prabhakar Khadilkar

Born in 1872 in Sangli, a small town near the city of Kolhapur, Khadilkar was a man of great flair. After completing his schooling in his hometown, he moved to Pune, where he pursued higher education at Deccan College. He graduated in philosophy in 1892. For two years, he worked as a teacher and then went to Bombay to study law. In 1897, he joined Tilak’s troupe, and through his remarkable intellect, he earned a place in Tilak’s inner circle. Eventually, he became his close associate. He was even sent to Nepal along with Vasu Kaka Joshi to learn the technique of making weapons. Khadilkar later became the editorial chief of Kesari. He wrote many articles while working alongside Tilak. His writings carried a dramatic tone, often making them emotionally intense. He eventually had to leave his post at Kesari (while Tilak was in Mandalay) due to differences with N. C. Kelkar, who was then editor of Mahratta. He even faced imprisonment for writing some seditious articles about Hindu–Muslim riots. During this time, he was a torchbearer of Tilak’s ideology, but in his own distinctive way. After the rise of Gandhian philosophy, he became a devoted adherent of the Mahatma.

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However, before joining Kesari, Khadilkar had already begun writing plays in Marathi. Some sources claim that he wrote his first play at the age of 15, and after that, he never really stopped. His first published play, Kanchangadchi Mohana (Mohana of Kanchangad), appeared in 1904. His second work, written in 1906, earned him recognition as a dramatist. It was based on the death of Sawai Madhavrao Peshwa. Kichak Vadh was his third play, published in 1907, just a year before Tilak’s arrest in 1908. When he wrote this magnum opus, he was a staunch supporter of Tilak and his radical ideologies.

Source: Alkazi Foundation of Arts

The play was staged in 1907. But only three years after its production, it was banned until 1916, for nearly 7 years. The ban was imposed on the grounds that it was seditious and incited political dissatisfaction among the masses against the British government. Khadilkar’s true intentions while writing this play remain an enigmatic riddle. However, according to historical sources, audiences did perceive a strong political connection when ‘Killing of Kichak’ was staged. They saw the cruel British officer embodied in the character of Kichak, their beloved Lokmanya represented by Bheem, and Sairandhri, seeking protection and liberation, symbolising ‘Bharat Mata’. People naturally connected the political and social events unfolding around them at that time with the play. This was precisely what the government feared. The result was just as many had predicted, ‘a ban on the play’. The authorities declared it seditious and accused it of spreading discontent among the masses. But how exactly did the government plot this manoeuvre? What was the social and political climate of British India when the idea for this play first took root in Khadilkar’s mind?

When the play was brought to the stage, the burning issue across the nation was the partition of Bengal. Lord Curzon had divided the province in 1905 into two parts, claiming that this would ease the administration and governance of such a vast landmass. However, as we all know, the true intention behind this act was to divide the nation along religious lines and crush the rapidly intensifying freedom movement. With the partition of Bengal, the country rose in unified opposition to this decision. Newspapers and their editors protested through their articles, national leaders through their speeches, and dramatists like Khadilkar through their plays. Such works became their distinctive medium to express their rage against the empire. It was just two years after the Bengal Partition that Kichak Vadh was written.

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It was first brought on the stage by a group named Maharashtra Natak Mandali (Maharashtra Drama Company). Musical dramas were a popular form of entertainment in those days for the Marathi-speaking public. A new generation of actors, singers, and playwrights was coming into the limelight. This included the stalwarts like Govindrao Tembe, Keshavrao Bhosale, Narayan Rajahans (Balgandharva), Ganpatrao Bodas, and, of course, Krushnaji Prabhakar Khadilkar himself. Khadilkar was not only the playwright but also the director. Originating from the region of Sangli & Miraj, towns known for their patronage of Indian classical music, he developed a strong foundation in the performing arts. He personally directed the play and guided the actors with close attention in conceiving their characters. He had a precise vision of how each character should perform their roles; how they should dress, stand, sit, walk, and speak.

Lord Curzon

In the drama, Ganpatrao Bhagwat played the role of Kichak, a character that Khadilkar had crafted with great thought and accuracy. Bhagwat was instructed to walk with his chest pounced forward, his face tilted slightly upward, and to display frantic behaviour knotted with self-conceit. His manner of delivering dialogues was filled with such haughtiness that the audience was instantly reminded of the villain of that era. The man who had divided the united populace of India, Lord Curzon. Although the Bengal Partition came into effect in 1905, and Lord Curzon resigned from his post as Viceroy in the same year, Indian newspapers continued to target him for his unjust decision. Around this time, Tilak, in the editorials of Kesari, was relentlessly writing about Curzon, exposing his motives, questioning his aristocratic ambitions, and attacking his expansionist ideologies with his trademark eloquence.

Many claim that whatever Tilak wrote in Kesari between 1905 and 1907, Khadilkar expressed dramatically in his play Kichak Vadh. Tilak’s writings helped Khadilkar decode many of Curzon’s personality traits, all of which he mirrored in the character of Kichak. Just like Curzon, who paid little heed to the Crown’s proclamations, Kichak too ignored King Viraat’s warnings. Thus, audiences saw the callous Curzon embodied in Kichak, Tilak represented by the powerful Bheem, and humiliated Sairandhri as Bharat Mata. The play was an unprecedented success from 1907 to 1909. By then, it was widely believed that the character of Kichak was based on the egocentric and expansionist Lord Curzon. But, of course, how could any imperialist government tolerate such public humiliation of a loyal servant of the Crown, no matter how arrogant he had been? As a result, the play was banned in 1910 under the Indian Press Act. But how exactly was this ban put into effect? Lord Curzon had already returned to his homeland in 1905. So who, then, was truly behind this prohibition?

The man behind this outlawing was the celebrated Charles Kincaid, another loyal imperialist and expansionist servant of the Crown. Serving the British Empire in India seemed almost hereditary in the Kincaid family. Following in the footsteps of his forefathers, Charles qualified for the Indian Civil Service (ICS) examination and was appointed to provinces like Sindh, Kathiawar, Satara, Kolhapur, and Pune as a legal officer. While serving in Pune, he made frequent visits to Deccan College. He firmly believed that anti-government plots were being hatched within its walls. Like many other British officers of his time, he too learned several Indian languages, including Marathi. After serving in India for a few years, Kincaid took leave and returned to England to pursue further studies in law. Around this same period, revolutionaries in Nashik were planning a major operation under the leadership of Babarao Savarkar. Following the assassination of Jackson in December 1909, the Nashik police confiscated Marathi correspondence between Babarao and Vinayakrao Savarkar. These documents were sent to England for examination, and it was Charles Kincaid who was tasked with decoding the Marathi letters.

During the investigation of the Nashik Conspiracy Case, another imperialist and expansionist officer, Sir William Lee-Warner, grew agitated by the rising revolutionary activities in Maharashtra and Bengal. His frustration led him to urge the Secretary of State John Morley to impose restrictions on newspapers and the press, which he believed were spreading discontent. However, Morley was not enthusiastic about it and brushed aside the proposal. In the following days, at Lee-Warner’s request, Charles Kincaid wrote several articles on the same issue. Valentine Chirol1 arranged to have them published in The Times. Kincaid wrote four articles under the pseudonym “Correspondent.” The first was titled “A Seditious Play of the Deccan: A Critique of the Marathi Play by Krushnaji Prabhakar Khadilkar - Kichak Vadh”; the second, “Mr Tilak and the Seditious Deccan Press”; and the third, “The Chitpavans of Chiploon”.

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Quite thoughtfully, Kincaid first studied the main story of Kichak Vadh from the Mahabharat and then compared it with Khadilkar’s play. According to him, although Lord Curzon’s name was never mentioned in the play, the allegory was clearly directed at him. Draupadi represented pleading India, Yudhishthir depicted moderate leaders, and Bheem symbolised the radical groups. Kincaid further noted that while these comparisons might seem absurd at first, no British officer could dismiss them once examined closely. They could not ignore how the local audience applauded the “Killing of Kichak” by Bheem, in which Kichak was depicted as ‘Lord Curzon’. This storyline, he argued, posed a serious threat not only to Curzon but to all imperial officers. What happened on stage might inspire action in reality! This argument was presented in Kincaid’s articles published in The Times of London. The public pressure at the heart of the Crown proved effective. Finally, in 1910, the India Press Act was enforced. Lee-Warner, Kincaid, Chirol, and many other imperialists achieved their objective: the play Kichak Vadh was banned. This prohibition extended not only to stage performances but also to printing, possessing, and distributing copies of the play.

The ban on the play remained in effect until 1916. In the meantime, Khadilkar left the editorial position at Kesari due to differences with N.C. Kelkar. After leaving Kesari, he worked as a full-time dramatist, creating several masterpieces. These included Premdhwaj (Flag of Love) and Maanapmaan (Honour and Dishonour) in 1911, Vidyaharan (Knowledge Seized) in 1913, Swayamvar (Choice of Groom) in 1916, and many others. He returned to Kesari in 1917, after Tilak came back to Pune from Mandalay. Following Tilak’s demise in 1920, Khadilkar left Kesari for the last time and started his own newspaper, ‘Lokmanya’, in 1921, naming it in honour of Tilak. In 1923, he stepped down from this position as well, having been drawn to Gandhi and his philosophy of passive resistance. In the same year, he launched ‘Nava Kal’, promoting Gandhian ideals. Khadilkar lived to witness the independence of India. He passed away at the age of 75 on 26th August 1948, just a year after the nation achieved freedom.

However, what remains unclear is how this shift of ideas occurred. Was it the British imperialists who made the masses see the connection between the personalities of Kichak and Lord Curzon, or was it the other way around? Did the people perceive the link first, and the British officers only then recognise it as a threat? Today, 125 years after the ban of the play, the true flow of this puzzle remains unknown. Perhaps some things are better left blurred. Whatever the origin of this thought, it neither stopped nor altered the fate of Kichak Vadh. The play was in high demand and admired at that time, and it has been cherished over the years. So much so that the story was adapted into a film screenplay in 19592. No imperial power can crush public taste or manipulate what the people enjoy. In the end, that is what truly matters!

Sources:

Lokmanya Te Mahatma - Part 1 - Dr Sadananda More - Rajhans Publication
Mahabharat - V.G.Kanitkar

He called Tilak the ‘Father of Indian Unrest’. Tilak sued him for the same.

Watch the film here.

The Regal Grace Who Sang Against All The Odds...

Samyukta Parchure — Sat, 06 Sep 2025 06:03:45 GMT

For me, the best part of any road trip is playing my favourite songs on the music player. It doesn’t even require a long journey. For that matter, on any car ride - be it a few minutes or a few hours - I have always listened to music that gives me happy vibes. Back when owning and riding a Maruti 800 was considered a sign of luxury, our road trips used to feature endless music sessions played on cassettes — side A and then side B. This got an upgrade when cars began to come with music systems for both cassettes and CDs. I remember carrying a separate cloth bag filled with CDs of musicals, interviews, instrumental music, and old Bollywood songs. My father was a connoisseur of Ameen Sayani’s Binaca Geetmala, which we would play for hours during our long-distance drives. We often listened to Pu. La. Deshpande’s Kathakathan (story narration), laughing at his jokes as if we were hearing them for the first time. We played it so many times that even now, my sister and I can narrate the entire story, just like Pu. La. used to. Those were, for me, the most delightful times. Listening to stories, songs, or interviews together as a family and discussing them afterwards brought us closer and strengthened our bond. This practice has become so customary for us that even today, when we travel together, we play something on the CD player and reminisce about those memories we shared.

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Nowadays, pen drives and various music applications have taken over from cassettes and CDs, and the whole experience of listening to something together on a journey has become casual and unceremonious. Just take a pen drive, plug it into your player, and you're good to go. Even more convenient are the music apps. Believe it or not, Spotify and YouTube have removed the hassle of downloading songs from random and unauthorised websites, storing them on a pen drive, and carrying it every time you travel long distances. But of course, they do lack the personal touch of carefully choosing CDs or cassettes, like in earlier times. The overwhelming availability of music today often restricts us from truly understanding and appreciating its beauty. Yet, I agree that music applications have helped us rediscover songs that were on the verge of being forgotten. They not only introduce us to new music but also, at least for me, acquaint us with unexplored TILs (today I learned moments) in our daily lives.

So, just like that, it was one of my recent trips to my hometown. The monsoon winds had travelled further north, and the rains had receded to some extent. The earlier downpour had painted the fields alongside the highway in vibrant hues of green. A random selection of old Bollywood songs from my Spotify playlist was keeping us frisky and the drowsiness at bay. These random choices on Spotify are sometimes quite absurd. Imagine listening to Jab Deep Jale Aana or Mera Saaya Saath Hoga followed immediately by Kajra Re ;) Thankfully, on that day, my Spotify algorithm was in perfect sync. One after another, we were enjoying the renditions, often discussing the singers, music directors, lyricists, and films, something my father and I never get bored of. And just then, a jazzy melody started playing, making us tap our feet and snap our fingers. The harmonica and keyboard blended with the drums and bass, and at the drop, the melodious voice of Lata Didi began singing Gore Gore O Banke Chore. At the end of the first line, another voice - quite unusual and remarkable - emerged. It had a heavy nasal tone. I tried to recall the name. Shamshad Begum? Geeta Dutt? Begum Akhtar? Sudha Malhotra? Suraiya? I couldn’t quite place it. Giving up, out of curiosity, I looked at the phone screen. The name that appeared alongside Lata Mangeshkar was that of the Kannada Kokila — Amirbai Karnataki.

Regal Grace…

I could have never guessed it right. Not because I was unaware of her name or fame, but because her voice had never registered in my memory. Listening to the sister duo of Lata and Asha for most of the day, almost every day, it becomes difficult to correctly identify a voice that is so melodic yet so rarely heard. I kept returning to her mellifluous voice, drawn in repeatedly, and eventually found myself digging into her personal life. Famously known as the Kannada Kokila, Amirbai Karnataki was born in the small town of Bilgi, in the Bijapur district of Karnataka, into a Muslim family of singers. Apparently, there were five sisters born into this middle-class household - the second was Amirjaan. Her elder sister, Gauharbai, was also a singer and actress. Both these sisters from Bilgi rose to fame due to their musical and theatrical talents. Their parents, Ameenabai and Husainsahab, were deeply involved in the performing arts, working for a theatre company and even running one themselves for many years. The upbringing of these sisters was likely steeped in music and theatre, a seed that grew into something much larger in their later lives. At that time, the Bijapur district was part of the Bombay Presidency. Musical theatre and dramatic traditions were undoubtedly a significant part of the region’s cultural fabric. Many theatre companies of the era would camp in Bilgi, and it is said that in one such camp, Amirjaan and her elder sister Gauharbai mastered the art of music, learning not only classical renditions but also semi-classical forms like ghazals, thumri, and natyasangeet.

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Amirbai and her sister Goharbai (Source: Deccan Herald)

To try her luck, Amirjaan moved to the city of Bombay at the age of 25, a year believed to be 1931, according to many sources. Initially, she began acting in various theatre productions before eventually transitioning to cinema. The exact timeline of this shift remains unclear, but it likely occurred before 1934, as Amirjaan acted in a film named Vishnu Bhakti, which was released that year. This was her first break on the silver screen. However, the fame that was expected did not come her way. She appeared in a few other films between 1934 and 1939, but her growing age limited the attention and opportunities that came her way. She gradually shifted her focus back to singing, even lending her voice for playback in Gujarati films. Her distinctive, unconventional voice must have appealed to true connoisseurs of music. She continued to alternate between singing and acting, trying her luck in both fields. But her fate was about to change. Around the same time, Bombay Talkies began production of Kismet, and eight songs from the film were recorded in Amirbai’s voice. With the release of the film Kismet in 1943, her own ‘kismet’ changed forever.

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After Kismet, the graph of her career began to rise toward fame and popularity. As mentioned earlier, she continued to switch between acting and playback singing. She never completely gave up her career as an actress. She starred in the Marathi film Bhakticha Mala, with Master Krishnarao and Keshavrao Date as her co-actors. It was a V. Shantaram production. In 1947, she sang a qawwali for the film Zeenat, and in 1946, she lent her voice to the famous Gujarati song Mahre Te Gaamde Ek Vaar Aavjo for the film Ranak Devi. She was at the peak of her career around the time of India’s independence. After 1947, when a fresh and pristine talent named Lata Mangeshkar began gaining widespread attention, Amirbai gradually shifted her focus back to acting, though not entirely. She sang many duets with Lata Mangeshkar, one of them being Gore Gore, from the film Samadhi, released in 1950. The film starred Ashok Kumar, Nalini Jaywant, Kuldeep Kaur, David, and several others. Interestingly, the song ‘Gore Gore O Banke Chore’ was based on the song ‘Chico Chico From Puerto Rico’ from the American film ‘Baby Doll’, which was released in the year 1945. She even recorded the song ‘Vaishnav Jan To’, which went on to become a national sensation and was deeply admired by Mahatma Gandhi.

Front Row (Left to Right): Zohra Jan, Rajkumari, Amirbai Karnataki, Hamida Banu, Geeta (Roy) Dutt, Lata Mangeshkar, Meena Kapoor. Standing behind (Left to Right): Sailesh Mukherjee, Talat Mehmood, Dilip Dholakia, Mohammad Rafi, Shiv Dayal Batish, G.M. Durrani, Kishore Kumar, Mukesh (Source: Women on Record)

Amirbai was truly a legend. She was active at a time when women in the film industry were often considered “fallen” or “unchaste”. They were ridiculed for being independent, for earning money, and were, at times, even disowned by their families for choosing a career path that was so unconventional for women back then. The struggles that Amirbai and her contemporaries faced were far from insignificant. Amirbai herself endured abuse at the hands of her first husband, Afzal Qureshi, who was known for playing villainous roles on screen. According to several sources, he imprisoned her and beat her repeatedly for money. She fell into depression and had to seek psychological help. A well-known Gujarati lawyer, Chandrashekhar Vyas, helped her obtain a divorce from Afzal Qureshi. Amirbai eventually left those dark days behind and remarried to Badri Kannchwala.

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Today, nearly 60 years after her death, Amirbai Karnataki still has many admirers in North Karnataka, and an even greater number of her fans are spread across Maharashtra. Many of them often express disappointment that she was overlooked and not given the recognition she deserved, especially in Maharashtra and the city of Mumbai, where she worked and earned respect as both a singer and an actress. In today’s world, we’re accustomed to seeing actresses speak openly and confidently about their lives; their happiness, struggles, mental health, finances, likes, and dislikes. But one can only imagine how difficult it must have been for Amirbai and her contemporaries to even speak out about the mockery, judgment, and suppression they endured. While we rightly applaud modern actresses for voicing their truths and challenging injustices, I believe the pioneers, like Amirbai and the women of her generation, deserve greater recognition. Not only for their immense talent, but for laying the foundation on which today’s women in cinema stand tall.

Here are some timeless melodies by Amirbai Karnataki

Sakhi Aaya Sawan Aaya

Maar Katari Mar Jana

Hamare Angana Baje Shehnai
Ninnane Neneyuta Ratriya Kalede

O Jaanewale Balamwa

Vari Nota Nodi (The tune is exactly similar to Ek Pardesi Mera Dil Le Gaya)

Ab Tere Siwa Kaun Mera Krishan Kanhaiya

Ai Duniya Bata – Ghar Ghar Me Diwali Hai

Dhire Dhire Aa Re Badal

Ham Aisi Qisamat Ko, Ek Din Hansaaye

Chanda Des Piya Ke Ja

Sources:

https://feminisminindia.com/2024/07/03/amirbai-karnataki-echoes-of-the-singers-legacy-in-indian-cinema-indianwomeninhistory/
https://web.archive.org/web/20231101183705/https://www.thehindu.com/features/metroplus/she-was-the-love-song/article6941336.ece

"Ghazal ka Shehzadaa"

Samyukta Parchure — Wed, 25 Jun 2025 10:46:36 GMT

This morning, as dopamine flooded my brain while I aimlessly scrolled Instagram, a post made me pause a bit. With each picture I swiped, a unique and familiar song played in the background, accompanied by a photo of two maestros from the black-and-white Bollywood era — Lata Mangeshkar and the one and only Madan Mohan. The post I was looking at paid tribute to the ‘Ghazal ka Shehzadaa’, celebrating the centenary of his birth. As I read the caption, my brain ran a search through its archives, and I began to recall all the songs I knew that were composed by Madan Mohan.

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Lata Mangeshkar and Madan Mohan

The first, of course, was the one that’s now randomly used as background music for all sorts of irrelevant content on social media — Lag Ja Gale. Composed in Raag Pahaadi, the song was initially rejected by the film’s director, Raj Khosla. It was the actor Manoj Kumar (who played the role of the protagonist, Dr. Anand, in the film) who took the song back to the director and persuaded him to listen to the masterpiece once again. After listening to the song a second time, with peace of mind, Raj Khosla got up, fetched his chappals, took them inside, and began hitting them on his head. Madan Mohan and Manoj Kumar were aghast at this gesture, for Khosla was hitting himself to express his regret and skepticism about having initially rejected this iconic composition1.

Lag Ja Gale

The song was written by Raja Mehdi Ali Khan for the film Woh Kaun Thi?. To be honest, I have always considered the compositions from this film like a beautifully arranged platter set on a table. On one side, you have playful and romantic songs like "Chhodkar Tera Pyar Ka Daman," “Tiki Riki Tiki Riki Takori,” and "Shokh Nazar Ki Bijliyan," while on the other, you can choose from yearning and soulful songs like “Lag Ja Gale,” “Naina Barse,” and “Jo Hamne Daastan Apani Sunayi”. The magic here lies in the musical genius of Madan Mohan. He knew exactly what to offer when it came to conveying ethereal emotions, playing with just a few musical chords.

Woh Kaun Thi?

One song from this film was shot in Shimla in 1963, where a crowd gathered to watch the shooting amidst the snow-clad landscape of the town. The song filmed that day featured the duo of Sadhana and Manoj Kumar on screen. But the spectators witnessed something unusual. Actress Sadhana was performing to a song sung by a male singer. The voice wasn’t a popular one, and perhaps no one knew the face behind that soulful melody. Then, who was the person whose song lingered in the minds of the crowd that day? He was none other than Madan Mohanji. It was because Lata Mangeshkar was not in good health on the recording day, Madan Mohanji recorded the song himself and sent the track to Raj Khosla. Lata Didi recorded the song afterward, and her rendition—Naina Barse Rimjhim Rimjhim—was the version used in the film. He never won any accolades for that film, which many had anticipated, although he was nominated for the Filmfare Awards - Best Music Director. Lata Mangeshkar once expressed her discontent about this to him. He gently replied, “Isn't your grievance on this issue my greatest award?” (Listen to the song here).

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Naina Barse Rimjhim Rimjhim…

But Woh Kaun Thi? is just one of the many masterpieces by Madan Mohan, and admiring a single song or movie doesn’t feel enough, to me, to truly appreciate his genius. I went looking for more songs composed by him and discovered a whole collection of compositions that truly showcase his flair and talent. I decided to list all the songs composed by him that I adore the most, the songs that first introduced me to his music when I was still too naive to fully understand its depth. I had listened to all these songs during my early years as an aspiring music connoisseur. Revisiting them today made me nostalgic, which inspired me to pen down my thoughts.

Madan Mohan lived just 51 years. He was rarely the preferred music director for film producers or directors, yet he left a lifelong and unfading impression on countless hearts in the world of music. Salute to the Maestro!

Mera Saayaa Saath Hoga:

Aapki Nazaron Ne Samjha:

Teri Aankhon Ke Siva (This song is a comfort to the ears; however, the on-screen performances of Sunil Dutt and Aasha Parekh don’t quite match the beauty of the melody)

Lata Mangeshkar Version:

Mohammed Rafi Version:

Naino Mein Badara Chaaye:

Zara Si Aahat Hoti Hain:

Jhoomka Gira Re:

Jo Bhooli Dastan:

Tum Bin Jeevan:

Rasm-e-Ulfat Ko Nibhaye:
Yu Hasaraton Ke Dagh:

Baiyan Na Dharo:

Phir Wohi Shyam Wohi Gham:

Aapke Pahloon Mein Aakar:
Wo Jo Milte The Kabhi:
Hai Isi Mein Pyaar Ki Abroo:

Tu Jahan Chalega:

Bairan Neend Na Aaye:

More Naina Bahaye Neer:

Mai Ri Mein Kase Kahoon:

Nainowali Ne Hai Mera Dil Loota:
Ja Re Badra Bairi Ja:

Tu Pyaar Kare Ya Thukraye:

Preetam Daras Dikhao:

Jiya Le Gayo Ji Mora Sawariya:

Kon Aaya Mere Man Ke Dware:

Tum Ho Haseen Kaha Ke:

Maine Rang Li Aaj Chunariya:

Zaroorat Hai, Zaroorat Hai:
Ae Dil Mujhe Bata De:

…. and the list goes on!

https://www.deccanchronicle.com/entertainment/bollywood/200318/a-happy-manoj-kumar-willing-to-write-woh-kaun-thi-remake.html

Governor's Residence & 22nd June 1897

Samyukta Parchure — Sun, 22 Jun 2025 01:00:25 GMT

On this day, exactly 129 years ago, the city of Pune witnessed an incident considered a significant episode in the Indian Nationalist Movement. What happened was not merely a simplistic tale of gallant freedom fighters; behind the story lay multiple layers of ideology and individual reflection. Before narrating the story of 22nd June, let’s first catch a glimpse of where this account took place.

Main Building of Savitribai Phule Pune University (rear view); initially, this structure was built as a Governor’s monsoon retreat residence

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Beyond the entangled roads and flyovers of present-day University Road in Pune stands the elegant main building of Savitribai Phule Pune University, nestled among lush green trees. This structure echoes tales of a bygone era. Once serving as the monsoon retreat residence of the Governors of Bombay during the British Raj, it was first constructed in 1864, when Sir Bartle Frere was serving as the Governor of the province. James Trubshawe was the architect of this magnificent edifice, located in what was then known as Ganeshkhind. Approximately 175 thousand pounds sterling were spent on its construction, which was nearly six times the amount raised from the sale of the previous Governor’s residence. Such an extravagant expenditure, especially in the aftermath of the Bombay Cotton Crash in April 18651, drew criticism in the British Parliament. When Sir Frere left India in 1867, the house was not habitable. He used this stance to defend himself in the Parliament. After Sir Frere, his successor Sir Seymour FitzGerald carried out the furnishing and decoration of the building. He too faced criticism for squandering 500 pounds sterling on a chandelier for the ballroom. Built in a blend of Victorian Gothic and Italian architectural styles, the grand old residence was eventually transformed into the education hub of the city in 1949, almost 85 years after its construction.

Blend of Victorian Gothic and Italian architectural styles

What we today refer to as University Road was, until recent years, known as Ganeshkhind Road. It begins at the main gate of the university and stretches toward Aundh. When I searched for the exact location of Ganeshkhind on Google Maps, it occurred to me that the entire campus of today’s University and the adjoining area of Botanical Garden along the banks of the River Mula fall within this neighbourhood. It was on a selected spot (now lost to time) along this road that two youngsters from the city carried out an operation that not only stunned the nationalist leaders and colonial authorities across the country but also compelled The Manchester Guardian to take notice.

Reckless charges against those who were engaged in the plague duty ~ says The Manchester Guardian (Wed. 7^th July 1897). Source: The Manchester Guardian Newspaper

It was on 22nd June 1897, while the British colonies were celebrating the Diamond Jubilee of Queen Victoria. That evening, as the sun was about to set, W.C. Rand was returning from a celebration party. On his way back along Ganeshkhind Road, Damodar and Balkrishna Hari Chapekar were waiting silently for the right moment. It was somewhere along this road that Rand was assassinated by the Chapekar brothers. Initially, the brothers mistook Rand’s military escort, Lieutenant Charles Ayerst2, for the commissioner and shot him dead. Moments later, they spotted the carriage carrying Rand, who was following behind. They pursued the carriage, and both brothers shot the commissioner just to ensure he wouldn’t stay alive3 4.

Poona Plague Committee Members (Left to Right): Lieut. Col. C.R. Phillippo, Surgeon Captain W.W.G. Beveridge & Mr. W.C.Rand (Source: Find a Grave). When I searched on Google, the photo that appeared for Walter Charles Rand was actually of Charles F. Rand, an American who was the recipient of the American Civil War Medal of Honour. Another interesting point to note: the website where I found this photo includes a comment stating, “Grateful for services to humanity rendered during the plague pandemic of Poona in the late 19th century”. After all, it’s all about relativity!

But have we ever wondered why these two brothers were driven to take such extreme steps? What compelled them to embrace the radical ideology of the nationalist movement? Where do the roots of this action lie? What was the force behind this well-planned murder of Rand? We need to ask these questions because this story, which we’ve heard countless times, may appear to be a plain and simplistic narrative. But when scooped with a conscious and critical mind, it reveals layers that are not immediately apparent. What is often presented through this straightforward anecdote may not always reflect the full truth of the events. Such stories often contain deeper notions we tend to overlook or even dismiss as unimportant. So let’s rewind our calendars and take a detour into the years leading up to the assassination of Rand.

It was 1896. This year brought hardship and misfortune to the cities of Poona, Bombay, and many others across the subcontinent. The plague pandemic was spreading like wildfire, claiming the lives of countless innocent people. In response to the crisis, studying and keeping check on the situation, the British government established the Plague Commission, headed by W.C. Rand. Before his appointment as the Plague Commissioner in Pune, Rand had served as the Assistant Collector of Satara District. He officially took charge on 19th February 1897 and started enforcing strict measures, ordering surprise inspections of homes and forcefully removing infected individuals to hospitals and quarantine camps. However, these surprise checks were against the social order of the time. British officers and soldiers often pillaged the houses of civilians, sometimes even harassing their wives and children. Looting or destroying their property without any cause was quite normal for them.

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The caption of the illustration says: “Lords Sandhurst, in a speech delivered the other day at Poona, said that in spite of the measures taken to combat the plague in Bombay, it was spreading, and that not only had they the plague in their midst, but owing to the failure of the monsoon, the grim visitor famine was staring at them. Europeans have been attacked by the disease and a nurse has died from it. The scene represented in our illustration is from a photograph by Inspector H.A.Perry of the Bombay City Police, and is, unhappily [sic], one too often to be witnessed in the streets where wretched plague stricken [sic] natives are to be seen lying down until removed” (Source: Generally About Books) (Original source not cited in available records)

Poona Vaibhav, on 4th April 1897, reported, “the heart of the house or shop owner starts to beat heavily when the European soldiers arrive at the scene…”. It further remarked that they had begun to believe “it is the desire of the Government that the patients attacked by the plague should die rather than survive”5. There were even cases of people preferring to drown themselves in a river, and of a man driven mad after being sent to a segregation camp, both incidents occurring in Poona6. Similar adversities were faced in Bombay as well, and were condemned repeatedly in local newspapers like Gujarati, Akhbar-e-Islam, and Muslim Herald, to name just a few. In just a few days, the anti-plague measures started to irritate people. Commoners were treated like criminals, taken to the camps and hospitals against their wishes. Often, even those showing no symptoms were taken away. Women were subjected to mistreatment, frequently examined by male medical officers, and common fevers were misdiagnosed as plague. There were even instances that offended the religious sentiments of the public7. Widows and orphans were also caught and harassed quite mercilessly. The beds and other belongings of infected individuals were burned straight away, with no regard for their economic condition8. There were even instances where people began to believe that government authorities were deliberately poisoning them to cause distress9. Though these may have been exaggerated imaginings, one can get the idea of how bad the public healthcare situation was when the plague was claiming the lives of people. This crisis was not limited to Poona and Bombay; it extended even to cities like Surat, Karachi, Lahore, Nashik, and even across the Sindh Province, to name just a few. Tilak’s publications, Kesari and Mahratta, were publicly condemning these anti-plague measures.

Source: Man Bites Dog (Original source not cited in available records)

During such difficult times, came the month of June. It was time to celebrate the coronation festival of King Shivaji. Under the editorship (and authorship) of Tilak, Kesari published two articles, dated 8th and 15th June 1897. The first article (published on 8th June 1897) was a poem about Shivaji Maharaj. The second article (published on 15th June 1897) was a report on the coronation festival held in Poona. This festival had its roots in the movement that started in 1885 to repair and restore the Maharaj’s tomb on Raigad. By 1896, these restoration efforts materialised, culminating in the celebration of Shiva-Jayanti. However, in 1897, the plague outbreak brought a halt to this festival, and it was decided to celebrate the same on the 13th of June, which coincided (perhaps purposely) with the anniversary of the King’s coronation. Coming back to the two articles: The first to be published was a poem, the title being Shivaji’s Utterances’10. In the poem, the poet imagines that Shivaji Maharaj awakens from a heavenly slumber and launches a fierce criticism of the British government. Looking at the condition of the country, he gets enraged, condemning the harassment of women and the oppressive taxation system. He ends his utterances by urging (or warning, perhaps) the government to follow the principles of ‘Raj Dharma’ or to be prepared to face destruction.

The second article was an unsigned report on the coronation celebration of Shivaji Maharaj. At this event, Tilak and Professor C.G. Bhanu11 delivered speeches in which they addressed the ethical implications of Shivaji Maharaj’s killing of Afzal Khan (metaphor of Afzal Khan being the oppressor, similar to the British government and Shivaji Maharaj being the saviour). In their speeches, they argued,’ how the laws of society are for the commoners like us, while great men are above the principles of morality’12. Referring to the stories from Mahabharat and the Puraana, both the speakers encouraged people “to discover the strange in the familiar, re-frame the mundane as a crisis, recognise reality as abjection misrecognized as a civil life and acknowledge discontent as an emotional state befitting the reality of colonial rule”13. Tilak went even further in his rhetoric. He declared, “If thieves enter our house and we don’t have sufficient strength to drive them out, we should, without hesitation, lock them up and burn them alive.”14 15. As Kamra put it, “there is a serious dimension to the two texts which requires its readers to re-frame how Indians had been permitted to think of (their own) violence-as treachery and savagery, evidence of primitiveness”16. The message was clear: To stop the “ruin of the country and the religion by foreigners” and “strive to regain the lost independence”17.

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Report on Celebration of Shiva-Jayanti at Pune on 15^th June 1897 (Source: Report on Native Papers for the week ending June 19 1897). The highlighted passage reflects the core message of Tilak’s speech

Just after these two articles were published (8th and 15th June 1897), Chapekar killed Rand on 22nd June 1897. This was soon followed by the arrest of Tilak for criticising the government policies, initially about the famine relief fund and later about the Plague commission’s measures. Rand’s murder provided the government with the opportunity they were looking for. They assumed that it was because of Tilak’s writings and speeches that the Chapekar brothers were incited to commit the act. Tilak was charged under section 124A of the Indian Penal Code for inciting disaffection against the government. The entire trial revolved around “whether the texts did or did not present an effective dissatisfaction”, rather than “the thought with which affect was usually linked”18. This meant that instead of closely interpreting the Sedition Law - Section 124 A of IPC, and relating it to Tilak’s writings, the courtroom discussions focused on how minds were allegedly incited, how disaffection and hatred were stirred against His Majesty and the government established by law in British India, and how feelings of enmity between different classes were promoted.

Chapekar Brothers (Source: The Better India) (Original source not cited in available records)

Even for a moment we consider this to be true, we realise this theory to be a complete sham. Why? Here’s the reason. As many scholars have already argued, the Chapekar brothers never considered themselves Tilakites. They believed Tilak was not bold enough. They adhered to a far more extreme ideology and saw Tilak merely as a “preferable alternative” to the Moderates, who strongly believed in petitions and collaboration with British policymakers. The Chapekar brothers had long committed to the path of violence and even used to be in charge of the group trained in martial skills19. They had a history of harassing Christian missionaries and had even defaced a portrait of Queen Victoria somewhere in Bombay20. Tilak was acquainted with the brothers and had even once recommended them for a job21; however, linking him with the Rand’s killing is debatable. The British court ultimately held Tilak “morally accountable”, charging him under Section 124A of the Indian Penal Code and sentencing him to 18 months in prison22. In the meantime, Chapekars were hanged23. It was Tilak’s copy of the Gita that accompanied Damodar Hari Chapekar24 to his final resting place.

Today, 129 years after the incident, what endures is the A-Class Heritage Building on the university campus, quietly nestled among lush greens, away from the chaos of road widening, looming metro bridges, and the ever-changing whims of politically affected discourses.

What endures today is the A-Class Heritage Building away from the chaos of road widening, looming metro bridges, and the ever-changing whims of politically affected discourses.

Note that the construction of the building started in 1864. It was completed much later.

Ayrest died on the spot. His photograph appears to be nonexistent online.

Shevde, Satchidanand. Kranti Teertha Yatra: Chapekar Bandhu, 2021.

Rand was admitted to the hospital but eventually died on 3rd July 1897

Source: Report on Native Papers for the week ending 10th April 1897, India Office Library and Records, South Asia Open Archives

There was a case in Bombay where a plague officer burned a copy of the Koran. Source: Report on Native Papers for the week ending 10th April 1897, India Office Library and Records, South Asia Open Archives

Source: Report on Native Papers for the week ending 27th February 1897, India Office Library and Records, South Asia Open Archives

The poem was written under a pseudonym; many claim that it was Tilak himself who wrote it.

He was a notable Pune intellectual and a History lecturer at Fergusson College

Kamra, Sukeshi. 2016. “Law and Radical Rhetoric in British India: The 1897 Trial of Bal Gangadhar Tilak.” South Asia: Journal of South Asian Studies 39 (3): 546–59. 10.1080/00856401.2016.1196529. p. 552

Pillai, Manu. Gods, Guns and Missionaries: The Making of the Modern Hindu Identity. United Kingdom: Allen Lane, 2025. p. 272. Here, the thieves are the metaphor for the British rule in the country.

Report on Native Papers for the week ending June 19 1897. Source: India Office Library and Records, South Asia Open Archives

The highlighted phrases may have been used by the speakers during their speeches. Kamra, Sukeshi. 2016. “Law and Radical Rhetoric in British India: The 1897 Trial of Bal Gangadhar Tilak.” South Asia: Journal of South Asian Studies 39 (3): 546–59. 10.1080/00856401.2016.1196529. p. 552

Pillai, Manu. Gods, Guns and Missionaries: The Making of the Modern Hindu Identity. United Kingdom: Allen Lane, 2025. p. 272.

Interestingly, some orthodox Hindus blamed the plague outbreak in Bombay on this insult to royalty. Hopkins E.W, ‘The Divinity of Kings’ p. 314, in Journal of the American Oriental Society 52, 4 (1931): 309-16, as cited in Pillai, Manu. Gods, Guns and Missionaries: The Making of the Modern Hindu Identity. United Kingdom: Allen Lane, 2025. p. 272.

Letters dated 10 January 1893 from Tilak to Shyamji Krishna Varma in Selected Documents, Vol. 1, p. 6, as cited in Pillai, Manu. Gods, Guns and Missionaries: The Making of the Modern Hindu Identity. United Kingdom: Allen Lane, 2025. p. 273

Tilak was eventually released after serving 12 months of imprisonment.

Damodar Hari on 18th April 1898, Balkrishna Hari on 12th May 1899 and Vasudev Hari on 8th May 1899. Vasudev Hari was not directly involved in the assassination of Rand; however, he killed the Dravid brothers who betrayed them.

Tilak and Chapekar were housed in the same jail. Pillai, Manu. Gods, Guns and Missionaries: The Making of the Modern Hindu Identity. United Kingdom: Allen Lane, 2025. p. 273

The Great Escape (1963)

Samyukta Parchure — Wed, 04 Jun 2025 01:00:24 GMT

In Marathi, there exists a word "चित्तथरारक", which can be translated in English as ‘breathtaking’ or ‘mind blowing’. We particularly use this word to describe something exciting, surprising or for moments when one feels speechless. Now, you might be wondering why I am suddenly giving you English lessons. Worry not, this is not a language class. I am talking about this word because it is stuck in my head, and the reason is the movie that I recently watched. I am talking about ‘The Great Escape’ (1963), directed by John Sturges. Throughout the entire film, I was filled with excitement, left speechless, and constantly surprised. The film kept me holding my breath from start to end, and honestly, it blew me away.

Poster of ‘The Great Escape’ (Source: Google)

The movie starts with a POW (Prisoner of War) camp in Germany, where Allied soldiers, who have repeatedly attempted an escape from various prisoner camps, are kept. This camp consists of British and American soldiers; British Captain Ramsey (James Donald1) is their undisputed and accepted Group Captain. Under his command, RAF Squadron Leader2 Roger Bartlett (Richard Attenborough) re-establishes an escape planning committee, ‘The X Organisation’, that promises to break free 250 prisoners, both American and British.

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James Donald as Captain Ramsey (Source: Google)

Left to right: David McCallum as Eric Ashley-Pitt ('Dispersal'), Richard Attenborough as RAF Squadron Leader Roger Bartlett, and Gordon Jackson as Flight Lieutenant Andy MacDonald ('Intelligence') (Source: Google)

Now, here comes the exciting part. Planning an escape is not child’s play. This plan needs to be executed amidst the hawk-eyed German guards. A great deal of arrangement and organisation is required, which needs to be supervised. To carry out this escape plan, each prisoner was assigned a specific role based on their expertise. There’s Cavendish 'The Surveyor', Griffith 'Tailor’, Willie ‘The Tunnel King’, MacDonald 'Intelligence’, Pitt 'Dispersal’, Sedgwick 'The Manufacturer’, Blythe 'The Forger’, Danny (another) 'Tunnel King’, Hendley 'The Scrounger’ and last but not least, Hilts 'The Cooler King’. Each of them possesses quite an impressive grasp of their expertise. They find material from the black market required for the escape, they dig the tunnels, they devise a way to get rid of the mud from the tunnel, they forge the necessary papers, they construct tools for the escape, they survey the tunnel routes, and even lead the prisoner’s choir to cover up the sound produced by the digging of the tunnel and manufacturing equipments. After all the efforts, how 76 POWs escape, how they get dispersed throughout Germany and what happens next to them is something best explored by actually watching the movie.

Planning ‘The Great Escape’ (Source: Google)

All of these POWs, not just dug for themselves an escape route, but some true bonds of friendship blossomed in this prisoner’s camp. They can count on each other, irrespective of their nationalities. They respect everyone’s individualities, aspirations, skills, views, and opinions; at times, even going out of their way and helping even those who are not involved in ‘The X Organisation’s’ Great Escape’. The Brits here even celebrate American Independence Day on July 4th, cheering for the eternal freedom of the country. It was surprising to see this celebration of American Independence, with the very people they fought against. Yet, in a way, it felt somewhat inevitable. Since the ruled and the rulers were sailing in the same direction, sharing the same goal, and having a common enemy - The Nazi Germany. Here, their national integrities, national interests, and past histories were petty in front of the crisis their countries were facing back then.

American Independence Day; (Left to right) James Garner as Flight Lieutenant Bob Hendley ('The Scrounger'), Jud Taylor as Second Lieutenant Goff, and Steve McQueen as Captain Virgil Hilts ('The Cooler King') (Source: Google)

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When we start looking at these individuals, beyond their identities as soldiers, what one can’t ignore is their existence as humans. One can’t overlook this fact, simply justifying that they are fighting for their countries or that they are prisoners. Irrespective of their identities as POWs, there are layers of other emotions alive within their hearts. No doubt, they are fearless and courageous, yet simple joys make them happy. They get sad, they get angry, they even doubt their skills, and they even cry when they feel so. When mud threatens to bury Danny ‘The Tunnel King’, he is haunted by an old fear of claustrophobia. Before digging the tunnel at the prisoner’s camp, he had dug 16 others, putting aside his very natural human discomfort with enclosed spaces. The mask of courage he had put on his face for so many years breaks into pieces. He is shattered and frequently overwhelmed by sudden panic attacks. Yet, there’s a tiny ray of hope deep inside his heart. His confidant, another ‘Tunnel King’ in the group, Willie, uplifts his grit, and Danny gets out of the camp, sliding through the same tunnel that once broke his courage.

“Tunnel Kings” (Left to right) Charles Bronson as Flight Lieutenant Danny Welinski ('Tunnel King'), and John Leyton as Flight Lieutenant Willie Dickes ('Tunnel King') (Source: Google)

Another feel-good relationship this movie portrays is between Hendley 'The Scrounger’ and Blythe ‘The Forger’. Just before the Great Escape, Blythe discovers that, day by day, his eyesight is getting weaker, and this might end up blinding this English bird-watcher, contributing his forgery skills to the escape plan. This secret that Blythe hides eventually reaches Bralette, and he discourages him from accompanying the rest of the gang in escaping. Hendley, however, is quite determined to take Blythe along with him, risking his own life, just for the sake of their budding friendship3. Hendley helps his Forger friend get out of the tunnel, catch a train, and even jump out of the train when a potential threat emerges. The despair depicted by James Scott Garner (Hendley) after losing his companion is truly admirable. Watching him sit quietly next to motionless Blythe, staring into the void, brought tears to my eyes.

(Left to right) James Garner as Flight Lieutenant Bob Hendley ('The Scrounger') and Donald Pleasence as Flight Lieutenant Colin Blythe ('The Forger') (Source: Google)

A standout moment from the film is the dramatic scene where Captain Virgil Hilts ('The Cooler King') is chased by German police while trying to cross the Swiss border. When he gets out of the camp, he steals a motorbike from a lone German policeman. He not only grabs his bike but also dons his uniform and poses to be a German officer. However, his poor command of German betrays him, and his cover is blown. Following this event, what one gets to see on screen is one of the most magnificent performances by Steve McQueen. He eludes the German policemen, riding the bike through the Swiss Alps. His charm while riding is truly on fleek! He jaunts and spins his bike in such a fashionable manner that anyone might desire a ride with him :)

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Steve McQueen as Captain Virgil Hilts ('The Cooler King') (Source: Google)

For his extraordinary charm, McQueen won the Silver Prize for Best Actor at the 3rd Moscow International Film Festival, and the film was even nominated for the Golden Globe Award for Best Picture. American Film Institute placed the film at number 19th in its ‘100 Years 100 Thrills’ list4. ‘The Great Escape’ not only received critical acclaim but also grossed 11.7 million $ at the box office, twice its original budget. The movie is available to watch on Amazon Prime and was absolutely worth my time for its tantalising narrative and remarkable performances.

I am not sure why, but for some reason, he reminds me of Liam Neeson from Schindler’s List

"RAF" stands for Royal Air Force. The rank of Squadron Leader is a senior officer position used in several air forces that have adopted the RAF ranking structure. It is one step above Flight Lieutenant and directly below Wing Commander.

It is interesting to note that Hendley was American and Blythe was British.

Nine of Alfred Hitchcock’s films made the list, making him its most featured director

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The Music Room - Namita Devidayal

Samyukta Parchure — Sat, 24 May 2025 02:30:46 GMT

Monsoon days. Showers are coming down with all their energy. Amidst these tireless rains, imagine a room filled with divine notes of Miya Malhar. A group of students huddles around an elderly man as he teaches them a beautiful rendition that captures the monsoon mood of nature.

‘sawan ghan garaje ghum ghum; barasat sheetal jal jhum jhum’

‘chaatak keer kokilaa bole; hans chakor chalu dis dole’

‘naachat van ati karat kalole; mor morani chum chum’

Raag Megh Malhar - India, Rajasthan, Kota, circa 1725-1750 (Source - Wikipedia)

This is the picture that usually forms in my mind when something is being discussed, heard, admired, and appreciated about Indian classical music. I was one of the students huddled around my music teacher, learning one of the most powerful and enchanting raags. It was my favourite time of the year (and still is), and I was learning to sing about all the beautiful aspects of my favourite season. I was hardly 8 years old when I officially began learning Indian classical music. The music room—where I spent many hours of my childhood and early teenage years—was a cosy, modest space where music dissolved all boundaries among the students present. My teacher is not a popular face in the music world, but he is an honest man, true to his art and skill. I remember once asking him which gharana he belonged to and which musical lineage we were being taught. Laughing at my innocent question, he would reply, “Ours is the …… gharana,” adding his surname with a smile. :)

Pandit Vishnu Digambar Paluskar (Source: The Hindu / https://www.thehindu.com/features/friday-review/An-ode-to-an-unsung-legend/article14500886.ece)

His answer didn’t satisfy my curiosity back then. It was only much later that I realised we genuinely didn’t follow any particular gharana - everything he was teaching us was based on the knowledge and approach of none other than Pandit Vishnu Digambar Paluskar himself. Still, the gayaki—the distinct styles of singing developed by different gharanas—continued to fascinate me as I began to broaden my musical horizons. I discovered the names of many gharanas that emerged over many years. And along this journey, I came across a truly unique name: Dhondutai Kulkarni, of the Jaipur-Atrauli Gharana.

Sitting from left to right: Ustad Azizuddin Khansaheb, Ustad Bhurji Khansaheb, Ustad Alladiya Khansaheb, Ganpatrao Kulkarni (Dhondutaai’s father), Prabhakar Kulkarni (Dhondutai’s brother). Standing from left to right: Dhondutai Kulkarni and Shakuntala Kulkarni (Dhondutai’s sister). (Source: Baithak Foundation / https://baithak.org/archive/exhibitions/gaanyogini-pandita-dhondutai-kulkarni/)

Gaanyogini Dhondutai Kulkarni - a relatively unknown name in Indian classical music. She bore such an unusual name because her parents had lost several babies before her birth. She carried an unusual name and walked on an unconventional path. Unlike most girls of her age, Dhondutai started her musical journey at a tender age of 8 under the guidance of Natthan Khan, an exponent of Jaipur-Atrauli Gharana. Imagine the time when girls from upper-caste and higher-class families were kept away from the performing arts, typically married off young, and judged based on their abilities to manage households, cook, and raise a bunch of children. In such a conservative social climate, Dhondutai’s father, Ganpatrao Kulkarni, stood out.

He not only encouraged his daughter to pursue music, but fearlessly supported her against the many challenges she faced—as a girl, as an aspiring singer, and later, as an unmarried woman. He actively averted her from surrendering her life to a marriage. He feared that her music might vanish while fulfilling the duties of an ideal wife, mother or daughter-in-law. Over the years, Dhondutai was mentored by Ustad Alladiya Khan, Bhurji Khan, Lakshmibai Jadhav, and finally took the tutelage of Surshri Kesarbai Kerkar as her sole disciple. Together with her father, she travelled across India for concerts, and when required, even relocated to different cities to build her career as a classical vocalist.

Dhondutai receiving the prestigious Sangeet Natak Academy Award at the hands of Shri. R. Venkatraman (Former President of India) and Girish Karnad, the then chairman of the Academy. (Source: Baithak Foundation / https://baithak.org/archive/exhibitions/gaanyogini-pandita-dhondutai-kulkarni/)

She always remained distant from the popular music culture, striving to preserve the purity of her classical style. As a result, her presence remained marginal on stage, in concerts, in the recording studios and even as a teacher. Yet she stayed true to herself and her music, not getting involved in any dirty politics and aggressive ambitions. To her, music mattered more than anything else in the world. She never viewed her art through any commercial lens. She filled the lives of her true admirers with the divinity of her voice, taught her students with genuine affection, and nurtured the student within herself with humility, free from bias or prejudice.

Reading about her took me back to the days when I never missed a single music class. I participated in every Guru Pournima concert, practised for endless hours before my music exams, and poured my little heart into rehearsals—because winning a trophy in a music competition once felt like the most important thing in my tiny universe. Today, I am badly missing those musical days.

Gaanyogini Dhondutai Kulkarni (Source: The Hindu / https://www.thehindu.com/features/friday-review/music/Voice-from-the-past/article16882328.ece)

Wise Words of Lord Curzon ☀️🍀

Samyukta Parchure — Sun, 06 Apr 2025 07:00:43 GMT

“when you go out into the world do nothing without an object. Have an object in your work, have an object in your play, let there be an object in your heart where your emotions are supposed to be - in your mind with which you think and in your soul where is the touch-stone of right and wrong. Life without an object is as cold as a furnace without fire - is as empty as a religion without a God. When you are successful it will be because you have pursued an object. When you fail sit down and create for yourself the object you have hitherto ignored”

- Lord Curzon

Aandhi - The Storm

Samyukta Parchure — Mon, 17 Mar 2025 12:20:17 GMT

I was perhaps 8 or 9 years old, had recently started playing harmonium and was excited to play the song I had practised myself without anyone’s help. The song was ‘Mora Gora Anga Lai Le’, from the film Bandini. Back then, I was more interested in the ‘bakshees’ my father had promised me after I had played the song without making a single mistake. I was too young and naive to know about the song, the lyricist, the music. Over the years the song intertwined with my life like the warmth of a soft quilt when wrapped on a winter morning. It is now an inseparable part of my playlist. Now I play and hum this song unknowingly for god knows how many times; when I see the moon, on a cold winter night, when I come across any post or photo of the evergreen Nutan or when someone mentions the name ‘Gulzaar’.

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Sampooran Singh Kalra

The ‘Gulzaar’ phase of my life officially started here. Over the years, I got hooked on many songs penned down by him, becoming an intimate part of my life. But all this relates to the lyricist Gulzaar. For years, I was completely unaware that he belonged to the Bimal Roy School of Indian Cinema and had even contributed to films made by the one and only Hrishikesh Mukherjee as a screenplay and dialogue writer. After Bandini, Gulzaar started assisting Bimal Da and continued his legacy when he started making his own films in the decade of 70s. His directorial debut occurred in 1971 with the film ‘Mere Apne’ starring Meena Kumari, Vinod Khanna and Shatrughna Sinha with a few others as supporting cast.

Bimal Roy

Fortunately, Gulzaar was not introduced to me as a director through 'Mere Apne'. In that case, I would have hesitated to watch any of his further films. The first Gulzaar-made movie that I watched was ‘Aandhi’. And I would not lie, watching ‘Aandhi’ for the first time was a pretty boring experience, owing to its political background. I was a school-going kid back then and politics, for me, was restricted to the dry and banal conversations between the elders on the dining table and television sets. For years ‘Aandhi’ remained for me just a political movie having people who always try to pull other people down the political ladder. But recently an article about the film tempted me to rewatch it with a fresh outlook. And now, after rewatching it, I think the film is the epitome of film director Gulzaar. The film ‘Aandhi’ is often mistaken to be adapted from the novel ‘Kaali Aandhi’ written by Kamleshwar. However, the screenplay of the film and the manuscript of the book started to be formed around the same time, in 1974. The original idea of the story was told to Gulzaar and Kamleshwar by a common friend Bhushan Vanmali. Both writers discussed the storyline with each other, but developed the story individually, based on their own writing traits.

Released in 1975, the film depicts the changing relationship between Arati, a lawyer and a self-made politician and J.K, a hotel manager. A long time ago, J.K. and Arati were deeply in love and desired to get married. Against her father's wish, Arati starts her new life with J.K. Initially, she is quite happy to live a simple life as a housewife; setting her life around and for him and a sweet little daughter. However, keeping her life centred around her husband and daughter does not bring her peace. Her dreams and ambitions are still humming somewhere deep in her heart. It was the moment to choose between the two. At last, she renounces her happy yet frustrated married life and starts walking on her own path. After many years, she travels to a town to campaign for the elections and stays in a hotel managed by J.K. Once again life intersects their paths. Many things have changed over the years; not just the physical appearances but the egos, aspirations, perspectives and perceptions. Both of them starts meeting regularly and are quite happy by each other’s presence. But their past is still a secret for her party members and her voters. Their being together starts sabotaging her image as a politician, threatening her success in the upcoming elections. Finally, she answers all the questions her voters have for her, clears all unwanted doubts about her relationship with J.K. and ends up winning the elections. Aandhi is the story of how the relationship between Arati and J.K. grows, develops and, in the end, matures with the years.

inn reshami raahon mein, ek raah to wo hogi, tum take jo pahuchati hain, iss mod se jaate hain…

For all these years I remembered Aandhi, was for the get-up of Aarti (Suchitra Sen) who, in the film, looks a lot like a popular political figure of that era. For years I believed that the film was based on the life of that person. The presence, Suchitra Sen established on the screen, was very earnest. The very first scene, where Arati walks down the stairs, feels so real. The way she carries her glares, her simple white saree, confidence oozing from her every stride, silver shade in her hair. With every step she takes in that scene, she makes me feel like to be like her, walk like her and carry myself full of energy and confidence, just like her! Arati (Suchitra Sen) carries this boldness further in many scenes. Be it taking the initiative to meet J.K. after so many years; sneaking out at night with J.K., away from her mundane political routine, to fill the gap of all these years or taking a stand for herself in a public meeting of the opposition leader.

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Sanjeev Kumar & Suchitra Sen

We, as humans, are inherently wired to face change, even though we frequently resist it. We change, we grow, we evolve. That’s the way of life, be it reel or real. This growth, the shift towards maturity, after 9 years, in the relation between Arati and J.K. is portrayed in a quite realistic manner. In the initial part of the movie, both Arati and J.K. are quite strong-headed. They are rigid and true to their words. They are not yet ready to mend and bend their lives for each other. When Arati decides to pursue her career, J.K.’s ego overpowers his sanity and he simply tells her to leave the house. He wasn’t ready to accept her as an independent working woman. But the separation of years changes him. After winning the elections, Arati still finds herself in a dilemma; ‘should I continue walking on the path I have taken nine years ago or now is the time to go back to that simple life as a caring mother and a devoted wife’? But J.K. knows, what he would like to expect from his fearless wife. He effortlessly untangles her dilemma, “I know you are obliged to go back and walk on the path you have chosen for yourself. I always want you to be successful”. That moment talks volumes about the maturity, both of them gained over the years. Nine years back they were just a couple, husband and wife for each other. But after all these years, they come together as companions. They are quite aware that the initial spark of human emotions has faded over the years. Those feelings and emotions have been replaced now by nothing but a void, owing to the distance between them. They have recognised the futility of rigid life principles. They are aware that these theories cannot fill their barren lives. And thus they open themselves for reconciliation.

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tum gar saath ho, manzilon ki kami to nahi

No one can question the superior acting and presence of Suchitra Sen as Arati in the movie. But I could not turn a blind eye towards the role of Sanjeev Kumar as J.K. Perhaps it is pretty hard to imagine any other actor in the role of J.K. The film follows a female-centric storyline multiple times, except for a few incidences. But overall it has an exclusive focus on Arati. To share a screen with a female protagonist, match her energy levels and still star as a lead actor might have been a difficult task for Sanjeev Kumar. Yet his flawless presence in the entire film makes us appreciate his talent. He was undoubtedly one of the finest actors in the Bollywood film industry. (Many times we fail to look at him beyond his role as Thakur from Sholay. He has absolutely owned the screen in many films like Mausam, Koshish, Anubhav, Anamika, Angoor and Parichay to name just a few)

Like many, Aandhi's songs have been an inseparable part of my playlist. I hum them at any time of the day, sometimes for the entire week, and then end up going to YouTube to enjoy their visual beauty as well. The songs of love and separation are obviously the most loved and appreciated by the music connoisseurs, however, I even found the song ‘Salam Keejiye’ quite relevant to the political situation depicted in the film and even with the current scenario.

Gulzaar, Suchitra Sen & Sanjeev Kumar

If anyone asks me to name the top three films by director Gulzaar, without a second thought, I would recommend Aandhi, Angoor, and Ijaazat. For me, these are his magnum opuses. These three films are like visual poetry, where director Gulzaar and poet Gulzaar come together to create magic, each possessing its own unique beauty.

In a Land of Eternal Enchantment...

Samyukta Parchure — Thu, 27 Feb 2025 13:24:29 GMT

Hello, my fellow readers and writers. Here is the final part of the Ajintha Series. Throughout this series, I have honestly tried to appreciate the beauty of the Ajanta Caves. I was beguiled by the frescoes and sculptures of Ajintha, which prompted me to read and research more about Buddhist history and its cave architecture. I began noting down the details that amazed me. I started searching for the "awe-factor" in them, and the result was the creation of this blog series. I hope you have enjoyed reading it. Thank you for the appreciation you've sent me via messages.

In this last part, I have mentioned some figures present at the site, many of which I came across quite accidentally. I hope this part brings you plenty of TIL moments, just like the previous ones. Happy reading!

Extra Figures:

Cave 20: A female figure carved on the pillar on the Cave 20. She is wearing a headdress and modest jewellery. She is accompanied by another female figure, perhaps her attendant. The face of this second figure is broken. Both of them seem to be standing under some tree.

Cave 23: A Naga Dwarpala on the door frame of the Cave 21. Five hoods of serpent cover his head. He is holding some weapon in his right hand and has kept his tight leg on a platform. He is wearing modest jewellery.

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Cave 23: A dancing Yaksha on the doorframe of Cave 23

Cave 23: A couple on the doorframe of Cave 23

Cave 23: A couple sitting on a platform with the attendants on both sides. The male figure is holding a bowl. The sculpture perhaps depicts some Buddhist Jataka Story. The sculpture is carved on the pillar present outside Cave 23 on the left-side pillar.

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Cave 23: A male figure, surrounded by other male and female attendants. The sculpture perhaps depicts some Buddhist Jataka Story. There are two Makaras at the bottom and two pairs of flying Yakshas above on both sides. The sculpture is carved on the pillar present outside Cave 23 on the right-side pillar.

Cave 26: Buddha sits in Pralambapada Aasan on a lion's throne, probably showing Dharmachakra Mudra. Two attendants are shown standing on both sides. A flying Yaksha at the corner of a panel. This panel is approximately on the back wall of the cave.

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Cave 26: A standing Buddha with Varada Mudra. A smaller panel on the circumambulation path of the cave.

Cave 26: This carving is outside the cave, on a pillar’s shaft. A Naga King and Queen carved inside a Mandala. They are sitting on a platform with serpent’s hood on their heads; their attendants are depicted in the background.

Cave 27: A female figure carved on the outside pillar with another pot-bellied figure at her feet. A parrot is sitting on her hand. She has rested her left hand on the head of the short pot-bellied figure. She is wearing an elaborate headdress and modest jewellery. Both of them seem to be standing beneath the tree.

Cave 27: A couple sitting on a platform and a flying yaksha in the background.

In a Land of Eternal Enlightenment...

Samyukta Parchure — Wed, 26 Feb 2025 16:41:10 GMT

Buddha in Dharmachakra Mudra. Notice a stupa structure to the right of the Buddha.

Cave 26

Cave 26 is a chaityagriha built in the 5th century AD. The construction corresponds to the Late Phase of excavation and is based on Mahayana Buddhism. The orientation of this cave is similar to Cave 19, with an equally decorated facade. The sculptures on the facade cover every possible surface. It is dominated by a huge chaitya arch window, surrounded by Buddha figures in different Mudras and Aasanas. This case was gifted by a monk named Buddhabhadra and a minister who served the King of Asmaka.

Facade of the Cave 26

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In this picture, on the left wall of the facade, there are two segments where Buddha is carved. In the upper segment, he is sitting cross-legged on a lion's throne with Dharmachakra Mudra. Two deer and a chakra are carved in the centre. The figure is flanked by the two attendants and flying Yakshas in the background. In the lower segment, Buddha is sitting in Pralambapada Aasana, again flanked by two attendants and flying Yakshas in the background. To the right of this lower segment are two standing Buddhas, which are probably showing Varada Mudra. With their broken hands, it is quite difficult to determine the exact mudra of their hands. Above these two segments is a huge Buddha figure, wearing a fine-textured robe and displaying the Varada Mudra.

A massive Buddha figure with finely textured robes

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On both sides of the arched window are two Yaksha guardians. They are wearing jewellery and have curly hair. In the picture, there is one more figure on the right side of this guardian. To the left side is a tree laden with some fruits. To the sides of these Yaksha are the two standing Buddhas, again wearing fine-textured robes and showing Varada Mudra. Above the facade, miniature sculptures are carved, depicting different characters from the Buddhist Jataka stories. On the panel below these guardians are four Buddha figures depicted in Dharmachakra Mudra. They are sitting on a lotus and are carved within an arched border.

Yaksha Guardian

Buddha sculptures below the Yaksha Guardian depicting Dharmachakra Mudra

Inside the cave, on the left wall, is a massive sculpture of Buddha’s Mahaparinirvana. He is lying on his right side, with his right hand under his head. A few mourners are seated below. What strikes me the most about this Buddha is the neutral, calm and serene expression on his face. Such emotions are only observed on the face of someone who has reached that level of eternal bliss - the face free from worries and anxieties, detached from all the fears of life. This sculpture is perhaps one of the best structural panels at Ajintha. Pro tip: Don’t miss the toes of Buddha in this state. They are the epitome of intricacy and the craftsmanship of the sculptors of Ajintha.

Mahaparinirwan…

Flying Yaksha

Inside the cave, on the left wall, just after the Mahaparinirvan sculpture of Buddha, is ‘The Temptation Scene’. According to the Buddhist Jataka stories, Mara is a celestial Asura King who tried to stop Siddharth Gautama from achieving Enlightenment. He attempted to seduce Gautama with his celestial Army and beautiful women in different forms, who are said to be his daughters. The relief presents a continuous narrative, depicting three events in this single piece. In the scene carved in this cave, Buddha is seated at the centre with Bhumisparsha Mudra under a Bodhi Vriksha (tree). At both upper corners of this relief, Mara is depicted sitting astride an elephant, leading his forces in an attempt to disturb Buddha’s mind before he achieves Enlightenment. Just below Buddha are Mara’s three daughters: Rati, Arati, and Trushna. They are trying to seduce Buddha and break his meditation. To the left of these three daughters is a sculpture of a dejected and defeated Mara, sitting with his daughters, his hand resting on his head.

To the bottom - Dejected Mara with his hand on his head with his three daughters Rati, Arati, and Trushna

Buddha in Varada Hasta Mudra

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In a Land of Eternal Enchantment...

Samyukta Parchure — Mon, 24 Feb 2025 11:01:15 GMT

Cave 19

Cave 19 is a chaityagriha, built in the 5th century AD with Mahayana Buddhism influences. It corresponds to the Later Phase of the excavation. Just outside the entrance door, is a porch supported by two pillars. The shafts of these pillars are decorated with floral patterns. The top ends of the pillar hold Amalakas. For me, the most striking feature of Cave 19 is perhaps its facade. Every little patch of this stone is carved with Buddhas in various mudras, guardians, miniature chaityas and different demigods and deities. On both sides of the chaitya arch are the two guardians, or Dwarpalas, standing in a tribhanga position. The curls of their hair are beautifully carved. They are pot-bellied and wearing necklaces, waistbands and armbands. They seem to be holding flowers or a bunch of grains. Dwarf-like figures accompany these Yaksha guardians. They are placed at their feet with something in their hand.

Dwarpala with a little dwarf

Above these guardians are three seated Buddhas, depicting three different Mudras. The first shows Dhyan Mudra, the central Buddha shows Dharmachakra Mudra and the last sculpture depicts Abhaya Mudra. They are divided by carved pillars, and each segment features flying demigods. Below this row are three chaityas each holding the faces of some demigods.

Dhyan Mudra (left), Dharmachakra Mudra (centre) and Abhaya Mudra (right)

In the next picture, there are multiple Buddhas seated cross-legged with Dharmachakra Mudra. In the lower segment, the two seated Buddhas are accompanied by flying demigods. The central window of the lower segment is carved with a standing Buddha, again with a Dharmachakra Mudra. However, the face of this figure is in ruins. For the middle segment, two pillars are carved on both sides of the Buddha which depicts Dharmachakra Mudra. In the upper segment are the two Buddhas again showcasing Dharmachakra Mudra. On the top is the standard template of two deer and a Dharma Wheel in the centre. Such a template is a common feature on the Throne of Buddha.

The next picture shows a Buddha in the Varadahasta Mudra, standing on a lotus. In the upper corner are two flying demigods.

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To the right side of the entrance, a sculpture of Buddha is carved holding a bowl. This sculpture is known as ‘Mother and Child’, as the figures standing in front of Buddha are his son Rahul and his mother Yashodhara (Siddharth Gautama’s wife). The story behind this sculpture goes like this: Gautam Buddha asked for alms to his own wife and son, while he was wandering in his former kingdom. His son asked Buddha for his rights over the kingdom since he was the successor. What Buddha said was that he could only offer him his begging bowl and nothing more. Buddha’s wife Yashodhara seems to be holding a flower stem in her hand. However, the significance of this is still a mystery to me.

Mother and Child

On the left side wall of the entrance is a sculpture of the Naga King and Queen. The king is seated in Ardhaparyanka Aasana, where he is depicted half-sitting on one folded leg and the other hanging at a right angle. His head is covered by seven serpent hoods. He is wearing an elaborate crown and two necklaces. The queen’s head is covered by one serpent hood, and she is holding a lotus flower in her left hand. She is wearing an elaborate headdress and some minimalist jewellery. Some sources claim that her necklace is a nuptial thread. However, no specific marker to identify her necklace as a nuptial thread can be easily recognised. There is a chauri bearer beside the Naga King who is wearing a headdress and is standing in Vismay Mudra.

Naga King and the Queen

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On the right side wall of the entrance, there is a figure of a seated Buddha with his feet on a lotus. He is sitting in a Pralambapada Aasana, showing Dharmachakra Mudra. To his left side, four miniature Buddha figures are carved with Dharmachakra Mudra. The three of them are seated with a Pralambapada Aasana, while, the second figure is seated with both legs folded.

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Inside the cave is an apsidal-shaped hall with two rows of octagonal columns, dividing the space into a narrow central prayer area and a path for circumambulation. The stupa has a Buddha image on its front. This design is very typical of Late Phase stupas. The platform on which the egg-shaped dome stands is observed to be higher than the Early Phase stupas. This platform has decorative pillars with floral designs and yakshas carved at the base. The dome is carved with a standing figure of Buddha in Abhaya Mudra, enclosed within a Torana. On the top of the dome is a harmika, an inverted pyramid. On this, a cross-legged figure of Buddha is carved in Dharmachakra Mudra. Above the harmika is a three-storey umbrella, the only intact ‘chhatri’ on the stupa at Ajintha. These umbrellas are smaller and narrower than those on earlier stupas and are supported by four dwarfs.

Stupa inside the cave

In a Land of Eternal Enchantment...

Samyukta Parchure — Tue, 18 Feb 2025 13:04:24 GMT

Cave 16

Cave 16 is a Vihara, that dates back to the 5th Century AD. This cave was a late-phase excavation sponsored by Varahdeva, a minister in the court of Vakataka King Harisena. The entrance of the cave is flanked by two elephants carved in stone. Halfway up the stairs is a platform where a Naga King is depicted. He is sitting on a throne with a cushion-like structure to his left. Four hoods of the snake are clearly visible, however, the other one seems to be eroded. I believe the figure may have been accompanied by his consort on his right side, but unfortunately, that sculpture is also missing. Even the bracket in the background, which typically displays the flying demi-gods and mystical figures appears to be damaged.

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Elephant sculpture at the entrance of Cave 16. Notice the folded front leg

Naga King

Inside the Vihara, there are 28 octagonal columns with no bases. Directly opposite the entrance is a sculpture of Buddha seated on a lion's throne with Dharmachakra Mudra, with feet on the ground. Some mythical guardians are flanked on both of his sides. There are many frescos in this cave, are dedicated to the life of the Buddha.

Cave 17

Cave 17, again a Vihara, dates back to the 5th century AD. It corresponds to the Late Phase of excavation and the cave belongs to Mahayana Buddhism. While Cave 16 depicts the Buddha’s life, this cave has frescoes based on the Buddhist Jatakas. According to the sources, the construction of this cave started immediately after the completion of Cave 16 in around 460s. The cave was sponsored by Upendradutta (the first of the cluster including caves 17, 18, 20 and 29). He was a feudatory ruler of the Ajintha region. It is claimed that he spent too much of his wealth on religious pursuits and too little on warfare and war skills. As a result, he suffered a defeat in 470 at the hands of Asmakas. This resulted in the halt of the construction of caves at Ajintha, that he had taken care of.

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Scene from the Vishvantara Jataka.

Standing in front of the entrance, to the left is a fresco of Vessantara or Vishvantara Jataka. The story goes like this: once there was a king named Vessantara or Vishvantara. He is popularly believed to have been the Buddha in a previous life before his incarnation as Siddharth Gautama. He was a generous king, always helping the poor and needy. He owned a magical elephant that was responsible for bringing rain and abundance to his kingdom. Once, by the instruction of some divine power, he gave away his magical elephant. This upset the people of his kingdom, and he was forced to abdicate his throne and move to the forest. He gave away everything he possessed: his horses, chariot, and even his wife and children. After making this ultimate sacrifice, God reunited him with his family and children.

Scenes from Vishvantara Jataka

In this picture, Prince Vishvantara is seen distributing the alms, depicted between the two horses. Many people have gathered around him to receive the offerings made by the king. In the next picture, his wife Madri is shown with an umbrella over her head. In the background, two girls are peeking out of the window. A musician is painted near the queen, who seems to be playing some instrument. This interpretation is questionable when considering the context of the story. I came across many interpretations of this story and tried to connect the dots with the frescos on the wall. However, as a layman, it is difficult for me to understand each and every character in the story, identify them and comprehend the narrative Depicted on the wall. The characters on the wall confused me utterly and, to be honest, they all started looking similar to me. Additionally, the paintings are greatly eroded, which makes it even more difficult to understand the story and the emotions the characters are conveying.

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Madri, Vishvantara’s queen, standing under the umbrella, with her aides. Notice the two women peeking out of the window in the top right corner.

On the left wall of the veranda, a Wheel of Life is painted, though it remains in a very damaged condition. To the right of this wheel is a small Buddha figure, painted with white robes, possibly with a blue border. Another figure sits in front of Buddha, perhaps wearing ornaments and a crown. These details are difficult to identify due to the damage to the fresco. The purpose and meaning of this fresco remain a mystery to me, as I was unable to find the story behind it. However, the way Buddha is seated is quite interesting, as this position is a rare sight.

Frescos on the veranda ceiling of Cave 17

The ceiling of the veranda is a true reflection of the artist's imagination. Geometrical patterns, floral designs, animals, human figures, demigods and birds are painted in a matrix on the ceiling. Standing in front of the entrance, just above, the ceiling consists of a fresco where six decorated figures are painted in a circle. They are shown wearing ornaments like necklaces, crowns, wristbands and armbands. A white-painted line circles around them, intersecting with the arches behind them. The meaning of this Mandala or the figures is unknown to me, as they are not mentioned in the books or research papers I consulted for this study. However, I believe they undoubtedly hold an important place in Buddhist philosophy.

To the right side of the veranda wall, a painting can be found above the window; however, the story begins from the far right corner of the veranda wall. The name of the story is Subjugation of Niligiri or Nalagiri. The story goes like this: Buddha’s cousin, Devadutta, was jealous of his charisma. He was envious of how Buddha was enlightening people and gaining followers. He conspired with King Ajatashatru to kill Buddha by having him trampled under the feet of an elephant. When Buddha entered the town, an intoxicated elephant named Nalagiri or Niligiri charged at him. However, this great animal was subdued by Buddha who caused it to kneel before him. In this painting, a group of women from the royal family are seen, expressing concern for the Buddha’s safety. They are adorned in intricate jewellery and perhaps are discussing the conspiracy among themselves.

A group of women from the royal family expressing concern for the Buddha’s safety

A fresco from the story: Subjugation of Niligiri

Above the door frame, there is a miniature painting of seven Buddhas. Among them, the last two on the right side are the seventh and eighth Buddhas. The seventh Buddha is Siddharth Gautama or Sakhyamuni and the eighth Buddha, who has yet to be born according to Buddhist philosophy, is Maitreya. In this painting, the figure on the right is Maitreya, while the figure in the centre is Siddhartha Gautama or Gautama Buddha. The figure on the left depicts the sixth Buddha, Vipashyin.

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Vipashyin, Sakhyamuni and Maitreya

At the top of the door frame, there are some frescos of female figures. They are painted in a dark complexion and adorned with intricate jewellery. One of the pair is holding a bunch of flowers, which are beautifully and finely painted. In the right corner of the frame, a female figure is standing on a Makara under a tree. If I’m not mistaken, this figure could represent a river, possibly the Yamuna or Ganga.

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In a Land of Eternal Enchantment...

Samyukta Parchure — Sun, 16 Feb 2025 14:55:56 GMT

Cave 10

Cave 10 is another of the oldest chaityagriha at Ajintha, likely dating back to the 2nd or 1st century BCE. Like Cave 9, this chaityagriha is also built with Hinayana or Theravada Buddhist orientation. It was refurbished later in the 5th century with some decorations and paintings. Around the same period, several other chaityagrihas were built across India, especially in the Western region. In this chronological context, this chaityagriha at Ajintha is third in order. The chaityagrihas of Kondivate (Cave 9) and Bhaja (Cave 12) predate Cave 10 at Ajintha1. Since these three caves are the earliest, they have a simple layout. Even the Stupa present inside these caves has a plain and unadorned design.

Buddha sculptures outside the cave

Cave 10 was first discovered by British Army Officer John Smith in 1819. One fine summer morning, while out hunting, Smith suddenly noticed an unexpected site on the nearby mountain. He rode on his horseback up the hill, and it was at that moment that the Ajintha Caves were brought back to life to regain their former glory. Captain Smith returned to the same spot, and with the help of the locals, cleared the vines and creepers that had engulfed the cave’s entrance. It was Cave Number 10 that he discovered. He identified the Buddha’s image and connected it with the ancient Buddhist philosophy that once thrived in the subcontinent. He went inside and for unknown intentions, carved his name and date on the 16th pillar of Cave 10, just near the stupa. Although his reasons for carving his name are unclear today, I believe it was likely to leave a mark for future generations. In the beginning, it was quite difficult for me to locate this pillar, as even on the internet and in the books, its exact mention is obscured. The staff present there claimed to know the exact pillar, but their ignorance was quite apparent. I inspected every pillar for a while, but those efforts were in vain.

John Smith, 28th Cavalry, 28th April 1819. The name of Ajintha’s discoverer on the 16th pillar inside the cave

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Thankfully, my visit coincided with a school trip, and the person accompanying the students pointed towards something on one of the pillars. That was my cue. I asked for his help and he graciously showed me the name which I had been searching for so long. The name isn’t something that can be noticed easily; one needs to look at it with the utmost attention and concentration. Discovering that name was a euphoric moment for me. That moment took me back in time, and I recreated the scene when Captain Smith carved his name on the pillar. It felt as though I was present when he left his mark on that pillar; as if I were part of that iconic moment when the Ajintha Caves were brought back to life. I took some pictures of John Smith’s carved name and fortunately, they turned out perfect and clear.

Buddha sculpture outside the cave

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The facade of the cave was originally made of wood, which no longer survives. Standing in front of the Cave, to the right side are the standing figures of Buddha, carved one below the other. In the lower segment, the Buddha is standing on the Lotus. On his right side are the three Buddhas seated on lotus petals. This segment may have originally had an intricately carved border, But it has since been damaged. In the upper segment, there are four small standing Buddhas on the right side of the large sculpture. This segment too once had a decorative border, which now seems to be missing. Unlike Cave 9, this cave has an apsidal end and provides a path for circumambulation around the stupa. The pillars here are octagonal with no base. An inscription inside the cave tells us that the donations for the caves were made by a certain community, rather than a king or any merchant.

Buddha with orange robes

Buddha with white robes. Notice the detailed creases on his robes

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Inside the cave, there are a few paintings, but they are quite fragile and in a damaged condition. Upon entering the cave, to the right side are the pillars with the painting of a standing Buddha, wearing a robe and depicting Varada Mudra. The creases of his robe are painted in great detail and a halo is painted behind his head. A devotee is sitting with folded hands in front of the Buddha. Similar frescos are painted multiple times on the sides of these octagonal pillars, with the Buddha seemingly encircling the pillars Another striking fresco of Buddha can be seen on these pillars, where the Buddha is depicted in an orange robe. This figure probably displays Varada Mudra or Abhaya Mudra.

A fresco of Buddha on the pillar

Buddha fresco inside a circular design on the pillar inside the cave

On the arches of these caves are frescos of Buddha and Bodhisattvas. This particular painting shows a seated Buddha with a canopy above his head and a halo behind him. He is wearing a red or orange robe and displaying a Dharmachakra Mudra. The painting is largely damaged and thus the expressions on his face are difficult to identify.

Buddha fresco with a canopy above his head

The later chaityagrihas in the chronology include Pitalkhora Cave 3, Kondhana Cave 1, Ajintha Cave 9, Nashik Cave 18, Bedse Cave 7 and a peak of this evolution are the Great Chaityas of Karla.

In a Land of Eternal Enchantment...

Samyukta Parchure — Fri, 14 Feb 2025 12:51:07 GMT

Cave 9

Cave 9 of Ajintha is a chaityagriha, constructed in the simplest form. This cave can be dated back to the 1st or 2nd century BCE. It is one of the oldest caves in Ajintha, belonging to the Hinayana or Theravada Buddhism. The cave was refurbished during the Late Phase and houses several striking Buddha figures. All the Buddha images carved on the facade and side walls of this cave are later additions, probably made during the 5th century CE. In the initial phase of Buddhism, the carvings tended to symbolically represent the Buddha. These symbols included the Bodhi tree, Dharmachakra, Stupa, Buddha’s foot impressions, symbolic throne, lotus flower etc. Therefore, all the direct Buddha images carved here are later additions.

Buddha on the left side of the facade depicting Varada Mudra

Buddha on the facade depicting Varada Mudra

The facade features a massive chaitya arch window, with similar arches carved above the pinnacle and below the base of the big arch. Two enormous Buddha figures are sculpted on the side walls of the cave, depicting the Varada Mudra. On the left side of the arch are the two standing Buddhas again in Varada Mudra, with a devotee near their feet and flying figures in the background. On the right side of the arch are two seated Buddhas with Dharmachakra Mudra. Both of them are sitting on the Lotus flower.

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Dharmachakra Mudra

This is quite a simple chaityagriha with very few paintings inside the cave. All these paintings were added later and now they remain in a faded condition. Unlike other chaityagrihas of Ajintha, this cave does not have an apsidal end. This means the back wall of the cave is not circular but has a plain wall, giving it a rectangular shape. Even the stupa is plain and modest in style with a round platform topped by a dome, followed by a harmika - an inverted pyramid on the top of the sphere. These levels of harmika signify various Buddhist heavens. While a Chakra is typically placed on the top of the Stupa, here it appears to be missing.

Stupa of Cave 9

A fresco of Buddha inside the Cave on one of the pillar

On some of the pillars, a standing Buddha figure can be seen wearing robes and depicting Varada Mudra. On the right wall, a Buddha figure sits on a richly decorated throne. Above the Buddha is an umbrella and on either side of him are Padmapani and Vajrapani, both richly ornamented with decorative crowns. To the right of this seated Buddha, an image of a standing Buddha in Varada Mudra can be noticed. This image is followed by a seated Buddha with a canopy above his head. The painting remains partly damaged.

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Buddha sitting under an umbrella

Buddha on the right wall (right of the facade)

To the right: Cave 9, To the left: Cave 10; Both of them are the chaityagrihas of Ajintha

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In a Land of Eternal Enchantment...

Samyukta Parchure — Wed, 12 Feb 2025 07:22:35 GMT

Cave 5

Cave 5 is an unfinished Vihara, dated back to the 7th century AD. Inside the cave, nothing remains intact, however, the door frame is carved intricately. On the right side, a Makara is carved with a beautiful female figure standing on it. The female figure is reclining on a dwarf with a horned headgear, probably holding a snake in his left hand, and the female seems to be holding a flower in her right hand. She wears beautiful jewellery and an elaborate headdress. Her dress reaches down to her feet, and two ends of a dupatta-like cloth are visible on both sides of her. In the background, a tree can be seen. The Makara on which they both are standing has opened its mouth and showing its teeth.

A female figure with her male attendant

On the left side, two female figures stand on a Makara. The shorter lady appears to be an attendant of the main female figure. A tree laden with fruits is carved in the background, and the attendant perhaps holds some of the same fruits in her hand. Again, the Makara on which they stand has its mouth open, showing its teeth.

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The primary female figure seems to be holding some thread, probably a pearl necklace in her hand.

Cave 6

Cave 6 flaunts as the only two-storey cave at Ajintha. It is a Vihara dating back to the 5th century CE. Inside the shrine, there is a seated Buddha displaying Abhaya Mudra, though his left hand is broken. In Abhaya Mudra, Buddha’s left hand is placed on his lap and his right hand blesses the devotees. He is seated on a lion's throne with two deer and a Dharma Chakra placed in the centre. Near the entrance of the cave, to the right side, a staircase leads to the second storey.

Buddha depicting Abhaya Mudra

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Above the staircase are the small seated Buddhas on a lotus. These figures are carved in a symmetrical pattern and they are quite impressive. Here the Buddha is depicted in different Mudras namely Dhyan Mudra (both hands on lap), Abhaya Mudra and Dharmachakra Mudra. The symmetry in them drew my attention to them. The mesmerising effect of these carvings gripped my mind towards them. Observing these figures was truly a meaningful experience and definitely worth my time.

Two Stupa carvings can be noticed here as well. Upper row to the right side.

On the second storey, in the front aisle, in the right-end shrine, the Buddha sits on a lion's throne depicting a Dharmachakra Mudra. Two attendants stand beside him. One can even notice the flying apsaras in the backdrop.

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Inside the right-side shrine on the second floor, Buddha sits with a Dharmachakra Mudra, on a lion throne with two deer and a Dharma Chakra in the centre. Between the right-side shrine and the main antechamber is a panel depicting standing Buddhas, all in Varada Mudra. One of them has slightly tilted his head to the left.

Buddha in Varada Mudra

In the primary shrine on the second floor, a seated Buddha is carved in the Dharmachakra Mudra, on a lion throne, with two deer and a Dharma Wheel in the centre.

Buddha depicting Dharmachakra Mudra

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Ajintha Caves seen from the gallery of Cave 6