There is something beautifully Indian about the fragrance of sandalwood. Sweet, warm, rich and woody, it is a scent that is deeply interwoven with the nation’s history and heritage. This is, perhaps, one of the many reasons why the Mysore Sandal Soap has held a special place in the hearts of Indians for more than a century.

Here’s the fascinating story behind India’s most-loved sandal soap.

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One hundred and one years ago, in May 1916, Krishna Raja Wodiyar IV (the then Maharaja of Mysore) and Mokshagundam Visvesvaraya (the then Diwan of Mysore), set up the Government Sandalwood Oil factory at Mysore for sandalwood oil extraction.

The primary goal of the project was to utilise the excess stocks of the fragrant wood that had piled up after World War I halted the export of sandalwood from the kingdom of Mysore (the largest producer of sandalwood in the world at the time).

Two years later, the Maharaja was gifted a rare set of sandalwood oil soaps. This gave him the idea of producing similar soaps for the masses which he immediately shared with his bright Diwan. In total agreement about the need for industrial development in the state, the enterprising duo (who would go on to plan many projects whose benefits are still being reaped) immediately got to work.

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A stickler for perfection, Visveswaraya wanted to produce a good quality soap that would also be affordable for the public. He invited technical experts from Bombay (now Mumbai) and made arrangements for soap making experiments on the premises of the Indian Institute of Science (IISc). Interestingly, the IISc had been set up in 1911 due to the efforts of another legendary Diwan of Mysore, K Sheshadri Iyer!

From the talent involved in the research happening at IISc, he identified a bright, young industrial chemist called Sosale Garalapuri Shastry and sent him to England to fine tune his knowledge about making soap. Affectionately remembered by many as Soap Shastry, the hardworking scientist would go on to play a key role in making Visveswaraya’s dream a reality.

After acquiring the required knowledge, Shastry quickly returned to Mysore where the Maharaja and his Diwan were waiting anxiously. He standardized the procedure of incorporating pure sandalwood oil in soaps after which the government soap factory was established near K R Circle in Bengaluru.

The same year, another oil extraction factory was set up at Mysore to ensure a steady supply of sandalwood oil to the soap making unit. In 1944, another unit was established in Shivamoga. Once the soap hit the market, it quickly became popular with the public, not just within the princely state but across the country.

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However, Shastry was not done yet. He also created a perfume from distilled sandalwood oil. Next, he decided to give the Mysore Sandal Soap a unique shape and innovative packaging. In those days, soaps would normally be rectangular in shape and packed in thin, glossy and brightly coloured paper. To help it stand out from the rest, he gave the soap an oval shape before working on a culturally significant packaging.

Cognizant of the Indian love of jewels, Shastry designed a rectangular box resembling a jewellery case— with floral prints and carefully chosen colours. At the centre of the design was the unusual logo he chose for the company, Sharaba (a mythical creature from local folklore with the head of an elephant and the body of a lion. A symbol of courage as well as wisdom, the scientist wanted it to symbolise the state’s rich heritage.

The message ‘Srigandhada Tavarininda’ (that translates to ‘from the maternal home of sandalwood’) was printed on every Mysore Sandal Soapbox. The aromatic soap itself was wrapped in delicate white paper, similar to the ones used by jewellery shops to pack jewels.

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This was followed by a systematic and well-planned advertising campaign with cities across the country carrying vibrant signboards in neon colours. Pictures of the soapbox were noticeable everywhere, from tram tickets to matchboxes. Even a camel procession was held to advertise the soap in Karachi!

The out-of-the-box campaign led to rich results. The soap’s demand in India and abroad touched new heights, with even royal families of foreign nations ordering it for themselves. Another important turning point for the company was when, in 1980, it was merged with the oil extraction units (in Mysuru and Shivamoga) and incorporated into one company called Karnataka Soaps and Detergent Limited (KSDL).

However, in the early 1990s, the state-run firm did face a rough patch due to multinational competition, declining demand and lack of coordination between sales and production departments. As losses started rising, it was given a rehabilitation package by BIFR (Board for Industrial & Financial Reconstruction) and KSDL grabbed the lifeline with both hands.

The company streamlined its way of functioning and soon it had started showing profits again. Thanks to rising profits year after year, it had soon wiped out all its losses and repaid its entire debt to BIFR by 2003. The company also successfully diversified into other soaps, incense sticks, essential oils, hand washes, talcum powder etc.

Nonetheless, the Mysore Sandal Soap remains the company’s flagship product, the only soap in the world made from 100% pure sandalwood oil (along with other natural essential oils such as patchouli, vetiver, orange, geranium and palm rose). Due to tremendous brand recall and loyalty associated with the soap, it also bags a prized position on the shopping lists of visiting NRIs.

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In 2006, the iconic was awarded a Geographical Indicator (GI) tag — that means anyone can make and market a sandalwood soap but only KSDL can rightfully claim it to be a ‘Mysore Sandalwood’ soap.

Thanks to this near-monopolistic presence in the market for sandalwood bathing soaps, KSDL has also become one of Karnataka’s few public sector enterprises that turns consistent profits. In fact, the company registered its highest gross sales turnover (of ₹476 crore) in 2015-16.

Such is the legacy of sandalwood and this earthy, oval-shaped soap in the state that even Karnataka’s thriving film industry calls itself Sandalwood!

Today, there are a multitude of branded soaps in the market but Mysore Sandal Soap continues to hold a distinctive place among all of them. Its production figures continue to rise, even as the availability of sandalwood is on the decline.

To counter this, KSDL has been running a ‘Grow More Sandalwood’ programme for farmers, that provides affordable sandalwood saplings along with a buy-back guarantee.Working in partnership with the forest department, it is also working to ensure that for every sandalwood removed for extraction, a sandalwood sapling is planted to replace it.

The story of Mysore Sandal Soap and its enduring appeal is an inspiration not just for Indian PSUs but for the entire FMCG sector. Here’s hoping that its future is aromatic as its history!

You May Like: Did You Know Sir M Visvesvaraya Tamed Hyderabad’s Floods for Decades?

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Years before the BPO industry created the word ‘Bangalored’, the name of Karnataka’s capital city had entered the common parlance of armies across the world. Bangalore was the colloquial nickname of what the soldiers called the Bangalore Torpedo — little tubes filled with explosives that could clear barbed wires, booby traps and landmines in the battlefield.

Invented by the Madras Sappers in 1912, in what is now the sprawling campus of Madras Engineers Group (near Ulsoor Lake in Bengaluru), Bangalore torpedoes were commonly used by the Allied forces during the World War II.

In fact, it was this deadly arsenal developed in Bengaluru that played a crucial role in turning the tide against Hitler’s Germany when the allied forces stormed the beaches of Normandy in France on June 6, 1944 (also called the D-Day). The Allied invasion of Normandy on D-Day eventually led to the downfall of the Nazis in World War II.

Here’s the fascinating story of the little-known Bangalore Torpedo.

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Comprising of men who were as brave as they were efficient, the Madras Engineer Group (MEG) was formed in 1780 as a forerunner to the army. Their job involved building bridges, clearing hedges, digging trenches (in fact, the name sapper comes from sap, meaning a kind of trench) and clearing any other hurdle that came in the way of the main army, even at cost of their own lives.

The soldiers of MEG (or Madras Sappers as they were later called) accompanied the British Indian Army wherever they went. They were called thambis, that translates to younger brother in Tamil, and their motto was ‘sarvatra’ (everywhere in Sanskrit).

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Such was their efficiency and competence that General Frederick Roberts, the commander-in-chief of the Madras army, was compelled to say in 1883,

“We may now be certain that whenever India is called to put an army in the field, the Madras Sappers will be part of that army. Whenever they have been employed, they have added to their reputation and are a distinction to the Presidency.”

It was a Scottish superintendent of instruction at the Bangalore-based MEG, Major RL McClintock, who devised the Bangalore torpedo using locally available resources and then taught it to the soldiers of the Madras Sappers. It took the team about 26 hours to build the first three Bangalore torpedoes, with the cost of the material and labour coming to all of nine rupees, five annas and 10 paisa!

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The original design of the Bangalore Torpedo had four components – a 5 feet tube to hold the explosive, the explosive charge itself, a live handle and a pointed nose that could pierce obstacles. The tubes could then be connected to stretch up to 50 feet, enabling the soldiers to detonate as many tubes as possible from a safe distance. Upon detonation, the tube itself fragments to shred barbed wire or booby traps, clearing the way for soldiers to cross through.

Bangalore torpedoes proved themselves extremely useful during World War I, especially during prolonged trench warfare. Normally, land mines, barbed wire and booby traps would break the momentum of a frontal charge while giving the enemy an easy target to fire at from the cover of their trenches.

The Bangalore torpedoes effectively prevented this from happening and quickly became the weapon of choice to clear obstacles for military engineers across the world.

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Impressed by the success of the Bangalore torpedoes, the Americans adopted the technology in their World War II campaigns. Their version of the torpedoes, called, M1A1 Bangalore, played a crucial role in breaking through German defenses during D-Day landings on the beaches of Normandy.

Interestingly, Saving Private Ryan, The Longest Day, The Big Red One and Storming Juno — all films set during the World War II— show the device being used to clear obstacles during D-Day invasion scenes!

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The Bangalore Torpedo continues to be a part of the arsenals of US, Indian, British, Canadian, Chinese and Pakistani armed forces. Recently, they have been used in operations in Afghanistan for clearing enemy supply dumps within deep cave systems.

However, the storied path-clearing device may soon to be phased out of service and replaced with its high-tech updated version (called the Bangalore Blade) that is made from lightweight aluminum and using explosive penetrator technology to breach obstacles

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To ensure that the Bangalore Torpedo’s iconic legacy lives on through a new tradition, the Madras Sappers have engineered a cocktail of the same name with ingredients that represent Bengaluru, India and Scotland (in honour of Major McClintock). It was launched in November 2016, the centenary year of invention of Bangalore Torpedo, and is now a part of the Madras Sapper’s religiously followed traditions.

As the Commandant of MEG and Centre told Bangalore Mirror,

“Bangalore Torpedo was accepted by all the armies around the globe and used in most of their operations till date with certain modification to the original design…Madras Sappers take great pride for this invention by their officer and it finds its prestigious place of honour in Madras Sappers Museum and Archives located inside MEG and Centre.”

Here’s an interesting anecdote about the legendary Madras Sappers to end the story with. When the British army began awarding Indians for heroic deeds and exemplary service in the battlefield, the first such award was given to Havildar Chokalingam of the Madras Sappers for his extraordinary courage in the Coorg campaign of 1834.

Named Chokalingam medal after the brave soldier, this was the first medal to be specifically crafted to be awarded to an individual. Today, it occupies a pride of place at the Madras Sappers Museum in Bengaluru.

Also Read: The Little Known Story of How Jamshedpur Played an Active Role in Both the World Wars

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E-mails may have overshadowed the concept of snail mail, yet post offices still hold a special place in the Indian way of life. Having long had a presence in local communities, they have served as exchange posts for news, gossip and much more.

As the country celebrates the National Postal Day today, here’s a look at three of India’s most unusual post offices.

Send a postcard from any of these unique spots, and you are sure to score some travel bragging rights!

1. The Post Office at Hikkim

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Perched at 15,500 ft above sea level in Himachal Pradesh’s strikingly beautiful Spiti Valley, the hamlet of Hikkim is reputedly home to the world’s highest post office.

A small hut with whitewashed walls and a red postbox hanging outside, the quaint post office is 23 km from the town of Kaza and has been functioning since November 5, 1983. With no internet and patchy cell phone signal, the facility is the only conduit to the world for Hikkim’s residents.

This inconspicuous little post office is single-handedly managed by Rinchen Chhering, who has been the branch postmaster for over 20 years. He was chosen for the post when he was just 22 because he could run fast and owned a bicycle!

Every day, two runners take turns hiking to Kaza on foot to deliver mail that is then taken by bus to Reckong Peo, onward to Shimla, further by train to Kalka, from where it is taken to Delhi and sent to its final destination. In winter, everything in the valley freezes – the rivers, the lakes, the mountains. As the snow cover cuts off Hikkim from the rest of the world, the village’s post office also shuts down for six months.

2. The Post Office at Antarctica

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Located in Dakshin Gangotri, India’s first scientific base in Antarctica, this post office first became operational on February 24, 1984, after it was established during the third Indian expedition to the frigid ‘White Continent.’ It was a part of the base’s multi-support systems that also included including ice-melting plants, laboratories, storage and recreational facilities.

The Dakshin Gangotri PO was brought under the Department of Post at Goa on January 26, 1988. Scientist G. Sudhakar Rao, who went to Antarctica as a member of the Seventh Indian Scientific Expedition in 1987, was appointed as its first honorary postmaster. Interestingly, in its first year of establishment, nearly 10000 letters were posted and cancelled at this post office.

However, in 1990, Dakshin Gangotri PO in Antarctica was decommissioned after it got half buried in ice. The post office was then shifted to the new permanent research base, Maitri.

Over the years, the unusual spot has become a favourite stop-off for tourists from cruise ships who came to explore the frozen continent and learn about its unique ecosystem. They send out postcards and letters that take between two and six weeks to reach their destinations via Hobart (in Australia).

3. The Post Office on Dal Lake

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Built on an intricately carved houseboat, the Srinagar’s Floating Post Office claims to be the only one of its kind in the world. Here you can avail all regular postal services while being afloat on the Dal Lake. A heritage post office that has existed since colonial times, it was called Nehru Park post office before it was renamed by the then chief postmaster John Samuel in 2011.

After a pretty little philately museum and souvenir shop were added to it, the Floating Post Office was formally relaunched in August 2011. Interestingly, the seal used on everything posted from the this is unique, and tourist-friendly post office bears a special design — of a boatman rowing a shikara on the Dal Lake — along with the date and address.

While enthusiastic tourists row to the post office every day to send postcards back home, for the locals, the post office is more than an object of fascination. The islets in Dal Lake are home to over 50000 people (farmers, labourers, artisans and shikara owners) for whom this state-run facility is the nearest source of postal and banking services.

Also Read: Nagpur’s Govt Post Office Turns 100. A Resident’s Visit to the Victorian-Styled Building.

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She was an Indian princess, a direct descendant of Mysore’s Tipu Sultan. A refugee, forced to flee her home due to enemy invasion. A secret agent, trained in sabotage and secret communications. But above all, she was one of the bravest Indian women to have ever lived.

She was Noor Inayat Khan, the indomitable woman who was executed by the Nazis for being one heck of a spy.

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Born in Moscow to Sufi musician father, Hazrat Inayat Khan, and American mother, Ora Ray, on January 1, 1914, Noor Inayat was a direct descendant of Tipu Sultan (the 18th century ruler of Mysore). The eruption of of World War I compelled her family to leave Russia and move to France. They settled in Suresnes, a peaceful hilltop suburb of Paris.

Quiet, thoughtful and shy as a young girl, Noor loved reading and would spend hours lost in the world of children’s stories. She was also deeply interested in music and played the veena as well as the harp. At the age of 25, she published her first book of children’s stories that were inspired from Buddhist Jataka tales. She also gained a degree in child psychology and frequently contributed poems to the French radio.

However, Noor’s tranquil life was rudely interrupted by the onset of the World War II in 1940. When Paris fell to German invasion, she lost her home and had to flee with her family to London. Swearing to help take down fascism, she immediately volunteered for the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force (WAAF).

As much as she was determined to support the Allies in their fight against the Nazis, Noor never forgot India.

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During her interview for a commission in the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force (WAAF), Noor bluntly told her interrogators that after the war, she would devote her life to the cause of Indian independence from colonial rule. She said this despite knowing that saying this could result in her not getting the job, or worse, being labeled treasonous!

In 1942, Noor joined Churchill’s secret Special Operations Executive (SOE). Created following the fall of France, the undercover agents of SOE had been instructed to ‘set Europe ablaze’ by helping local resistance movements, spying on the enemy and sabotaging the set-up in enemy-held territories.

Thanks to her shy nature, slight built and scatterbrained way of functioning, Noor wasn’t even remotely suited to be a secret agent. Initially, she would often freeze up during test interrogations and leave code books out in the open. However, the tenacious woman was passionate about taking down the Nazis and put her heart and soul into training, quickly becoming adept in spying in record time.

Her gentle nature often shone through, though: her code name, Madeleine, was a character from one of her stories while the radio encryption code she used was derived from one of her poems!

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Parachuted into Paris in June 1943,  29-year-old Noor was SOE’s first female undercover radio operator in France. Unfortunately, disaster struck almost immediately. Barely a week after Noor entered Paris, virtually all of SOE’s operators in the city were caught in a giant sweep by the Gestapo (the secret police of Nazi Germany).

Reacting quickly, Noor somehow managed to escape but by the end of the sweep, she was the only undercover radio operator left in Paris. The British offered to extradite her but she refused, knowing how crucial her work was. What she did next exceeded what everybody expected from her.

For next three months, she evaded and outran the Gestapo, changing her location and disguise on a nearly daily basis. All this while, she continued to single-handedly send messages from the entire region back to London.

Noor was eventually caught after a double agent betrayed her to the Gestapo. Not  one to go down quietly, the feisty princess fought her captors with all she had: punching, kicking and even biting.  The Gestapo needed six burly men to hold her down as they arrested her!

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At that time, thanks to a heavily compromised network, the average period for a radio operator to defy capture by the Nazis was just six weeks. Noor had lasted three times as long as the average undercover agent in Paris!

A few hours into imprisonment, Noor made her first daring attempt at escape. Demanding that the door be shut to protect her modesty while she took a bath, she used the opportunity to escape from the bathroom window and nimbly clamber onto the roof. But the noise had alerted the guards, who caught her just as she was planning to shimmy down a drain pipe.

After she made another unsuccessful escape attempt, Noor was kept shackled in chains, in solitary confinement, and relentlessly subjected to violent interrogations. And yet, the woman, who once failed her practice interrogations, never revealed a single piece of information.

After almost a year in captivity, she was transferred to Dachau concentration camp along with three other spies. While her companions were executed almost immediately after arrival, Noor was brutally tortured yet again before being shot to death on September 13, 1944. According to eyewitnesses, her last word (that she screamed at the Nazi shooting squad) was “liberte”. 

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Described as a ” modern-day Joan of Arc” by the Mayor of Paris, Noor was posthumously awarded Croix se Guerre, France’s best known military decoration. A tree-lined square in Suresnes was named Cours Madeleine after her and a band still plays outside her erstwhile house every year on Bastille Day.

Noor was also awarded the George Cross, Britain’s highest civilian decoration, in 1949 for her incredible courage in the face of enormous personal danger. Her citation read:

“She refused to abandon what had become the principal and most dangerous post in France, although given the opportunity to return to England, because she did not wish to leave her French comrades without communications.”

In 2006, author Shrabani Basu wrote Noor’s biography called ‘Spy Princess’ in an effort to prevent her story from fading from public memory. She also founded the Noor Memorial Trust and spearheaded a long campaign to get Noor’s heroic exploits formally recognised, which finally resulted in Noor’s statue being unveiled in London in 2012. It was the first stand-alone memorial to an Asian woman in UK.

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Given Noor’s incredible story, it is time she gets the respect and recognition she deserves. As Basu said in an interview to Daily Mail,

“I realised how much Noor’s story had touched ordinary people, especially the young…I also felt it was all the more important to remember Noor’s message, her ideals and her courage in the troubled times we live in.”

Also Read: The Untold Story of India’s Youngest Covert Agent, Saraswathi Rajamani

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The much-awaited Padmavati trailer is out and it looks like Sanjay Leela Bhansali has yet another breathtaking masterpiece on the cards. From the resplendent colours of Rajputana attire to the gloomy greys of Alauddin Khilji’s tents, the trailer is full of grand visuals and vistas that leave a viewer intrigued about the story.

So if you are curious about whether Padmavati is a tale from a bygone era or just an extension of poetic imagination, here’s what both history and folklore say about this epic saga.

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The earliest reference to Rani Padmini is an epic poem written by an Awadhi poet, Malik Muhammad Jayasi, in 1540 called ‘Padmavat‘. Set in an era when the Delhi Sultanate and Rajput kingdoms ruled different regions of North India, the poem is a fictional retelling of the siege of Chittorgarh that Sultan Alauddin Khilji undertook in 1303.

As per Jayasi, Padmini was the princess of the Sinhala-dwipa (present-day Sri Lanka), born to King Gandharvsena and his chief consort Champavati. She is described as a stunning woman, of luminescent beauty “no such was ever seen upon the Earth.

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The story goes that the tales of Padmini’s legendary beauty were spread to lands far and wide by a talking parrot named Hiraman. After Hiraman incurred the wrath of the Sinhala king, it flew to Chittor, where it told its ruler, King Ratan Rawal Singh, about Padmini.

The king, “like the fabled bee, became enamoured”, and travelled to Sinhala-dvipa to attend Padmini’s swayamvar, which he won. After a long journey filled with trials and adventure, he brought her to Chittor as his beloved queen.

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A few years later, the king caught a member of his court – a sorcerer called Raghav Chaitanya – invoking dark spirits and banished him from Chittor. The vengeful man travelled to the Delhi court of Alauddin Khilji and told him all about Padmini’s mesmerising beauty, following which the Sultan marched upon Chittoor to acquire her for himself.

On reaching Chittoor, Alauddin Khalji conveyed his desire to the Rajput King to see the Queen about whom he had heard so much. Unaware of the impending danger, Ratan Singh acceded to this request. However, Padmini agreed to show only her mirror reflection to the impudent Sultan.

Smitten by a mere glimpse of Padmini’s reflection, Khilji became obsessed with the queen and laid siege to Chittoor. Ratan Singh and his Rajput warriors fought bravely but fell under the staggering force of the Sultanate’s massive army. Finally, Khilji entered the fort to look for the Padmini, but by then the brave Queen had already committed jauhar (self-immolation), choosing honour over life.

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A few decades after Jayasi wrote Padmavat, Abul Fazl (the court chronicler of Mughal emperor Akbar) penned another famous re-telling of the siege of Chittoor. This was followed by over a dozen adaptations, with the most popular one being “Gora Badal Padmini Chaupai“, a 16th-century composition by Rajasthani bard Hemratan.

However, contemporary historians remain highly sceptical of Queen Padmini’s existence, claiming it a mere figment of imagination on the part of both Jayasi and Fazl. Nonetheless, Khilji’s subjugation of Chittoor is indeed a part of India’s recorded history.

A ruthless warmonger who killed his own paternal uncle to ascend the throne, Khilji ruled over a large swathe of the Indian subcontinent from 1296 to 1316. Other than his military expertise, he was also known for his ruthless administration and market reforms. Interestingly, Amir Khusrau, who accompanied Khilji to chronicle his military campaigns, made no mention of Chittoor’s Padmini in his writings.

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This is one of the main reasons why many historians believe the sultan’s invasion of Chittoor to be an ambitious ruler’s attempt to expand his kingdom rather than a lovesick man’s personal quest to acquire a beautiful woman. Furthermore, Jayasi’s original poem is shot through with signature Sufi imagery (the philosophical tradition to which the poet belonged) of which love and longing are an integral part.

As of now, the true story of Padmavati remains shrouded in layers of myth, mystery and age-old folklore. Will Bhansali follow Jayasi’s epic saga or take a detour from story pervading popular imagination? Only time will tell!

Also Read: The Forgotten Story of Rani Abbakka Chowta, the Fearless Warrior Queen of Tulu Nadu

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The Madras Observatory offers little to the visitor’s eye. Stone slabs and broken pillars lie ignored in a fenced-off section of a local weather centre in the southern Indian city of Chennai. Few tourists venture out to see the ruins of the 18th-century complex. On the other side of the subcontinent, in northern Indian cities such as New Delhi, Varanasi and Jaipur, remains of the Jantar Mantars, vast astronomical stations, are far more popular attractions.

Built in the same century as the Madras Observatory, their stark geometric structures, with looming proportions and vibrant colours, make for mandatory stops on travellers’ itineraries. Yet it is the Madras Observatory, and not the spectacular Jantar Mantars, that marks the triumphal fusion of scientific knowledge and imperial power.

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South Asians had been studying the heavens long before the 18th century. The subcontinent’s first texts on astronomical phenomena date back more than 3,000 years. As was common throughout the ancient world, observations about the movements of stars and planets often served the needs of astrologers and priests. Nevertheless, they formed an impressive body of scientific knowledge, one that was further enriched by contact with other cultures.

The Islamic conquest of South Asia in the medieval era brought Persian and Arab discoveries along with it, and the Mughal Empire promoted a blend of South Asian and Islamic astronomical knowledge in the 16th and 17th centuries. The city of Lahore, in modern-day Pakistan, became a centre in the production of sophisticated astronomical instruments such as celestial spheres.

By the early 18th century, as Mughal rulers lost control of most of the subcontinent, local rulers used astronomy to promote their own authority. They built the flamboyant Jantar Mantars across northern India to show that, just like the great dynasties before them, they too were patrons of knowledge.

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The era’s greatest promoter of astronomy was Jai Singh II, the 18th-century raja of Jaipur. He oversaw the construction of monumental observatories across his domains, using them not only to overawe subjects but also to gather useful knowledge about the lands he ruled.

His Jantar Mantars, like others in South Asia, featured massive sundials, sextants and other instruments of observation, but lacked telescopes, which had been invented in Europe a century before. Eager to capitalise on European knowledge, and to show the global reach of his influence, Jai Singh II came into contact with French missionary scientists.

A team of Jesuit astronomers arrived at Jaipur in 1734, and demonstrated the practical value of their scientific advances. By establishing the exact time that the Sun was at its highest over a given spot, the missionaries could determine its longitude, or distance east or west of other points on the Earth’s surface. They established the longitude of several of Jai Singh II’s cities, just as other Jesuit teams were doing for the Qing emperors in China.

Offering their astronomical knowledge to Asian rulers, these Catholic missionaries hoped to win approval for their Christian faith, while the rulers they served used foreign expertise to increase their own power. The Jesuits also learned from South Asian science, studying Sanskrit, the classical language of science in South Asia, in order to translate the greatest works of South Asian astronomy.

This peaceful exchange of scientific patronage, technology and texts between Europe and Asia was short-lived. After the raja’s death in 1743, scientific activity in his network of observatories faded, and Jaipur’s collaboration with the Jesuits came to an end. New forces entered the fray, as both the subcontinent and astronomy became arenas for the rising empires of Britain and France.

Throughout the second half of the 18th century, as the two rival powers fought for control of North America, they also competed against each other in South Asia, staging proxy wars through networks of local allies. They also competed to gather scientific data, sending rival astronomical expeditions across their far-flung empires and using the knowledge gained to control their colonies. While only a few generations before, it might have seemed that the global circulation of astronomical knowledge would bring a new era of understanding between Europe and Asia, this was not to be.

In 1792, the British East India Company delivered a stinging defeat to Tipu Sultan of Mysore, France’s only remaining ally in South Asia. In the same year, it completed the construction of the Madras Observatory, one of the first modern observatories in Asia. It was armed with impressive telescopes, still rare in the Indian subcontinent.

The observatory was the brainchild of Michael Topping, a British surveyor tasked with mapping the shoreline of southern India. He argued that an observatory was crucial to his task, since astronomy was the ‘parent and nurse of navigation’. But the site was also a tool of colonial rule, a means of showing that Britain was now the dominant power in South Asia. As Topping insisted, astronomy held the key to ‘the sovereignty of a rich and extensive empire’.

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The East India Company destroyed what remained of Tipu Sultan’s power in 1799, when Tipu himself died in a desperate last battle at his capital of Srirangapatna. Most of his sultanate was annexed by the Company, which soon began an extensive survey of his former dominion. Fanning out from the Madras Observatory, British surveyors used it as a fixed location from which they could calculate the exact location of sites in Mysore.

This was a first step to assessing the value of the lands for tax purposes, and bringing the region under direct British control, where it would remain for the next century and a half. The observatories of Jai Singh II, symbols of his kingdom’s independence and cosmopolitan collaboration with European science, were a thing of the past.

Alongside other massive British projects of scientific knowledge-collection, such as James Cook’s expeditions to the Pacific (1768-1778), the Madras Observatory heralded the rise of a new kind of science, serving the needs of a global empire and imposing its sway on subject peoples.

– Written By Blake Smith

This article was originally published at Aeon and has been republished under Creative Commons.

You May Also Like: Get Star Struck at 7 of India’s Most Beautiful Astronomical Observatories

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If you think people are inherently good, you get rid of the police for 24 hours – see what happens.

 – Sylvester Stallone

Every day, in every city and town across the country, police officers help make their communities safer. Still, we know very little about these everyday heroes. Let’s have a look at the history of some of these departments without which we cannot imagine our reasonable safe existence.

The establishment of India’s current police departments goes back to 1843 when Sir Charles Napier established a police system in Sindh on the pattern of the colonial Irish constabulary.

 Picture Source – Wikipedia

The Napier’s police led the East India Company to set up a common system of police on the pattern of Irish Constabulary. Later, after the first war of the rebellion in 1857, the British Indian Government set up a Police Commission in 1860.

Interesting, one of the directives of the Commission was “though the duties of the police should be entirely civil, not military, the organization and discipline of the police should be similar to those of a military body”.

The current police system in our country flows from this charter.

The Police Act of 1861 established the fundamental principles of organisation for police forces in India, and, with minor modifications, continues in effect.

Consequently, state-level police forces are separate and differ regarding the quality of equipment and resources. Although their patterns of organisation and operation are markedly similar, the various state police forces have a distinct mission, vision and fascinating history too.

Let’s have a look at few of our State Police forces –

 Delhi Police:

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 With the motto of ‘Shanti Seva Nyaya’ which means Peace Service Justice, the Delhi Police was formed in 1861 and is currently headed by Amulya Patnaik, the Commissioner of Police, Delhi.

Delhi’s long history of policing comes through the famed Kotwals.

Malikul Umara Faqruddin is said to be the first Kotwal of Delhi in 1237 A.D. The kotwals came to an end after 1857.

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The British re-instituted a force through the Indian Police Act of 1861. Interestingly, since Delhi was part of Punjab then, the force remained a unit of the Punjab Police even after the city became the Capital of India in 1912.

As Delhi’s population rose, so did the strength of the Delhi Police. In 1961, it was over 12,000. Presently, the sanctioned strength of Delhi Police is 83,762.

In the year 1966, on the basis of the Khosla Commission Report, the force was once again reorganised into four police districts, namely, North, Central, South and New Delhi.

At present, there are three ranges, 11 districts and 180 police stations in Delhi. Today, Delhi Police is perhaps the most extensive metropolitan police in the world, larger than London, Paris, New York and Tokyo.

2. Jammu and Kashmir –

Photo Source – Wikipedia

The Director General of J&K Police, IPS Shesh Paul Vaid, heads the Jammu and Kashmir Police. Their motto is ‘A Saga of Sacrifice and Courage.’

The first modern Jammu & Kashmir police force came into existence in 1873 with one police officer known as a Kotwal and 14 Thanedars for Srinagar City. This police force would control crime with the help of Chowkidars and Harkars, who were paid by the population out of their annual agricultural produce on a voluntary basis.

It was in 1913 that the state requisitioned the service of an Imperial Police (IP) officer on deputation and appointed Mr Broadway as the first Inspector General of Police in June 1913.

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He continued to be police chief up to 1917 and was followed by other IP officers.

Since then the police in J&K has undergone several re-organizations. The police in J&K numbered 1040 in the year 1889-90, 1570 in the year 1903 and forty years later, in 1943-44, the strength of J&K Police was 3179.

Amazingly, at present, it has exceeded the 83000 mark.

3. Rajasthan Police:

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The motto of Rajasthan Police is ‘Committed to Serve’, and it is presently headed by Director General of Rajasthan Police, Shri. Ajit Singh Shekhawat, IPS.

The first Inspector General of Police was Mr R.Banerji, who took over on 7th April 1949. Mr. Banerji held this post for seven months, during which he chalked out a common police code for the United State of Rajasthan.

The Rajasthan Police Service was formed in January 1951. This marked the beginning of Rajasthan Police as we know it today.

4. Karnataka Police:

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Mysore state was the predecessor to Karnataka state, which was created on 1st November 1965.

L. Rickets was appointed as the first Inspector General of Police, prior to which the state police had no status, structure and powers as such.

The police system worked under various names such as Talwars, Thotigars and Kavalgars. Later in 1817, as per the Bengal regulation model, laws were enforced and Patels and Shyanubhogas were entrusted with police responsibilities.

They were neither paid, granted leave nor had access to any vehicle. Instead, the Maharajas gave them Inam (rewards) in the form of land or food grains.

Reformation of the police system took place in the year 1883.

On the 1st of November 1885, Ricket was appointed the first Inspector General of Police of the old Mysore state.

In 1956, the Mysore state came into existence and the new unified state police got a uniform dress code under the Mysore Police. 

With the passage of time, there was an increase in violence, law & order problems, crime rate and a strong force was developed with improved facilities to meet the new challenges.

Presently IPS officer R.K Dutta is the director general of Karnataka police.

5. Sikkim Police: 

The motto of the Sikkim police is ‘Protect and Serve’, and it is currently headed by director general of Sikkim Police, IPS Avinash Mohananey.

At the 19th century began to come to a close, a series of events led to the birth to the new organisation in the laps of the Himalayas.

Sikkim had become a protectorate of British India in 1861.

The first political officer of Sikkim, Claude White raised its modern police force, believing that the increase in population made it necessary.

Photo Source – Wikipedia

Sikkim was also having territorial disputes with Tibet. In 1886 some Tibetian Militia occupied Lingto on the Eastern border of Sikkim. In 1888, the Tibetans also attacked Gnathang, but were pushed back by British troops.

Such activities were a serious threat. The British felt that a Police outpost must be established somewhere at a strategic point on the Kalimpong-Rhenock-Jelepla-Lhasa Trade route.

It was on the 27th of Nov. 1897 that a force consisting of one Head Constable and five Constables was posted at Aritar near Rhenock. Thus the Sikkim Police was born.

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Parle G — a name that instantly brings back childhood memories of dunking crisp biscuits in a hot cup of milk and quickly having the soggy piece before it crumbled back into the milk. A much-loved chai staple in India, the humble rectangular biscuit is something most Indians have grown up eating.

Even today, many people across the country wake up to a cup of tea and Parle-G every morning. Little wonder that for millions of Indians, it isn’t just any other biscuit: it’s comfort food!

So if you are one of Parle-G’s die-hard fans, here’s a tale to tease your taste buds – the story of Parle, India’s largest biscuit maker, and its signature product.

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The year was in 1929. Mohanlal Dayal of the Chauhans, a Mumbai-based family of silk traders, had just bought and refurbished a decrepit, old factory to manufacture confectionery (such as boiled sweets).

Deeply influenced by the Swadeshi movement (that promoted the production and use of Indian goods), Chauhan had sailed to Germany a few years ago to learn the art of confectionery-making. He returned in 1929, armed with the required skills as well as the required machinery (imported from Germany for Rs 60,000).

Located between the sleepy villages of Irla and Parla, the small factory set up by the Chauhans employed just 12 men with the family members themselves serving in multiple capacities — as engineers, managers, and confectionery makers.

Interestingly, it is believed that the founders were so busy managing the factory that they forgot to name it.

And so with time, the first Indian owned confectionery brand in the country came to be known after its place of birth — Parle.

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Parle’s first product was an orange candy that was soon followed by other confectioneries and toffees. However, it was only 10 years later that it began its biscuit making operations. Even as the bugle for World War II was sounded in 1939, the company baked its first biscuit.

Back then, biscuits were mostly imported, expensive and meant for consumption by the elite classes. United Biscuits, Huntly & Palmers, Britannia and Glaxo were the prominent British brands that ruled the market.

It was to counter this trend that Parle Products launched Parle Gluco as an affordable source of nourishment for the common masses. Made in India, meant for Indian palates and accessible to every Indian, the humble biscuit quickly became popular with the public. It was also much-in-demand by the British-Indian army during World War II.

However, in 1947, a severe shortage of wheat (India was left with only 63% of its wheat cultivation area after Partition) immediately after Independence meant that the production of Parle Gluco biscuits had to stop for a while.

In an ad saluting Indians who had sacrificed their lives for the freedom of their motherland, Parle urged its consumers to make do with barley biscuits till wheat supplies were restored to normal.

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In 1960, Parle Products started feeling the pinch when other players in the market began launching their own glucose biscuits. For instance, Britannia launched its first glucose biscuit brand, Glucose D, and had it endorsed by Gabbar Singh (Amjad Khan’s avatar in Sholay). Confused by similar brand names, most people would just ask shopkeepers for glucose biscuits.

To battle the flood of knock-offs, the firm decided to create a packaging that would be unique to Parle Gluco while patenting its own packing machinery. The new packaging was a yellowish wax-paper wrapper with a plump little girl imprinted on it (an illustration by Everest Brand Solutions), along with the brand name and company’s red-coloured logo.

However, while the new packaging clicked with the biscuit’s target audience — kids and their mothers, it still failed to decisively distinguish Parle Gluco from the horde of “me-too” glucose biscuit brands in the market. This prompted the management to rechristen the biscuit and see if it helped it stand out from the crowd.

And so in 1982, Parle Gluco was repackaged as Parle G, with the ‘G’ standing for glucose, of course. To avoid duplication by small biscuit-makers (who sold their low-quality biscuits in a similar yellow wax paper), the packaging material was change to low-cost printed plastic.

Its cheeky new tagline stated, “Often imitated, never equalled”.

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This was quickly followed by an innovative TV commercial in which a burly Dadaji and his precocious grandchildren sang in chorus — “Swaad bhare, Shakti bhare, Parle-G”. In 1998, Parle-G found a quirky brand endorser in Shaktiman, the desi superhero from a telly screen who was immensely popular with Indian kids.

And Parle products have not looked back since. From “G Maane Genius” and “Hindustan ki Taakat” to “Roko Mat, Toko Mat“, Parle- G’s fun yet relatable ads helped it move its image from mono-dimensional to multi-dimensional — from an energy biscuit to a source of strength and creativity.

For instance, its 2013 ad campaign encourages parents to give their kids a free hand in pursuing their dreams. The jingle, for which Gulzar lent his pen and Piyush Mishra lent his voice, celebrates “Kal ke Genius“.

Its most recent campaign, “Woh Pehli Waali Baat“, has people in different scenarios talking of changes that have taken place over the years.

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These perfectly-executed campaigns and the biscuits’ reliable quality are among the key reasons for the brand’s success over the years. Today, the company boasts of astounding sales figures of over a billion packets a month. That is around a hundred million packets of Parle G every month, or 14,600 crore biscuits in the entire year, which adds up to 121 biscuits each for 1.21 billion Indians.

In fact, the biscuit is so popular that some restaurants have started using it to make high-end desserts. For example, Farzi Cafe has invented a Parle G cheesecake and Mumbai’s 145 has a Parle G Eatshake!

Nonetheless, despite its swift growth and heavy demand, the brand has remained true to its philosophy. It is consumed by people from every strata of society; from a person sitting in an urban high rise to a person in the smallest of towns. It is also the only brand that is easily available at places like a village of 100 people near the LoC.

Maybe that’s the reason this humble glucose biscuit has retained its special place in the heart of all Indians, despite new biscuits entering the market every other day.

Here’s some interesting trivia to end the story of the world’s largest selling biscuit!

• If you line up all the Parle-G biscuits consumed annually, end to end, you can go around the Earth 192 times.
• The amount of sugar used to make 13 billion Parle-G biscuits — 16,100 tons — can cover the streets of the world’s smallest city, the Vatican City.
• 400 million Parle-G biscuits are produced daily, and if a month’s production of the biscuits is stacked side by side, the distance between the Earth and the Moon can be covered.

Also Read: The Fascinating History of the Iconic Mysore Sandal Soap

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Today’s Google Doodle features Nain Singh Rawat, celebrating the 187th birth anniversary of the fearsome Indian explorer who surveyed the vast unexplored expanses of Tibet in the late 19th century.

But did you know that the man was the first person in the world to do that, besides determining the exact location and altitude of Lhasa, mapping the Tsangpo, and finally, bringing the fabled gold mines of Thok Jalung to world’s notice?

Born in 1830 in Milam, a village nestled in the valleys of the Kumaon Hills, the man’s ‘spy’ expedition proved to be a game changer in a time when the exploration game was a clear monopoly of the Europeans.

Here’s everything you need to know about the legendary explorer whose name continues to elicit nothing less of than admiration in the wide circles of exploration:

1. Rai Bahadur Nain Singh Rawat was born in a Shauka village located in the valley of Johar in Kumaon Hills, which is famous for being the home of Bhotia explorers from the British Era.

2. After leaving school, Nain Singh helped his father and visited different centres in Tibet with him. In the process, not only did he learn the Tibetan language, but also comprehended the customs and mannerisms practised by the local people, which would prove to be extremely beneficial in years to follow.

3. In 1855, a 25-year-old Nain Singh was first recruited by German geographers, the Schlagintweit brothers. The German scientists had approached the office of the Survey of India, which reluctantly allowed them to proceed with their survey.

4. Following which, along with three members of his family, Nain Singh set afoot on his first exploration trip between 1855 and 1857 and travelled to Lakes Manasarovar and Rakas Tal and then further to Gartok and Ladakh.

5. After the exploration with the German brothers, Nain Singh Rawat joined the Education Department and was appointed as the headmaster of a government vernacular school in his village at Milam from 1858 to 1863.

6. In 1863, Nain Singh Rawat and his cousin, Mani Singh Rawat, were selected and sent to the Great Trigonometrical Survey office in Dehradun where they underwent training for two years. This included training on the use of scientific instruments and ingenious ways of measuring and recording and the art of disguise.

7. Being exceptionally intelligent, Nain Singh Rawat quickly learned the correct use of scientific instruments like the sextant and compass and could easily recognise all major stars and different constellations easily.

8. Part of the secret ‘spy’ exploration mission, he had donned the guise of a Tibetan Monk and walked from his home region of Kumaon to places as far as Kathmandu, Lhasa, and Tawang. He was trained to maintain a precisely measured pace, which included covering one mile in 2000 steps, and measuring those steps using a modified Buddhist rosary or mala.

9. Several other ingenious methods were devised, where the notes of measurements were coded in the form of written prayers, and these scrolls of paper were hidden in the cylinder of the prayer wheel to escape notice during the secret missions.

10. Collecting intelligence under the most testing conditions, he travelled closely with the local population in caravans and thus followed some of the most fascinating accounts in the history of exploration, which led Nain Singh to map the vast expanses of Tibet and its river systems.

11. In 1865, Nain Singh left the Trigonometrical Survey and head out for Nepal with Mani Singh. While Mani returned to India soon, Nain went on to explore Tashilhunpo, where he met the Panchen Lama, and later Lhasa, where he met the Dalai Lama.

12. During his stay in Lhasa, his true identity was discovered by two Kashmiri Muslim merchants. Interestingly, they not report him to the authorities and on the contrary, lent him a small sum of money against the pledge of his watch.

13. On his second voyage, in 1867, Singh explored western Tibet and stumbled across the fabled gold mines of Thok Jalung. He was also blown away by the humility of the workers, who only dug for gold near the surface, as they believed that digging deeper was a crime against the Earth and would deprive it of its fertility.

14. His last and greatest journey was completed between the years 1873 and 1875, where he travelled from Leh in Kashmir to Lhasa, by a route more northerly than the one along the Tsangpo that he had taken on his first journey.

15. In recognition of his stupendous feats of exploration, Nain Singh was presented with an inscribed gold chronometer by the Royal Geographic Society (RGS) in 1868. According to Colonel Henry Yule, “his explorations had added a larger amount of important knowledge to the map of Asia than any other living man”.

16. Nain Singh was also conferred with the award of the Victoria or Patron’s Medal of the RGS in 1877 along with an inscribed watch by the Society of Geographers of Paris. In recognition of his fabulous achievements, the erstwhile government of India honoured the man with a land-grant of two villages.

The doodle art is a silhouette diorama illustration by paper cut artists Hari and Deepti Panicker, portraying Nain Singh Rawat as he might have looked on his travels — solitary and courageous, looking back over the distances he had walked, rosary beads in hand, and staff by his side.

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Over the years, computers have come to play a significant role not just in the lives of ordinary Indians but also in their work. The last few decades especially have seen rapid advancements in the field of computer technology in India. For many Indians, this is a welcome consequence of the LPG (Liberalization Privatization Globalization) reforms unleashed by the government in 1991.

However, while it was certainly an important turning point, the year 1991 was not when India’s computer revolution came into existence. The story begins in the tumultuous years just before India’s Independence.

A statistician who would later go on to be one of the main architects of India’s planning regime, Prasanta Chandra Mahalanobis, had been asked by colonial administrators to conduct estimates of the paddy crop in Bengal in the aftermath of the famine. It was while doing this that he felt the need for computing machines and decided to try developing them locally.

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With this thought at the back of his mind, Mahalanobis founded the Indian Statistical Institute (ISI) in Calcutta in 1932 and introduced mechanical desk calculators for the first time. In 1943, he also set up the Indian Calculating Machine and Scientific Instrument Research Society to explore the fabrication of such devices locally.

However, it was only after India got its hard-won independence that he got the opportunity to work towards developing indigenous computers. The development of India’s scientific capabilities was a key interest of then-Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru and he gave the responsibility of spearheading this project to two of his most trusted scientist-aides — Mahalanobis and Homi Jehangir Bhabha (who, interestingly, shared a fierce professional rivalry!).

Since acquiring computing power and capability necessary was integral to the success of this effort, Mahalanobis and Bhabha began a race to kickstart India’s computer revolution. Both of them decided to work towards acquiring contemporary computers, build national institutions that would specialise in this technology, and, most importantly, develop indigenous capability.

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With the specific aim of developing an analog computer to support the work done at ISI, Mahalanobis set up an Electronic Computer Lab and hired two talented graduates for the purpose- Samarendra Kumar Mitra and Soumyendra Mohan Bose.

While the task may sound easy, back then, it definitely wasn’t. Thanks to the absence of locally-made computer components in India and a scarcity of foreign exchange (along with a tedious bureaucratic process) to import components, finding ready-made parts for the computer was near impossible.

So the enterprising duo scoured the junkyards and war surplus depots to dig up scrap material that they then re-purposed into computer components in their workshop. For instance, in the absence of magnetic tapes or floppy disks, data was punched into cards made of stiff paper!

Their ingenuity and tireless efforts bore fruit when India finally got its first indigenous analog computer (that could solve linear equations with 10 Variables and related problems) in 1953.

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By then, Bhabha had already founded the Electronics Committee that would go on to lay the blueprint for India’s computer development in 1970s and spawn new institutions like the Department of Electronics. Thus began India’s computer revolution. Interestingly, both Mahalanobis and Bhabha bonded well with Western scientists and used this network to forge closer ties with the global computer community.

A few years later, a new race began between these two scientific titans — the race to build India’s first indigenously-developed digital computer. Under Mahalanobis’s guidance, ISI collaborated with Jadavpur University to work towards the same. At the same time, Bhabha was blazing his own trail at Tata Insititute of Fundamental Research (set up by JRD Tata in 1945 after Bhabha wrote to the Tata Trust requesting financial assistance to set up a scientific research institute).

While Mahalanobis had won the previous race, this one was aced by Bhabha when his team built a full-scale digital computer in 1959. Commissioned for routine work in early 1960, the machine was formally christened TIFR Automatic Calculator (TIFRAC) by PM Nehru in 1962.

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Recalling the excitement of the TIFR team when the first program was run on TIFRAC, PVS Rao (a member of the pioneering team) narrates in the opening essay of the book, Homi Bhabha and the Computer Revolution (edited by RK Shyamasundar and MA Pai),

“It was a small machine language program cumulatively adding one number to another; it looped a number of times and stopped after a specified number of cycles. To the design team, the first Indian computer running a ‘stored program’ was as much a milestone as the first Indian reactor sustaining a chain reaction of nuclear fission!”

Having built India’s first generation analog and digital computers at their respective institutions, both Mahalanobis and Bhabha realized the need for more powerful, state-of the-art, computing machines to boost the fledgling scientific research taking place in the country. This requirement formed the basis for a third race between the two — a battle to win the tag of National Computer Centre for their respective institutes!

While simultaneously expanding the computing activity being carried out in their organisations, both Mahalanobis and Bhabha devoted their efforts towards importing powerful contemporary computers.

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Since it was difficult for the Indian government to spare so much foreign exchange for one piece of computing equipment, they had to convince foreign governments and institutions to help them fulfill this target.

After a fortuitous turn of events, it was Bhabha who finally won this battle and took the lead in India’s electronics development policy. The head of TIFR had run into IBM’s Director of Research (ER Piore) aboard a flight to Zurich and mentioned his plan of acquiring a cutting edge computer for atomic energy research in India. Impressed by Bhabha’s vision and articulate arguments, Piore agreed to help.

This was the genesis of a long and fruitful association between a state-run Indian research project and an American computer biggie that would go on to pave the way for not just India’s atomic energy research, but also for its celebrated IT revolution.

As we come to the end of this fascinating story, here’s some interesting trivia about the world’s earliest analog computer.

In 1902, Greek archaeologist Valerious Stais was working at the National Archaeological Museum in Athens when he made a momentous discovery. Embedded in a piece of rock recovered from the Antikythera wreck (a shipwreck off the Greek island of Antikythera), he noticed a corroded yet perceivable gear wheel.

Nicknamed the Antikythera mechanism, the ancient mechanical device was designed to calculate astronomical positions. Today, the primitive tool is believed to be the mankind’s oldest analog computer!

Also Read: How India’s First Indigenous Supercomputer Amazed the World in 1991

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“In this world, I would rather live two days like a tiger, than two hundred years like a sheep.” – Tipu Sultan

(- From Alexander Beatson’s book, A View of the Origin and Conduct of the War with Tippoo Sultan)

More than two centuries after he died defending his capital Srirangapatna from the British, the legend of Tipu Sultan continues to live on. The ‘Tiger of Mysore’ posed one of the strongest military challenges ever faced by the British in the sub-continent, ultimately laying down his life fighting them.

Here’s the story of his historic tryst with Mysorean rockets, the first iron-cased rockets in the world to be successfully deployed for military use.

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Rockets had been used in warfare since the 13th century. The Chinese had used them to defend themselves against Mongol invaders, the Mughals frequently used them on the battlefield and the Europeans had started experimenting with them by the 15th century.

However, these rockets were built with flimsy materials like cardboard and were not very effective in inflicting damage on the enemy, similar to modern-day firecrackers. Thus, their use as a weapon had been discarded in favour of cannons and other forms of artillery.

It was the de facto ruler of 18th century Mysore, Hyder Ali, who developed the first prototypes of sturdier explosives-filled rockets. His innovation was further fine-tuned by his son Tipu who planned, designed and crafted cylindrical iron tubes that would allow for great compression of the filled gunpowder and consequently, greater range (nearly 2 km).

Tipu then fastened them to swords or bamboo poles to provide stability, that woul, in turn, lead to better accuracy. Thus, the predecessor of the modern rocket was born. It had a greater range, better accuracy and a far-more destructive bang than any other rocket in use, making it the best in the world at that time.

During the Anglo-Mysore wars of the late 1700s, Mysorean rockets were used by Tipu to great effect.

Especially during the Battle of Pollilur (the Second Anglo-Mysore War in 1780), when a devastating barrage by Tipu’s rocket corps set fire to the East India Company’s ammunition dumps to hand the British army one of its worst ever defeats in India.

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The shocked British infantry had never seen the likes of them before and quite literally didn’t know what hit them. Such was their fear and confusion that British soldiers would go on to describe the iron tubes of gunpowder mounted on swords of Tipu’s army as “flying plagues”

Major Dirom, who was the deputy adjutant general of British forces in India in 1793, later described the rockets used by the Mysorean army as “Some of the rockets had a chamber, and burst like shells; others, called ground rockets, had a serpentine motion, and on striking the ground, rose again, and bounded along till their force be spent.”

Utilizing the advantage provided by the superior quality of hammered iron available in Mysore, Tipu also established four taramandalpets (that translates to ‘star-cluster bazaars’) at Srirangapatna, Bangalore, Chitradurga and Bidanur (present-day Nagara in central Karnataka) to conduct research on rocket technology.

At this medieval tech parks, craftsmen-turned-rocketmen (called jourks) conducted experiments to improve the iron casting, accuracy and range of the rockets. Furthermore, they were taught basic calculations to help them fine-tune launch settings that would allow rockets of different sizes and weights to hit targets varying distances and elevations. For instance, wheeled carts were fitted with multiple rocket ramps so as to allow the rocket artillery brigades (called cushoons) to launch about a dozen missiles at a time.

The many encounters in the 1700s between the colonial army and Tipu’s rocket corps also formed the basis for many interesting anecdotes. Here’s how one of them about Arthur Wellesley, the famous British hero of Waterloo.

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In 1799, Wellesley (the Duke of Wellington) was on reconnoitering mission in an areca nut grove (near Srirangapatana) when he found himself under attack. Having never encountered Tipu’s rocket fire before, he was scared silly by the ferocious barrages and ran away from the scene.

Later, he was so abashed by his behavior that he promised himself that he would never show fear on the battlefield again. With time, he famously came to be known as a man who could not be rattled by anything. So, the Iron Duke’s spine of steel was actually forged in Srirangapatna!

Interestingly, APJ Abdul Kalam was fascinated by Srirangapatna’s historic connection with modern missiles. During his tenure as President, he was keen on preserving the Rocket Court ( the laboratory where Tipu tested his rockets) and developing it as a museum — an idea that found mention in his book ‘Wings of Fire‘. At his behest, DRDO scientist Sivathanu Pillai (who later headed Brahmos Aero Space) visited the ruins to study the site. However, work is yet to begin in this regard.

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As for the Mysorean missiles, after the fall of Srirangapattana in 1799, the British army found 600 launchers, 700 serviceable rockets and 9,000 empty rockets at Tipu’s fort. Many of these were sent to the Royal Artillery Museum in Woolwich (where two specimens are still preserved), inspiring it to start a a military rocket research and development program in 1801.

It was here that William Congreve started studying them and did some fine reverse engineering to invent the Congreve rocket (it had collapsible frames for launching). In a quirk of fate, it was Iron Duke Wellesley who would go on to use these Congreve rockets systematically against Napoleon and defeat him at Waterloo in June 1815.

Today, there is not much left in Srirangapatna to stand testimony to one of the most interesting technological episodes in Indian history. The mark of Mysorean rockets on world military history, however, remains indelible. As aerospace scientist Professor Roddam Narasimha explained in one of his lectures,

“It was Tipu who first realized the full potential of rockets as weapons — both in his mind and on the field — and used them to create havoc in the East Indian Company lines. Thus, all the rockets in the world today can be traced to those used during the wars in Mysore.”

Also Read: When a Torpedo Named After Bangalore Helped Allied Forces Defeat Nazis!

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Deemed the nine most extraordinary and learned people in the court of a ruling emperor, the term ‘navratnas’ or nine gems came about in Indian history.

Mughal Emperor Akbar the Great wasn’t the first one to start this tradition of honouring learned men as the nine gems or jewels of his kingdom – through his navratnas are certainly the most famous.

The practice also existed during the reign of Raja Vikramaditya and feudal lord Raja Krishnachandra.

Akbar the Great

Abu’l-Fath Jalal-ud-din Muhammad Akbar was the third and one of the most well-known Mughal emperor who reigned from 1556 to 1605 after succeeding his father, Humayun.

A military general of the first order, as a ruler he successfully enlarged the Mughal Empire to almost the whole of the Indian Subcontinent to the north of the Godavari river.

A people’s ruler, he was known for adopting policies that aimed at preserving peace and order in a religiously and culturally diverse empire.

Akbar, despite being illiterate, was a patron of artists and intellectuals and had a great passion for knowledge. Fond of literature, he created an elaborate library of over 24,000 volumes written in Sanskrit, Urdu, Persian, Greek, Latin, Arabic and Kashmiri, with works of numerous scholars, translators, artists, calligraphers, scribes, bookbinders and readers.

In an age, where women’s right to education was a far cry to many, he established the library of Fatehpur Sikri exclusively for women. He ordered that schools for both Muslims and Hindus be set up throughout the Mughal empire.

His court opened doors to holy men of all faiths, poets, architects, and artisans from across the world for study and discussion.

In an attempt to collate the teachings and best elements of the diverse religious in the Indian subcontinent, he propounded Din-i-Ilahi, a syncretic religion in 1582 AD, to reconcile differences in his kingdom based on faith. Most elements of the religion were drawn from Islam and Hinduism, in addition to Christianity, Jainism, Sikhism and Zoroastrianism.

The nine courtiers known as Akbar’s navaratnas (or nine jewels) were:

1. Abu’l-Fazl ibn Mubarak:

Born in Agra, Abu’l was the second son of Indian scholar and teacher Shaikh Mubarak. With an education in Arabic, this young prodigy could read and write by the age of five.

An incident from his early life is a reflection of his genius. When he stumbled upon a dictionary of Ishafani, eaten by white ants, he removed the eaten bits and joined blank paper to it.

Discovering the beginning and end of each fragment, he penned a full draft of the dictionary. The original work matched Fazl’s draft with only three differences.

At 23, he was introduced to the court of emperor Akbar. A liberal thinker himself, he extended the sentiment of religious tolerance to his emperor and the empire. He was given his first office, in the Deccan as a military commander. He is best known to have penned Akbarnama, the three-volume history of the life and empire of Akbar.

2. Raja Todar Mal:

Born in Laharpur in Uttar Pradesh to a Hindu family, Todar Mal’s father died when he was very young. He struggled to make ends meet as a fatherless child. From the humble position of a writer, he climbed the ladder to become in-charge of building the new fort of Rohtas in Punjab for Sher Shah Suri.

When the Mughals defeated the Suri emperor, Todar Mal continued his service to Akbar. He was later placed in charge of Agra and also made governor of Gujarat. His most significant contribution to India, still in practice today in various parts, is the revenue system, implementing a land surveying system, standard weights and measurements, and revenue districts.

3. Abdul Rahim Khan-I-Khana:

He was a poet and one of the most important dewans of Akbar’s court. Known for his Urdu couplets and his Sanskrit books on astrology like Khetakautukam and Dwatrimshadyogavali, the village of Khan Khana, in the Nawanshahr district of Punjab is named after him. He was the son of Bairam Khan, Akbar’s trusted guardian and mentor.

After his father was murdered, his mother and a young Rahim were brought safely to the royal court of Akbar. Bestowed the title of ‘Mirza Khan’, the emperor arranged for Rahim to be married to the daughter of Mirza Aziz Kokah, son of Ataga Khan, a noted Mughal noble.

When Rana Pratap protected Rahim’s womenfolk and safely returned them home, despite being a Muslim by birth, he became a devotee of Krishna and wrote poetry dedicated to the Hindu God.

He was also known for his manner of giving alms to the poor. He never looked at them in the eye, but always cast his vision down while giving alms in all humility. He wrote various dohas and translated Babar’s memoirs, the famous Baburnama from Chagatai to Persian,

4. Raja Birbal:

A Hindu advisor in the court of Akbar, he became a widely known character in India via traditional folk tales lauding his wit. A poet and singer, he was a close comrade of the Emperor. In 1586, Birbal led an army to crush an unrest in the north-west where he was killed along with 8000 troops in an ambush, the biggest military loss the Mughal empire had witnessed at the time.

The Emperor was so saddened that he mourned the death of his favourite courtier by fasting and thirsting for over two days. Raja Birbal was the only Hindu to adopt Din-i Ilahi, the religion founded by Akbar.

At the end of Akbar;s reign several folk tales emerged chronicling the interactions between him and Birbal, which depicted the former as extremely clever and witty. Birbal became a legendary figure across India with several plays, films and books based on his wit, including children’s comics and school textbooks.

5. Mulla Do-Piyaza:

He was the Minister of Home Affairs of Akbar’s court in charge of the country’s internal security – the Mughal Empire’s equivalent of a police force. However, his existence has been stated as fictitious by many history scholars. In most folktales of the 19th century, he is seen playing the witty Muslim counterpart of Birbal.

6. Faizi:

Shaikh Abu al-Faiz ibn Mubarak, popular by his pen-name Faizi, was an Arab poet and scholar. In 1588, he became the Malik-ush-Shu’ara or poet laureate of Akbar’s Court. He was the older brother of Abul Fazl who penned Akbarnama.

Faizi was born in Agra, to Shaikh Mubarak. Given his intelligence, he was appointed as a tutor to Akbar’s sons – Salim, Murad and Daniyal, once he arrived in court. He composed over 100 significant poetic works in Persian. His Divan (collection of poems), was entitled Tabashir al-Subh and comprised of qasidas, ghazals, ruba’is and elegies.

Read more: The Fascinating Story of How India’s First Indigenous Computers Were Built

7. Fakir Aziao-Din:

Fakir Aziao-Din was a mystic & excellent chief advisor in emperor Akbar’s court. His advice was regarded in high esteem by the emperor who rightfully declared him one of the nine gems of his court, or Navaratnas. He gave the emperor advice on religious matters.

8. Tansen:

Born in a Hindu family, he learnt music in present-day Madhya Pradesh. He began his career under the patronage of Ram Chand of Rewa State and gained widespread popularity.

When Tansen caught the attention of Akbar, he sent his messengers to Ram Chand requesting the musician to join his court. While Tansen refused initially, Ram Chand encouraged him to gain a wider audience, and sent him to Akbar’s court bearing gifts at the age of 60.

He was also bestowed the title of Mian by the emperor which means ‘learned man’.

A composer, musician and vocalist, he was also an instrumentalist and one of the most influential personalities of Indian Hindustani classical music. He is remembered for his epic Dhrupad compositions, creating several new ragas, and his books on music like Sri Ganesh Stotra and Sangita Sara.

9. Raja Man Singh I

He was the Rajput Raja of Amber (present-day Jaipur). One of Akbar’s trusted generals, his daughter Manorama Bai was married to Crown Prince Dara Shikoh, the oldest son of Shah Jahan.

Born to King Bhagwant Das and his queen Bhagawati of Amber, he was about eight years younger to Akbar and ten years younger to Rana Pratap. These three contemporaries laid the foundation of sixteenth-century India’s politics and history.

Earlier referred to as Kunwar (prince), he received the title of Mirza (Raja) and the mansab (rank) of 5000 after the death of his father from Akbar. He later became a mansabdar of 7,000 cavalry and was fondly referred to as ‘farzand’ (meaning son) by the emperor, for whom he fought several important campaigns.

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“In latter days from Brahma came,
To rule our land, a noble dame,
Kind was her heart and bright her fame,
Ahilya was her honoured name,” writes poet Joanna Baillie in 1849 in honour of one of the greatest Maratha woman rulers of Malwa.

Born in the village of Chondi in Jamkhed, Ahmednagar, Maharani Ahilyabai or as she was fondly referred to Rajmata Ahilyabai Holkar was the Holkar Queen of the Malwa kingdom.

Her father, Mankoji Rao Shinde, was the Patil (chief) of the village. Despite women’s education being a far cry in the village, her father homeschooled her to read and write.

While Ahilya did not come from a royal lineage, most deem her entry into history a twist of fate. It dates back to when the acclaimed Lord of the Malwa territory, Malhar Rao Holkar, spotted an eight-year-old Ahilyabai at the temple service feeding the hungry and poor, on his stop in Chaundi while travelling to Pune.

Moved by the young girl’s charity and strength of character, he decided to ask her hand in marriage for his son Khanderao Holkar. She was married to Khanderao Holkar in 1733 at the tender age of 8.

But distress was quick to befall the young bride when her husband Khanderao was killed in the battle of Kumbher in 1754, leaving her a widow at only 21.

When Ahilyabai was about to commit Sati, her father-in-law Malhar Rao refused to let it happen.

He had been her strongest pillar of support at the time. But a young Ahilyabai could see her kingdom fall like a pack of cards after her father-in-law passed away in 1766, only 12 years after the death of his son Khanderao.

The old ruler’s death led to his grandson and Ahilyabai’s only son Male Rao Holkar ascending the throne under her regency.

The last straw came when the young monarch Male Rao too died, a few months into his rule, on 5 April 1767, thus creating a vacuum in the power structure of the kingdom.

One can imagine how a woman, royalty or not, would suffer after losing her husband, father-in-law and only son. But Ahilyabai stood undeterred. She did not let the grief of her loss affect the administration of the kingdom and the lives of her people.

She took matters into her own hands. She petitioned the Peshwa after her son’s death, to take over the administration herself. She ascended the throne and became the ruler of Indore on 11 December 1767.

While there was indeed a section of the kingdom that objected to her assumption to the throne, her army of Holkars stood by her and supported their queen’s leadership.

Just a year into her rule, one saw the brave Holkar queen protect her kingdom – fighting off invaders tooth and nail from plundering Malwa. Armed with swords and weapons, she led armies into the battlefield.

There she was, the queen of Malwa, slaying her enemies and invaders on battlefronts with four bows and quivers of arrows fitted to the corners of the howdah of her favourite elephant.

Her confidante on military matters was Subhedar Tukojirao Holkar (also Malhar Rao’s adopted son) whom she appointed the head of the military.

The Queen of Malwa, apart from being a brave queen and proficient ruler, was also an erudite politician. She observed the bigger picture when the Maratha Peshwa couldn’t pin down the agenda of the British.

In her letter to the Peshwa in 1772, she had warned him, calling the British embrace a bear-hug: “Other beasts, like tigers, can be killed by might or contrivance, but to kill a bear it is very difficult. It will die only if you kill it straight in the face, Or else, once caught in its powerful hold; the bear will kill its prey by tickling. Such is the way of the English. And given this, it is difficult to triumph over them.”

Read more: The Forgotten Story of Rani Abbakka Chowta, the Fearless Warrior Queen of Tulu Nadu

Work & Achievements

From a tiny village to a flourishing city, Indore prospered during her 30-year rule. She was famous for having built numerous forts and roads in Malwa, sponsoring festivals and giving donations to many Hindu temples.

Even outside her kingdom, her philanthropy reflected in the construction of dozens of temples, ghats, wells, tanks and rest-houses stretching from the Himalayas in the north to the pilgrimage centres in the south.

The Holkar queen also embellished and beautified various sites including Kashi, Gaya, Somnath, Ayodhya, Mathura, Hardwar, Kanchi, Avanti, Dwarka, Badrinarayan, Rameshwar and Jaganathpuri as recorded by the Bharatiya Sanskritikosh.

Her capital at Maheshwar was a melting pot of literary, musical, artistic and industrial achievements. She opened her capital’s doors to stalwarts like Marathi poet Moropant, Shahir Anantaphandi and Sanskrit scholar, Khushali Ram.

Her capital was known for is distinct craftsmen, sculptors and artists who were paid handsomely for their work and kept in high regards by the Queen. She also moved on to establishing a textile industry in the city.

Ahilya, the compassionate ruler

Ahilyabai held public audiences every day to help address the grievances of her people. She was always available to anyone who needed her ear.

Historians write how she encouraged all within her realm and her kingdom to do their best. During her reign, the merchants produced their most elegant clothes and trade flourished to no end. No more was the farmer a mere victim of oppression but a self-sufficient man in his own right.

“Far and wide the roads were planted with shady trees, and wells were made, and rest-houses for travellers. The poor, the homeless, the orphaned were all helped according to their needs. The Bhils, who had long been the torment of all caravans, were routed from their mountain fastnesses and persuaded to settle down as honest farmers. Hindu and Musalman alike revered the famous Queen and prayed for her long life,” writes Annie Besant.

A woman ahead of her times, Ahilyabai’s greatest sorrow continued to remain the irony that her daughter jumped into the funeral pyre and became a Sati upon the death of her husband, Yashwantrao Phanse.

She was 70 when she died and was succeeded by her commander-in-chief, Tukoji Rao Holkar I.

“Indore long mourned its noble Queen, happy had been her reign, and her memory is cherished with deep reverence unto this day,” writes Besant.

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Deccan India was significant for its strong female characters. One of them was Mah Laqa Bai Chanda, an 18th-century poet and courtesan from Hyderabad. She was an influential woman and advisor in the royal court, who entered court life as a singer and Deccani style Kathak dancer.

Mah Laqa Bai was her court title, which meant ‘Madame Moon Cheek’, gifted to her by Mir Nizam ‘Ali Khan, the Nizam of Hyderabad between 1762 and 1803.

He heavily relied on her intelligence for state policy matters and also gave her the rank of senior omrah.

She was a great poet and an art patron with considerable wealth, which helped her construct a library containing manuscripts and books on poetry, arts and sciences.

Mah Laqa Bai was a staunch feminist, who is known to have contributed an amount of ₹1 crore for the education of girl children, an enormous fortune back in her day.

She also built a cultural centre, where she trained 300 girls along with other masters. She was the first woman to have an anthology of her poems published.

In 1792, she constructed a walled compound in Moula Ali, where she held mushairas frequently. Inside the compound also lies the tomb of her mother built in 1792.

Mah Laqa Bai was buried next to her mother when she died in 1824. She had donated all of her wealth to homeless women.

Unfortunately, today her mausoleum lies neglected in Hyderabad. This is especially sad since Mah Laqa Bai stood for protecting Hyderabad, its culture and heritage throughout her life.

The structure stands in a dilapidated condition, and may even crumble down if not renovated.

Attempts were made in 2010 with a year-long renovation project by the Center for Deccan Studies, yet the mausoleum is surrounded by garbage that welcomes visitors as they enter.

Moreover, the site is frequented by trouble-makers, which makes it an unsafe place to visit.

193 years after her death, is it fair that the only memory left behind by a figure of valour and beauty be completely neglected by the authorities?

Here’s hoping someone takes notice and restores the magnificent legacy of Mah Laqa Bai to the heights she deserves.

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Food often tends to reflect the history and culture of the land where it was first created and khichdi is a prime example of this. Essentially a fragrant potpourri of rice, lentils and spices, this mellow dish can be found in kitchens all over India in various avatars.

In Gujarat, khichdi is eaten with a bowl of lightly spiced kadhi (a yoghurt-based) curry; whereas Tamil Nadu’s ven pongal is liberally laced with ghee.While the Himachali version of this rice-dal medley is loaded with kidney beans and chickpeas, Karnataka’s fiery bisi bele hulianna has delicious additions such as tamarind, jaggery, seasonal veggies, curry leaves, dried coconut and kapok buds.

In West Bengal, bhog’er khichuri is a staple at Durga Puja pandals and is served with a mishmash of leafy greens and vegetables (called lyabra). At the home of khaddoroshik (food-loving Bengali), its the pulao-like bhuni khichuri (studded with assorted vegetables and served with deep fried fish) that rules.

So when and how did khichdi become such an iconic and integral part of Indian cuisine? Here’s the fascinating story.

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According to historian Mohsina Mukadam, khichdi is “one of the most ancient foods in India, yet one that has hardly changed.” Its name has its origins in the Sanskrit word khiccā, which translates to ‘a dish made with rice and pulses’. The gastronomic literature of ancient India also has many mentions of the krusaranna, an early relative of khichdi that had ingredients such as curd and sesame seeds.

Ibn Batuta, the famous Moroccan traveller who visited India in the 14th century, wrote, “Munj is boiled with rice, then buttered and eaten. This is what they call Kishri, and on this, they breakfast every day.”

The mighty Mughals too fell in love with this rice-dal staple and gave it an important place in the imperial menus of medieval India. There are several historical references to Akbar’s penchant for khichdi (who hasn’t heard the story of Birbal using khichdi to make Akbar accept a mistake in judgement?).

In fact, Abu Fazl’s Ain-i-Akbari mentions several versions of the khichdi prepared in the imperial kitchen, including ones with saffron, strong spices and dry fruits.

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Also, according to India’s celebrated food historian KT Achaya (in his book The Story of our Food), Jahangir’s was so fond of a spicy khichdi adaptation (enriched with pistachios and raisins) that he named it “lazeezan” (which translates to “the delicious”)!

Jahangir’s role in popularizing khichdi also finds a mention in the travel chronicles of Athanasius Nikitin, a Russian merchant who travelled to 14th century India. Furthermore, French traveller Jean-Baptiste Tavernier, who came to India six times during the 1600s, also wrote about khichdi (of green lentils, rice and ghee) being a popular evening meal.

Even Aurangzeb, who rarely paid attention to food, was fond of the Alamgiri Khichdi, a spin-off featuring fish and boiled eggs. Later, during the colonial era, this version of khichdi would go on to be called kedgeree by the British who took this recipe back to their country. By the 19th century, kedgeree had become a sophisticated breakfast/brunch dish in England that continues to remain popular even now.

Such interesting experiment with khichdi was not limited to the regal repasts of the Mughals. In the 19th century, Nawab of Awadh Nasir-ud-din Shah’s dastarkhwan (royal kitchen) was famous for it ingenious raqabdar (royal chef) who would make an outrageously extravagant khichdi entirely from pistachios and almonds painstakingly cut to resemble the grains of lentils and rice respectively.

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Another variant of khichdi that found prominence in the cuisine of Uttar Pradesh (erstwhile Awadh) was the piquant amla khichdi. Made using rice, kali dal (split black gram) and amla (Indian gooseberries), the dish gradually became inextricably linked with the festival of Makar Sankranti.

In Kashmir, khichdi was traditionally offered as sacrificial food to local deities on Khetsimavas (a festival in December) while the locals typically enjoyed it (and still do) with kadam ka achaar (pickled knol khol). In the adjoining states of Himachal and Uttarakhand, two distinctly-flavoured dishes — balaee (made with bengal gram, roasted coriander and buttermilk) and Garhwali khichdi (made with urad dal, sesame seeds and warming spices) respectively — were being concocted.

Down south, the imperial chefs of Hyderabadi Nizams had created the unique keeme ki khichdi — a spice-laden mix of rice, lentils and minced meat that was served with sour and soupy khatta. Karnataka’s feted bisi bele bhat, on the other hand, is believed to have originated in the kitchen of the Wadiyar rulers of Mysore.

The state of Tamil Nadu was where other spectacular renditions of khichdi took place on the form of ven pongal and its many equally-scrumptious forms, such as the classic khara pongal, the fiery milagu pongal and the sweet jaggery-infused sakkarai pongal.

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In Bengal, elaborate versions of the traditional khichuri such as til khichuri (made with sesame seed paste and saffron), malai bhuni kichuri (made with coconut milk and bak-tulsi variety of rice) and khejurer khichuri (made syrup-soaked dates, nuts and thick cream) were being fine-tuned. However, it was the niramish khichuri — a no onion, no garlic recipe made of sona moong dal, gobindobhog rice and assorted veggies — that became one of the most treasured components of Bengal’s festival cuisine, especially during Durga Puja.

The West too had its own khichdi evolution going on. Delicious adaptions, such as the spicy Ram khichdi from Kathiwar (with a medley of local veggies) and the milder sola khichdi from Surat (with minced meat and fresh cream), were taking shape in Gujarat. In neighbouring Rajasthan, the subtly spiced khichdis that replaced rice with millets or whole wheat were popular while in Maharashtra, it was the tangy valachi khichdi (made with field beans, groundnuts and grated coconut).

The kitchens of the food-loving Parsis also spawned a few unusual interpretations of khichdi, such as the Bharuchi vaghareli khichdi (made using marinated and fried Bombay duck, a kind of fish) and the kolmi ni khichdi (made with prawns and coconut milk).

Today, with every region having its own take on this classic dish, it won’t be an understatement to call khichdi India’s version of culinary comfort. From serving as a baby’s first meal and gruel for the sick to a deeply satisfying lunch on a rainy day, this versatile dish effortlessly lends itself to diverse occasions.

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Little wonder that khichdi has become an integral part of both India’s gastronomic heritage and colloquial stories. Remember the oft-heard saying “Khichdi ke chaar yaar, dahi, papad, ghee aur achaar“? Or the famous TV serial ‘Khichdi‘ that depicted a family as assorted and quintessentially Indian as the dish?

Interestingly, this year, the eponymous khichdi has also been chosen as the Brand India Food. At the three-day World Food India event being held in Delhi from November 3, 2017, renowned chef Sanjeev Kapoor will be preparing over 800 kg of khichdi that will then be relished by 60,000 orphan children as well as other guests present at the event. Other than a bid to create a unique world record, it is also an effort to popularise this traditional Indian dish globally.

Now, if all this food talk has made you hungry, here are some unusual khichdi recipes you can try at home. Worry not, you can’t go wrong with this easy one-pot meal, but if by chance you do, you could always say it’s a version made in another part of the country!

Also Read: The Story of Biryani – How This Exotic Dish Came, Saw and Conquered India!

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“We owe a lot to the Indians, who taught us how to count, without which no worthwhile scientific discovery could have been made.” ― Albert Einstein

For years, his unforgettable image — wiry moustache, penetrating eyes and frizzy, gravity-defying hair — has beamed out at us from posters and T-shirts, transforming his name into a handy epithet for eccentric polymath. Little wonder Albert Einstein is still considered the world’s original mad genius, science’s first celebrity and, arguably, still its greatest.

Einstein’s journey as a genius started when he discovered that mass and energy are different forms of the same thing and expressed this in the neat little formula E=mc². Later came the discovery that he considered the “the greatest satisfaction of my life” — the theory of general relativity that proved energy and mass distort space-time. These were the iconic ideas that catapulted him to lasting public fame.

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Few Indians know that this era in history also coincided with the ‘golden age’ of Indian science. While Einstein was proving that gravity was governed by underlying laws, Sir CV Raman had won the Nobel Prize for his work on the scattering of light, and Meghnad Saha was garnering international acclaim for his work on stellar radiation.

However, while these two legends never directly dealt with Einstein, there was one Indian scientist who managed to reach out to Einstein with stupendous results. A classmate of Saha at the University of Calcutta, Satyendranath Bose worked at the physics department of the University of Dacca (now Dhaka).

In 1926, the talented physicist sent a paper to Einstein describing his idea for a statistical model to understand elementary particles that acted as natural transporters of force (such as the photon, first conceived by Einstein as the carrier of light). The paper was called Planck’s Law and the Hypothesis of Light Quanta.

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Impressed by the significance of the idea, Einstein had it published in the top German physics journal of the time and invited Bose to collaborate with him in Berlin. This was what eventually led to the important discovery of what became known as the Bose-Einstein condensate phenomenon. This was also why nature’s tiny transporter particles were later named ‘bosons’ (including the famous Higgs boson discovered in 2012).

On Einstein’s written recommendation, the young Indian was appointed the Head of the University’s Department of Physics. He would go on to contribute significantly to fields such as statistical mechanics, electromagnetics, X-ray crystallography, quantum mechanics, thermo-luminescence, and unified field theory.

Interestingly, in his memoir, Subrahmanyam Chandrasekhar (who won the Nobel Prize for his work on the evolution of stars) wrote how the first ever recorded translation of Einstein’s papers on relativity was done by Saha and Bose in India in 1919, even before the theory was experimentally confirmed!

Nonetheless, Einstein’s interaction with India wasn’t limited to just scientists. He would frequently exchange postcards with Gandhi and Nehru on issues such as colonialism, non-violence, satyagraha, and industrialisation in India.

However, his longest and best-known engagement with any Indian was with Rabindranath Tagore. Fellow Nobel Laureates, the two luminaries had a genuine curiosity and deep respect for each other’s perspectives. In fact, Einstein even addressed Tagore as Rabbi (the Hebrew word for teacher).

This was why their meeting at Einstein’s Berlin residence on July 14, 1930, led to a brilliant dialogue that has been described as one of the “most stimulating and intellectually riveting discussions in history”.

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Here’s an excerpt from this historic exchange of ideas ( published in the January 1931 issue of Modern Review)

TAGORE: You have been busy, hunting down with mathematics, the two ancient entities, time and space, while I have been lecturing in this country on the eternal world of man, the universe of reality.

EINSTEIN: Do you believe in the divine isolated from the world?

TAGORE: Not isolated. The infinite personality of man comprehends the universe. There cannot be anything that cannot be subsumed by the human personality, and this proves that the truth of the universe is human truth.

EINSTEIN: There are two different conceptions about the nature of the universe — the world as a unity dependent on humanity, and the world as reality independent of the human factor.

TAGORE: When our universe is in harmony with man, the eternal, we know it as truth, we feel it as beauty.

EINSTEIN: This is a purely human conception of the universe.

TAGORE: The world is a human world — the scientific view of it is also that of the scientific man. Therefore, the world apart from us does not exist; it is a relative world, depending for its reality upon our consciousness. There is some standard of reason and enjoyment which gives it truth, the standard of the eternal man whose experiences are made possible through our experiences.

EINSTEIN: This is a realization of the human entity.

TAGORE: Yes, one eternal entity. We have to realize it through our emotions and activities. We realize the supreme man, who has no individual limitations, through our limitations. Science is concerned with that which is not confined to individuals; it is the impersonal human world of truths. Religion realizes these truths and links them up with our deeper needs. Our individual consciousness of truth gains universal significance. Religion applies values to truth, and we know truth as good through own harmony with it.

EINSTEIN: I cannot prove, but I believe in the Pythagorean
argument, that the truth is independent of human beings. It is
the problem of the logic of continuity.

TAGORE : Truth, which is one with the universal being, must be essentially human; otherwise, whatever we individuals realize as true, never can be called truth. At least, the truth which is described as scientific and which only can be reached through the process of logic—in other words, by an organ of thought which is human.

Unsurprisingly, this fascinating conversation quickly became a media sensation with many publications across the world carrying the recorded version.

The New York Times wrote an article with the headline ‘Einstein and Tagore Plumb the Truth’ and a memorable photo (of their New York meeting) titled “A Mathematician and a Mystic meet in Manhattan.”

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Einstein and Tagore would go on to meet two more times and stay in touch through letters. While this was the last of the German’s limited physical interaction with India, his ideas have continued to inspire countless Indians ever since. In fact, several scientists from India are still deeply engaged with Einstein’s ideas about time, space and gravity.

As we end the story of Einstein and his India connect, here’s a little-known anecdote from the annals of Travancore University (now University of Kerala).

A decade before India became independent, in 1937, the tiny princely state of Travancore had aimed high when it invited Einstein to be the first vice-chancellor of its fledgling university for a monthly pay of ₹ 6,000 (quite a huge sum back then). This was the idea of the then-Diwan of Travancore, C P Ramaswami Aiyar, a shrewd administrator and avid scholar who kept abreast of contemporary developments in modern science.

The German genius, however, politely declined the offer, saying he wanted to join Princeton University in the US. While some local councils have records citing this legend, there is no direct physical record of Ramaswami’s invitation.

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The most dramatic stories of conflict in World War II revolve around the great battles of that time. While these great victories are undoubtedly awe-inspiring, they would not have been possible if not for the relentless and brave efforts of hundreds of covert agents who did their best to undermine the efforts of the enemy every step of the way.

Living difficult, dangerous, and oft-lonely lives of subterfuge, these covert agents were truly remarkable. But the most remarkable spy among them was a little-known Indian, code-named Silver.

The only quintuple spy of World War II, Silver (whose real name was Bhagat Ram Talwar) worked for the Germans, Italians, Japanese, Russians, and the British!

There was little written about the role played by Talwar, till author and journalist Mihir Bose recounted his exploits in the book Silver: The Spy Who Fooled the Nazis. Here’s the fascinating story of this master spy.

Born in 1908 in British India’s North-West Frontier Province, Talwar grew up in a wealthy family of Punjabi descent. His father, who had once been a friend of the British authorities, turned against colonial rule after the horrendous Jallianwala Bagh massacre of 1919. A little over a decade later, Talwar’s brother Hari Kishan was hanged by the British for attempting to assassinate the governor of Punjab.

Influenced by this and the example set by Bhagat Singh, Talwar too participated in revolutionary activities before pledging his allegiance to a faction of the Punjab-based communist movement called the Kirti Kisan Party. In 1941, he was tasked with smuggling a certain individual out of the British territory. The man was none other than Subhash Chandra Bose.

A series of adventures followed, with Bose masquerading as a deaf and dumb Muslim pilgrim, Mohammed Ziauddin, and Talwar pretending to be his secretary, Rahmat Khan.

After the original plan of reaching Moscow failed, the duo finally reached Berlin in April 1941 so that Bose could ask for Hitler’s help in freeing India from British rule.

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It was here that Talwar had a moment of epiphany when he discovered his instinctive affinity for undercover operations. So when Bose introduced him to German diplomats as his Indian agent, it proved to be quite a fortuitous event for Talwar who seized the opportunity to become a spy for the Axis powers.

The Germans, marvelling at Talwar’s ability to ferret out hard-to-find information, gave him further training in espionage, a transmitter-receiver set, and paid him royally. His work involved travelling through tribal territory and dodging guards of both Britain and Afghanistan. In fact, by the end of the war, the Germans had paid him £2.5 million (in current monetary value) and honoured him with the Iron Cross, Nazi Germany’s highest military decoration.

However, what they did not know was that Talwar was fooling them on a grand scale. A communist at heart, he had no real desire to help the fascists. So he contacted the Russians in Kabul after Germany invaded the Soviet Union and became a triple agent, passing German intelligence on to Moscow.

Later, when Soviet Union entered into an unusual arrangement with Britain’s Special Operations Executive (SOE), Talwar began undertaking covert operation for Britain too. He was the only spy the Russians agreed to share.

Interestingly, his British control officer was Peter Fleming (the brother of the James Bond creator, Ian Fleming) and it was Fleming who gave him the codename Silver.

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With Fleming’s help and the transmitter provided by the Germans, Talwar began broadcasting fictitious information daily from the gardens of Viceroy’s Palace in Delhi, to the German intelligence headquarters in Berlin. Later, when Germany began coordinating with Italy and Japan on military operations, he began providing false intelligence to the Italians and Japanese too.

By 1945, he had simultaneously spied for Britain, Russia, Germany, Italy and Japan, though his true loyalties lay with India and its domestic Communist Party. He was, in effect, a quintuple spy, probably the only such agent in modern times!

When the war finally ended in 1945, Talwar’s role came to an end too. After collecting a large British pay-off (adding to the money he had already received from the other nations), he disappeared into the wilderness of North West Frontier Province. He resurfaced only after Partition, returning to India and settling down in Uttar Pradesh, where he died in 1983.

A singularly shadowy figure, Talwar’s story was forgotten for decades till it was at last told in Mihir Bose’s The Indian Spy. And it is a story that deserves to be told. For nothing in the annals of Second World War spying comes close to what this Indian master spy did!

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Also Read: Remembering Noor Inayat Khan, the Indian Spy Princess Who Died Fighting the Nazis

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“Gender equality in combat roles is not a new thing for the Sikhs. We have had it for centuries. Mai Bhago is a great example!” – Harjit Singh Sajjan, Defense Minister of Canada

From the legendary Amazons of Greek Mythology to Queen Boadicea of Roman Britain, warrior women have fascinated the world for millennia. India, too, has its own share of indomitable women who proved themselves to be fierce fighters and skilled leaders.

From outlining military strategies to storming battlefields, these unflaggingly courageous Indian women were truly a force to be reckoned with. Rani Lakshmibai and Kittur Chenamma are two of the more famous examples. However, there are many more whose stories have been forgotten.

Among these are the warrior women of Punjab — Mai Bhago, Sada kaur, Jind Kaur and Bibi Sahib Kaur — who each left an indelible mark on history. Here are the fascinating stories these badass trailblazers –

1. Mai Bhago

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Mai Bhago, also known as Mata Bhag Kaur, was the first woman in Punjab to lead troops on a battlefield in 1705. Born in the village of Jhabal Kalan in present-day Amritsar district, she was a devout follower of Guru Gobind Singh Ji who founded the Khalsa (the tradition of warrior-saints).

In 1704, the city of Anandpur Sahib (the residence of Guru Gobind Singh) was under relentless siege by the combined forces of the Mughal army and the local hill chieftains. When 40 Sikh followers from her village decided to give up and desert their Guru in adverse battle conditions, deeply distressed Mai Bhago refused to have any of it.

Instead of convincing them to change their minds, she herself suited up in battle armour and rode into the Battle of Khidrana, embarrassing the 40 men into following her example. Under her leadership, the men fought ferociously till their dying breath, forcing the enemy (who were chasing Guru Gobind Singh) to withdraw.

Later, the Guru renamed the forgiven 40 Sikh men chaali mukte (the forty liberated) and the village of Khidrana as Muktsar (the pool of liberation). As for Mai Bhago (the only survivor of the battle), she was so good on the battlefield that he fulfilled her wish to become his bodyguard. Interestingly, Mai Bhago’s weapons can still be found in Sikh museums and Punjab’s Armed Forces Preparatory Institute for Girls has been named after her.

2. Sada Kaur

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In the local folklore of Punjab, Rani Sada Kaur of Batala is considered the chief architect of Maharaja Ranjit Singh’s remarkable rise to power. The leader of Kanhaiya misl ( a sovereign state of the Sikh Confederacy in 18th century Punjab), she was Ranjit Singh’s mother-in-law and later, his sole regent after his parents died.

It was Kaur’s sound counsel and material resources that helped the young prince defeat his rival chiefs, assume the title of Maharaja and unite Punjab into a one-nation state. The military mastermind also led the armies alongside Ranjit Singh on his war campaigns and negotiated at diplomatic tables.

She is remembered for her outstanding bravery and war tactics during the campaigns of Amritsar, Chiniot, Kasur and Kangra. Even during the expeditions against the martial Pathans of Hazara and Attock, it was Kaur who took the lead as a military strategist. Intriguingly, she is mentioned as “one of the greatest generals of her time” in Afghan records!

3. Jind Kaur

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The last queen of the Punjab Empire, Maharani Jind Kaur (or Jindan, as she was also called) waged two wars against British rule in India. Her campaign against colonial rule began when she was still in her 20s — her husband, the last Maharaja of the Punjab, had died of a stroke in 1839 and the British were trying to wrest the kingdom from her infant son and heir, Duleep Singh.

One of the most remarkable characters of 19th-century India, the feisty queen led the court, discarded the prevalent customs of sati and purdah and held meetings with ministers and the military, all of whom followed her counsel. Even after losing the first Anglo-Sikh war, her power and influence continued unabated.

To counter this, the British imprisoned and exiled her while taking her young son to England. Over thirteen years passed before he was permitted to meet his mother and bring her to London, where she remained until her death in 1863 at the age of 46.

4. Bibi Sahib Kaur

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The elder sister of Raja Sahib Singh of Patiala, Princess Bibi Sahib Kaur is one of the few Indian women who has won a battle against a British general. Born in 1771, Kaur was married at an early age to Jaimal Singh of Fatehgarh (in present-day Gurdaspur district of the Punjab).

In 1793, in view of mounting dissensions and security threats within his state, Raja Sahib Singh, recalled his sister and appointed her to the post of Prime Minister. However, she had to soon lead the Patiala army to Fatehgarh rescue her husband who had been captured by a rival chief. Next year, she faced off a large Maratha attacking force in a fierce battle and helped a neighbouring ruler quell insurgents in his state.

In 1799, George Thomas, an Irish adventurer who controlled the kingdoms of Hansi and Hissar turned his attention to Kaur’s territories. The gutsy Prime Minister herself led the Patiala army to relieve the besieged towns and battle the British troops till he was forced to withdraw. Her bravery has been memorialised in the words of Thomas who noted that “she was better than her brother” in defending the capital city of Patiala.

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“Our flag does not fly because the wind moves it, it flies with the last breath of each soldier who died protecting it.” – Author Unknown

On July 26, 1999, the Indian Armed Forces won a gritty and decisive war against Pakistan. In the ferocious battle, many brave young soldiers laid down their lives defending their nation on the inhospitable battlefield of Kargil.

It’s been more than eighteen years since then, but the unparalleled courage and sacrifice of Kargil heroes are still etched in the collective memory of the country. Among these many bravehearts was a man who would become the face of every young Indian soldier who fought ferociously and died fearlessly.

This is the story of Param Vir Chakra Vikram Batra, the unbelievably courageous soldier whose actions in the battlefield transcended heroism.

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Born on September 9, 1974, in Himachal Pradesh, Vikram Batra spent his childhood in the beautiful mountain town of Palampur. The elder of twin sons ( he was born 14 minutes before his brother Viahal), he was the third child of Girdhari Lal Batra, a government school principal, and Kamal Kant, a school teacher.

Immensely popular among his classmates and teachers, Vikram was an all-rounder at school — brilliant at studies, he was also a keen sportsman and avid participant in co-curricular activities. Adjudged the best NCC cadet of north India, he was also a green belt holder in karate and played table tennis at national level.

Deeply patriotic from a young age, Vikram was always keen on joining the Army. So it was no surprise to his family when he decided to prepare for Combined Defense Services (CDS) examination after completing his Bachelor’s degree in 1995. Interestingly, he had been selected for a job in the merchant navy by a Hong Kong based firm but he ultimately changed his mind, telling his mother,

“Money is not everything in life; I have to do something bigger in life, something great, something extraordinary, for my country.”

A decade later, his decision would be paid a tribute in an Indian Oil print campaign that lauded him for rejecting a lucrative career for the service of the nation.

“Sometimes an ordinary Indian can make a Rs 120,000 crore company feel humble. For every step we take, there’s an inspired Indian leading the way”, read IOC’s ad copy, alongside a etched black-and-white image of Captain Batra.

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In 1996, his dream was fulfilled when he cleared the CDS examination with flying colours and joined the Indian Military Academy where he was commissioned as a lieutenant. His first posting was in the town of Sapore in Jammu and Kashmir’s Baramulla district.

In 1999, when Kargil War broke out, Vikram had just completed a Commando Course at Belgaum and got leave to celebrate Holi with his family at his home Palampur. Like he always did when he returned home, he headed to Neugal Cafe (a local riverside eatery) for a cup of coffee with his friend.

“The war has begun, who knows when you will be asked to go, you better be careful.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll either come back after raising the Indian flag in victory or return wrapped in it, but I will come for sure”, was Vikram’s reply to his friend’s concerned words.

Soon after, Vikram’s unit received orders to move to Kargil and he reported for duty on June 1, 1999. Eighteen days later, on June 19, 1999, he was ordered to recapture Point 5140 in his first major battle in the war.

In spite of the enemy having the advantage of height, Vikram and his men led a brilliant tactical assault on the enemy. The enemy camp was routed, their soldiers killed and 13 J&K Rifles won a decisive victory that strengthened India’s hold on the territory (and would later lead to the fall of Tiger Hill, and to India’s eventual victory).

Elated that all his men had made it alive, Vikram famously told his commander at the base — “Ye Dil Maange More” — using the popular slogan of Pepsi’s ad campaign to express his desire to do more. The photo of the young captain, laughing besides an anti-aircraft gun snatched from Pakistani soldiers, also went on to become the most enduring image of India’s first televised war.

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Vikram’s father will never forget the phone call he got on the morning of June 20. It took him a while to understand his son’s unclear words, crackling through a satellite phone.

“Daddy, I’ve captured the enemy’s post. I’m OK, I’m OK.”

“Beta, I’m proud of you. May God bless you to carry on your task”, replied the relieved father, reveling in the accomplishment of his brave son who had lived up to his name.

Nine days later, Vikram called from base camp before leaving for another crucial operation. He told his worried parents, “Ek dum fit hoon, fikar mat karna (I’m absolutely fine. Don’t you worry.)”. That was the last time he spoke to them.

Vikram’s next operation was one of the most difficult mountain warfare campaigns undertaken during Kargil – the capture of the 17000 feet high Point 4875. The icy slopes of this peak were 80 degree steep (made even more precarious by the thick fog) and Pakistani troops had positioned themselves at the height of 16000 feet.

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On the night of July 7, Vikram and his men began their tortuous climb to fortify the Indian force which was already fighting the invaders at 16,000 feet. The enemy got wind that the formidable Sher Shah (Vikram’s code name) had arrived and and intensified their attack, raining mortar and automatic fire from above. They knew who Sher Shah was — by then, the young captain’s military prowess had become the stuff of legend on both sides.

Vikram counter-attacked ferociously, supported ably by his friend and fellow officer, Anuj Nayyar, Engaging in hand-to-hand combat, clearing enemy bunkers and egging their men forward, the two bravehearts forced the shocked enemy to retreat.

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The mission was almost over when a junior officer injured his legs in an explosion. As Vikram rushed out of the bunker to rescue him, his subedar begged him not to go and said he would go instead. But Vikram told him: “Tu baal-bacchedar hain, hat ja peeche.” (You have children, step aside)”.

Under heavy fire, he hurled grenades at the enemy’s machine gun post and killed five soldiers in close combat while moving towards the injured lieutenant. He had just reached and was lunging to lift his mate when he was hit by a bullet in his chest.

Mortally wounded, Vikram passed way after completing the mission in a manner that etched his name him alongside some of India’s greatest military heroes. His comrade in battle, Captain Anuj Nayyar, had also died while clearing enemy bunkers. By morning, India had recaptured Peak 4875 (now called Vikram Batra Top) but lost two of her bravest sons.

At Vikram’s funeral, his grief-stricken mother said, “Maybe there was a reason why God gave me twins — one he had marked for the country and one for me.”

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Today, a statue of her son adorns the town square of Palampur, across the statue of another legendary soldier — Major Somnath Sharma, India’s first Param Vir Chakra awardee, who also belonged to Palampur.

“The enemy is only 50 yards from us. We are heavily outnumbered. We are under devastating fire. I shall not withdraw an inch but will fight to the last man and the last round”, said Major Sharma, before he laid down his life battling enemy raiders during the Indo-Pak war of 1947.

His towering legacy couldn’t have found a worthier successor than Captain Vikram Batra, the swashbuckling soldier who gave a nation its war cry and a generation of youngsters their motto.

For his sustained display of the most conspicuous personal bravery and leadership of the highest order in the face of the enemy, Captain Vikram Batra was posthumously awarded Param Vir Chakra — India’s highest award for gallantry in battle. Captain Anuj Nayyar was awarded the Maha Vir Chakra — the nation’s second highest honour.

Also Read: The Little Known Story of Major Somnath Sharma, India’s First Param Vir Chakra Recipient

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Cheap, filling and deliciously rustic, bunny chow is one of the most popular takeaway meals in Durban, South Africa’s third-largest city. With a name like that, you’d think this much-loved street snack would have something to do with rabbits. It doesn’t.

Bunny chow is essentially a piping hot curry — housed inside a hollow loaf of bread — with intriguing origins that can be traced to one of the largest Indian communities outside India. Here’s the fascinating story of this unusual dish.

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There are many stories about how bunny chow originated, but the most cited version often describes it as a no-fuss invented by Indian immigrants in Durban during the apartheid years (a discriminatory system of racial separation) between 1948 to 1994.

This was a time when Indians had started coming to South Africa in droves — first, as indentured servants to work in the sugar cane fields around Durban, and soon after, by “passenger Indians”(so-called because they paid their own way) who came to work as merchants or artisans.

According to one theory, the ‘bunny’ was created in the 1940s at Kapitan’s, a small restaurant in Durban that was popular among Indian immigrants for its delicious roti and bean curry combination.

Since apartheid laws forbade black people from entering eateries, their only option was take away. Faced by the challenge of containing the beans inside the roti (to create an easily portable meal), restaurant’s ingenious Indian owner, GC Kapitan, decided to serve the curry inside a hollowed-out quarter loaf of bread.

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The sturdy bread loaf worked like an edible container that could transport curry to the sugarcane plantations to eat during the day. Other than sating the craving for a traditional meal by rather unconventional means, this idea also ensured that nothing needed to be returned after eating.

As Kapitan was a bania ( an Indian community of merchants and traders), the natives called his classic fusion creation ‘Bania’s Chow’, which soon metamorphosed into the colloquial bunny chow! Such was its popularity that the Kapitan restaurant had soon established its branches in other South African cities. In fact, a young Nelson Mandela was a regular at the eatery’s Johannesburg offshoot!

Interestingly, this story is disputed by Patel’s Vegetarian Refreshment Room on Durban’s Yusuf Dadoo (Grey) Street. Established nearly 90 years ago, the restaurant claims to be the home of the original veg bunny chow and says that it was created by its founder Rambhar Morar Patel to retain their black customers. The myriad non-veg versions of this dish came much later, after the dish gained massive popularity in the region.

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Yet another theory goes that bunny chow was originally invented for Indian caddies at the Royal Durban Golf Course who, at lunchtime, were unable to run down to Grey street for their meal. Thus, either their family members or their friends would fill these portable bread bowls to the brim with curries and surreptitiously bring them back to the golf course for their lunch.

Today, the scrumptious curry-in-a-loaf is ubiquitous in Durban, where it is sold everywhere, from posh casinos to tiny takeaway kiosks. It also gaining global fame as a delicious example of cross-cultural fusion: an Indian style curry made with native South African spices and eaten with European-style bread.

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As bunny chow is still rarely ever served with a knife or a fork, customers use the bread on top to scoop up the spicy gravy, tearing their way round the loaf until reaching the delectably curry-soaked bread remnants at the bottom. Interestingly, the most common side order with ‘bunnies’ are sambals, a flavourful salad-like medley of grated carrots, chili and onions

Over the years, bunny chow has become an intricate part of Durban’s culinary culture. In fact, such is its influence that a local radio station even featured the dish in a public service advertisement against domestic violence. In the ad, a couple argues about whether it’s ever ok to eat a bunny with a knife and fork. “No, not each one to his own!” the man insists, arguing that some things are just not acceptable, just like violence against women and children.

Furthermore, the city of Durban also hosts a competition every year in September, called the Bunny Chow Barometer, that attracts a multitude of competitors all vying for the title of the champion bunny maker!

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So if you are in this South African city and would like to try some ‘bunny’, here’s the rule of thumb that the local foodies swear by — if you see a hole-in-the-wall joint with an Indian name, it probably serves spectacular curry!

However, if you are tempted to try this dish but don’t have any plans of visiting South Africa soon, fret not. Because dish has finally started making an appearance in India too. To try a helping, head to Lower Parel’s PDT (Please Don’t Tell) and Khar’s Me So Happi in Mumbai. In NCR, you can try this dish at Papa Buns in Delhi’s Satya Niketan, The Classroom in Gurgaon’s Sector 29 and Our Story in Noida’s Sector 18.

And for those of you who are tempted to make your own ‘bunny’, but don’t have access to a place serving it, here’s a recipe you can try at home. Bon appetit, folks!

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