London has always held a special spot for Indians.
Whether it is the countless Indian families, who migrated to the city and made it their home or enthusiastic travellers who want to check off the city from their bucket list, the country has a deep-rooted fascination with the capital of the United Kingdom.
Interestingly, quite a few prominent Indian reformers and freedom fighters had lived in the city between the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.
Some, like Raja Ram Mohan Roy, were representatives of the state, while many others like Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi and Rabindranath Tagore, lived there while pursuing their higher education.
Great Indian minds: Tagore and Gandhi. Source: Wikimedia.
While this information has been documented in the pages of history books, London has found an unusual way to immortalise the time these renowned figures spent in the city—by placing circular blue plaques on their former homes!
These plaques, on the outside wall near the entrance, give a brief description of the historical significance of the erstwhile inhabitants and their years of residence.
This initiative was originally flagged off in 1866, and there are 900 such plaques around the city!
Check out these pictures and find out about the various Indian personalities who have received this unique honour:
Rising above the quiet, accepting nature of her husband–the Maratha Senapati in Gujarat–and ruling the jagirs (feudal land) when her elder son was killed in battle, Umabai Dabhade carved her name as the first woman commander-in-chief of the Maratha army.
Today, Umabai has been largely washed out from public memory, and her portraits are almost non-existent.
But her valour in standing up against the Peshwa’s unjust taxes on her subjects and the “women’s war” that she led alongside Shivaji’s daughter-in-law is a chapter of history that deserves a special mention.
Umabai was the daughter of Devrao Thoke–a Deshmukh of Abhonkar.
A ‘Deshmukh’ was a person granted a territory of land by the ruler of the kingdom. This hereditary system would allow the Deshmukh (literally, the head of state) to collect taxes and look upon the basic welfare of its residents.
At a young age, Umabai got married to Khanderao Dabhade, the eldest son of Shivaji’s bodyguard, Yesaji.
Khanderao was an accomplished patriarch of the Dabhade clan that went on to become the commander-in-chief of Shivaji’s descendants.
Even as she took on the role of the third and youngest wife of Khanderao, Umaji did not lose the headstrong spirit and determination that she was known for as a child. She never bowed down to societal norms without questioning them, not when her father-in-law asked for it, neither when the Peshwa did.
Young Umabai was once roaming around the palace of Tarabai, the queen of Chhatrapati Rajaram Bhosale. Playfully, she picked up a pair of gold bangles (Tode, specifically) from her jewellery box and wore them. Yesaji, her father-in-law happened to see this and instructed her to take them off immediately. Not because they belonged to the queen, but because gold bangles of that make could be worn, he explained, only by royal women and not by the Dabhade clan.
It was then that Umabai decided to work hard and be so important that she could confidently wear the “royal” jewellery.
Shortly after this incident, an astrologer predicted her future. Her future had the golden bangles, but they came with iron handcuffs.
Portrait artist: Pramod Moorti.
After Khanderao’s death on 27 September 1729, Trimbakrao, the eldest son of Umabai, took charge as the Senapati. At this time, Bajirao I was the Peshwa or the Prime Minister of the Maratha kingdom. The two were on loggerheads about the Chauth tax.
This annual tax levied on 25 per cent of the revenue or produce was a primary source of income for the Dabhades. After Khanderao’s death, Bajirao was planning to take over the tax collections from the Gujarat province, which led the Prime Minister and the commander-in-chief to a battle.
The rebel Trimbakrao was killed in this battle in 1731, and all his assets and his position were offered to Yashwantrao, his younger brother. Yashwantrao was still too young to take charge, and so, Umabai became the Dabhade matriarch.
It was Chhatrapati Shahu, the Maratha king who had facilitated this passing of power. He was sympathetic towards Umabai, who had lost her husband and eldest son within two years and who was now ruling the Gujarat provinces as a widow.
Under the command of Shahu, the Peshwa allowed the Dabhades to continue collecting the Chauth tax as long as they gave half of their collections to the Prime Minister. Umabai pretended to reconcile with the Peshwa, but since she still held a grudge against her son’s killer, she never paid the dues.
Shahu was still sympathetic towards her and did not take any harsh steps. This continued until Peshwa Bajirao’s death in 1740 and Chhatrapati’s death nine years later.
Until that time, Bajirao had been consistently expanding his empire, and all was financially well in his rule.
When Rajaram II, the new Chhatrapati, took over along with his Peshwa, Balaji, they faced severe financial trouble. As a result, they decided to force the Dabhades into paying their dues.
Umabai’s unsuccessful petitions led Tarabai, the Maratha queen, to propose an alliance of the two women rulers. Tarabai wanted a direct war, whereas Umabai was leaning towards a more amicable understanding. She met with the Peshwa on more than one instance, explaining that the tax was imposed forcefully, that it was unfair and hence, must not be binding.
During one such meeting, while the Maratha chief was trying to convince the Peshwa to let her have the Chauth tax without having to pay her dues, Tarabai imprisoned the Chhatrapati.
It is here that the women leaders came together against the Peshwa in the truest sense. Sensing that a battle between Tarabai and the Peshwa was imminent, Umabai dispatched a force of soldiers under her command to aid Tarabai. Damaji Gaikwad was leading the force.
However, the Peshwa defeated this army and imprisoned Gaikwad. He demanded that Umabai pay an equivalent of Rs 25,00,000 and surrender half of the Gujarat territories as war indemnity. Gaikwad pleaded that he was just a subordinate and be let go so the Peshwa can have a dialogue with Umabai.
Even as Balaji let Gaikwad go, he launched a surprise attack on him and his army a month later and held him and the Dabhades captive. Umabai, Yashwantrao, his younger brother Sawai Baburao among others were at the mercy of the Prime Minister.
Perhaps their situation would have been better if the Gaikwad hadn’t betrayed them and collaborated with the Peshwa. Gaikwad was made the Maratha chief of Gujarat, and as a compensation to the Dabhades, he promised to pay an annual maintenance expense.
Even as Umabai lost her fortune to her army commander, the courage she showcased while standing up to the Peshwa is hardly shown by anyone else.
The senapati’s sword that Umabai used in a battle. Courtesy: Sardar Satyasheelraje Dabhade.
Very few people today know about her story, but she holds a unique position in the Maratha history–that of the first woman chief of one of the largest kingdoms that existed in modern India.
The Better India got in touch with Sardar Satyasheelraje Dabhade, the 13th descendant of Umabai, who resides in Pune. The history buff has been researching little-known facts about his family’s history.
Speaking to TBI, he explains how he studies these facts. He first visited the ‘Bharat Itihaas Sanshodhak Mandal’ in Pune which still houses all the old original documents of his family.
He adds, “My friends from the Mandal, Mandar Lawate and Mahesh Tendulkar also helped me study old documents of my family. Mandar Lawate, being an expert in Modi Script, helped me translate and understand the letters of Khanderao and Umabaisaheb.”
Historians Late Ninad Bedekar and Pandurang Balkawade also helped him find old documents of his family at the Pune Archives, “and that’s how I started studying the history of Sarsenapati Khanderao and Umabaisaheb Dabhade,” he shares.
Elaborating on Umabai’s history, he says, “Not many books on the life of Sarsenapati Umabaisaheb Dabhade are found in bookstores. Very little has been written about her. I always feel that her story just remained in the original letters and in a very few books written in the old times. Her laurels did not reach the masses as they should have.”
However, he takes pride and respite in the fact that the Limca Book of Records 2011 mentions Umabaisaheb “as being the only woman Commander-in-Chief of the Maratha Army and the only woman Commander-in-Chief in India’s history”.
(Edited by Shruti Singhal)
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Every year, we pay rich tributes to several generations of men, women and even children, who rebelled against the tyrannical British rule and gave their all for the cause of freedom.
This is not the case for Shivnath Jha.
His idea of paying a tribute does not include posting quotes, garlanding photos or a making biopic about the martyrs. He wants to ensure that their struggles do not go in vain even decades after India became independent.
So, Jha, who is journalist by profession, is tracking down the descendants of freedom fighters all across India and ensuring that they live a dignified happy life.
Jha was born into an economically backward family. He started distributing newspapers at the tender age of 8 because he wanted to study in a prestigious and expensive school.
His father worked in a publishing agency and earned just Rs 45 every month. But Jha strived to study and work hard, and eventually decided to become a journalist.
Over 35 years of working in various news organisations including The Telegraph, The Indian Express, The Statesman, and Asian Age got him well-connected with the masses.
Somewhere along the way, he started his unique initiative—tracing the bloodlines of forgotten freedom fighters and giving their descendants a dignified life.
Speaking to The Better India, Jha said, “There are three kinds of people that know exactly who lives where. Postmen, police officers and reporters. And that is how I started my journey and launched Aandolan, a nationwide movement to locate the descendants of forgotten heroes.”
A history buff, Jha who has high regards for the struggle that revolutionaries endured, is saddened by the limited knowledge that school students have about Indian history.
“I asked boy studying in Class 6 if he knew who Bhagat Singh was, and his reply was Ajay Devgn. If that is how India’s most celebrated martyr is remembered, one can imagine how it is for the others.”
Tatya Tope’s name is forever carved in the Indian independence struggle. He bravely fought against the British and had once helped Rani Laxmibai escape an attack.
However, his great-grandson, Vinayak Rao Tope, lives a life less than ordinary in Bithur, a town in Kanpur.
“The family owns a tiny grocery shop, measuring 6ft x 8ft, and sometimes they earn a few extra rupees when Vinayak performs religious rituals in the neighbourhood. His children, Pragati, Tripti and Ashutosh, were unemployed although all three of them had completed their graduation,” says Jha while remembering the situation when he first discovered them in 2007.
“The girls had a degree in Sanskrit. While it is not of much use in most government jobs, it still holds some value in itself. It made my work easier and I helped her get a job in the Railways.”
Chandrashekhar Azad who was Bhagat Singh’s ally and a brave revolutionary is also fondly remembered till today.
“Respects are paid to the martyrs on their birth and death anniversaries. Sometimes their descendants are felicitated, but after the event is over, they go back to their ordinary lives, struggling to make ends meet. What kind of a tribute are we paying the martyrs, if their families cannot live with a little dignity? The movies and books that are produced and written, respectively, benefit everyone but the direct descendants. Is this the kind of homage that our revolutionaries deserve?”
Udham Singh was Punjabi revolutionary, who is known for assassinating Michael O’ Dwyer and avenging the Jallianwala Bagh Massacre.
Hi grandson, Jeet Singh, is well over 60 years today. He used to work as a labourer at a construction site in Punjab, and when Jha tracked him down, he was severely debt-ridden and working as much as possible to provide for his family.
Jha raised a sum of Rs 11 lakh for Singh and arranged for interviews with the family. This amount paid off all their debts but Jagga, Jeet’s son still seeks the security of a government job.
Jha claimed that since he started his journey in 2002, he has helped over 70 families. How he does it is a story in itself.
“You see, there are records of families in every village, taluka and district. The employees of the office have little interest in the information, but if you are determined, it tells you everything you need to locate a family. So I do my research and study about where the freedom fighters came from originally. It is likely that the families migrated, but usually, they migrate within 100 km of their native place. Longer migrations require a little more effort, but I’m willing to go the extra mile.”
It is evident that the research and the journeys cost a lot, but Jha is helped along by his friends and family.
“Some give me Rs 50, some Rs 5000. I also borrow money from my wife, Neena who is a teacher. That funds my work,” he says.
Providing financial help to the families of the descendants is another matter altogether.
“To fund the families, I approach businesses, media organisations and philanthropists who work for the cause. I am writing a book to commemorate the martyrs of the Jallianwalla Bagh massacre, and I request businesses to fund at least one page. The funds that remain from that sum, will go towards the cause,” says Jha.
If you would like to fund his book (which is scheduled to release on April 13, 100 years since the Jallianwalla Bagh massacre) or help him get in touch with other descendants who might need financial help, you can email him at jshivnath@gmail.com.
(Edited by Gayatri Mishra)
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We take a look at the iconic objects that collectively defined the Indian experience from 1950 onwards. From things that brought the world to our living rooms to tasty treats, take a nostalgic journey down memory lane!
Washing powder Nirma Nirma!
You may or may not use Nirma’s detergent powder to wash your clothes today, but it is highly unlikely that you would be unfamiliar with this jingle, or the advertisement featuring a young girl in a spotless white frock, twirling around playfully.
The catchy jingle and the young girl were exactly what Karsanbhai Patel, the founder of the Nirma brand, used to capture India’s attention to and overtake the big names in the market in the early 1980s.
This is Patel’s story of how he took a new detergent brand from his backyard to every middle-class house in India.
The year was 1969, and a brand named ‘Surf’ by Hindustan Lever Ltd (now Hindustan Unilever) had complete monopoly over the detergent market in India.
Priced between Rs 10 and Rs 15, it removed the stains from your clothes without harming your hands and was better for your clothes than a regular bar of washing soap.
However, the price was a major pain point for middle-class households, who found it to be beyond their budget. So, they continued to use soap bars.
Karsanbhai Patel, a chemist at the Gujarat Government’s Department of Mining and Geology, wanted to enter this very market and provide middle-class families like his, some relief.
He decided to make a detergent from scratch in his backyard in Ahmedabad, Gujarat, keeping in mind that that the price of the product, as well as the production costs, needed to be low.
He developed the formula, manufactured a yellow-coloured detergent powder, and started selling it for Rs 3. The brand was named Nirma, after Nirupama, Patel’s daughter, who had passed away in an accident.
He would go from door to door in each neighbourhood and give a ‘money back’ guarantee with every packet he sold.
A quality product, Nirma was also the lowest-priced branded washing powder at the time and became a huge hit in Ahmedabad.
Soon, Patel quit his job and decided to pursue this venture full time and take on the big players in the market. In those days, credit terms were the norm for retailers to follow. If Patel followed those, he would have been left with a huge cash crunch. Something he could not risk.
So, he devised a brilliant plan. One that would make Nirma a household name across India.
The washing powder was doing fairly well in Ahmedabad so Patel invested a little money in a television advertisement.
The catchy jingle—which stated that Nirma was “sab ki pasand”(everyone’s choice)—and the girl in a frilly white dress, became an instant hit.
Customers flocked to local markets to buy the product. However, the cunning Patel had withdrawn 90% of the stock, to lather up the demand.
For about a month, customers kept watching the advertisement, but when they would head out to purchase the washing powder, they would return home empty-handed.
The retailers pleaded with Patel to resume the supply, and after a month, he obliged and flooded the markets with the product.
The demand was sky high—so much so, in fact, that Nirma overtook Surf’s purchases by a large margin and became the most sold detergent that year. In fact, it managed to keep up its production and sales for a decade after this brilliant move.
While the product was affected by the obvious ups and downs of the market, Patel was not too concerned because he had decided to beyond manufacturing just a detergent. Soon, he launched toilet soaps, beauty soaps, shampoos and toothpaste.
Some products were successful, some not so much. But the brand Nirma never lost its firm hold on the market. Today, it has a 20% market share in soap cakes and about 35% in detergents.
In 1995, Patel established the Nirma Institute of Technology in Ahmedabad, and in 2003, he founded the Institute of Management and the Nirma University of Science and Technology in 2003.
He maintains that the passion for keeping up the business and expanding its branches across markets is rooted in love for his late daughter.
Patel has been presented with several prestigious awards, including the Padma Shri in 2010 and was also featured in the Forbes list of India’s wealthiest (2009 and 2017).
Undeterred by the lack of a management degree, unafraid to go up against big names, and equipped only with a sharp business sense and a brilliant mind, Karsanbhai is a legend in the entrepreneurial fraternity, today.
He has proved that it is not just his brand, but his brilliance which is “sab ki pasand” in India.
(Edited by Gayatri Mishra)
Like this story? Or have something to share? Write to us: contact@thebetterindia.com, or connect with us on Facebook and Twitter.
We take a look at the iconic objects that collectively defined the Indian experience from 1950 onwards. From things that brought the world to our living rooms to tasty treats, take a nostalgic journey down memory lane!
Do you remember shopping for household items with your entire family, when you were a child?
If yes, then you would probably also recall the inevitable fight with your sibling, about which brand was best—even when it came to something as standard as bathing soap.
Back then, bathing soaps were considered to be functional items and had to be affordable. A single bar would be used by the entire family for all purposes and would last for a while.
Of course, today there is an overabundance of choices when it comes to soap, including the ones that cater to different parts of the body!
However, have you ever wondered what did we use before bathing soaps successfully staked claim over the Indian market?
Well, to begin with, soap nuts (reetha) were widely used as cleansing agents across the country for centuries.
Shikakai and Besan (gram flour), and an array of herbs like turmeric, tulsi (holy basil), neem bark and leaves, lotus petals, and sandalwood paste were also used by our ancestors to maintain the health of their skin.
These would phase out soon after the Lever Brothers from England introduced modern soaps or ‘toilet’ soaps, as they would come to be quickly known, in India, during the late nineteenth century.
Almost a century later, these would become an indispensable household commodity for the Indian population.
However, the era of bathing bars or ‘toilet’ soaps, as they were more popularly known then, is one that folks from the eighties and nineties would surely hold close to their hearts.
It’s no joke—I’m sure every family had their favourite because ours surely did!
Liril, Hamam, Lux, Margo, Medimix, Lifebuoy, Pears, Cinthol, Mysore Sandal, Rexona—there were plenty of brands to choose from and however silly that may sound, we formed a separate association with each one of them!
Soaps like Hamam, Margo and Medimix came with the ‘all-natural’ tag, which made them a family favourite (whether the kids liked it or not.)
Neem-based Margo left behind a bitter trace on the body that would leave kids angry—especially those of us who bathed right before a meal and ate with our hands.
When Pears, the soap eponymously named after its creator, Andrew Pears, was introduced in the Indian market, we were fascinated beyond our wits.
Never before had we seen a bar of soap that was translucent!
But the “glycerin-enriched” soap was as evasive as a rat in the attic. We could never manage to hold it for too long; it would always slip. Even so, my family has remained loyal to the brand, till this day.
Did you know that Pears was first produced and sold in 1807 and that it was the world’s first mass-market translucent soap?
Then there was Liril and its iconic advertisement featuring the ‘Liril girl’ which mesmerised the entire country.
Admit it, all of us have imagined prancing under a waterfall at an exotic location, just like the Liril girl!
Funnily enough, this is a soap that doctors across the country unanimously endorse! Remember, “Lifebuoy hai jahan, tandurusti hai wahan”?
Finally, we come to Lux, the star amongst bathing bars.
The original ‘toilet’ soap, Lux was one that was marketed as the ‘beauty soap of film stars’ and roped in every reigning lady from the Hindi film industry to wow its audience into submission.
A few years ago, Lux even featured Shahrukh Khan in an advertisement!
A vintage Lux print advertisement. Source: Cinestaan.
The times have surely changed, and bathing bars have become less popular, with liquid soaps and body washes having captured a large share of the market.
But for people like us who grew up in the eighties and nineties, these ‘family’ soaps have a nostalgic value that no body wash or hand wash can ever create.
A smart ad-campaign, showing ordinary Indian citizens—a government servant, a boyfriend who is always late to meet his girlfriend, an aspiring doctor—and catchphrases like “Luna karti pucca vaada, kharcha kam, mazbooti zyada” [Luna promises durability but at a lesser price] helped Luna find lakhs of takers from the middle-income group.
The advertisements told the ordinary Indian that the time they wasted while pedaling their way to their offices is the only thing standing between them and success. And thus a new player, much used but little considered, entered India’s vehicle stage—there to stay in the wings quietly doing its part, for the next forty years.
In the early 1970s, India was divided between people who stuck to their traditional bicycles and the daredevils who had adapted to motorcycles. The middle-class was familiar with the former—it was cheap, durable and required minimal maintenance. However, the latter offered speed and comfort but at prices that tested the pockets.
Enter the year 1972, and the Pune-based Kinetic group Firodia family, in partnership with Honda, flooded the market with a 50cc bike that was evidently based on the design of a bicycle but was spruced up with a motor to reduce manual effort.
The bike weighed just 50 kg and offered the middle-class Indian an upgrade from his bicycle while still thinking of his comfort and time—all at affordable rates.
Speaking to Domain-B, Arun Firodia, the current chairman of the Kinetic Group said, “We wanted to make a small contribution to the social transformations that were taking place in India in the ’70s. With cities growing, people found it difficult to just commute on bicycles. So we felt it was the right time to introduce a low-cost vehicle that would provide mobility.”
And so Luna was born.
The moped was not aimed at the elite class who could afford to buy the faster and more expensive motorcycles. Speaking to the Business Standard (BS), Firodia said, “Characters such as Ram Murari, a government employee, Ravi Kumar, a trader, and Radha, a medical student, who were part of the campaign, were people viewers could relate to. They had issues of time management, wanted to strike a work-life balance and at the same time desired to excel in life, academics and business.
We put Luna into these situations and showed how these characters could achieve their dreams with a little help from the moped. It worked with consumers.”
Like many other brands in the market, the Luna’s advertisements started out featuring stars like Shabana Azmi and Smita Patil. However, after gaining the attention of the audience, the Firodias switched to faces and stories of the common Indian.
The television advertisement featured people like them—ordinary Indians working hard to gain success. And thirdly, the tagline itself—Chal Meri Luna was a rehash of the popular Hindi song, “Chal mere ghode.” The idea was the brainchild of the advertisement wizard, Piyush Pandey, who struck gold in his very first professional assignment.
The elements that went into creating the ad-campaign was simple yet brilliant. The vehicle itself was a combination of what the middle-class Indian had and what he aspired to get (cycle and motorbike respectively). The moped was so similar to a bicycle that if you ran out of fuel, you could pedal your way home.
“All the elements fell into place well – characters from everyday life, who had problems like any of us, a product that could help them achieve want they wanted and a tagline that was likeable and connected with our need to position Luna as a solutions provider,” Firodia tells BS.
The Kinetic Group used another tactic to draw the attention of Luna’s intended audience, especially the ones glued to their televisions during cricket matches which was almost every Indian.
They gave away Luna as a reward to the man of the match who may or may not use his prize, but the marketing gimmick hit pay dirt.
The common man and woman happily embraced this new vehicle which was as yet unchallenged by foreign brands till the market gates finally opened to them. While men had the Bajaj Chetak as an alternative too, women found Luna a convenient choice due to its design as during the 70s, maxi dresses, churidars and sarees dominated the fashion scene.
The scooter, launched in 1972, remained a super hit with the masses until the late 1990s. “Competition intensified in Kinetic Motor’s main segment of gearless scooters with the entry of large players like Honda, Suzuki and Hero Honda. The Kinetic Group decided that it would be difficult for its two-wheeler business to be profitable as a standalone scooter manufacturer,” Sulajja Firodia Motwani, the managing director of Kinetic Motor Company told Business Today.
Eventually, Luna lost its enviable place in the moped market and was replaced by sturdier, more fuel-efficient vehicles and Luna made little sense to the motorbike and car loving public. The days of Luna might have long passed, but the country’s first purely desi moped will always be remembered fondly by the generation who witnessed a revolution on the Indian roads.
(Edited by Saiqua Sultan)
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In 1936, when Shapurji Saklatvala died, Jawaharlal Nehru referred to him as “the most important nationalist figure outside the country”.
And yet, when I mentioned to someone this morning, that I was working on a piece about Shapurji’s life, I was asked who he was.
While learning about the freedom struggle, we have mostly read about the contribution of leaders within the country. In this article, we look at “Comrade Sak”, who despite living in London, a two-time British MP no less, chose to be an integral part of the freedom struggle. He was the third Asian to be elected as MP, and also the first from the British Communist Party – elected by the working class South London population.
One might wonder how an Indian found himself a position in the British Parliament. He reportedly said, “In this country, no political progress can be made, except through the channels of one of the existing parties.”
Early years
Shapurji was born on March 28th, 1874, in Mumbai (then Bombay), to a cotton merchant, Dorabji Saklatvala and Jerbai. Jerbai was Jamsetji Nusserwanji Tata’s younger sister.
From his early years, Shapurji was drawn towards the cause of India’s freedom. It is reported that he espoused the cause with such vigour that the British authorities suggested to the Tatas that a change of climate would be good for him.
Life in England
Using his bout of malaria as an excuse, the Tatas bundled him off to England in 1905, hoping that the change in scenery would wean him away from the freedom struggle. They could not have been more wrong, as he continued his struggles from Britain!
In 1907, while he was recovering from malaria, he was living at a health spa where he met and married Sally Marsh, a waitress at the spa.
It was through her that he got a sense of how the working class in England lived.
At the beginning of the 20th-century, surveys showed that 25 per cent of Britain’s population were living in poverty. They found that at least 15 per cent were living at subsistence level. They had just enough money for food, rent, fuel and clothes. They could not afford “luxuries” such as newspapers or public transport. About 10 per cent were living below subsistence level and could not afford an adequate diet.
This changed in 1906 when the liberal government was elected and some reforms were brought. From that year, poor children were given free school meals.
In January 1909, the first old age pensions were paid. They were hardly generous – only five shillings a week – which was a paltry sum even in those days and they were only paid to people over 70. Nevertheless, it was a start.
Political career in Britain
After spending many years with the Liberals and the Independent Labor Party, he realised that neither would grant independence to India. Thus, he joined the newly-formed Communist Party of Britain in 1921 because he felt it had global appeal and a more radical approach towards the freedom struggle.
Shapurji championed workers’ rights and Indian independence both in and out of the Commons.
A formidable orator, following a speech in Hyde Park at the start of the General Strike in 1926, he was arrested and sentenced to imprisonment for two months for sedition.
His fiery speeches and fearless demonstrations caused him to be hounded by the police and the politicians. After a widely successful speaking tour of India in 1927, he was banned by the then Conservative government in England to travel to India – a ban that the Labor party, which was elected two years later, also upheld. He lost the general elections in 1929, after which he never returned to the Parliament.
To put his achievement in perspective, the next time a “non-White” person was elected to the British parliament was in 1987.
In Britain, he is remembered as a titan of the Communist movement. The Communist Party of Great Britain (Marxist–Leninist)’s main hall in London, located a few streets away from Ambedkar Hall, is named after him.
In The Fifth Commandment, a biography of Shapurji Saklatvala written by Sehri Saklatvala, Shapurji’s youngest daughter, writes, “The charitable and benevolent community of Parsis, to which he belonged, always sought to alleviate the distress of the poor. This was not enough for Shapurji. He sought not to alleviate but to eliminate poverty entirely; and not only in India but all over the world.”
He died on January 16, 1936, in London after suffering a heart attack. It was rather unfortunate that he did not live to see India achieve Independence.
Years before the television set had people glued to it with Doordarshan’s iconic shows like Ramayana, Mahabharata, Buniyad, Humlog and Mungeri Lal Ke Haseen Sapne—one medium ruled the roost.
The radio.
In most middle-class homes, where a TV set was a distant dream, the radio took centre stage. And while the history of this wonderful medium that connected the masses is not something people usually Google about, it is incomplete without the mention of one particular radio programme.
One that aired for over 40 years, reigning over the hearts of millions of listeners. Not just in India, but also beyond borders–in South Asia, parts of the Middle East, East Asia, and Europe.
Once a week, on Wednesdays, as the family neared supper time, a member, (often the youngest enthu-cutlet) would tune into Radio Ceylon at 8 PM. When tuned just in time, they would hear the closing lines of the Binaca toothpaste jingle, also the sponsor of the much-awaited programme to follow.
And then, a voice would resound through the radio set. A mix of baritone and warmth that broke away from the monotony of the All-India Radio (AIR) announcers, this living legend’s voice brought life to every household.
“Ji haan bhaiyon aur beheno. Main aapka dost Ameen Sayani bol raha hoon aur aap sun rahe hai Binaca Geetmala.”
A 30-minute programme, Binaca Geetmala was broadcast on Radio Ceylon from 1952–1989, and then on AIR’s Vividh Bharati network from 1989–1994.
Ameen Sayani, who is now 86, narrated the history of its inception on its silver jubilee.
The man behind the golden voice
Binaca Geetmala with the grand old man of Radio Ceylon, Ameen Sayani.
Born to a devoted doctor who treated underprivileged patients free of charge and bought them medicines, and a mother who ran the periodical Rahber to propagate Gandhi’s vision, Ameen forayed into this earliest form of radio jockeying in the 1950s.
As a degree student of erstwhile Bombay’s St Xavier’s College, he applied for the role of a Hindi broadcaster on AIR. And as hard as it is for most of his fans to believe, he was rejected.
“Your ability to read from scripts is good but Mr Sayani, your pronunciation is defective with too much Gujarati and English influence in your pronunciation,’ was how he had been turned down, recalled Ameen in an interview with the Times of India.
Shattered, he turned to his guide and guru-his older brother, Hamid Sayani.
Hamid, a producer for Radio Ceylon, told him to listen to the station’s Hindi programmes during the recording.
Coincidentally, these recordings took place at a studio in the technical institute of St Xavier’s itself. Needless to say, the young Ameen would trade classes to learn and emulate the art of broadcasting.
Ameen was first noticed by Radio Ceylon’s Balgovind Shrivastav, the producer of the show-Ovaltine Phulwari. Unhappy with the voice for the Ovaltine advertisement, Shrivastav once got on to the stage and asked if anyone from the studio audience wanted to try reading out the script. Ameen volunteered. When the youngster read the words aloud, Shrivastav shut his ears to block his sound.
A second try impressed him. And thus began the young Ameen’s journey. He read advertisements every week. Was he paid? Well, if a small tin of Ovaltine could be considered a payment, then sure. What really marked his breakthrough into commercial radio was the absence of Indian film music on AIR. This vacuum was filled in 1951 by Radio Ceylon.
Using the concept of its already existing show-the Binaca Hit Parade which did a countdown of western songs, the brand decided to do a Hindi version for the masses.
The sponsors started looking for a less experienced individual who would have to write the scripts, present and produce the show. Additionally, he/she would have to read letters by the listeners, tabulate the requests and analyze the popularity of each song, based on the feedback from the listeners. It was a lot of work and the salary was a meagre Rs. 25 a week.
It wasn’t much but certainly more than Ameen’s prior payment of a small tin of Ovaltine.
He took a giant leap of faith. And then there was no looking back.
The first show raked in 200 letters. But into the second week, the number spiked to 9,000 letters and later 60,000 a week. In the year 2000, it also won the Advertising Club’s Golden Abby Award for being the most outstanding Radio Campaign of the Century.
The show
Binaca Geetmala played seven contemporary songs in no particular order. But soon enough, it started ranking them based on popularity and feedback by the janta. The number of listeners shot up to 20,00,000 from the once 9,00,000. Over the years, the name of the show kept changing from—Binaca Geetmala to Cibaca Geetmala and later Colgate-Cibaca Geetmala—due to brand takeovers and change of sponsors.
But one thing remained constant. Ameen Sayani’s voice. For the lakhs of listeners, Ameen wasn’t just a radio jockey, he was a friend and confidant who played out their favourites, read song dedications, their heart-warming stories and letters. He also entertained the listeners with music trivia. Bets were placed on which song would top the week’s chart.
Every rank was referred to as a ‘paidan’ by Ameen—a staircase that led to the top of the Binaca Geetmala peak. Songs could either step up from one paidan to the other or climb down after losing its rank to newer competitors.
When he would announce, “Binaca Geetmala ke paidan ki choti par hai,” the suspense was built with the sound of a bugle. To be number one on the Binaca list was a sign of pride for music producers and directors.
The show’s popularity made Radio Ceylon extend its running time to 60 minutes from half an hour. And such was the media and public attention that it often caused crowds to gather in parks and traffic jams if someone played their radio loud.
“It was impossible to miss this weekly program on the radio during childhood. Even when outside my home, I could still hear the programme in remarkable continuity while walking, my only concern was to reach home before the top song was played. No other radio or TV programme in the world could have stayed popular for such a long time (four decades!) and in so many countries (India, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Sri Lanka, and so many other Asian countries). The magic was in the Indian music, deeply meaningful, heart-touching simple lyrics, fabulous presentation of Amin Sayani and melodious heavenly nostalgic voices of several artists,” writes a fan of the show on YouTube.
Binaca, the oral hygiene brand was launched in 1951 by FMCG brand Reckitt Benckiser. Before brands like Pepsodent or Colgate became a household name, in the 1970s, Binaca was one of the country’s favourite toothpaste.
What made the product memorable? Well, apart from the jingle and the radio show, the free toys and waterproof stickers that the brand gave out with the toothpaste and toothbrush packs made it a much-loved product among children. Another marketing strategy was the free water picture sticker at a time when stickers or self-adhesive tapes had still not entered the market.
One of the brands most remembered print advertisement featured brave-heart Neerja Bhanot.
And while the brand couldn’t survive competition in the dental hygiene space and was bought by the Indian FMCG company Dabur in 1996 for ₹12 million, it continued to live on in the memories of thousands through the melodies of Geetmala.
On August 15, 1988, after the then Prime Minister, Rajiv Gandhi, finished his address to the nation from the Red Fort, a soulful melody took the nation by storm.
For most Indians who watched the broadcast on Doordarshan, the opening lines of Mile Sur Mera Tumhara, belted out by the legendary Hindustani classical vocalist Pandit Bhimsen Joshi continue to stand the test of time.
Indian Flag Source: Facebook/Maryland. Pandit Bhimsen Joshi. Source: Facebook/Manik Debnath
And even now, three decades later, when one plays the grainy video of this musical tribute on Youtube, it invokes the same spirit of pride in the culture and heritage of our country, as it did for those in 1988.
Here are some incredible facts about how the inception of the 6-minute song came about and why it continues to resound in the heart of every Indian as an unofficial anthem:
The origin of the song
The idea originated from a conversation between the former PM and his friend, Jaideep Samarth.
Samarth, who was also a Senior Executive at the advertising behemoth Ogilvy Benson & Mather (now O&M), decided to approach the national creative head of the company-Suresh Mullick, about the project.
Mullick got top ad film-producer Kailash Surendranath on-board and the duo set the wheels rolling after a meeting with Pandit Bhimsen Joshi.
In an interview with Sandeep Goyal for Campaign India, Kailash added that when he and Mullick met Pandit Bhimsen Joshi for the project, the musical legend got back within a matter of a few days.
He had composed almost 45 minutes of music based on Raag Bhairavi.
“It was a soul-stirring composition and I had the difficult task of snipping it down to a mere 30 seconds. It became the core of the composition which was then passed on to other composers for music in different languages.”
The song, apart from Hindi, was sung in languages from different parts of India including Assamese, Bengali, Gujarati, Kannada, Kashmiri, Malayalam, Marathi, Marwari, Odia, Punjabi, Sindhi, Tamil, Telugu, and Urdu.
The lyrics of the song were to be penned by Pandit Vinod Sharma. But a young account manager at Ogilvy, Piyush Pandey, who was asked to be in touch with Sharma, wrote the lyrics himself when he noticed a lag in the process. It took 18 drafts, before the final version made the cut!
Penning ‘Mile Sur Mera Tumhara,’ opened up avenues for Pandey who steadily climbed the popularity charts. Conferred the Padma Shri in 2016, he now serves as the Executive Chairman and Creative Director of Ogilvy South Asia.
The six-minute video featured top personalities from different fields.
Actors Kamal Haasan, Revathi, Amitabh Bachchan, Mithun Chakraborty, Jeetendra, Waheeda Rehman, Hema Malini, Tanuja, Sharmila Tagore, Shabana Azmi, Deepa Sahi, Om Puri, Dina Pathak, and Meenakshi Seshadri graced the screen.
It also featured Indian classical dancer Mallika Sarabhai, cartoonist Mario Miranda, filmmaker Mrinal Sen and authors Sunil Gangopadhyay and Annadashankar Ray.
Musicians and vocalists who became a part of the project included Bhimsen Joshi, M Balamuralikrishna, Lata Mangeshkar, Suchitra Mitra, and Kavitha Krishnamurthy. Last but certainly not the least, sportspersons Narendra Hirwani, S Venkataraghavan, Prakash Padukone, Ramanathan Krishnan, Arun Lal, PK Banerjee, Chuni Goswami, Syed Kirmani, Leslie Claudius and Gurbux Singh appeared in the video too.
Mile Sur Mera Tumhaara also made a mark for its stark and appealing visual representation.
Kailash Surendranath, who had already carved a name for himself in the ad business with exceptional commercials like Liril and Wah Taj, added a golden feather to his hat with ‘Mile Sur Mera Tumhara.’
In the same interview with Goyal, he recalls how Kamal Haasan’s cameo in the video was completely unplanned. When the ad film producer met Carnatic vocalist and musician M Balamuralikrishna, (who sang the Tamil part in the song), he was shocked to see Kamal Haasan with him. The star from the South told Kailash how he was only accompanying his ‘guru’ to the shoot.
When asked about being featured in the video, Haasan humbly added that he wanted to only sit as a chela, listening in rapt attention to the legend. He didn’t want to hog the limelight in the video.
Kailash praises yesteryear A-listers Amitabh Bachchan, Jeetendra and Mithun for their cooperation, humility and professionalism too.
When Doordarshan had written to these biggies to be a part of the video, they not only responded but also reached Mehboob Studios on time, with their own wardrobe. They shared the same screen for the song and completed the shot within five minutes!
The legend of the Liril Falls
The opening scene of the song shows Pandit Bhimsen singing near a waterfall. For those of you intrigued about the location of the shot—it was the same waterfall where the Liril commercial was recorded. This is the Pambar Falls in Kodaikanal, popular as the Liril Falls.
Getting Lata Mangeshkar on board
While Kavitha Krishnamurthy lent her voice for the female actors in the song, Kailash and team were eager to have Indian playback singer and music director, Lata Mangeshkar sing too.
The veteran singer was on the road and the possibilities of a collaboration were slim due to her hectic schedule. But she was gracious to come back to Mumbai just in time, three days before the song was to go live.
“She arrived at the studio in her Indian flag-pallu white saree. I shot and recorded her in the studio in that dress and that is what you see in the film,” says Kailash.
An IAF helicopter was used for the aerial shot of Taj Mahal
This is perhaps one of the most hilarious anecdotes from the shoot. When the makers wanted to get an aerial shot of the Taj Mahal, there faced a crisis. According to protocol, no plane was allowed in such close vicinity to the historical monument.
Kailash flew to Agra to meet the Air Marshal who allowed him to take the aerial shot from an IAF helicopter, free of cost. Sadly, the officer got into hot water for this. Kailash helped him out of the problem by paying for the ride.
The jumbo stars and the mahout who was the actual singer
Literally, the ‘biggest’ highlight of the video were the elephants in the film, who were shot in Periyar National Park. The mahout in the film was also the actual singer who sang the Malayalam part of the song.
Railway fans! Did you know that two iconic trains made a cameo in the film too?
On Suresh Mullick insistence, the film also shot the then newly-inaugurated Calcutta metro, the first Indian transit system of its kind. The film also shows the much-loved Deccan Queen chugging along a river.
Phir Mile Sur
Two decades after its debut, the song was re-recorded for telecast on January 26, 2010 by Zoom TV. The new version Phir Mile Sur Mera Tumhara featured a newer generation of Indian musicians, singers, sportspersons and film personalities and was 16 min 17 sec long! It was directed by Kailash Surendranath himself with the new version retaining the original music composer Louis Banks.
Watch this version below!
Did the music make you nostalgic too? Don’t forget to tell us about your favourite memories in the comments!
Some of the greatest love stories go unseen, unheard and undocumented, simply because they’re ordinary couples living their lives. So this Valentine’s Day, we try to give such stories a showcase, – everyday people and their extraordinary love!
It was the year, 1947. Pritam Kaur, a 22-year-old girl from Gujranwala, north of Lahore, was put on a train to Amritsar by her family. This train, they were confident, would save their daughter from imminent riots. Clutching her bag, weighed down with a heavily embroidered phulkari jacket, and holding tightly on to her two-year-old brother, Pritam embarked upon the journey, unsure of their future.
With a lifetime of memories woven into its fabric—the beautiful jacket would now be her only prized possession.
Pritam cursed her fate. She had been forced to flee the city she loved, the parents she worshipped, and a future that had shone bright—albeit for only some time. Just a few days past she had met Bhagwan Singh Maini, a 30-year-old man from Mianwali and had gotten engaged to him on the same day, as was common at the time. Her fiancé had no idea that she had left the new country of Pakistan.
While Pritam continued her mental tirade against fate, it seems fate was on her side after all.
The unrelenting riots and mass slaughters all around her could have taken Prita’s life – perhaps on the very train to Amritsar – she was on. But, she found her way safely to a refugee camp.
Bhagwan, who originally lived 250 kms away from Pritam, had been facing the consequences of communal violence up close. Three of his brothers were killed in the slaughter, and it was evident to Bhagwan that if he didn’t flee, death would claim him too.
Stuffing a brown briefcase with his certificates and property claims, he too boarded a train to Amritsar.
Pritam and Bhagwan were only two out of the 12 million people who, after being torn from their families, had to settle in refugee camps in and around Amritsar. Though the engaged couple had reached the same city safely, there was little statistical chance of them reuniting. They had to start life from scratch and reminiscing over the past would not have helped them.
The refugee camps were a harrowing experience in themselves. Restricted to a tent made of half-torn canvas and at the mercy of the weather, refugee families needed physical and mental endurance to rough it out. Every day, a truck with food packets would see a long line of refugees jostling each other to reach it, fearful of going back empty-handed.
One day, while Pritam was in one such queue, a familiar voice asked “Are you the same person?”
After this extraordinary turn of events, Bhagwan and Pritam frequently met, telling each other about their losses, how they had reached Amritsar and supporting each other in rebuilding their lives.
Speaking to the BBC, the couple’s daughter-in-law, Cookie Maini said, “They exchanged notes about their tragedies, wondering if it was destiny that had brought them together once more. Their families, or whatever was left of them, also reunited in due course.”
In March 1948, amidst the chaos around them, Pritam and Bhagwan got married in a small ceremony.
The riots were dying down, and the newlyweds began to put the pieces of their broken lives back together.
The brown briefcase played its part in securing the couple a good future. Bhagwan used his certificates to get a job in the judicial services and provide a steady foundation to his family.
“The jacket and the briefcase are [a] testimony to the life they lost and found together,” Cookie tells BBC.
Slowly and steadily, the Mainis returned to normalcy. They had two children, both of whom served as civil servants in independent India.
Bhagwan passed away about 30 years ago, and Pritam died in 2002. However, their legacy lives on in Amritsar as a testimony to the struggles, stories and the history of millions of those who lost everything but had the will to rebuild their lives from scratch in a new country.
Displayed in the Partition Museum in Amritsar—the Phulkari jacket and the brown briefcase—tell one of the most heart-warming love stories of the partition.
(Edited by Saiqua Sultan)
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“The army has lost a helping hand; the nation has lost a friend. Let us always bear in mind his internationalist spirit.”
This is how Mao Zedong, the founding father of the People’s Republic of China, mourned the death of Dr Dwarkanath Shantaram Kotnis.
Dr Kotnis was an Indian doctor, who breathed his last in China, after having lived the last five years of his life serving the Chinese soldiers and winning the hearts of millions in the country.
Till this day, he is revered as an icon of Sino-Indian friendship. This is his story.
Dwarkanath was born on 10 October 1910 in a middle-class family in Solapur, Maharashtra. He was one among seven children in the Kotnis family.
He took up medicine at the Seth GS Medical College in the University of Bombay (Mumbai) with the aim to “practice medicine in different parts of the world.”
The 1930s to 40s were a time of upheaval in both India and China. Where in India, the freedom struggle was gaining momentum, China was facing an invasion by the Japanese. It was at this time that General Zhu De, a Chinese revolutionary had written to Jawaharlal Nehru to send doctors to save the lives of the soldiers.
Zedong himself had added a note to this cry for help, “…Our emancipation, the emancipation of the Indian people and the Chinese, will be the signal of the emancipation of all down-trodden and oppressed.”
In 1938, Kotnis had just graduated from his studies and was preparing for the post-graduation course. When he heard of this opportunity, he informed his family of his wish to volunteer abroad before going for higher studies. The ordinary family was not familiar with China at the time except for the fact that it was a war zone.
“Neither he nor any other member of the family knew much about China at the time. All we knew was that its natives used to come to India to sell Chinese silk,” recalls Manorama, Dr Kotnis’ younger sister.
Despite the little knowledge he had of China, Dr Kotnis was willing to brave the war-torn country. This decision would prove to be a life-changing one.
He was a member of a team of four other doctors—Nagpur’s M Cholkar, Calcutta’s BK Basu and Debesh Mukherjee and Allahabad’s M Atal.
Zedong and General Zhu De had personally received the young doctors at the revolutionary base of Yan’an in China. This was, after all, the first medical team from another Asian country that had volunteered to help the Chinese soldiers.
The Indian doctors worked in mobile clinics, treating wounded, injured soldiers. Like in the case of any other army doctor, their job was stressful, and the protracted Sino-Japanese battle saw about 800 soldiers coming for medical aid every day. On some days, Dr Kotnis worked tirelessly for about 72 hours straight without a wink of sleep.
But the young Indian doctors were up for the challenge. The job must have taken a massive toll on their physical and mental strength, but as the Chinese soldiers endured, so did their medical assistants.
Finally, the battle ended, and the guests from India were ready to go home. All but one. Dr Kotnis had fallen in love with China and had decided to spend more time there. His letters to his family reflected all that he loved about the ancient country.
“He sounded very happy in the letters,” Manorama tells Outlook India, adding, “People used to come to thank him for his help. He was telling the good part.”
It was not just that an Indian had left home and hearth to help their brethren that made the Chinese admire him. Dr Kotnis was gradually becoming one of them and joked and sang in Chinese. He had even learned how to write their language. Kedihua dai fu (Kedihua was Kotnis’ Chinese name and dai fu meaning doctor) was fast gaining popularity.
After having served in northern China, Kotnis joined the Mao-led Eighth Route Army in 1939. Here too, he was working stressful hours every day, and his efforts were not going unnoticed. The following year, Kotnis was appointed as the director of the Bethune International Peace Hospital.
It was here that the doctor first met the love of his life.
Guo Qinglan was brought up in an unorthodox Christian family. She had completed a course in nursing, and at the age of 23, she volunteered as a nurse in the Eighth Route Army. Qinglan first saw the tall, broad-shouldered and curly haired doctor from India at the inauguration of Dr Norman Bethune’s (a famous Canadian surgeon) tomb and promptly fell in love with him.
“He was vivacious and liked singing,” Qinglan told the People, adding, “. . . and sometimes I couldn’t help laughing when he told me a joke.”
The Indian doctor too had fallen for the nurse who had cared enough to gift him a sweater after seeing his frayed army jacket.
In December 1941, the two got married, and in the August of the following year, they were blessed with a son. They named him Yinhua at the recommendation of Nie Rongzhen, a prominent communist ruler. The name was apt for Yin means India and Hua, China.
But the marital bliss wasn’t long-lived for the couple.
The stress of the job was getting to Dr Kotnis and was affecting his health. On 9 December 1942, just a few months after Yinhua was born, Dr Kotnis, aged 32, lost his life to an epilepsy attack. He was buried in the Heroes Courtyard in Nanquan village in China, and the country mourned.
Another prominent Chinese leader, Madame Sun Yat-sen, paid her respects to the revered doctor by saying, “His memory belongs not only to your people and ours but to the noble roll-call of fighters for the freedom and progress of all mankind. The future will honour him even more than the present because it was for the future that he struggled.”
Sadly, fate, it seems, had decided that Dr Kotnis’ legacy was to be carried forward only in his name and memory. His son, Yinhua had been following his father’s footsteps and was about to graduate from a medical college in 1967 when he lost his life, ironically, due to medical negligence.
The beloved dai-fu’s wife lingered on, living on the memories of the men she had loved and lost. She was an honoured guest at several Indo-Chinese diplomatic functions, including those hosted in Beijing for former Indian President K R Narayan and Prime Minister Vajpayee.
Qinglan, who frequently visited her in-laws in Mumbai, passed away at the age of 96 in 2012.
Until 2015, when Manorama died, the Chinese leaders and delegates, who fondly remember the doctor’s selfless service till date, would visit Dr. Kotnis’ sister. Together, they would reminisce over the doctor and his great deeds.
Whether on stamps, in statues or through words, Dr Kotnis’ selfless service will always find a fond place in the heart of China.
(Edited by Saiqua Sultan)
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In May 1997, a MiG-25R aircraft broke the sound barrier over Islamabad, emitting a sonic boom.
A sonic boom is a loud, explosive noise caused by the shock wave from an aircraft or other object travelling faster than the speed of sound. The sound was mistaken for a bomb blast.
Before the Pakistani F16s could get any close to the intruding aircraft, code-named Foxbat, it had crossed the border yet again and was back in Indian airspace.
Indian MiG-25 Foxbat codename “Garuda” from Indian Air Force’s 102nd Squadron “Trisonics”. Source: Indian Air Force Fans/Facebook
This wasn’t the only secret reconnaissance mission. This superspy plane was reported to photograph sensitive defence sites across the Line of Control in Jammu and Kashmir as well as the Line of Actual Control with China since its induction in 1981.
While the IAF made no official claims about the secret reconnaissance mission, Pakistan did make a statement. It claimed that the pilot aboard the Indian MiG-25 aircraft deliberately sent the sonic boom to remind the PAF that it had no equal in its inventory.
It’s been 13 years since the MiG-25R Foxbat was phased out, but the defence superspy plane and the pilots who flew it continue to have a special place in the history of the Indian Air Force.
The aircraft was originally Russia’s secret weapon against American bombers. This ensured that the aircraft wasn’t supplied even to its thick allies.
But in 1976, after the secrecy of the aircraft was compromised by Viktor Belenko, it was thrown open to the market.
Speaking to aviation expert Shiv Aroor, Late IAF Chief Idris Latif, said, “I was shocked and delighted to learn that the Soviets were actually offering MiG-25 Foxbats to us in 1980.….The Foxbat was the best in the world, and it was made available to us.”
Even after its import, the MiG-25 was the IAF’s most closely guarded asset.
In an Indian Express interview with Aroor, Wing Commander Alok Chauhan supported this. He was a MiG-25 pilot with the Rapiers Squadron. He adds how many in the IAF never saw the Bareilly base where the aircraft was stationed or even the aircraft itself while it was in service.
The Foxbat was to the IAF what the SR-71 Blackbird was to the USAF, the report mentions.
It wasn’t until the IAF released a few photographs of the Foxbats in the public domain that others came to know of the aircraft.
Despite a fully loaded weight of 40-tonnes, it flew 50 km per minute, faster than a bullet. At its fastest speed, it could even zip faster than missiles. Thus, it was considered the right weapon for spying.
Built using nickel-steel and titanium in heat-critical areas, it held the world record for the highest altitude at which an aeroplane could fly.
The MiG-25 was fitted with powerful 1,200 mm cameras that captured photographs even as it flew thrice the speed of sound, at an altitude three times the height of Mount Everest. Its cameras could check on Delhi without leaving Bareilly. This meant that if it flew over Punjab or Kashmir, it could easily check on Pakistan too.
It was considered a gas guzzler. A single long mission meant that its twin Tumansky turbofans would burn 23,000 litres of fuel.
Flying above 70,000 ft, the pilot had to don helmets like Russian cosmonauts and skin-tight inners.
While the Russians pushed the ceiling of the Foxbat to 1,23,000 ft, the Indian Air Force stuck to the 90,000 ft ceiling
The Indian Air Force had eight single-seat MiG-25R for high-speed reconnaissance, and two twin-seat MiG-25U for conversion training for the No.102 Trisonics Squadron in Bareilly.
Wing Commander Chauhan adds how the aircraft could map a country the size of Pakistan in a single-digit number of missions. (One lakh sq-km in four-five sorties).
It was also reported to have outlived its direct competitor SR-71 Blackbird of the US Air Force.
When the time came for the aircraft to retire in 2006, Bareilly base commander Air Commodore Shankar Mani, said, “These aircraft were and are the envy of the world. After 25 years of yeoman service, it is now time to let them go. They have served us exceptionally. We have innovated and changed; we must move on now.”
Retired Air Marshal Trevor Osman, who commanded the MiG-25 squadron named Trisonics in the 1980s, says the aircraft flew between 20-25 sorties a month, most across the border.
42 pilots flew the MiG-25 since its induction to the service.
“From the height at which we fly, you can see the entire Himalayan range at one go. No aircraft has ever been able to achieve for us what the Foxbat has. We will miss flying them,” Wing Commander Sanjeev Taliyan told Aroor.
After being phased out, the aircraft was placed at Delhi’s Palam Museum. Much about its operations and the brave IAF officers who flew it remains shrouded in secrecy.
What is known though is that being a Foxbat pilot required these officers to possess the rank of a Wing Commander and have an excellent flight record, and the most number of sorties with the highest experience in their group.
Perhaps a day will come when the stories of the unsung and faceless heroes who took on these dauntless missions in the beast aircraft will be revealed to the world.
On the night of December 8, during the 1971 Indo-Pak War, a squadron of Sabre jets dropped more than 14 Napalm bombs on the Indian Air Force airstrip in Bhuj. The impact rendered the airstrip useless and Indian combat aircraft could not take off.
The IAF entreated the Border Security Force (BSF) to restore the airstrip but time was ticking, and the labourers were few. It was at this time that 300 villagers—mostly women—from Madhapur in Bhuj, decided to step out of their homes. Armed with nothing but sheer patriotism, they took up the practically impossible task of repairing the airstrip.
Speaking to the Ahmedabad Mirror, one of these brave women, Valbai Seghani said she felt no less than a soldier.
Seghani recalls how, on December 9, 1971, when they were alerted about the bombings, not once did the women think about their safety or their families before boarding the army vehicle, and travelling to the airstrip to repair it.
“We were 300 women who left our homes to help the Air Force, determined to ensure the pilots fly again from here. If we were to die, it would have been an honourable death,” she said.
The then District Collector encouraged the courageous 300 to join the noble cause. But when the village sarpanch, Jadhavjibhai Hirani, one of the first to step out, asked her fellow women to join her in helping the forces the women willingly followed.
Restoring the bombed airstrip was an arduous task as the lives of these civilians were constantly at risk. They began their work under the guidance of the officers. A siren alerted them every time the IAF sensed any approaching Pakistani bombers.
“We would immediately run and hide in the bushes. We were asked to wear pale green saris to camouflage ourselves. A short siren was an indication that we could resume work. We toiled from dawn to dusk to make optimum use of the daylight,” Jadhavjibhai Hirani narrates.
In an interview with The Times of India, Viru Lachhani, another brave heart who repaired the airstrip says, “We were instructed to cover the strip with cow dung to camouflage it from the enemy’s planes. While working, we had to scurry for shelter in bunkers at the sound of the siren. Taking shelter in bunkers during air strikes, we had to survive on sukhadi and chilli.”
On the first day they slept hungry as there was nothing to eat. On the second day though, thanks to the kindness of a local temple, fruits and sweets were offered to them. It helped them work through the third day.
On day four, at 4 pm, the combat aircraft took off from the airstrip. It was finally functional.
“It was a proud moment for us,” says Jadhavjibhai Hirani.
Valbai recalls that her son was merely 18 months old when left him under the guardianship of her neighbours to do her bit for the country. When the neighbours inquired as to who would take care of her son if something were to happen to her, she had no answer.
“I only knew this was the time my brothers needed me the most. I still remember how the pilots took care of us,” Valbai told Ahmedabad Mirror.
Hiruben Bhudia, who had accompanied Valbai resonates the same sentiments, “The airstrip needed to be reconstructed on a war footing. However, due to labour shortage, they counted on us. In 72 hours, we ensured the pilots were back to the skies. We still have the same energy, and if the armed forces need us, we will work for them again.”
When, three years after the war, the former Prime Minister Indira Gandhi offered gifts to these women, they humbly turned her down saying, “What we did was for our country.”
Valbai adds how a cash reward of Rs 50,000 was donated for a community hall at Madhapar at the time. The Central government dedicated a war memorial called Virangana Smarak at Madhapar village of Bhuj to these brave hearts last year.
For Govind Ballabh Pant, one of India’s leading lights in the freedom struggle and the first CM of Uttar Pradesh, politics was first and foremost, a means towards facilitating social reform.
From his stern opposition to the exploitative zamindari system to the passage of the Hindu Code Bill, which among other things, gave Hindu women the right to divorce and made monogamy mandatory for Hindu men, during his tenure as the CM of Uttar Pradesh, Pant was always about reforming society from within.
He also played an integral part in the drafting of the Indian Constitution and served as India’s Home Minister from 1955-61, a period which saw states being carved out along linguistic lines.
Early Life
Born on 10 September 1887, in Almora, Pant began serving for the cause of Indian Independence when he was only 18 and served as a volunteer foot soldier with the Indian National Congress.
Two years later, however, he decided to study law at the Allahabad University and subsequently topped the Bar Exam. Besides practising law in Almora, and later on in Kashipur, Pant had his ears close to the ground.
In a step modelled on the spirit grassroots activism, he started an organisation called the Prem Sabha.
Its objectives included social reform, the protection of forests and safeguarding the livelihood of those who depended on it, besides saving a school from closure for its inability to pay taxes to the British government.
Political Career
In December 1921, his career in politics began in earnest as he was elected to the Legislative Assembly of the United Provinces of Agra and Oudh, which he later rechristened as Uttar Pradesh, on a Swaraj Party ticket from the hilly-climes of Nanital.
Reminiscent of his days as a lawyer-activist, he took on causes ranging from opposition to the infamous coolie-beggar law, which required locals of the hilly regions of Kumaon to transport the luggage of travelling British officials, for free.
The movement led by freedom fighter and historian Badri Datt Pandey eventually compelled the British to end this demeaning practice.
Pant continued working extensively to preserve forests, with a sharp focus on community development and rural reconstruction. He also promoted and encouraged many local cottage industries, and challenged the zamindari system and the imposition of heavy taxation on local farmers by the colonial government.
Following his first tenure in office, Pant went on to organise and conduct a movement protesting against British Salt laws, following in the footsteps of Mahatma Gandhi’s famous Dandi March which led up to the Salt Satyagraha.
For this, Pant was arrested by the authorities in May 1930 and held in a Dehradun jail. He would once again court arrest in 1933 alongside fellow freedom fighter Harsh Dev Bahuguna (Gandhi of Choukot) for taking part in the then banned provincial unit of the Congress for seven months.
However, he marked his return to the political stage when he was elected to the Central Legislative Assembly, the lower house of the Imperial Legislative Council.
In 1937, he was appointed premier of the now re-named United Provinces (earlier called United Provinces of Agra and Oudh).
However, he had to resign from his post two years later, when all Congress ministers resigned protesting against Britain’s decision to commit India to the Second World War without consulting them.
With the end of World War II, the British colonial government ordered fresh elections to the provincial legislatures, and the Congress led by the likes of pant won a swift majority in the United Provinces.
Pant once again became Premier and following Independence became the first CM of the then newly-christened Uttar Pradesh (replacing the United Provinces) elected from Bareilly.
Impact on the Evolution of India
During his time in the Constituent Assembly, Pant famously spoke out against both the zamindari system and separate electorates for religious, caste and ethnic minorities.
“I believe separate electorates will be suicidal to the minorities and will do them tremendous harm. If they are isolated forever, they can never convert themselves into a majority, and the feeling of frustration will cripple them even from the very beginning… your safety lies in making yourselves an integral part of the organic whole which forms the real genuine state,” he once said during a speech on 27 August 1947, in the Constituent Assembly.
Why did he make this assertion? Well, the question is best answered by Pant himself.
“I am one of those who feel(s) that the success of democracy is to be measured by the amount of confidence that it generates in different sections of the community. I believe that every citizen in a free state should be treated in such a manner that not only his material wants but also his spiritual sense of self-respect may be fully satisfied.”
There was no question to his dedication to the cause of Indian freedom and a realisation of this unique democratic experiment.
In his autobiography, Toward Freedom, Nehru remembers a man who stood by him like a rock unmoved by the pain of suffering. One such instance was during a protest against the Simon Commission in 1928 when Pant suffered heavy blows from British authorities.
“Govind Ballabh Pant, who stood by me, offered a much bigger target, being six-foot odd in height, and the injuries he received then, have resulted in a painful and persistent malady which prevented him for a long time from straightening his back or leading an active life,” wrote Nehru.
For his contributions to the freedom struggle and shaping of the modern Indian state, he was bestowed with the Bharat Ratna, India’s highest civilian honour, in 1957.
Legacy
After more than five decades in service of this nation, Pant passed away on 7 March 1961, as a consequence of a heart attack, during his tenure as Home Minister.
Considered to be a giant among others like Jawaharlal Nehru, Rajendra Prasad, Mahatma Gandhi and Sardar Patel, his death left the doyens of the Indian freedom movement in a state of utter grief.
Rajendra Prasad, the first President of India, best exemplified what Pant meant to them.
“I had known Pandit Govind Ballabh Pant since 1922, and in this long period of association, it had been my privilege to receive from him not only consideration but also affection. This is no time to assess his labour and his achievements. The grief is too intense for words. I can only pray for peace to his soul and strength to those who loved and admired him,” said Dr Prasad.
Today, one can find Govind Ballabh Pant’s name enshrined in many educational, environmental and medical institutions, particularly in Delhi, Uttar Pradesh and Uttarakhand.
The next time you enter any of these institutions, remember the values he stood for.
A 47-member team comprising researchers and students of the University of Kerala and Kutch University set up camp in Khatiya village of Kutch for nearly two months.
Why?
To unearth several skeletal remains from a burial site. Of the 300-odd graves at the site, 26 were excavated.
Dated between 2600 and 1900 BC, the Harappan civilisation was spread over Afghanistan, Sind, Balochistan, Jammu, Punjab, northern Rajasthan, Kathiawar, and Gujarat.
Among the excavated remains, there is one skeleton, six-feet-long, dated to be around 5,000 years old!
What does the excavation tell us about the civilisation?
–The graves were rectangular and of varying dimensions. They were assembled using stones. Some graves also have animal remains along with the human skeletons.
The skeletons found within the grave were all placed east-west with the heads placed on the eastern side.
Placed near the leg in the burial grave were earthen pots and shards of pottery.
The biggest grave discovered here was about 6.9 meters, while the smallest one was around 1.2 meters.
Grinding stones, blades made of rock with sharp edges, and bangles were also found from this site.
S V Rajesh, Assistant Professor, Department of Archaeology, University of Kerala, was one of the coordinators of the excavation. Speaking to The Hindu, he says, “While the burial of belongings next to the corpse could possibly suggest the prevalence of the concept of afterlife, much study is required before we could arrive at any such conclusions.”
The excavations show that the drainage system adopted by the people was aimed at saving water.
Dr Rajesh tells Archeology News Network, “The pottery shards recovered bore similarities with the ones unearthed from ancient settlements in Harappan sites, including Kot Diji and Amri of Pakistan, and Nagwada, Santhali, Moti Pipli, Datrana, Surkotada, and Dhaneti in North Gujarat.”
With more than 200 graves left to be excavated, these discoveries will enhance our knowledge of our past, telling us more about the people who inhabited our land before us and their ways of life.
In modern Indian history, the Non-Cooperation Movement, led by Mahatma Gandhi (1920-1922), which was based on the twin principles of non-violence and satyagraha, stands as the first significant mass movement for the cause of Indian Independence.
The movement also spawned several successful regional versions, and one such resistance against colonial rule was the movement against the practice of Coolie-Begar in the Kumaon region of present-day Uttarakhand.
What exactly was this colonial practice?
Sanctioned by British law in 1913, Coolie Begar referred to a system whereby the residents of a village were compelled to provide free porter services for travelling British officials.
A register listing their names was kept with the village head, and he would alternatively assign this work to the villagers. They were also ordered to perform other menial tasks like cleaning the garbage or washing their clothes.
Tired of this constant exploitation, the Kumaon Parishad (a local social reformist movement which eventually merged with the Indian National Congress in 1926) began to oppose this unfair practice.
In Almora, Badri Datt Pandey led the protests, writing column after column against this practice in his publication, Almora Akhbar.
In 1920, during the annual Indian National Congress convention in Nagpur attended by the likes of Govind Ballabh Pant and Badri Datt Pandey, Mahatma Gandhi himself offered his blessings and the full support of the party for this movement.
Thus, on January 13, 1921, during the occasion of the Uttarayani Mela celebrated during Makar Sankranti, leaders of the Kumaon Parishad gathered on the confluence of the Saryu and Gomati rivers, despite warnings issued by the local District Magistrate.
They were led by led by Badri Pandey, Pandit Hargobind Pant and Lala Chiranjilal.
People from different villages gathered in droves, attended a prayer at the Bagnath Temple and then, a crowd of nearly 40,000 moved to the confluence raising flags and banners with “End Coolie Begar” inscribed on them.
At the gathering, Badri Pandey asked everyone present to take an oath saying,
“Taking the water of the sacred Saryu, and with the Bagnath temple as a witness, we pledge that we will not tolerate ‘Coolie Utar,’‘Coolie Begar,’ and ‘Coolie Burdayash’ anymore.”
Here is an explanation of the all three terms offered by historian Shekhar Pathak is his research paper ‘The Begar Abolition Movements in British Kumaun.’
“There were three forms of begar, viz, coolie begar, coolie utar, and coolie burdayash. All these were commonly referred to as coolie begar. However, coolie begar specifically meant forced labour without payment. Coolie utar was different in that it carried an obligation of minimum wage payment, although often it was taken without payment. Finally, coolie burdayas referred to the extraction of different forms of produce—food, fuel, fodder, etc.—for officials, soldiers, hunters, surveyors, tourists, and their animals.”
For the last, there was a provision for payment, but once again subject to unfair conditions.
Coming back to the events of the day, people repeated the oath and village heads who opposed these exploitative practices, brought their registers and flung them into the confluence of the two rivers.
Witnessing these events, the Deputy Commissioner of the Almora district, wanted to open fire at the protesters but with his men outnumbered, chose not to. Hence, this culminated in a successful non-violent resistance.
The implications of this movement were massive. From thereon, people of the region refused to offer their services and pay the fines that came with this refusal.
“The waves of [the] Bageshwar victory reached every village of Kumaon. It became impossible for the government to suppress the people. In the last 106 years, the British government had never been so helpless and humiliated…,” inform Shekhar Pathak and Hira Bhakuni, in their academic paper ‘Rise and Growth of Kumaon Parishad, 1916-26.’
Eventually, the government authorities had no choice but to end this exploitative practice by tabling and passing a piece of legislation in 1923.
Mahatma Gandhi also offered effusive praise for the movement, saying, “its effect was complete, it was a bloodless revolution.”
Following the success of this movement, the people of Kumaon gave Badri Datt Pandey the honorific ‘Kumaon Kesari‘ (Lion of Kumaon). He went onto become a historian and Member of Parliament from Almora constituency following Independence, before his eventual demise in February 1965.
The message sent by the historic movement to the subsequent movements against British rule was that disciplined non-violent agitation could generate spectacular results.
The momentum generated by people’s movements like Coolie-Begar would accelerate our march to freedom on August 15, 1947.
This legendary quote is often attributed to Bal Gangadhar Tilak, a stalwart of the Indian Independence Movement.
However, there is a growing consensus that it was not Tilak, but Joseph ‘Kaka’ Baptista, his close associate and fellow freedom fighter, who coined the phrase.
So, who was Kaka Baptista?
He was a lawyer and one of the founding members of the Home Rule Movement alongside the likes of Tilak and Annie Besant.
The movement was established in 1916 with the objective of mobilising Indian public opinion—largely by peaceful means—in favour of self-government from the British.
Born on March 17, 1864, to an East Indian Catholic family, Kaka attended St Mary’s School in Mumbai, before joining the College of Engineering in Pune.
It was Dadabhai Naraoji, who first took notice of his oratory and leadership skills, and urged him to sail for the UK to study politics and law. He eventually pursued his Political Science and Law degree from Fitzwilliam College, University of Cambridge.
During his time there, he came across the Irish Home Rule movement, which sought self-government for Ireland within the UK.
The movement, left a real impression on Kaka, and he began to envisage the same for India. Tilak, who was already an early prominent leader of the freedom movement, took to Kaka’s ideas and the two would grow to become close associates.
In fact, it was Kaka who played an integral role in helping Tilak launch the Sarvajanik Ganpati (public Ganpati celebrations)—an attempt to utilise community gatherings to mobilise support for the freedom movement.
In 1901, he joined the Bombay Municipal Corporation, an agency he would serve for the next 17 years. During his tenure in the BMC, Kaka successfully pushed for reforms which would allow tax-paying tenants in the city to cast their vote for the municipal elections.
Both as a lawyer and labour leader, he fervently took up the cause of blue-collar workers in the city, including mill workers and postmen, among others. However, he had other high-profile clients as well, including Tilak, whom he defended in 1907 against charges of sedition and Vinayak Damodar Savarkar, “for whom he demanded an open trial to assure the dignity of fundamental rights.”
He was one of the founders of the All India Trade Union Congress (AITUC) in 1920, a labour leader, as well as the one who started the Home Rule League in Belgaum in 1916, says this profile.
Speaking to the Times of India, Neville Gomes, a writer, and historian says, “It is significant that the AITUC of which he was a co-founder rattled up a membership of over 50 unions and 1.5 lakh workers.”
In 1925, Kaka was elected as Mayor of the Bombay Municipal Corporation, a post he held only for a year.
Although he was a god-fearing Catholic, Kaka wasn’t fond of mixing religion with politics. On certain occasions, he even disagreed with his community particularly on the question of separate electorates for Indian Christians.
“I thoroughly disapprove of separate electorate for Indian Christians in water-tight compartments,” he once said. His advice to the community was for greater integration into the mainstream since he knew at the time that it was too small to survive on its own.
Five years after he was first elected Mayor, Kaka passed away in Mumbai due to heart problems.
After his passing, Dr DA D’Monte, one of the mourners, told the Times of India in 1930, “his (Baptista’s) friends knew that he was a man of Hindustan, a typical Maratha, and that this meant (he was) too large to be limited to his immediate surroundings.”
Today, his body remains buried in the Sewri cemetery. The Joseph Baptista Gardens in South Mumbai, that are locally known as the Mazagaon Gardens, are named after him.
In its obituary for this leading light of freedom struggle, the Times of India wrote in 1930, “He (Baptista) will be remembered more as a protagonist of home rule for India, a man who sang that slogan almost a generation before it became really popular.”
For the longest time, there was no concerted effort to keep his memory alive with possibly the exception of a book by KR Shirsat titled ‘Joseph Baptista: The father of Home Rule in India.’
However, today the East Indian community in Mumbai have started the ‘Kaka Baptista Project’ to raise awareness about the contribution of this leader.
We need to learn more about these forgotten heroes.
When independent India was laying the groundwork for its first elections in 1952, clueless to the rest of the world, workers at a factory in Mumbai’s Vikhroli were making history.
They were manufacturing the first-ever ballot boxes to be used in the general elections.
At Plant 1 of the Godrej & Boyce Mfg Co Ltd, these workers burned the midnight oil to produce nearly 12.83 lakh ballot boxes within four months.
Here’s the lesser-known story.
A blind old man being carried towards a polling booth by his son, to help him to cast his vote, near a polling station in Jama Masjid area in Delhi. Source: hauser-quaid/Reddit
The first election was a result of the continuous efforts of then Chief Election Commissioner, also a mathematician Sukumar Sen, and his team. You can read all about this civil servant who set up India’s extraordinary electoral system here.
The real unsung heroes though were the faceless workers at Godrej & Boyce Mfg Co Ltd who supplied the 12.83 lakh steel ballot boxes.
The Election Commission drew pictorial symbols for political parties, so voters didn’t have to read the names out. This ensured that even those who were not literate could cast their vote without needing someone to help them.
They also set the system of marking voters with indelible ink to prevent second voting.
Sources of mass media like radio and films were used to propagate voting and educate the masses about the electoral process and its importance. Officials rushed from door to door, tracked eligible voters, prepared massive rolls, held mock elections and taught the people how to vote.
The biggest question though was who would manufacture the lakhs of ballot boxes because several things had to be kept in mind even while manufacturing and procuring these.
Apart from being sturdy and cost-effective, the manufacturers had to ensure that the boxes were tamper-proof.
The time was ticking and the design had to be finalised.
Besides, external locks were very expensive.
At this time, the skilled shop-floor worker at Godrej, Nathalal Panchal, came to the rescue. After 50 designs and prototypes, one ballot box was deemed technically acceptable and economically viable.
Panchal had finally designed a ballot box that ticked all the criteria.
(L) A Polling Officers affixes indelible ink mark on the fore-finger of a voter before allowing her to cast the vote. Source: hauser-quaid/Reddit (R) A specimen of the ballot box manufactured by Godrej & Boyce. Source: Godrej
“It could only be opened by breaking a pre-impressed insignia and manipulating the locking lever through the aperture covered by the insignia,” Vrunda Pathare, chief archivist at Godrej told The Hindu Business Line.
The design made its way to Plant 1, to the tireless team of then plant manager K R Thanewalla. Slogging in three shifts, the workers manufactured 15,000 ballot boxes a day, even clocking their best at 22,000 boxes per day!
Godrej’s official website mentions Late K R Thanewalla once saying, “We would be at the plant from quarter to seven onwards and rarely left before midnight.”
They did this without affecting the production of any of their other products like safes, cupboards, cabinets or locks.
Thanewala added how Plant 1 had only started its operations in May 1951.
“Pirojsha Godrej (the owner) would come to the factory at 3 o’clock every afternoon asking us how it was going. And he got orders from other companies who had not somehow or the other managed to make them (ballot boxes). The mechanism was tested. Every box had to be checked. Click when it closes and click it should open. Once it was closed, without putting your finger inside and pulling the string, you cannot unlock it,” he told The Times of India.
Vrunda adds, “The workers at the factory were putting in extra hours every day to ensure that the ballot boxes were readied in time.”
Even at a time where raw materials like steel were in short supply, more than 82,000 tonnes of steel were used in manufacturing these boxes.
As shocking as it is, the production cost of one ‘olive green’ ballot box was a meagre Rs 5.
Speaking to The Times of India, an official from the archives division at Godrej added that the original order was for 12.24 lakh ballot boxes, but the company ended up producing 12.83 lakh.
“It’s probably because orders were given to other companies as well and those who did not finish them in time passed the order on to Godrej in the end.”
Once this order was ready, the boxes were chugged to more than 23 states in India, from Vikhroli Railway Station in loaded commercial and passenger train wagons, under the moniker of ‘election specials’.
Thanewala adds how the boxes were moved, “…We had to walk to the station and back. And…I did a lot of night shifts. At night we [used to] light mashaals (torches) and with the mashaal, I used to walk from the railway tracks up to Vikhroli station. It was great fun.”
Godrej-made ballot boxes were used in the elections from the 1950s until the 1960s.
We may have moved to the tech-savvy EVMs now, but those who voted in the days of yore continue to trust the old-fashioned olive green paper ballots boxes a lot more.
To know more about India’s first elections, here’s a story that narrates it in rare photographs.
Having studied in central schools across the length and breadth of the country, thanks to my father, an ex-defence personnel, singing patriotic songs regularly was an intrinsic part of my school life. A fact, I’m pretty sure, most people who have, and still study in government schools would vouch for.
Patriotic songs are usually limited to occasions like Independence Day or Republic Day celebrations in other schools but not for us Central schoolers!
From Sare Jahan Se Achha or Vande Mataram, I can go on with the list of the songs that I sang during countless morning assemblies.
But if there is one song that has stood the test of time and continues to evoke the same sense of love for the country, it is the heart-wrenching Ae Mere Watan Ke Logon.
The hauntingly ethereal quality of the song stemmed from the vocal cords of the legendary Lata Mangeshkar.
Lata Mangeshkar singing the song for the first time on 27 January 1963. Source: Akmal Hussain/ Facebook.
Coupled with Mangeshkar’s mellifluous voice were the powerful, hard-hitting lyrics of Kavi Pradeep that famously moved Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru to tears.
Very few people know the origin of the song which has remained, to this date, synonymous with Mangeshkar. Poet Pradeep penned the song shortly after the 1962 Indo-China war, as a tribute to the soldiers who had died defending the country.
For a country still agonising over a defeat in the war, the song acted as the perfect wake-up call asking the citizens to overcome their anger and rise in solidarity for the fallen.
However, from its composition to its overwhelming performance, the song has a fascinating story behind in which Pradeep had a crucial role to play.
Born as Ramchandra Narayanji Dwivedi, Kavi Pradeep, already a renowned poet and songwriter by then, was left aggrieved and devastated by the war.
Ramchandra Narayanji Dwivedi, who was known by his pen name, Kavi Pradeep. Source: Kavi Pradeep/ Facebook.
Amongst the thousands who had been martyred during the war, it was the sacrifice of Param Veer Chakra, Major Shaitan Singh Bhati that had moved Pradeep to pen down the lyrics of Ae Mere Watan ke Logon.
An account claims that Pradeep had been walking along the Mahim beach in Mumbai when the words exploded into his head. Borrowing a pen from a fellow stroller, he wrote the first stanza of the song on the foil from a pack of cigarettes.
After a few weeks, producer Mehboob Khan approached Pradeep for a song for a fundraising event that he had organised at National Stadium. Though Pradeep readily agreed, he told Khan that no further details of the song would be disclosed.
He teamed up with composer C Ramchandra and roped in Mangeshkar to sing the song.
However, a misunderstanding arose between the composer and the singer, who then walked out and Asha Bhosle stepped in. But Pradeep was adamant on Mangeshkar as he felt that hers was the only voice that could do justice to the song and was relentless in his pursuit of convincing the singer.
When Mangeshkar finally heard the song that Pradeep sang in front of her, it is said that she broke down and agreed at once—only on the condition that Pradeep would have to be present in all the rehearsals. And the rest is history!
On 27 January 1963, Mangeshkar sang the song in public for the very first time in the presence of Nehru and other eminent dignitaries during the Republic Day celebrations at the National Stadium in New Delhi. The Prime Minister was moved to tears upon listening to the soulful rendition. Sadly, Pradeep never got to see the overwhelming response, as he wasn’t invited to the event.
However, the man would get the opportunity to sing the song two months later in front of Nehru in Mumbai, when the PM was attending a school function.
Kavi Pradeep reciting Ae Mere Watan ke Logon in the presence of PM Nehru. Source: Kantilal Bhaskar/ Facebook.
Pradeep also presented an original handwritten copy of the poem to Nehru that day.
While Pradeep, in his career spanning five decades, wrote over 1,700 songs, it was this song that would truly make him a legend amongst the songwriters in the country.
Ae Mere Watan ke Logon would go on to become one of the greatest patriotic songs of the country, and in recognition of his work, the government of India bestowed Pradeep with the honour of ‘Rashtriya Kavi’ (National Poet).
While Pradeep may not be alive today, his legacy lives on. Revisit the overpowering sense of gratitude to the fallen soldiers that this iconic song invokes here:
Sensational intrigue shrouded the erstwhile princely Baroda State in the summer of 1871. The year 1870, had witnessed the passing of Sir Kanderao Gaekwad, the famous Maharaja of Baroda, and this power vacuum had initiated its version of Game of Thrones.
The deceased Maharaja had left behind a 17-year-old pregnant widow, Maharani Jamnabai and an ambitious brother Malharrao, whose path to the throne was contingent on whether his sister-in-law would give birth to a male heir. The young Maharani was determined not to let anything get in the way of her pregnancy. She refused to eat anything not made before her watchful eyes and even took the unusual step of delivering her child in the establishment of the local British representative, who, for all intents and purposes, was a military man, notes historian Manu S Pillai.
Unfortunately for the young Maharani, she gave birth to a female child, leaving her brother-in-law Malharrao with a clear path to ascend the throne, which he duly did in July 1871. Meanwhile, the Maharani went on exile with her infant daughter. However, Malharrao’s reign would only last a few years, marked by poor administration of the kingdom’s finances, tyranny and cruelty.
At the time, the princely states were beholden to the British Empire under the terms of a subsidiary alliance. To ensure the princely states stuck to the terms of the alliance and also managed diplomatic relations with them, the British government commissioned a Resident.
It was a powerful form of indirect rule. When the Resident got news of Malharrao’s misconduct, the latter attempted to have him poisoned with a compound of arsenic. Upon hearing Malharrao’s assassination attempt and ‘misgovernance’, the Secretary of State for India had him deposed on 10 April 1875, and exiled to Madras.
With the throne vacant once again, the Maharani called upon the extended branches of the dynasty to make their way to Baroda, and present their sons as potential candidates for the throne. Of course, the British could not be seen choosing their own King, but sought an heir of “malleable age . . . who might be shaped according to the right ideas.”
Chosen from among the potential candidates was Sayajirao Gaekwad III (born Shrimant Gopalrao Gaekwad on March 11, 1863), who had, before the Maharani’s summons, worked on a farm and was illiterate.
Sayajirao Gaekwad III, the Maharaja of Baroda in 1919. (Source: Wikimedia Commons)
The legend often goes that when asked at the gathering of the Gaewkads why he was there, he had responded with, “I have come to become King,” and impressed the Maharani with his confidence who went on to adopt him. Sayajirao ascended the throne in June 1875.
However, since he was a minor, a Council of Regency ruled the Baroda State until he came of age and invested with full powers in December 1881. He was trained in public administration by the Dewan of Baroda, T Madhava Rao and long-term tutor FAH Elliot, an Englishman.
Though the Sayajirao ascended the throne because of the designs of the British, he was his own man. By the time he passed away in 1939, he had turned Baroda into a “model state” backed by multiple socio-economic reform measures.
His tenure saw the abolishment of infant marriage, legalisation of widow marriage, and the introduction of free and compulsory primary education in 1893. Merely months after acquiring full powers, he opened eight schools for girls and a training college for women teachers in 1881. By 1906, the provision for free primary education covered the entire State.
Besides multiple provisions for school education, he understood the importance of acquiring a college degree which opened up avenues for a prosperous professional career. The Maharaja Sayajirao University of Baroda, which runs even today, was opened in 1881 for these purposes.
Another popular social revolution he supported was the abolishment of caste differences amongst his subjects. In 1925, he famously held a banquet at the Laxmi Vilas Palace, where men from all castes dined together. He was also a great votary of allowing Dalits to enter temples, a movement the likes of Ambedkar would push vigorously from 1927 onwards.
He is also famously known for sponsoring Dr B R Ambedkar’s college education abroad while sending financial assistance to famous social reformer Jyotirao Phule.
“Sayajirao was not an original thinker, but he was extremely receptive to the original thought of others,” wrote the scholar David Hardiman.
He put those ideas into action with the vast development of the railway network within his State, construction of water systems, enacting legislation to separate the executive from the judiciary (a novel idea then, but fundamental to the functioning of a free democracy today) and of course, the strengthening of commercial banks. He founded the Bank of Baroda in 1908, which is an important public sector bank today. During his reign, the length of the railway network within his State grew from a measly 9 miles to 642 miles, linking every major town and place.
Besides all his social welfare credentials, Sayajirao was determined not to be seen as a mere British puppet, often extending his public support to Mahatma Gandhi and the Indian National Congress. The British despised his apparent disinterest in showing allegiance to the Crown and feared his actions so much that the colonial rulers had him tailed.
In fact, in a famous 1911 incident, when the British King George V came to Delhi, Sayajirao was lambasted for deliberately turning his back to him. This was a deliberate breach of protocol, and this apparent ‘insolence’ had enraged the British media. Moreover, Sayajirao had reportedly no interest in dressing up for the occasion, unlike the other Indian princes who had dressed to the nines who came bearing expensive gifts.
Yet like all men, he had his share of faults. “His trips abroad (one lasting as long as 13 months) caused much dismay at home, and for all his scorn for the orthodoxy, he performed expiatory rituals on his return from foreign shores. He is famous for abolishing polygamy in his State, but this did not preclude his trying to arrange the marriage of his daughter with an already married prince. His wife, Chimnabai II, was a spirited woman—one who discarded purdah and moved about her palace on roller skates—but in the 1920s, trouble brewed between them after the Maharaja evidently formed a fondness for his European secretary,” writes historian and columnist Manu S Pillai.
