Soiled shoes dripping muddy water and drinking bottles filled with tadpoles—I was the quintessential monsoon-loving child who would never dodge the puddles and potholes because splashing water on my spotless white uniform on the way home from school was the best thing ever. In other words, I was a ‘daag acche hai’ poster child during the rains.

My mother, however, did not share the same sentiments for monsoons. On the contrary, to deal with this nightmare of a daughter, she would keep her reinforcements ready—a full coverage raincoat and gum-boots, all from the most trusted Duckback.

A bit of spicy, salty and loads of sweet, nostalgia is a concoction of all these flavours bursting in your mouth. Inspired by our childhood memories, check out these items that are bound to take you back in time, just in a single bite!

So, after years, although I don’t really jump on puddles and have graduated to umbrellas from raincoats, the brand Duckback still rings a sense of nostalgia—something almost every child, at least in Kolkata, would relate to. From raincoats and boots for school, to holdall bags and air pillows for family vacations, Duckback has been a consistent partner for a Bengali’s daily endeavours!

Origin of the Legend

The famous Duckback from Bengal Waterproof Ltd is a name synonymous with waterproof wearables in India, as it was the first.

Founded in 1920, Bengal Waterproof Limited, much like Bengal Chemicals and G.D.Pharmaceuticals Private Limited (Boroline), was a fruit of the bubbling swadeshi zeal.

Under the British rule, like other textiles, waterproofs were also being imported to India, making them extremely expensive and beyond the reach of common Indians. It was at that time when Surendra Mohan Bose, in an attempt to push for India’s economic independence and the boycott of foreigh goods, started the Bengal Waterproof star brand, Duckback, indigenously.

A range of products for the Indian masses, Duckback’s USP (Unique Selling Point) was and is, its durability. Hence, the name was derived from the idiom, ‘like water off a duck’s back’. And Bose, with his academic brilliance as an alumni of Berkeley and Stanford universities, brought all his technical expertise and experience to make this promise of keeping water off your back, stand tall for decades now!

Many of these Swadeshi entrepreneurs were driven by the zeal and aspiration to demonstrate that Indians can manufacture and build a home-grown industrial base rather than sheer pursuit of profits or seeking riches. Making profits was not the sole drive for many of these entrepreneurs launching new products and technologies, says Professor Dipen Sanyal, treasurer and trustee of IISWBM, a prominent b-school in Kolkata to Swarajya Magazine 

But the trigger of this idea did not come from the hallowed halls of excellence, but from behind the bars.

A passionate nationalist, Bose was empathetic to the plight of Indian soldiers, and had vehemently fought for India’s freedom. Owing to this, he was imprisoned for ‘anti-state activities’ during the World War I. Behind the prison walls, he learnt about how Indian soldiers had been suffering in harsh regions without proper raincoats, groundsheets and even boots.

It was after his release that Bose, along with his brothers, Ajit Mohan, Jogindra Mohan and Bishnupada, developed the unique manufacturing method—the Duckback process’, to make affordable yet high-quality rainwear in India. And thus Bengal Waterproof Works, a latex and rubber factory began in the century-old Bose family home in south Kolkata’s Nazar Ali Lane.

In the following years, as Duckback became increasingly popular, Bose purchased a closed rubber factory (Dicon) and shifted manufacturing operations to Panihati, in 1938. Two years later, the company was renamed to Bengal Waterproof Limited, although its identity continued to be just, Duckback!

Defence-centric products

Duckback has quite a line of products ranging from school bags, dak bags for postal officers, ice bags, hot water bottles, to overshoes, rubber heels, gum boots, air pillows and even horse covers. But, apart from these seasonal wearables for the masses, it has also been manufacturing a special range for the defence sector.

Also Read: Phantom Cigarettes to Lijjat Papad: 6 Delicacies Every 90s Kid Grew Up On!

From tents, oxygen masks, snow ankle boots, rubberised inflatable boats, helicopter landing gear, life jackets to G (anti-gravity) suits for pilots as well as submarine escape suits, Duckback has been making its contribution to the Indian army, thus staying true to its genesis.

But, with the turn of a few decades, the landscape around Duckback began to alter. As prices of rubber spiralled from Rs 50 to Rs 280 per kg, and students, the company’s major target group, began to take pool cars and buses to school, the demand for Duckback’s premium rainwear dwindled around the onslaught of cheap disposable raincoats that frequented local markets.

However, despite the challenges, around 2006, Duckback came again to the forefront with a featherweight raincoats, waterproof jackets with leggings and hoods, shifting its focus to the two-wheeler riding population. With more research, it also started to manufacture India’s first transportable astrodomes, in association with the National Council of Science Museum for educational purposes. Each of these inflatable, rubberised astrodomes are lightweight, easily foldable, fire resistant and coated with waterproof material.A replica of the same is now at Kolkata’s planetarium, popularly known as ‘Taramondal’.

A hopeful comeback

Although, post 2010, Duckback has had a number of setbacks especially in the mass consumer space, it continues to make strides in compensating and stepping up with out-of-the-box ideas.

With the flavour of nostalgia still alive in various corners in the country, it hopes to resurrect the Duckback influence as an ecologically-friendly brand, whose products don’t leach chemicals on your skin, or disintegrate easily, as do the PVC-based products currently popular in the rainwear market.

Duckback, a living idol for the Indian economy, we hope to see you shine soon!

(Edited by Saiqua Sultan)

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A simple piece of coloured thread, decorated with love and a promise to care and support one another, is what rakhi has always meant to me. It has never been about the gifts or my brother’s tall claims of protecting me from harm.

Instead, it’s more about an emotional bond that ties two individuals so that they are always there for each other, no matter what.

A sacred piece of thread was used to drive hundreds towards a positive change. You can do the same with these eco-friendly plantable rakhis, that will not only be a promise of love and support to your brother but also the environment. Check them out here.

And almost 100 years ago, this precise idea inspired the great poet, Rabindranath Tagore to re-introduce the centuries old festival, Raksha Bandhan, as a celebration of Bengal’s unity, at a time when imperialism threatened to break it apart.

Rakhi, a symbol of unity

At the dawn of the 19th century, Bengal had emerged to become a hotbed of nationalist movements, threatening the British rule. Bengal was meant to be their power centre, but the bubbling discontent among the citizens was a major cause of concern for them.

Hence, in an attempt to curb this, the British decided to resort to the ‘divide and rule’ policy. Their strategy was to break the communal harmony between Hindus and Muslims of the region, and Lord Curzon, the then Viceroy of India was made in-charge of it.

The decision for Bengal’s partition was taken at a meeting between Curzon and a Muslim delegation in Assam, in June 1905, whereby the Hindu majority regions of West Bengal, Bihar and Odisha were to be separated from Muslim-dominated areas of Sylhet and Assam. A month later, they passed the order for partition, which came into effect on 16 October.

The move was vehemently opposed by prominent leaders of the time, including Rabindranath Tagore.

Coincidentally, by the time the partition of Bengal was about to come into effect, the month of shravan had arrived. It is the time when the festival of Raksha Bandhan is celebrated by the Hindu community, and Tagore realised that a simple thread, steeped in mythology and folklore, had the true power to unite thousands of people, invoking brotherhood and togetherness among the two communities.

Hence, the festival emerged to become a symbol of protest against the British partition policy.

“He transformed the religious tradition of Raksha Bandhan to a secular motif of unity among diversity and resisted Banga Bhanga (Partition of Bengal),” writes A Majumdar in his book, Tagore by Fireside.

A single thread weaving communities together

An influential leader at the time, Tagore put in all his efforts to call out to his fellow citizens to rise above their communal identities and embrace each other in unity. As anticipated, the simple thread helped weave the sentiments of hundreds of Indians together.

Be it on the streets, or in community halls, hundreds of Hindus and Muslims came together to tie each other rakhis, as a symbol of protest against the British government’s divisional policies.

For the next six years, widespread protests continued in Kolkata, Dhaka and Sylhet, until the colonial government was left with no choice. In 1911, the British finally withdrew the partition, marking a great victory in the history of India’s freedom struggle.

Despite the political upheavals that followed this victory, this incident hidden between the pages of history books, continues to be a living example of communal harmony in Bengal, and other parts of the country—something to draw inspiration from.

Also Read: How Tagore’s Love For Strange Food Paved The Path For the Modern-Day Adda!

Edited by Saiqua Sultan

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This article has been sponsored by Godrej

With its humble Swadeshi roots, very few industrial houses represent the Indian economic growth story better than the $4.15 billion global conglomerate—Godrej.

Following the incredible loot of India’s riches by colonialism, it was the likes of the Godrej Group that first helped the country get back on its feet. From manufacturing India’s first fireproof safe to its first indigenous fridge, typewriter and Chavi—the world’s first soap made of vegetable oil, this Indian powerhouse in many ways laid the foundation of modern India.

Today, the conglomerate has its fingers in a lot of pies from agriculture to aerospace, properties to personal care. Carrying the thuds, bangs and rhythms of progress, the sounds of India’s growth continues to emanate from Godrej’s factory floors. #SoundOfMakingIndia!

Moreover, it has a history of giving India many of its firsts. In this article, we tell readers about the #IconsOfIndia that Godrej made and introduced in India.

1. First springless lock

Following a few failed ventures, it was Ardeshir Godrej who set up a lock company in 1897 out of a tiny shed in Mumbai’s Lalbaugh area. The high-security Anchor locks proved popular and laid the foundation for the Godrej group known for its eponymous range of steel cupboards.

By 1902, the company began building safes as well, following which, in 1909, Ardeshir Godrej invented the springless lock for which he got a patent.

“Within this pioneering product, the controlling key worked in a stop with its teeth in reverse order of the main key, so that the lever could be raised in the correct position for shooting the bolt. This innovative product provided various levers and fittings for additional security, a feature that the regular spring-fitted lock lacked,” writes Godrej Locking Solutions and Systems.

Meanwhile, the strength, robustness and durability of its safe became world-famous in 1944, when the freighter, SS Fort Stikine exploded on the docks of Bombay (Mumbai), releasing more than half a million tonnes of debris. However, every fireproof Godrej safe in there remained untouched, alongside the pearls and papers inside them.

2. ‘Swadeshi’ Godrej Prima typewriter

By the 1940s, most typewriters were imported or assembled in India. The American manufacturer Remington and Sons dominated the market. By 1948, the idea of manufacturing indigenous typewriting machines instead of importing them took concrete shape among top executives in the Mumbai-based Godrej and Boyce.

With the first general elections coming up, however, manufacturing ballot boxes for Independent India took precedence. Eventually, in 1955, the company launched the locally-made Godrej Prima. It was also the first business enterprise in Asia to manufacture typewriters. India’s first Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru saw the launch of Godrej Prima as a real symbol of both an industrialised and self-reliant India. In only a few years, Godrej typewriters were found everywhere from government offices to homes.

By the 1990s, Godrej was manufacturing a third of the typewriters India needed.

3. First Ballot Box

It was on 4 July 4 1951, when Pirojshah Godrej announced the commencement of operations at Godrej and Boyce’s first factory building in the Vikhroli area of Mumbai.

On top of the agenda was manufacturing ballot boxes for the young and newly Independent India’s first general elections in 1951-1952. In 1951, the company secured an order to manufacture 900,000 ballot boxes.

“The factory was churning out more than 15,000 ballot boxes in one day. A newspaper article. . . quoted a Godrej spokesperson mention that if all the boxes (nine inches long) were put on top of each other, they would reach the height of several Mount Everests piled one on top of the other. If placed side by side, they would form a line 200 miles long,” according to this blog in the Institute for Southasian Research and Exchange.

4. First Indian-Made Fridge

Back in the 1950s, the modern fridge was affordable to only a very few Indians who wanted to keep their dairy products, veggies, and water cool.

All the brands available to Indian customers were foreign made. All this changed when Godrej and Boyce manufactured the Indian-made refrigerator in 1958 in collaboration with General Electric. Years later it would also become the first company in India to manufacture 100 per cent CFC, HCFC, and HFC-free refrigerators in India, and thus contributing their tiny bit to battle climate change.

“Godrej made an exorbitant luxury an affordable reality. The genesis lay in the concept of a ‘self-reliant India’ which Ardeshir Godrej believed in. The idea that shaped Godrej was the dream of a self-reliant India with products that could compete with the world’s best,” says a senior Godrej Appliances executives to Economic Times.

5. Cinthol Soap

In 1906, the Indian National Congress had pledged to promote indigenously-made products instead of British-made ones. By 1918, Ardeshir Godrej and his brother Pirojsha Burjorji had co-founded Godrej & Boyce manufacturing company, which would go onto launch India’s first washing soap bar in 1918.

“He (Ardeshir) went on to experiment with the idea of making toilet soaps from vegetable oils instead of animal fats as was the accepted practice in most countries since the beginning of soap manufacture,” according to the archives of the company.

By 1920, the company launched ‘No.2’, which was the first toilet soap made purely from vegetable oil. Two years later, the company launched ‘No.1’ and by 1926 emerged the Turkish bath soap. However, it was ‘Vatni’ (short for ‘Vatan se’ or ‘from the motherland’), introduced sometime between 1926 and 1932, which really took off. Wrapped in green and white packaging, the soap came with the tag line, ‘Made in India, for Indians, by Indians’

Cinthol, however, was developed with the arrival of Burjor Godrej, the son of Pirojsha. “Emphasis was laid on progressively improving qualities at decreasing costs. One of his greatest achievements was the introduction of toiletries containing G-11 or Hexachlorophene (a powdered agent used as a disinfectant in soaps) in India. He obtained a license for the exclusive use of G-11 in India for manufacturing soaps and other toilet preparations. And the result was: introduction of Cinthol in 1952,” says the Godrej archives.

Following the advent of liberalisation, it was the third generation of the Godrej family led by Adi Godrej, the son of Burjor Godrej, who took this conglomerate international. Constantly innovating its products and engaging in largely profitable mergers and acquisitions, the company today has more than 28,000 employees and has business operations in over 60 countries. If this story doesn’t encapsulate the Indian growth story, it’s hard to say what does.

(Edited by Saiqua Sultan)

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If one were to sit with their parents and grandparents, most of the stories they narrate will be peppered with references to brands that continue to exist even today—whether it was the first flight they took or the soft butter they used to bake goodies.

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However, in those days, the way these brands were identified was through the logo, symbol and illustrations that the Indian “visualizers”—the term used to refer to designers in the 1950’s and 60’s—worked on.

We look at some of these iconic designs and the visualizers who brought them to life and were pioneers in the field of modern design and aesthetics.

1. Nargis Wadia

When Nargis Wadia, a graduate of the JJ School of Art in Mumbai joined Air India’s in-house art studio as a designer in 1955, Air India’s mascot—the turbaned and mustachioed Maharaja—was used only for corporate branding.

Then came the brief to make him the face of the airline, and over the next three years, Wadia and team went on to create brilliant artwork that not only won her international acclaim, but also gave Air India the exposure it was looking for in the international market.

Before joining Air India, Wadia had a brief stint with Shilpi, an ad agency managed by Indian poet Nissim Ezekiel. Being a working woman and a professional in this field, she had to face her own set of challenges, but she came into her own as she worked in a creative and liberal work environment under people like Bobby Kooka who was the commercial director of Air India at the time.

2. Shekhar Kamat

The State Bank of India (SBI) wanted to reinvent itself after the nationalisation of 14 banks in 1969. For this purpose, they got in touch with the National Institute of Design (NID) with the logo being created and adopted on October 1, 1971.

The keyhole symbol in the middle of the circle was designed by Shekhar Kamat. The team also comprised of Vikas Satvalekar, guided by Prof Dashrath Patel who was the Head of Design Department. It was Mahendra Patel who later went on to design the font to go with the symbol.

3. Eustace Fernandes

The iconic Amul girl sporting a red polka-dotted dress is forever etched in our memories.

Did you know that she was created by ace illustrator, Eustace Fernandes? From the blue hair to the frock, it was Fernandes who gave form to the idea of the Amul girl.

It all began in 1966 when Sylvester DaCunha, then the managing director of the advertising agency, ASP, clinched the account for Amul butter. Around the same time that Nisha DaCunha, Sylvestor’s wife, coined the simple yet catchy phrase “Utterly Butterly Delicious” Fernandes created the adorable moppet, and the combination went on to create history!

Fernandes worked on the Amul account  till 1969 and then started Radeus Advertising in 1974.

4. Sudarshan Dheer

Hindustan Petroleum (HP), Titan, the Essar Group, Raheja Corp., Kissan, IDBI Bank and Centurion Bank—all these brands have one man in common. Sudarshan Dheer. He is the person who designed the logos or brand identities for these and over 100 more.

“The HP logo is a circle within which the oil spouts from the bottom and spreads to the sides. The circle represents the distribution of oil across the length and breadth of India,” said Dheer in an interview.

With a government diploma in graphic design and fine arts painting, Dheer worked in ad agencies like National Advertising and MCM, and eventually opened his own studio, Graphic Communication Concepts in 1974.

5. Devashis Bhattacharyya

With the advent of the television medium, for anyone in the ’70s, Doordarshan is what strikes the mind. Devashis Bhattacharya, a student at the time with NID, Ahmedabad designed the symbol for the country’s public broadcaster. Indira Gandhi, the Prime Minister at the time, selected this out of the 14 designs that were presented to her by NID. The symbol was to depict, “the yin and the yang,” he said in an interview.

6. RK Joshi

A legendary calligrapher and an academic type designer, RK Joshi was brought up in Kolhapur, Maharashtra and studied at Sir JJ Institute of Applied Art in Mumbai in 1952.

A believer in bringing in indigenous traditions to his design statement, Joshi made the symbol of the Punjab National Bank in the Gurmukhi letter form enclosing a circle, signifying a cash deposit in safekeeping. The orange colour also compliments the Indian ethos and traditional image.

Also Read: Utterly Butterly Wonderful: The Story of India’s Most Loved Ad Icon, the Amul Girl

(Edited by Gayatri Mishra)

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‘The human voice is the most beautiful instrument of all, but it is the most difficult to play.’

This was an observation by Richard Strauss, the iconic German composer, who dedicated his life towards nurturing his three great loves—life, symphony orchestra and a good soprano voice.

As the first began to trail towards its end, he turned to the remaining two and created the masterpiece, Four Last Songs.

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A grand marriage of music and poetry, Four Last Songs was written as his farewell to the world, chronicling the Frühling (Spring), September, Beim Schlafengehen (When Falling Asleep) and Im Abendrot (At Sunset).

As time wrinkled away, the 84-year-old wrote to his favourite Wagnerian soprano, Kirsten Flagstad, requesting her to grace the song with her voice.

“…I also add that I have the pleasure to provide for you my Four Last Songs with orchestra, which are currently in print in London; to give their premiere performance in an orchestral concert with a first-class conductor and orchestra…,” he wrote. Unfortunately, he died soon after, with his wish still unfulfilled.

Despite his tragic end, Four Last Songs survived and was premiered exactly as Strauss had imagined. What’s surprising is that his dying wish was fulfilled by a stranger, living literally, a world away from him.

The stranger was Jayachamarajendra Wadiyar, the last ruler of Mysore.

Different Worlds Meet The Same Passion

Despite their differences, both Wadiyar and Strauss shared a similar backdrop of violence, destruction and war. And yet, both were able to emerge out of it to find solace— the former in India’s independence, and the latter in a neutral Switzerland.

However, beyond their historical and political backgrounds, it was their passion for music, that weaved their lives together, forever.

The then 31-year-old Jayachamarajendra’s identity was not only constricted to his royal lineage as the last Maharaja of Mysore. He was also an exceptional musician, and more importantly a patron of European classical music.

And, it was this passion for music that pushed him to sponsor the premiere of Four Last Songs on May 22, 1950.

With an offering of approximately $5000, Wadiyar took care of the entire performance as well as the cost of creating a live recording of the work, which eventually was added to his personal collection that adorned over 20,000 such pieces of history.

Thanks to Jayachamarajendra, Strauss’ last wish was effectuated eight months after his death, at the Royal Albert Hall, London, by none other than the soprano Kirsten Flagstad, who was conducted by the renowned Wilhelm Furtwängler along with the Philharmonia Orchestra—a fitting culmination of Strauss’ extraordinary of a life!

Wadiyar And Music

After the death of his father, Kanteerava Narasimharaja Wadiyar and his uncle Krishnaraja Wadiyar IV who was the Maharaja of Mysore, Jayachamarajendra ascended the throne at the age of 21, in 1940.

His passion, however, lay far from statecraft, meddling with musical melodies.

“Had my brother not been heir apparent, I expect he would have gone seriously into studying the piano,” said Vijaya Devi, his sister while speaking to ON Stage, the official monthly magazine of the National Centre for the Performing Arts, Mumbai.

Young Jayachamarajendra’s tryst with Western classical music began with piano lessons from a Sister Ignatius from the Good Shepherd Convent in Mysore.

His proficiency as a pianist only grew better over the years, and he soon became a licentiate of the Guildhall School of Music, London and honorary Fellow of Trinity College of Music, London, in 1945.

Following his footsteps, Vijaya also earned her qualifications from Trinity College, and continued piano studies under prominent musician and professor Edward Steuermann of the Juilliard School of Music in New York.

In 1974, encouraged by her brother, she founded the International Music & Arts Society in Bengaluru, which continues to function under the guidance of her daughter, Urmila Devi.

Forever For Music

The premier of Four Last Songs under the brilliance of Wilhelm Furtwängler and the Philharmonia Orchestra was not a mere coincidence. It was an outcome of Jayachamarajendra’s ever-growing passion and influence in the world of music. The Maharaja was, in fact, the first president of the Philharmonia Concert Society, London in 1948.

But, Richard Strauss was not the only one to be graced with Jayachamarajendra’s passionate support.

A few years before his encounter with Four Last Songs and the royal coronation, he visited the legendary pianist and composer Sergei Rachmaninoff in Switzerland, hoping to be accepted as a student.

It was during this visit that he came across the music of little-known Russian composer Nikolai Medtner, and decided to finance a large series of recordings of Nikolai’s compositions. Although the two never met, Wadiyar was instrumental in founding the Medtner Society in 1949.

Owing to his tremendous contributions, Nikolai eventually extended his gratitude by dedicating his Third Piano Concerto to him, the then Maharaja of Mysore.

According to the writings of critic Fred Smith, in Gramophone (1948), these recordings and albums commissioned by the Maharaja went on to give Medtner the due recognition, “in the autumn of his life.”

Even after more than six decades of his reign, Wadiyars’ union to music remains and has since been an integral part of their royal lineage, reiterating the fact that melodies indeed do not have any boundaries.

Also Read: How Tagore Used Rakhi in 1905 to Resist Partition of Bengal & Strengthen Unity

(Edited by Gayatri Mishra)

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“What is remarkable about Krishnan is not that he is a great scientist but something much more. He is a perfect citizen, a whole man with an integrated personality.”

Independent India’s first Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru could not have been more accurate in describing eminent physicist Kariamanickam Srinivasa Krishnan, also known as KS Krishnan.

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Impressed by his remarkable contributions in the field of science, Nehru appointed him as the first director to run the National Physical Laboratory (NPL), India’s first national laboratory, which was set up in 1948.

Establishing the NPL was a pivotal step for the country that provides a platform where brilliant minds from India conduct research and make advancements in areas of physics.

From its research articles making it to the top-cited articles by international physicists, winning prestigious DST Lockheed Martin Innovation Award to being India’s official time-keeper, the research and innovation lab has multiple feathers in its cap today.

Early Life

Krishnan was born in Tamil Nadu’s Watrap village in 1898. His father, a farmer and scholar, was well-versed with religious works of literature, and thanks to him, Krishnan was exposed to the importance of education from a very early age.

His love for science bloomed when he was in Class 9, and he credits his teacher for instilling this in him.

“Even though my teacher was not a professional scientist, he was good at explaining science in a clear and captivating fashion. His lessons not only sunk deep into our mind but also made us crave for more science. Whether it is physics, geography or chemistry, his teaching style was unique. He did not simply reproduce the lessons from the book. He demonstrated many simple experiments for us and also encouraged us to do experiments ourselves. Very few teachers I know are of this type, and I feel fortunate to have had him as my first science teacher,” he said.

After passing out of school, he attended the American College in Madurai and the Madras Christian College and acquired a masters in physics.

In his book, ‘Journey Into Light: Life and Science of Raman,’ G Venkataraman writes,

“Krishnan took a master’s degree in physics, but the only opening then available to him was a Demonstrator in chemistry in Madras Christian College. During this period, Krishnan ran an informal but highly successful lunch-hour discussion on diverse topics in physics and chemistry, which soon began to attract participants from other colleges as well. One beneficiary later remarked that he had learned more physics from the lunch-break seminars than from regular classroom lectures.”

Krishnan’s career as a physicist started in earnest in 1920 when he collaborated with CV Raman at the Indian Association for the Cultivation of Science in Calcutta (Kolkata). In 1928, Raman along with his student Krishnan discovered ‘Raman effect’ which is the inelastic scattering of a photon by molecules which are excited to higher energy levels.

Krishnan describes his time with CV Raman as a “festive season in my science life.”

He then went to work as a Reader in the physics department at Dacca University (now in Bangladesh). There, he invented magnetic anisotropy of dia, an energy required to deflect the magnetic moment in a single crystal from the easy to the hard direction of magnetisation.

His work recognised internationally and was even published by The Royal Society of London.

From there, he moved to the Allahabad University in 1942 and worked there as a Professor and Head of the Department of Physics.

During his lifetime, Krishnan was strongly associated with the premier scientific and educational organisations like the Atomic Energy Commission, the Council of Scientific and Industrial Research and the University Grants Commission.

Besides science, he was interested in politics, and thanks to his father, had developed an enduring love of religion and Indian philosophies. He was also an avid reader and Stevenson, Arthur Conan Doyle, Victor Hugo and Shakespeare were some of his favourite authors.

For his extraordinary contributions to science and technology, Krishnan received several recognitions, accolades and awards in his lifetime.

In 1940, he was selected for the prestigious fellowship of the Royal Society. He was conferred with Padma Bhushan in 1954, and he was the first Indian to get the Bhatnagar Award in 1958.

Krishnan passed away in 1961, but the legacy that this great scientist, leader and a teacher has left behind, will forever remain alive in the minds of his disciples.

Also Read: Bishun Khare: The Forgotten Scientist Who Has a Crater on Pluto Named After Him!

(Edited by Gayatri Mishra)

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When Henry Geoghegan, an employee with the Geological Survey of India, died of sunstroke surveying the rocky terrain of Trichy (Tiruchirappalli) in 1858, 24-year-old Robert Bruce Foote was brought in as a replacement.

Like his colleagues, Robert’s mandate was to help the British Crown locate precious metals that would fill up their coffers.

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Little did Robert know that one day, he would be called the “Father of Indian Prehistory.”

Born on 22 September 1834, in Cheltenham, England, Foote spent his time surveying the rocky landscapes of Trichy and delivering lectures on geology at the famous College of Engineering in Guindy, Madras (Chennai).

It was in Madras, where he met Peter Percival, a social reformer priest who had given up missionary work to teach linguistics, Tamil and Telugu literature, besides Sanskrit at the Presidency College. Their friendship blossomed, and in 1862 Foote married Percival’s daughter Elizabeth Anne.

Foote’s first significant breakthrough came in May 1863, in Pallavaram, Chennai, when he accidentally found a peculiar stone tool, which looked like an axe chiselled by hand.

Upon further inspection in London (where Foote had sent it for examination), it was found that the \implement dated back to the Palaeolithic Age (Old Stone Age, which lasted from 2.6 million years ago to about 12,000 years ago).

He would share his findings with his best friend and colleague William King Jr, and together, the duo found a whole host of similar implements and other artefacts in Attirampakkam, a village barely 60 km north of Chennai in Tiruvallur district.

Upon making these findings, Foote went back to Pallavaram where he found two more such Palaeolithic implements in January 1864.

These findings in India dismissed the claims of European religious scholars about the age of Earth ranging from 6,000 to 100,000 years, and affirmed Charles Darwin’s theory of natural selection which he posited in his book “Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection.”

Simply put, God did not create man in his image and that humans evolved over centuries.

Foote submitted his findings to his boss Thomas Oldham, the Geological Surveyor of India, but did not make any public announcement of it, which would have caused a sensation back home.

“The discovery that certain of the more recent formations in Southern India contain stone implements of undoubtedly human manufacture and the same type precisely as flint weapons now creating so much interest in various parts of Europe cannot fail to excite Students of Geology, Ethnology and Archaeology. With the exception of a brief verbal notice to the members of the Bengal Asiatic Society at their general meeting in December last by Dr Oldham, the Superintendent of the Geological Survey of India, no account of them has yet been made public,” wrote Foote in his 1865 book titled, “On the Occurrence of Stone Implements in Lateritic Formations in Various Parts of Madras and North Arcot Districts.”

Following his findings, Foot would traverse over 53,000 km on horseback all over South India, finding Palaeolithic implements in the Gudiyam Caves of Tamil Nadu, Bellary and Chikmagalur.

His findings would be validated as recently as 2011 when a team of archaeologists revisited the Attirampakkam site to find ancient implements dating over 1.5 million years old.

Speaking to Mint, Shanti Pappu of the Sharma Centre for Heritage Foundation, who has extensively researched Foote’s work, says,

“His writings make clear his scientific attitude towards the subject, his wide multidisciplinary approach towards resolving questions, and his deep love for the land and the people, both past and present. As far as his early prehistoric discoveries are concerned, there is no question of religion, creationism or race arising here. Owing to contemporary and earlier discoveries of Palaeolithic artefacts in Europe, Foote was confident of his finds, and clearly attributed the stone tools found here to be the work of prehistoric Palaeolithic populations. He followed paradigms being discussed at the time drawing on Darwin, John Evans and geologists like Charles Lyell. Our ongoing research at these very Palaeolithic sites discovered by him, prove many of his observations to be deeply insightful.”

In 1884, alongside his eldest son, Henry, Foote would go onto discover ancient stone artefacts inside the Billasurgam cave complex in Kurnool district of present-day Andhra Pradesh.

According to this paper, it “has the longest record of [the] archaeological and palaeoenvironmental exploration of any Indian cave system.”

More than eight years later, after these findings, Robert retired from service. After working in Baroda for two years, he was invited by the Maharaja of Mysore, where he set up the Mysore Geological Department, an institution which would lead many historical discoveries.

Speaking to the Economic Times, Professor Ravi Korisettar of Karnatak University says, “He (Foote) discovered the largest Neolithic stone factory in the Madras Presidency, located atop the Kappagal hill in Ballari’s Sanganakal hill complex.”

The British geologist and archaeologist would divide his time between his family (nine children and a second wife after the first died) in Tamil Nadu while traversing over various sites in Karnataka. His work would take him to Hampi, Hospet and the Tungabhadra Valley.

Over 40 years, he located a total of 459 prehistoric sites.

However, his most remarkable contribution came in 1904 when he sold his collection of nearly 4000 artefacts to the Madras Government Museum for Rs 33,000.

Yes, he made money off his findings, but Foote also ensured that important elements marking the history of India would reside in their home country.

He passed away, aged 78, on 29 December 1912 in Kolkata. His ashes rest in Trinity Church, Yercaud, next to his mentor and friend Percival.

His findings laid the groundwork for future archaeologists in India. As his epitaph reads, “I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.”

Oh yes, indeed he did!

Also Read: Fought for Our Freedom & the Himalayas: Why India Must Not Forget These British Women

(Edited by Gayatri Mishra)

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If you ever go to Issuru — a small village in Karnataka, you will find an engraved black stone at the renovated courtyard of a temple honouring those who sacrificed themselves for the dream of a free land from the British Raj.

While Gandhi was calling for the British to ‘Quit India’, a small village in Shikaripur Taluk of Shimoga (Shivamogga) district had already declared Independence from colonial rule. This bold decision by the farmers of Issuru reverberated across the nation and brought bloody consequences for those who participated in this act of defiance.

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Surrounded by hills and paddy fields, this quaint village hides a violent past. In August 1942, Issuru declared its Independence and set up its own ‘prati sarkar’ (provisional government). It was at a village gathering protesting against the high taxes that year when the decision was taken not to pay taxes and appoint ‘prati sarkar’.

“The youths who had worn the Gandhi caps, hoisted the tricolour flag on the Veerabhadreshwar temple. They also displayed placards, warning irresponsible officers of the government not to enter the village. Such placards were hung at the entrance of the village,” says this document.

Appointed to this provisional government were two 16-year-olds—Jayanna (appointed Tehsildar) and Malapayya (appointed sub-inspector). Influential grassroots leader Sahukar Basavenappa took the decision to appoint these teenagers because they were minors, and thus couldn’t be jailed. Alongside his fellow comrades, Basavenappa came up with a set of rules and regulations for the village in complete defiance of the administration.

Officers of the revenue department who came to collect taxes for the colonial government were routinely insulted (called ‘English Dogs’), harassed and locals even went to the extent of snatching away and tearing up important documents from their hands. Eventually, a complaint was lodged against the village for non-payment of taxes, and 10 officials, including a tehsildar, sub-inspector and eight policemen, were sent to manage the situation.

“A crowd assembled at the open field near the temple again. This time the villagers forced the Tehsildar and Sub-inspector to wear Gandhi caps. Threatened by the heated atmosphere that had started to build up, Kenchegowda fired a few shots in the air. However, it only worsened the situation which ended up in the lynching of both officers,” says Basavaradhya, a descendent of Basvenappa, speaking to YourStory.

The sight of their slain officers enraged the British administration.

In response, they sent the army four days later to quell the rebellion, and these government soldiers partook in looting, arson and atrocities against the locals who hadn’t managed to escape. Those who did manage to escape were hiding out in the nearby jungles. After the raid by the British administration, the local police made several arrests, following which five of the mutineers Gurappa, Malappa, Suryanarayanachar, Halappa and Shankarappa were sentenced to death for their role in the death of the two British officials, while three women were given stringent life sentences.

Also Read: How An English Geologist Became The ‘Father of Indian Prehistory’

However, upon hearing the news of Issuru’s rebellion, the Mysore Maharaja Jayachamaraja Wodeyer coined the immortal phrase, “Esuru kottaru Issuru kodevu” (We’ll give you many villages but not Issuru)”. Although he couldn’t save the five men, he did manage to convince the local governor into commuting the death sentences of many who defied the British.

These are the stories you won’t read in a standard history textbook. Despite engaging in violence, what stood out was the defiance of village farmers who dared to take on an empire.

(Edited by Saiqua Sultan)

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Babumoshai . . . zindagi lambi nahi badi honi chahiye,

said Anand Sehgal, a terminally-ill cancer patient to his friend, Dr Bhaskar Banerjee.

The quote roughly translates to “Life is not about how long you live; it is about how well you live it”. This dialogue, immortalised by Rajesh Khanna who played the namesake in the 1971 classic-Anand, sums up the life of its legendary director Hrishikesh Mukherjee.

It’s a moment in the film which evokes an amalgam of pathos and hope.

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Life, after all, is about living through different moments and experiencing them to the fullest. Is it any surprise that for the film, Mukherjee took inspiration from his own life? Mukherjee’s bond with actor Raj Kapoor, who was ill at the time, inspired the relationship between Anand and Dr Bhaskar (played by Amitabh Bachchan).

Kapoor would call Mukherjee ‘Babumoshai’  as Anand calls Dr Bhaskar in the film. Anand Sehgal, meanwhile, is a Punjabi, just like Raj Kapoor.

The story of Anand, in many ways, was inspired by Mukherjee’s fear of losing Raj Kapoor. Mukherjee crafted his movies using the mould of life. This is the reason why he directed some of the best and most memorable Hindi movies of yore.

Born on 30 September 1922, in pre-Independence Kolkata, he traversed the path of an ordinary middle class Indian; studying science, graduating with a BSc in chemistry wanting to become a biochemist, and eventually teaching. However, he soon caught the art bug and worked at an editing lab before taking on the role of a cameraman and editor in New Theatre, a Kolkata-based film studio, where he mastered the art of film editing.

Following his stint there, he would work with acclaimed filmmaker Bimal Roy in Mumbai as his film editor in landmark films like ‘Do Bigha Zamin’ and ‘Devadas’. Mukherjee was an editor par excellence who could salvage films out of the depths of despair. Under the mentorship of Roy, he learnt all aspects of filmmaker and even wrote the script for ‘Do Bigha Zameen’, which was inspired by the Italian classic ‘Bicycle Thieves’.

But it was the iconic actor Dilip Kumar, who Mukherjee credited for making him into a filmmaker. Kumar worked for free in Mukherjee’s first film Musafir (‘traveller’), which deals with the cycle of life of the three families living in the same house.

Most of the 40-plus films Mukherjee made in his storied career articulated the human condition. There was nothing extravagant, ostentatious or experimental in form, themes or treatment he adopted, but his work resonated deeply with both critics and audiences alike because of “their middle-of-the-road accessibility, heart-warming irony and literate sensibilities,” writes film historian Dinesh Raheja for Rediff.

Add to these sensibilities, his films have a fantastic sense of humour about them as well like Golmaal and Chupke Chupke, and it was not of the kitschy slapstick variety.

Many critics often state how his ‘middle-of-the-road’ films like Anuradha catered to the educated middle class of the time. The film explores how Anuradha Roy (played by Leela Naidu) grapples with the choice of living with her husband Dr Nirmal Chowdhary (Balraj Sahni), an idealistic doctor serving the poor in a village, and her passion, which is music. However, that’s a lazy understanding of Mukherjee’s work. His films cut through that divide.

There is Satyakam (1969) starring Dharmendra, Sharmila Tagore, Sanjeev Kumar, and Ashok Kumar, which focuses on a young man’s disillusionment with what Independence has brought to India. Did freedom from the British mean replacing foreign oppressors with local ones? Then there is also Namak Haraam, which once again stars Rajesh Khanna and Amitabh Bachchan. Vicky (Amitabh Bachchan) is torn between his friendship with Somu (Rajesh Khanna), a blue-collared worker in a factory, and fulfilling his capitalistic dreams.

His characters spoke the same language, faced similar issues, and their heartache and happiness found an echo in your own. If Bawarchi was about a large dysfunctional Indian family that needs a little push to realise there’s love beneath all that friction, Khoobsurat pitted the young against the old but underlined that every generation has its strengths and weaknesses. But mostly, his cinema was about the primacy of human relationships, writes film critic Jyoti Sharma Bawa.

Many of his classics reflect this assessment as well—Khubsoorat (1980), Naram Garam (1981), Anupama (1966), Guddi (1971), and Milli (1975)—amongst many more. Besides introducing stars like Rajesh Khanna, Amitabh Bachchan and Jaya Bachchan to mass audiences, he also brought home their own lives and struggles.

Mukherjee would go onto win the Dadasaheb Phalke Award by the Government of India, in 1999 and the Padma Vibhushan for his contributions to Indian cinema. He passed away on August 27, 2007, in Mumbai as a consequence of renal failure.

“Standing on your balcony, one can look down and see the dirty drains or can look up and see the beautiful sky and stars,” Mukherjee once said in an interview.

In many ways, these words articulate the human condition which navigates through moments of beauty and darkness. He brought this facet onto his cinema and thus brought colour to our own everyday lives.

Also Read: India’s 1st Superstar: Why Rajesh Khanna’s ‘Guru Kurta’ Remains in Vogue!

(Edited by Saiqua Sultan)

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Last Friday, the Chandrayaan-2 took photos of various craters on the moon while it was flying over its north pole.

One of the craters it scanned over was a lunar impact crater named Mitra, after the noted Indian physicist, Sisir Kumar Mitra.

It was the Working Group for Planetary System Nomenclature (WGPSN), an arm of the International Astronomical Union (IAU), which named the crater after Mitra in 1970.

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Other famous scientists who have their names etched on the moon are Dr Vikram Sarabhai, American astronomer Daniel Kirkwood and German physicist Arnold Sommerfeld.

Lunar surface images released by @isro showing craters Jackson, Mach, Korolev and #Mitra

Crater #Mitra is named after Prof. Sisir Kumar Mitra, who was an Indian physicist known for his pioneering work in the field of Ionospheric Science & Radio Technology #Chandrayaan2 pic.twitter.com/A3SEVddlss

— ALL INDIA RADIO (@AkashvaniAIR) August 27, 2019

So, who is Sisir Kumar Mitra?

Considered to be the doyen of radio science in India, Mitra is known for his seminal work on the ionosphere, which plays a major role in long-distance radio communication.

Born on October 24, 1890, in Calcutta (Kolkata), to a school teacher and doctor, he graduated from Presidency College, where he encountered the two pioneers of modern scientific research in India—JC Bose and PC Ray.

Following his MSc, he worked with Jagdish Chandra Bose, but unable to get a fellowship, he enrolled as a lecturer in a small-time college to support himself.

In 1916, he was invited by Sir Ashutosh Mukherjee, the then Vice-Chancellor of the Calcutta University, to return as a post-graduate physics scholar in the new University Science College. There, he researched the diffraction and interference of light under CV Raman.

For this work, Mitra gained a D.Sc. degree, and in 1920 he left for the University of Sorbonne in Paris under the guidance of French physicist Charles Fabry, an authority in the field of optics and spectroscopy. Following this, he worked under Marie Curie at the Institute of Radium.

His scientific endeavours, however, took a dramatic turn at his next research gig under Professor Camille Gutton, who was then working on radio wave circuits in the Institute of Physics at the University of Nancy, Paris.

It’s here when Mitra decided to dedicate his life to researching radio science.

“Sisir Kumar Mitra’s decision to change over to radio research was undoubtedly a bold one. Radio was then a newborn science still in its teething stage. It had not found a place in the curriculum of any of the Indian universities, not to speak of research facilities in the subject. Mitra recognized this difficulty but was not deterred,” writes JN Bhar, who was a research scholar under Professor Mitra.

Mitra eventually returned to Calcutta in 1923 and was appointed the University’s Khaira Professor of Physics.

Eventually, with Mukherjee’s support, he introduced a Wireless course as an elective in the Physics MSc curriculum and established a wireless laboratory for research in electron tubes and radio wave propagation.

“To have an understanding of the significance of Mitra’s work, one should have an idea of the ionosphere and what was the status of its understanding when Mitra started his work. The ionosphere is a region of the upper atmosphere which extends from 60 km to several thousand kilometres above the earth. It reflects short radio waves, enabling transmission to be made around the curved surface of the earth by sky waves, and its presence is vital for long-distance radio communication. All regions of our atmosphere are defined in terms of ionization, temperature and composition,” adds the Vigyan Prasar description.

In 1926, Mitra was able to transmit radio programmes from his laboratory at the University College of Science.

“It was for the first time, that an amateur radio station was broadcasting regular programmes in India until the Indian Broadcasting Company was formed in 1927, which was later designated as All India Radio,” notes a paper published in the peer-reviewed journal Current Science.

His book ‘Upper Atmosphere’, which was published in 1947, remains the gold standard for those researching the ionosphere.

“In the 1950s, he advocated space research and high altitude rocket research programmes which had been successfully conducted by the US and USSR. Soon after his death in 1963, India set up rocket and launching stations near the geomagnetic equatorial line, and a large number of rockets and satellites were fired, bringing invaluable information of the upper atmosphere and beyond,” notes this article in the Mint.

For his amazing contributions to the sciences, Mitra was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society in 1958, and received the Padma Bhushan, four years later.

Unfortunately, a year later, on August 13, 1963, he passed away.

A pioneer in the field of Ionospheric Science and Radio Technology, several advancements India has made in telecommunications and space research wouldn’t have been possible without the efforts of doyens like Sisir Mitra. His legacy looms large even today.

Also Read: Chandrayaan-2: Meet the Women Steering India’s Rs 1,000 Cr Mission to Moon

(Edited by Gayatri Mishra)

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From Dhyan Chand and Kapil Dev to Prakash Padukone, India’s long and distinguished history in sports has seen many legendary figures, who have made the nation proud on the international stage.

However, some of these athletes of yore, who overcame remarkable odds in life, remain largely forgotten.

Here are seven forgotten sports heroes of yore we must remember on National Sports Day.

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1. Mihir Sen

Mihir Sen showed the world that Indians were capable of greatness by becoming the only man to swim across the oceans of five continents in one year.

Born into a family where his mother had to sell chicken eggs and milk to ensure he had a decent education, Sen earned a law degree before going to the United Kingdom for further studies. In the UK, he worked as a night porter at a railway station for some time to support himself.

Inspired by Florence Chadwick, an American, and the first woman to swim across the English Channel in 1950, he successfully swam the same 32 km stretch on 27 September 1958, finishing with a time of 14 hours and 45 minutes.

The following year he was awarded the Padma Shri.

He wanted to swim the oceans of five continents, starting with crossing the Palk Strait between India and Sri Lanka in 25 hours and 26 minutes on April 5-6, 1966. Subsequently, he went onto cross the Straits of Gibraltar (Europe to Africa) in a little over 8 hours on 24 August, the Bosphorus in 4 hours, the Dardanelles Straits (Gallipoli, Europe to Sedulbabir, Asia Minor) in nearly 14 hours and the entire length of the Panama Canal in 34 hours and 15 minutes across almost two days—from 29 to 31 October.

This incredible feat earned Sen a place in the Guinness Book of World Records and the following year, he won the Padma Bhushan award. Unfortunately, he died under difficult circumstances.

2. Khashaba Dadasaheb Jadhav

Born and raised in Goleshwar village in Satara district, Jadhav grew up in a wrestling family with his father Dadasaheb Jadhav, a renowned wrestler. Growing up, he participated in the Quit India Movement, offering shelter and hiding places for freedom fighters and circulating letters against the British. With the patronage of the Maharaja of Kolhapur, Jadhav participated in the 1948 London Olympics, where he finished sixth in the flyweight category.

Four years later, however, in the Helsinki Olympics, he won the bronze medal in the Men’s Bantamweight and Freestyle category. Thus, he became Independent India’s first individual Olympic medal winner. Interestingly, it was the general public who funded his trip to Helsinki and paid for his wrestling kit.

Following his retirement from the sport, he joined the local police force. But after retiring from government service, he had to battle for his pension, was neglected by the sports federation, and ultimately died in poverty.

3. Jaipal Singh Munda

Jaipal Singh Munda was a truly enigmatic figure. He was captain of the first Indian team to win the hockey gold in the 1928 Olympics, member of the Constituent Assembly responsible for framing the Indian Constitution and a life-long activist for tribal rights.

Like many Adivasi families of the day, Jaipal’s parents were simple farmers. It was when he was undergoing training as a probationer for the ICS that Jaipal received a call for the Indian hockey team. Initially, he sought a short leave of absence so that he could play in Amsterdam. Between representing the Indian hockey team and ICS, Munda went with his heart and chose the former, forgoing a career in the civil services.

The Indian team blazed through the tournament with the world getting their first sight of the legendary Dhyan Chand. Unfortunately, the selection of Jaipal, an Adivasi, had created discontent among the many Anglo-Indian players and team management and the issue came to a head just days before the final. After a row with the team management, Jaipal decided not to play the final match against Holland. Fortunately, it had no repercussions on the team as they went onto win the match, and subsequently the Olympic gold medal.

4. Dr Talimeren Ao

Dr Talimeren Ao was the first captain of the Indian football team. Fondly remembered as T Ao, or Tay Ao, or Dr Tay, the Nagaland native has a remarkable story.

The captain of Mohun Bagan and Team India, T Ao was the flag-bearer of the Indian Olympic contingent at the 1948 London Games. Standing at 5 ft 10 inches, Dr Ao was a dominating midfielder and defender for nine seasons at Mohun Bagan, from 1943 to 1952, playing alongside legends like Sailen Manna and Taj Mohammed at the London Olympics. In 1948, T Ao, was the captain of the Indian football team, while also pursuing his studies simultaneously at the Carmichael Medical College in Kolkata. Following the Olympics, English giants Arsenal reportedly offered him a contract, but he chose to return home.

A few years after he graduated, he quit the game and joined the ENT department at the Dibrugarh Medical College, Assam. He returned to Nagaland in 1953, rose through the ranks and retired as the Director of Health Services in Nagaland in 1978.

5. Mohammed Salim

Mohammed Salim was among the first Indian footballers to capture the imagination of Europe. Born in 1904, this football genius from Calcutta grew up amid the freedom struggle.

A star in the legendary Mohammedan Sporting Club side of the 1930s, he played a few friendly matches in China before sailing for the United Kingdom. At the home of Celtic FC, a legendary Scottish club and an institution of European football, Salim went on trial in front of 1,000 club members and dazzled them with his skills.

Before the trial, Celtic manager Willie Maley had laughed off the idea of an amateur from India playing for a recognised Scottish professional club, barefoot.

Instead, they were so impressed with his ability that they played him two matches, where he led them to two thumping victories. Unfortunately, Salim began to feel homesick and decided to leave the club and come back to Calcutta, refusing to sign the professional contract on offer.

6. Arati Saha

Born on 24 September 1940, into a middle-class Bengali family in Calcutta (now Kolkata), Arati showed a natural talent for swimming from a young age.

She went on to create an all-India record in the 100m breaststroke and also participated in the Helsinki Olympics.

In 1959, just five days past her 19th birthday, Arati Saha made history by becoming the first and fastest Asian woman to successfully swim across the English Channel in 16 hours 20 minutes.

Next year, she became the first Indian female sportsperson to be awarded the Padma Shri, India’s fourth-highest civilian award, in recognition of her relentless determination, indomitable spirit and outstanding courage. Mind you; this was a time when women weren’t afforded the freedom to pursue their passions, which in Arati’s case was swimming.

7. Murlikant Petkar

How many of you have heard of Murlikant Petkar, the first Indian to win an individual gold medal in either Paralympics or Olympics? Not many, I suppose.

Petkar won the 50 m freestyle swimming event at the 1972 Summer Paralympics in Heidelberg, Germany, setting a world record at the time of 37.33 seconds. He also participated in other events like javelin, reaching the final round.

A soldier in the Electronics and Mechanical Engineering unit of the Indian Army, Petkar was a boxer before suffering permanent disabilities after sustaining severe bullet wounds during combat in the 1965 war against Pakistan. Last year, he was awarded the Padma Shri for his efforts.

(Edited by Gayatri Mishra)

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At the southernmost tip of the Indian peninsula where the Arabian Sea, the Indian Ocean and the Bay of Bengal meet lies the Vivekananda Memorial. Located offshore east of Vavathurai mainland, Kanyakumari, the memorial built on a rock island in 1970, is a popular destination where tourists flock to see where Swami Vivekananda attained enlightenment. This place is also famous for its beautiful design, which is a culmination of different styles of temple architecture that existed across the country.

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The Vivekananda Memorial was inaugurated on 2 September 1970, by the then President VV Giri.

But, little do we know about the geological significance of the Charnockite rock island on which the memorial is built! Aeons ago, when dinosaurs roamed the landscape, India, South America, Australia, Madagascar and Antarctica were one supercontinent called the ’Gondwanaland’. 

From about 600 million years ago, this Gondwanaland started fragmenting into different landmasses and gradually, over millennia, the supercontinent split up. Around 160 millions years ago, India, Sri Lanka, Madagascar, Australia and East Antarctica broke away from the rock island under the memorial. 

Between 180 to 118 million years ago, when India separated from Antarctica, it left behind this islet, a desolate witness to the merging and breaking of Gondwana landmasses. Geologists call the Vivekananda Memorial ‘the Gondwana Junction’ because it marks a place where India, Madagascar, Sri Lanka, East Antarctica and Australia were once joined together, writes Pranay Lal, in his book–Indica: A Deep Natural History of the Indian Subcontinent.

 It was Austrian geologist Eduard Suess who first pointed out the possibility of a unified landmass in 1885. The geologist was studying the ‘Glossopteris’ fossils found widely in the Gondwana coal fields in Jharkhand. Estimates say that at least 98 per cent of India’s coal reserves are from the Gondwana period.

Interestingly, he found that this plant fossil was not only available in India, but also in South Africa, Australia, South America, Madagascar and Antarctica. In this way, the geologist studied the flora and fauna fossils in these regions and mulled over the possibility that these lands might have been joined at one point of time. And since the Gondwana region in central India was one of the oldest in the world, he decided to name the supercontinent as ‘Gondwanaland’.

Slowly over the years, India’s landmass started moving north towards Eurasia at the speed of 18 to 20 cm in a year, much faster in contrast to Australia or Africa. When India collided with Eurasia about 50 million years ago, it led to the birth of the mighty Himalayas and the Tibetan Plateau. 

The idea of Gondwanaland was further expounded by South African geologist Alexander Du Toit in 1937. In his book, ‘Our Wandering Continents’, he spoke in detail of the paleontological and geological evidence found in these continents that were not found in the Northern hemisphere. He too widely cited the occurrence of ‘Glossopterris’ in South Africa, India, South America, Australia and Antarctica.

The Vivekananda Memorial comprises of two parts, one is the Vivekananda Mandapam, and the other is the Shripada Mandapam. The Vivekananda Mandapam comprises of the meditation hall with a few rooms, and the assembly hall with several rooms.

Fun Fact: Charnockite rocks are a group of metamorphic rocks and in 1893, T H Holland coined the term after Job Charnock, traditionally regarded as the founder of Calcutta (now Kolkata), whose tombstone in St. John Church in Kolkata was made from this rock.

(Edited by Saiqua Sultan)

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In the summer of 1955, three men⁠—Deben Bhattacharya, Colin Glennie and Henri Anneville⁠—embarked on an iconic journey that would change their lives forever.

While Henri was a Frenchman, Colin was English and a student of architecture, and Deben, a Bengali, had been raised by on sacred ghats of Benares.

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Fate and purpose had brought them together, and one afternoon, they huddled inside a battered milk van, and planned their trip from Paris to Calcutta, while casually sipping on crimson-tinted Chianti wine with bits of cheese and olives.

After weeks of planning, they finally hit the road.

The next six months were full of surprises and adventures, as they crossed through Yugoslavia, Greece, Italy, Turkey, Syria, Iraq, Jordan, Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan and eventually, India.

Deben had captured the soundscapes of every village, town or city, one border after another and his audio-visual exploits finally found expression in ‘Paris to Calcutta: Men and Music on the Desert Road,’ a poetic travelogue which is an impressionistic account of the six-month-long trip.

From the lonely songs of love by strangers in Afghanistan to the desert where they stayed with the Bedouins to record the esoteric chanting, and even an illegal dervish performance, their bulky tape recorders and cameras shadowed them throughout the journey.

Although at times, they did meet prominent individuals, ambassadors and dignitaries, the trio found more comfort in the embrace of complete strangers, who opened their homes and their lives without a second thought.

This memorable experience that would continue to inspire music enthusiasts of several generations was spearheaded by Bhattacharya, a filmmaker, Bengali poet and an amateur ethnomusicologist.

The Life Before the Sound Safari

Deben was born in a Bengali Brahmin family of Hindu priests, who had lived in Benares (modern Varanasi) for over 130 years. His father practised Ayurvedic medicine, while the family ran a school.

As a child, he was actively involved in various religious rituals as the ‘little priest’ and the temple bells, sacred chants, and drum beats  imprinted his growing-up years with profound influence of auditory diversity.

A few years later, in 1949, Deben left home. As a young man, he grew into a Bengali poet highly inspired by English poet Lewis Thompson. It was this love that prompted him to move to England and dedicate the prime years of his life working as a BBC radio producer.

“He soon immersed himself in music, and that was to become his source of livelihood,” wrote Jharna Bose-Bhattacharya, his wife, in a new book featuring her husband’s notes.

As a BBC radio producer, Deben had access to a vast archive of global music. However, a tinge of detachment continued to bother him because found the music disconnected from its creators, lacking the crucial, human element.

And this restlessness further drove him back to his roots. With the support of a few Indian friends in London, he began to record Indian musicians on a Baird tape recorder. This passion soon began to call him home-ward, as he started to plan for field recordings in India.

However, this expedition met a financial roadblock as he needed £80 for the tape recorder, a transformer worth £20, £25 for 20 blank tapes, and around £60 for a one-way boat ticket to Bombay.

Coming to his rescue, Sunday Wilson, a producer for the overseas service, decided to finance and commission him for a total of 6, 5-minute programmes. It’s success lured poet Stephen Spender, founder of the magazine Encounter, to approach Deben to write an article on Indian poetry. One article soon turned to two more with advance payments.

Further, a London-based company Argo Records Ltd. which specialized in classical music stepped forward with an advance of £25 and paid for the Gaumont-British machine and the tapes against future royalties.

With all this support, Deben soon returned to London with enough materials to create almost five records. One of these was published as ‘Songs from Bombay,’ a production that marked his historic journey across the world!

12,000 miles away from his dream

His trip to Bombay was the beginning, and Deben soon decided to travel through the Middle East, capturing the music and sounds of the people.

But there was one problem in the proposition⁠—he didn’t know how to drive. So, he sought the help of ⁠Colin, an architecture student, to drive 12,000 miles with him.

Both were different, Deben loved music, while Colin loved buildings. But, they bonded on their shared wanderlust, and Colin managed to drive a converted milk van, on the condition of visiting Chandigarh, the Indian city designed by the modernist architect Le Corbusier.

Once Deben agreed, a third member Henri joined too, purely driven by his hunger for an adventure!

During this journey, Deben recorded more than 40 hours of music. Some of these were released on the 1956 LP Music on the Desert Road: A Sound Travelogue. From a music enthusiast and an amateur, he went on to become one of the world’s most renowned ethnomusicologists of all time, changing people’s approach to music forever.

While he continued to record his experiences on the tape recorder and the camera, he also maintained a travel diary which encapsulated the details of every single person he met, the music he listened along with simple stories of love, kindness and joy.

Later, although this manuscript hid under the burden of several other music projects and was forgotten for almost 60 years, his wife Jharna, continued her pursuit to get this piece published, even after his death in 2001.

Paris to Calcutta: Men and Music on the Desert Road published on Sublime Recordings in 2018, is the outcome of that resolve by Jharna and Rober Millis, a music enthusiast inspired by Deben.

Millis, who works for the Seattle-based Sublime Recordings, along with Jharna, has brought Deben’s journey back to life through his diary that gives a detailed insight into the expedition.

From the harmonious beats of the Bedouins grinding their coffee on the harsh desert to the devotional bhajans in India, every turn of the pages has a magical and musical story to tell, which thanks to them, is not forgotten anymore.

Also Read: Lost Tales: How Mysore’s Maharaja Created History in Western Classical Music

(Edited by Gayatri Mishra)

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At birth, her parents had named her Jamuna after the sprightly Northern river that wove the history of India for ages. Little did they know then that their only daughter among seven children would one day play a substantial role in shaping the history of the nation.

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Sumati Morarjee, as Jamuna came to be known as later, is recognised as the Mother of Indian shipping. In the nascent years of the 20th century, she set a precedent as the first woman in the world to head a pioneer organisation of shipowners – Indian National Shipowners Association (INSA). 

For 69 years, she managed Scindia Steam Navigation (SSN), co-founded by her father-in-law, Narottam Morarjee and steered the company’s exemplary success. She was also elected as Vice-President of World Shipping Federation, London in 1970. A year later, the Government of India officially honoured her contribution by conferring the Padma Vibhushan on her. 

Even today, Sumati Morarjee serves to be an inspiration for modern Indian women who brave all odds to don the CEO’s role in various domains. 

Born on 13 March 1909 to Mathuradas Gokuldas and his wife Premabai, an affluent merchant family in Bombay (now Mumbai), Jamuna grew up under the strict vigilance of a society which limited a girl child’s freedom in ways too many. At the tender age of thirteen, Jamuna was married to Shanti Kumar Morarjee, the only son of Narottam Morarjee, an eminent industrialist of pre-Independence India. 

As records reveal, extravagant would be an understatement for their wedding – the festivities for which lasted nearly a month. It was no surprise that Shanti would inherit his father’s property and would head the family businesses of textiles and shipping one day. What was beyond imagination was Jamuna’s induction into the forefront of the Morarjee business estate. 

Narottam was fascinated by a teenager Jamuna’s keen intellect, fast learning skills and a thirst for knowledge. He decided to rename his daughter-in-law as Sumati – a Sanskrit-derived word which translates as a woman with superior wisdom. At that age, she was fluent in English and Hindi alongside her mother tongue Marathi. Time and again, she expressed her deep interest in the Morarjee family’s business affairs and often shared her brilliant insights. Sumati also took the onus as the lady of the household after her mother-in-law’s early demise. 

When she was barely an adult, Shanti nominated his wife to the managing agency of SSN. At 20, Sumati thus became an integral part of the company’s management. 

Sumati joined the company in 1923 when the shipping venture was at its infancy, with Morarjee parlaying a few vessels for cargo transport between India and Europe. Over the next few decades, Sumati single-handedly scaled the company’s strength to a fleet of 43 large ships. 

In 1946, as India was slowly inching towards the dawn of freedom, Sumati quietly assumed complete charge of SSN, supervising over six thousand employees. Throughout 1956-58, she was consecutively elected as the president of INSA and also once again in 1965. 

Unknown to many, Sumati Morarjee had a substantial contribution in India’s freedom struggle. In fact, Mahatma Gandhi considered her a close aide and used to exchange regular correspondence with her. Sumati actively participated in the underground operations of Indian freedom movement. Using her fleet, she helped to safely transport Sindhis from Pakistan to India during the partition unrest. 

Post 1947, as Indian trade slowly evolved, ships started playing a crucial role in facilitating exports and imports. Sumati’s expertise and experience became instrumental in helping India’s trade relations as well as transport. She had written several essays and articles about the correlation between governmental policies and the Indian shipping scene. 

When not strategising covert operations for Independence or heading business meets, Sumati would often perform a lot of social endeavours like founding schools and conducting relief operations. She was also known to be a deeply spiritual person. 

However, Sumati’s passion for her venture surpassed all her other attributes, as evident from the fact that she regarded her ships as her ‘daughters’. In the early 1990s, when her company ran into debts, she tried her best to save her ships from being sold. 

Sumati Morarjee passed away on 27 June 1998, leaving a trail of legacy. She was the ‘Mother of Indian shipping’ in the truest sense of the phrase, as her venture went beyond business purposes and effectively helped in propagating Indian culture across Europe and America. 

It is not purely for business motives that we today concentrate on shipping….We did business in merchandise for centuries, but our most precious cargo has been ideas of universal brotherhood and deep spirituality…, reiterates one of Sumati’s most famous quotes. 

Also Read: Erased by History, These ‘Tawaifs’ Were Unsung Heroines of India’s Freedom Struggle

(Edited by Saiqua Sultan) 

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Engineering as a profession continues to be a male dominated one in India. An All India Survey on Higher Education (AISHE) revealed that although engineering is the third major stream to witness enrollments in the country after Arts and Science, only 28.6 per cent comprises of female enrollments. This is a phenomenon that is not just seen in India but across the world.

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In this context, women who first forayed into this profession were the true pathbreakers who completed their degrees and achieved great things.

P K Thresia is one of the first three women to have graduated from College of Engineering, Guindy (CEG), University of Madras. Lalitha and Lellamma George were the other two women with Lalitha being the first woman to receive an engineering degree in the country.

In an interview with the The Better India, Lalitha’s daughter, Syamala, explains that although Thresia and George were a year junior to Lalitha, they all had to graduate at the same time in 1944 because the Second World War was at its peak and the university had decided to cut down the engineering course by a few months.

Thresia, armed with a degree in Civil Engineering, then joined as a Section Officer at the Public Works Commission of the Kingdom of Cochin under the British rule at the time. She later went on to become the first woman Chief Engineer in the Public Works Department (PWD) in Kerala in 1971, a position she served for eight year. This also made her the first woman in Asia serving as a chief engineer in a state’s PWD.

“I was in office for only about three months. However, by then I [had] understood that an engineer’s life is not as difficult as many women think,” said Thresia to Kerala’s premier newspaper Malayala Manorama, that felicitated her promotion in 1971.

Notable work in the PWD

After Thresia joined the PWD department, she was soon promoted to Assistant Construction Engineer for the TB Sanatorium located in Mulakunnathukavu, Kerala. Thereafter, when she became the Executive Engineer, she moved to Ernakulam in 1956.

As a chief engineer, Thresia ensured infrastructural development in her tenure commissioning at least 35 new bridges every year and road construction projects. Additionally, she also worked on many projects related to the construction of hospitals like the women’s and children’s hospitals affiliated to the Kozhikode Medical College.

Not one to shy away from experiments, Thresia also pioneered rubberised bitumen roads in Kerala. She went on to become a member in the conferences held by the Specification & Standards Committee of the Indian Road Congress.

Life outside work

Thresia was born on 12 March 1924 in a Christian family. She was the second oldest of the six children. Her father, Kakkappan, was an agriculturist in Edathiruthy in Kerala’s Thrissur District. She studied and graduated from St. Mary’s High School in Kattoor.

Her father was one of her biggest pillars of strength who wanted his daughter to fulfil her dream of pursuing an engineering degree. She went on to join the CEG because the only engineering college in Kerala did not admit women.

However, two years after she graduated from CEG, she lost her father. It was her mother, Kunchalichy, who took care of the family after her father’s death.

Thresia chose to dedicate her heart and soul to her work and never got married. She retired in 1979 after having worked in Kerala’s PWD for almost 34 years! Post retirement, she founded a company called the, ‘Taj Engineers’.

“I started working at a time when it was rare to find women in the services. However, I have never had to regret the fact that I am a woman,” Malayala Manorama quoted the esteemed engineer.

You May Also Read: Married at 15, Widowed at 18: How a Single Mom Became India’s 1st Woman Engineer!

(Edited by Saiqua Sultan)

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Bharatnayam as an artform is a way of storytelling with graceful movements and distinct facial expressions. Tanjore Balasaraswati (popularly known as Balasaraswati) was one such doyen of the classical dance form who possessed the power to uplift and electrify an audience with her mastery over the dance moves.

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‘Little Bird’, as her friends fondly called her, was instrumental in taking Bharatanatyam to the international arena, and in the process, the skilled performer earned global popularity. A recipient of several awards, among them, the Sangeet Akadami Award (1955), the Padma Bhushan (1957), Balasaraswati’s contribution in the field of Bharatnatyam is indubitable. In 1973, the Madras Music Academy conferred on her the title of Sangeetha Kalanidhi and the same year, she also received a doctorate degree from Rabindra Bharati University in Shantiniketan in West Bengal.

And in 1977, the government of India presented her with the Padma Vibhushan, the second-highest civilian award of India after the Bharat Ratna.

But, to reach the pinnacle of success, Balasaraswati had to fight several odds.

Early life and struggles

Born in Madras (now Chennai) on 13 May 1918 in a family that excelled in different art forms, Balasaraswati was naturally drawn to dance. At the age of seven, she performed her ceremonial debut (arangetram) at the Ammanakshi temple in Kancheepuram.

Balasaraswati came from a family of artists who could trace back their lineage to T Papammal, a famous mid-eighteenth century dancer in the court of the Tanjore rulers several years ago. Thus the name, ‘Tanjore’.

Jayamahal, her mother, was a famous singer while her grandmother, Veena Dhanammal was a renowned carnatic musician who was highly accomplished in playing the veena.

As Balasaraswati grew older, she was determined to pursue a career in Bharatnatyam. However, this decision came with much opposition not only from her family but also from the society. Dance, as a full time career, was looked down upon and since her family had links with the devadasi community, her family was against her decision.

The Devadasi system flourished in the 7th century India, especially in the temple economies of the southern parts of the country. The devadasis were ‘servants of the Gods’ who were highly skilled in the art forms and performed in temples and royal courts. They held high social status and were well respected in the society. However, over time, the tradition fell into disrepute.

People belonging to upper castes in the society also looked upon Balasaraswati’s choice of career.

But, it was her grandmother Veena, who recognised her potential and enrolled her for dance training under the tutelage of Guru Kandappa Pillai. At the same time, she also practiced under the guidance of Chinnaya Naidu and Gauri Ammal, who taught her the chants and the art of abhinya (expressions). She flourished under the care of these maestros and practised day and night to pursue her dream of becoming a dancer.

Making strides everywhere

When she was invited to perform in Calcutta (now Kolkata) at the All Bengal Music Conference in 1934, Balasaraswati became the first Bharatnatyam dancer to perform outside her native state. One of the attendees at the event where she performed to Jana Gana Mana, was the Bard of Bengal, Rabindranath Tagore.

Uday Shankar, a well-known dancer, invited her to the event in Calcutta and then went on to guide her to refine her talent. During this time, she also got an opportunity to perform abroad. In 1961, she participated in the the East-West Music Encounter Conference in Tokyo and then went to participate in the Jacob’s Pillow Dance Festival in the United States the next year, where she met world-renowned dancers like Ted Shawn and Ruth St. Denis among several others.

In 1976, the iconic filmmaker Satyajit Ray made a documentary—‘Bala’ based on her life.

Balasarawati died on 9 February 1984. But, her legacy lives on. Her home in Chennai has been converted to, ‘The Balasaraswati Institute of Performing Arts’ where young dancers can be seen trying to master the intricate movements of bharatnatyam, dreaming of following the footsteps of the dancer par excellence – Balasaraswati Tanjore.

Also Read: Lost Tales: How Mysore’s Maharaja Created History in Western Classical Music

(Edited by Saiqua Sultan)

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On August 12, India lost Ashok Parthasarathi, a prominent figure who helped shape the country’s science and technology policies. He also played a critical role in formulating strategies that would make India technology-reliant long before the advent of the economic liberalisation in the early 1990s.

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With his intervention, the country was able to set up various public sector companies that would go not manufacture critical components ranging from satellite-based communication systems to microchips.

As he writes in a December 2017 article for Frontline, “it was not in the early 1990s that we launched ourselves on the road to becoming an IT superpower. That was done as far back as 1972, by Prime Minister Indira Gandhi, her Principal Secretary, P.N. Haksar and Prof. M.G.K. Menon, the first Chairman, Electronics Commission, and Secretary, DoE.”

Born in 1940, Parthasarathi was the grandson of N Gopalaswami Ayyangar, a leading figure of the Constituent Assembly, and the son of legendary diplomat G Parathasarathi.

A physicist and electronics engineer, he was dedicated to science policy and its analysis. He taught physics at the Birla Institute of Technology and Science, Pilani, and studied technology policy at the world-famous MIT in the United States.

For three years between 1967 and 1970, he was Special Assistant to Dr Vikram Sarabhai, the father of India’s space programme and at that time Chairman of both the Atomic Energy Commission (AEC) and the Indian Space Research Organisation (ISRO) in Mumbai.

He would go onto work with Prime Minister Indira Gandhi across two stints from 1970-76 and 1980-84 and was barely 30 years old when he became Special Assistant for Science and technology in 1970.

He held that office for six years, and closely worked alongside PN Haksar, Principal Secretary to Indira Gandhi, to create the foundation for modern Indian science and technology both in terms of the institutions and the people they appointed like Dr Satish Dhawan to replace Dr Vikram Sarabhai as the Secretary of India’s Department of Space.

This was also when ISRO and the Space Commission were formally born, and it was Dr Dhawan who lent substance to this vision and built ISRO into the world-class body that it is today.

Consulted by the Government of India during the 1971 War with Pakistan, Parthasarathi also played an essential role in the 1974 peaceful nuclear explosion in Pokhran.

In his 2016 address, former Vice President Hamid Ansari lists two specific contributions of Professor Parthasarathi, which had a profound impact on “the shaping of Indian sciences.”

“The first was, when, under his instigation, the National Committee on Science and Technology prepared a comprehensive S&T Plan in 1974. The Plan identified 24 sectors ‘with a view to evolving suitable programmes of research, development and design …..for accomplishing time bound targets’. The Plan was geared towards import substitution, adaptation of imported technology, enhancement of industrial productivity, export promotion and building up capabilities in frontier areas and augmentation of R&D. It is not surprising that some of the sectors identified back then including- Nuclear Energy, Space Sciences, Pharmaceuticals, heavy engineering- are the areas where Indian has shown remarkable progress.

The next was in the 1980s when Prof. Parthasarthi was again appointed the Science and Technology Advisor to the Prime Minister. The government issued the Technology Policy Statement (TPS), and a high-level committee was constituted to implement the recommendations of the TPS which included a focus on developing indigenous technology and efficiently absorbing and adapting imported technology. The TPS aimed at fostering linkages between the various S&T institutions in order to generate technology which would impart economic benefit. These were later to transmute into various technology missions that saw translation of S&T gains into practical and public oriented solutions,” said Ansari.

Besides, he also played a vital role in the development of the defence electronics sector and saw very early the potential of solar power systems for the Indian economy.

Speaking to The Print, former director-general of the Council of Scientific and Industrial Research Dr Raghunath Anant Mashelkar talks about Parthasarathi’s fundamental role in establishing public sector enterprises in the 1970s to make India self-reliant in science and technology.

“The context at that time was very different for India than it is today. In the 70s, we did not have dollars. There was technology, but it was not available to us. We had to do everything on our own. For example, none of the defence electronics technologies like microchips, fibre optics were available in India. These had to be developed and then given to those who needed them — like the DRDO. Ashok’s major contribution was to create self-reliant technology in strategic sectors,” he said.

Following his stint in government, he would go onto write extensively on science policy with columns across media publications and books as well. He also served as a professor at the Centre for Studies in Science Policy, Jawaharlal Nehru University for five years.

Yes, one can argue against the emphasis that the likes of Parthasarathi laid on state control and support to expand indigenous capabilities in science and technology, but it is impossible to ignore his contributions towards helping India become self-reliant in the arena of science and technology.

On this front, he stands tall.

Also Read: Ladakh’s First ISRO Scientist Helps 700+ Village Kids Study in India’s Best Colleges!

(Edited by Gayatri Mishra)

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Every year on 1 July, India celebrates National Doctors’ Day in honour of Dr Bidhan Chandra Roy, a Bharat Ratna awardee, former chief minister of West Bengal and someone who represented the best of his profession at a critical time in India’s modern history.

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Born on 1 July 1882, in Patna, Roy grew up with parents who were close followers of the socio-religious movement—Brahmo Samaj.

Graduating from the University of Calcutta in medicine, he went to England where he joined the prestigious St Bartholomew’s Hospital in London. Though the hospital’s Dean was reluctant to enroll him (or any Asian) into the institute, he relented after a month and a half of constant perseverance and over 30 meetings.

Following his post graduation in 1911, Dr Roy became a Member of the Royal College of Physicians (MRCP) and a Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons (FRCS) — a rare feet.

He was studying at the University of Calcutta in 1905, when Bengal was partitioned, but instead of getting sucked into the nationalist movement against the British, he chose to focus on his academics. Roy had realised that he could serve his people by qualifying in his stated profession first. It was a smart call because upon his return to India, he participated in the freedom movement, got involved in Bengal politics and at the same time became one of MK Gandhi’s personal physicians.

In fact, during a ‘self-purification’ fast in Pune (1933), Gandhi refused to take medication when Dr Roy arrived on the scene. Gandhiji asked Dr. Roy, “Why should I take your treatment? Do you treat four hundred million of my countrymen free?”

Dr. Roy replied, “No Gandhiji, I could not treat all patients free. But I came… not to treat Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, but to treat “him” who to me represents the four hundred million people of my country.”

In response, Gandhi said in jest, “You are arguing like a third-class lawyer in a mofussil (district) court,” and eventually relented. Such was his stature as a doctor that even when Jawaharlal Nehru became prime minister, Dr Roy was one of the few doctors whose advice he paid heed to. One of the doctors attending Nehru told the Washington Times-Herald in 1962, “Roy is tall enough to ask Nehru to obey medical orders.”

Medicine, Dr Roy believed, would help Indians be physically healthy and strong and thus help them pursue their cause for freedom. To further his mission, he played an integral role in the establishment of medical institutions like Jadavpur T.B. Hospital, Chittaranjan Seva Sadan, Kamala Nehru Memorial Hospital, Victoria Institution (college), Chittaranjan Cancer Hospital and the Chittaranjan Seva Sadan for women and children. He even opened centres for women, where they could train in social work and nursing.

In the meantime, he was also very active in local administration as the Mayor of Calcutta (1931-33), Vice-Chancellor of Calcutta University (1942-1944), President of the Medical Council of India (1939) and the Governor of the United Provinces (now Uttar Pradesh). It was under his mayorship that the city undertook a massive expansion in free education, public health care, road infrastructure, improved lighting and water supply.

Following Independence, Dr Roy wanted to concentrate purely on his profession, but on the prodding of MK Gandhi, he took the office of Chief Minister of West Bengal on 23 January 1948. Mind you, this was a time of utter chaos with the region torn by communal violence and the influx of refugees across a divided Bengal.

Under his stewardship, the state finally saw peace within three years. During his 14-year tenure as chief minister of the state, he also found time for his medical practice and attended to patients.

Is it any surprise that in its obituary for Dr Roy, the British Medical Journal called him the “first medical consultant in the subcontinent of India, who towered over his contemporaries in several fields?” The obituary went onto argue that “at his professional zenith he may have had the largest consulting practice in the world, news of his visit to a city or even railway station bringing forth hordes of would-be patients.”

He passed away on 1 July 1962, but not before leaving behind a legacy of deep respect for the spirit of public service, which he fulfilled both as a doctor and an administrator.

Also Read: ‘Why Should We Be Dumb?’ How One Monk’s Speech Changed The History of Ladakh

(Edited by Saiqua Sultan)

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The moment you step into this tiny shop located at the corner of Rash Behari Avenue, the dust and noise of the main road settles down into a serene silence. The charming quiet of the run-down shop is periodically interrupted by the tuning of a sitar or the strumming of a tanpura.

Despite its dilapidated exteriors, a single peek inside reveals a treasure trove of musical instruments.

You cut through the canopy of sitars hanging from the ceiling, dusty wooden shelves stacked with violins and harmoniums, and cross the walls covered with sarods and guitars, to reach the end table where Ratan Kumar Sen sits meditatively working on a beautiful sitar.

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Behind him, a wall covered with framed photographs over the peeling paint depicts the glorious past of Kolkata’s iconic musical instrument shop, Hemen & Co.

This 72-year-old shop which was frequented by celebrated musicians like Bhimsen Joshi, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, Sandhya Mukhopadhyay, Parveen Sultana and even Ravi Shankar, holds testimony to the musical brilliance of the yonder years.

Not just in India, Hemen & Co. was known for its outstanding craftsmanship even outside the country. Legends like Yehudi Menuhin, Jethro Tull’s Ian Anderson, and George Harrison, the lead guitarist of The Beatles, have walked through these doors, seeking to experience their handcrafted instruments.

“But the days of glory both for us and music, are in the past,” reflects Ratan, who along with his brother Tapan Kumar Sen, takes care of the shop and repairs instruments only created by them.

“My father, Hemen Chandra Sen, used to say that you can never make a good instrument if you know how to play it with ease. The instrument and the musician are two parts of one whole, and so it needs to be the best possible match,” he adds.

Each instrument in the shop is made to order with the best quality material sourced from various parts of the country.

“All our instruments are handcrafted and can survive a lifetime. Because at the end of the day, this is not a job or even a business for us. It is a proud passion that we have and will continue to carry on for generations.”

From a broken sitar to an iconic company

Hemen Chandra Sen had been playing the sitar since he was 10 years old. But at the age of 13, he had to move to Calcutta from East Bengal (present Bangladesh).

His keen interest in music soon earned him the prized tutelage of Baba Allauddin Khan of Maihar Gharana, as well as the guidance of Ustad Ayet Ali Khan, father of Ustad Bahadur Khan.

The story goes that one day, while in a class with Allauddin Khan, Hemen accidentally broke his Sitar. At the time he could not afford to get it repaired and so instead, he did it on his own.

“When Allauddin Khan saw the repaired sitar as good as new, he was extremely impressed. Others like Ayet Ali Khan, Ali Akbar Khan and even, Ravi Shankar, were taken aback by his skills. Allauddin Khan praised and encouraged him to take it up seriously, as there aren’t many who understand the instruments so well to transform them into their original condition. He even gave all his damaged Maihar instruments to my father for repairing. This was the beginning and many musical geniuses, like Pandit Nikhil Banerjee, Ustad Ali Akbar Khan, Annapurna Devi, Ustad Hafiz Ali Khan and Ustad Amjad Ali Khan, began to come to him for all their repair needs,” Ratan shares.

This eventually led to the genesis of Hemen & Co. in 1947, which over the last few decades has perfected the skill of creating and repairing instruments like tanpura, sitar, tabla, harmonium, flute, sarod, violin, esraj and guitar.

Hemen’s brilliant work also earned him the Hafiz Ali Khan award for lifetime achievements, at the hands of the then Prime Minister, Atal Bihari Vajpayee, in 2003.

After his death in 2010, Tapan and Ratan took over the family business.

“My father was a strict and disciplined man. I think that is crucial is you passionately want to pursue music. Our education was not limited to school. We would have to manage studies at school during the day, while also concentrating on music lessons, especially the sitar, and then get coached by father about the family trade and craftsmanship. He would always say that you cannot justly treat and cure an old or broken instrument if you are not a musician yourself!” recollects Ratan.

A star-studded clientele

In the last 72 years, Hemen & Co. has emerged to be the one-stop store for musical legends and maestros from all across the world.

One of Hemen’s first customers was his teacher, Allauddin Khan, and Ravi Shankar, who was a fellow student. Ratan remembers that the first time his father repaired Ravi Shankar’s sitar, he didn’t charge money. As a token of appreciation, Shankar sent a portable tape recorder.

“Ravi Shankar and my father were fellow musicians and good friends. It was invaluable, much beyond the ambit of money,” adds Ratan who was taught by his father to make Shankar’s unique kharaj pancham sitar.

It was through this connection with Shankar that George Harrison, the Beatles’ star guitarist, became a prized customer. Other members of the band also ordered from here, from time to time.

“George Harrison had bought a sitar from us somewhere in 1968, which was both a surprise and an honour. Then after two years, he ordered two acoustic guitars. I remember that he had asked us about guitars, on an earlier trip, and I replied that although we did our best, they might not be of the superior quality as available in the west. He, however, dismissed the humble confession, tried one of our acoustic guitars, and complimented us on the perfect tune. So, when this order for two guitars came in, we were delighted and sent them via Ravi Shankar’s secretary. To say thanks, Harrison sent us a huge German-made tape recorder!” says Ratan.

The next memorable encounter that Ratan remembers is with Jethro Tull’s Ian Anderson.

“I was a huge fan. Ian Anderson was like Lord Krishna, the only one who could play the flute for hours standing on one leg. I would be captivated throughout his shows, and so when he came to Kolkata to perform in 2008, I didn’t want to lose the opportunity to meet him. When I did finally saw him, I gifted him a bamboo flute, something he had never played before, as he used a metal one. He loved the one made of bamboo, and has ordered over 100 flutes from us,” he shares.

Superior quality ensuring generations of clients

Despite the onslaught of air-conditioned shops selling musical instruments in the area or even the internet, Hemen & Co., in its tiny enclosure, continues to be overburdened with orders all round the year. Ratan says that this is the influence of quality.

“My father did not build a mere company, he built a global family of musicians, and we are carrying it forward. Our instruments aren’t instant; they need time and patience to ensure quality. This is something that true musicians appreciate, and it is with their testimonials that the next generation continues to buy from us,” he shares.

One such third-generation customer is Sougata Ganguly, whose entire family has purchased instruments from Hemen & Co. Now, he also sends his students to the shop. Ravi Shankar’s daughter, Anoushka, is also a loyal customer.

Ratan mentions the quality of the instruments, especially sitar and sarod, is ensured with the talented craftsmanship and the best raw material.

Elaborating on the process, he says, “The sitar is primarily constructed out a specific kind of gourd which cannot be eaten due to its bitterness. This variety is specially cultivated for sitar and tanpura. It’s now grown in parts of Maharashtra and the Nadia district of West Bengal. Once fully grown, they are processed to arrive at this formation. At the initial stage, it looks like any typical gourd, green in colour, but then it is soaked in water allowing the inner contents to decompose. After that, these decayed contents are scooped out, keeping the shell intact. These shells are then sent to us. We only buy the thickest shells as they are heavy and sturdy. But, again, thick shells are rare and so, more expensive.”

After the shells, the wood used in making the sitar, tanpura and sarod is also a critical aspect. These are either sourced from Assam or demolished old houses.

“The older, the better. We usually go for tul or Burma teak, as per the preference of the musicians. For instance, Burma teak has a good temper and produces a powerful sound, while tul wood, is softer. Vilayat Khan used to prefer the Burma teak sitar, which was completely black as he concentrated more on taan. Ravi Shankar preferred a sitar made of tul and adorned with minute decorations, ideal for alaap.” he adds.

Ratan and Tapan have held fort for all these years and have also been preparing their sons with the hope that they will carry forward the legacy.

But, in a world of instant gratification and autotune, this work has become more difficult than ever before.

When asked about the future of Hemen & Co. Ratan remarked, “I’ve done my part in creating a treasure and will guard it till my last breath. Now, it is the job of your generation to keep it alive!”

Also Read: Paris to Calcutta In a Milk Van: A 19,000 km Road Trip That Captured the Sound of Music!

(Edited by Gayatri Mishra)

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Even in 2019, women sound engineers are a rarity in the Indian film industry. In this context, it is indeed astonishing that India had her first woman sound engineer way back in the pre-Independence era.

Meena Narayanan, India’s first woman sound engineer, was only in high school when her husband, A Narayanan, one of the most acclaimed directors in early Tamil cinema, assigned her to be the assistant of the famous sound engineer—Poddar. 

Despite no prior knowledge, Meena was keen to learn and quickly grasped the nuances of the art from Poddar. She assisted him in the sound recording of the first talkie produced in Southern Cinema — Srinivas Kalayanam (1934), thus earning the enviable status.  She would practice with the mixing console tied to one end of her madisar saree.

Play your favourite songs anywhere with this Electricity-free Bamboo Speaker, beautifully handcrafted by rural artisans of Maharashtra

Historian and columnist Nivedita Louis chanced upon this iconic personality while browsing through the archives of Tamil cinema.

Little is known about her. I found just one sentence in an old report mentioning about Meena Narayanan, India’s first woman sound engineer. It took quite some time to connect to her extended family to know about her, Nivedita says while speaking to The Better India (TBI). 

Meena became a sound engineer in a time when ‘talking pictures’ were the talk of the town and thus, demand for sound technicians was high. In just two years, Meena had already mastered the craft of sound engineering. Perhaps it was her childhood training in Carnatic music that helped her along the way. 

In an interview with contemporary Tamil entertainment magazine Ananada Vikatan, Meena had revealed what drove her into this unusual work. Being an ardent admirer of classical music, she expressed her displeasure with the men working as sound technicians who have no knowledge or understanding of music. “There are a lot of problems when sound recording is done by those who have no idea of the language and trend in music . . . Since I wanted to rectify it, I paid attention to sound engineering and gained experience in two years,” Meena had famously said, as quoted in film historian S. Theodore Baskaran’s book – The Message Bearers. 

Later, Meena went on to work in over nine films including one of her most notable achievements—a documentary of the Eucharist Congress. 

“One of Meena’s notable achievements include a documentary of the Eucharist Congress, held in Chennai in 1937 to celebrate the Pope’s arrival in the city,” shares Theodore Baskaran. At the event venue at Island Ground, Meena was spotted moving about with her equipment, clad in a silk saree in the traditional madisar style. Among the who’s who of the Catholic world and European dignitaries, a young Indian woman recording the whole event was indeed a surprising sight. 

It was her husband, Narayanan, who inducted Meena into the film world in the 1930s. India’s nascent cinema industry was still to be accepted as a respectable vocation in society. Moreover, Meena hardly had any background in filmography or even theatre for that matter. But, with her husband’s encouragement and unfailing support, she not only entered into the new field but also mastered it. 

Narayanan formerly worked as an insurance agent who later surrendered his secure job to follow his passion in films. Gradually, he flourished as a director, producer and distributor of Tamil movies. Even in times of war and rebellion, he tried his best to establish an overseas market for Indian cinema, especially in the USA.

Nivedita shares an interesting anecdote about his marketing tactics. 

When he took Ardeshir Irani’s silent movie Anarkali to Hollywood, he dressed up in a king’s garb, complete with bejewelled turban while wife Meena dressed up like a queen. Hollywood celebrities of the time like Douglas Fairbanks, John Barrymore and Robert Flaherty were quite amused to meet the dynamic ‘royal’ duo.

In 1934, Narayanan launched Sree Srinivasa Cinetone (Sound City) – his Sound Studio in Chennai, which incidentally happened to be the first talkie recording studio in India.   

When Poddar left the studio, Narayanan decided to entrust Meena with the sound engineering for his 1936 film Viswamitra which went on to be a success. That was Meena’s first stint as a main sound engineer for a movie, which would soon be followed by many more. 

Later, Meena went to work as a sound engineer for cult films like Krishna Tulabaram (1937), Vikrama Shree Sahasam (1937), Tulsi Brinda (1938), Porveeran Maniavi (1938), Mada Sambrani  (1938), Sree Ramanujan  (1938), and Vipra Narayana (1938).

Meena was mother to two children – daughter Galavati and son Srinivasan. Galavati grew up to be a doctor with medical degrees from the UK and USA, and later returned to practice in Chennai. Son Srinivasan worked as a cinematographer.

In 1939, the studio, which was her husband’s life, got gutted down in a fire accident. Narayanan was devastated and the loss took a toll on his health. He passed away soon after at the age of 39.

Her husband’s untimely death shook Meena to the core, which affected her health as well. She spent the rest of her life away from the film industry. She stayed with her aunt and her husband – the Nobel-Laureate physicist Dr C.V. Raman, at their house in Kengeri, Bengaluru.

In 1954, the doctor suggested a change of air for improving Meena’s health. So, she was taken for a trip to the hill town of Kodaikanal, where she breathed her last.

Making her mark in a field that is still heavily male-dominated, was a saree-clad woman who had a thirst for learning and a passion for excellence.

Also Read: PK Thresia: The Forgotten Story of India’s First Woman Chief Engineer

Featured Image credits: Nivedita Louis

(Edited by Saiqua Sultan)

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