There has been a farmer’s protest going on for over a year now around India’s capital, New Delhi. Since September 2020, when 3 farm acts were passed by the parliament (stayed since by the judiciary), 3 sites – Tikri, Ghazipur and Singhu – have become synonymous with this often tense, sometimes violent standoff.
These pictures from an eyewitness at Singhu is a slice of the everyday space there, for the substance of which see the following:
In late-summer I went to Ayr – of Robert Burns fame; a seemingly random but ultimately delightful choice determined by the compulsions of the Pandemic year. After going to Alloway with its Burns Cottage (and ‘cottage industry’ of Burns Tourism), I started exploring the region and came across a place called Patna! To the Indian and historian in me, the connections and curiosities thereof were irresistible, that is a village of a few thousand souls and the Indian city of some millions carrying the same name. From Ayr, the smaller Patna – by the river Doon – is located about 10 miles away; the other, bigger Patna – capital of the state of Bihar and sprawled by the banks of the mighty Ganga River – is some 8000 km away [https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/uk-scotland-20504111].
Patna, or ancient Patliputra, was the capital of the Mauryan (4th-2nd c. BC) Empire and its short-lived successor, Shunga dynasty, and remained a prominent place under the Gupta (4th-6th c. AD) Empire and its eastern successor, Pala kingdom. From the 13th century, it emerged as a provincial seat under the Delhi Sultanate and the Mughal Empire. In-between and not far, was Sasaram, where the soldier-administrator Sher Shah Suri (1470s-1540s) had his brief imperial reign. Afterwards, for the Sikhs, Patna emerged a great place of pilgrimage, for it was there that the 10th and last Guru, Gobind Singh was born in 1666. With the decline of the Mughal rule, Patna came under the influence of the Nawabs of Bengal and thereafter the English East India Company from 1765. Trading factories had been started in Patna – as early as the 1620s-30s by the Dutch East India Company, the Portuguese too had traded there even earlier, given its location by a navigable river, proximity to the Bay of Bengal and production of textile around. This thriving fortune was taxed by the British, following their victory over the Nawab of Bengal in the Battle of Buxar of 1764, and Patna (and Bihar) – along with the rest of Bengal – passed into (mal)administration of the Company. The region had begun the journey towards its colonization, during which time many Europeans, including the Scots were attracted by the east as a ‘career’, whereby hands the thread connecting the two Patna(s); as can be read below:
The Scottish Patna “was founded in the early years of the 19th century by William Fullarton, whose family had a close connection with the Bihar State. Fullarton’s uncle, William Fullarton, in 1745, was in the service of the East India Company as surgeon at Fort William, Calcutta [now Kolkata]. After a mixed career as soldier and surgeon, he returned eventually to Scotland in 1770 where he bought the estate of Goldring (later Rosemount), near Kilmarnock. He died in 1805 with no family. This William Fullarton had a brother, Major General John Fullarton, of Skeldon. General Fullarton was also in the service of the East India Company and died in India in 1804. He was succeeded by his second son, William, then aged 24”. (Moore, Gently Flows the Doon, 1972)
The Patna in East Ayrshire is among the many villages in the Doon Valley, which have been associated with a history of coal, ironstone, and limestone mining. Hence, it once also had a thriving railway station on the Glasgow & South Western branch railway between Ayr and Dalmellington. The station opened in 1856, moved location slightly in 1897, and eventually its passenger service ended in 1964, as part of the brutal Beeching cuts. Coal continued to be carried but even this has now declined and the track lays unused. Indeed, there is an air of a place that once was proud, prosperous, and prolific. Today, it is a sleepy village of barely 1000 families with population declining and unemployment increasing, with which the following words are difficult to square:
Donald Reid, Yesterday’s Patna and the Lost Villages of Doon Valley. 2005
It was in the early 1800s when William Fullarton, an enterprising young man, began mining for coal and limestone on the banks of the Doon. He built houses nearby to accommodate his workers and he decided to call the hamlet Patna after the city in India where his father and uncle had such close associations. William Fullarton later sold the estate at Skeldon and moved to Ayr where he had a successful career in local politics, twice becoming Provost, around 1823-1825 and 1830-1834. He died in 1835 at the age of 60 and is buried in the cemetery of Ayr Auld Kirk. Fullarton proved himself to be a kindly benefactor to Patna. He built the first house in the village to house the manager of his coal mines. This, with offices attached, was to become known to later generations as Patna House.
Fullarton is remembered kindly, having created many local amenities for the small and then-growing area. Mining led to home and hearth, work and schools and the stream – a crucial water source – saw the building of the Patna “Auld Brig” in 1805, which functions as a gateway into the village, adding character to it. By 1837, there was a Church building, which is now known as the United Free Church Hall and serves as another reminder of that age. As for the following twentieth century, it has left in its wake the two, ubiquitous, war memorials and a cemetery. There is the obligatory “local” and the imperative “clinic”, but otherwise few streets, some houses and a bus-service connects Patna’s past to its present. As for its bigger “cousin”, once in a while, a visitor comes, like in 2012 [https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/patna/bihar-minister-visits-patna-a-village-in-scotland/articleshow/17755117.cms] and in 2018 [https://www.hindustantimes.com/world-news/when-two-patnas-met-in-scotland/story-G6uILtSL3bvvjJn6GLNOPP.html].
With my sincerest thanks to David Rarity of Patna, who took the time to share his memories and material collected over the years on the history of Patna.
I came across this fascinating article on ‘The Origin and Growth of Pakistan Railways’ by M. B. K. Malik in Pakistan Quarterly, 1962, Vol 11, No. 1. It provides a brief history of building the railways in British India, especially the motivations and impact this had on the two outer regions of Bengal and Punjab. What captured my interest was actually the objections put forward in the initial days. The first one is from the British perspective, but the second one is from a high-caste Hindu, who obviously envisages multiple problems for those guided by astrologers. Both however, express suspicion and concern at this new system of transport and the wider impact it will have on society and the environment. Of course the railways went on to be built in both Britain and British India, and became pivotal to colonial rule. The economy of empire, with key towns and port cities, coupled with the ability to swiftly move the colonial army from cantonment towns was only made possible because of the railways in British India. But that’s another story. Read below the extract from pages 22-23.
The earliest proposals to build railways in India had been made to the East India Company in England in 1844 by Mr. R. M. Stephenson and others. But the time was not propitious. The land had not yet recovered from the effects of the Sind Wars, and the British power and the Sikhs in the Punjab were on the verge of an armed conflict. Nor were the Court of Directors of the East India Company convinced of the feasibility of railways in India. Even in England and Europe railways had met with opposition. In 1835 John Bull had denounced the railways as a menace:
“If they succeed” wrote the paper, “they will give an unnatural impetus to society, destroy all the relations which exist between man and man, over-throw all mercantile regulations, over-turn the metropolitan markets, drain the provinces of all their resources, and create at the peril of life, all sorts of confusion and distress. If they fail, nothing will be left but the hideous memorials of public folly”. It further remarked : “Does anybody mean to say that decent people …. would consent to be hurried along through the air upon a railroad, from which, had a lazy schoolboy left a marble, or wicked one a stone, they would be pitched off their perilous track into the valley beneath; …. being at the mercy of a tin pipe copper boiler, or the accidental dropping of a pebble on the line of way?…. We denounce the mania as destructive of the country in a thousand particulars …. the whole face of the kingdom is to be tattooed with these or a odious deformities …. huge mounds are to intersect our beautiful valleys; the noise and stench of locomotive steam-engines are to disturb the quietude of the peasant, the farmer and the gentleman; and the roaring of the bullocks, the bleating of sheep and the grunting of pigs to keep up one continual uproar through the night along the lines of these most dangerous and disfiguring abominations”.
Objections by Hindus
The orthodox Indians had religious objections. A civilian District Officer, posted in the province of Bihar during the sixties of the last century, has recorded an interesting story showing how orthodox Hindus regarded railway travelling in those days. The officer questioned a nobleman, who had just returned from his first journey by rail, about his views on railway travel. The nobleman replied that it made great noise and that it would be difficult for persons of his high caste to travel at all by such means:
The trains only go at stated times; now I cannot commence a journey except at the minute decided upon by my astrologer as a favourable moment for starting. This makes it very difficult for me to travel at all. Tomorrow I have to go to Muzafferpur, and the astrologer has decided that I must start at 1 A.M. Now my cousin Gadahur went by railway the other day with his wife, and daughter of six years old, and a baby. He started at an unfavourable moment. His wife and two children and a maid-servant were put in a palanquin, which was placed on a truck, which prevented their being seen; and he went in an ordinary carriage. Somehow or other a spark from the engine flew into the palanquin and set fire to some of the linen in which the baby was wrapped; and the servant in her confusion, thinking it was only a bundle of clothes, threw it out. The moment it was done she found out the mistake and they all shrieked. This was only a mile from the Patna station and the train soon stopped. The station master was very kind and did his best, but the palanquin was on fire, and the wife in getting out was seen by many persons. It is not a fit subject even for conversation”.
But all the objections came to naught. England was just entering the age of ‘railway mania’ and it was decided to construct railways in India through Guaranteed British Companies.
Extracts taken from the Democracy Report 2021:
Electoral autocracies continue to be the most common regime type. A major change is that India – formerly the world’s largest democracy with 1.37 billion inhabitants – turned into an electoral autocracy. With this, electoral and closed autocracies are home to 68% of the world’s population. Liberal democracies diminished from 41 countries in 2010 to 32 in 2020, with a population share of only 14%. Electoral democracies account for 60 nations and the remaining 19% of the population. (p13)
Yet, the diminishing of freedom of expression, the media, and civil society have gone the furthest. The Indian government rarely, if ever, used to exercise censorship as evidenced by its score of 3.5 out of 4 before Modi became Prime Minister. By 2020, this score is close to 1.5 meaning that censorship efforts are becoming routine and no longer even restricted to sensitive (to the government) issues. India is, in this aspect, now as autocratic as is Pakistan, and worse than both its neighbors Bangladesh and Nepal. In general, the Modi-led government in India has used laws on sedition, defamation, and counterterrorism to silence critics.1 For example, over 7,000 people have been charged with sedition after the BJP assumed power and most of the accused are critics of the ruling party. (p20)
Recently, the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act (UAPA) from 1967 and amended in August 2019 is being used to harass, intimidate, and imprison political opponents, as well as people mobilizing to protest government policies.6 The UAPA has been used also to silence dissent in academia. Universities and authorities have also punished students and activists in universities engaging in protests against the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA). (p20)
Democracy Report 2021 by V-Dem Institute
India has consistently been ranked amongst the lowest countries in the annual reports by Reporters without Borders in Press Freedom Index:
Read Rohan Venkataramakrishnan, ‘India complains about low press freedom rank – even as ministers talk of ‘neutralising’ journalists’ Scroll, 28 Mar 2021
Read the piece by Atikh Rashid on “What are democracy and autocracy waves? What’s behind the surge of autocratisation across the world?” Man Bites Dog, 18 Mar 2021
In my own piece written to coincide with 70 years of independence for India and Pakistan, I wrote the following:
Protests at Jawaharlal Nehru University in 2016 and Ramjas College at Delhi University in 2017, with chants of Azaadi (freedom), clearly showed that the idea of freedom is not merely an act of political freedom and is certainly not a freedom from thought in the increasingly mind-numbing and stealth homogenization of the millennial generation. It entails actual and real freedoms, freedoms which allow citizens to exist without fear of persecution, fear of raising critical voices, fear of consumption and cultural practices, fear from oppression and, above all, freedom from having a question mark at their very existence just for being.
The role of any democratic country, with a well-defined rule of law, is to protect all its citizens, ensuring that their rights and freedoms are safeguarded. This is especially true of countries where, as in the case of Pakistan, there is a significant minority; and in the case of India, though a majority Hindu state, secularism is enshrined in its constitution. It is in fact difficult to imagine these lands without the heterogeneity that forms the essence of being South Asian. It is this vibrancy and diversity that gives it character and strength. To move toward a homogenous culture is not only problematic but also dangerous because it is based on exclusivity.
Freedom and Fear: India and Pakistan at 70
Recalling trips to Punjab are akin to a trip down memory lane, one which is not merely nostalgic but aromatically so, from straying into family kitchens and stopping at road-side dhabas, especially along the great GT Road. The latter used to be a family space too, i.e., often family-run businesses, little more than fragrant kiosks under corrugated roofs and rather full of the ubiquitous truck drivers transporting goods along this artery of north-east India. Perhaps my earliest memory is stopping at one such a stall in 1989, maybe mid-way between Delhi and Ludhiana. It was my first visit home since being taken to settle down in Nakuru, Kenya in 1977 and thereafter Coventry, England in 1982.
As we alighted from my brother-in-law’s eponymous Maruti, he had driven to the Palam airport to receive my mother and me, I realised that this was a familiar, if not favourite, spot of his; a feature of this road and its foodie milestones for its regular customers. It was the month of August and even as we sat outdoors, the canopy shaded us from the humid sun, on a traditional, slightly saggy manja/charpai, made of wooden posts and cotton rope. Back then dhabas dealt in a few but firm staples, serving either veg or non-veg – a term perhaps peculiar to the subcontinent – and this one gave primacy to the vegetarian fare. We stuck to the most popular of these: dal makhani (usually made with urad/black dal), served with copious amounts of makhan/butter and hot rotis. Accompanying this were a few condiments like pyaz/onions, pickles, dahi/yogurt, and to wash it all down was lassi/yogurt drink or karak cha/masala tea, notably to keep the driver going for the remainder of the journey.
Where there is food, there should be flies, especially in the open air of Naipaulian post-monsoon north India and, as a teenager coming from England, a major part of my memory is the visual fragment of blowing away flies, alternating with every other mouthful! Nothing – and no one (!) – had prepared me for their insolent onslaught. But the lingering after-taste of the dal with its distinctly earthy, buttery-ness has remained with me, as has the breezy, people-watching – or, staring-Indian-style – feeling of watching the traffic and people go by. Chatting, eating, and enjoying the essence of being back home.
The dhabas not just remain but have metamorphosed into big, loud, air-conditioned restaurants, while being family-friendly; a constant in that ever-changing part of the world. Increasing purchasing power for more in these two-three decades has led to an upward curve in people’s expectations and demands. One of the earliest to step up to (offer) the plate was Haveli, Jalandhar. Its success has led to a number of other branches opening elsewhere, not to mention the imitators and followers. Twenty years after I had first stopped at a dhaba, I first visited the Haveli with my sister, in 2009. I had heard so much about the place in previous conversations. Haveli did not simply serve “traditional” food, it sought to create an “experience” of that traditional age, catering to the wealthy diaspora, who tried hard to reconnect with their roots. Now, therefore nostalgia came at a high price, amidst the sights of a pre-fabricated “themed” restaurant, and accompanied with the Rangla Punjab model village (pictures below from 2009), depicting “typical” village life.
As we completed the Census 2021 in the UK today, it made me think back to the first Census that was undertaken in British India in 1881. Actually, the first full census was supposed to take place in 1861 but due to the rebellion of 1857-9 and “due to the sensitivity which the British had developed to what, at least in North India, might be constructed as undue interference in the life of the people, the census was postponed until 1871-2” (Cohn, 324). In 1987, Bernard Cohn was perhaps one of the first to put forward the argument that the colonial census played an important role in constructing identities, thinking about their own numerical strength and the possibilities that this presented in a competitive imperial state.
“The actual taking of the census was a two-step affair. Enumerators were appointed by circle supervisors, who were usually government officials. Supervisors were patwaris, zamindars, schoolteachers, or anyone who was literate. They were given a form with columns on which was to be entered information about every member of a household. The information to be collected was name, religion (e.g., Hindu, Muslim), sect, caste, subdivision of caste, sex, age, marital status, language, birthplace, means of subsistence, education, language in which literate, and infirmities. There was a one-month period before the actual date of the census in which the enumerator was to fill in the forms, and then on the day of the census he was to check the information with the head of the household. As an aid to achieving standardization in the recording of information on caste and subcaste, lists were prepared as early as the 1881 census which gave standard names with variations for the castes. The supervisors were supposed to instruct the enumerators in how to classify responses. The lists of castes were alphabetically arranged giving information on where they were to be found and containing very brief notes” (Cohn, 329).
Cohn notes that the most “complex” and problematic question for the census takers was on the issue of caste. He references the work of Srinivas and Ghurye who raised important questions about the relationship between the census and caste, putting forward the question, why did the British officials record the caste of individuals? Was it perhaps curiosity or part of a design by the British? That is, as some nationalist Indians believed, “to keep alive, if not to exacerbate, the numerous divisions already present in Indian society” (Cohn, 327). The second question is to what extent did the census effect people’s notion of who they were? There arguments and connection have subsequently been advanced by many others about the importance of the census in creating and essentialising identities at a time when communalism was taking root. This period of enormous socio-economic change, and politicisation of identities is further entrenched with the enumeration of people and which religion they belong to. Kenneth Jones, in his work on the socio-religious reform movements in British India, highlights that fact that
“Traditionally, Hinduism lacked a conversion ritual. After the introduction of a decennial census in 1871, religious leaders began to focus their attention on the issue of numerical strength. For Hindus the census reports pictured their community as one in decline, its numbers falling in proportion to those of other religions. Christian success in converting the lower and untouchable castes furthered Hindu fears and led the militant Aryas to develop their own ritual of conversion, shuddhi. Initially shuddhi was employed to purify and readmit Hindus who had converted to Islam or Christianity” (Jones, 100).
Indeed, Gopal Krishan, in his study on the demography of the Punjab, highlights that
“The most fascinating demographic feature of the colonial Punjab was the religious composition of its population. While it represented an evolution of a cultural diversity in history, it became a new and divisive force in polity over time. It was on the basis of religion that the British India was partitioned; and more pertinently the partition was specific to only two provinces, Punjab and Bengal. These two provinces were marked by not only a sensitive composition of the Muslims and non-Muslims (essentially Hindus and Sikhs in the case of Punjab) but also by regional segregation of the two religious’ groups, by and large. In Bengal, the Muslims were in overwhelming majority in the eastern segment and the non-Muslims in its western counterpart; in Punjab, the picture was in reverse, with the Muslims in a large majority in the western wing and the non-Muslims in the eastern” (Krishna, 83).
When it finally came to the Partition in 1947, Sir Cyril Radcliffe was using what are considered to be out-dated figures from the Census conducted during World War Two in 1941. However, the lines between two countries were drawn based on this information.
Bhagat Ram B. ‘Census enumeration, religious identity and communal polarization in India.’ Asian Ethnicity, 2013, 14:4, 434-448, DOI: 10.1080/14631369.2012.710079
Bhagat, Ram B. ‘Census and the Construction of Communalism in India.’ Economic and Political Weekly (2001): 4352-4356.
Bhagat, Ram B. ‘Caste Census: Looking Back, Looking Forward.’ Economic and Political Weekly 42, no. 21 (2007): 1902-905. Accessed March 21, 2021. http://www.jstor.org/stable/4419628.
Cohn, Bernard. ‘The Census, Social Structure and Objectification in South Asia’, in Sarkar, Sumit, and Tanika Sarkar. Caste in Modern India (Orient Blackswan, 2018).
Jones, Kenneth W. Socio-religious reform movements in British India. Vol. 1. Cambridge University Press, 1989.
Krishan, Gopal. ‘Demography of the Punjab (1849-1947).’ Journal of Punjab Studies, 11, no. 1 (2004): 77-89
Singh, Joginder. ‘The Sikhs in the British Census Reports, Punjab.’ Proceedings of the Indian History Congress 46 (1985): 502-06. Accessed March 21, 2021. http://www.jstor.org/stable/44141395.
Yengde, Suraj. ‘Adivasis are not Hindus. Lazy colonial census gave them the label.’ The Print, 9 March 2021.
The 1881 Census is digitized and available via: The Government of India or Digital South Asia Library.
This account has rekindled memories of visiting the Rock Gardens in Chandigarh. I have pre-digital age photographs and will share those on my blog but this is a wonderful piece on the unique history of Nek Chand.
The Nek Chand Rock Gardens had been on our radar for a long time before we finally made it there. Located in the city of Chandigarh, at the foot of …
The Incredible Story of Nek Chand Rock Gardens, India
Kabirdas was a 15th century Indian mystic poet and is revered as a saint by many, across regions, communities, castes, and, now, nations. A disciple of Ramananda (in Banaras), his writings fed the syncretic Bhakti movement, which in turn influenced the development of Nanak and his teachings, to the extent that Kabir’s immortal verses are included in Adi Granth. Kabir was critical of all organised, institutionalised, hierarchical faiths, and their rites and rituals, sanctioned by sanctimonious and exploitative clergy. For Kabir, the Truth was not in these trappings, nor in their egoistic traders.
Read this wonderful explanation and translation: https://www.petervis.com/gallery/web/bollywood-translations/chadariya-jhini-re-jhini-english-translation.html
Kabir and The Kabir Panth by Rev. G.H. Westcott, Fellow of Allahabad University (Cawnpore, 1907) https://archive.org/details/KabirAndTheKabirPanth_466/mode/2up Page 1-5
It is generally allowed that of all the great Reformers, Kabir (1440-1518) and Tulsi Dass (1544-1624) have had the greatest influence for good among…Northern and Central India. Kabir has been described…as the Indian Luther (1483-1546)…
Among those who acknowledge their indebtedness to Kabir as a spiritual guide are Nanak Shah (1469-1538) of the Panjab, the founder of the Sikh community; Dadu of Ahmedabad (1544) founder of the Panth that bears his name, and Jag Jiwan Dass of Oudh (1760) the founder of the Sat Nami sect. Among religious teachers whose doctrine is said to be largely based upon the teaching of Kabir are Bribhan, founder of the Sadh community (1658), Baba Lal of Malwa and Shiva Narain of Ghazipur.
In modern days the number of those who have in one way or another come under the influence of Kabir is very great. In the Census Report of 1901, the number of Kabir Panthis alone is returned as 843,171 and the actual number is probably considerably larger, as in the United Provinces many Kabir Panthis seem to have been returned as Ramanandis and the figures for the Panjab are not included.
The hymns of Kabir are still sung by many a wandering minstrel, while his pithy sayings are frequently employed to win the attention of a dreamy audience or to clench a lengthy argument.
Unfortunately, the material for a life of Kabir is miserably scanty. It is admitted by all Kabir Panthis that Kabir was brought up as a child in the house of Niru, a weaver. In the Adi Granth occur these lines: By caste a weaver and patient of mind: utters Kabir with natural ease the excellences of Ram.
One Hundred Poems of Kabir, translated by Rabindranath Tagore, assisted by Evelyn Underhill (Macmillan, 1915) https://archive.org/details/OneHundredPoems/mode/2up?q=kaaba Page XV
It does not need much experience of ascetic literature to recognise that boldness and originality of this attitude in such a time and place. From the point of view of orthodox sanctity, whether Hindu or Mohammedan, Kabir was plainly a heretic; and his frank dislike of all institutional religion, all external observance – which was a thorough and as intense as that of the Quaker themselves – completed, as far as ecclesiastical opinion was concerned, his reputation as a dangerous man. The God whom he proclaimed was “neither in Kaaba nor in Kailash.”
Mo ko kahan dhunro bande O servant, where dost thou see Me? Lo! I am beside thee I am neither in temple nor in mosque: I am neither in Kaaba nor in Kailash: Neither am I in rites and ceremonies, nor in Yooga and renunciation. If thou art a true seeker, thou shalt at once see Me: thou shalt meet Me in a moment of time. Kabir say, “O Sadhu! God is the breath of all breath.” Santan jat na pucho nirguniyan It is needless to ask of a saint the caste to which he belongs; For the priest, the warrior, the tradesman, and all the thirty-six castes, alike are seeking for God. It is but folly to ask what the caste of a saint may be; The barber has sought God, the washerwoman, and the carpenter – Even Raidas was a seek after God. The Rishi Swapacha was a tanner by caste. Hindus and Moselms alike have achieved that End, where remains no mark of distinction.
HAD ANHAD (Bounded Boundless): Journeys with Ram & Kabir (103 min, English Subtitles) A film by Shabnam Virmani – Kabir was a 15th century mystic poet of north India who defied the boundaries between Hindu and Muslim. He had a Muslim name and upbringing, but his poetry repeatedly invokes the widely revered Hindu name for God – Ram. Who is Kabir’s Ram? This film journeys through song and poem into the politics of religion, and finds myriad answers on both sides of the hostile border between India and Pakistan.
Further Reading see Purushottam Agrawal: Kashi ka Kabir and Akath Kahani Prem Ki: Kabir Ki Kavita Aur Unka Samay (An Ineffable Tale of Love: Kabir’s Poetry and his Times) (Rajkamal Prakshan, 2009).
BAGICHA 