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While politicians quibble over the legality of the recent rules issued by the Central government curbing the movement and trade in cattle of all types and even camels, we may like to take a look at the big picture. The oft-quoted Article 48 of the Constitution is one among the many unrealized directive principles: desirable when able. It talks of banning the slaughter of milch and draught cattle, but the point here is that no one is advocating this patently uneconomical idea. We need to understand that even the best cows become a burden to poor farmers after their lactating period is over. So do old draught animals. Most farmers, many of whom are strict vegetarians, therefore, sell them off so that other humans and cattle can be better looked after.

On April 18 every year, museums in India celebrate International Museum Day and for a week or so, except for a small group of enthusiasts, all of this goes unnoticed by most of us. This is symptomatic of the disconnect between the average Indian and his heritage. Much of the mental or knowledge gap is thus substituted, rather effectively, with involuntary “correspondence courses” of post-truth half lies that are planted so vigorously on WhatsApp. But why is it that museums fail to attract us so passionately, while in the West or in the Far East, China, Japan and Korea splurge on setting up more and more museums and in drawing record footfalls?

The new game of appropriating national leaders who are long dead and gone as ‘Hindu nationalists’ is rather interesting. It competes with the pastime, popularised in the early decades after Independence, to absorb all divergent streams of the national movement under one banner of the ‘Indian National Congress’. This leads to eulogisation and ‘canonisation’ and here, one must examine the recent attempt to foist Vinayak Damodar Savarkar as the most noteworthy icon of Andaman’s infamous Cellular Jail.

The unprecedented display of aggression witnessed in Bengal in April in the name of Rama Navami, has perhaps distracted the Bengali people from the good old traditional deities of Chaitra. This month, from mid-March to mid-April, has always belonged to Shiva, Shitala, Annapurana or Basanti and the very indigenous Dharma-Thakur. Bengalis were very clear that Durga came home only in Ashwin and reserved ten full holidays to rejoice in her name. What lent most colour to this month was Gajan,which is so similar to Taai-pusamin Tamil country.Throughout the month, several people dressed up as Shiva-Parvati, and wandered around streets and localities: singing, dancing and invoking Mahadev. It was the Bengali way of taking a religion to the streets, with devotion and pantomime, not with swords and threats.

Classes were interrupted at will and the college shut down at sporadic intervals, which meant students lost irretrievable academic months and years. But Presidency is Presidency and some teachers dared the violence and gave tutorials in their rooms at considerable risk and others took makeshift classes in their homes.

If someone is serious about Doordarshan, it has to decide once for all whether it has to maintain some 50 mini-TV stations to produce just six hours of programming in an entire week.

The first mention that one gets is about the celebration of shining lights is when Ramachandra returned victorious to Ayodhya, though Lakshmi does not feature here. The Kamasutra of Vatsyana, whose final product also appears like the Ramayana in the 3rd or 4th century AD mentions Yaksha's night, when houses should be illuminated with numerous tiny earthen lamps. ‘Yaksha’ were usually short pot-bellied indigenous creatures who stood outside temples as dwaar-paals. The Jain acharyas, Hemchandra and Yashodhara, describe this ‘Yaksha night of lights’ and this point to the Brahmanic adoption of a popular local observance.

B V Keskar was Pandit Nehru’s Information Minister for a decade, from 1952 to 1962. For him, Hindi film songs were a strict ‘no-no’ where Akashvani was concerned, as in his opinion, it should be the mission of the public broadcaster, to encourage only classical music. He had to face a lot of pressure and ridicule for this rather obdurate stand, but there is no doubt that had it not been for him, Indian classical music may have never reached and enthralled the common man,because classical music by its very nature was meant primarily for the elite.

The year was 1967. I had joined Class X, in the Humanities Section, with an enviable track record of standing last or second last in every class from VI onward. The crowning glory was my failure to pass Class VIII, followed by my close shaves in my second year in the same class as well as in the next class, when I studied Science in the ‘Higher Secondary’ stream, where one had to fight all the time. The other ‘feathers’ in my cap were the several warnings received for ‘poor conduct’, mischief and misbehavior. In other words, I was declared an ideal bad student when I joined, not without trepidation, the first day in my new class.

Every major nation in the world has a public broadcaster and there must be some reason why they do. Before we can discuss the shortcomings of Prasar Bharati, the autonomous body that supervises Doordarshan (DD) and All India Radio (AIR), we may recall that even as its Act was passed by Parliament in 1990, its spirit of autonomy was vitiated by two sections, 32 and 33, which took away with the left hand what the right gave. They ensured that all its major decisions like manpower, recruitment, service conditions, salaries and critical issues would be decided only by the Ministry of Information & Broadcasting (I&B).

On the 16 th June 1912, Rabindranath Tagore reached London aftersailing for three weeks. He had utilized the journey to complete the last lotof his translations and was relieved that he had finally made it. His disappointment for not being permitted to travel in March of that year, on health grounds was thus overcome.

Prasar Bharati came into being on 28 th November 1997 after Prasar Bharati Act of 1990 was finally implemented by the Government and the Directorates of All India Radio (Akashvani) and Doordarshan were separated from Ministry of Information & Broadcasting and placed under an ‘autonomous body’. It was a momentous decision that came some seven years after Parliament had taken pains to conceive of a Public Service Broadcaster, whose character was eloquently worded in the Statement of Objects and Reasons.

Swami Vivekananda was one of the greatest patriots, thinkers, philosophers and spiritual leaders, India has ever produced. He lived only for thirty nine and a half years, of which he devoted the last nine and half years totally to the service of humanity. Though he left the world well over a century ago, Swamiji’s teachings remains very relevant to us in the twenty-first 21st Century. This is more so because mankind is struggling more now to adjust to more frequent socioeconomic changes. The very rapid pace at which developments are overtaking us is surely leading to a transitory segment of social confusion, unrest, and apprehension. This produces a very demanding and stressful life style.

“Life was solitary, poor, nasty,” droned the professor on a hot, lazy afternoon when the body clocks of most students signalled that it was time for a lovely surreptitious siesta, without actually dozing off on to the next guy’s shoulder. This was sometime in my first year at Presidency, when I was being introduced to the wondrous possibilities of how the State had emerged in history.

I came across a photograph of Pandit Nehru sitting on a simple wooden bed, covered with a frugal white sheet and a few batik spreads, and a couple of pillows strewn behind and beside him. There were no crowds on the dais, which was obviously during the Convocation of Visva Bharati in (1954), and while the Upacharya, who was at the right corner of the photo, delivered his address over an ancient microphone, Panditji looked straight at the audience. 

The history of Calcutta in the first half of the 18 th Century remains a never- ending source of interests and speculation. Yes, speculation — for the official records of Calcutta were all destroyed during Shiraj-ud-Dowla’s attack and occupation of the city in 1756. Hence, the supreme importance of non-official reports and letters, including those of travellers.

‘Akaal Bodhan’, or the untimely invocation of Goddess Durga in the month of Ashwin (mid-September to mid- October), has been an intergal part of Bengal's social and religious culture, for centuries. When the first British merchants entered Bengal in the seventeenth century and came in contact with Hindu religious festivals, their initial reaction ranged from curious appreciation to outright horror. The strange deities, the colourful costumes and the cacophony of weird flutes, pipes, cymbals and drums of all types, conjured an impression that evoked either admiration or disgust.

As Calcutta approaches its tricentury (1990), and urbanologists and forecasters quarrel over its future, nostalgia rules the day for a dedicated band of historians, researchers and simple Calcutta-lovers. Anthologies, histories, sketches and hitherto unknown facets of the city's chequered past are churned out with persistent regularity. The latest book on old Calcutta is mainly a reproduction of the writings of two famous 19th century British commentators who lived and worked in this city, and is profusely annotated and edited by an Indian expert.

December, 1921. The Calcutta race course. Backers and bookmakers were screaming themselves hoarse as the thundering phalanx of horses drew closer to the post. The steward discreetly observed the Prince of Wales mopping his regal brow, as frenzied punters broke into hysterics. “Galway Gate’ streaked past the winning post — nose, neck, hood, head and all length.

Fifteen miles downstream from Calcutta on the left bank of the Hooghly, at a village called Achipur, stands a sparkling red tomb, with an uncommon shape and a little known tale. Its brightness can not fail to attract all and sundry who choose to glide along this lazy stretch of the river a few miles before it flows out to the sea. Its horse-shoe architecture with the two ends inclining downwards is supposedly characteristic of Chinese cemeteries. The waves of the river lap dangerously close to the tomb, and had it not been for the embankment built recently by some thoughtful Chinese gentleman, the tomb of the first Chinaman to set foot on the shores of Bengal, (or for that matter, India) would have been lost to the muddy Hooghly. The first Chinaman, in modern times, that is.