Author: millennialmatriarchs

A Flag for the Republic

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Every Republic Day, the tricolour appears with ritual predictability. It rises along Rajpath, flutters on homes, schools and government offices, slips into newspaper mastheads and WhatsApp greetings. We see it as a finished symbol, but the Indian flag, like the Republic it represents, took quite a while to take its final design.

The earliest Indian flags of the twentieth century were crowded and emotional. In 1906, a flag hoisted at Calcutta’s Parsee Bagan Square carried multiple colours, symbols, even words — less a flag than a manifesto. A year later, Bhikaji Cama unfurled another version in Stuttgart, turning cloth into quiet provocation. These were attempts to imagine India visually and politically, before it existed as a nation.

In 1917 came the Home Rule Flag designed by Annie Besant and Bal Gangadhar Tilak, including stars, stripes, the Union Jack, crescent moon and more. A design as complicated as the messaging.

By 1921, when Pingali Venkayya presented a tricolour to Mahatma Gandhi, the design had shifted towards restraint. After much discussion and a few changes, this basic design of three colour stripes and a wheel at the centre was adopted in 1931. Colours were chosen not just for beauty but for what they might stand for —values and ethical balance. The charkha at the centre had a strong message: spin, labour, self-reliance and progress. This was adopted as the flag of the Indian National Congress.

On 22 July 1947, the Constituent Assembly adopted the flag we know today. The charkha was replaced by the Ashoka Chakra — an ancient symbol pressed into modern service. Saffron, white and green were retained, standing for courage, peace and growth. There was no text, no ruler’s emblem, no date to anchor it to a single moment. It was a disciplined choice, and one that we are proud of.

When Design Meets Judgment

All flags are beloved by the people of the country. But there is also design aesthetics. What makes a flag good from this perspective? This question has spawned an entire subculture of passionate experts who evaluate flags with great seriousness. Their principles are deceptively simple: a flag should be easy to draw, limited in colour, free of text, and recognisable at a distance. A flag, they insist, must work when it is old, faded, flapping, or badly stitched. History may explain a design, but it does not excuse a cluttered one.

By these measures, many flags around the world falter. Coats of arms dissolve into visual noise. Mottos disappear into creases. Seals that look impressive on paper collapse on fabric. In the process, a curious truth emerges: symbolism ages better when it is spare.

The Curious Case of Flag Rankings

Over the last two decades, flags have been pulled into the modern compulsion to rank everything. Design schools, vexillological associations (i.e, association of people who study flags), online polls, children’s surveys, and pop culture lists have all attempted to crown the world’s most beautiful flags. The results vary, but patterns repeat.

Japan’s rising sun is endlessly praised for its calm authority. Switzerland’s square flag earns admiration for bold simplicity. Canada’s maple leaf is often held up as a model of contemporary national branding. Nepal’s double-pennant shape wins points simply for refusing to conform. These flags succeed not because they shout, but because they know exactly what they are.

The rankings are hardly neutral. Familiarity influences taste. Politics sneaks in. Yet when designers, schoolchildren and casual observers repeatedly gravitate towards the same flags, it suggests certain features which resound across cultures.

And Where Does India Stand?

India rarely tops these lists, but it almost never sinks either. In most design-based rankings, the tricolour settles comfortably in the upper third of the world’s flags. It is respected rather than sensational.

Its strengths are structural. The layout is clean. The colours are distinctive without being aggressive. The symbolism is layered but not overloaded. Most importantly, there is no text — a decision that has quietly protected the flag from linguistic politics and historical expiry dates.

The Ashoka Chakra is both the flag’s greatest strength and its mildest complication. Conceptually, it is rich: law, motion, moral order. Visually, it is intricate. Purists point out that twenty-four spokes violate the famous rule that a child should be able to draw a flag from memory. But perhaps that tension is apt. A flag is not meant to be reduced to a doodle.

In comparative terms, India often ranks above older European flags burdened with heraldry and below ultra-minimalist icons like Japan or Bangladesh. As a post-colonial flag, however, it scores especially well — modern without being rootless, symbolic without being authoritarian.

The Constitution and the Display

For decades after Independence, ordinary citizens were not freely allowed to fly the national flag. Its use was governed by strict rules, reserved largely for government buildings and official occasions.

But in 2002, a Supreme Court judgment affirmed that flying the national flag was a fundamental right under freedom of expression, the Flag Code of India was liberalised. The tricolour could finally enter homes, balconies and private spaces. It was a quiet but significant shift: the flag moved from being a state-controlled emblem to a shared civic symbol.

Republic Day is about the Constitution, but it is also about the quiet endurance of symbols. The Indian flag has survived regime changes, political churn, commercial misuse and overexposure. Today, it flies proudly over tanks and textbooks, protests and parades.

Happy Republic Day!

–Meena

Four-legged Contingent Joins the Parade

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As Republic Day nears, everyone looks forward to witnessing the magnificent parade that is synonymous with this day. One of the highlights of the parade is the sight of the cavalry regiment with handsome horses marching in perfect sync, and the majestic and elegantly dressed camel contingents of the Border Security Force marching gracefully in time to martial music. 

Bactrian Camel

This year the parade will include new additions, not just showcasing the country’s military might and advances in science and technology, but also putting the spotlight on the different four-legged soldiers who play a vital role in supporting the country’s  defences and security. While some of these will be parading on Kartavya Path for the first time, they have long been faithful and dependable partners of our armed forces. There are different units of animals in the military depending on their applications. Their uses may vary according to requirement and working capability depending on the region and climate of the area. For special tasks and missions, specific animals that are specially trained are required.

This is a good time to recall their role, past and present.

Horses have been an integral part of wars since time immemorial. Along with elephants, they were ridden in the battlefields by armies across the world. Over time these were replaced by mechanized vehicles of war. The Indian army still has one of the largest, and among the last, operational horse cavalry units in the world. Its historic horse regiment is called 61 Cavalry Horse Regiment. Formed just after Independence, by integrating cavalry from the princely states, today this is still used known for its equestrian skills, and is used for ceremonial occasions.

This year, a new addition to the equestrian display will be four Zanskar ponies. Comparatively small and compact, this is a rare and indigenous mountain breed from Ladakh which is playing a key role in movement of goods as well as mounted patrols.  Known for their extraordinary endurance, these are perfectly adapted to the harsh landscape and high altitudes of Ladakh, these sure-footed equines can withstand temperatures up to minus 40 degrees Celsius, and carry loads of 40-60 kg over long distances, sometimes covering upto 70 km a day. These ponies were inducted into the army in 2020 where they have served in some of the harshest terrains and high risk areas, including the Siachin glacier.

The Camel Contingent and the Camel Mounted Band of the Border Security Force have been a popular and regular part of the parade. Camelry, or camel cavalry, has been a part of military establishments around the world for a long time. Camels were first mentioned as being used in warfare sometime around 853 B.C.In India, camelry dates back to the time of Maharaja Rao Jodha of Jodhpur in the early 15th century. When India became independent, the cavalry and camelry of the Rajasthan region merged with that of the Indian Army, becoming a part of the Artillery Regiment. Indian military camels were sent to join the Border Security Force (BSF) when it was established in 1965, and its camelry contingent has been a part of the Republic Day parade since 1976. The BSF has three main types of camels: Jaisalmeris, which are sturdily built; Bikaneris, which are high speed runners; and the Nachnas, which are used for ceremonial duties. Today the Border Security Force has around 1200 male camels on its rolls.

All the camels in the parade so far have been the one-humped Dromedary camels. This year the parade is introducing the Bactrian camel. The Bactrian camel is a high-altitude double-humped camel with formidable strength and stamina. Their broad feet enable these camels to firmly grasp and negotiate rocks, snow and sand with ease, while the bushy eyebrows, long eyelashes, and closable nostrils protect them against dust and icy gusts. They can haul heavy loads across difficult terrains, and can go without water for long periods, making them ideally adapted for Ladakh’s arid and freezing terrain. These are now used for high altitude transportation and reconnaissance missions; carrying huge loads with the help of modular load-carrying frames and custom-engineered harnesses.

This year two Bactrian camels will come a long way from their snowy outposts, to experience the new terrain of Kartavya Path as they join the parade.

The four-legged participants of the parade will also feature the “Silent Warriors” of the Indian Army—dogs. Dogs have long been part of the military in many parts of the world, including India. Dogs provide unflinching support to the troops not only in tracking and guarding, but also in counterterrorism operations, detection of explosives and mines, disaster response and search-and-rescue missions. Until recently the dog squads were made up largely of breeds like Labrador, German Shephard, Golden Retriever etc. But now indigenous breeds are being inducted and trained in these tasks by the Border Security Force. These include native hounds such as Mudhol Hounds and Rampur Hound, Chippiparai, Kombai and Rajapalayam. 10 canine warriors representing these breeds will proudly march alongside their two-legged trainers as part of the parade.

Perhaps the most breathtaking part of the Republic day parade is the grand finale—the Fly Past when the skies resonate with the sound and colours of the Air Force display—the guardians of our skies. This year will include other high fliers—real eagles. Raptors, known for their speed, sharp eyesight, and predatory instincts have played a vital role in military operation since time immemorial. Falcons and hawks were used to intercept and hunt enemy messenger pigeons. These abilities continue to make these invaluable, even in these times of extremely high-tech and sophisticated war weapons. Modern militaries use raptors like eagles and falcons for specialized tasks such as intercepting and disabling small drones, surveillance and reconnaissance in remote areas, and airfield security (driving away nuisance birds).

This year four of these Nature’s own flying machines will be a part of the parade, led by Captain Harshita of the Remount and Veterinary Corps (RVC). The RVC has been breeding, rearing and training animals for India’s armed forces since 1779. The Indian military currently has around 12,600 animals including dogs, horses, mules and camels. This year’s parade will bring these centre stage, and remind us that these furred and feathered friends are an integral part of our nation’s defence and pride.

Happy Republic Day 2026!

–Mamata

A Full Cycle

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This week, newspapers have been headlining the news of Pune hosting a UCI-sanctioned international cycle race. The Bajaj Pune Grand Tour 2026, the country’s first UCI-category multi-stage professional road race, aims to put Pune into the centre of the global cycling world. The race — scheduled from January 19 to 23— will feature 171 elite riders from 29 teams representing 35 countries, and for the first time India is fielding its own national squad in a UCI event of this scale. Riders will pedal through 437 km of varied terrain, from urban loops to the Sahyadri foothills and rural plains.

The race has significance for India. The Union Cycliste Internationale (UCI) is cycling’s highest governing authority — the body that sets global rules, certifies races, ranks riders, and decides what counts as legitimate professional competition. When a race is UCI-sanctioned, it means it meets international standards of safety, equipment, timekeeping and anti-doping. Riders earn global ranking points.

For many readers, that the Indian riders’ cycles cost–upwards of ₹10 lakh–was the headline novelty. To put it in contrast, in1947, a new bicycle cost roughly ₹60 to ₹120 — a substantial sum at a time when a schoolteacher or clerk earned ₹50 to ₹100 a month. A cycle was not casually bought. It was saved for, negotiated over, sometimes purchased second-hand, and treated as a family asset. Owning one meant time saved, distances conquered, and opportunities expanded.  And some service-providers like postmen depended on it, as did newspaper delivery boys, vendors, etc. In a fuel-poor, infrastructure-scarce nation, the bicycle was mobility itself.

Indian-made bicycles were only just beginning to gain ground in the 1940s. Many cycles in circulation were British brands or locally assembled models using imported parts. After Independence, companies such as Hero, Atlas, Avon and TI Cycles would expand production rapidly, bringing costs down over the following decades. Ludhiana emerged as a manufacturing hub, producing sturdy roadsters designed for rough roads, heavy loads and endless repair. These were not glamorous machines, but they were indestructible — and that was the point.

By the 1960s and 1970s, Indian bicycles were already travelling far beyond Indian roads. Manufacturers exported extensively to Africa, the Middle East and Southeast Asia — markets that valued exactly what Indian cycles offered: affordability, durability and ease of maintenance.

Then, gradually, cycling slipped out of aspiration. Motorisation took over the national imagination. Cycles remained everywhere — in villages, campuses, small towns — but rarely in headlines. What we are witnessing now, through urban cycling clubs, endurance events, and races like Pune’s, is not a new culture but a resurfacing one.

Girls go Cycling

In 1947, a girl owning a bicycle was rare — often limited to fancy schools or unusually progressive families (and heroines in movies who not only cycled but also sang at the same time!). But things slowly changed. Manufacturers, once slow to respond, eventually followed demand, producing lighter, better-fitted cycles designed specifically for girls. What had once been radical became normal.

In 2001, Tamil Nadu launched a free bicycle scheme for students, including girls, under the Jayalalithaa government. The bicycles were procured and distributed by the state. Then in 2006 in Bihar came the game-changer. Mukhyamantri Balika Cycle Yojana, a statewide initiative launched by the Nitish Kumar government targeted girls entering Class 9, particularly in rural areas, and provided funds to purchase a bicycle rather than distributing cycles directly. Girls cycling in groups along rural roads became such a familiar sight that it changed public perception. With the success of the scheme, many states followed. . Few development interventions in India have delivered such disproportionate impact at such low cost.

Hearteningly, the cyclist who has brought India international fame in the past is a woman. Deborah Herold, from the Andaman & Nicobar Islands, is India’s standout name in track cycling. She won three gold medals at the 2019 South Asian Games, setting records, and went on to become the first Indian woman track cyclist to qualify for the UCI Track World Championships. She has represented India multiple times at World Championships and Asian Championships and won medals at the Asian Track Cycling Championships. In 2021, she received the Arjuna Award. Arpita Biswas and Minati Mohapatra are other women who have dominated the international cycling circuits. Esow Alben and Ronald Bira have also brought us glory.

Seen through this lens, the Pune race is not merely a sporting event. It is a cultural signal. It tells us that the bicycle is once again being taken seriously — as sport, as industry, as solution.

God speed!

–Meena

Pic: Deccan Herald

Seed Mother Rahibai Popere

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The United Nations has declared 2026 as the International Year of the Woman Farmer (IYWF). This year aims to put the global spotlight on the central roles of women farmers in food security, nutrition, and economic resilience. We begin IYWF by starting with the local, with a salute to a woman farmer who epitomizes these roles through multipronged efforts. 

Rahibai grew up in a poor tribal family in the Ahmednagar district of Maharashtra. Her family had a meagre bit of land which they farmed during the monsoon season, but they had no means of irrigation during the dry months. So the family had to make ends meet by working in a sugar factory for the rest of the year. Poverty and the seasonal migration work prevented the young Rahibai from attending school. She was barely ten years old when she started helping her family with agricultural work. While she worked on the three acres that the family could manage to cultivate, the young Rahibai developed a deep connection to the land. Although only part of the rain-fed land was productive, Rahibai began by creating a farm pond on the remaining part of the land, to harvest the rainfall, and started to grow vegetables which brought the family some additional income. Not long after, Rahibai got married to Soma Popere, another farmer. In her married home, Rahibai continued to experiment, and to explore which crops could thrive best in arid conditions with limited water. As she grew older Rahibai also began to understand more about traditional culture and practice in crop cultivation, wild food resources, and comprehend the importance of agrobiodiversity. She discovered that tribal households traditionally had a backyard where grew multipurpose indigenous trees, shrubs and herbs, and seasonal vegetables. The produce from this supplemented the food and nutritional needs of the family through the year.

Rahibai experimented on her own small area of land, and arrived at her own methods through trial, error and practice. Her efforts led to her being able to productively use her entire small plot of land. The improved four-step paddy-cultivation practice which included use of paddy straw ash in the nursery, increased the yield by 30 per cent. She introduced innovative practices such as cultivation of beans on farm bund. She also learnt to rear poultry in her backyard.

Rahibai’s personal experience led to her strong conviction that it was the native crop varieties that could better resist drought and disease; moreover, they also helped retain soil fertility thereby eliminating the need for chemical fertilizers and excessive water. The native crops also had higher nutritive value. Thus she realized that the conservation of indigenous seeds was paramount.

This was a time when large seed companies were patenting hybrid seeds and aggressively promoting these. These seeds could not be saved for the next sowing season. Farmers were becoming overly dependent on these companies for seeds, and becoming increasingly caught in a debt trap to pay for these seeds. Rahibai also observed that villagers were frequently falling sick after eating food prepared from hybrid crops. She believed that this could be avoided by the use of indigenous seeds.   

Rahibai commenced her one-woman crusade to collect and save indigenous seeds. She started collecting local seeds with the help of other women farmers from Akole taluk in Ahmednagar district of Maharashtra. As the momentum grew, she formed a self-help group (SHG) named Kalsubai Parisar Biyanee Samvardhan Samiti to conserve native seeds. Rahibai started with a nursery of 4,000 seedlings of blackberry and distributed them among members of the self-help group. She then established a nursery of 5,000 seedlings comprising nine types of hyacinth bean, rice, vegetables, beans landraces and shared them with 210 farmers from seven villages across the Ahmednagar district.

Rahibai’s efforts of almost two decades have borne fruit. She has managed to conserve a variety of native crops including 15 varieties of rice, nine varieties of pigeon pea and 60 varieties of vegetables, besides many oilseeds. All this and more, not in a fancy nursery or greenhouse, but a patch of land near her house in the village of Kombhalne. She also encourages tribal families to establish kitchen gardens which can help support their nutritional security.

She has established a seedbank so that other farmers can also avail of these seeds which they do not have to pay for. Rather they are given seeds with the condition that they return twice the quantity of seeds that they borrow. Even seeds which are sold are sold at a lower price than they cost to develop, thus helping farmers save a substantial amount each year. The seed bank distributes 122 varieties of traditional or locally adapted species of plants and crops.

With successful implementation of all that she learnt, Rahibai has now become a crusader. She travels across Maharashtra and beyond to conserve indigenous seeds. She also creates awareness about the importance of indigenous seed conversation and talks to people about concepts such as organic farming, agro-biodiversity and wild food resources. She trains farmers and students on seed selection, techniques to improve soil fertility and pest management among others. She supplies farmers with seedlings of native crops, encouraging them to switch to native varieties. Indigenous seed melas or fairs are organised in different parts of Ahmednagar district to raise awareness about the diversity of seeds and the need to conserve them.

Rahibai has also realized the power of collective efforts. Her first initiative was the formation of the Kalsubai Parisar Biyanee Savardhan Samiti in Akole in Ahmednagar district. The Samiti works towards the conservation and propagation of traditional varieties of crops. Rahibai also heads another Self Help Group, Chemdeobaba Mahila Bachat Gat, in Kombhalne, through which many social initiatives like health camps, supply of solar lamps are organized, besides the agricultural initiatives.

While Rahibai’s efforts are making a visible impact at the district and state level, her efforts have also attracted attention outside. She was among the three Indians on the ‘100 Women 2018’, a list of inspiring and influential women from around the world released by the British Broadcasting Corporation. Her efforts were recognized nationally when she was conferred with the Padma Shri award in 2020.

Seed Mother or Beej Mata as Rahibai is popularly called, continues her mission, bringing a new sense of pride and self-reliance to small local farmers across Maharashtra, and beyond. 

Declaring 2026 as the International Year of the Woman Farmer is not only about celebrating these contributions but also about driving change. Rahibai is a living example of such contributions and about driving change.

–Mamata

Madhav Gadgil: The People’s Scientist Who Helped Win India’s First Environmental Struggle

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Madhav Dhananjaya Gadgil (24 May 1942 – 7 January 2026) was a towering figure in Indian ecology — a scientist, policy-maker, mentor, and grassroots environmentalist whose work reshaped how India understands the links between nature, people, and development. Often called a “people’s scientist,” Gadgil blended rigorous ecological science with deep respect for local communities, popular movements, and democratic participation in environmental conservation.

Silent Valley: India’s First Environmental Movement

Gadgil played a key role in one of the defining moments in India’s environmental history–the Save the Silent Valley Movement in Kerala during the late 1970s and early ‘80s. The state government had proposed a hydroelectric dam project that would have submerged a pristine stretch of rainforest in the Western Ghats, home to unique biodiversity. Local communities, scientists, poets, students, and activists mobilized against the project, marking one of India’s earliest and most influential environmental movements.

While many voices led by the Kerala Sastra Sahitya Parishad (KSSP) contributed to the struggle, Madhav Gadgil’s role was pivotal. His ecological research, field surveys, and clear articulation of Silent Valley’s extraordinary biodiversity helped transform localized protest into a nationwide call to protect forests and biodiversity.

He was a member of the high-level committee set up by the Government of India to take a call on this issue. The multidisciplinary committee was chaired by Prof. M. G. K. Menon, former Secretary to the Government of India. Gadgil served as a member of this expert committee, contributing ecological assessments that highlighted the valley’s irreplaceable biodiversity and the risks of irreversible ecological loss. His scientific input helped strengthen the case against the dam and gave credibility to what was, at the time, an unprecedented challenge to state-led development.

Equally significant was Gadgil’s engagement beyond formal committees. He worked closely with activists and civil society groups, translating complex ecological arguments into accessible language. Silent Valley demonstrated that science could empower people, and that environmental decisions could be contested democratically. The eventual shelving of the project and the declaration of Silent Valley as a National Park marked a watershed — proving that ecological reasoning and public mobilisation could alter national policy.

The success at Silent Valley is widely considered India’s first major environmental movement, catalyzing grassroots activism and inspiring future campaigns from the Narmada Bachao Andolan to forest rights movements across the country. Gadgil’s engagement with activists and communities during this period helped to define the approach for the environmental movement in India — one that bridged science, social justice, and grassroots mobilization. 

Early Life and Academic Foundations

Born in Pune to economist Dhananjay Ramchandra Gadgil, Madhav Gadgil grew up with a curiosity for nature that would shape his life’s work. After earning his Ph.D. from Harvard University, he returned to India and joined the Indian Institute of Science (IISc), Bengaluru, where he founded the Centre for Ecological Sciences in 1983 — one of the country’s first research institutions dedicated to ecology, conservation biology, and human ecology. He helped usher in quantitative and rigorous ecological research in India, while challenging scientists to see humans as part of ecosystems, not apart from them. He has over 250 scientific papers and several influential books.

Championing Community-Centric Conservation

Long before “community participation” became a buzzword in environmental policy, Gadgil argued that local people must be placed at the center of conservation efforts. He believed that traditional and indigenous ecological knowledge — from sacred groves to tribal land management — holds the keys to sustainable stewardship of ecosystems.

Western Ghats and the Gadgil Commission

Gadgil’s commitment to community-centric conservation reached a new peak in 2010 when the Government of India appointed him chair of the Western Ghats Ecology Expert Panel (WGEEP) — later known as the Gadgil Commission. The panel’s 2011 report recommended that nearly 64 % of the Western Ghats — one of the planet’s most significant biodiversity hotspots — be designated as ecologically sensitive areas (ESAs), with varying restrictions on development activities. It emphasised not only environmental safeguards but also community empowerment and sustainable livelihoods. 

Although the report was met with political resistance in several states and its recommendations were later diluted, its bold scientific and ethical vision sparked intense public debate and ongoing legal and civic activism. Subsequent environmental crises, including major floods in Kerala and Karnataka, vindicated many of the panel’s warnings about unchecked development and ecosystem fragility. 

Policy Influence and National Legacies

Gadgil helped shape India’s environmental legal framework. He was one of the key architects of the Biological Diversity Act (2002), which created mechanisms like People’s Biodiversity Registers to document and safeguard local biological knowledge. He also contributed to implementation of the Forest Rights Act, strengthening community claims over traditional lands. His advisory roles included membership on the Scientific Advisory Council to the Prime Minister and various national conservation bodies. 

Honours and Recognition

Gadgil’s work garnered some of the highest honours in science and conservation, including the Padma Shri (1981), Padma Bhushan (2006), the Tyler Prize for Environmental Achievement, the Volvo Environment Prize, and the UNEP’s Champion of the Earth award in 2024 — the United Nations’ top environmental accolade. 

In an age where climate, biodiversity loss, and development pressures intensify, Gadgil’s ethos — that science must serve society and empower its most vulnerable — continues to inspire generations of environmentalists, scholars, policymakers, and citizens alike. 

We are blessed to have had such a dedicated eco-warrior, teacher and scientist.

RIP Madhav Gadgil

–Meena

A Spoonful of Good Luck: Dahi-Cheeni

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It has been the tradition in my family that is most closely associated with my mother. And one that we continue to follow. Giving a spoon of curd and sugar just before any one leaves for an exam, an interview, an important meeting, and embarking on any travel, short or long. My mother never failed to do this, even when she herself could not do so easily, but by reminding us to take it ourselves before we said au revoir.

We sisters always believed that this was something exclusive to our mother and our family, never once wondering where tradition originated, and where and when it began in our family. Then this week I read an article on this very practice, and realized that another family also considered this as a personal family tradition! And that, perhaps there were many others who followed this tradition. A more focussed exploration uncovered that the tradition of dahi-cheeni (curd and sugar) as it is called is not only an ancient one, but is also Pan-Indian! In North India it is a spoon of curd with a sprinkling of sugar, as also in Gujarat. In Bengal it is doi-shinni a mix of curd, sugar and sometimes a bit of banana or jiggery. In Tamil Nadu it takes the form of thayir sadam, the ubiquitous curd rice. I am sure that every state has its own version with some variations on the theme.

This combination features in Valmiki’s Ramayana in the book on Ayodhya Kand, when Sage Bharadwaja offers a sumptuous banquet to Bharata and his army. Among the list of rich foods offered as part of the feast, there is a mention of fresh curds mixed with sugar and spices. Thus it finds its niche While this offering seems too simple as compared to the rest of the meal, it held a great significance, and had its niche in the menu.

Indeed, this simple combination is a trusted part of the ancient holistic health system of Ayurveda where curd (dahi) and sugar (sakara) were considered sattvik, pure life-supporting foods that bring clarity and calm. Charaka Samhita, one of the oldest books on Ayurveda, written over 2000 years ago, mentions curd mixed with jaggery as being refreshing, and helping in alleviating Vata qualities. Ayurveda deals with three doshas: Vata. Pittta and Kapha, which are believed to be responsible for a person’s physiological, mental and emotional health, and categories different foods as having a ‘heating’  or ‘cooling’ effect. With reference to dahi-cheeni it is believed that the curd’s potentially cold nature combined with jaggery’s warmth leads to better digestion and vitality making it a wholesome food. Also while curd can be heavy, adding sugar or jaggery helps to balance it, making it easier to digest. Jaggery provides quick energy while curd offers hydration. Thus the mixture is cooling yet energizing.

If Ayurveda offers a ‘balanced’ perspective to dahi-cheeni, astrology has its own theories wherein consumption of dahi-cheeni before important events is believed to have celestial significance. Vedic astrology believes that the moon is associated with mind and emotions. Consuming dairy products like curd is thought to appease the moon, bringing clarity and emotional balance. Here too, the combination of cool (yogurt) and warm (sugar) is believed to create a balance of energies, aligning with the cosmic balance. Some astrological beliefs suggest that the act of eating dahi-cheeni can help ward off negative planetary influences ensuring a smooth start to important tasks.

A simple tradition supported by ancient schools of thought!

Fast forward to the present. A new age currently obsessed with healthy eating and superfoods. One would have imagined that the humble dahi-cheeni would find no place on the menu (what with its lactose content and wicked white sugar too!!) Surprise Surprise! It finds endorsement again, with a new vocabulary.

What does the combination offer?

Probiotics in curd which promote gut health, alleviate digestive issues, and boost the immune system.

Calcium in curd essential for strong bones and teeth.

Protein content which is crucial for muscle health and overall body function.

Hydration through the high water content in curd, which is crucial for long journeys or along day.

Blood sugar regulation through the protein in the curd which can slow down absorption of the sugar added to the curd, potentially preventing spike in blood sugar.

Yes, all these are much-touted as benefits of curd which has been part of our diet since times immemorial, but reincarnated today as the Superman of Probiotics! And the question arises, will just a spoonful of curd and sugar be enough to wrought such miracles?

Some have sought to explain the dahi-cheeni tradition with a simpler explanation.

Everyone has butterflies in their stomach before an important event. Today this is explained by the ‘gut-brain axis’ wherein there is a close connection between the brain and digestive systems. The butterflies are manifestation of stomach discomfort that is triggered by stress. The probiotic nature of curd can help settle the nervous distress to some extent. The protein in the curd combined with carbohydrates from sugar provide a quick energy boost and enhance alertness, which are needed at the start of a journey, or a day which could be potentially draining (think exam or interview!). Curd also has a cooling effect on the body which can help calm nerves and reduce stress. It is a soothing food that the brain associates with safety and comfort. Thus it can help one to be a bit less ‘hot and bothered’ at the onset of an important event. It is a soothing food that the brain associates with safety and comfort.

These sound more plausible. However, all the ancient texts and contemporary theories seem to miss out on the key ingredient that make dahi-cheeni so special. It is a gesture of love and care; a form of confidence and protection bestowed by loving ones on their loved ones. It is the taste that lingers in the mouth as one steps into a taxi, or into an examination hall, or an interview. It is the flavour that says ‘we are with you, we always wish the best for you, we believe in you’. How much more can be heaped into a single spoonful?  

–Mamata     

Celebrating Meditative Speed: Shorthand Day

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Before we started using ‘idk’ for ‘I don’t know’, or ‘rn’ for ‘right now’ or ‘fr’ in place of ‘for real’, was another type of shorthand. A shorthand that people had to spend months to master–the shorthand used by stenographers, the shorthand considered an essential skill in middle class families in the ‘40s and ‘50s. Beginners could take down dictation at 60-80 words per minute (wpm), while skilled professionals like journalists or court reporters, usually could do 100-120 wpm , with experts reaching 160 wpm+! This was no mean feat, as they had to listen, process, and record all at once.

A Glimpse of a Page from PITMAN SHORTHAND INSTRUCTOR AND KEY

January 4, marked as Shorthand Day or Stenographers’ Day is the birth anniversary of Sir Isaac Pitman, the inventor of the most widely used system of shorthand.  Pitman, born on January 4, 1813, in England, developed the phonetic shorthand system that uses symbols to represent the sounds words make, allowing writers to take notes quickly. His motto was “time saved is life gained”. 

A History in Shorthand

The story of shorthand begins in ancient Greece, where scribes experimented with symbols to capture speeches. But it was the Romans who elevated it into a fine craft. The best-known system, Tironian notes, is attributed to Marcus Tullius Tiro, the freedman and secretary of Cicero. Imagine him in the Senate, stylus poised, capturing the flights of Cicero’s rhetoric in tiny, elegant symbols at a pace that would daunt even today’s stenographers.

After Rome faded, so did shorthand, only to be revived in Renaissance Europe as printing presses and new bureaucracies demanded speed. From the seventeenth century onward, English-speaking countries became hotbeds of shorthand innovation. Each new system claimed to be the fastest, most logical, most “learnable.”

The Many Styles of Speed

Pitman Shorthand (1837)
Perhaps the most famous, , Pitman is all about economy of movement. It uses line thickness and angle—thin for “p,” thick for “b”—and trusts that your hand can switch gears mid-stroke. Generations of journalists swore by it, and some still do.

Gregg Shorthand (1888)
An American rival, and the stylish one. Gregg is curvy, loopy, and feels like it was designed by someone who thought in cursive. It became the favourite of secretaries through much of the twentieth century, taught in business schools and tucked into shorthand notebooks everywhere.

Teeline (1968)
The modern British system, simpler and easier to learn. Teeline keeps only the essential letters, streamlining the alphabet without demanding Pitman’s precision or Gregg’s artistic flourish. Journalism schools still teach it.

Stenotype Machines
And then came the tap-dance keyboards—stenotype machines that look like something between a typewriter and a miniature piano. Court reporters can reach 200–250 words per minute with these, a speed human handwriting simply cannot match. Here, shorthand transforms from strokes to chords: multiple keys pressed at once to create whole syllables or phrases.

Shorthand in India: Many Languages, Many Scripts

While shorthand is often associated with English, India has a surprisingly rich tradition spanning Hindi, Marathi, Tamil, Telugu, Kannada, Bengali, Urdu, Gujarati, and Malayalam. This diversity is driven by India’s multilingual bureaucracy: courts, legislatures, railways, and administrative offices all needed stenographers who could capture speech in local languages at lightning speed.

Hindi and Marathi were early adopters. The Gopal System of Shorthand, developed by Dr. Gopal Datt Gaur in the 1930s, adapted shorthand principles for Devanagari scripts, making it possible to record Hindi and Marathi speeches with remarkable speed and accuracy. In Maharashtra, government offices and the press used both the Gopal system and Hindi adaptations of Pitman, blending classical shorthand speed with local scripts.

Tamil shorthand took inspiration from both Pitman and Gregg systems, translating their principles into Tamil’s script. Training in Tamil shorthand was common among court and administrative stenographers, and many journals and newspapers relied on it to ensure fast, precise transcription. Telugu and Kannada shorthand followed a similar path, mostly adopting Pitman’s phonetic methods but preserving the unique characters and vowel markers of their scripts. In Andhra Pradesh, Telangana, and Karnataka, shorthand exams still train stenographers in these systems, though technology has greatly reduced demand.

Bengali shorthand was adapted from Pitman and, to a lesser extent, Gregg. In pre-Independence Calcutta, it was the lifeline of the High Court and newspapers, allowing reporters and clerks to capture speeches and legal proceedings without missing a word.

Urdu shorthand, tailored for the flowing Nastaliq script, helped stenographers in North Indian courts and administrative offices maintain the rhythm and elegance of spoken Urdu while working at high speed.

Gujarati and Malayalam also developed shorthand variants, often Pitman-based. While they never became mainstream, they are proof that shorthand was not a one-size-fits-all skill, but a highly customized craft.

Shorthand Today: Not Gone, Just Quieter

While shorthand no longer fills classrooms the way it did in the 1950s, it has found unexpected pockets of revival. Hobbyists post their notes online. Court reporters remain a highly specialised and respected profession. Some journalists still rely on Teeline, especially when accuracy matters more than verbatim transcripts. And in India, Devanagari, Tamil, Telugu, Bengali, and Urdu shorthand still quietly exist in government stenography courses and niche professional spaces.

It may be a skill worth picking up in the New Year! There’s the quiet power of having a private script. Many of us have kept diaries in shorthand—half secrecy, half aesthetic pleasure. Those swooping Gregg curves or precise Pitman strokes can turn even a grocery list into a small piece of art.

–Meena

Looking Out, Looking Within

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We ushered out the last year with a resolve to be more giving. To give not only of our material wealth, but equally of ourselves, in whatever form and scale is best suited for each one of us. We resolved to strive towards a deeper purpose, defined by connection. As the New Year dawns, let us consider what this purpose and connection could really be. And for this let us look back at words of wisdom from the past.

Bertrand Russell reminds of our mortality but also that life is not lived by the length of years but by the depth of living.

Make your interests gradually wider and more impersonal, until bit by bit the walls of the ego recede, and your life becomes increasingly merged in the universal life. An individual human existence should be like a river — small at first, narrowly contained within its banks, and rushing passionately past rocks and over waterfalls. Gradually the river grows wider, the banks recede, the waters flow more quietly, and in the end, without any visible break, they become merged in the sea, and painlessly lose their individual being.

Today we live in an age of uncertainty on every front, and are constantly bracing for an imagined catastrophe. Two millennia before this ‘age of anxiety’, Roman Stoic philosopher Seneca counselled about ‘groundless fears’ about the future that keep us from living fully in the present.

What I advise you to do is, not to be unhappy before the crisis comes; since it may be that the dangers before which you paled as if they were threatening you, will never come upon you; they certainly have not yet come.

Accordingly, some things torment us more than they ought; some torment us before they ought; and some torment us when they ought not to torment us at all. We are in the habit of exaggerating, or imagining, or anticipating, sorrow.

And thus we wallow in our imagined sorrows, and impending gloom and doom scenarios. We become increasingly obsessive about ourselves and our interests, and our perceived threatened security. But Soren Kierkegaard, the existentialist philosopher reminded us a century and a half ago:

The unhappy person is one who has his ideal, the content of his life, the fullness of his consciousness, the essence of his being, in some manner outside of himself. The unhappy man is always absent from himself, never present to himself. But one can be absent, obviously, either in the past or in the future. This adequately circumscribes the entire territory of the unhappy consciousness. The unhappy one is absent… It is only the person who is present to himself that is happy.

So what is the formula for happiness? Something as simple as kindness, as Leo Tolstoy reminds us:

Nothing can make our life, or the lives of other people, more beautiful than perpetual kindness.

The kinder and the more thoughtful a person is, the more kindness he can find in other people.

Kindness enriches our life; with kindness mysterious things become clear, difficult things become easy, and dull things become cheerful.

You should respond with kindness toward evil done to you, and you will destroy in an evil person that pleasure which he derives from evil.

Kindness is for your soul as health is for your body: you do not notice it when you have it.

Kindness is a beautiful act of communication. Speech is another. In these times of instant, truncated communication, often expressed through insta images and emojis, are we in danger of reducing human communication to mere exchange of information? In our frenetic texting, are we forgetting that the heart and soul of a message is a relationship between the sender and the receiver? This comes alive through the power of the spoken word. 

Ursula K. Le Guin reminds us:

Speech connects us so immediately and vitally because it is a physical, bodily process, to begin with. Not a mental or spiritual one, wherever it may end… The voice creates a sphere around it, which includes all its hearers: an intimate sphere or area, limited in both space and time.

Sound is dynamic. Speech is dynamic — it is action. To act is to take power, to have power, to be powerful. Mutual communication between speakers and listeners is a powerful act. The power of each speaker is amplified, augmented, by the entrainment of the listeners. The strength of a community is amplified, augmented by its mutual entrainment in speech.

This is why utterance is magic. Words do have power. Names have power. Words are events, they do things, change things. They transform both speaker and hearer; they feed energy back and forth and amplify it. They feed understanding or emotion back and forth and amplify it.

This year, let us remind ourselves to converse with, and among each other, and not at each other.

And as we continue to seek the elusive “happiness” in the year ahead, may the wisdom of Bertrand Russell once more be our template:

Shift focus from self-absorption to cultivating interests beyond oneself; avoid excessive self-analysis; develop a healthy balance of effort and acceptance; engage in meaningful work; foster deep meaningful relationships; develop a sense of humour, and find contentment in spontaneous participation in life’s stream rather than battle the currents and eddies.  

May this year allow us all this and more, enriching our lives in more ways than one.

Happy New Year 2026!

–Mamata and Meena

A New Year, and the Quiet Power of Giving

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The start of a new year is not only a fresh beginning for our personal goals, but also invites a pause to reflect on what really matters. In spite of the wars, the violence and the turmoil there are parts of the 2025 story which are happy, especially the story of how we in India give back.

The recent India Philanthropy Report 2025 — a collaborative effort between Bain & Company and Dasra — offered a thoughtful snapshot of giving across the country. It didn’t just measure how much was donated; it shed light on how giving is changing in character. According to the report, private philanthropy — gifts from individuals, families, and organizations — reached an estimated ₹1.31 lakh crore in FY 2024 and is poised to accelerate rapidly over the next several years.

The EdelGive Hurun India Philanthropy List 2025 also reminds us that India’s giving spirit is alive at the very top levels. Leading philanthropists collectively donated more than ₹10,000 crore last year, with figures rising dramatically over the past few years.

Families are reshaping India’s philanthropic landscape. Where giving might once have been an occasional gesture, it is increasingly becoming a way of life — woven into the rhythms of how families think about purpose and legacy. More than a third of philanthropic households now include intergenerational or next-gen givers whose influence is helping steer funds toward ecosystem building, climate action, and gender equity — areas that were once sidelined in favour of more traditional charitable causes.

This evolution of giving reveals something profound. That there has always been generosity is not to be debated But now generosity in India is becoming more intentional. It’s not just about supporting the familiar or the immediate. It’s about recognizing that the greatest impact often comes from building capacity — strengthening systems, forging partnerships, and investing not just in charity, but in change makers themselves.

Philanthropic journeys are no longer ad hoc, isolated one-off donations, but rather, they are long term commitments. Families — both established and newly affluent — are hiring dedicated staff to manage their giving portfolios, thinking in terms of grant-making and strategic partnerships, and using data and collaboration to guide decisions. It’s a shift from charity to investment. From transactions to transformation.

The sheer breadth of causes gaining traction — education, healthcare, climate resilience, gender equity — reflects a maturing sense of social responsibility.

But I suspect that giving in India is truly underestimated. The true pulse of generosity extends far beyond headline gifts. It lives in the young alumni who pledge to fund scholarships that unlock opportunity. It lives in the professionals who commit a portion of their income to social causes they care about. It lives in the quiet choices families make to support education of their staff, to step in during health emergencies, to support NGOs.

Not just money. I am inspired by an 80 year old who volunteers at government hospitals to help less empowered patients to navigate the system and his 75 year old wife who gives free tuitions; a post graduate student who takes government school students on nature trails over the weekends; a retired professor who motivates college students to undertake plantation drives.

Each one of us is doing it. But it does not get reflected in the statistics, because it often flows through informal channels. If we could count all this, I think the figures would skyrocket far beyond the official ones.

As we step into 2026, perhaps the most hopeful thing isn’t just that giving is growing in size. It’s that we are recognizing that giving in its many forms, isn’t just a response to crisis; it’s a part of how we build the future we want to see.

So if your New Year asks you to think about what you can do, consider what you can givee, not just in money, but in time, attention, skills and compassion. Everyone of us can make a greater difference to the possibility of a better tomorrow — for all of us.

✨ Here’s to a year of deeper giving, rooted in purpose, and defined by connection.

–Meena & Mamata

A Christmas Post Script

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Merry Christmas!

Meena wrote about the Advent Calendar that marked the daily countdown to this day. This tradition has changed over the years to reflect the age of consumerism and commercialization of all things, especially festivals. However, it is heart-warming to find out about a fairly new tradition that transforms this individual household practice into a community celebration.

Pohutukuwa New Zealand’s Xmas Tree

A small village on the Devon Cornwall border in England has started a Living Advent project. As part of this, instead of windows opening out in paper or packages, these are displays in real windows. One day at a time, in the month leading up to Christmas, a window of one house in the village lights up at 17.00 GMT, to reveal a display. The themes are varied and left up to the imagination of the house-owners of the window. The displays are made with great enthusiasm by equally varied ‘designers’,, from children, to senior citizens to professional artists. The result is a warm feeling of being part of a community effort that is enjoyed by all. The idea is catching on. Another village in Cornwall has planned that to take this beyond the window dressing to actually opening up the doors. As part of this, every day one house will open its doors to invite people to a shared meal, a concert, an exhibition, a poetry reading or carol singing, all with a Christmas theme. What a wonderful way to truly celebrate the spirit of the festive season.

That brings us to Christmas day. After the festivities of Christmas Eve, in many parts of the world, this is a day for sumptuous lunches, opening gifts and spending time with family. This is the scenario that is commonly associated with this day.

However, there are many traditions associated with this festival that make for interesting celebrations in different parts of the world. The traditions vary dramatically from place to place, shaped by landscape, history, values and climate. This is a good day to learn about some of these.

Celebrating Spiders: While stars and tinsel decorations are the most common Xmas decorations, in Ukraine it is a spiderweb! Delicate webs are crafted from paper and wire, decorated with spangles and sparkles, and wrapped around the Christmas tree. The practice is associated with a folk tale about a poor woman who had found a pine cone and planted it in the floor of her home. The tree grew well, but when Christmas came, the family could not afford Christmas ornaments. A spider decorated her Christmas tree in the night and the family woke in the morning to find it glittering with silvery webs, and from that day forward, her family was never in need again. Even today, along with the crafted webs, it is considered to be good luck to find a real spider or web on a tree, and these are not swept away during this period. And tiny spiders called pavuchkys maybe be spotted among the tree ornaments.

The Good Witch: If spider webs are reminiscent of Halloween there is a tradition in Italy which is equally so. Christmastime is witching season in Italy. A good witch called Le Befana flies on her broomstick to visit households on 5 January, and stuffs children’s stockings with small goodies to mark the end of the festive season. Why so late? The legend is that Le Befana was housekeeper to the three Magi. So devoted was she to her work that she did not accompany them to the manger, but chased after them later with gifts for baby Jesus. She continues to chase, after Christmas, with her belated gifts!

The Krampus: If Le Befana is a not a wicked witch, the Krampus certainly is a towering hairy monster. A mythic Alpine creature, half goat, half human with goat horns and long tongue, Krampus is the alter ego of St Nicholas who rewards good children with goodies. Krampus is said to visit children on 5 December and punish naughty children with birch rods, or presents of  lumps of coal. Even today the Krampus is a popular part of Christmas celebrations in many Alpine countries including Germany, Austria and Bavaria, when men dressed as Krampus race through the streets.

The Gifting Goat: In Sweden it is Gavle Goat that is the giver of presents. Legend has it that the Norse God Thor’s chariot was driven by two goats, leading to the association of goats with a bountiful harvest. These were later associated with the elves who rode with Santa to deliver presents. Now cities in Sweden erect a tall goat structure made of wood or straw on the first day of advent to signify the spirit of Christmas, and small straw goats are given as gifts.  

Rotten Potatoes: In Iceland it is not goats but the 13 Yule lads that visit homes on 13 nights leading to Christmas. Children place their shoes by the window each night, and receive gifts depending on how they have behaved round the year. Good behaviour is rewarded with sweets, while the less angelic ones find rotten potatoes in their shoes!

While most Christmas traditions are associated with cold snowy climes, we often forget that for half the world, Christmas is a summer celebration! And celebrations are appropriately sunny and outdoorsy.

In South Africa it’s time to picnic in the balmy sunshine with barbeques on braais (charcoal grills).  

In Australia it’s time for the tradition of a family Christmas cricket match. Everyone, old and young plays, and participates, with lots of food, and loads of fun.

In Venezuela people roll up to attend the Christmas mass. Yes literally, following the tradition to arrive at Church on roller skates. Children sleep early so as to get up before dawn, and adults often skate through the night to reach for the early morning Mass. It is a beautiful tradition that signifies not just the destination and the ritual, but also the sense of traveling together and arriving at a common meeting place.

In New Zealand, it is not the temperate fir tree that symbolizes the spirit of Christmas but a native tree that flowers with fiery red tufts in December. This is the Pohutukawa tree. It has been associated with Christmas in New Zealand since at least 150 years, when a Maori leader Eruera Patuone included it in his table decorations for a Christmas feast. The tradition continues and it this tree that evokes the Christmas spirit for New Zealanders.

Today as the world celebrates Christmas in so many different ways, these traditions remind us that the very spirit of Christmas lies in the shared joy of celebrating love, hope, compassion, and peace for all humankind.

–Mamata