Borden and the Baroda Libraries

India celebrates National Librarian’s Day on 12 August every year to mark the birth anniversary of Dr S R Ranganathan who is known as the father of library science in India. Dr Ranganthan was a mathematics graduate who was not initially trained as a librarian, but in 1924 he was appointed as librarian by the University of Madras. He subsequently travelled to London to study library science and returned with a mission to modernize and expand library access, and transform libraries into user-focussed spaces. Towards this he created the Colon Classification system.

While Dr Ranganathan is revered and celebrated, not much is known about another librarian who travelled half-way across the world, and contributed to India’s library movement with missionary zeal.     

William Alanson Borden, was born in America in 1853. He got a degree in science but his passion for books led him to join a subscription-based library managed by Charles Cutter who was an innovator in library science. Borden went on to join many other libraries, learning on the job, even as he came up with innovative ideas about library organization, not only in terms of books, but also reader convenience.

A serendipitous meeting with Maharaja Sayajirao III of Baroda brought Borden to Baroda. The Maharaja was a progressive ruler of what was then the feudal state of Baroda. He had introduced several measures which were well ahead of their time including compulsory education for girls. As early as 1906 he proposed a network of circulating libraries to promote the habit of reading. Sayajirao’s administration also provided assistance to the subscription-based libraries started by Motibhai Amin, a noted educationist and librarian.

During the course of his visit to the United States, Sayajirao was deeply impressed by the public libraries in the United States. He also happened to meet William Borden, and, impressed by his vision and passion invited him to Baroda to create and direct a free public library system for the people of his state. Borden accepted his invitation, and came to Baroda in late 1910.

Borden was driven by the desire to make libraries accessible to a wide audience, and with the Maharaja’s patronage, he tried to make their common dream a reality. He introduced a system of “library cooperation”, under which the existing 241 libraries were linked in a network via his cataloguing system. This gave readers across the network – including at the district, town and village level – access to the cumulative collection of 10 lakh books, which included Sayajirao’s personal collection of over 20,000 books from the palace library.

With the Maharaja’s support, and Borden’s vision, there were significant developments.  A permanent space was commissioned for the Baroda Central Library. Reference sections were added to the Central and the district libraries, and an information bureau set up. Apart from this, travelling libraries on bullock carts, which had already been initiated, were given a boost with Borden’s interlinked system.

The setting up of reading rooms for women and children was an innovative measure. In Baroda city, a female librarian began taking books in ‘library boxes’ to a ladies’ club that had been meeting in a park Sayaji Baug, every Saturday since 1903. The Mahila Library, as it came to be called, was made a part of the Central Library in August 1914. To attract children to the Central Library, Borden brought a cinemascope from London, and lantern slides and films were shown.

Borden also designed a training programme for librarians, mainly in Gujarati. The comprehensive course taught pupils how to test paper quality, collate books, catalogue them and use the card system. Lessons in cursive penmanship were also given, as Borden was especially keen that librarians fill in catalogue cards neatly.  

By the end of Borden’s first year in Baroda state, there were nine town libraries, 60 newsrooms and 255 village libraries. All these were free for readers and sustained by the administration with mostly government funds. Borden however was of the opinion that there should be subscriptions for the use of the library, as this would instill a sense of ownership and involvement among members.

Borden could achieve a great deal in his three years in Baroda.  By the time Borden left Baroda on May 15, 1913, Baroda city had its Central Library, comprising Reference and Lending Departments with a book stock of 40,000 volumes; thirty six of the thirty eight towns had established their own libraries. Two hundred and sixteen of the four hundred and twenty-six large villages had founded their libraries. Even the small villages had come forward and had initiated their own libraries. There were 140 travelling libraries as well.

After Borden returned to the United States, he continued his interest in library engineering; among other things, he designed a “cantilever library stacking system” with moveable shelves and a flexible library card shelving system that remains in use. He also contributed to library science with the development of a Classification System which divides knowledge into 26 basic classes, each identified by a letter, similar to the Library of Congress System, developed during the same time-period. Classes are further subdivided with numbers to indicate subfields. The system became recognized  as the Borden Classification System which is unique because it has the ability to expand as knowledge develops and subfields come to light.

Borden was a multifaceted librarian who contributed to both the theory and practice of library science and use. Above all his lifelong commitment was to popularize libraries as far and widely as possible. As he wrote in 1912: Give them [the readers] books. Not the books you think they ought to have…give them the books they want to read. What you want to see is not a cupboard filled with soul-convincing titles, but a reading public. The finest library in the world is a room full of empty shelves, with the books out among the people. Build up the reading habit first and a habit can’t be built in a day, nor in a year; after this foundation is well started you may gradually and slowly erect your superstructure; but don’t start to build your house at the second storey.”

–Mamata

A Passion for Pachyderms: R. Sukumar

August 12 is marked annually as World Elephant Day. It is a day dedicated to raising awareness about the urgent issues faced by elephants in the wild due to a number of factors including poaching for ivory, habitat loss and human-elephant conflicts. Initiated in 2012 as a plea to stop poaching, this day has grown into a full-scale movement linking scientists, rangers, and ordinary citizens with one goal: to keep elephants alive in their own habitats.

While this day brings together people from diverse areas of interest (perhaps for one day of the year), there are scientists who have dedicated their life to studying and understanding these majestic creatures. Research is an essential input for the management and conservation of elephants. In India, the scientific study on the ecology and the behavior of the elephant began as early as the 1970s. During this period a major study on elephants was carried out by the Centre for Ecological Sciences, Bangalore.

Following this, several scientific and research institutions in India have been studying various aspects of elephants in India.

One of the earliest scientists to study elephants in India has been Raman Sukumar. His jumbo journey began almost five decades ago. What sparked his interest, which grew into a passion, and led to significant contributions to the study of elephants?

Here is his story in his own words.

There was no hint during my early days of what I was eventually going to do. I was the usual city-bred child interested in games and various hobbies. I was very fond of books, an interest that I attribute to my maternal grandfather who was a bookseller. My maternal grandmother seems to have recognized a streak of the naturalist in me quite early on. I recall that for some reason she used to call me a vanavasi much before I ever went to a forest.

It was only when I reached high school that my eyes opened to the profound beauty of living creatures. At that time the world was also waking up to the crisis facing our environment—caused by pollution and the reckless exploitation of nature. The modern conservation movement was gathering momentum.

I had a passion for science and wanted to work in conservation. With this goal in mind I pursued botany at Loyola College and later at Vivekanand College in Madras. I was fortunate to have teachers who encouraged creative pursuits outside the framework of the regular syllabus.

I was also fortunate to be in Madras, which is almost unique in having a national park, the Guindy National Park, within the city. I spent most of my weekends at Guindy Park in the company of Selvakumar who was pursuing his studies in zoology. He had an amazing ability to describe anything, from an ant to a whale.

I still did not have the faintest idea of getting involved with elephants, although a passion for these pachyderms must have been latent in me. My first sighting of a wild elephant was not at all spectacular. In fact, I doubt if I saw an elephant at all. Our class was on a botanical tour of Mudumalai which is well known for its elephant population. I was talking to the Warden of Mudumalai when a rickety car rolled up and a familiar figure leaned out and boomed: “Hey boy what are you doing here?” It was Siddharth Buch, a naturalist-photographer and one of my earliest gurus in wildlife pursuits. He and some friends had driven from Madras in a rickety old jalopy. He enquired whether I had seen any elephants. I explained to him that we had only just arrived. He asked me to hop in as they were going for a drive along the Mayar river.

We had hardly gone a kilometer when Siddharth stopped the car and pointed towards a hillock and said “There is an elephant moving up the slope”. I strained my eyes but could not see any elephant. “Can’t you see the black shape moving through the bushes? That’s the back of the elephant.” It was midday and the jungle was a patchwork of light and shadow. I guess I did see something darker than a shadow but I could not see it moving. It may have been a rock but I nodded dutifully, meaning that I could indeed see a dark shape. “There my boy! I have shown you your first wild elephant!” announced Siddharth triumphantly. Whatever the true identity of that object, with the benefit of hindsight I must caution readers unaccustomed to the ways of wild elephants that it is always better to mistake a rock for an elephant than an elephant for a rock.

In August 1979 I joined the doctoral programme in ecology at the Indian Institute of Science in Bangalore. Madhav Gadgil had established the country’s first academic programme in modern ecology. When the time came to select a research topic for my thesis Madhav suggested some problems, among them a study of elephant-human conflict. My ears pricked up when he mentioned elephants. I had wanted to work on large mammals and what was better than studying elephants, although I must confess that such a thought had never occurred to me earlier.

Thus began my study of elephants in southern India in 1980, and which continues for the rest of my life. Over nearly five decades I have been studying them, photographing them, chasing them, and being chased by them. To even begin to understand this fascinating animal one has to spend several years in the field. Every month, every year, one learns some new facet of its character.

Elephants can be funny. Elephants can be frightening. They can be heartwarming and their study can be addicting. If the tiger is the spirit of the jungle, secret and elusive, the elephant is its body, large, majestic, making its presence felt with authority.

We at CEE were fortunate to have interacted with Dr Sukumar, and gained tremendously from his long experience and patient guidance. This piece by him, written at our request, was originally published in a CEE publication Walking the Wild Path. Dr Sukumar was also one of the reviewers of CEE’s NatureScope India for the special issue on Endangered Elephants.   

Raman Sukumar is Professor and Chairman at the Centre for Ecological Sciences, Indian Institute of Science, Bangalore, India, and Founder Trustee of the Asian Nature Conservation Foundation, Bangalore, India. He is the author of several books.

–Mamata

Senbazuru: 1000 Cranes for Peace and Health

6 August 1945. World War II was raging across Europe and new fronts were opening across the world every day. But this day witnessed perhaps the most devastating demonstration of the scourge. One that continues to haunt even today.

At 8:15 a.m. an American bomber called the Enola Gay dropped an atomic bomb on the Japanese city of Hiroshima. The city was instantly levelled to rubble, and 80,000 people died in the first few minutes. Thousands would die later from the effects of radiation.

2-year old Sadako Sasaki who lived not far from where the bomb fell, miraculously survived. She grew into an enthusiastic, energetic, athletic girl. The impact of the of the A-Bomb began to reveal itself a decade later. Starting with minor ailments, Sadako began to feel progressively weaker until she was unable to get up. Medical tests indicated that she had leukaemia, that was commonly called the ‘A-bomb disease’—a fall-out from exposure to radiation. She was admitted to hospital, but the chances of surviving this disease were slim.

Sadako’s best friend used to visit her in hospital, and she brought with her some origami paper. In Japanese culture the crane is a mystical creature believed to live for 1000 years. It is believed that if someone folds 1000 paper cranes, they will be granted good fortune, healing from illness, or a single special wish. Sadako decided that she would fold 1000 paper cranes with the wish that she get well again; and she continued with her folding, even through periods of great pain and discomfort. Sadako died on October 25, 1955, ten years after bombing of Hiroshima. While one version of her story claims that she completed folding 1000 cranes before she passed away, another one claims that she was able to finish 644 and the remaining 356 were folded by her friends and loved ones.

Sadako’s classmates who had lost many of their friends to the A-bomb disease decided to form a unity club to honor their friend, and stay in touch after they all left school. The movement grew. The simple act of folding a crane started by Sadako and her classmates turned into a national, then an international, children’s peace movement. This developed into a plan to build a monument to recognize the many children who lost their lives because of the bomb. This is now known as the Children’s Peace Monument and is located in the center of Hiroshima Peace Park, close to the spot where the atomic bomb was dropped. Children from all over the world still send folded paper cranes to be placed beneath Sadako’s statue in the park. In so doing, they fulfill the wish engraved on the base of the statue: This is our cry, This is our prayer, Peace in the world.

Sadako’s story continues to be a reminder of the long-reaching and devastating effects of nuclear war, and the 1000 paper cranes have come to symbolize the hope for peace and health.  ‘1000 cranes’ is translated in Japanese as Senbazuru. This traditional practice is now universally associated with peace and good health. The cranes represent prayers for peace and the end of conflict; as also wellness wishes for the ill or injured.  Unlike the legend, they do not have to be completed by one person alone, they are often collaborative efforts, of classes of school children, or families.  

While the “unforgettable fire” of the atomic bomb annihilated tens of thousands of lives, those who survived had to live with the many dreadful effects of exposure to radiation. They not only suffered from ill health, but also discrimination, as it was rumored that they could infect others. These survivors are referred to in Japanese as Hibakusha or “bomb-affected people”. The word is still used to describe any person exposed to radiation from the nuclear fuel trajectory through the use, production and testing of nuclear weapons, as well as the processes that create and produce nuclear power, and nuclear waste.

The Nihon Hidankyo (the Confederation of A and H Bomb Sufferers) was formed in 1956 to fight for justice for the victims. Even though not many original hibakusha are alive today, the organization continues its mission which was recognized and honoured with the 2024 Nobel Peace Prize. 

Hibakusha Stories is an offshoot which works to facilitate the sharing of stories, not only  of survivors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki; but all individuals and communities who have been exposed to radioactive fallout and contamination from atmospheric nuclear weapons testing or nuclear production facilities, as well as Indigenous Peoples, nuclear test survivors and other affected communities to take action for disarmament.

The stories of the hibakusha teach courage in the face of threat, conviction that nuclear weapons are the ultimate crime against life; compassion and humanity, and above all, the urgent call to take action for disarmament.

In a world which is perilously close to exploding, thanks to the war-thirsty egotists and power brokers, and the threat of use of nuclear weapons looms like an ominously low-hanging storm cloud, these voices are almost drowned out. Maybe we need a reminder of Hiroshima and Nagasaki to jolt us to some semblance of sanity.

May the legend of Senbazuru bring a glimmer of hope for peace and health.

–Mamata

A Tuneful AIR: Courtesy Walter Kaufmann

It was the pied piper’s tune that we woke up to, and one that drew the family together at 9 pm every night to catch up on the news of the country and the world. It was the signature tune of All India Radio that gave structure to the day, and a sense of common purpose. The radio was the meeting point for all generations, and the source of connection to national and international events. And indeed, it was All India Radio that defined this coming together, and the tune that summoned the gathering.

The origins of AIR as it was popularly called, go back before India became independent. Radio broadcasting services started in India during the British rule in 1922-23 under the initiative of the Bombay Presidency Radio Club.  In 1927, the Indian Broadcasting Company (IBC) was set up as a private entity and was granted permission to operate two radio stations. On 23 July 1927 the IBC made the first ever radio broadcast in the country from the Bombay Station. This event marked the start of organized radio

IBC dissolved its operations on 1 March 1930; thereafter the Imperial Government took over the broadcasting operations. The Indian State Broadcasting Service (ISBS) was started on 1 April 1930 on an experimental basis for two years, and then permanently from May 1932. Eventually on 8 June 1936, it became what came to be known as All India Radio. It was also in 1936 that the first daily news bulletin was introduced.

After Independence, AIR’s offerings began to expand beyond news and important announcements to a wide range of programmes—music, drama, live commentaries, and more. It was the primary source of news as well as entertainment.

AIR adopted the name Akashvani in 1956. The name meaning Voice from the Sky was derived from the title of Rabindranath Tagore’s poem written in 1938 for the inauguration of Calcutta All India radio’s shortwave transmission service. AIR and Akashvani were used interchangeably until 3 May 2023 when Akashvani became the exclusive name.

What was synonymous with Akashvani was its signature tune. The lilting violin notes played to the background of a tanpura, drawing upon the classical raga Shivranjani, are closely associated with timeless Indian heritage. It comes as a surprise therefore to discover that the tune was composed by a Czech Jew fleeing the Nazis in Europe, who took refuge in India. This was Walter Kaufmann, a multifaceted musician.

Walter Kaufmann was born in 1907 to Jewish parents, in Karlovy Vary, today a city in the Czech Republic. Music was always his passion, which he also pursued formally. He graduated with a degree in music from Berlin, and moved on to do a PhD in musicology from the German University in Prague. By this time, the anti-Semitic wave was building up in Europe. Walter was beginning to feel the sprinkling from the wave. He himself refused to accept his degree when he discovered that one of his teachers was a leader of the Nazi youth group. As the clouds of war and discrimination against Jews grew darker, the young musician fled Europe and landed up in Mumbai in 1934, carrying a violin case and a battered suitcase filled with sheet music. As he revealed later, there was no specific logic that drew him here, only the fact that it was the only place for which he could easily get a visa! Thus he arrived thinking that Mumbai would be a transition point for moving on, and that his stay would be brief. Walter ended up staying in India for fourteen years!

Having landed here Walter now had to find means of supporting himself. He was a trained musician but from the European school. He knew next to nothing about Indian music sounds that he initially found “alien and incomprehensible”. But he was also open enough to appreciate that this music was created by people with “heart and intellect” and had a rich heritage and history. He was willing to learn more about it. Using his earlier academic training in musicology, he began to study the tradition of Indian music; he attended concerts by the great singers of the day, and even travelled to record folk musicians. He published scholarly notes on Indian ragas. He began to incorporate elements of the Indian tradition into his compositions, not as ornamental add-ons, but skillfully and seamlessly fused. Through this process, over his time in India, Walter himself transformed from a European musician into a cross-cultural composer.   

In the meanwhile, he used his existing skills and experience to found the Bombay Chamber Music Society which started giving weekly performances of Western symphonies. As Walter learned how to present Western classical traditions to Indians, the Society’s performances began to attract more and larger audiences. He also tutored students in violin, among whom was the young Zubin Mehta who would go on to become an internationally renowned Western classical music conductor.

In 1936 Walter joined AIR, initially as supervisor of the Western Music Department, and then became Director of Music. He worked at AIR for the next ten years. It is in the early years of his time at AIR he was tasked with creating a signature tune for AIR that was emerging as a powerful cultural institution across India. Walter composed the signature tune that became the identity of the radio station. The tune drew upon the raga Shivranjani. Barely a minute long, began with the notes of the tanpura followed by the lyrical sound of the violin. The violin for the piece was played by Mehli Mehta, the father of Zubin Mehta, and himself a noted concert violinist.   

This was a time when the film industry was shifting from silent movies. Mumbai was the hub of the fledgling industry. Walter’s mastery over blending western music with Indian forms was useful in getting a foothold in the film music field. He composed the background score for several films. For a decade, Walter Kaufmann continued to blend his academic training in western music with his deep study of the music of his adopted country.

Just before India gained independence, Walter moved on, in 1946. He went first to London where he worked for the BBC; then to Canada where he conducted the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra; and finally, in 1975, to the United States, where he joined the School of Music at Indiana University Bloomington as a professor of ethnomusicology. He taught till 1977, and died there in 1984. His connection to India endured, and his rich collection of field recordings, photographs and handwritten scores from his time in India are preserved at Indiana University’s Cook Music Library.

Walter Kaufmann was an ethnomusicologist long before the discipline was formally established. Not many in India know of his many contributions, academic as well as creative to the field of music. And fewer still may know that the tune that is so strongly the sound and symbol of All India Radio stemmed from the creative juices of Walter Kaufmann.

23 July is celebrated as National Broadcasting Day in India to mark the beginning of radio broadcasting in the country. A good day to remember the pied piper who played the tune that is an integral part of the nation’s cultural and social landscape.      

–Mamata

Championing Snakes: Romulus Whitaker

Slimy, sneaky, slithering, scaly, creepy, fanged and deadly, these are some words that are used to describe snakes. These members of the natural world are rarely bestowed with the more complimentary adjectives that their walking, leaping, swimming fellow members often are. Thus, snakes are universally feared, avoided, badmouthed, and when encountered, the first instinct is to eliminate them.

Fortunately, every snake has its day, and July 16 it is. This is celebrated as World Snake Day, a global observance which aims to reduce this negative stigma, dispel common myths, and highlight the ecological significance of these species. This day brings to mind my own journey of learning about snakes, and the person who sparked it. And to celebrate Romulus Whitaker who was one of the earliest champions of the snakes in India.

My snake story began probably in the first week that I started my career as an environmental educator. As part of our orientation, we went to Sundarvan, a small animal park with a collection of snakes. There we saw a Snake Show, as part of which, we were asked to touch a snake! The snake was a Red Sand Boa—a non-venomous snake. For someone who was, at that time, far from being a passionate wild-lifer, this was indeed an experience that served to dispel the many myths that one had grown up with. One of these were that snakes were “slimy”, and to be avoided at all costs. The skin of the sand boa felt dry and smooth, and we learnt that most snakes are in fact non-venomous.

And there began my long and fascinating journey in the natural world. A journey along which I had the most wonderful encounters with some of India’s best known naturalists and educators. One of these was Romulus Whitaker–the Snakeman of India.

Not so long after my induction by snakes, Romulus himself came to CEE and fascinated us with snake tales and the importance of breaking the myths that associated snakes with all things creepy and vile, and communicating the vital role of snakes in the ecosystem, especially as friends of farmers because they eat the rats that destroy crops.

A little later, Romulus graciously accepted to write a piece for a book that Meena and I were editing. In this he recounted how his early childhood years were spent exploring the fields and forests of northern New York State where he was born. Even as a toddler he was catching bugs and spiders, and soon graduated to catching snakes and keeping them in a terrarium in his room. At that point he was equally into dinosaurs and did not imagine that reptiles would one day become his passion as well as his profession. He was seven years old when his family moved to India. He recalled how “the snake charmers at Juhu Beach in Bombay were my first tutors but it wasn’t long before I outgrew their mixture of magic and nonsense.” His school days spent in Kodaikanal, amidst forests, gave him ample opportunity to roam in the wilderness. He returned to the United States for college studies, where he also worked at the Miami Serpentarium, then the biggest snake venom production lab in the world.

Romulus’s own journey is a testament to how a childhood fascination can grow into a not only a profession, but also a meaningful lifelong mission to champion the snakes. In his own words: So you see, that a child’s single-minded interest in creatures that most people think are slimy and scary can develop into a profession that is totally fulfilling. My own, very self-centred fascination with reptiles has grown by leaps and bounds and resulted in the Snake Park, Croc Bank and exciting educative films. These are ways of sharing a love and passion for the creatures that have given me such an enjoyable life.

When he returned to India, Romulus was determined to set up a serpentarium, and start a long-term study of reptiles. In the meanwhile, he also had to earn a living. He started writing articles for newspapers and magazines, often accompanied by a photo. He also started writing his first scientific notes on interesting things that he had observed about reptiles for the Journal of the Bombay Natural History Society. At the same time, he was also scouting around for a place to start a Snake Park; Madras (now Chennai) seemed to be the best choice. As he recalled: “To make a long story very short, I badgered and bothered people in the Forest Department and the Secretariat in Madras and finally got permission to set up India’s first Snake Park within beautiful Guindy National Park, the green heart of the city.” The Snake Park was attracted a lot of visitors who had the opportunity of observing snakes at close quarters, as well as knowing more about these usually maligned creatures.

Romulus’s real knowledge about snakes came from the Irula, an indigenous community of traditional snake catchers of Tamil Nadu. They became his friends and mentors, sharing their experience in every aspect of these reptiles—from finding and catching them unharmed, to snake bites. While studying incidents of snakebites in India, Whitaker discovered that numerous lives were lost due to inadequate production and distribution of anti-venom serum. That is when he mobilised the Irula community to form a snake catchers’ cooperative, who under licenses from the Wildlife Department, extract and freeze-dry venom from snakes and sell it to anti-venom producing laboratories before releasing the snakes back into the wild.

His passion to show and tell more people about reptiles led Romulus to start making documentary films. Rom was aware that films were a medium that could reach out to large audiences. Rom teamed up with two school friends John and Loise Riber, and a young filmmaker Shekar Dattatri to make a film on India’s snakebite problem. Made on a shoestring budget, the film Snakebite went on to win several awards. Later many of his films were supported by National Geographic Television, and have won international awards.

Romulus Whitaker has won many accolades including an Emmy Award, Whitley Fund for Nature Award, Rolex Award for Enterprise, Peter Scott Award for Conservation Merit, Salim Ali Award for Nature Conservation. In 2018 Romulus was awarded the Padma Shri for nature conservation.

In one of the interviews following the award Romulus said “I believe that touching a snake opens people’s minds and changes it forever.” I personally can totally vouch for that! 

Thank you Romulus Whitaker for helping to open a new world not just for me, but for generations of young people. And for being a lifelong champion of the snakes.

–Mamata

Wimbledon Shines On

A photograph in the newspaper showed Roger Federer tennis’ GOAT sitting alone in the VIP Pavilion at Wimbledon. It made me wonder why? Wimbledon is one of the oldest and most revered of Tennis traditions, and to be a spectator at this venue which is teeming not only with the GOATs and future Greats of Tennis, but equally the crème de la crème of society from British monarchy to Hollywood icons, is a special privilege. Is it that this year the FIFA World Cup has eclipsed all other sporting events?

Be that as it may, Wimbledon remains the grand old lady of professional tennis. It’s interesting history dates back to 1877. The first tournament was hosted by the All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club. It had originally been called the All England Croquet Club when it opened in 1869. But as the new game of lawn tennis was growing in popularity the club decided to provide tennis courts for their visitors. And also changed its name to include Lawn Tennis.

Tennis itself had its origins in a 13th century French handball game called je de paume or ‘game of the palm’ which developed into an indoor racket-and-ball game called real or ‘royal’ tennis.  In about 1873, an Englishman adapted indoor tennis to be played on grass, naming the game ‘sphairistike’, after an ancient Greek game. Sphairistike quickly became popular among the idle upper classes, who were itching for a new sport to play.

The game was promoted by the All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club which laid down the rules of the game that codified and shaped the game. Since then the All India Club has been the ‘supreme court of appeal on the question of rules’.  

The club held its first lawn tennis tournament on 9 July 1877 at Wimbledon, then an outer suburb of London. The tournament continued for the next several days, including some non-playing days. The only event was the Gentlemen’s Singles tournament, where the winner would take home a 25-guinea prize. 200 spectators showed up. By the mid-1880s thousands were flocking the stands. By 1905 the championships were attracting competitors from overseas. Tennis was coming of age.

Twenty-two amateurs registered to compete in the first championship, but only 21 showed up on July 9 for its first day. Interestingly only ‘amateurs’ were allowed to compete in the championships, and that clause remained for the next 90 years. ‘Amateur’ was then a synonym of ‘gentleman’. For the elite running the country clubs, sport wasn’t sport until it was played in one’s leisure time on private estates. The term professional carried the stigma of the ‘manual labourer’.

In the 1950s, many tennis stars turned professional while Wimbledon struggled to remain an amateur tournament. It is only in 1968 that Wimbledon first allowed professionals—players who in some manner were paid for their tennis ability—to compete at the championships, ushering in the “open era.”

Women began playing at Wimbledon in 1884, seven years after the men. But it was only in 2007 that Wimbledon introduced equal prize money for women.

The annual championships continued uninterrupted except for the years during World War II. In preparation for Germany’s infamous Blitz bombing attacks on London, the grounds of the 150-year-old British tennis club were transformed into a Civil Defence camp. The grounds even became home to a small farmyard stocked with rabbits, pigs and hens. On 11 October 1940 Wimbledon’s historic Centre Court even took a direct hit from a 500-pound German bomb. The grounds were not fully repaired until 1949. And from then on, the annual tournaments were uninterrupted.

As with all things English, Wimbledon has its special traditions. The accepted outfit of choice for Wimbledon players in the nineteenth century was plain white long-sleeved shirts and trousers for men, and full-length corseted white dresses and hats for women. It was not until the 1920s and 1930s that the players, and particularly the female players, began to experiment with their clothing. Shorter skirts, shorts and sleeveless tops were all introduced, some more daringly than others, to provide ease of movement and a sense of individual personality. Today we have players like Naomi Osaka making her entrance to the court in outfits that attract as much (if not more) attention as her dramatic tennis.

The men have long been promoters of commerce. As far back as the nineteen thirties, the French grand slam winner Rene Lacoste promoted his own label by wearing crocodile emblazoned shirts on court. Today designer wear and multi-million dollar sponsorships which announce themselves with emblazoned logos, make players look like animated ads. Even the ball boys and girls have left behind the traditional Wimbledon colours of green and purple, and have sported navy and cream uniforms created by the American fashion designer Ralph Lauren since 2006. The tradition of having strawberries and cream has remained unchanged.

Bjorn Borg 1975

I cannot resist adding my own Wimbledon story. As a young student in England in 1975, one of the items on the ‘bucket list’ of things to do before I leave England was to catch a match at Wimbledon. So early one morning, a couple of friends and I set off by train from Brighton to the Wimbledon station. Having walked to the venue we joined the serpentine queues for the daily tickets. Our carefully saved few pounds would not let us anywhere near the luxury of season tickets, or seats for any of the later matches on the Centre Court, as the players advanced from quarter finals to crowning glory. Nevertheless, we could afford standing room for the day’s matches. We saved a few shillings to partake of the traditional strawberries and cream, as we flaunted our wide-brimmed straw hats. But we did get to see the rising star, and everyone’s current heart throb Bjorn Borg play. He lost that year’s Wimbledon title to Arthur Ashe, but the next month went on the win the French Open title.

Today 149 years after the first tournament was initiated on 9 July, the Wimbledon championships remain the only major tennis event still played on grass. The name and the game continue to make headlines as new comets emerge, skyrocket to fame and, when their time comes, give way to a new crop of stars. The glory of Wimbledon continues to glitter and gleam like old gold.

–Mamata

Every Word Counted: Postcards

Long before automatic word counts, and apps that restrict the number of words, people used to carefully pen the maximum number of words that would legibly fit onto the surface area of a rectangular piece of stiff paper, not counting one fourth of the space that was kept blank for the address of the intended recipient, and the stamp of the post office. A unique medium of communication that allowed messages to be sent out without the need for an envelope. This was the ubiquitous Postcard.

Postcards carried all kinds of news—from good to bad. News of a forthcoming marriage, of an exam passed or failed, of a job appointment, an impending visit from a relative, a birth in the family, as well as of a death. Post cards were cheap, convenient, easily available and transported in their thousands across the length and breadth of the country. For most people of a certain generation this was the primary means of communication. And for many, this was a very “Indian” product.

However, the postcard had already made its debut in Europe. Following earlier experiments in Austria-Hungary and Britain, the first postcard in the world was issued in Austria on 1 October 1869. This was yellow in colour; it was 12.2 cm long and 8.5 cm wide. One side was left blank for writing the message and the other side had space for writing the address.  In Britain, postcards without images were issued by Post Office, and were printed with a stamp as part of the design, which was included in the price of purchase.

In British-ruled India the postcard was officially introduced by the Post Office of India on 1 July 1897. The postcard was light brown in colour, with East India Postcard printed on it. The coat of arms of Great Britain was printed in the centre and in the upper right corner was the crowned face of Queen Victoria, printed in red brown. It was 14 cm in length and 9 cm in width.

The card was priced at one fourth of an anna or 3 paise. It was the cheapest form of post and proved a huge success. It is believed that postcards worth about ₹7.5 lakh were sold in the first three quarters of the inaugural year itself. The convenience of this form of communication led the government to also introduce postcards meant specifically for government use in April 1880. Ten years later reply postcards were introduced. In all cases the specs were uniform: The postage was prepaid in full; the weight of the card was not to exceed 5 grams; the cards shall have a legend Post Card written in Hindi or English or printed on the address side. Thus postcards, while uniform in form, took on multiple roles and uses which continued even after India became independent and do so till this day.

While today there are ‘privacy issues’ related to the sharing of data, the postcard, by its very form, was open and public. It was open to be read by anyone from the clerk in the post office, to the postman who carried it in his bag, to the actual recipient. At the receiving end, sometimes in a remote village, it was often read out loud by the postman himself, or by a literate member of the community; or the contents were shared under a tree where the elders gathered. Whether it bore good news or sad news, the emotions that it conveyed were equally shared by the community.  

The size of the postcard (which has remained unchanged since it was introduced) and the space available for writing presented a silent challenge to every writer. Squish the handwriting or condense the message? This was no place for waxing eloquent or beating around the bush! Keep it short and neat!

Postcards soon became the cheapest and most accessible form of communication, revolutionizing mass correspondence. Though introduced in India by the British, postcards played a key role in the sharing of information during the movement to gain freedom from the British rule. No one utilized this means of communication better than Mahatma Gandhi.

A prodigious writer of letters, Gandhiji actively used postcards for the majority of his vast correspondence. As a highly practical and budget-conscious communicator who constantly traveled, he found that postcards were the most efficient method to share updates with friends and relatives without wasting time or money. With his unerring logic he explained that postcards were cost-effective, as they cost much less than standard envelopes. Indeed, they did not require an envelope at all, nor the hassle of buying, keeping, and pasting stamps. They were more durable than ordinary writing paper. And their news was transparent, anyone could read the message, and Gandhiji had nothing to hide! And, as a person who could not abide waste in any form, Gandhiji appreciated that the limited space forced the writer to express themselves concisely and clearly.

While Gandhiji wrote perhaps thousands of postcards to people from all walks of life, people from all parts of India and the world also reached out to him through postcards. Throughout the freedom struggle, Gandhiji was constantly on the move, but people who wrote to him were not worried about his address. They simply wrote postcards with his name, and sometimes added “Wherever he may be”. And these postcards did reach him, wherever he was! We can still see some of these original postcards in archives and exhibitions.

Independent India’s first requirement was to collect reliable demographic statistics. A census was considered to be central to this.  But the government faced two immediate challenges: how to persuade people to participate in the census, and how to maintain communication between enumerators and census officials across a vast, poor and largely rural country. By then the postal department was the largest unified communications network available to the Indian state. In the run up to the first census in 1951, government used a bilingual pictorial postmark stamped on postcards and letters travelling across the country to educate the public and mobilize participation. The postmark showed a family of three framed by the words “Census of India” in Hindi and English. Subsequently postcards and postmarks were used for different mass pubic campaigns.

When they were first launched, only plain government postcards were permitted, printed and sold by the Indian Post Office. In 1898 the Post office formally permitted privately printed postcards, provided that adhered to size, layout and message restrictions. This opened up a large picture postcards industry in India. Publishers began printing scenic views, cultural monuments, and daily life in India, which became popular.

Almost a century later, India Post introduced Competition Postcards, following the immense popularity of Doordarshan’s show Surabhi where viewers were invited to send in answers to the quiz questions of the week. Initially viewers used the standard 15 paise postcard to send in responses. The response was so overwhelming that the postal department issued a different category of blue-coloured postcards priced at Rs 2/-  each to send in responses. These Competition Postcards were subsequently used for many competitions inviting mass public responses.  

The Competition Postcards are not currently available, but there are three types of postcards available in post offices. Normal postcards (50 paise), Reply postcards: A double card format which has an attached pre-paid flap that the recipient can detach and send a reply message (Rs 1). Meghdoot postcards wherein the address side features pre-printed colourful advertisements allowing the post office to generate revenue while subsidizing the cost (25 paise). So much to be communicated in so little, literally and cost-wise.  

While there is still a generation for which postcards evoke a lot of nostalgia, sadly there is a generation for whom communication has a whole new meaning.

–Mamata

A Pesky Problem: Pest Management

This week we have been exploring quaint expressions that describe human situations using animal analogies. Sometimes these become ‘bees in our bonnet’ as new analogies and comparisons buzz around in our imagination! One of these analogies is our description of someone as a “pest”, and our irritated response to such a person “Don’t pester me!”

Why is the word associated with persistent irritating behaviour in human beings? For that we need to go back to nature.  

A pest is defined as any living thing which humans consider troublesome to themselves, their possessions, or the environment. This includes plants, pathogens, invertebrates, vertebrates or any organism that harms an ecosystem. In its broadest sense a pest is a competitor to humanity. Pests can cause issues with crops, human, or animal health, buildings, and wilderness areas.

Looking at insects alone, it is estimated that 900 million insect types can be ‘pests’ not in nature, but in a world where humans have modified nature to suit their own requirements. And the human species has always found ways, though not wise at times, to tackle insects and other living organisms that they did not like, or want around them. From the earliest times, the battle between humans and ‘pests’ has taken many forms.

Cave dwellers probably swatted mosquitoes or used smoke to ward off the bloodsuckers. As far back as 2500 BC, people used sulfur compounds to control mites and insects. In 1200 B.C., the Chinese deployed predatory ants against pests such as beetles and caterpillars.

With growing populations, and crowded and insanitary living conditions bed bugs and rats proliferated. One of the first publicly advertised pest control companies was the 1690 company H. Tiffin and Son Ltd. in London. The company promoted rat and bed bug control using methods and chemical compounds they invented. Their trademark was “Bug Destroyers to Her Majesty and the Royal Family.”

Probably one of the hardest pests to control are rats. Over the ages, methods to control rats have tried everything from chemicals, plant extracts, prayers, chants, terrier dogs, and music. Ratsbane was one of the first chemicals used. Barbers sold it in the Middle Ages. Then it became a popular item sold by street vendors. Vermin exterminators became a legitimate and in-demand profession. Till date, rats continue to pose a cheeky challenge to every counter measure to control them, and proliferate even in the most sophisticated cities of the world (New York has a serious rat infestation issue).  

Pests are a major threat to health worldwide. Many insects are the primary or intermediate hosts or carriers that transmit debilitating human diseases, ranging from malaria, to Lymes Disease, to Zika. Rodents and birds are also secondary hosts for a large number of diseases transmitted by the parasites that they carry into the human environment — ticks, lice, fleas and mites.

Crops are also at risk from pests which include aphids, caterpillars, whiteflies, locusts and mites. These insects cause damage by feeding on foliage, sucking plant sap, or transmitting diseases. These pests can devastate agricultural yields, reducing quality and quantity, and leading to significant food shortages.

Pests are equally threatening in human habitations. Termites, wood-boring beetles, carpenter ants, and rodents Termites, wood-boring beetles, carpenter ants, and rodents are the primary pests that destroy buildings by compromising structural integrity.

The universal frustration to successfully manage and control pests in every sphere of life, spurred a global effort to increase awareness about pest-related challenges and professional pest control solutions.

On 6 June 2017 the Chinese Pest Control Association hosted 300 participants including industry experts, media representatives, researchers and academic professionals to discuss how to promote awareness about the role of pest management in public health protection. In 2018, the Global Summit of Pest Management Services for Public Health and Food Safety was held in Portugal, and it was agreed to accord international recognition to an annual World Pest Day.

Since then World Pest Day is observed annually on June 6th across the world. The initiative aims to improve public, government and media awareness, strengthen the professional image of the pest management industry, encourage scientific pest control and highlight major threats caused by small pests. The day promotes scientific and responsible pest control practices while creating awareness about the threats posed by pests worldwide.

Sadly, in the past decade the threat of pest-borne diseases is growing due to climate change, international travel, globalization of trade and increasing urbanization taking over the natural habitats of disease-bearing pests. A better understanding of these diseases is essential for managing them in the future.

Parallely there is ever-growing need to produce more food, fodder, fibre and wood. The lifestyles of a number of insects seem to clash with people’s economic interests. There is a competition for resources and humans tend to describe all competitors as pests that have to be fought on a war footing. When the ‘wonder drug’ DDT was invented in 1939 we thought that the war against pests had been won. But soon insects developed a resistance to pesticides. Fighting pests with chemicals alone is not the answer as we have also learned that these chemicals can have terrible side effects on all living things including humans. We can neither turn back to a chemical-free earth, nor can we continue to poison ourselves.

While technology and researches in more effective chemical measures to counter pests continue to advance, what is perhaps being lost is a better understanding of the ‘pests’ and some traditional, and less toxic ways of meeting the challenge. One way is to take a closer look at pest species and their interaction with the environment, especially in agriculture. A combination of cultural, biological, physical and chemical techniques to manage and control pests is called Integrated Pest Management (IPM).  

IPM is an eco-system-based long-term strategy that minimizes economic costs while protecting human health and the environment by using chemical pesticides only as a last resort.  Effective IPM aims at a synergistic integration of five main methods.

Making the environment inhospitable to pests through crop rotation, planting pest-resistant crop varieties, and proper sanitation (removing food and water sources).

Using natural predators especially certain birds, parasites, or pathogens to manage pest populations (e.g., introducing ladybugs to eat aphids or utilizing bio-pesticides).

Using traps, barriers, netting, or temperature manipulation to physically block or remove pests.

Applying synthetic or natural pesticides in a highly targeted manner taking care to minimize unnecessary environmental impact.

Using genetically modified, resistant plant hybrids or crops (like Bt corn) that naturally deter specific pests.

IPM provides a sustainable, eco-friendly alternative that keeps pest populations in check while preserving ecosystem harmony.

“Pest” is a word conveniently created by us to describe whatever we perceive as a deterrent to our well-being. In Nature every creature has a role to play, the distortion of the role begins when we disturb or alter the natural balance.

In an age when technology seems to be the panacea for all ills, it would be wise to stop and remember, as well as respect, that the health of the ecosystem is the key determinant for the health of all living things.

–Mamata

Borim Kim: Climate Activist Every Action Counts

As we get ready to celebrate one more World Environment Day, for a few days, positive stories about actions to ‘save’ the environment will share space with the daily dose of gloom and doom that have become our daily fare. This week Meena wrote about how Governments are trying to make an impact, or measure the impact of global and national efforts to mitigate the overwhelming consequences of so many wrong steps.

While these are large-scale projects undertaken on large scales, throughout the history of environmental efforts, there have also been heart-warming stories of smaller efforts by small groups, communities, and even individuals, who have taken up causes and worked relentlessly for these. Most of these do not make the headlines, but they do make a difference in their own time and space. And some of these receive recognition.

One of these recognitions is The Goldman Environmental Prize. It was founded in 1989 by San Francisco civic leaders and philanthropists Richard and Rhoda Goldman as a way to demonstrate the international nature of environmental problems and draw public attention to the global need for action.

The Goldman Prize recognizes grassroots environmental champions for significant efforts to protect and restore the natural environment. It considers those leading campaigns locally, and effecting positive change through community participation as ‘grassroots leaders’. It is a recognition of “People of ordinary backgrounds doing extraordinary things to save our Earth”.

The Prize believes that a strong environmental movement requires diverse talents, perspectives, and leadership. Often referred to as the Green Nobel, the awards are conferred every year to outstanding environmental advocates from each of the world’s six inhabited geographic regions: Africa, Asia, Europe, Islands and Island nations, North America, South and Central America.

The 2026 Goldman Environmental Prizes were announced on Earth Day this year. A unique feature of this year’s prizes is that all the six winners are women!

Let us celebrate these women this month. Starting with Asia, and young blood

BORIS KIM

Activist Boris Kim and her organization Youth 4 Climate Change won the first youth-led climate litigation in Asia.

It was the summer of 2018, and South Korea was in the throes of a record-breaking heat wave. Borim Kim had just graduated from college and was working on energy conservation in a self-sufficient community in Seoul. The heat wave took a heavy toll as people struggled in buildings with no air conditioning. Borim realized that people, as individuals, could not escape the impacts of climate change. In her search for a way to become safer in the face of climate crisis, Borim found that many young people had similar concerns, but no solutions. This led her to start Youth 4 Climate Action (Y4CA).

Y4CA wanted to move the conversation away from individual solutions to the crisis, and work toward a fundamental transformation in society. The group started by organizing climate strikes and setting up meetings with decision-makers, including South Korea’s minister of education and minister of climate, energy, and environment. But the group soon realized that that just by demanding change, their safety in the face of the climate crisis was not guaranteed.

So in 2020, Borim decided to turn to the judiciary, which could require the legislature to act. Along with Y4CA, she organized a group of 19 youth who sued the South Korean government in the country’s constitutional court. Their suit, the first of its kind in Asia, made the case that the government was violating young people’s fundamental right to live in a clean environment by failing to adequately act on the climate crisis. Specifically, the plaintiffs contended that the government’s existing emissions reductions targets at the time — which sought to reduce emissions to 30 percent below 2020 levels by 2030 — were too weak. They argued that the absence of any additional planning past 2030 left future generations vulnerable. (Borim was not among the initial 19 plaintiffs, but she later joined the case, along with more than 200 others.)

In 2024, in a groundbreaking victory for the youth, the court agreed that the right to a clean environment includes protection from harms related to climate change. On that basis, it found that the government was violating youths’ rights by failing set emissions reductions targets for 2031 through 2049, in line with an existing national pledge to meet net-zero emissions by 2050. It ordered the Korean National Assembly to set such targets by February 2026.

Though the case represented the first youth-led national level climate victory outside of Europe, the plaintiffs didn’t win on all of their claims. Also due to political instability and inertia, the set targets were not achieved.

While the specific goal could not be achieved, the youth movement and the response from the judiciary were milestones in themselves. It was an affirmation that South Korean citizens had a basic right to “exist safely in the face of climate change”. As Borim Kim said, Ultimately, it created a red line from which the country’s climate policies would not go backwards.

Borim Kim continues to work to ensure that climate action moves forward in South Korea. Y4CA is also sharing lessons learned with other youth-led groups across Asia, including a group from Japan that is bringing a constitutional climate claim there. And she’s continuing to build the climate movement in South Korea. That includes making sure that youth and those who most directly face the inequalities of climate change have a voice in decision-making.

Borim Kim is the face of the future for the new generation that must bear the heavy brunt of climate change. A true ‘grassroots leader’ and deserving winner of the Goldman Environmental Prize.

Happy World Environment Day 2026.

–Mamata

A Very Sticky Berry: Glueberry

At a recent visit to a local farmer mela my attention was drawn to some lovely pinkish orange berries neatly packed in a plastic box. The farmer told me that these were a variety of local berries called gunda in Gujarat. While I was familiar with the slightly bigger and green varieties of this fruit which our aunts used to pickle in brine, I had not seen these smaller differently-coloured versions.

I brought home a box and my husband was most amused to see the packaged product. He recalled picking these in the wild in his childhood, and also how it was a bit of a pain to eat these as they were extremely sticky from the inside and did not make for a pleasant gustatory experience (at least not from him). The fun was in the picking, as part of the summer adventures in a small town. But he did remember that the sticky goo was effective in mending kites (which was a real passion).

Now I was curious. I discovered that the berry was in fact commonly known as glueberry! Its statelier botanical name was Cordia dichotoma, a tree of tropical and subtropical regions. Native to China, the tree is also found in parts of Japan, Pakistan Sri Lanka, Cambodia, and stretching across the South East region all the way to Australia and Vanatua. In India it is found in a variety of forests ranging from the dry, deciduous forests of Rajasthan to the moist deciduous forests of Western Ghats. The tree’s fast growth and tolerance for harsh, arid environments make it excellent for windbreaks, agroforestry, and animal fodder

This is a small to moderate-sized deciduous tree with a short crooked trunk, with a greyish brown bark and spreading crown. The white short-stalked flowers open only at night. The fruit is yellow or pinkish-yellow, shining and spherical, which turns black on ripening.

The bark and the leaves, as well as the fruit have medicinal values. They have been traditionally used in the treatment of stomach aches, coughs, and chest complaints, as well as diarrhea. The nutrient-dense berries are used in Ayurveda and Unani systems to soothe respiratory issues, promote digestion, and treat skin ailments.

The fruit—glueberry, also known as lasoda, gunda or bhokar is used when it is green, as well as when it ripens. The fruit can be eaten fresh, pickled or used as a vegetable. In South Asian cooking the green fruits are prized for making tangy pickles and chutneys. The ripe translucent berries are sweet and edible with a taste described by some as a combination of pineapple and mango.

The fruit pulp contains a sticky, natural mucilage which was traditionally used as a natural adhesive or a binding agent much before the advent of synthetic glues. Its historical significance as a natural, plant-based adhesive is well-documented.

The fruit was commonly rubbed on envelopes to seal them. Its sap was used to bind various materials together. The sticky pulp was also used to trap birds, hence it was also called Bird Lime Tree. And the sticky mucilaginous pulp of the fruit served as a reliable natural glue and was used to bind books, scriptures and manuscripts. And in the less documented uses, children used it to securely repair torn kites.

No wonder then, that the Glueberry truly lives up to its name!

Today this free-growing fruit is travelling from its native habitats, neatly packed and marketed in urban markets. An indigenous fruit sold for its exotic taste!

–Mamata