Category: Uncategorized

  • West is not the best

    Through out the history, the Europeans have proclaimed their civilization as the best. They believed that they were born to educate an illiterate world and they were the ones who invented and discovered everything. However, Professor Josephine Quinn believes the western civilization’s achievements were nothing more than borrowed patchwork from different civilizations.

    When Josephine Quinn, a professor of ancient history at the Oxford University and the author of the book ā€˜How the world made the West- A, 4000-year history’ said that the racial hierarchies and colonial expansions of the 19th century were a result of this civilizational thinking that made Europeans believe that they were a supreme race born to bring civilization to the ignorant world, people at the Jaipur Literature Festival were spell bound. She argued that societies of the ā€˜West’ cooked up their material and conceptual world using the wheel from the Central-Asian steppe, poetry from Persia, legal codes from Mesopotamia, mathematics from Babylon and India, Mongolian stirrups, gold from sub-Saharan Africa, maritime skills from the people of the Levant and the far north, and Asian religion. The founders of ā€˜Western civilisation’ didn’t limit themselves to any hemisphere, geographically or intellectually, and without their intermingling’s the mongrel culture we have inherited would have been infinitely poorer and less dynamic.
    Talking to Professor Quinn is like jumping into the pensieve of memories in J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter. When she speaks, you feel as if you have stepped into a time machine that will take you back to where it all first began. She was visiting the Jaipur Literature Festival 2024 and I had the opportunity to interview her.

    No matter, what kind of history you read, each culture seems to be saying that they came first or their people discovered or invented everything or even created the first civilization. What is the truth?

    (Laugh) That’s great, I think as a historian you end up realising that the idea of coming first never works because then you always, there’s always so much of stuff from earlier. Even if we just stick to human history, what we actually have records of, it’s only the last tiny, tiny minimal proportion of what’s going on. The stories people are telling each other, the wars that are happening, there’s so much that is only preserved, interestingly, in places which retained an oral culture for a really long time. So if you go to places like Australia or Polynesia and so on, where oral traditions remained the main way of passing on memory until really the last century or two, that’s the kind of place where you can begin to see stories that are reaching back tens of thousands of years in some cases, where you begin to see climate change from the Ice Age coming up into the myths that are being told and so on. But I think apart from that, and again it’s a very big picture, if you’re looking at sort of ideologies and the lights people give the world and so on, I think it’s impossible to say that any particular place or thing comes first, because from the very beginning people are interacting with each other, they’re interacting across it. I know it very inconvenient for the leaders of modern nations, but people just didn’t organise themselves neatly into those same structures in the past.

    But I read somewhere that there was a woman called Eve and she was in Africa. Is that true?

    So, the truth is all humans are interrelated, which means that on some level we all share the same ancestry. The idea of, I think what you’re talking about is mitochondrial Eve, who was this character created by scientists who working on DNA couple of decades ago to describe the fact that everyone is interconnected. The theory was that you could connect it all back to one person who would have been in Africa. Today, the studies on DNA have progressed quite a lot further than that and quite recently, scientists have discovered that is we’re actually all interconnected.

    I mean the way people say is everyone is everyone’s 11th cousin within quite large geographical areas. So, you probably don’t even need to go back as far as Eve to find people who everyone alive today are connected to each other.

    Generally children find history very boring and you are into ancient history. How do you find it interesting? Why are you in this profession and what makes it interesting for you?

    Actually, when I first went to university I was a languages person, I was doing classical languages, I have done a lot of modern languages before that and I never expected to be in history. In fact, I had given up history at school because it was so boring. At that time, there was an experiment going on in British schooling system where they introduced us to very local history. But I wanted to know about the whole world and I was being forced to learn about interesting but local stories but I wanted to know a much bigger picture than that.

    It was only when I started studying in the university that I realised it was possible to do a kind of history that told you about people who were nothing like you. In school, the idea behind teaching us local history was so that they could help us to relate to people who came from the same place as us but what I suddenly realised at university through amazing teachers and great courses that actually what’s more amazing are the people who aren’t like us, the people who bring something new and different and that’s why I love teaching about Greece and Rome in the Classics Faculty at Oxford.

    I absolutely love teaching my students about the Greeks and Romans. Sometimes my students tend to think that the Greeks and Romans are quite similar to us-they kind of imagine that a Roman senator might be rather like a British politician or something. But I tell them that they were nothing like today’s people, these were very strange and different people. I think that’s so important for children at school in particular to learn that all these categories that we think of as being completely natural, whether it’s sexuality, nation, ethnicity, all sorts of preferences, were seen completely differently in the past and the people thought differently, saw themselves differently. I find that so liberating and the idea that you can say to kids, you think that the world you’re brought up in, that the categories you encounter, the way that your parents, your teachers live their lives, it gives you the parameters, you can only make choices within them, am I going to be you know go the majority way or do whatever is the kind of minority alternative and so on. I want to say to them you can completely rethink your lives, look at these people who are utterly different to you, see the world in completely different ways, you can take that and make the world you want to.

    Has the idea of God evolved through the history? Has the human mind evolved through the ages?

    I have yet in my career as a historian to see any evidence that the human mind has evolved over the ages (laughs), I’m afraid, I mean I wish it was different but I really don’t think so, I do have moments of revelation where, for instance, where you can see that the context has changed and this maybe explains a little bit about religion sometimes.

    So there was a moment when I went to visit some colleagues who were digging on a site at the island of Lemnos in the northern Aegean Sea. It’s a beautiful Greek island, very deserted, importantly for this particular anecdote, quite remote and there’s not a lot of towns on Lemnos. It wasn’t the tourist season at the time. I remember going out the first evening, the sun had set, the stars were out and they were everywhere.

    I wasn’t just seeing the Milky Way, which you don’t see very often in England, or many places these days, but it was, the whole sky was carpeted with stars. In a way it wasn’t stars in the sky, it was stars and then tiny bits of black space in between them. A thought struck me that if I lived in a world before the invention of electricity and every time I looked in the sky after the sun went down, I saw this, then I might be maybe a little scared but also just very impressed with whatever it is that is creating that fact for me and this was a revelation for me because they I realized why all societies develop some kind of religion. I think the idea that there is something very powerful and strange beyond our reach and that’s just not available. But these days, we don’t even have time for these kind of revelations unfortunately, so in that sense the human mind has devolved.

    Did the mythic island of Atlantis exist in the ancient world?

    No. The truth is that the story of Atlantis was made up as a myth and it’s a very deliberate one, not a myth that grew up in time but was actually written down by the philosopher Plato in the 4th century BC and he specifically says, I am using this as an example, imagine if there was an island like this, so from the very beginning, it was supposed to be a non-existent thing, this enormous island in the Atlantic. He was using it to do some thought experiments about what if there was this kind of place that worked this sort of way, sort of utopian idea, but then what happened was people loved this idea so much, they wanted it to be real and so people started to say, well, what island was he thinking of and everyone forgot that he actually had specifically said this is not a real place, this is an imaginary place. So, I do, I love when people kind of try and say, oh, we finally found Atlantis, you know, this volcano or this, that and the other. It’s like, well, brilliant, but if you do then the person who made Atlantis up knew nothing about it. But it’s been such an interesting idea since, I’m so glad that he made it up and also that some people have kind of taken it more seriously than he intended because it’s very revealing what people say about Atlantis, where they imagine it, how they imagine it.

    When you study history as a subject, do you see any human behaviour repeating through out the ages?

    Yes, and then of course, one wants to leap to the very negative things, like somehow, we still managed to have war and so on, even though we have many examples of it not being very helpful.

    But on a positive note, I think there is a universal desire for connection and that is something that you can see over and over again in different societies, that no matter what the really physical barriers often to contact, to meeting other people and that kind of thing, the technological barriers and so on, people continue to overcome them. So, now there are many fewer physical or technological barriers to travelling around the earth and people want to go into space and people are imagining there might be aliens and so on to meet. So, I think there’s a that kind of desire to constantly expand the human horizon. I think it’s that something that repeats.

    This article by Shailaza Singh appeared in Rashtradoot Newspaper’s Arbit Section on July 6, 2024.

  • Is AI perfect?

    I was helping my daughter with her essay for her class work in grade 12 IBDP. I watched her read and refer to different sources and write each sentence in her own words. 1400 words for a child who isn’t into writing or much reading is a tough job in today’s  world. She submitted it to her teacher the next day and pat comes the reply…’AI generated’. Needless to say my daughter was disappointed because she had written the entire essay on her own. When I talked to the teacher, he said that they use a special  AI detector for IB and I should not  check in any other tools. I went online and I  read this article.

    Can AI detectors identify AI-generated content?
    AI content detectors are not always shown to be 100% accurate and can often lead to false positives. Since AI detection tools rely on writing patterns and language structures that are characteristic of AI-generated content, they can incorrectly flag human-written articles that mimic a similar style.

    As our analysis shows, AI content detectors are not always shown to be 100% accurate.
    These tools are not perfect and often mistakenly classify human-written content as AI-generated due to certain factors:

    Writing style: You may inadvertently use language patterns or phrases similar to those generated by AI models.
    Repetitive phrases or ideas: You might be using similar phrases multiple times in your writing. This is one of the most common reasons for false AI content detection.
    Unusual grammar or syntax: If your writing uses unconventional grammar or sentence structures, AI detection tools might misinterpret this as a sign of AI-generated content.
    Limited training data: AI detection tools rely on training data to learn how to distinguish between human and AI-generated content. If the training data of the AI detector is limited or biased, it can affect the tool’s accuracy and lead to false readings.
    Evolving AI algorithms: As AI writing models become more advanced and capable of mimicking human-like language patterns, it’s becoming more difficult for detection tools to differentiate between human and AI-generated content accurately.
    AI detection tools are constantly having to improve and adapt to new developments in AI-generated content. However, false detections of human-written content as AI-generated may still occur due to the factors above.

    At this moment, I don’t recommend relying solely on AI content detectors to distinguish between human and AI-generated text.

    However, AI tools like ChatGPT have pledged to watermark their generated text in a bid to authenticate AI-generated content versus human writers.

    This could potentially make AI detectors more accurate in the future.”

    My point is how can teachers do this to a child? How can they blindly trust a new software and not understand a child’s hardwork when the software is not 100 percent accurate and still evolving?

  • The Game


    What is it about death
    That it creeps so silently
    One whisper, one breath
    The thief steals the light
    Leaves the shell behind…
    That which was stolen
    One can never find
    A warm living pulsating heart
    Turns into a stone
    Memories and the tears run dry
    A little bird who couldnt fly
    Flies away
    Yet the heart refuses to believe that it is the end of tale
    No logic works
    All arguments fail.
    Why does it seem that its gone
    Thr heart says it is some where around
    Eyes search for the form.
    Ears search for the sound.
    Hoping for a miracle …yet the Gods heed any prayer
    Doubts assail, wondering if that power is really there
    Or are we inconsequential specks in an indifferent universe
    The feelings so deep seem like a curse.
    World goes on and no one to blame
    As though the universe just played a silly little game.
    How does the heart beat for someone so fast
    That you start hoping that the moment would forever last
    But look again…that tiny second has already passed.
    The sand slips quietly from the hands
    The empty fist remains
    The wounds of time…
    And time heals the pain…
    Till then the heart cries
    And before you know……………

    You get absorbed in life’s lows and highs
    Time flies
    Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā  – Shailaza

  • Of Ragging and Other Mischiefs

    Once upon a time, in the land of Army existed a place called AFMC. It was a place full of cadavers, doctors, classes , jokes and a lot of FUN. The Armed Forces Medical College was not just a college, it was a way of life for thousands who have passed through its doors.

    I will make no bones about it- I am what they call an ā€˜army brat’. For as long as I remember I have been a part of this army life, thanks to my father who retired about a decade ago. I have listened to his adventures, escapades and pranks ever since I could understand them. He is a graduate from AFMC (Armed Forces Medical College), Pune and belongs to the ā€˜I’ batch (Right from the inception of the college, each batch of students has been given a letter of the alphabet to identify their year and seniority. So ā€˜A’ was the very first batch in 1966. After the 26 letters were over (that means 26 years), they started off with A1. So, far, 57 batches of doctors have graduated from this college).


    So, when Major Dr. Meeta Singh and her husband Ashok Singh organized the yearly event Jalsa 2024, I was only too happy to attend it because it meant listening and in a way reliving the naughty, spicy and interesting anecdotes of these army doctors.
    When I walked into the Stardom Resort, where Jalsa 2024 was being held, it was like walking back into time and meeting my own childhood. I could see my father’s friends, his classmates, his seniors and juniors, most of whom I knew from years of postings. Some of them had taken to singing on the stage while the others were busy sharing jokes and laughing. Then as was the custom in their college, there were some backbenchers too who were commenting quietly on everything that was going on and having their own party.


    My purpose was simple. All I wanted to do was know about the fun they had in their time in AFMC. Acing MBBS is not easy and then these were officers of the Indian army; which is known for its discipline and tough postings. But these people were experts in taking it all in their stride and making as the popular slogan goes in the army, ā€˜jungle mein mangal’.
    I walked to a group of men who were sitting in a corner and drinking beer. I asked them about their fondest memories of AFMC.

    Basi Menon, an anesthetist from G batch said, ā€˜I remember in 1969 I got chicken pox in the third year of AFMC, so I was under a lot of scrutiny and observation in the isolation ward. Some of the students even envied me and tried to hug me and get it too so that they wouldn’t have to give any exams but most of them were unsuccessful in getting the disease. One day, this friend of mine came in four days later with mumps. Another fellow classmate and his friend turned up in the ward after crashing his motor cycle while travelling from Mahabaleshwar to Pune. I was the unofficial mechanic for all the motor bikes in the college. All the damaged, broken bikes would come to me. So, even though I had chicken pox, I still had to go and pick up the bike because I was the only one who could repair it. Moreover, it is not like chicken pox is a very serious disease. It is just that people don’t like you because you are all full of pus and pustules. And they are terrified of you when you walk in somewhere. After a lot of whispered discussions in the medical ward, my friend who managed to get the chicken pox at the same time as me (by being very (physically) attached to me) decided I could go. Everyone in the ward knew what was going on but they didn’t say anything. So, I slipped out quietly. That evening, during the rollcall, the officer in charge came to see the four of us in the ward. My bed was occupied by the pillows which were completely covered by the quilt. When he tried to talk to me, the man next to me was the son of the Air Chief and he told the officer, ā€˜Sir, please don’t disturb him. He is so very exhausted and needs rest.’ The officer was convinced and told him to let him know if there was any problem and walked away. I stole back into the ward the next morning and quietly slipped into my bed.’


    It seems that even in the army, examination scared every one. Basi Menon says, ā€˜Ashish Mitra of G batch could do anything to avoid sitting for examinations. Poor thing, it was not his fault. He had accidently cleared the entrance examination since he had such a photographic memory. But he wasn’t a doctor material. He would have done really well in journalism or some similar field. He was petrified when the first semester exams were announced. He decided to get a fever by putting onions in his armpit for a day or two. He developed the fever and tried to get admitted into the ward. But most of the officers knew what the game was and saw through him. Later on he dropped out of AFMC and now he is an orthopaedic surgeon in the US.
    Ragging was a well known fact in AFMC. The ā€˜freshers’ as the first years were called were made to do all sorts of tasks by their seniors; most of them were fun and helped them to bond well with their peers. Admiral Sudeep Naidu recounts, ā€˜I managed to do everything wrong on my first day in AFMC! Chucked out of the house by a mother, paranoid about late running trains, I arrived 2 days before the last check in date, enjoying the undivided attention of the whole college, bar one portly character who had beaten me to it. I also managed to draw considerable attention to myself by driving up to the hostel office in an army jeep arranged through a friend of a friend by the same paranoid mother. Two suitcases, one trunk, one holdall and my pride and joy – A burgundy red BSA SLR with white sidewall tyres and handles bent down into Lance Armstrong territories.


    I got down from the jeep, surveyed the motley crowd standing at the warden’s office and asked where I should report. A guy with cut-off jeans and a banian with more ventilation than originally intended, sauntered up to me and speaking clipped English asked me who I was. I introduced myself with pride and by the time I was finished, he was well versed with my ancestry. By this time, I noticed that he also had a hairstyle reminiscent of the then ā€˜angry young man’ and had the mannerisms, down to the sulky look and baritone drawl. I enquired as to who, he was, and was informed that he was a waiter in something called B Mess. My impression of the college straight away zoomed! Waiters speaking English and looking like Amitabh Bachhan! I had also arrived from Hyderabad wearing what I thought was the epitome of fashion – brown trousers with flares at the bottom – bell-bottoms! (Apparently, the new fashion of narrow trousers had not yet reached Hyderabad) Not only was I was soon rushing to the tailor near the cycle shop for alterations, but also, sitting with a blade ripping of back pocket labels like Playboy, Newman, and Dragon etc, from my trousers.
    I met another fresher who had already been initiated into all the nuances of behaving as a penguin and was soon educating me. In fact he was teaching me what ā€œthird buttonā€ was, when some seniors saw us and presuming that a fresher was ragging another fresher, subjected him to a lot of sit-ups and push-ups ! We were then duly marched off to 4Top, where we had been granted an audience with a character who was casually doing pull –ups while hanging from the top floor balcony – on the outside! I politely declined when he offered to teach me how to overcome the fear of heights and instead took the option of going in for the zero cut. This character also insisted that I retain one side of what he called ā€œfungusā€ on the upper lip and this strange look acted as an incentive for other seniors to have me front roll and visit exotic hill stations in each room. Thankfully, after a round of Shimla, Mt Abu and Darjeeling we reached the at the warden’s office and I was allotted 5 Top 4. The dean had briefed the various sports options available to the new candidates and I was soon on the track, racing against a P batcher for a place in the relay team. The sports guys looked out for us freshers and there was a dictum that the sports field was exempt from any type of ragging.’

                                                          ..To be continued

    This article by Shailaza Singh appeared in Rashtradoot Newspaper’s Arbit Section on May 7, 2024

  • The Pilkhan Tree

    Malashri Lal believes that poems help in healing one’s self because when a poet writes pure emotions. She feels that everyone is a poet though everyone may not be Kalidas or Valmiki. To her, Bhopa singer dancing in Rajasthan is as much a poet as a person who is reciting poetry in the by lanes of Shanti Niketan.

    Malashri Lal has been writing poems for decades. She feels that poems help in releasing all the emotions on to the paper and letting go.

    How does poetry help in healing the heart?

    I have been writing personal poetry for a long time. Poetry helps in healing because you write your emotions out of yourself. When you look for words, it helps and then you need precise words. So, if someone is writing about losing a friend, he will not look for a word like sorrow which is quite common place but he will use words like angst or anguish or trauma. In doing so, I think you actually enter the premises of healing. A prose needs narrative but a poetry doesn’t. It just needs images and phrases. Personally, I think every one is a poet in some way.

    You seem to be very fond of Sita. Many poems in the book talk about her.

    Sita has seeped into my consciousness ever since Namita Gokhale and I wrote ā€œIn Search of Sitaā€. It was the first of our Goddess trilogy books we did. When we were working on our book on Sita and we were looking at her as a figure of strength, intelligence and decision making, she sort of became a part of psyche. We were getting into her mind and thoughts and therefore giving her dialogues, conversations and scenarios. I wrote this poem at a time when there had been a fair amount of discussion in the newspapers regarding Sita’s rasoi which was an area which was found during the excavations in Ayodhya. It struck me at that time that generally we think of rasoi as being the centre and the heart of the mother’s domain. Sita in my mind stood for equality, fairness and justice, I could just imagine her sitting and making rotis not only for her two children but also for a third orphan child who would be a playmate. There was a mix of what I had grown up with that you play with the children your age, doesn’t matter what caste or community they come from. That is what I had seen in Jaipur. The notion of mathematical equality is very different to woman’s idea of equality because emotions always have a part to play and that is what I have tried to portray in this poem.

    //Sita’s Rasoi

    ā€œMaternity calls
    for justice,
    no favourite child.

    Sita’s rasoi, a stone slab on which
    warmed single mounds
    of flour rest.
    Rotis dance into a shape,
    flat, brown-edged, uneven rounds.

    Take one each,
    Little Bakha, you too.
    Be sure it’s an equal share,
    not a morsel must
    exceed anyone’s due.

    What did you say—
    the rotis are not exact rounds so
    what is an equal share?

    That puzzles a mathematical man
    Who may know enough to solve this query.
    Uneven jagged edges, uncertainties they might mull over
    as Father, Priest, Teacher. ā€œ//

    But Sita seeped into your consciousness so much that she even followed you to Italy in the poem Bellagio, Italy?

    I don’t find that strange at all. You see, Namita Gokhale and I had a joint fellowship at this place called Bellagio which is a residency run by the Harvard University. It is fully funded, month-long residency. We got the opportunity because we had finished writing our manuscript (ā€œIn Search of Sitaā€ and we were now editing it. When you are editing, you need to be together much more. We applied for this residency and we got it. It was a huge, beautiful estate on the banks of Lake Como. So, Sita was with us in Bellagio. It was February, the trees were covered with snow. They had icicles, some of which had melted while some were still suspended on the trees. Sometimes, the sun would sparkle through these icicles. We found a grotto there during one of our daily walks. Interestingly, no one knew what it was or who it was for. It didn’t feature in any of the material that we had read about the place and history. So, we did our own research and came upon the history of this Celtic Goddess whose name was Belisama. She, like many ancient goddesses including Gaia was linked to the earth. It was then that this link happened between Sita and Belisama in my mind.

    //Bellagio, Italy

    ā€œBelisama’s shrine and Sita’s exile,
    Met strangely on the hilltop of an ancient manor house
    Villa Serbolini, Bellagio, overlooking Lake Como.
    ā€œHow did I come here?ā€ asked the prisoner of Ashoka Van
    ā€Was it the power of a writer’s pen that propelled this journey?ā€
    ā€œA Goddess lives beyond time and geography,ā€
    Said the deity of the Lake
    Remembering hoary Roman times
    Celtic chalice of stone and water from secret wells.

    Sita of my imagination followed me
    Through the snow-clad landscape of pines
    Pendent with glistening drops of ice
    Sita murmured to me of her travails and her choices
    Sita was completely at home in what I thought was an alien space
    For she and the Celtic Goddess had a common sisterhood
    In Endurance and in Hope.ā€//

    Your poem ā€œHawa Mahalā€ talks about some latent desires.

    I wrote this poem for two reasons. One it was such an obvious tourist spot. Second, the from the very childhood, I had always wondered why would any one put up a faƧade with nothing behind it? Then I used to talk to my father about the architecture and purdah since he was history person. Purdah is not just about certain clothes, there are different types of purdahs like there is a Janana Mahal and Mardana Mahal where you have segregated domestic spaces. Then I realized that it was made so that women could sit behind those jalis and look down upon the procession that happened along the Jauhri bazaar road. I imagined this whole idea of a very restricted childhood and adolescence of girl children growing up in traditional Rajput homes. You see all this traditional pageantry, this beauty on the walls of the havelis where there are so many paintings. So, you see a lot of romance depicted around you but it is prohibited in your life till you are married off to someone who you hardly know or don’t even know. A lot of my MGD classmates were Rajputs. So, this whole idea of watching from behind the veil with desires playing up since you are young woman. You dream of romance and see so much of it depicted around you like the Rajput paintings. It is all about of longing and desire.

    //Hawa Mahal

    ā€œWho sits behind those tiered windows
    Arched like Ram’s bow
    Waiting to tremble into action
    For a hunt yet to start?
    A princess in royal blue
    The colour of Diwali
    Peers from the shadows
    Looking eagerly at the carriages below
    Thirsting for a paramour
    Not yet known.

    Cloistered girlhood,
    Guarded puberty,
    Controlled womanhood
    How did she learn to dream
    Of love and desire?
    Was it from the legends of Krishna
    Intricately drawn on the walls?
    Was it her prayers which held hidden meaning
    In pursuing the call of the flute?ā€//

    Shila Devi to me is a metaphor for migrant identity. Actually, at one time I was seriously thinking of doing a book on the link between Bengal and Rajasthan. Shila Devi is one of the earliest examples of how a stone image from Jessore came to Raja Mansingh in a dream (as the legend says). Along with her came the cooks and the pujaris who were and still are Bengalis. Half our school teachers in MGD were Bengali. Many doctors were also Bengalis. All of these came because of their jobs and settled here. Both the worlds (Bengali and Rajasthani) existed together. Shila Devi came to me as a migrant divinity and therefore legitimizing migrant movement as something that was positive. Personally, I needed that in my life. For a long time, I had a very split identity which I have written about and spoken about where I was from or who I was. Today, I can say that I am from Rajasthan but I am a Bengali. That time, I used to console myself thinking that even Shila Devi came from Jessore to Rajasthan.

    //Shila Devi of Amber

    ā€œGilded silver doors encase me now
    with a retinue of priests
    who determine my hours
    of shayan, darshan and bhog.
    I think of my freedoms in Jessore

    In a marshy pit, I lay hidden
    When Mansingh found me
    as a black miracle stone.
    I travelled to the golden Rajasthan.
    Honour, glory, wealth was mine,
    but what happened to my companions
    in the marsh?
    The dolorous fish, the raucous frogs,
    the earth-hugging worms?
    Did they find adoration too?ā€//

    You have dedicated your book ā€œMandalas of Timeā€ to the poets under the Pilkhan tree. What is your relationship with the Pilkhan tree?


    The Pilkhan tree is a humongous tree in our garden which is three storeys high. Ours is a bungalow in the heart of Delhi. When we were house hunting about eight years back, the tree in this place somehow spoke to me. I don’t claim that I have any mystical connection with objects of nature but I think I am attuned to them in a way. We often organize Pilkhan poetry sessions under this tree with a group of 20 people. We celebrate being together, reading poetry and books and finally we cut a cake and have eats. I believe the Pilkhan tree is almost like a witness to whatever is going on in the house. It keeps listening quietly to everything. I spend a lot of time sitting under the tree.

    //Another New Year

    ā€œThe Pilkhan tree nods its farewell to the year.
    Its squirrels scamper looking for nuts left over
    From Christmas festivities
    And the days of social revelry
    The Pilkhan is tired of hearing
    Scandal, gossip, jokes
    Of the young
    The worries and health bulletins of the old,
    The strategic plans of family and builders
    OF knocking down the old house
    For commercial profit.

    The Pilkhan tree thinks of its many years
    Of shedding leaves, bearing inedible fruit, of losing limbs
    But smiles at his troubles being far less
    Thank of unfortunate humans
    Who kill each other in word and deed
    But gather around the tree each Christmas
    With fulsome gifts and vacant smiles
    To bring in another New Year.

    Concluded

    This article by Shailaza Singh appeared in Rashtradoot Newspaper’s Arbit Section on April 28th, 2024

  • ą¤Ŗą„ą¤·ą„ą¤Ŗą¤¾ ą¤•ą„€ अभिलाषा

    चाह ą¤Øą¤¹ą„€ą¤‚ ą¤•ą¤æą¤øą„€ धनवान ą¤•ą„€ ą¤Ŗą¤¤ą„ą¤Øą„€ ą¤•ą¤¹ą¤²ą¤¾ą¤Šą¤
    चाह ą¤Øą¤¹ą„€ą¤‚ ą¤•ą¤æą¤øą„€ राजा ą¤•ą„‡ घर पर राज कर
    ą¤­ą¤¾ą¤—ą„ą¤Æ पर ą¤‡ą¤ ą¤²ą¤¾ą¤Šą¤
    चाह ą¤Øą¤¹ą„€ą¤‚ ą¤•ą¤æą¤øą„€ ą¤•ą„€ ą¤Ŗą„ą¤°ą„‡ą¤®ą¤æą¤•ą¤¾ बन
    ą¤‰ą¤øą¤•ą„‡ मिलन ą¤—ą„€ą¤¤ ą¤—ą¤¾ą¤Šą¤
    चाह ą¤Øą¤¹ą„€ą¤‚ ą¤¦ą¤¹ą„‡ą„› ą¤²ą„‡ जा कर माँ बाप पर ą¤Æą„‚ą¤ ą¤¬ą„‹ą¤ ą¤•ą¤¹ą¤¾ą¤Šą¤
    ą¤®ą„ą¤ą„‡ ą¤Ŗą„ą¤¾ लिखा कर ą¤®ą„‡ą¤°ą„‡ ą¤¬ą¤Øą¤®ą¤¾ą¤²ą„€
    उस पऄ पर ą¤šą¤²ą¤¤ą„‡ ą¤¹ą„ą¤ ą¤¦ą„‡ą¤–
    ą¤†ą¤¤ą„ą¤®ą¤Øą¤æą¤°ą„ą¤­ą¤° ą¤¬ą¤Øą¤Øą„‡ ą¤•ą„‡ ą¤²ą¤æą¤
    जिस पऄ ą¤œą¤¾ą¤ ą¤Øą¤¾ą¤°ą„€ हर ą¤ą¤•
    – ą¤¶ą„ˆą¤²ą¤œą¤¾ सिंह
    (माखन लाल ą¤šą¤¤ą„ą¤°ą„ą¤µą„‡ą¤¦ą„€ ą¤œą„€ ą¤•ą„€ ą¤Ŗą„ą¤·ą„ą¤Ŗ ą¤•ą„€ अभिलाषा ą¤øą„‡ ą¤Ŗą„ą¤°ą„‡ą¤°ą¤æą¤¤)

                   

                                

  • The Words And Muse Just Come…

    The poet in Malashri Lal is a quiet observer. She finds her muse everywhere; in her daily life and in the people she meets. Her poems talk to and talk about everything that catches her attention- from trees to lost souls to flowers and even Gulzar Sa’ab.

    How does a poet write a poem? Is it a logical process like prose or is it a play of mind, intuition, experiences? Malashri Lal believes that the process of writing a poem involves more than just words and rhythm.

    There must be some kind of a serendipity and intuition at play when writing a poem?

    Both happen. Serendipity also happens and the accidental development of a poem also happens. I had written a poem about Geeta Chandran, a well-known dancer and a very good friend. I had gone to see Geeta. She was doing this absolutely stunning performance which is on the life of Gandhi. She is such a beautiful dancer and she did that whole thing wearing a stark white saree with a black border. She did not wear a kanjeevaram saree like the dancers usually wear. There were no props, nothing! I was so moved with what she had done with the Charkha and Gandhi using simply light. I came and wrote this poem and sent it off to Geeta and Rajiv. She liked it so much that she shared it with everyone.

    Geeta Chandran

    //In Gandhi’s Shadow
    ā€œFor Geeta Chandran

    The dancer’s taut body
    Bent to the bullets of
    Of hate embedded in the history
    Of my country,
    Her body curved into the grace
    Of supple Satyagraha
    Pangs of hunger
    Self-induced silence
    Never retaliating when violated
    By lathi charge, insults, aggression.

    The scavengers bent double
    To scoop up human waste
    While others blocked their nose
    And eyes and ears to the wretched poor.

    Gandhi watched alone
    Stricken to the core by the
    Assaults on human dignity.

    The dancer’s hands wove subtle ropes
    On the invisible charkha
    The warp and weft of
    India’s Independence
    That even today drives us together
    And also apart
    While Bapu sighs, Hey Ram.ā€//

    Malashri Lal with Geeta Chandran

    It is interesting that you have written a poem on the poet himself!

    I along with some others in a group had worked very closely with Gulzar sa’ab on a project in Chamba in 2010 or 2012. It was about preserving the old history of older women. We had done a conference in the Indian Institute of Advanced Studies (formerly known as the Vice Regal Lodge) in Shimla with Gulzar Sa’ab. This building is quite old. It has a seminar room which is quite beautiful. It has silk brocade walls and chandeliers. Gulzar Sa’ab was reading his famous poem ā€œKitabe jhankti hai band almari ke sheesha seā€ in that room. It goes back to those old days when boys and girls could not communicate directly with each other and hence they use to hide love notes and petals pressed in these books and meet on the pretext of returning the books. A world that today’s children will never recognize. It struck me that he was reading it at time when digitization had come in and hence, I wrote this poem.

    // A Poet’s Remembrance
    For Gulzar Sa’ab

    In the brocade-lined old hall, the poet read,
    Kitabe jhankti hai band almari ke sheesha se
    And time stood still while images wrote their story in the air
    Resonant with words
    His deep gentle voice and crisp words meld lyric and memory
    Of yesteryears without digital exuberance
    When love was wrapped in dried rose peals
    And modesty was not an anti-feminist term
    Libraries of books have lost their role as mediators in young romance
    The ubiquitous cell phone has abbreviated both love and intimacy
    The poet though nostalgic has a wry smile
    Giving voice to those pages locked behind the glass.ā€//

    Your poem ā€œAfternoon Serenadeā€ talks about lost souls in search of company.

    Yes. I frequent this place in Delhi where a lot of elderly people come and I have years of memory of older aunts and uncles frequenting that place. You can go there any time after 4 in the evening and they are always willing to give you a coffee and a pastry or a patty. In Delhi, people don’t visit each other’s homes like they do in Jaipur, so a lot of elderly people find company in such places around Delhi. These places are impersonal, affordable, beautiful and you are not obligated to anyone. I used to feel so grateful for such places for these elderly people because had they not been there, they would have been sitting alone in their homes. Whenever I go there, it is a kind of an impromptu companionship where you will meet someone or the other and then have coffee with them or go for a walk with them. Many such people I know live completely on their own. They aren’t financially dependent and have caregivers but where is the human company or the intellectual companionship. These are people who have been government officers, professors, they have had positions of authority; today they are sit and read the newspapers in such places. But the image that I want to convey through this is a positive image because these people still have places like these where they can find company and spend their time nicely.

    Malashri Lal with the Directors ofĀ HawakalĀ Publishers: Kiriti Sengupta and Bitan Chakraborty

    //Afternoon Serenade

    ā€œLost souls in search of company
    Seek out tables
    Overlooking the pond
    Staring at the water and trees beyond
    Pretending not to hear
    The loneliness within
    That yearns for voices
    And finds it answered by birds
    Longs for movement
    Kindly activated by squirrels
    Hopes for glorious flights
    Then finds butterflies enacting this dream
    In teacups, the images float one into another
    While the afternoon turns to dusk
    God’s creatures steal into their nests and lairs,
    The lost souls wrap blankets of forgetfulness
    Around their frail shoulders
    And quietly doze into the next dawn.ā€//

    So, when you visit such places, you write your poems there and then? Do you carry a pen and paper with you?

    Yes, sometimes I write it there and then and sometimes the image stays with me and I come back home and write it. These days, I write my poems on my phone and email them to myself. Before the phone, I used to write them in diaries or pieces of paper.

    What is the story behind the poem ā€œEaster Lilies in an Empty Homeā€? Whose home is this?

    When I shifted into this other house (which belonged to my parents) that we have in Jaipur due to personal reasons, I had bought some Easter lilies that had been in the old house right from my parents’ time and planted them here. I live in Delhi and visit Jaipur every now and then. But now what happens is every April, these bulbs have proliferated. I do nothing during the year. But every April it is like a riot of colours with these lilies. Every year, the bulbs are growing in numbers. I wrote this poem in the April of 2023. I feel lilies are a message from somewhere as if to say that we are still there in your life, don’t worry.

    //Easter Lilies in an Empty Home
    ā€œ ā€˜Come’ they call out,
    ā€˜It’s the season of forgiveness’
    A hundred lilies stand tall
    Renewed by the magic of seasons
    The pink stripes may be scars from yesteryear
    The white streaks are healing balm
    To be washed by the dew
    The supple leaves
    flat and curved
    cradle the flowers that have no other family
    Some do, maybe three lilies on a stem
    But they squabble like siblings
    Pushing for space
    They calmly grace the garden of a silent home
    The owners alive only in obituaries
    The lilies don’t worry on that count
    Buried bulbs know they will creep upwards in season
    Life’s renewal is a beautiful certainty.ā€//

    There is another poem in which you talk about your mother.
    I wrote this poem when I was abroad visiting my son and daughter-in-law. We were on a vacation somewhere and I was looking at the sky changing colours in the evening. Somehow this poem came to me. I lost both my parents in a tragic car accident. I was very close to my parents. They were my friends, teachers and mentors. I had a very open relationship with both of them. They had a very complimentary relationship with each other. My father never went to the kitchen. Not that he didn’t want to but he made such a mess of it that my mother told him to stay out and let the cook handle everything. Today, there are these talks about feminism and equality. My concept is somewhat different. A relationship between a husband and wife should be more about complimentary rather than division of labour.

    Dreaming of Ma by the Sea
    You live somewhere between the black night and the bright star,
    Free of body and its temporal limits.
    In green leaves turning to red in a mellow autumn
    I catch a glimpse of the saree pallav on that day
    You knew life was short and might become shorter.
    In the shimmer of an unsteady wave on the lake
    I recall your tremulous smile when you whispered trying a hopeless cure,
    In the rough hewn rocks that line the harbour,
    I remember your will to fight an uneven battle with the rouge cells.
    Here, on shores unknown to you and me,
    We meet again.
    When the dark sky rests on the sparkle of stars,
    Living and dying are no longer apart.
    ..To be continued

    This article by Shailaza Singh appeared in Rashtradoot Newspaper’s Arbit Section on Saturday 27 April 2024.

  • The Goddess

    Those eyes gaze at me
    With a semblance of a smile
    Or perhaps it is my imagination
    She doesn’t speak
    Everyday we sing to her, we praise her
    Shower her with flowers
    In the hope that she show us her power
    Day after day songs of hope resound on her walls like a prayer
    Unheard pleas wonder if she is really there?
    The bells vying for her attention
    Hoping for a miracle to see life through
    Some one’s granted wish gives hope anew
    Time works as her agent it seems
    Gently weaving desires through reality and dreams
    She stands there impassive watching over the night and day
    While laughing anklets dance and tinkle away
    What does she think, what does she do?
    Is she different or is she just like me or you?
    She invites questions but answers come on their own pace
    The eyes of the seeker arrested by the face
    Silent tears ask her for peace and solace
    They promise a lifetime of devotion in return for some grace.

                             -Shailaza

  • Dear Books

    Dear books, my best friends
    I am sorry I abandoned you for so long.
    The glitzy phone and its shenanigans distracted me.
    The lure of an insta reel.
    Made me yearn and feel.
    Emotions suppressed and unrealized
    They danced and twirled
    In front of my eyes.
    The fear of missing out
    Made me watch every fb story.
    I was so jealous of everyone else’s perfection
    That I forgot to revel in my own glory.
    Dear books, I now know your magic is subtle and true.
    I can travel this world and other worlds with you.
    With you more gray cells grow in my brain.
    With those instas and fb, it is more of a brain drain.
    Your presence enhances my knowledge, makes me wise.
    Their stories are mostly made up, blatant lies.
    The slow magic in your pages,
    Gives me the wisdom of ages.
    In the company of long gone sages.
    So I have come back to you..this time never to part.
    It is time to rekindle our lost love.
    It is never too late to restart.
                                        –   Shailaza Singh

  • Women’s Day

    Another women’s day in another year,

    Wishes will pour in, people will wish away.

    But no wishes really make sense,

    No change is here to stay.

    Women in offices are payed less than their male counterparts,

    Despite working harder and for longer hours.

    They are equally intelligent, capable and wise

    Still women suffer rape and abuse,

    Still women are burnt or harassed.

    It is all over the news.

    The daughters are married away,

    In their years of study and play.

    These days most marriages don’t last long,

    And yet girls are not taught to be independent and strong,

    When a woman earns, they expect her to take care of the home and hearth,

    They want a homely, earning girl

    Who can earn, cook, clean, satisfy the man and give birth.

    All or nothing they say..

    Else you may go back to your parent’s place today.

    And on Facebook, they will happily wish you a happy women’s day.

    Shailaza Singh

  • An ode to a legend

    Lt. General Sagat’s life is the stuff of legends. He was not just known as a creator of Bangladesh or the liberator of Goa from the Portuguese but also as a soldier who had a ā€˜talent for war’.  Whether it is about his victory on Bangladesh or his capture of the Nathula Pass, the stories of his feats never fail to inspire bravery and awe in anyone who happens to listen to them.

    Gen Sagat (then a second lieutenant) was posted in in Iran with his regiment. One day, a Russian officer suddenly jumped into the jeep which was to carry his commanding officer and sat in the front seat.  Sagat told him that if he wanted to travel in the jeep he will have to sit at the back since the jeep was designated for his commanding officer. The Russian refused. Sagat caught hold of the Russian officer by the collar of his shirt and the seat of his trousers and pulled him out of the jeep and dumped him in the rear of the jeep.

    India’s war with Pakistan in 1971 changed history once and for all. But had it not been for Lt. General Sagat Singh timely capture of Dhaka , India would have perhaps been sandwiched between East and West Pakistan. Hence it was only fitting that a biography titled ā€˜Sagat’ which talks about the life and times of this stalwart (authored by Major Chandrakanth, Vir Chakra, (retired)), was released on the Vijay Diwas by Lt. General Dhiraj Seth, (AVSM), Army Commander, Sapta Shakti Command.

    Major Chandrakanth has served with General Sagat during the war of 1971 and in various other postings and hence he has been a witness to many of his achievements and his feats during the course of his professional life. His book talks not only about the professional achievements and the victories of General Sagat but it also gives the reader an insight into the kind of man he was.  Some excerpts from a short tete-e-tat during the sidelines of the event with the author himself:

    What do you like the most about General Sagat’s personality?

    MC: I think he was a very fearless man. If he felt that something was to be done to make things better, he would never shy away from it.  Some incidents would illustrate this point. In the first incident which happened during the second world, Gen Sagat (then a second lieutenant) was posted in in Iran with his regiment. One day, a Russian officer suddenly jumped into the jeep which was to carry his commanding officer and sat in the front seat.  Sagat told him that if he wanted to travel in the jeep he will have to sit at the back since the jeep was designated for his commanding officer. The Russian refused. Sagat caught hold of the Russian officer by the collar of his shirt and the seat of his trousers and pulled him out of the jeep and dumped him in the rear of the jeep.

    The second incident that comes to my mind happened in 1967, during the face off with the Chinese in Nathula when he was ordered to withdraw and was being pressurised by his senior commanders to withdraw from Nathula. He did not want to withdraw and give Chinese the advantage of capturing Nathula. So he cut off his communication link, switched off all his telephone lines and the wireless so that his senior officers could not connect. He then went ahead and took on the Chinese and rest as we know is history. Again, at Nathula in the initial stages, when the Indian troupes were taken by surprise by the Chinese and started withdrawing from the pass, Sagat as the divisional commander went right to the front and pulled out his sten gun and threatened to shoot anyone (from his own troops) who withdrew from the post at Nathula.

    How was he as a commanding officer?

    MC: Sagat was a man who valued lives and victory equally. In 1969 or 1970, he had decided that he would cross the border and carry out the surgical strike in East Pakistan (present day Bangladesh) where the Mizo insurgents were hiding. I was ordered to carry out a reconnaissance. He briefed me and said, ā€˜you go ahead. You know what must be done but make sure that we suffer no causalities because all our lives are precious to us.’ For him, every one of his men were indispensable.

     Though he came from a humble background and was enrolled in the army as a sepoy, he had high aspirations. So, though he could not get much education in his school days, he made up for it during his days in the army. My commanding officer, then Lt. Col and later Lt. Gen Himmat Singh says of Sagat that whenever he saw Sagat in the military school in MHOW, he used to find Sagat in the library. He was perhaps the best-read person in the army on military history and not only on the Indian military history but also of the world particularly the Greek history.

    How was he with his senior and junior officers?

    MC: Once he ordered Group Captain Chandan Singh to take the surrender of the Pakistani soldiers because the intelligence reports said that the Pakistani army was ready to surrender in East Pakistan. However, when Chandan Singh flew there, he was met with machine gun fire and his helicopter received 19 hits. Chandan Singh came back and reported to Sagat that the enemy was not willing to surrender. All that Sagat then said to him was, ā€˜be prepared to do a helicopter landing so that we force the Pakistanis to surrender.’ He did not offer any words of sympathy for the 19 bullet holes his helicopter had received.  The second day, General Aurora, Sagat’s senior officer came to visit Sagat Singh. Sagat told him that he was planning to cross the Meghna river and proceed to Dhaka, Gen Aurora told him that was the not the charter of duties and he was not to cross the river and proceed. He was to confine himself to the eastern bank of Meghna. Sagat asked him what his problem was since he had already done what General Arora had asked him to do and he would now despite Gen Arora’s words will proceed and deliver Dhaka to him. On 13th of December, when Sagat’s troupes had entered the suburbs of Dhaka, he received a message directly from General Manekshaw via the eastern command asking the India troops to withdraw from Dhaka and return to the areas which they had been assigned on the eastern bank of Meghna. Sagat replied, ā€˜over my dead body. I am already in Dhaka and I will not withdraw.’

    Sagat was not a man who would sit in the board room and simply give orders. Every day he would fly over his entire area in an Allouette helicopter of the Air Force (subsequently, he started using an Air OP flight helicopter piloted by Maj, later Lt Gen, GS Sihota). He would take flight at the crack of dawn, mostly as per an itinerary chalked out late the previous night. He would visit the formations, sometimes flying ahead of the forward troops, and land amongst them, constantly encouraging them while giving them critical information of the enemy. There were times when he would change focus seeing the progress of the offensive. He would land back at the Corps HQ, sometimes after last light, and then after a quick wash, would head for the Operations Room. Thereafter, he and the senior staff would go to the A Mess, where he would issue orders for the next day, setting his staff in a tizzy. At times, the complete plan would change.

    What was his life after retirement?

    MC: After retirement he decided to settle down in Jaipur and he built a modest house here. He had a big family to support which included his wife and four sons. His last years weren’t very happy. Three of his sons died early. Digvijay who was his blue-eyed boy and into the 2nd battalion the 3rd Gorkha Rifles (2/3 GR), the battalion his father had commanded. Unfortunately, he died an untimely death while serving with the battalion in Poonch as a captain on 4 March 1976, when the jeep in which he was travelling met with an accident.. His third son Vir Vijay died in a scooter accident in Delhi  just eight months before that of his elder brother. Another son died due to prolonged illness. His wife predeceased him by a few years. But despite all these personal tragedies he did not lose his zest for life.  

    This article by Shailaza Singh was published in Rashtradoot Newspaper’s Arbit Section on December 27, 2023

  • Anarkali Invoked Strong Reactions Even Today

    It was a cozy evening straight out of Nav Gulati’s book. Gentle showers of rain and cool breeze. The only thing that was missing was the Anup Talav of Fatehpur Sikri and a dancing Anarkali. However, one could still feel Anarkali’s presence as Nav Gulati talked about his experiences with his book ā€˜Anarkali- One Concubine and Two Emperors’ with Rajesh Sharma, editor, Rashtradoot.

    When he was asked what made him write this book on Anarkali, he replied, ā€˜I have always felt that I have some connection with Anarkali. When I watched the movie Mughal-e-Azam, this connection sort of became stronger. Maybe it has to do with my past lives. One day, I dreamt that I was a Ghulam who was assigned to protect Anarkali and it was I who travelled with her from Istanbul to the court of Akbar. I felt as if I understood her plight, her life and her desires better than anyone else. Perhaps that is why I like to read and talk about her. This book too is like an ongoing conversation with Anarkali.’

    A member of the audience who had read the novel commented that when one reads the book, it seems as if the author has done some painstaking research on the subject which is apparent in his language and description about various customs and aspects of history. He then asked Nav about his modus operandi with regards to the research to which Nav replied, ā€˜I was always fascinated with the Ottoman Empire and the Mughal Empire. But since I also wanted to earn good money and have a career in life, I focussed on my job too. Though I had already thought about the story; it was like a movie running in my head, I really started seriously writing when I got posted in Dallas in 2010. I was working with a  bank at the time. I used to stay in California. So every Monday, I had to travel to Dallas and every Friday evening I would be back in California. However, after my work got over during the week I didn’t have anything to do. I wasn’t much into television or socializing. So, I decided to do some detailed research about the Mughals and the Ottomans. There was a library close by and every evening I would go to the library and read. So, for six years, till about 2016, this was my schedule and I read every book I could find about these empires. Since I already had my story in my head, I would make notes and add in these little details to my story.’

     As the rain drizzled, people sipped on hot tea and enjoyed the cozy, serene vibes. Another reader wanted to know about how Nav Gulati came up with the idea of two Anarkalis. He replied, ā€˜the idea of the two Anarkali’s came to me when I was reading about the debate in Emperor’s Suleyman’s Divan in 1535 whether to invade India or Persia. At the time, Baghdad was the seat of learning and prosperity. Humayun’s emissaries got the wind of this and asked Humayun to do something so that the Ottomons don’t invade India since they were a relentless war machine and could bring down the Mughal empire in a flash. Humayun sent the Sultan tributes in the form of gold, silver etc from India, which made the Sultan turn his attention to Persia. This is a fact that is well known. However, I added that he also sent the Sultan two concubines Anarkali I and Jalpari. In my story, Anarkali 1 was the grandmother of Anarkali. Anarkali was the daughter of Selim and Sufiye who was the daughter of Anarkali 1.  It was Anarkali who had to travel back to Hindustan since her foster mother Jalpari wanted to spend the last days of her life in Hindustan since she was born here. It was this Anarkali who met Salim and together they created an eternal love story. So, when I read about Anarkali and I thought about Salim (later on Emperor Jahangir), my only thought was Anarkali went from one Selim to another Salim.

    It was quite an interactive and lively session as the audience clamoured to add their comments and ask questions. Some of them found the book too explicit while the others wondered if sensuality was such an important aspect in the Mughal or Ottomon Empire. Nav replied, ā€˜ sensuality was an art when it was about Ottoman or the Mughal empire. They took pride in their procedures to turn a woman into a sensual one. There were perfumes, each of which was designed for a specific part of the body and was applied on the woman to ensnare the senses of the man. It was about all the senses, whether it was taste or smell or touch or vision. The lady was taught to dress in a certain way, smell in a certain way, walk and dance in a certain way. They even had musicians who would hide behind the curtains and play serenading music. The sultan would have a slave ready who would hand him the opium pill which would further enhance his experience with his concubine.’

    Amidst the laughter, discussions and even some disagreements, one thing was quite evident. The enigma of Anarkali had captured everyone’s hearts and minds. Many of the audience even said that this kind of book deserves a magnus opus which can bring out the beauty, pain and tragedy of being Anarkali.

    This article by Shailaza Singh appeared in Rashtradoot Newspaper’s Arbit Section on 15 February 2024.

  • Investor Decoded

    He is immaculately dressed. He offers you a chair the moment you walk in. Anirudh Rathore exudes an old-world charm which is sadly missing these days. He is the author of ā€˜Investing Decoded’ which has been well received especially by those who don’t understand investing at all and he runs two very successful hotels too. So, what more could a man want, you would ask! Well, a lot more investing, he would say!

    He doesn’t have a degree in finance. He is not your typical bespectacled finance guy who spouts numbers at the drop of a hat. In fact, he and numbers didn’t see eye to eye a few years back but today people seek his advice on investing. When I met Anirudh Rathore at his hotel in Dera Rawatsar in Jaipur, I was expecting to meet some sort of finance whiz who would be talking on three different phones at the same time. But to my utter surprise, Anirudh Rathore turned out to be your friendly neighbourhood entrepreneur who owns two heritage hotels and is now a proud author of the best seller ā€˜Investing Decoded’.

    He has written a book on investing which has been well received by the public. So, was he a numbers person from the very beginning? No, not at all! I was never into numbers at all. I used to run away! My weakest subject was mathematics in school (Mayo College, Ajmer). As a matter of fact, since it was such a nemesis, I gave up mathematics after my X class. I was so happy to leave mathematics after X. In XI and XII standard I studied arts. I studied history, geography and English. After that I did my graduation in history honours from St. Stephens.

    So how did he get into investing? After I finished my graduation in 1993, I applied for a lot of jobs but got no calls. Now, that was the time when the Indian economy had just opened up and all the graduates were rushing to join the private sector. But there was obviously catch to it. If you wanted to join a good organization in a good position, you had to be an MBA. My classmates and me realized that we had to do more to get a good job. At one time, I was almost on the verge of joining the army. Both my army exam and the MBA entrance exam were on the same date. Although my parents wanted me to join the army, but that time, there was such a craze of joining the private sector that I sat for the MBA exam instead of joining the army.

    But wasn’t the MBA entrance test all about numbers again? True! It was. In fact, before appearing for the MBA entrance exam, I devoted a year for preparing for the exam and learnt math all over again. I got through the exam and joined MBA in the Rajasthan university. After MBA, I joined banking.

    From a history graduate to MBA to a banking professional. What made him go for banking? From my very childhood, I have a tendency to dive deeper and explore things I don’t understand. As a child when I used to watch these people in the bank, I was always curious to know what they did there sitting all day long! It seemed very impressive to me to see people working in Grindlays, Barclays and all such fancy banks. They spoke in a language which was understood by no one except them. So, I thought that was a very cool thing to do and be a part of. So, once I completed my MBA, I applied for a position and luckily, I got through and joined as a trainee assistant manager in IndusInd Bank and was posted in Chandigarh.  Initially everything was new to me. I enjoyed all the different aspects of my job for the next couple of years. However, after a while it became a routine and standard work and I wanted to learn more since banking and finance is such a big and diverse line. Just joining a bank doesn’t teach you anything about finance. Banks are massive, there are so many departments and when I was in IndusInd bank, I realized that it was only catering to retail banking. There was nothing about investment banking or things like that. So, I started looking out for new avenues. As luck would have it, I got to know about an opening in HDFC bank in the private banking segment. There was no other bank in Rajasthan that was dealing with private banking at the time. Although I knew nothing about investing, luckily, I applied and got the position. Suddenly a whole new world opened to me. A world which people were either quite clueless about or they found it very intimidating. That set the pace and tone for me. We were part of a very selective group of people who were doing something which was very unique. No other bank except HDFC used to do private banking in India and only we 20-25 people were doing it in India and I was the only person in Rajasthan doing it. There the quality of people I interacted were crĆØme-de-la-crĆØme.

    I remember once during my MBA class, I got up and asked my teacher about the Harshad Mehta scam which was in the news at that time. But the professor himself didn’t know much about the scam and said that he could not answer the question and that I should meet him after the class. Then I went out to all the bookstores of Jaipur which could help me to understand this scam. But to my great surprise, I could not find a single book on the topic in the entire city! After some years, I went to Delhi and got books like The Intelligent Investor and Security Analysis that gave me an understanding of the subject. To put it in perspective, it was only when I got into this private banking sector, I completely understood the Harshad Mehta scam. I doubt if even today people in those MBA classes have a clear understanding of it.

    What made him write this book? A couple of years back, I noticed that though there seems to be a lot of information regarding banking, investing on the internet, there also is massive confusion and gaps in that knowledge. People who want to know about investing feel as if they need to climb a mountain to understand investing. Most books on this topic are either difficult to understand or they simply talk about the experiences of the author. They don’t explain the main things you need to know or the kind of psychology and mindset you need to succeed in this field.   I also feel that people who do talk about investing are just saying or doing things that have been said before or are hearsay or are in vogue. Even many investors are just blindly following news channels or influencers. Of course, some of them are right about a lot of things but there is a gap which made me think about writing a book which can simplify things. I myself am no professor in finance and neither do I work as an asset manager in a company or handle people’s money. Like most people, I am self-taught and I have learnt these concepts on my own and have learnt to apply them on my own. So, I thought that maybe I could relate to people by writing a book which they could understand. 

    What is investing from his point of view? According to me investing is a combination of  about 70 percent psychology and 30 percent analysis. For example, when there is a sale in a department store, all of us will rush to buy but when there is a sale in the stock market, people will cringe in fear because they feel that whatever they are going to buy will fall in price even more. We are programmed to operate in either fear or greed or ego. If you notice at any point in time, you will find that either you are exuberant about something or you are scared about something or you have a personal ego about something. These things if you cannot master, you cannot master the stock market. We have so many vices build inside us. Let’s say you have a sum of 1000 rupees that you can invest. You have even analysed the company. Now the hurdle that most people face is when to invest and how much to invest. They keep wondering whether they should spend these 1000 rupees ten days later or today or should they wait for the price to come down or they follow the television which tells them that the market is going to collapse or this is going to happen or there is war in Palestine or Ukraine. There is so much of interplay of information that is going on which confuses and scares the person and he is unable to take a decision. Instead of one thousand rupees, he ends up investing only 100 rupees. This is because there is so much of chatter in his mind because of these vices. He is not able to make a rational decision.

    Is there a way to mitigate this fear and banish this misconception amongst the common people? Yes, there is. I can give you small and easy example. Let’s say some one has five crore rupees to buy a flat in a place like Mumbai. In a real estate market, that five crore rupee flat will fluctuate between four crore seventy lakh and five crore thirty lakh. That is the price range of plus or minus five to ten percent that it fluctuates in and hence people are not afraid to invest in it. But in case of a stock, if you happen to invest five crores in a company, that stock may fluctuate between three crores and eight crores in the same year. It is volatile and that’s why it scares people because the fluctuation is uncontrollable and then it plays on the human emotions. But a good investor takes advantage of this volatility. He plays on the same emotions. He doesn’t get scared when the value is down. He knows that the true worth of this company is five crores but right now the stock is for three crores so he buys the stock and waits. He knows that the stock will again hit eight crores and that is the time he will make a huge profit on it. Here the bottom line is that a true investor knows the worth of that particular company since he is done his research. For me, if the stock market goes down tomorrow, I am not afraid. In fact, I will buy more stocks since I will get them at a cheaper rate rather than getting worried or upset or fearful. For people who are quite new to stocks can first get their feet wet with mutual funds and understand the market.

    What is the reaction of his family and friends to his new found love of investing? Anirudh laughs! There is this constant tussle for the remote between my wife, my children and me. I would always watch the finance news and they would get irritated since they wanted to watch their own channels. I had not told them about my book being published with Penguin Random House. But when I revealed this bit of news to them, it was then that they realized why I was hooked on to those channels! My classmates who had studied history with me were totally taken aback because they had all expected me to write a book on history!

    This article by Shailaza Singh appeared in Rashtradoot Newspaper’s Arbit Section on January 8, 2024

  • @ Jaipur Literature Festival

    Shailaza Singh with Sharmishtha Mukherjee
    Shailaza Singh with Kai Bird
    Shailaza Singh with Nicholas Shakespeare
    Shailaza Singh with Devdutt Patnaik
    Shailaza Singh with Maria Goretti
    Shailaza Singh with Anand Neelkanthan
    Shailaza Singh with Amish Tripathi
    Shailaza Singh with Nancy Silberkliet
    Shailaza Singh with Albert Read
    Shailaza Singh with Malcolm Turnbull

    The last few days have been so much about meeting and talking to different stalwarts and authors at the Jaipur Literature Festival 2024. These people are amazing!

  • Demented positivity

    Gratitude sucks..
    Especially when no plans work…
    When all you get are jerks
    They preach about being grateful for what you’ve got.
    So that you dont remember your have nots.
    But they dont tell you what to do when nothing works your way.
    Smile and be happy is all they say.
    Kindness sucks
    Especially when no one who matters is kind
    And the world just further messes with your mind.
    Living in the moment and all other crap,
    Makes you want to snap
    And yell out loud
    About the unfairness of it all…
    About how you keep trying to rise above everything
    And how every day ends up in a bad fall.
    Positivity is nothing except hogwash and blatant lies
    That the world sells and you like a fool buy.
    -Shailaza singh

  • Mobiles

    Pegged down by our phones,
    Each one so alone.
    The metal box
    Feels cold.
    To the hands,
    Where now only thumbs work.
    Everything else is old.
    The ghostly light
    In the night.
    Like sirens calling out.
    Endlessly clicking the same pout.
    In the same room, a parent and a child
    Turn strangers.
    The laughter..the camaderie
    Everything blurs
    Watching the same programs
    Again and again
    We have stopped staring at the sun, birds, trees and the rain.
    Deserted parks, no one chases the butterflies
    No one waves their hand when the planes fly.
    The neck is forever bent
    To stare at the incessantly flickering screen
    Which wipes out everything, including the dreams.
    The message pings,
    The phone rings
    A while later
    Life is the same old lonely song that no one sings.
    – Shailaza Singh

  • What’s Up

    What’s up
    He asks
    What should I reply?
    The sky?
    People inquire how are you
    Everytime they meet
    They want to know how I am
    And I agree that is sweet.
    But fine is
    A small word to define
    How I actually feel
    How do I tell them that I have aches and pains
    Lots of worries and a pair of swollen feet.
    My friends ask me what’s happening
    And I don’t know what to say.
    For this is not a blockbuster movie
    Where something earthshattering will happen every day.
    These questions should be banned or made obsolete
    To put an end to the answers that I repeat.
    Instead if you really wanna know how I am or what I do,
    Just have a heart felt conversation where both of us talk…
    Just me and just you….

    -Shailaza Singh

  • Dear Stranger,

    I wish I could hug you stranger
    Or cry my heart out, held in your arms.
    I wont know you, you wont know me.
    Anonymous masks we would wear.
    Who are you or who am I,
    We wouldn’t ask , we wouldn’t care.
    So much that this heart wants to say,
    Unknown emotions, feelings at play.
    I wish I could gaze deep into your eyes,
    Pools of compassion that they are.
    Perhaps some where in those bright orbs.
    I would find my north star.
    I wish I could whisper in your ear
    The incessant longings and yearnings of my dark night
    May be that would heal my soul,
    May be that would be my respite.
    May be as we unload our burdens
    And go our separate ways…
    May be our nights would become calmer
    And brighter would be our days…
    – Shailaza singh

    Sometimes you find strangers are better to help you let go..