I had chai at Mr. Mondal’s chai stall a few months ago and took lots of photos, especially with my 7Artisan 4 mm lens. I had attached this lens to my Fujifilm X-M5. These days I am experimenting with all sorts of ways to distort reality.

If you look at the image below, you will see Mr. Mondal sitting at his chai stall. It has a bamboo roof, and while it does not protect him from the hot winds, it did protect him from the sun.

Then, the Municipal Corporation decided to break down his stall. They claimed he was obstructing the traffic, even though he was nowhere near the road.

Mr. Mondal now sits under a tree and sells his chai, but when the sun starts to go down in the afternoon, the infrared rays of the afternoon sun light him up and warm him to an almost intolerable degree.

So why does this annoy me?

Over the last decade, Indian banks have written off 121 billion USD of loans that they gave to big corporations.

A gentleman called Subhash Chandra owes $2.62 billion, and India's National Company Law Tribunal wanted Mr. Chandra to pay $0.774 million as a settlement against the $2.62 billion in dues!

So here’s my question: why do we forgive big business people and torment the common folk who have no recourse to justice or the means to protest?

I used to think I'd become a socialist after my corporate career ended, but I realized I was mistaken and discovered I am an egalitarian. Maybe I have grown soft in my dotage, but I believe justice must be fair to all.

Meanwhile, you can also watch my video about Mr Chaurasia’s tea stall below.

Substack Half-Dead: Mr Chaurasia’s Chai Stall

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This is an image I made at Halebidu in Karnataka. I used a 50 mm lens with my Olympus OM-2n

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This month features very short history lessons, similar to the “Very Short Introduction” series but much shorter.

Dharamshala is the principal town in Kangra, and I will write about Dharamshala and the Tibetans in the next and subsequent posts.

McLeod Ganj is a major suburb of Dharamshala and is a considerably more charming town of the two. McLeod Ganj’s history is quite new. The town is almost like a toddler.

The British founded the town in the mid-19^th century, while looking for a suitable place to shift their administration and to set up a cantonment. You will find traces of the British settlements scattered across several parts of McLeod Ganj: a few cottages, a church, and a graveyard that I will discuss later.

The town lies in the shadow of the Dhauladhar mountains: mountains that are stunning. When I visited the town in the last week of December 2015, the snow on the mountains and the sky were stunning. A student visited McLeod Ganj in December 2025 – last year – and the snow had disappeared.

Global warming and McLeod Ganj.

I know that many fools deny the twin realities of global warming and the breakdown of climate systems. The same people deny the evidence staring them in the face. Ministers, greedy businesspeople, lobbyists, the press and scientists gather annually for the COP (Conference of the Parties) meetings – meetings that the fossil fuel companies are hijacking. They sit around meeting tables, piously intoning the need to change, debating charts that predict calamity, watching the Doomsday Clock tick, and discussing ‘exciting’ technologies like blocking the sun, without considering the world as a system, while the snow disappears from the mountains.

Meanwhile, we – the public – discuss the latest watches, the most expensive brands of whisky, and debate religious divides. Meanwhile, the Doomsday Clock brings us closer to midnight. Read this article: in the top-right corner, you may notice that we are 85 seconds from midnight. Have I scared you sufficiently? I certainly hope so.

Who was McLeod?

Now, let’s return to McLeod Ganj. Who was McLeod? The correct pronunciation is McCloud, or something close. I am grateful to the man for ‘discovering’ McLeod Ganj, though he was evidently vain enough to name the town after himself. But I acknowledge that he was no more vain than others guilty of the same sin. Sir Donald Friell McLeod was the area’s governor when McLeod Ganj came under colonial rule after the Anglo-Sikh Wars. Born in Calcutta, he was perhaps a cool character; he founded the Lahore Oriental College, now part of Punjab University (in Pakistan), and invested in education and philanthropy.

A spot of mythology and history.

Like many Indian towns, McLeod Ganj has a mythological past, mentioned in ancient texts. But it appears Panini (India’s premier grammarian), the Chinese traveler Xuanzang, and King Harshavardhana were also familiar with this region.

The Katoch Dynasty ruled McLeod Ganj, and I really have no idea what the ancient name was. Later, as the Katoch Dynasty’s fortunes declined during the Mughal Era, the town became part of the Mughal Empire. As the Mughal Empire began its long slide toward doom, McLeod Ganj’s fortunes followed Kangra’s: it became independent, then part of the Sikh Empire, then part of the British Empire, before finally becoming part of independent India.

The town and region’s character changed again in 1959, when the Dalai Lama set up his base there.

I will leave you with this ‘Very Short Introduction” to McLeod Ganj, and in the next post, I will turn my attention to the Buddhists in this area. And from October, I will start writing about my trip to Kangra.

Until next week, then.

Be healthy, be safe, be patient!

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Kangra’s history stretches back far into the past. Some say the region’s history stretches back 3,500 years and, if so, then we enter the world of prehistory where myth blends with historical memory.

The rulers of Kangra belong to the Katoch dynasty, one of the world’s longest dynasties, it seems. The Katoch dynasty, from the Kshatriya Chandravanshi (lunar) caste, ruled the ancient Trigarta Kingdom and participated in the famous war at Kurukshetra, as mentioned in the epic, the Mahabharata. People assume the term ‘Trigarta’ refers to three rivers – Sutlej, Beas, and Ravi.

Those of you who read my two posts on Ferozepore may remember the Sutlej River, and how it was the boundary between the Sikh and English territories before the outbreak of the Anglo-Sikh Wars. Those who wish to read them again can find the links here and here. Click away and read!

The Beas River also flows through Manali, which I will write about much later. There is much writing yet to do! As per legend, or myth, Maharaja Susharma Chandra, who fought on behalf of the Kaurava army, built the fort after the famous 18-day war in Kurukshetra. The old Maharaja picked the losing side and used the term ‘losing side’ in the modern context of war. The honorable old Maharaja evidently escaped to tell the tale and to build his fort.

One legend, or story, says the fort's original name was ‘KanGarh,’ from the two words ‘kan’ for ear and ‘Garh’ for fort. The legend also says that Shiva killed a massive demon called ‘Jalandhara,’ who was so massive that the head of his corpse lies buried deep in Kangra, with his ear under the Kangra Fort, and his feet now in Multan.

Kangra’s more recent history.

I’ve seen the fort but could not take a tour inside. Maybe I will rectify that omission. My friend and I had visited Kangra several years back, and it rained on the last two days. We originally planned to visit the fort on our return journey, but we left McLeod Ganj late. My travel companion was snoring until late in the morning, and then I wanted breakfast. By the time we left McLeod Ganj, the rain had started coming down hard and, for some reason, I hadn't brought umbrellas in the car. We stood on the highway, and I photographed the fort through the rain, using my Nikon D200. That was probably the last time I used my Nikon D200 as the primary camera on a trip.
The photograph you see at the top of this post is a crappy picture I made of the Kangra Fort.

Now, whether Maharaja Susharma Chandra or one of his successors built the fort in its present form will always be a matter of debate, but it was remarkably difficult to conquer.

The locals told me that no one could conquer the fort until the Mughal Emperor Jehangir subdued it during his reign. Prior to that, Mahmud of Ghazni launched a punitive expedition in 1009 CE, followed by Firoz Shah Tughlaq in 1360 CE and Sher Shah in 1540 CE. Jehangir’s son, then called Prince Khurram, took the fort in 1620 CE after a 14-month siege.

Mughal power began declining after Aurangzeb’s death, but as per my analysis, Mughal influence in the region began to wane in the second half of Aurangzeb’s reign. Aurangzeb spent the second half of his half-century rule fighting the Marathas in the Deccan. Many principalities, like Awadh and Bengal, began pulling away towards the end of Aurangzeb’s reign, denying the Mughal crown influence and money.

The Katoch rulers began harassing Mughal areas, weakening their empire. Moreover, with Aurangzeb being distracted and being succeeded by weak rulers, Mughal influence further waned. The Sikhs, led by Banda Singh Bahadur, further weakened the Mughals, and then the Persian king Nadir Shah and the Afghan king Ahmad Shah Abdali compounded the worries of the puppet Mughal kings.

In 1858 CE, Ahmad Shah Abdali appointed Ghaman Chand, supposedly of the Katoch family, as governor of Jalandhar Province. The Kanhaiya Misl of Punjab helped Ghaman Chand’s grandson, Raja Sansar Chand, regain possession in 1789 CE.

Kangra and Punjab.

The misls of Punjab were twelve independent, autonomous military units that came together whenever they faced a common enemy. The word, ‘misl,’ is a derivative of the Arabic/Persian word that means, ‘equal.’ While the misls were not always equal in wealth or power, they made up a powerful confederacy that Maharaja Ranjit Singh dismantled when he built his short-lived empire.

Before I continue, I must point out that Kangra and Punjab are contiguous regions, with Kangra being 222 km from Chandigarh and 174 km from Ludhiana. Chandigarh, Ludhiana, and Kangra form a triangle.

I will now cut through to the Anglo-Sikh Wars. After the Treaty of Lahore, in 1846 CE, the Sikhs ceded Kangra to the East India Company. People must know that, while the East India Company ruled ‘India’ until 1858, the British Crown increasingly controlled the Company's activities in India from the late 18th century and prescribed and proscribed them.

I’d wager a guess to say that the British Crown directed the Company to grow opium in India and to sell it in China, while denying the Company a monopoly of the opium trade. But England, the Company, and their nefarious drug-peddling activities will be a story for another time, maybe a year into the future.

A British garrison occupied the fort until the devastating earthquake on 4 April 1905. Maybe the old demon’s ear got tired of listening to English chatter in the fort!

Today, the fort is a protected monument under the protection of the Architectural Society of India. The fort is magnificent, but I have not entered its gates. Who knows? One day I may just enter the fort and explore its history in some detail.

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I read ‘Roots’ by Alex Haley when I was a teenager or, when I was in my early twenties – I don’t quite remember the exact time – but it is a book I ought to read again. The book centers around Alex Haley’s search for his family’s roots in Gambia. As people migrate from one place to another, the memory of old traditions fades, and they plant new seeds, which take root and germinate. New traditions are born, and old ones die.

Humans have migrated for thousands – possibly millions of years – and, although I have not yet studied the history of migration, I can state with confidence that these migrations have changed us more than we realize. I keep discovering how Persian and Arabic words slip into our language.

What happens when migration is forced? Forced migration causes problems and stress, and it is impossible to predict what happens in the future. The Americans and Israelis are trying to force the Palestinians out of their land, their home for several thousand years. While I detest what is being done to the Palestinians, I also cannot predict what is going to happen in the decades that will follow.

India’s Partition forced millions of people into what is sometimes called the largest forced migration in history. We are still dealing with the consequences of this forced partition.

I have not traveled to Pakistan, but I hope to visit in the next several years. I’d like to travel to Mitta Tawana, Lahore, and the Khewra Salt Mines, and Jhang,

My mother spent most of her childhood in Lahore and part of her growing years in the Khewra Salt Mine area. My father-in-law is from Jhang, and my father was born and raised in Mitta Tawana. I discovered that the family of the late writer Khushwant Singh is from Hadala, very close to Mitta Tawana. I also learned that part of Khushwant Singh’s ashes have been scattered or buried in Hadala. It is not just me who still has a strong attachment to his roots; since Khushwant Singh was born before the Partition, his bond with his roots would have been stronger than mine.

My kids are two generations away from Mitta Tawana, Lahore, and Jhang and have no emotional attachment to their roots. They will build new traditions.

I will write about Jhang in December, my wife’s birthday month, and focus on Mitta Tawana and Lahore for now. A Pakistani friend sent someone to make a video of Mitta Tawana, which helped my father ‘see’ his childhood home one last time. The same friend sent me many photos of Lahore, reviving happy memories for my mother.

So, let’s dive into Mitta Tawana and Lahore.

Mitta Tiwana

Mitta Tiwana used to be part of Sargodha District but is now part of Khushab District in Pakistan. The Thal Desert lies to the west, but the town is close to the Jhelum River. The border with Afghanistan is about an eight-hour drive from Mitta Tiwana.

While Mitta Tiwana (and Hadala) is an insignificant town today, it was home to the Tiwana Clan and probably gets its name from the clan. The Tiwana clan was a prominent landowning family who built the fortified towns of Mitta Tiwana and Nurpur Tiwana soon after the Mughal Empire began its 150-year-long implosion.

The town’s fortifications were strong enough to make the Sikhs feel threatened, and in 1816 CE, Maharaja Ranjit Singh sent his forces on a punitive expedition into the town. It appears the Sikh army under Diwan Chand kept sinking wells as it advanced, nullifying the strategic advantage the Tiwana chief, Tiwana Malik, hoped to gain by withdrawing toward the Thal Desert. Tiwana Malik hoped water shortages would force the Sikhs to withdraw, but his strategy failed, and the Sikhs overtook the area.

Mitta Tiwana became a British territory after the two Anglo-Sikh wars, and the Tiwana clan transitioned into becoming a Colonial elite. At their peak, they owned 100,000 acres of land. The Tiwana clan also supported a private army – the Tiwana Lancers – who supported the British in the Uprising of 1857-58.

One descendant of the Tiwana clan, Malik Khizar Hayat Tiwana, was the last Premier of the Undivided Punjab under British rule. I don’t know if the family played any role in the Partition, but I doubt it.

My father also came from a landowning family, but I doubt we have any connection to the Tiwana family. From the few pages my father wrote about his story, I conclude that we lost our landholding during the Partition.

My father did not learn Hindi, and Hindi is not my language, even though I speak it. My language is Punjabi. My father learned Punjabi, Persian, and English.

Mitta Tiwana had its moments in the sun, but now it is a tiny, insignificant town; still, when I googled it, I discovered there is still much to explore, but only those attached to the town’s history will bother exploring its remains.

Mitta Tiwana is a young town, founded in the mid-17^th century.

Lahore

Lahore is another matter altogether. According to mythology, one of Ram’s sons founded the town, and I mean the same Ram from the Ramayana.

Lahore is a middle-aged town, with about one thousand years of recorded history, from the early days of the Hindu Shahis, the Ghaznavids, and the Ghurids, before it became more significant under Mughal rule. The Mughal Emperor Jahangir is buried here, as is his favorite wife, Nur Jahan, and her daughter, Ladli.

Maharaja Ranjit Singh made Lahore his political capital in 1801, and after the first Anglo-Sikh War, the British stationed a resident in the town. Subsequently, the British turned Lahore into Punjab’s administrative hub.

Lahore has witnessed many battles: Mahmud of Ghazni’s capture in 1021-22; Muhammad of Ghor’s attack in 1186CE; the Mongol raids in 1241 CE; Timur’s raids in 1388-89; Babu’s raid in 1524CE; Nadir Shah in 1739 CE, and Ahmed Shah Abdali in 1752 CE. Then, the Sikhs took the city as their own. Losing Lahore was a deep, emotional loss for the Sikhs.

And now, it is part of Pakistan.

According to a friend’s mother, those who have not seen Lahore have not truly lived. Lahore is just shy of 50 kilometers from Amritsar, yet it could also be 5,000 kilometers away.

More than its military history, more than its political history, Lahore’s importance lies in one simple fact: Lahore has been the cultural capital of Punjab and, if I believe my Pakistani friend, it still is.

Whether it is poetry, food, literature, historic bazaars, its Mughal architecture, or its Sikh heritage, Lahore is unique. I am not writing this piece to tell you where to go if you are in Lahore. I will do that whenever I visit the city.

The bridges we build. The bridges we tear down.

The point of this brief post is to share facts about places tied to my family’s heritage and my cultural and historical heritage, and to emphasize the commonality between people on both sides of the border.

We share languages: Urdu, Punjabi, Sindhi. On the other side, they both speak Bengali.

The Punjabis in West Punjab love Baba Farid and Baba Bulleh Shah, as do we. We eat similar foods. People will form bridges. Politicians break them down. In our case, the British had no business dividing India, as they had no business creating a mess in other parts of the world.

Yashpal’s book, ‘This is not that Dawn,’ starts in Lahore before moving to India, and this setting is appropriate.

Whatever the cause, we are separate, and the forced migration has been apocalyptic.

I will visit these places one day, Insha’Allah. When I finally make the visit, I will write about my travels. But whenever I speak to anyone in India about my desire to visit these places, they all say one thing: that I will get a warm welcome.

Insha’Allah, it will happen.

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This is not that dawn

History of the Sikhs I

History of the Sikhs II

History of the Sikhs Cunningham

Train to Pakistan

Mottled Dawn

The Other Side of Silence

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I mentioned earlier that I was born in Ferozepore many years ago, in August. While I always wished to go back to see where I was born – and finally achieved that target last year – I was never curious about Ferozepore’s history. The town was just the place where the world got to see my face for the first time.

Only when I read books on Sikh history did I become dimly aware of Ferozepore’s role in military history and Sikh military history. This ignorance should not startle anyone: life is a process of learning.

Let’s assume that the Sutlej River was militarily significant for Feroz Shah Tughlaq and that this location was strategically important for him. Even so, I couldn’t find any records indicating that Ferozepore featured prominently in history, either religiously or militarily.

In short, the town chugged along merrily, and the people continued their merry paths in life. A small town populated, I assume, with merry, cheerful people who did not care if they were part of history’s great drama.

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Between and after the Wars.

Then, their world changed. In 1809 CE, with the signing of the Treaty of Amritsar, the Sikhs ceded the town and the surrounding area to the British East India Company and its insatiable appetite. Now, the town’s location on the banks of the Sutlej increased its importance, as the Sutlej River marked the boundary between the Sikh territory held by Maharaja Ranjit Singh and that of the British.

I’ve read Prof. Hari Ram Gupta’s five-volume set on Sikh history, and I disagree with his theory that Maharaja Ranjit Singh regarded the British as his masters. Khushwant Singh’s excellent two-volume set does not indicate that the Maharaja bowed to the British, nor does Joseph Dave Cunningham’s history indicate that the Maharaja bowed to the Company. The lesson you must all draw from this paragraph is simple and vital: when you read history, read widely and read well. There is another point worth noting. History books and history do not represent objective accounts of what happened in the past.

It is not just the victors who write the histories we read; it is those with the loudest voices and the means to spread their version of history.

I won’t allow myself to get sidetracked into a discussion of modern politics and the attempts that right-wing leaders are making to rewrite history, but I assume you know what I mean.

I’d say that an uneasy peace existed between Maharaja Ranjit Singh and the British. Then, the Maharaja died, and his ten-year-old son ascended the throne, leading to the two Anglo-Sikh Wars. Both sides fought fiercely, and at times the Sikhs almost prevailed. I’ve downloaded a lot of material on the Anglo-Sikh Wars but haven’t read it yet. So I don’t want to write about them now.

In 1845 CE, there were two separate territories. Between the wars, the British appointed a resident at Lahore, curtailing Punjabi independence. They also strengthened the cantonment at Ferozepur. After the wars, the Company annexed Punjab and exiled the young Maharaja.

Ferozepore once again slipped back into relative obscurity, and its only importance lay in its strategic position on the banks of the Sutlej.

That situation has not changed.

Ferozepore has several war memorials, and one day I will return to explore them, walk around the town, go to the Sutlej River, and witness the changing of the guards at the Hussaini border.

On that day last year, we went to the hospital where I was born and took a few selfies.

I don’t usually post selfies on social media, so I will hide my image behind a paywall. Sorry!

.

The head of the hospital looked at us with considerable suspicion until we explained the purpose of our visit, at which point he smiled with considerable joy and allowed us to take a few more images. Then, we drove around the cantonment, and I tried to identify the house and the road where we had lived all those years ago. Our only guide was a rough map that my uncle drew from memory. I don’t think we drove along the road where I lived, or past the house where I lived as a baby and where someone stole my Alsatian, Gypsy, but I like to believe we did.

Some day. I will return some day, but only after I have studied the Anglo-Sikh Wars in some detail. The Wars are a big part of the history of the town where I was born.

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This is not that dawn

Punjab Bloodied

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When night falls, the creatures emerge. People sleep; others work. Some engage in nefarious activities, and others just want to go home.

I don’t know who this girl was. She was well-dressed, well-made up, and seemed to be waiting for someone. As I boarded my taxi home, I saw her talking to some men in a jeep. They did not look like her friends.
Before we rush to judge her, it may be worth pausing. First, she may have been waiting for friends, family, or something else. If it was for ‘business,’ ask why she needs to do ‘business’ and ask if it is your concern or mine.

India has changed and so has Delhi. Social mores have changed: some for the better and many for the worse.

A driver lay back in his car, waiting for his passengers, one foot out. So many drivers sit in their cars, lounging back, one foot sticking out, flapping in the breeze or the hot air. Their bosses discourage them from sitting in the car and using the aircon and then complain when their drivers smell of sweat.

The poor blokes are forbidden to sleep (even when bored) or to use the air-conditioning while waiting or to sweat. So they flap one foot in the air and signal their presence.

Auto-rickshaw drivers waited for passengers, but the girl wasn't looking for an auto-rickshaw.

Water gathers on the streets and cozies up with the rubbish dumped there. One man was charging his EV. The ice cream vendor stood, waiting for a customer.

A crazy driver on a two-wheeler decided to ram into me while driving the wrong way but thought the better of it at the end, swerved, and missed me by half a whisker.

The creatures of the night emerge around midnight but I was looking forward to my bed at home.

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I was born in Ferozepore, Punjab, many moons ago. My late father served in the Army and was posted to the cantonment town for a few years. This is where my younger sister and I were born, a little over a year apart. We had an Alsatian named Gypsy, who was stolen. According to family stories, I’d ride on Gypsy’s back, and he was protective of me, so I wonder how someone stole the blighter.

I had not returned to Ferozepore since we moved away when I was two years old. We moved to Bombay (now called Mumbai), and from there we moved to England, living on the outskirts of London in Kenton, Harrow, Middlesex. Since those heady days in England, I have developed a healthy grouse against the English East India Company, while realizing that we natives were also guilty of allowing the Brits to take over our land and then divide it. But that is another story.

Ferozepore is a border town.

The Hussaini Wala Border is about 11 kilometers from Ferozepore, so the town is an important border town, with a sizeable Army Cantonment.

I finally returned to Ferozepore last year on my birthday because I was keen to see the town and the hospital where I decided to show up on this planet. We made a family trip out of it, also going to Amritsar. My wife cracked her tooth while we were driving to Ferozepore, so we had to hurry back to Amritsar.

I hate to admit that Ferozepore is not a grand town. I want to return in the next one or two years and explore the place properly, but while looking for places to stay, I found advice from other travelers to stay in the neighboring town. Luckily, there is one small South Indian restaurant on the outskirts of the town, so I won’t starve!

A brief history of Ferozepore.

It is time to explore the history of the place where I was born. Since it is my birthday month, I shall do this in two parts, so indulge me. The tradition of kings and others naming towns after themselves is not new. Ferozepore is neither young nor old. It is probably just past adolescence. The Tughlaq king, Firoz Shah Tughlaq, founded the town sometime between 1351 and 1388 CE and named it after himself. This is the same king who founded Firozabad, the fifth city of Delhi – Firoz Shah Kotla, and, if memory serves, Jaunpur in West Uttar Pradesh. This is the same king who carefully transported an Ashokan pillar to his capital, Firoz Shah Kotla, ensuring it arrived in good condition.

Some people refuse to accept the Tughlaq founding of Ferozepore, believing that the Sikhs founded the town a few centuries later.

The Misls and the eventual passing the torch to the British.

After Guru Gobind Singh died, the Sikhs divided into a kind of commonwealth of provinces called ‘misls.’ The word ‘misl’ is of Persian/Arabic origin and signifies equality. While there were large and small misls, they banded together as one unit when faced with an external threat. The Sikhs fought the Mughals (some historians believe the Sikhs set the Mughal Empire on its downward slope) and Afghan invaders such as Nadir Shah. I won’t write about the misls here and will leave that tale to a future date.

However, the Bhangi misl controlled Ferozepore, and after them the town passed to a person named Gurbaksh Singh and finally to his widow, Rani Lachhman Kaur. The word ‘Kaur,’ used for Sikh women, means ‘princess.’

After the Rani’s death, Ferozepore passed into British hands, and for the first time, the British had a foothold at the borders of Sikh territory. Maharaja Ranjit Singh was in his final years, and probably his health was declining. The Maharaja died in 1839 CE and, like Aurangzeb, one of his major failings was that he had no succession plan in place.

The Anglo-Sikh Wars.

Maharaja Ranjit Singh’s death set the stage for the East India Company’s next phase of expansion in India, and the Anglo-Sikh Wars followed. The First Anglo-Sikh War occurred between 1845 and 1846 CE and, by all accounts, was a fierce, bloody conflict, with both sides almost evenly matched. At one point, Governor General Hardinge was ready to admit defeat and even contemplated dying in the war. In the end, the British prevailed, paving the way for the next Anglo-Sikh War.

Ferozepore was the strategic pivot of the battle, which may have led to the establishment of a cantonment in the town. Now that it is a border town, its importance as an Army cantonment remains unchallenged.

There is a memorial erected in 1976 honoring the dead of Mudki, Ferozeshah, Sobraon, and Chillianwala (all villages and battle sites), so maybe when I return to Ferozepore, I will go and have a look at the memorial that has been built.

I’d like to mention a point: Ferozepore did not pass into British hands at the end of the First Anglo-Sikh War. Ferozepore passed into British hands when Rani Lachhman Kaur died in 1835 CE. Since the Rani did not leave a male heir, the British claimed that it had lapsed into their hands. Ferozepore lies close to the Sutlej River, which the British deemed strategically important; they may have insisted on the takeover because of the town’s location, and they used the lack of a male heir to justify it.

I do not know if this takeover was the precursor of the doctrine of lapse later espoused by Lord Dalhousie (that doctrine of lapse was one of the reasons for the Uprising of 1857-58), but it may well have been the case.

As soon as the British completed the takeover in 1839 CE, they established a cantonment there. The political takeover occurred half a decade before the First Anglo-Sikh War. Therefore, the First Anglo-Sikh War was a battle for control of Ferozepore, a strategic military location.

The result of the First Anglo-Sikh War of 1845-46 was the signing of the Lahore Treaty, which severely curtailed Sikh sovereignty.

The Second Anglo-Sikh War took place between 1848 and 1849 CE at Ramnagar, Chilian Wala, and Gujarat (not the Gujarat of Ambani/Adani fame), resulting in a second British victory and the complete takeover of Sikh territory.

The Anglo-Sikh Wars were among the fiercest the British fought in India (barring possibly the wars with Tipu Sultan in Mysore), and the British acknowledged the Sikh fighting spirit and prowess. These wars may have been instrumental in the subsequent British theory of the ‘martial races’ of India, a deeply flawed theory.

Why was the Sutlej more than just a river?

Ferozepore lies on the banks of the Sutlej River. By a strange coincidence, when I was in school, I was in Sutlej House when I was in Grade IV! Anyway, the Sutlej River was not just a river: it was a border. As per the Treaty of Amritsar, 1809 CE, the Sutlej River became the border between the Sikh controlled areas and the British controlled area, creating the cis-Punjab or trans-Punjab area. Ferozepore also became a kind of forward post and Punjab was critical to the British and their expanding ambitions, especially in the 19^th century when the movements of the Russians began to stress them. Babur, while being more of Uzbek origin than Afghan, came to the subcontinent from Afghanistan. Sher Shah Suri was an Afghan, as were Mohammed of Ghor, Nadir Shah and Ahmed Shah Abdali. Some histories state that ‘Hindus’ ruled Afghanistan until about a thousand years ago and even today, there are Sikhs who live in Afghanistan. Were it not for the British there is a strong possibility that parts (or all) of Afghanistan could have become a part of India post 1947.

Punjab was, therefore, critical to the British and their expanding ambitions. Did the theory of ‘spheres of influence’ originate in these times.

I don’t know what, if anything, remains of the old fort but I know that the British converted it into a cantonment.

A mystery. Why did the Punjabis become loyal British subjects?

One mystery remains, and no one has been able to solve it. Why did the Sikhs, who fought against the Mughals and the Afghans and the British, finally capitulate to the British and become their most loyal subjects? Is it because it was the British who finally defeated them? This theory will have holes because it will not account for a change in the structure of the Sikh state.

The misls that existed in the 18^th century always came together when there was an external threat. The misls helped to present a united front to the enemy. When Maharaja Ranjit took over the entire territory, he consciously or unconsciously disbanded the misls, and in the chaos of succession that followed his death, the Sikhs possibly did not present a united front.

Whatever the reason, the Sikhs were part of the psychopathic Nicholson’s forces at the Battle of Kashmere Gate in 1858 when the East India Company forces broke through the resistance. That battle also paved the way for the end of the Mughal Empire when the British exiled Bahadur Shah Zafar to Rangoon and shot his sons – in cold blood – on Delhi’s streets.

And now, we will move on to Part Two of Ferozepore.

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Links

• Live History India on Firuz Shah’s city-building: https://www.livehistoryindia.com/story/places/feroze-shah-kotla-delhis-forgotten-city

• Wikipedia, Firozpur Fort (construction history, contested Tughlaq vs. Sikh-period origin claims): https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Firozpur_Fort

• Wikipedia, Firozpur district (overview): https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Firozpur_district

• Wikipedia, Ferozepore (jagir) — full succession history: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ferozepore_(jagir)

• World History Encyclopedia (best single overview): https://www.worldhistory.org/article/2130/battle-of-ferozeshah/

• Britishbattles.com (detailed order of battle, casualties): https://www.britishbattles.com/first-sikh-war/battle-of-ferozeshah/

• Britannica, concise entry: https://www.britannica.com/event/Battle-of-Firoz-Shah

• History Today, “Ferozeshah and the First Anglo-Sikh War” (narrative essay, good for tone/quotes to paraphrase): https://www.historytoday.com/archive/feature/ferozeshah-and-first-anglo-sikh-war

• AllAboutSikhs, Sikh-perspective account of the battle: https://www.allaboutsikhs.com/the-first-anglo-sikh-warbattle-of-ferozeshah/

• Wikipedia, Battle of Ferozeshah: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Ferozeshah

• Wikipedia, Anglo-Sikh War Memorial at Ferozeshah (built 1976, honors dead of Mudki, Ferozeshah, Sobraon, Chillianwala): https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anglo_Sikh_war_memorial

• StudyIQ, Anglo-Sikh Wars and Punjab under British Rule (good connective-tissue overview): https://www.studyiq.com/articles/anglo-sikh-wars-and-punjab-under-british-rule/

• Sikh Encyclopedia, “End of Sikh Sovereignty: Punjab’s 1849 Annexation”: https://www.thesikhencyclopedia.com/annexation-of-the-punjab/

• Gateway to Sikhism, Annexation of Punjab 1849: https://www.allaboutsikhs.com/sikh-history/historical-events/annexation-of-punjab-1849/

• JSPS paper, “Political Economy of the Annexation of the Punjab, 1849” (academic PDF, mentions Dalhousie meeting Sikh chiefs at Ferozepore): https://giss.org/jsps_vol_32/02-sohal.pdf

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I was in Kodagu for about four days at the end of July. The trip to Kodagu (Kodagu is the traditional name for Coorg) was unplanned. Friends had planned to visit the place, and we added our names to the group without waiting for an invitation. I consider us fortunate to travel with a group that was warm, welcoming, and fun.

If you live in Delhi, you may discover that the journey to Coorg (Coorg is easier for a Westerner to pronounce than Kodagu) can be a pain in the neck. You need to fly to Mangalore (or Mangaluru, as it is officially called now and then) and then drive about 4 hours to your destination.

Traveling to Madikeri.

Kodagu is a district in Karnataka, and we had booked ourselves into the Taj Gateway at a small town called Madikeri. The Taj Group has two properties – the Gateway, and the fancier one called Taj Madikeri. All of us preferred the one we stayed at – the atmosphere in the hotel resort was warm, welcoming, and the restaurants were accessible, and this stands in stark contrast with the fancier hotel where, when it rains, you find yourselves compelled to call and bleat for a buggy to take you to the restaurant. Additionally, the food in the Gateway was much better than that of the Taj Madikeri.

There is only one direct flight from Delhi to Mangalore, getting you there at about 1930 hours, which means you need to spend the night in Mangalore before heading out to Madikeri.
We caught a morning flight from Delhi to Bangalore (now called Bengaluru), and then caught a connecting flight to Mangalore, before getting into our bus for the four-hour drive. En route we stopped for chai at a local dhaba, bought up the town’s stock of booze, and stopped for a pee-break. We finally reached our destination past 9 pm, and despite everyone’s firm commitment to skipping dinner, we stuffed ourselves to the gills and beyond.

Never eat the paneer tikka sandwich in Indigo Airlines.

I must warn people: if you travel with Indigo Airlines in India, never, ever order their paneer tikka sandwich. This sandwich is one of the foulest things you will ever eat, and it would serve well as a meal for people you wish to torture.

Now that I have shared the details of how we got there, I wish to inform you that I will make a YouTube video about the trip and will share that video here on Substack. Do watch the video when it is out.

Short notes on the trip. Free Flow.

There were twelve of us on the trip, and since it was a holiday trip, I didn’t do any planning. I went with the flow. It was one of those rare occasions when I let democracy rule and kept my mouth shut. We visited Coorg during the monsoon season, so I only had my GoPro Hero Black 11 and my mobile phone. I had bought a rain cover for my mobile phone, a rain cover for my shoes, and leech-protection leggings for our walk through the coffee plantation. We didn’t need the leech-protection leggings because the guide took us along the well-trodden path where leeches don’t attack humans. We’ve gone so far from nature that we end up buying all sorts of protective gear. Nature terrifies humans and terrifies urban Indians even more.

I count ourselves lucky because it rained on us only when we walked through the coffee plantation, and not otherwise. The heavens were kind and only let the rain loose on the landscape when we were safely ensconced in the bus or our hotel.

Which places did we visit? The coffee plantation. Our bus driver took us to his preferred plantation, no doubt getting a nice commission from the plantation owners. We also went to a waterfall – the Abby Waterfall, and to a reservoir. The reservoir was boring.

Madikeri is about 1,170 meters (3,840 feet) above sea level. The entire area is green, and the clouds water the woods regularly.

I’d like to move away from a recital of our trip’s itinerary and take the chance to make a few observations on the people and contrast the visible aspects of their behavior with those of people who live in Delhi, Haryana and Uttar Pradesh (collectively, ‘North India’ for the rest of this post).

I have not researched any of the material and base my observations on the conversations I had with a few of the local people.

A few reflections on Coorg and the N-S Divide.

Coorg vs Kodagu?

Coorg is the anglicized name of the district. The traditional name is Kodagu, and their local dialect is called Kodava Takk. The local people consider it a distinct language, and not a mere dialect. They also speak Kannada; some people speak a dialect called Arebashe. I gained the impression that Kodava Takk does not have a written script, which contrasts it with Mangalore’s local language, Tulu.

Locals in both regions noted that people from Bangalore (who mostly speak Kannada) do not understand Kodava Takk or Tulu, but the locals themselves understand and speak Kannada. Kannada, Tulu, and Kodava Takk are all Dravidian languages, distinct from North Indian languages in their roots.

North Indians like to believe that they are strong and brave, often sneering at South Indians, terming them to be peace-loving and weak. We can lay a large part of the blame on the English, who created the rather stupid concept of the ‘martial races of India,’ classifying Sikhs and Rajputs as the martial races. The myth endures in parts of North India. However, any reading of South Indian history ought to serve to dispel this self-serving myth.

One of the locals told me that the Coorgis are a martial race, and that every family owns weapons even today. The Coorgis have given the Indian Army two of its finest officers, Field Marshal Cariappa and General Thimayya. If Nehru had prevented General Thimayya from retiring in 1961 and had paid more heed to his advice, we may have had a different result in the 1962 war with China.

People told me that sports and hockey are close to the hearts of the locals, and that every local family has a hockey team. I spotted excellent hockey fields in the schools that we crossed.

Shashi Tharoor (the Congress MP) recently noted that India’s western coastline began trade relations with the Middle East about 1,500 years ago, and I agree with his statement. People from the Middle East came to our shores as traders, not as invaders. Our politicians love to exploit the deeds (and presumed misdeeds) of people like Mahmud of Ghazni and Mohammed of Ghor, but they did not come to convert: they came to loot.

There is no difference between Mahmud of Ghazni, Mohammed of Ghor, and the Western powers who colonized and looted many parts of the world and who continue to wage war for resources today. Iran did not attack the USA or Israel. Neither did Iraq attack the USA or Israel.

Contrasting the North and the South.

When I was in Mangalore (Mangaluru) and Kodava, I noticed a high percentage of Muslim men and women moving easily within the towns. Their presence did not stress anyone, and they were part of the landscape. I’d like to contrast this behavior with the spread of the violent Hindutva gangs in North India.

We Punjabis like to visualize ourselves as hard-drinking, meat-eating people who love a fight and to party. In short, we consider ourselves Indian versions of the Gauls, as exemplified by Asterix and Obelix. However, only 33% to 35% of Punjabis are non-vegetarian, contrasting with 79% to 81% in Karnataka. We love our myths.

I don’t know if the British presence in Coorg inspired people to start eating pork or not, but the local people love pork. I am terrified of pork in Delhi, visualizing worms snaking through my body. But I had no problem in ordering pork twice during our visit. And the pork was magnificent and succulent. They breed happy pigs in Coorg.

The conclusion I draw is that the Coorgis are closer to Asterix and Obelix than North Indians are!

The roads in Madikeri (a town in Coorg) are narrow and winding. Yet their traffic discipline astounded me. Not once did I hear people honking wildly, breaking rules, or driving the wrong way. Not once. Nor did I see anyone wantonly littering the roads.

People here are polite. Another contrast with North India.

A young man banged into our bus, and after a slightly heated exchange with our driver, his temper and our driver’s temper both cooled down. My friends and I had a pleasant conversation with him, and had to keep telling him to stop apologizing for the mishap. The poor man had hurt his shoulder, and I advised him to get an X-Ray and suggested a medicine to him. We wished him well for the examination he had to conduct in Mysuru the next day.

The police arrived, managed the traffic, and other drivers all waited patiently for their turn to move. Not one person filled the air with the blaring sound of their car horns.

When I conversed with another local, I commented on the lush greenery that surrounded us. He told me that people in the region are environmentally conscious and once blocked an industrialist from setting up a factory in the locality.

Yet, they are concerned about climate change. The year’s minimum temperature used to be 5 ° Celsius (41 ° Fahrenheit), and now it is 12 ° Celsius (53.6 ° Fahrenheit). Coffee beans fall to the earth before maturing.

Coffee. There is one type of expensive coffee in the area. Civets ingest coffee beans, and then, plantation workers sift through the civet’s excrement to extract the coffee beans. The plantation workers told me it is forbidden to breed civets, so they must wait for the civets to emerge from the forest to eat and then to excrete.

I don’t know if climate change will impact the population of civets. But when I was talking with the Muslim goat herders just before Bakri Eid in Delhi, they informed me that sometimes their goats die because of the heat. I know the rich and famous and unconcerned believe that technology (including sun-blocking technologies) will protect them from the impact of climate systems breakdown, but this belief is typical of the myths we live by.

Moving on.

I was reluctant to visit Coorg, but I am glad I did so. I last went there when I was doing my MBA. A bunch of us had rented a tempo and traveled to the Kemangundi Waterfalls. I don’t know when – or if – I will return to Coorg, but it is always good to travel to other parts of India. These visits are always a reminder that not every Indian is an insane ‘Gau Rakshak (Cow Protector),’ hiding their hooliganism under the thin garb of patriarchal, misogynistic, insecure religion.

Notes: Part One

You may gain the impression that South Indians are a bunch of saints and that North Indians are demonic. Nothing could be further from the truth. I am merely contrasting the behavior of the general public in South India with that of the general public in North India.

Notes: Part Two

The anglicized names of Mangaluru, Mysuru and Bengaluru are Mangalore, Mysore and Bangalore, respectively. While we stood on the highway following our collision (I hope the young man made it back to Mysuru in good shape), I Googled the meaning of the suffix ‘uru.’ ‘Uru’ refers to a town or township. The suffix ‘pur’ in towns like Sultanpur also refers to a town or township. The suffix ‘abad’ in names like Ahmedabad refers to a cultivated place or city and has Persian origin. The suffix ‘garh’ in names like Chandigarh refers to a fort.

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I photographed the mother with her child soon after I photographed the man in the doorway. In this episode, I start my explorations on the connections between photography and humanism, no matter how tenuous the connection.

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I am going to make this one a short article, which may surprise those who know me for meandering into all sorts of tangential tracts.

Whenever I am at the Silent Valley Homestay, I walk down to the riverside, cross the British-era bridge, and then climb the hill on the opposite side of the mountain river. These mountain rivers, or streams, are swift and have rocky beds. It is easy to slip on the riverbed and crack a few bones, so whenever I ventured midstream, I’d check with some of the locals first. I had no intention of cracking a bone and then driving the 300-kilometer distance to my home with my arm in a cast.

Those days, I drove a manual-shift car, which I subsequently exchanged for an automatic-shift car. Delhi’s traffic gets worse every year, and I remember driving my old car in half gear at times, or putting it into second gear and letting it move in neutral.

Walk down with care, especially when it’s wet.

If you wish to walk down to the river, it is imperative to explore the pathways and find a path with a manageable gradient. When it rains, even these tracks can become slippery, and although I grew up in the hills, nowadays I am not like a ‘human mountain goat’. Once, I was standing on the road, peering down a 60° incline, debating whether to climb down. I was wearing my fancy Timberland shoes and was about to make the first move downwards when a young lad carrying a sack yelled and warned me not to climb down. He climbed up in a pair of sandals, and his sack – filled with construction rubble – was heavy. His warning mortified me. My dreams of becoming a mountain goat vanished into the mist.

I used to meet a cheerful young girl.

I used to meet a pretty, good-humored young adolescent girl, carrying two crates of tomatoes on her head. My host told me each crate weighed 20 kilograms, but I think they weighed 10 kilograms each. If you assume my assessment is accurate, she still traipsed up and down the hilly paths – and they are steep in some parts – with 20 kilograms of tomatoes on her head, wearing only a pair of rubber slippers. I’ve met her in the rain and in sunshine, and each time she greeted me with a cheerful smile. I remember crossing paths with her in the rain and asking if she continued her walks with the tomatoes. Her reply, ‘Oh ya,’ was kind of singsong, as though carrying 20 kilograms of tomatoes in the rain was the most natural thing in the world.

She made that to-and-fro trip about four to five times a day. She’d walk down the hill with the tomatoes, cross the bridge, walk up the opposite hill to the road, where she’d deliver the tomatoes, walk back, and repeat the process about four or five times a day.

The way to walk in the hills is to walk slowly. There are two advantages to walking slowly. One, you conserve your breath and energy. Two, you pause to admire the scenery or to catch your breath. When you walk downhill, especially on steep slopes, you will lean backward and swing your legs slightly outwards to ensure you have a proper grip on the path. When climbing upwards, you must lean forwards. When you feel you need a short break, stop and stand. I’ve learned not to sit whenever I need a short break. Sitting will make you more tired. I’ve not studied how your muscles and tendons respond to constant sitting, but I can tell you this is the best way to do it, from personal experience.

Learn to walk in the hills. Sandakphu.

When I was twenty-two, a skinny friend and I decided to walk from Darjeeling (in East India) to a mountain called Sandaphfu. The distance was 70 kilometers: we had to walk down from Darjeeling and then walk upwards. Twenty kilometers down, and fifty kilometers up. My skinny friend tired easily, and despite my constant urging to keep standing, he kept sitting. In the end, his muscles gave out, and I almost had to carry him down to the valley, where we pitched a tent for the night. The next morning, we walked to the main road, about a kilometer from the riverside where we camped for the night, and hitched a lift back to Darjeeling. My poor companion was so tired that he barely made it to the main road, even though I carried his load, and mine!

I love sitting by the river, watching the light dance on the river, and the leaves of the forest. The wind sings, and I love the song. One path down to the river takes you past rows of stinging nettles. Luckily, I grew up with them, so I know how to minimize the stings. The nettles have beautiful red-green leaves and seem to invite unwary souls to caress them. Do so, or walk by carelessly in shorts, and be prepared to jump as the nettles sting you, leaving red spots!

I’ve always loved the mist in the hills. Bhimtal is in the low hills, only about 1,000 (about 3,000 feet) above sea level. I do not classify Bhimtal as a mountain!

Misty Mountain Hop!

I don’t know if the Led Zeppelin song Misty Mountain Hop is about mist in the hills. It is a great song. Oh wait! I Googled the song! It seems that the song is a protest song. The Misty Mountains were a place of peace and happiness for Bilbo Baggins, and he wished to escape to this happy place. The group based the song on a real incident. A group of young people gathered in Hyde Park to protest for the legalization of marijuana, and the police broke up the protest.

Marijuana is integral to Indian culture. The Brits did not outlaw it, but they wanted to make money from the product. Don’t forget, the Brits forced the Chinese to buy opium that the East India Company grew in Bihar, India. The British government was one of the biggest drug and narcotics dealers in the world in the 19^th century. Hoary companies like Jardine Mathiesen made their initial fortunes by trading opium.

We banned marijuana in 1985, under pressure from the Americans. Seriously, if the Americans don’t want to smoke marijuana, they should control Americans, not Indians!!

Anyway. That is Bhimtal!

We move on!

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Parking is a problem, so it is always best to visit first thing in the morning or park about 100 meters away and walk down, taking care to avoid the maniacal two-wheeler drivers who aim to mow you down.

The Mahabharata introduced us to the concept of the ‘Chakravyuha.’ As per the epic, Abhimanyu’s mother (she was one of Arjuna’s - the archer - wives) was pregnant with Abhimanyu and was listening to someone tell her about the Chakravyuha - how to get in and get out. Abhimanyu, in fetal form, was listening to the conversation. Alas, his mother fell asleep during the discourse on how to exit the Chakravyuha. During the last battle between the cousins (the Pandavas and the Kauravas) at Kurukshetra, Abhimanyu volunteered to enter the Chakravyuha. Of course, he could not get out, and that spelled his doom.

Vyapar Kendra is like a Chakravyuha. You can enter, but once you penetrate its bowels, you feel trapped and struggle to exit!

I often chat with Mr Chaurasia when I am at Vyapar Kendra. His chai is the best in the market. He is from Allahabad, now called Prayag. My father was posted in an army cantonment called Chheoki, across the Yamuna River, from Allahabad.

When I converse with him, I speak in Hindi and refer to the town as Allahabad. However, recently I became conscious of my pronunciation when referring to the town as Allahabad, and realized I pronounce the name as “Illahabad,” the name that Akbar the Great conferred on the city when he founded it.

Please read my post on the subject! The Brits converted it to Allahabad, unmindful of the fact that they would be offending Indian politicians two centuries after the fact! So, in a fit of righteous, priggish pride, they renamed the city as ‘Prayag.’ But Prayag does not roll off the tongue with the same felicity as ‘Illahabad.’

Still, it is great to converse with Mr. Chaurasia, learn about developments in the region, and listen to him when he talks about educating his children.

People of Mr. Chaurasia’s generation are very keen that their descendants get a superb education and that they are not trapped like he sometimes feels his generation was. I don’t think Indian politicians understand this simple fact, but I bet the prospect of an educated, thinking populace terrifies them.

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One of my favorite places to visit is the Silent Valley Homestay, about 10 kilometers past Bhimtal in Uttarakhand, India. I discovered the place quite by accident, but I am ashamed to admit I have not been back in several years. The place is calling me to return, so in this and the two subsequent posts, I will ask fo…

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