Remembering Humra Quraishi: A Trailblazing Journalist and Human Rights Advocate

Humra’s longest professional collaboration was with legendary journalist and author Khushwant Singh. Singh admired her ability to blend seriousness with a unique sense of humour, something that became one of the defining features of her work.

New Delhi: One of the finest and veteran journalists, author, and columnist Humra Quraishi passed away on January 16 in Gurugram at the age of 69.

Humra, a fearless and compassionate voice in Indian journalism and literature, was born on April 24, 1955 in Budaun, Uttar Pradesh and was educated in Lucknow. She leaves a rich literature, journalism, and activism legacy. 

Humra was a staunch advocate for truth, justice, and the marginalised. Her words resonated deeply with readers seeking to understand the complexities of contemporary India. Her nuanced and empathetic storytelling, particularly about Kashmir, left an indelible mark on Indian journalism and literature.

Humra was deeply rooted in the culture of Awadh, where she studied at Loreto Convent. Her childhood was enriched by vivid memories of Jhansi and the many towns of Uttar Pradesh she called home as she travelled with her beloved Amma, Naseema and Abba, Iqtidar Ali Khan, a civil engineer and landowner. She grew up in a household where Urdu and Persian literature instilled in her love for language and storytelling. These early experiences shaped a deep sense of belonging and an abiding connection to her roots. 

And yet, Humra remained a child of her generation. Having grown up in the 1960s, she was free-spirited and rebellious in her writing and point of view. She was renowned for her impeccable taste, effortlessly stylish in a kaftan or a sari. A muse of the great modernist artist M.F. Hussain, her home was scattered with sketches, calligraphy, books, and her own writings. Combining journalistic rigour with the insight of a storyteller, Humra’s columns and articles explored politics, human rights, and environmental issues. A modern Indian woman, “she embodied the spirit of modern India’s spiritual tradition.”

She was prolific in her writing style. Her most notable writings include Kashmir: The Untold Story, a volume of her collective writings which covers many years spent covering the region on the ground. She followed this up with a novel, Meer – based in Kashmir – which is about the fractured relations and disturbing truths of lives in conflict zones. Meer is also a story of resilience and love. Her other notable works include Views: Yours and Mine, a compilation of her writings, More Bad Time Tales and Divine Legacy: Dagars & Dhrupad. She has also contributed to the anthologies, Chasing the Good Life: On Being Single and Of Mothers and Others.

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Humra’s longest professional collaboration was with legendary journalist and author Khushwant Singh, who became a mentor. Singh admired her ability to blend seriousness with a unique sense of humour, something that became one of the defining features of her work. And perhaps more importantly, he acknowledged her courage in tackling tough topics and her sharp insight into the political and social landscape of India.They worked on numerous books and publications together, including Absolute Khushwant and The Good, The Bad and The Ridiculous. This is in many ways, an intimate, irreverent modern history of the subcontinent which remains a celebrated contribution to Indian literary discourse today. Among those profiled are Jawaharlal Nehru, Muhammad Ali Jinnah, V.K. Krishna Menon, Indira Gandhi, Sanjay Gandhi, Amrita Sher-Gil, Mother Teresa, and Faiz Ahmad Faiz.

Humra’s writing was not just a profession – it was her purpose. Humanism, “insaniyat (humanity)” and “niyat (intention)” were her common refrains. Royalties from her books went directly to orphanages and charities including Mother Teresa’s before they reached her. She once said, “I don’t want to be tempted to keep it,” and so, the funds went straight to them.

She was a tireless advocate for those without a voice, using her platform to challenge injustice and amplify the stories that often went unheard. She was known to speak often against the grain, charting a path for her colleagues and contemporaries. Her work was known to be uncompromising, a reflection of her own indomitable spirit fearless, thoughtful, unwavering in its commitment to truth. In the words of filmmaker Siddharth Kak, “Hers is a loss not only to the family, but to the world of courageous journalism.” 

It is telling that her last article, published in the online journal Counter-Currents, just five days before her passing, ‘Blood however is Blood,’ was a passionate indictment of the war on the Palestinians, the state of the Middle East, and the rights of Muslims in India. 

Beyond her professional achievements, Humra was a woman of warmth and quiet strength. She was loyal to those she loved, with a sense of responsibility and compassion that extended to everyone around her. She balanced fortitude with kindness and left a lasting impression on all who knew her, evident in outpourings from the journalistic community since her passing.

Humra is survived by her children, Mustafa Qureshi and Sarah Qureshi, three beloved grandchildren, sisters and dear brother and a wide circle of family, friends, and readers who cherished her work and presence. Her passing leaves an irreplaceable void, but her legacy of commitment, courage, and humanity will continue to inspire the next generations of writers and activists.

Her family – daughter Sarah, son Mustafa, daughter-in-law Mansi, and grandchildren Ali, Hasan, and Amna – released a heartfelt statement: “It is with deep sadness that we inform you of the passing of our beloved Humra Quraishi. Your presence at the farewell prayers would mean a great deal to us as we come together to remember her kindness, love, and enduring legacy.”

Prominent figures expressed their grief at her passing. Activist Shabnam Hashmi described her as a courageous journalist and human rights advocate whose work was marked by empathy and dedication to truth. “Her fearless reporting and advocacy for the marginalized inspired countless individuals,” she said. “Humra’s passing is a loss not only to her family but to the world of journalism and social justice.”

Veteran journalist Yusuf Jameel recalled her professional integrity, particularly in her coverage of Kashmir. “She was truthful and fair, and the stories she wrote on and from Kashmir stood testimony to her integrity. Rest in eternal peace,” he said.

Also read: Remembering the Festival of Sharda Sinha

Another senior journalist Iftikhar Gilani says, “I am deeply saddened by the passing of Humra Quraishi, a distinguished author, journalist, and a fearless defender of human rights. The noble soul and the smiling face is no more. Her profound insights, humane approach, and unwavering commitment to justice and truth enriched our lives and inspired countless readers. Humra Quraishi’s remarkable body of work, including Kashmir: The Unending Tragedy, Reports From the Frontlines, Bad Time Tales, and her collaborative writings with the late Khushwant Singh, remains a testament to her brilliance and empathy. 

Her essays, such as The State Can’t Snatch Away Our Children and Why Not a Collective Cry for Justice!, gave voice to the voiceless and shed light on issues often neglected. Her legacy as a writer, columnist, and humanist will endure, but her absence leaves a void that can never be filled. Humra Quraishi’s courage, compassion, and dedication will continue to inspire us. She will be deeply missed.”

A literary historian and a friend of Humra Quraishi, Rakhshanda Jalil writes, “Another friend gone, and another link with the past broken. Dear, sweet Humra, unfailingly kind, always gentle , she lived her life on her own terms but always with her head held high. 

Uncompromising as a person and as a journalist, she remained committed to her ideals. When the world became too much for her, she withdrew to the sanctuary of her flat in Gurgaon. But now she’s gone, hopefully to a better place. Farewell dear friend.”

Humra Quraishi will be missed by many of her ardent readers and friends!

Qurban Ali is a tri-lingual journalist, who has covered some of modern India’s major political, social and economic developments. He has keenly followed India’s freedom struggle and is now documenting the history of the socialist movement in the country. He can be contacted at [email protected] 

Arun Shourie’s Book Dismantling Savarkar’s Myths Releases on the Day of Gandhi’s Assassination

Shourie says the book systematically dismantles Savarkar’s myths, including those about Indian history, the Hindu identity, and Savarkar himself.

Former Union Minister, economist, journalist, and author Arun Shourie has announced the release of his latest book, The New Icon. The book offers a “critical examination” of the life, ideology, and legacy of Vinayak Damodar Savarkar, the ideological architect of Hindutva and a controversial figure in contemporary Indian politics.

The New Icon

The New Icon:
Savarkar and the Facts by Arun Shourie, India Viking, 2024. Photo: https://www.penguin.co.in/

Shourie, who served as a minister in Atal Bihari Vajpayee’s government (1998–2004), was widely regarded as a leading Hindu nationalist intellectual during that period. In The New Icon, the Padma Bhushan awardee scrutinises Savarkar’s legacy by juxtaposing his claims and prescriptions with historical evidence.

Savarkar remains a polarising figure – revered by many on the Hindu right for his vision of a Hindu-majority nation, yet criticised by others for advocating exclusionary politics. Shourie’s critique is likely to ignite intense debates, as it comes from someone known for challenging organised religion and political ideologies, including those of the Hindu right.

Drawing on “over 550 sources,” including contemporary records, intelligence reports, memoirs, and archives, Shourie says the book systematically dismantles Savarkar’s myths, including those about Indian history, the Hindu identity, and Savarkar himself.

“The assertions and claims do not survive scrutiny at all – certainly not the myths Savarkar put out about us, about our history, or, indeed, about himself. As for [Savarkar’s] prescriptions, the book shows that if we adopt them, the Hindutva State will in fact become precisely what he denounced – namely, an ‘Islamic’ State. Our society will be saturated with what he said unites, namely hatred. Revenge, ‘super-cruelty’ to use his word, and the rest will become the norms,” Shourie said in a press statement.

Also Read: How Did Savarkar, a Staunch Supporter of British Colonialism, Come to Be Known as ‘Veer’?

“And the one instrument by which such a situation can be retrieved – discourse – would have been broken, overwhelmed as it would be with falsehood, deliberately spread in the name of The Great Cause. In a word, Hinduism would have been perverted, and India would have been set on the road to becoming Pakistan.”

Published by Penguin India, the book will be available from 30 January, priced at ₹999.

This article was originally published on South First.

‘Modi vs Khan Market Gang’ Book Promotes Patriotism, DU VC Says at Uni Event

While speaking about Modi versus Khan Market gang, Delhi University VC Yogesh Singh appeared to have assumed the role of a BJP spokesperson.

New Delhi: Delhi University vice-chancellor Yogesh Singh today (January 16) made his endorsement of the Narendra Modi government and the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) public at an event organised to launch the book, Modi vs Khan Market Gang – the title a reference to a political binary that the prime minister has used to attack critics.

Speaking at the event, Singh said, “Everyone must read this book as it reflects concerns for the nation’s interest and promotes patriotism. I often say at Delhi University that the role of our education system and universities is to foster patriotism. It is our fundamental duty to cultivate love for the nation.”

The book in question, which critics claim is a work of BJP propaganda, is authored by Ashok Shrivastav, a news anchor who works for the public broadcaster Doordarshan News. The event, held at the convention hall of the vice-chancellor’s office, was organised by the Council of Media and Public Policy and Research, along with the Silence Foundation, in collaboration with the Delhi University.

Modi vs Khan Market Gang

Modi vs Khan Market Gang, Ashok Shrivastav, Council for Media & Public Policy Research, 2024. Photo: Atul Ashok Howale

Singh’s praise for the book and his emphasis on ‘patriotism’ echoed the event’s underlying theme of promoting the BJP and Prime Minister Modi as synonymous with India. The vice-chancellor’s statements – which reflect the increasing politicisation of educational institutions in the country – are likely to prove controversial as Singh appeared to be using his position to advance the interests of the BJP.

Shrivastav, the book’s author, thanked Singh for his role in organising the event, referring to him as the “chief architect” of the programme. Shrivastav claimed that the “Khan Market gang” – a term used to describe critics of the Modi government – has spread from Delhi to New York, and that Modi is the symbol of India.

Shrivastav said, “The Khan Market gang has spread from Delhi to New York. The Khan Market gang refers to those who are bothered by the progress of the country. Narendra Modi is the symbol of India, and because of this, the targets of the Khan Market gang are always India and Narendra Modi.”

“The main objective of bringing this book to the university is to make educational centres, students and the teachers who shape them aware of the importance of these fake narratives. If students and teachers understand these fake narratives, then India can remain safe,” he added. 

Also read: PM Modi’s Degree | ‘RTI Can’t Be to Satisfy Third Party’s Curiosity,’ Delhi University Tells HC

Besides the principals of various colleges and students associated with the Akhil Bharatiya Vidyarthi Parishad, the event was attended by BJP leaders, including the party’s national co-organisation secretary Shiv Prakash and former MP Jyoti Mirdha.

Presented as a book launch, the programme criticised journalists and media houses that question the government. There were also attempts to promote media outlets that provide uncritical support to the Modi government. For instance, Singh praised Shrivastav extensively and encouraged the audience to watch his show ‘Do Tuk’ on DD News. He also stated that the programme itself was “an example of patriotism”.

While speaking about the book, Singh suggested how various global rankings, such as the hunger index, press freedom index and happiness index were allegedly being used to spread fake narratives. Notably, India is ranked 159 out of the 180 nations considered in the 2024 edition of the press freedom index.

“Modi’s journey was nothing short of a revolution, and people like us have contributed to this revolution. Despite massive efforts to defeat him, the public chose to elect him,” BJP leader Mirdha said at the event, in an attempt to praise Modi.

She added, “In the last election, a narrative was set that the BJP government would change the constitution if it came to power. However, the provision to amend the constitution is itself provided by the constitution, and it has been changed 130 times. For instance, the Panchayati Raj system and women’s reservation were introduced through constitutional amendments. People need to understand this. Those from the backward classes who previously claimed that they feared the BJP and said their reservations would end if Modi came to power now admit after the elections that people were fooled at the time.”

Threads of Resistance: Weaving Together India’s Gender Narrative

In her book ‘Religion And Women in India: Gender, Faith, and Politics 1780s–1980s’, Tanika Sarkar illustrates her arguments with fascinating and often little-known local details of the women and the men who worked to challenge the gender hierarchies of their times.

A key issue for all the students of women’s and gender histories lies in the deeply held assumption that these are in the end special interest subjects, important for those who study them, but not central for “mainstream” scholars. Tanika Sarkar’s important new book Religion And Women in India: Gender, Faith, and Politics 1780s–1980s follows many other scholars in exposing the intellectual flaws in this continuing “ghettoisation”. 

Unlike many others, however, she ranges over the whole history of the subcontinent from the late eighteenth century to independent India, Pakistan and Bangladesh in the 1980s. She shows how, at every stage, gender was not simply one of many social themes, but was in practice constitutive of key relationships right across the subcontinent’s politics, economies, societies and cultural orders. 

Cover photo of Religion And Women in India: Gender, Faith, and Politics 1780s–1980s by Tanika Sarkar

Religion And Women in India: Gender, Faith, and Politics 1780s–1980s, Tanika Sarkar, Permanent Black and Ashoka University, 2024

Her book also offers an exceptionally comprehensive introduction to scholars new to the subject, students and general readers looking to develop their understanding. The reader is spared dense footnotes, and offered a carefully focussed reading list at the end of each chapter. Yet the book is also much more than an overview or synthesis.

First, at every turn, Sarkar illustrates her arguments in practical and vivid terms, with fascinating and often little-known local details of the women and the men who worked to challenge the gender hierarchies of their times, to create new spaces for action or imagination, or, alternatively, who strove to defend the existing order. Second, she lays great emphasis on the particularities of local circumstance, the complexities and contradictions which often derailed the best-laid plans of governors, political leaders and social reformers alike. Third, the book makes a powerful argument for the centrality of religion, of “faith”, in any understanding of how gender has worked as such a powerful force across the turbulent centuries of colonialism and the coming of modernity. 

The remaking of colonial India’s gender order forms the major focus of the book. With a superb combination of nuance and narrative clarity, Sarkar ranges over the interplay between gender and the shaping of India’s legal systems in the construction of “personal laws”. She explores the gendering of labour with the move into factories and mines, the striving of elite women reformers to limit the labour of women workers, and the emergence of new professions for middle class women. A substantial chapter explores the gendering of colonial politics and the huge range of new political associations which drew in men and women, the young and the old in different ways. The ambiguities and paradoxes are striking here.

Even as nationalist politics and organisations both of the left and the right opened up some powerful leadership roles for women, these were cast in the language of maternal guidance, or the powers of the divine feminine. Even amongst the most progressive, separate spheres and complementary roles remained the ideal. Further chapters explore colonial gender in relation to sexuality, and the new worlds of print culture and popular performance. 

Where, in these explorations, does Sarkar locate the key significance of religion and “faith”, identified as critical in the title of the book? The theme is woven throughout. Sometimes it appears in the interplay of many forces: as she emphasises, in India as elsewhere, religion and gender are caught up in many histories. In other settings, such as the making of colonial laws, their interplay emerges as a key shaping influence.

More than any other topic, the making of colonial law also exemplifies Sarkar’s contention that gender is not simply one of the many themes for the historian, but was itself in colonial India constitutive of a whole range of other political and institutional relationships. It was through the law that the colonial state early sought to construct a basis of legitimacy for its rule, and rendered the subcontinent’s diverse communities legible – as essentially religious constructs – to British policy-makers.

Colonial governments and Indian leaders alike turned to the law either to alleviate the social constraints under which Indian women lived, or to defend them as the very cornerstones of family and religion. From the mid-nineteenth century, the emerging construct of “personal laws” affirmed what the colonial state saw as the essentially religious basis of Indian community identity, and indicated the limits of its willingness to intervene directly in matters of religion, family and custom. Through personal laws, with their constitution of men and women as different kinds of subject in relation to the state, colonial governments also sought to reassure family and community heads that their patriarchal authority was insulated from the powerful new forces associated with coming of colonialism. 

Sarkar traces out how this proliferation of personal laws around different “religious” communities not only shaped gender roles and individual life chances, but radiated out right across the wider field of politics. The gender wars of the nineteenth century – around the institution of Sati, the remarriage of Hindu widows and the legal age of consent – were critical in shaping Hindu revivalism right through into the 1920s, when a new generation of reforming nationalists and women’s organisations entered the fray.

India’s interwar Muslim leadership also looked to personal laws – in the Shariat Act of 1937 – to build the notion of a single all-India Muslim identity. What was less well foreseen was that in the longer term, this unitary model of “Hindu” personal laws did much to erode the latitude customarily allowed to lower caste, tribal and Dalit women, and gradually to disseminate Brahmanic social norms amongst them. 

Also read: Sunitha Krishnan’s Life Is a Story of Grit, Determination and Persuasion

Interestingly, though, it is in her discussion of sexualities – “Holy and unholy gender” that Sarkar makes her most explicit argument for the absolute centrality of religion in shaping the subcontinent’s cultures of gender. Rather than following the path of secularisation and “disenchantment” of the world that conventional theories of modernisation might have suggested, colonial India saw rather a huge proliferation of new forms of faith and worship, greatly amplified in the world of cheap vernacular print and new performance media. This proliferation was evident across all communities and at all social levels.

It extended from the charismatic saints, minor god-men, pirs and shrines often serving popular classes, to the reformist religious associations emphasising “modern” models of piety to the Anglophone educated, to the professional mystics and intellectuals who catered to middle-class piety, both reformist and conservative. 

Not all of these colonial religious cultures were conservative. Some opened up new roles to women as spiritual leaders, affirmed the importance of women’s work as “modern” wives and mothers, or advocated some forms of female education. However, most endorsed what were in the end conventional norms for women, which measured their value primarily as capable housewives and devoted mothers. Why was this so? Why was it the case that in the field of religious belief and practice, as in politics, such conventions proved in the end so entrenched, and the needs of women seen as necessarily subordinate to those of the family?

What is needed, Sarkar suggests, is a new history of Indian conservatism, which would take seriously the huge weight of social opposition that the most cautious of social reformers encountered when they pressed for change. Such a history would not attribute this conservatism quite so overwhelmingly to the bourgeois patriarchal values of the colonial state. Rather, it would look to Indian agencies of many different kinds – religious conservatives, community heads, men qualified in the new professions, liberal nationalists, middle class women – as they took in the lead in reshaping family and community identities amid the social transformations of colonialism. 

Although Sarkar takes the reader through these larger arguments, the book is also rich in local detail. Some of this emerges in her accounts of Hindu widowhood, the subject of such conflict and personal pain. She reminds us that the entrenched hostility to widow remarriage arose from the Hindu belief that a woman’s body was ardhangini, the half body of her husband, believed to live on in her until the end of her own days.

She looks at some well-known supporters for the remarriage of widows, such as Ramabai Ranade and the Maharashtrian men and women who worked with her. Sarkar’s narrative also offers a wealth of less familiar examples: the Shudra weavers of Bengal reputed to have embroidered verses praising the great reformer Vidyasagar into their saris, or the traditions of South Indian activism, such as Kandukuri Veeresalingam and his Rajamundry Widow Remarriage Association of the 1870s.

There are fascinating details about little-known women activists in other fields. The redoubtable Hari Methrani, leader of Calcutta’s Dalit sanitation workers, shamed male striker-breakers in 1928, and put the colonial police to flight by throwing pots of excreta over them. Less well-known Muslim women activists also feature. Begum Hazrat Mahal, wife of the Awadh Nawab, personally led an attack on the Lucknow garrison in 1857. The remarkable Bengali intellectual Rokeya Hussain depicted a feminist utopia in her 1905 book “Sultana’s Dream”, which offered a powerful critique of the violence and aggression historically associated with masculine rulership. 

The striking new problematisation of gender roles in colonial India also prompted change in the sphere of “culture”. Vernacular fiction, particularly in popular periodical literature, made it possible to imagine new versions of domesticity. Autobiographies and biographies enabled writers at many social levels to reconstruct the complex life-worlds of their own experience. The depiction of cruel personal relationships suggested new moral identities, as in Tagore’s sympathetic depiction of a woman driven to leave her abusive husband and family. Nor, Sarkar argues, were these developing cultural spaces available only to the literate middle classes. New performance genres drew much wider audiences, including audiences of women.

In towns and villages, the folk performance medium of Nautanki drew on much older oral forms, such as the songs of Bhojpuri women marking the turning of the seasons and key occasions during the ritual year. Urban audiences for popular theatre found their imaginations stirred with new desires, ambitions and resentments, which entered their repertoires of the socially possible. 

This sense of the complex balance of forces lies at the heart of Sarkar’s approach. Even when the weight of convention might have seemed most daunting, the historian should be alive to the spaces where men and women were able to imagine new possibilities, to find small weaknesses and fractures in apparently impregnable institutions. Vernacular literatures may have pushed very conventional images of women, but women gained new skills from their reading and a broadened sense of the community to which they belonged.

Women’s participation in nationalist politics limited them largely to “feminine” roles, but their very experience of action in the public domain marked an irreversible change in their consciousness. During the late colonial period, women’s political associations ultimately subordinated their feminist concerns to the needs of the united national struggle; however, through these associations, they learned to utilise the language of equal rights, justice, and equality in their own battles.

Unless we attend to these seemingly hesitant and fleeting moments of possibility, Sarkar argues, we cannot account for the post-colonial emergence of Indian feminism in the strong forms that it came to take from the 1960s. Nor can we understand the transformative intellectual break by which women, as well as men, came to be understood as right-bearing individuals.

Also read: The Rise and Fall of the ‘Idea of Asia’

These emphases on the key role of religion and the continuing challenge of conservative values run through the later sections of the book dealing with independent India, Pakistan and Bangladesh through to the 1980s. Personal laws still exist in all of them. Personal laws continue to be the fulcrum around which gender, politics and religion are held together in tension, making it difficult to move decisively beyond the issues which lay at the heart of the struggles of the colonial period.

In India, for example, the fateful decision to open the Babri Masjid site to Hindu worshippers took place in the wake of the Shah Bano affair, when Rajiv Gandhi sought to conciliate conservative Hindu opinion after conceding Muslim leaders’ demand that Islamic law should continue to determine the maintenance that a divorced Muslim wife could expect from her husband.

In the wake of the global political realignment following the Iranian Revolution of 1979, sixth-President of Pakistan General Muhammad Zia-ul-Haq looked to strengthen his support amongst religious conservatives in the country through his Hudood Ordinances, which removed the legal protections that women had enjoyed under colonial law, and in effect re-masculinised Pakistan’s public sphere after the gains of the 1960s.

Independent Bangladesh’s remarkable record of economic growth, and the strength in particular of its garment industry enabled women to enter the industrial workforce in a way not seen elsewhere across the subcontinent. But the era of military rule from the mid-1970s was also accompanied by an Islamisation of state laws, particularly those affecting women, and the elevation of Islamic over Bengali identities.

In our own era of Donald Trump’s America, of the rise of Christian nationalism in some eastern European states, and close ties between the Russian Orthodox church and the regime of Vladimir Putin in Russia, the strength of conservative religion across the subcontinent no longer looks like an aberrant failure of secularisation, but rather closer to a global norm.

Yet questions remain about the particular modern resilience, across the subcontinent, of conservative religious values in the field of gender. In such a capacious book as this, it seems churlish to ask for further discussion of particular topics. If a further question could be asked, it would be for a closer look at the remarkable tenacity of Hindu India’s culture of son-preference and the linked, still-vital principle of hypergamous or “anuloma” marriage.

Here, of course, “religious” considerations become difficult to separate from calculations of social advantage for the family as a collective, in which sons and daughters are seen to have very different roles and the marriages a family makes may bring important opportunities for its upward mobility. Some further exploration of this still-flourishing nexus between the religious and the social might yield further insights into the longevity of Hindu India’s conservatism in matters of gender. Yet that, perhaps, would necessitate a further, and rather different study. In the meantime, scholars, students and the informed general reader will find the very richest of feasts in Sarkar’s new book now before them. 

Rosalind O’Hanlon is an early modern historian and specialist in the colonial history of India. She is a retired Professor in Indian History and Culture at the University of Oxford.

Chandrima Shaha: The Indian Scientist Who Shatters Stereotypes

The book ‘Chandrima Shaha: A Lifelong Journey of Scientific Inquiry’ presents some less-known aspects of Chandrima’s life. It reveals that her entry into professional cricket was linked to her passion for photography.

Sometimes scientists dabble with music and art, and many excel. Homi Jehangir Bhabha was a painter and a great connoisseur of art, while Satyendra Nath Bose played the esraj (a violin-like instrument) and Raja Ramanna was a pianist. K. Radhakrishnan, former chief of the Indian Space Research Organisation (ISRO), is a trained Kathakali dancer and vocalist. 

But can you think of an Indian scientist who has played professional cricket, been a radio commentator, a science writer, and a photographer, along with making pathbreaking scientific discoveries and becoming the head of one of the highest academic bodies in the country? That’s Chandrima Shaha for you. Her diverse personality and career has few parallels in the contemporary Indian scientific community, and this is what a new biography of hers captures beautifully.

A cover photo o Chandrani Shaha's biography.

Chandrima Shaha: A Lifelong Journey of Scientific Inquiry, Rajinder Singh and Suprakash C. Roy, Shaker Verlag, Düren, Germany, 2024.

Written by Rajinder Singh – a leading historian of science based in Oldenburg, Germany – along with Calcutta-based physicist Suprakash C Roy – the biography is titled Chandrima Shaha: A Lifelong Journey of Scientific Inquiry. Singh has made a mark with his biographies of Indian scientists – not just the likes of C.V. Raman and D.M. Bose but those of lesser-known figures of Indian science.

In recent years, he has brought to the public gaze many unsung scientists such as Bibha Chowdhury, Snehamoy Datta, Bal Mukund Anand and Purnima Sinha. Several scientists whose lives Singh has documented happen to be women, correcting the unsaid bias in conventional history telling. Chandrima’s biography is in the same series. 

In 2020, Chandrima was elected as the president of the Indian National Science Academy (INSA), the first woman to lead the academy which is celebrating 90 years of its founding this month. She is currently the J.C. Bose Chair distinguished professor (Infectious Diseases and Immunology) at CSIR-Indian Institute of Chemical Biology, Kolkata.

Chandrima was born in Calcutta (now Kolkata) to accomplished parents – her father Shambhu Shaha was a creative photographer and her mother Karuna was a painter and singer. Shambhu Shaha is known for the perceptive pictures he shot of Rabindranath Tagore at Santiniketan during Tagore’s twilight years.

Tagore appreciated his work as he captured important cultural happenings at Santiniketan. The book contains a picture of young Chandrima with Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru when he inaugurated an exhibition of Tagore’s pictures shot by Shambhu Shaha. In 2001, Chandrima wrote a book on her father. 

The atmosphere at the Shaha household was eclectic and creative, with frequent visits from artists, art lovers and contemporary intellectuals of the city including eminent scientific figure, Satyendra Nath Bose. The book contains a picture of Chandrima and her mother with famous painter M.F. Hussain. Chandrima shot a candid portrait of Hussain with her camera and it was later published in the Illustrated Weekly of India in 1973.

Chandrima’s interest in science was kindled in her childhood when her father gifted her a small telescope and encouraged her to look at stars and planets. Soon, she thought of becoming an astronomer. The aspiration changed when her father brought a monocular microscope from an auction house.

“A drop from a puddle formed by rainwater, examined under the microscope, opened an amazing world not visible to the naked eye. Moving creatures of various shapes and sizes visible under the microscope intrigued Chandrima. This was very different from the static view of the sky,” the book points out.

The young Chandrima would often wander into neighbours’ gardens to collect insects. Such visits opened her eyes to the beautiful phenomenon of metamorphosis – the transformation of a caterpillar to a butterfly and so on. Such exploration of the natural phenomena led her to dream of becoming a biologist – possibly the kind who wanders through jungles gathering insects to learn more about their existence. To further encourage her interest, her father gifted her the book on the origin of life by Charles Darwin on her fifteenth birthday.

A young Chandrima Shaha at an exhibition of her father Shambhu Shaha’s photographs of Rabindra Nath Tagore (1961) in Delhi with Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru who inaugurated the show. Anil Chanda, former secretary of Tagore and then deputy home minister is standing with Nehru. Photo: Special Arrangement

As a student of Zoology at Calcutta University where she did her graduation and post-graduation, Chandrima would often go on field trips to coastal Bengal to collect and study specimens. This allowed her to pursue her interest in photography as well as study marine animals in their habitat.

Then Chandrima joined the PhD programme at the Indian Institute of Experimental Medicine (later renamed CSIR-Indian Institute of Chemical Biology) which is known for its work on plant-based products. She worked in the laboratory of Anita Pakrashi who was engaged in research in reproductive sciences, experimenting with compounds from the plant Aristolochia indica Linn for their medicinal properties as described in folk medicine.

For postdoctoral work, Chandrima joined the laboratory of Gilbert S. Greenwald, a reproductive biologist at the University of Kansas Medical Center, as a Ford Foundation Fellow in 1980. Here, she worked on various aspects of ovarian cellular functions. She joined the biomedical laboratory of the Population Council in the spring of 1982 and started working on peptides that regulate the ovary and the testis. 

While at the Population Council, she happened to meet G.P. Talwar who was building the laboratories of the National Institute of Immunology (NII) and was recruiting scientists under a scheme to bring back Indian scientists from the United States. Chandrima was invited to join NII to build an independent laboratory addressing pressing problems in the country. After a long spell of 28 years at the laboratory, she was appointed director of NII in 2012. 

Also read: Reproductive Futures: The Promises and Pitfalls of In-Vitro Gametogenesis

At NII, her work focused on hunting for possible candidates for a sperm vaccine, building upon her work on testicular physiology and germ cells. For designing a sperm vaccine, the idea was to find a protein in human sperm that is essential for sperm function and would be able to block the interaction with the egg when necessary.

The work established the role of glutathione S-transferase (GST) in testicular cells. GST M1 found in germ cells could bind to sex steroids and is secreted by the seminiferous tubules, making it an important protein for the functioning of the testis. Her research provided important leads for the development of an anti-fertility vaccine.

Chandrima Shaha

Chandrima Shaha. Photo: Karthiguy, CC BY-SA 4.0 via Wikimedia Commons

Her laboratory also addressed problems associated with cell survival and death in unicellular and multicellular organisms and made significant contributions to Leishmania biology. The Leishmania parasite is the causative agent for leishmaniasis or Kala-Azar. The original contribution of the laboratory was the demonstration of apoptosis-like death in the parasite, much like metazoan apoptosis.

This opened an opportunity for intervention of parasite survival through the manipulation of apoptotic proteins. Studies relating to the mechanisms by which the parasite deals with anti-leishmanial drugs showed how parasites respond to drugs, become resistant or die.

While providing details of her scientific work and its impact, the book also presents some less-known aspects of Chandrima’s life. For instance, it reveals that her entry into professional cricket was linked to her passion for photography. She accidentally saw an advertisement of the newly formed Women’s Cricket Association, while visiting a publisher’s office, and decided to rush to the stadium to take pictures of the cricket team. There, she found that the selection process for the team was in progress and decided to enrol herself and to her surprise, she got selected.

Chandrima represented West Bengal in the National Women’s Cricket Championships in 1973 and 1974 and was included in the East Zone team as the vice-captain. Her first major assignment as a radio commentator for first-class cricket was the match between East Zone and the visiting Sri Lanka team in November 1975. 

The authors have presented a well-researched account of the life of an eminent scientific personality of contemporary times. It is an important addition to the literature on women in STEM and the modern history of science in India.

Dinesh C Sharma is a journalist and author based in New Delhi. His latest book is Beyond Biryani – The Making of a Globalised Hyderabad.

Sunitha Krishnan’s Life Is a Story of Grit, Determination and Persuasion

In her autobiography I Am What I Am, the activist talks about her work with survivors of sex trafficking over the last three decades and how she has persevered despite serious adversities.

I Am What I Am, Sunitha Krishnan’s autobiography, is the powerful and honest story of the founder of Prajwala, the largest organisation in Asia fighting sex trafficking. Krishnan, a Padma Shri recipient, has been instrumental in drafting several victim-centric policies, comprehensive training manuals and handbooks for law enforcement in India’s anti-trafficking ecosystem. In her memoir, Krishnan talks about the five decades of her life and three decades of her activism.

Sunitha Krishnan
I Am What I Am
Westland, 2024

What makes I Am What I Am a compelling read is the gripping narrative and Krishnan’s approach towards challenges. Her story is one of grit and determination, charting her journey from Bangalore, where she faced a harrowing 24-day arrest for attending a rally, to her impactful rehabilitation work in Hyderabad. Her unwavering belief in the divine and trust in the universe served as a guiding light, even when faced with life-threatening encounters. Throughout, she shares valuable lessons on trust, belief and courage.

Krishnan does not adopt a victim mindset while talking about her experience as a survivor of sexual assault while on an education drive for kids in a village. Instead, she was driven by the conviction to turn her experience into a mission to rescue and rehabilitate as many survivors as possible. Her first rescue was when she was just 17, showcasing her unwavering. She has gone on to rescue 28,900 survivors, rehabilitated 26,900 people and prevented 18,000 children from entering the sex trade since she set up Prajwala in 1996.

In Krishnan’s three decades of activism, she faced many challenges such as death threats, vandalism, hostility by victims in court, betrayal, bureaucratic red tape and physical assault. Her resilience shines through, from surviving a near-fatal auto rickshaw attack and an acid assault to having her nasal septum broken while rescuing Rizwana, a young girl then and now a head constable in the police force. Krishnan’s only mission has been to fight for justice and uplift survivors of trafficking. There are many more such rescue stories in the book which will keep you engrossed and inspired.

Also read: ‘Held Captive, Pushed Into Prostitution’: Chilling Accounts of Punjabi Women Rescued From the Gulf

Apart from the hardships and struggles, the book also introduces you to the people in her life who stood by her throughout: her family, her grandmother, her friend Jo (who was a mentor and guide too) and Rajesh, who not only believed in her selfless work but eventually chose her as his life partner, highlighting the importance of support and love in overcoming challenges.

The chapters that stood out for me were chapter 10, ‘Moving Away for Good’, and the ones that followed. Krishnan makes the pivotal choice to leave her parents behind and start afresh in Hyderabad after a humiliating and disturbing arrest. It felt like she was following her true calling as fate guided her toward the cause she was destined to support. Her secret visits to Mehboob ki Mehendi, Hyderabad’s “red light district”, all while she continued her advocacy for slum dwellers, marked the start of her remarkable journey. She felt compelled to step in and help these women, and her dedication ultimately led to The Eternal Flame – Prajwala – becoming the largest organisation in Asia fighting sex trafficking. The rest, as they say, is history.

Even today, Krishnan challenges the society’s attitude toward survivors and demands a shift in perspective. Why is the victim always blamed? Why the apathy toward survivors? And why the resistance to their inclusion?

Krishnan’s story is one of determination for anyone who wants to make a difference. The final chapter, ‘I Am What I Am’, captures this sentiment beautifully. This book is a must read for anyone who wants to understand the complexities of human trafficking, as well as the extraordinary resilience of the human spirit.

Sarika Chavan is the Founder of Sparkle Gift Cards. She writes one book review each month since 2021. These are published at Reputation Today. She has recently edited a book called Spark, a collection of real life stories of India’s Public Relations pioneers. She lives in Mumbai.

Gauri Lankesh: Writer, Fighter, Speaker, Friend

The best quality of Gauri’s writing was the sense that she was writing to you, the reader, directly, as someone who gets it. You got the feeling that she could have been your friend—and she probably would have.

Excerpted with permission from I Am on the Hit List: Murder and Myth-Making in South India, authored by Rollo Romig, published by Context-Westland Books.

In the early years, the threats came by mail. A friend of Gauri’s remembers a pile of abusive postcards at the office, ‘filled with filthy sexual abuse and lewd bodily descriptions.’ Then came social media. ‘If you look at her Facebook, every day she was called a bitch, she sleeps with everybody, every expletive possible,’ her lawyer, B. T. Venkatesh, said. He encouraged her to file cases against the worst trolls, but she refused. She wouldn’t even block anyone on social media, and she never rejected a friend request: ‘She said no, it’s open space and debate.’

She knew what she believed in, but she loved a good debate. She happily published letters from young activists critiquing her columns; often those letter-writers became regular contributors. Once, the writer Samvartha Sahil recalled, she asked him urgently to translate into Kannada a poem by Hussain Haidry that had gone viral online, which ends with these lines:

I’m Hindustani Musalmaan.
The Hindu temple door is mine,
as are the Mosque minarets mine,
the Sikh Gurudwara hall is mine,
The pews in churches also mine;
I am fourteen in one hundred,
But in these fourteen not othered,
I am within all of hundred,
and hundred is the sum of me. 

Don’t view me any differently,
I have a hundred ways to be
My hundred nuanced characters,
from hundreds of storytellers.
Brother, as Muslim as I am, 

I’m that much also Indian.

And in her next issue, she published the poem alongside a scathing response by the poet Abul Kalam Azad, which ends like this:

I am the tenant
Every owner evicts

I am the refugee
Every border rejects  

I am not your Hindustani Musalman,
For it’s a door I am forced to knock,
The one that is never opened  

I am not your Hindustani Musalman,
For I am killed
For not being one

‘Gauri always had space for dissent,’ Sahil wrote.

Like her father, she wouldn’t hesitate to attack her friends in print if she thought they had it coming. For a time her close friend Vivek Shanbhag published a well-regarded literary journal called Desha Kaala. On the journal’s fifth anniversary, he brought out a special anniversary issue—and Gauri marked the occasion by publishing a denunciation of Desha Kaala as elitist and casteist. She was eager for Shanbhag to write a response that she could publish, but he demurred. A debate over Desha Kaala, both pro and con, raged in the pages of Gauri Lankesh Patrike for several issues nonetheless. ‘It caused little awkward situations between us,’ he told me. ‘But both of us put it behind us quickly. There was no tension in our friendship. See, it is a healthy sign that writers fight things out like this. I don’t agree with what they wrote. But it’s okay. There’s a different view. And it’s fine!’

Rollo Romig
I Am on the Hit List: Murder and Myth-making in South India
Context, Westland, 2025

Some of her old friends grew tired of all the debating. Srinivasaraju, who’d shown her how to use Twitter, refused to follow her. Rajghatta had for years ignored her Facebook friend request, not wanting his timeline to be hijacked by political arguments with his ex- wife. He finally accepted it, four months before she died, because she so keenly wanted to see all the latest photos of Rajghatta’s son. ‘But please!’ he messaged her. ‘NO SNIDE/ NASTY comments and no political scraps!’

She often stayed up until 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning posting to Facebook and Twitter, sharing links and sparring with trolls, never seeming to care how personal or threatening they got. She’d invite them to continue the discussion in the real world, over a cup of coffee; they never took her up on it. One friend theorised that she believed so deeply in dialogue because her own life had taught her how much a person can change. But how to reconcile her evident yearning for connection and dialogue and her impulse to mock her opponents, her willingness to offend? Perhaps she expected her gibes to roll off her targets the same way their attacks rolled off her. She didn’t hold grudges, so she underestimated the grudges of others. And what was her murder but a bloody grudge?

When she left the office alone late at night and her colleagues expressed concern for her safety, she’d say, ‘Am I so pretty that someone would rape me?’ Like her father, she often treated political argument like sport. ‘She loved it,’ Kavitha told me. ‘She loved fighting, she loved voicing her views, she took great pleasure in standing up for people.’

And yet she was sharply attuned to her vulnerability. Late at night, at home or at a friend’s house, she’d sit facing the street, aware whenever someone walked by outside. Chandan Gowda remembers once sitting and talking with her late in his front room when she said, ‘There’s someone watching me out there.’ He leaped up and closed the curtains. And she was deeply worried about threats to her friends. ‘I will not be able to bear it if anything happens to any of you,’ she texted the activist Umar Khalid a month before she died.

She was threatened enough to qualify for state-ordered police protection— an armed security detail that would shadow her wherever she went. Her lawyer urged her ‘umpteen times’ to accept it. Gauri brushed him off. ‘I’m a journalist,’ she told him. ‘I fiercely value my privacy and freedom. If you had two gun-toting constables with you at all times, how are you going to meet people?’ She also didn’t like that police protection would indebt her to the government.

Also read: Remembering Gauri Lankesh: A Hope, a Possibility, a Lesson 

Instead of meeting her for coffee, her critics filed criminal defamation cases against her. In the United States, defamation is nearly always handled as a civil offence, litigated by lawsuit. In India, defamation is a criminal offence that’s easy to pursue and can result in prison, thanks to British colonial laws that are still on the books. These laws are widely abused by the most powerful politicians and companies to silence, bankrupt, and imprison their critics. Such charges rarely hold up in court, but they are effective in harassing journalists because the accused must show up in court wherever the charge is filed or face arrest. The cases are such a hassle to defend that many publications just go ahead and run a correction on the disputed article even if there was nothing factually wrong with it— and thereafter avoid criticising litigation-happy subjects. The laws therefore act as a powerful inhibition on the press, even when they aren’t invoked.

‘In India, if the story cannot be killed, the storyteller is silenced,’ said B. T. Venkatesh, who handled most of Gauri’s defamation cases. An energetic man with a wry smile and a scruffy salt-and-pepper beard, his full name is Bubberjung Trisuli Venkatesh, and the unusual surname, Bubberjung, derives from a Persian term meaning ‘the man who fought like a lion’— a title that one of his ancestors earned while fighting for Hyder Ali against the British. Venkatesh’s own fights centre on free expression and the rights of the marginalised. ‘Proud Attorney for Prostitutes, Hijras, Kothis, spectrum of LGBTiQ and Garment Workers,’ his Twitter bio reads. He defended Gauri in more than seventy cases over the course of her editorship.

Venkatesh’s laughing response when I asked him if I could record our interview was typical. ‘I don’t care a damn!’ he said. ‘I don’t care about anything—I don’t mince words. Nonsense is nonsense everywhere, is it not?’

Still, he would advise Gauri to be more careful with her words. ‘She’d say, ‘I am going to call a scoundrel a scoundrel! It’s your job to defend me,’ he said. He asked her to at least do some fact-checking of her articles. ‘She said, where is the time for all that nonsense, Venkat?’ he said, laughing. ‘She was notorious for that. And sometimes she would tell me, I have done it! And I was absolutely sure she had not.’

Gauri’s opponents—RSS activists, politicians, mobsters—would file charges against her all over the state in order to consume her time and resources. She transformed the hassles into opportunities. Lawyers who supported her causes, including Venkatesh, defended her pro bono wherever she went (although one of Venkatesh’s colleagues complained that it was difficult to travel in Gauri’s car because the stench of cigarettes was so strong). She used her forced excursions as a chance to make connections in every corner of Karnataka. When she had to appear in court in some distant town, she’d often schedule a political meeting there. ‘All these guys did in harassing her actually helped her,’ Venkatesh said. ‘Her sphere of influence increased multifold.’

To get her out of appearing in court too often, Venkatesh would often tell the judge that she was too ill to appear on the scheduled day. Sometimes a judge would challenge him: on the day you said she was ill, the newspapers reported that she delivered a fiery speech. ‘Yes, sir,’ Venkatesh would reply, ‘after making that particular speech she fell ill. Only on the day when she was supposed to appear before the court was she not well.’ (‘We are lawyers!’ he said with a laugh.)

On November 27, 2016, she was finally convicted in two criminal defamation cases in response to a story she’d published almost nine years earlier claiming that several BJP leaders had defrauded a jeweller. It was a story that many local papers had run, but only Gauri had named the alleged culprits in print. She was fined 10,000 rupees and sentenced to six months in jail; when she died, she was out on bail while awaiting appeal. Kavitha told me that sixteen other defamation cases were still pending against her.

I asked Venkatesh if Gauri’s rhetoric went overboard at times. ‘Frequently, not at times!’ he said. ‘Whenever you put her on a stage to speak, you don’t know what’s going to get into her. She said Hinduism is not a religion at all. Her speech was sometimes very intemperate.’ In one example that particularly offended her opponents, in response to a campaign to mail sanitary napkins to Modi to protest a new tax on menstrual hygiene products, she suggested on Twitter that they mail napkins that had already been used. ‘She used such language that it was shocking,’ he said. ‘We have a very, very conservative society. Women speaking is itself unacceptable; a woman speaking in such language is impossible.’

Friends, too, sometimes complained to her about her language and urged her to tone it down. ‘If I don’t use harsh words, they might mistake my critique for a lullaby,’ she replied when one activist questioned her about her rhetoric. ‘She may have argued with a shrill voice, because the present position forces you to raise your voice,’ Professor Sreedhara told me. ‘You can’t whisper. She raised her voice louder than others because there were no other loud voices, so it sounded loud.’

While Gauri’s language could be sardonic and mocking, it was never anywhere near as harsh as that of the countless people who revelled in her death. She never threatened or even expressed a desire for violence against those she mocked; when an opponent died, she never said ‘good riddance.’ And she never saw even her arch-enemy as less than human. She didn’t like it when people made fun of Modi for his imperfect English. To do so, she thought, was just to repeat the linguistic discrimination of the British colonisers.

She wrote an editorial essay for the paper every week for over seventeen years, totalling more than eight hundred and fifty. In many she ‘raged against the world,’ as the historian Janaki Nair put it, ‘a world of injustice, inequality, squalor, discrimination, violence, plunder, and greed.’ Her rage was most often directed at the rising right wing in all its avatars: the Sangh Parivar, the RSS, the BJP, and their leaders both locally and nationally. But denunciation wasn’t her only mode, a point that her friend Chandan Gowda was careful to demonstrate in the first English-language anthology of her work, titled The Way I See It, which he edited with impressive subtlety and published less than two months after her death. Many columns highlighted local problems that were ignored in the mainstream press, especially among manual labourers. Some columns told the stories of activists in other countries whose work she admired. Some were book or film reviews; some were biographical sketches; some were personal essays. Two running themes of her columns, Gowda noted, were their direct address to her readers and their appeals to a shared humanity. ‘After narrating a story of compassion or of brutality, they ended by asking if the reader’s heart wasn’t stirred or didn’t burst with rage,’ he wrote in the book’s introduction.

When writing against politicians or religious nationalists, Gauri was strident and jeering; when writing in praise of her comrades, she was sincere and affectionate; when writing in defence of the oppressed, she was anxious and tender. When writing about herself, she was invariably self-deprecating. Regardless of subject, she was direct and frank and unpretentious, and never lyrical or abstract. There was little evidence of craft. She knew she was no poet. ‘No one thought that her Kannada columns would someday be translated and published as important documents as they are being done today,’ her friend Pushpamala noted.

§

At a time when the mainstream press increasingly shied away from aggressive investigation, Gauri’s paper became more insistent than ever in attacking the powerful, the moneyed, the corrupt, and the revered. But to what end? The paper’s readership had plunged. Its presence on the web was non-existent. But although the circulation of her paper was a tiny fraction of her father’s at its peak, it would be a mistake to understate its importance to certain of its readers—particularly those whose problems were roundly ignored by every other publication. Small local papers like Gauri’s play a crucial role in maintaining India’s extraordinary regional diversity, in direct opposition to the homogenising mission of the Hindutva right wing. Even if her reach and influence were limited, she gave marginalised people an important jolt of confidence just by listening to their views and putting them in print.

The best quality of Gauri’s writing was the sense that she was writing to you, the reader, directly, as someone who gets it. You got the feeling that she could have been your friend—and she probably would have. At the end of her life, her circle of friends was still expanding. She liked to ‘adopt’ fellow activists whom she admired: the transgender activist and memoirist A. Revathi appeared in Gauri’s columns as ‘my sister Revathi,’ and more recently she had a penchant for referring to the new generation of young left activists across India—Kanhaiya Kumar, Jignesh Mevani, Umar Khalid, Shehla Rashid—as her sons and daughters. She doted on young activists, buying them clothes, feeding them, and talking them through their romantic troubles or their mental health struggles. At political meetings she’d be surrounded by young people calling her ‘Amma.’

Also read: What Girish Karnad Told Gauri Lankesh As the Saffron Army Laid Siege to Bababudangiri

More than in her paper or on social media, her words spread through the public speeches she gave in her activist work, which often made it onto YouTube. ‘Sometimes in public meetings I would feel very embarrassed. I never understood why she stood up to speak,’ Srinivasaraju said. ‘One day at some protest I told her, Gauri, couldn’t you keep your mouth shut? She said, “You are always trying to weigh options, but somebody has to speak.”’

Despite the notoriety it had brought her, she continued her defence of the Naxalite cause while condemning their violence. Eventually her at tempts to mediate between Naxalites and the government resumed. She and her colleagues reassembled the Citizens’ Initiative for Peace. ‘Gauri must have met government officials a hundred times,’ Sreedhara said. ‘She did all the running around.’ Finally, beginning in 2014, they persuaded the police and state government to allow nine former Naxalites who’d forsworn violence to come aboveground. The government’s initial negotiating position was that the former Naxalites should formally surrender, publicly apologise, forswear activism, enter a government rehabilitation camp, and inform on their comrades who remained underground. The former Naxalites insisted that the government drop all these conditions. Remarkably, the government eventually agreed to, thanks in large part to Gauri’s persuasive role in the negotiations. The ex-Naxalites still must stand trial for any charges against them, but the government won’t block them from getting bail. ‘Without her we cannot imagine our new life and new struggle,’ Noor Zulfikar, one of the nine, told me.

In Gauri’s martyrdom, her talents were misidentified. Because her job title was journalist—and because journalists in India, and elsewhere, are genuinely under threat—it was assumed that journalism was what she was targeted for, and that journalism was what she was great at. But after talking with so many people who knew her and worked with her and loved her and hearing all the many complicated ways they thought about her, I came to see it differently. Her great talents were those that don’t come with job titles: a talent for friendship, a talent for outrage, a talent for mentorship, a talent for cultivating ‘local thoughts,’ as one friend put it, in the face of a growing movement to homogenise Indian culture. The extraordinary variety of people who came out to protest her murder revealed another underappreciated talent: the ability to align in common cause disparate interest groups that otherwise agitated on separate tracks. ‘We actually didn’t realise the space she filled,’ one activist told me. ‘Now we can see that no one is ready to fill that space.’

Rollo Romig is an independent journalist.

Yashoda Devi, an Early-20th-Century Pioneering Woman Ayurvedic Practitioner

Presenting herself as a caring female physician, a beloved wife, and every woman’s friend, Yashoda Devi projected herself as living proof of an epistemic investment in women’s sexual problems and diseases.

What did everyday Hinduism in India look like a hundred years ago? Was it freer and more diverse than it is today? Were its practices more varied and less politically curtailed than now? Charu Gupta’s Hindi Hindu Histories provides illuminating historical accounts of Hindu life through individual actors, autobiographical narratives, and genres in the Hindi print-public culture of early twentieth century North India. It focuses on four fascinating figures – an anticaste crusader who advocated intercaste marriages and wrote on sexological matters; a pioneering woman Ayurvedic practitioner who specialised in female health and household recipes; a maverick travel writer whose work reflects early ideas of the muscular Hindu nation being forged today; and a Left journalist who sought to bridge Hinduism and communism. These public intellectuals were extremely popular in their time. They harboured vernacular dreams of freedom and Hindi-Hindu nationhood through their vantage points of caste, Ayurveda, travel, and communism. Theirs are the expansive worldviews being stamped out by the narrowing channels into which Hindus are now politically shepherded.

This article is drawn from the book.

§

Yashoda Devi (1890-1942, hereafter Yashoda) was one of the most commercially successful and famous women ayurvedic practitioners at the beginning of the 20th century in North India. A Brahmin by caste, she was the daughter of Pandit Dalchand Mishra, an ayurvedic vaid based in the town of Dataganj in the Badaun district of UP, who at some point moved to Bareilly. Yashoda received her training in ayurveda from her father, underscoring the family’s role in producing ayurvedic medical knowledge.

After her marriage in 1906 to Pandit Sri Ram Sharma, Yashoda moved to Allahabad in 1908. At the young age of 16, she began an active practice, soon becoming a leading ayurvedic practitioner. She established her own Stri Aushadhalaya in Allahabad around 1908 and went on to open a Female Ayurvedic Pharmacy. Subsequently, her dispensaries were established in many other towns of Bihar and Uttar Pradesh, for instance in Patna, Agra and Banaras. Her contribution to her family’s income was the most substantial. A huge number of women came to her with their personal and physical problems, and she received innumerable letters from all over India. She was so popular that letters reached her even if just addressed to “Devi, Allahabad”.  She received a sack full of letters daily; in fact, she had to take a post box at her post office because their inflow was so voluminous.

Post box address for letters to Yashoda Devi. Source: Yashoda Devi, Dampati Arogyata Jeevanshastra (The Science oof a Healthy Conjugal Life), Allahabad: Devi Pustakalaya, 1931, 3rd edn: 673

Yashoda was a prolific writer with over a hundred books to her credit, each running from anywhere between 20 to 1,000 pages. Largely addressed to women, but not limited to them, they covered a broad range, including intricate questions related to marriage, sex, man-woman relations, women’s health and sexology, popular ayurvedic home remedies, food recipes and health guides. The texts were produced for use as household advice manuals, as medical and food recipe books, as social-prescriptive texts, as ayurvedic remedies (particularly for women’s sexual health), as advertisements for the products and aushadhis she manufactured, as case studies of her patients, and as collections of letters of praise that she received.

Covers of some books by Yashoda Devi.

Yashoda had her own publishing house, Devi Pustakalaya, and a printing press called Banita Hitaishi Press, owned by her husband Sri Ram Sharma, which published all her books. Many of her books went into several editions and impressions, revealing their popularity and reach. An examination of the catalogue of Hindi books published in UP between 1900 and 1940 shows that no one was writing as much as Yashoda, and in such detail, on the range that encompassed women, ayurveda and sexology. She probably wrote and sold more books than any other woman writer and was arguably one of the most widely read woman authors of her time. An important journal she edited was Stri Chikitsak, catering solely to the ayurvedic treatment of women’s diseases. While specialising in ayurveda, the range of Yashoda’s practice and publications was so wide that through them she managed to penetrate the everyday lives of women and men, shaping their medical, sex-related and health questions, and, to an extent, their nationalist identities.

Cover of an issue of Stri Chikitsak, the journal edited by Yashoda Devi.

Most studies on ayurveda have pointed out that it was totally a male domain. Indeed, ayurvedic training was technically closed to women practitioners and was mainly in Sanskrit. While indigenous women medical practitioners were present in almost every household, their work was informal and the world of professional vaids was predominantly male. As a woman, Yashoda – commercially successful, practising ayurveda, and writing on matters of sex – was not even mentioned in the established professional circles of vaids and there was widespread indifference, even hostility, towards her by ayurveda’s normative authority. The Ayurvedic Mahamandal, for example, was as late as 1941 a completely male domain. Some of these male vaids also later filed a case against Yashoda, calling her remedies “inferior” and “inauthentic”.

Charu Gupta
Hindi Hindu Histories: Caste, Ayurveda, Travel, and Communism in Early Twentieth Century India
Permanent Black, in association with Ashoka University, 2025

However, even though Yashoda was on the margins and written out of the dominant discourses, her practice and writings attracted a huge following. The denial of epistemic authority to Yashoda was thus in sharp contrast to her popularity, her large clientele, and her high respect in society. She seems to have exerted considerable influence on medical health, particularly of women. Her fame spread to far-off places like Africa and Fiji. Yashoda moved in a relatively new territory. There were hardly any dispensaries in India based on indigenous belief systems which catered exclusively to women. For women in purdah it was difficult to leave home, and even more difficult to be examined by male medical practitioners. Women’s access to cash was limited and there was still a strong bias against Western medical systems. In any case, learned physicians, male or female, were scarce at this time. As a woman and a practitioner of an indigenous medical system, Yashoda thus fulfilled two much-felt needs and so had no difficulty carving out a large space for herself. She thus became the agony aunt for a large number of women.

Contesting male control over ayurveda, Yashoda enlarged the language of sisterhood. Presenting herself as a caring female physician, a beloved wife, and every woman’s friend, she projected herself as living proof of an epistemic investment in women’s sexual problems and diseases. In fact, Yashoda strategically embraced her gender to establish herself as a distinguished healer, foregrounding her identity as a woman to enhance her credibility and popularity. At a time when male practitioners dominated ayurveda, Yashoda declared their approach to women’s health as inadequate, intrusive and voyeuristic. She noted that even the wives of male vaids sought her care for intimate issues, highlighting the trust deficit faced by male practitioners.

At one level, much of Yashoda’s literature was prescriptive and didactic, targeting middle-class Hindu women, and emphasising their social responsibility in maintaining the health of their families and the nation. At the same time, she also envisioned the housewife as a decision-maker, producer, disseminator and authority on medicinal remedies within the household. This fostered networks of medical knowledge exchange among women, creating bonds of sisterhood and promoting self-reliance.

Women sharing medical knowledge and preparing remedies. Source: Yadhoda Devi, Dampati Arogyata; Yashoda Devi, Nari Dharmashastra Grh-Prabandh Shiksha (Education on Home Management for Women), Allahabad: Devi Pustakalaya, 1931, back cover

Sexuality engaged Yashoda’s constant attention and was seen by her in scientific, medical and moralistic terms. Her view was that sexual science and passionate intercourse were an intrinsic part of ayurveda. In her discussions we see an excessive preoccupation with reproduction: she repeatedly stressed that sex was only meant for procreation. As a woman sex reformer catering mainly to middle-class women, Yashoda often imposed self-censorship and endorsed patriarchal stances to appear respectable and acceptable. Her heteronormative, monogamous ethic was based on moderation and self-control. Excessive sexual intercourse with wives, according to Yashoda, was a vice of the worst kind, leading to the waste in men of valuable energies, time and health. She voiced her strong protest against sex without the woman’s consent, calling it a grave crime. Men were also severely reprimanded for adultery and domestic violence and warned of its disastrous implications. Yashoda’s concern was also with the preservation of ethics and morality across the whole nation. No doubt this grandiose claim for national betterment was a discursive strategy to boost the sales of her potions. It worked. Such large endorsements were critical for Yashoda to promote sex reform at a micro level as well as to suggest methods of governing the collective sexual life of the nation.

The aftermath of male adultery and torture of a woman by a tyrannical husband. Source: Yashoda, Dampatya Prem: 164, 508

Amidst the emerging culture of medical consumerism, and through shrewd marketing, Yashoda was an active participant in the surrounding vernacular capitalism and had a vibrant presence in the healthcare marketplace. Yashoda’s roaring practice in the 1920s-40s earned her a few thousand rupees each day. She also acquired substantial wealth from selling her recipes, buying a huge bungalow on Lowther Road, Allahabad, and naming it Yashoda Bhawan.

Yashoda Devi’s house in Allahabad, 1930. Courtesy: Samir Sharma

In Yashoda we see indigenous healing becoming another tool in constructing cultural identity and Indian nationalism. Simultaneously, Yashoda’s spectacular public popularity and commercial success show us how gender dynamics shaped vernacular knowledge-making practices that could sometimes wriggle out of the grasp of colonialism.

Charu Gupta is a professor at the Department of History, University of Delhi.

Hindi Hindu Histories: Caste, Ayurveda, Travel, and Communism in Early Twentieth Century India has been published by Permanent Black in association with Ashoka University.

How The Nazis Worked With Indian Organisations Like Arya Samaj to Spread Propaganda

A well researched new book brings to light the strategies the Nazis used to disseminate their message during British rule.

Baijayanti Roy’s The Nazi Study of India & Indian Anti-Colonialism: Knowledge Providers and Propagandists in the ‘Third Reich’ (2024) rightly claims to be the first monograph-length systematic study of the trajectory of Indology under National Socialism (Nazism). 

However, this is an understatement, for it is much more than that. It is a ground-breaking piece of research with a wealth of information that sheds light on so many things that we were hardly aware of. The monograph is the outcome of a three-year-research-project titled ‘Indology in National Socialist Germany’ conducted at Goethe University with support from the German Research Foundation. The title of the book, different from that of the research project it is the product of, indicates that the research conducted from 2018 to 2021 acquired a much wider scope, going beyond Indology to include not just the Nazi study of ancient but modern India as well. 

The Nazi Study of India and Indian Anti-Colonialism: Knowledge Providers and Propagandists in the ‘Third Reich’, by Baijayanti Roy, published by Oxford University Press (Oxford), 2024.

Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke wrote a biography of Savitri Devi Mukherjee née Maximiani Julia Portas (1905-1982), a Nazi spy, propagandist and a Holocaust denier, titled Hitler’s Priestess: Savitri Devi, the Hindu-Aryan Myth, and Neo-Nazism (1998). Marzia Casolari in her monograph In the Shadow of the Swastika: The Relationships between Indian Radical Nationalism, Italian Fascism and Nazism (2020) studied the connections between Marathi Hindu nationalism and fascism and explored contacts between fascists and Bengali nationalist circles. Vaibhav Purandare’s book Hitler and India: The untold story of his hatred for the country and its people (2021) presented a portrait and analysis of Hitler’s outlook on India and Indians, their culture and civilisation, and their struggle against the British colonial rule. However, Roy’s book is the first to focus on knowledge production on India in Nazi Germany and the propaganda the Nazis spread in India. 

How the Nazis used the Bhagavad Gita

The 224-page-book focuses its attention on four organisations devoted to the dissemination of National Socialist ideology in India with the aim of influencing and inciting the Indians to rebel against the British. Divided into four chapters – excluding the introduction and the conclusion – with a chapter dedicated to each of those four organisations, the book probes how both scholars, including Indologists, as well as non-academic ‘India’ experts and some Indian anti-colonial intellectuals utilised “knowledge pertaining to India’s modern history and contemporary politics” for the fulfilment of “certain political goals of Nazi Germany”. 

These are: the India Institute of the Deutsche Akademie (DA or German Academy), antecedent of the modern Goethe Institute, also known as Max Mueller Bhawan in India; The Sonderreferat Indien (SRI) or Special Department India (established in May 1941 under the auspices of the foreign ministry); The Oriental Seminar of Berlin (established in 1887) and its successors, the Ausland Hochschule or Academy for the Study of Foreign Countries (established in 1936), the faculty for the ‘Study of Foreign Countries’ (Auslandswissenschaftlichen Fakultat) at the University of Berlin and DAWI (Deutsches Auslandswissenschaftliches Institut), both established in 1940. And the final one is ‘Indian Legion’, also known as Tiger Legion, jointly formed by Subhas Chandra Bose (1897-1945) and the Wehrmacht (the German Armed Forces). 

Roy makes excellent use of the archival material held at the major archives in Germany, India and the United Kingdom in her investigation of how some 19th-century German scholars contributed to the Aryan discourse by “appropriating India’s ancient past and excluding Indians from it” and how the Nazis engaged with ‘strategic’ knowledge of modern India. Conscious of the questionable nature of some of the surveillance records, she has attempted to corroborate them with primary and secondary literature. The primary literature referred here consists of the writings of different propagandists, which reflect the political engagements of the “knowledge providers”. 

Also read: ‘Pandit’ Bhatta: From Scholarship Holder to Nazi Publicist

Roy points out how the Nazis abused the Bhagavad Gita as a means in their attempt to inspire the SS to fulfil its genocidal aspirations. In this pursuit Nazi propagandist Jakob Wilhelm Hauer’s booklet ‘Indo-Aryan Metaphysics in Combat and Deed: The Bhagavad-Gita in New Light’ (1934) came handy. The booklet claimed that the combative ethos of the SS found echo in the ancient Hindu text’s celebration of the Nordic Aryan ideals such as “the duty of the warrior to fight for honour and for the ‘Reich’”. It is said that Heinrich Himmler (1900-1945), one of the chief architects of the Holocaust, depended on this book to quote from the Bhagavad Gita

Roy’s brings to light the close ties that Hindu revivalist movements such as the Arya Samaj and the Gaudiya order and Hindu nationalist organisations such as the Hindu Mahasabha developed with the Nazis. 

Ernst Georg Schulze (1908–1977), a German disciple of Swami B.H. (Bhakto Hriday), born Narendra Nath Mukherjee (1901-1982), who took up the name Sadananda Brahmachari upon joining the Gaudiya order, followed his guru to India in 1935. In India, Schulze (Brahmachari) used the Gaudiya mission temples as ‘contact zones’ for those belonging to the Nazi network, among both Germans and Indians, and came to be suspected by the British surveillance of propagating National Socialism among educated Indians under the veil of religious activities. 

According to the British surveillance reports, as noted by Roy, the Nazis communicated with Hindus primarily through the Arya Samaj. The commonalities of Ariosophy with eugenics and emphasis on authoritarianism and majoritarianism, emerged as the grounds for mutual admiration between the Nazis and the Arya Samajis. 

An outcome of the collaboration between the Arya Samaj, the India Institute and the Nazi network in India was a scholarship in 1934. The scholarship, sponsored by the Institute and the firm Allianz and Stuttgarter, was awarded to Satanketu Vidyalankar, a History professor at Gurukul University, which had been founded by the Arya Samaj.  According to a surveillance report from 1939, while collecting nominations for a scholarship in philology in Germany, the German consulate in Calcutta (now Kolkata) showed preference for candidates who were Arya Samaji or subscribed to the ‘Aryan world view’. Repeated instances of Arya Samaj pracharaks (preachers) praising Adolf Hitler (1889-1945) and National Socialism were also noted by the colonial surveillance. Roy highlights how the Nazis felt affinity with Hindu ethno-religious nationalism, which, in any case, had drawn inspiration from fascism and Nazism.

Also read: Burning Books and The Nazification of Literature

The Islamophobia prevalent in a branch of German Indology seems to have been imbibed by the Indologist Ludwig Alsdorf (1904-1978), a prominent Nazi propagandist. Roy suspects that this made Alsdorf sympathetic towards the Hindu Mahasabha, which subscribed to certain tenets of the European Orientalist worldview, such as Ariosophy and the perception of Vedic Aryans as progenitors of modern Hindus combined with intolerance towards Muslims, who unlike the Hindus, could not claim Aryan origin, according to them.  

A field for Nazi and British spies

The India of 1930s turned into a field for Nazi and British spy networks.  The book helps us enormously in understanding the genesis of the curious case of the overwhelming admiration for Adolf Hitler in contemporary India. We come across Hermann Beythan (1875-1945), an ex-missionary of the Evangelical Lutheran Mission of Leipzig, which had a base in southern India since the mid-nineteenth century. Beythan was resident there from 1902 to 1909, during which he mastered the Tamil language, both classical and colloquial. In 1934, he joined the National Socialist Teachers Association or NSLB, and went on to publish in 1936 a paean in Tamil to the supposed genius and achievements of Adolf Hitler, referring to him as ‘Mahatma’ or ‘the great soul’. Titled Who is Hitler?: Victory of Strength. It was published with financial assistance from the German Foreign Ministry and the Ministry of Propaganda with the objective of countering the growing Bolshevik influence in Tamil Nadu where biographies of Marx and Lenin were easily available in Tamil. The British colonial authorities soon proscribed the book for its blatantly propagandist content.

Roy sheds light on how the Aligarh Muslim University (AMU) turned into a prominent centre for the dissemination of Nazi propaganda in India with the establishment of the German Society there.  This society promoted Indian Muslim separatism while expressing tremendous admiration for Nazi Germany and projecting it as a model to emulate in the State of Pakistan that the Muslim separatists aspired to establish. The propaganda literature produced by it went to the extent of comparing Hitler with Muhammad, the Islamic prophet. 

Roy studies the different levels of ‘self-coordination’ of three Indian knowledge providers – Koodavuru Anantrama Bhatta (b. 1908), Tarachand Roy (1890-1952), and Devendra Nath Bannerjea (c. 1880s-1954) – and points out the rewards they earned for their services to the Nazis.  She laments the total absence of records of indigenous responses to the Nazi propaganda emanating from the texts produced by them and Hermann Beythan (mentioned above), unleashed in India in several of its vernaculars through various channels. She realises that this lacuna makes it impossible to gauge how Indians responded to the Nazi propaganda and whether it left any impact on them.

Roy also finds it hard to assess the impact of the magazine Bhaiband (‘Brotherhood’), published in modern Indian languages for the Indian Legion, made up of 3,500 volunteers from the Indian prisoners of war (PoWs) who had fought Rommel in Africa. The aim of the magazine was their ideological indoctrination in the Nazi worldview as part of the training they were to receive from the German military for integration into the Wehrmacht (the German Armed Forces). Whether the magazine was successful in achieving its aim is hard to say because those Indian soldiers remained practically voiceless. 

However, Roy is successful in achieving her objectives. She successfully describes the strategies the Nazis used to influence scholarship ideologically and politically, explains the nature of relations between established universities and the many external institutes established by the Nazis, and gives an overview of the role the scholars played in the formulation and implementation of policy in the service of the state and the National Socialist party. She also probes the fortunes of politically compromised scholars and investigates how a pattern of group exoneration emerged in West Germany as part of its efforts to come to terms with its Nazi past. 

Roy’s book is a brilliant piece of scholarship, indispensable for any study of the connections between British India and Nazi Germany, specifically Nazi Germany’s efforts to influence Indian public opinion. 

The Nazi Study of India & Indian Anti-Colonialism: Knowledge Providers and Propagandists in the ‘Third Reich’ (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2024) by Baijayanti Roy

Navras J. Aafreedi is an Assistant Professor of History at Presidency University, Kolkata. 

The Rise and Fall of the ‘Idea of Asia’

Sugata Bose’s fine book ‘Asia After Europe’ tells the tale of a continental awakening in the 20th century that has lessons for the 21st century.

Is there anything like an ‘Idea of Asia’? In the context of our own nation, the phrase ‘Idea of India’ is often used to bolster or bash the conception of a principle that supposedly unifies its myriad diversities. For many Indians, it is secularism ─ equal respect for all faiths and a constitutionally guaranteed non-discriminatory and non-theocratic state. Some are now challenging this with a majoritarian project to redefine our nationhood, which, if it succeeds, will surely turn India into a Hindu Pakistan. Either way, the emphasis here is on a mega-idea that is believed to keep the nation united and give it a distinctive identity.

Is there a similar principle at work in Asia? The national, racial, religious, cultural, linguistic and political diversities of Asia are well known. But is there an ‘Idea of Asia’ that unites the continent, the world’s largest, and gives it its unique identity? Even a cursory survey of Asia in the 21st century would show that no such unifying idea exists. Instead, today’s Asia presents a picture of disunity, with many longstanding disputes and even some conflicts.

Nevertheless, there was a time not long ago ─ indeed, just a century ago ─ when intra-Asian solidarity had reached its peak. Many leading lights of Asia not only imagined it to be one, but also strove to institutionalise that oneness in some form or the other. They included prominent political leaders, poets, artists and educators from countries as diverse as India, China, Japan, Philippines, Indonesia, Vietnam, Sri Lanka and Turkey, just to name a few. Indeed, undivided India itself played a leading role in the construction of an Asian imagination. Swami Vivekananda, Sister Nivedita, Rabindranath Tagore, Kazi Nazarul Islam, Aurobindo, Subhas Chandra Bose, Rashbehari Bose, M.N. Roy, Benoy Kumar Sarkar, M.K. Gandhi, Jawaharlal Nehru, Sarojini Naidu, Biju Patnaik…the list of Indians who saw India’s destiny within the larger destiny of Asia, and the still larger global destiny, is long.

A fascinating new book by the renowned Harvard historian Sugata Bose, Asia After Europe: Imagining a Continent in the Long Twentieth Century, explores the theme of Asian unity. This theme rose to great prominence in the age of anti-colonial struggles in the first half of the 20th century. It remained influential for some time later in the form of attempts to forge pan-Asian cooperation when Asian countries began to gain independence. Two notable examples of such efforts are the Inter-Asian Relations Conference held in New Delhi in March-April, 1947 and the Asian-African Conference in Bandung (Indonesia) in April 1955.

The theme of Bose’s book calls for a serious discussion for several reasons. Asia in the early 20th century and early 21st century are poles apart. Narrow nationalism in all the major countries in Asia has led to the fragmentation of the continent. Many rivalries ─ India vs Pakistan, India vs China, China vs Japan, North Korea vs South Korea, to name a few ─ and the continuing violence in West Asia have erased the spirit of solidarity in the continent.

Dream of an ‘Asiatic Federation’

Asia before the era of European colonialism was the most prosperous continent in the world. Quoting from the British economist Angus Maddison’s celebrated book Contours of the World Economy, 1-2030 AD, Bose writes: “In 1820, China and India contributed approximately 50 percent of the world’s GDP. By 1913, that share had fallen to about 18 percent.” Colonial subjugation and pillage helped Europe grow rich, and pushed Asia into poverty, indignity and despair. The resultant struggles for freedom form the context for Bose’s book.

In the course of these struggles, an idea took shape that may seem unbelievable today.  Pan-Asianism ─ Bose prefers to call it “Asian universalism” ─ became a running thread in creative imaginings and political actions across the continent. Deshabandhu Chittaranjan Das, who presided over the Gaya session of the Indian National Congress in 1922, said in his speech that he envisioned “the participation of India in the great Asiatic Federation”. Subhas Chandra Bose, in a radio address from China on November 20, 1943, said, “I am seized and inspired by the idea of a Pan-Asian Federation” based on India-China solidarity.

Sugata Bose
Asia After Europe: Imagining a Continent in the Long Twentieth Century
Harvard University Press, 2024

Aung San, who led Myanmar’s anti-British struggle for independence ─ his daughter is the country’s pro-democracy leader Aung San Su Kyi, now under house arrest ─ also evoked the same vision of “a pan-Asiatic federation” when he welcomed Sarat Chandra Bose (Subhas Chandra Bose’s brother) to Burma in 1946. S.W.R.D. Bandaranaike, a Ceylonese statesman who later became his country’s prime minister, said in 1947 (at the Asian Relations Conference in New Delhi) that he hoped for “a federation of free and equal Asian countries”.

Li Dizao, a co-founder of the Communist Party of China and a mentor of Mao Zedong, “allowed himself to entertain the possibility of a United States of Asia”. Sun Yat-sen, a highly respected Chinese statesman who became the provisional first president of the Republic of China in 1911, was a strong votary of ‘Greater Asianism’. He was an ardent admirer of Tagore. As against the western practice of “Rule of Might”, Sun’s Asianism was based on the moral principle of the ‘Rule of Right’, which sought “a civilisation of peace and equality and the emancipation of all races”. In contrast, European civilisation, according to Sun, had become “the cult of force, with aéroplanes, bombs, and cannons as its outstanding features” that had been “repeatedly deployed by the Western peoples to oppress Asia”.

Today, China-Japan political relations are deeply strained. But there was a time at the beginning of the 20th century when many Chinese reformers stressed the need to emulate Japan. One of them was Kang Youwei (“China’s Rammohun Roy”).  “We and the Japanese are like lips and teeth,” Kang wrote. He along with Liang Qichao, an influential Chinese intellectual, republished a book On the Great Eastern Federation by Tarui Tokichi, a Japanese ideologue of pan-Asianism. Tarui proposed that Japan and Korea could unite on an equal basis to form a country of Daito (Great East) and both could work together in common defence against the West. Thereafter, the union could help China and others to join the grand federation; “In this way we shall be able to defend ourselves from mistreatment by foreigners.”

In his own book Datong shu (Book on the Great Community), Kang reinterpreted classical Confucianism to advocate “abolishing state boundaries and evolving from division to unity”. This, Bose writes, was Kang’s “vision of an Asian federation, which would be a stepping stone to global harmony”.

How is Asia different from Europe? Gandhi answered it best

The need to distinguish Asia from Europe had gripped great minds all across the continent. Writing in Bande Mataram, the English newspaper he edited in Calcutta, Swadeshi leader Aurobindo Ghose argued that, whereas European democracy emphasised “the rights of man”, Asiatic democracy based itself on “the dharma of humanity”. Aurobindo “came out in support of his compatriot Bipin Chandra Pal’s vision of ‘the possibility of China and Japan overthrowing European civilisation”. India’s freedom, he asserted, was “necessary to the unity of Asia”.

He elaborated the continent’s role in world history by viewing Asia as “the custodian of the world’s peace of mind, the physician of the maladies which Europe generates”. Aurobindo, Bose writes, “saw the calm, contemplative, self-possessed ‘spirit of Asia’ taking ‘possession of Europe’s discoveries’ and ‘correcting ‘its exaggerations, its aberrations by the intuition, the spiritual light that she alone can turn upon world.’”

Then there is Ceylonese art philosopher Anand Coomaraswamy, who propounded “his grand theory on Asian art that ‘envisioned a great cultural region connecting India with Southeast and East Asia’”. He explored the deeper message of modern Indian art and placed it within “a monumental interregional terrain of ancient Asian cosmopolitanism”.

Sugata Bose.

The great Japanese art critic Okakura Tanshin, who first visited India in 1901, began his book The Ideals of the East with the sentence “Asia is one.” Sister Nivedita, a revered disciple of Swami Vivekananda, wrote an introduction to the book, in which she said, “Asia, the Great Mother, is forever One.” Bose calls Irish-born Nivedita “a quintessential swadeshi internationalist” who “would play a key role in linking Indian nationalism with Asian universalism”.

Like Aurobindo, Okakura delved into the question: What distinguishes the East from the West? In his book, Okakura identified the “broad expanse of love for the Ultimate and Universal” as “the common thought-inheritance of every Asiatic race”.  This, according to him, enabled “them to produce all the great religions of the world, and distinguishing them from those maritime peoples of the Mediterranean and the Baltic, who love to dwell on the Particular, and to search out the means, not the end, of life.”

Mahatma Gandhi too spoke forcefully about Asia being the cradle of the prophets of all the major religions of the world. Speaking at the closing session of the Inter-Asian Relations Conference in New Delhi on April 2, 1947, he said: “The first of these wise men was Zoroaster. He belonged to the East. He was followed by Buddha who belonged to the East ─ India. Who followed Buddha? Jesus, who came from the East. Before Jesus was Moses who belonged to Palestine, though he was born in Egypt. And after Jesus came Mohamed. I omit my reference to Krishna and Rama and other lights. I do not call them lesser lights but they are less known to the West, unknown to the literary world. All the same, I don’t know a single person in the world to match these men of Asia. And then what happened? Christianity became disfigured, when it went to the West. I am sorry to have to say that, but that is my reading. I won’t take you any further through this.”

“What I want you to understand,” Gandhi told the delegates from 28 countries, “is that the message of the East, the message of Asia, is not to be learnt through European spectacles, not by imitating the tinsel of the West, the gun-powder of the West, the atom bomb of the West. If you want to give a message again to the West, it must be a message of ‘Love’, it must be a message of ‘Truth’. There must be a conquest…”

Statue of Mahatma Gandhi, Malpe, Karnataka. Photo: The Wire

One of the delegates asked Gandhi, “Do you believe in one world?” He answered: “Of course, I believe in one world. And how can I possibly do otherwise, when I become an inheritor of the message of love that these great un-conquerable teachers left for us? You can redeliver that message now, in this age of democracy, in the age of awakening of the poorest of the poor, you can redeliver this message with the greatest emphasis.”

“Then,” Gandhi continued, “you will complete the conquest of the whole of the West, not through vengeance because you have been exploited, and in the exploitation, of course, I want to include Africa. And I hope that when next you meet in India, by that time there aren’t any exploited nations on the Earth. I am so sanguine that if all of you put your hearts together, not merely your heads, but hearts together and understand the secret of the messages of all these wise men of the East have left to us, and if we really become, deserve, are worthy of that great message, then you will easily understand that the conquest of the West will be completed and that conquest will be loved by the West itself. West is today pining for wisdom. West today is in despair of multiplication of atom bombs, because a multiplication of atom bombs means utter destruction, not merely of the West, but it will be a destruction of the world, as if the prophecy of the Bible is going to be fulfilled and there is to be a perfect deluge. Heaven forbid that there be that deluge, and through man’s wrongs against himself. It is up to you to deliver the whole world, not merely Asia but deliver the whole world from that wickedness, from that sin. That is the precious heritage your teachers, my teachers, have left to us.”

Bose has quoted only a few lines from Gandhi’s speech, and thereby done inadequate justice to what is undoubtedly one of the most important expositions of the idea of Asia. Strangely, he has also left out another seminal thought of Gandhi’s, which has great significance for India-China relations and Asia’s future. In a letter of June  14,1942 to Chinese leader Chiang Kai-shek (who had met him in Calcutta in February 1942), he wrote: “I long for the day when a free India and a free China will co-operate together in friendship and brotherhood for their own good and for the good of Asia and the world.”

When ideas and revolutionaries criss-crossed the continent

In their quest for freedom and in their heroic struggles against oppressive European rulers, many Asian revolutionaries criss-crossed the continent and found support and asylum in distant lands on the continent. Some of the best pages in Bose’s book (in the chapter ‘In Search of Young Asia’) are devoted to telling this thrilling story. Thus, Lala Lajpat Rai, Rashbehari Bose, M.N. Roy and Tarkanath Das sought shelter in Japan, and so did Sun Yat-sen and others from China. After Japan’s dramatic victory over Russia in 1905, Tokyo became a magnet, drawing in a steady stream of Asian students.

“In April, 1907, young Japanese, Chinese, Indians, Vietnamese and Filipinos formed an Asian Solidarity Association in Tokyo. This association paid special attention to the unity and independence of China and India, which together could raise ‘a protective shield over Asia’.” One of the heroes of this association was Jose Rizal, the greatest icon of the Filipinos’ struggle for freedom from Spanish rule. He was publicly executed by a firing squad in Manila at the young age of 35.  “The martyr Jose Rizal was adopted as the unifying symbol for the lost countries of Asia from Western imperialist domination.”

The book deserves praise for highlighting the incredible work Benoy Kumar Sarkar, one of the most energetic and globe-trotting Indian intellectuals who travelled extensively in Japan and China in the early part of the last century. To Japan, Sarkar wrote in his travelogue, “went the credit of being the deekshadata (giver of initiation) and shikshaguru (mentor) of ‘young India, young China, young Afghanistan, young Iran and young Egypt’.” Also: “In its heart and mind Japan is a part of Asia ─ it has only imported some scraps of iron from Eur-America.”

Sarkar regarded China to be India’s “masir bari” ─ home of the mother’s sister. He wanted many Indians to journey across the continent and discover India’s bond with Asia ─ “The Egyptians, the Chinese, the Iranians were all beckoning India, saying, ‘Brother Hindustani, Asia is yours.’”

What is the foundation of “Asiatic consciousness”? Bose quotes Sarkar’s persuasive answer to this question. Sarkar spelled out a “three-fold basis of Asiatic Unity”. First, there is a living faith in an eternal order regulating a balance in the universe among human beings and nature. Second, there is a shared “conception of Pluralism”. Third, there is “the spirit of toleration or the conception of ‘peace and goodwill to all mankind’.”

Today it has become commonplace to acknowledge the decline of the West and the rise of Asia, a theme that Fareed Zakaria elaborated in his 2008 bestseller The Post-American World and the Rise of the Rest. But how many know that Sarkar had prophesied this a century ago? Here was his prediction about what Asian nations would achieve after gaining freedom and modernising themselves: “Having acquired new knowledge, the people of Asia will again stride the world as human beings within the twentieth century. The way in which ‘Prachyamanab’ (human beings of the east) excelled in secular life by productively engaging with the interplay of ‘bishwashakti’ (world forces) until the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries indicated they will regain that high status from the twenty-first century.” (Emphasis added)

Tagore: A poet of Asia and a poet for Asia

No discussion on Asia’s unity ─ indeed, global unity ─ can be complete without listening to the timeless thoughts of Rabindranath Tagore. Bose does full justice to Tagore’s centrality to this theme. From Persia to Russia (Vladimir Lenin famously affirmed that Russia belongs to Asia, and the same is being reaffirmed now by Vladimir Putin), from Japan to China, the poet tirelessly travelled to large parts of the continent, everywhere spreading his message of peace, harmony and brotherhood.

“Age after age in Asia,” Tagore told a large crowd in Shanghai in 1924, “great dreamers have made the world sweet with the showers of their love. Asia is again waiting for such dreamers to come and carry on the work not only of fighting, not of profit making, but of establishing bonds of spiritual relationship.”

Tagore’s three visits to China left a deep imprint on him. In turn, he left an abiding impression on Chinese people. Liang Qichao, the foremost reformist scholar of China in the first two decades of the 20th century, praised Tagore as a visitor who came from a country that was “our nearest and dearest brother ─ India.” Welcoming him at a reception in Peking, Liang said effusively: “Ha ha! Our old brother, affectionate and missing, for more than a thousand years, is now coming to call on his little brother.”

The third decade of the last century was a time when some dogmatic Chinese intellectuals, “fresh converts to a new religion called communism”, were busy rejecting their own country’s past in a hurry to embrace western modernity. A few of them opposed Tagore’s visit on the ground that the Indian poet was an “upholder of ancient civilizational values that were anachronistic and best discarded in modern times”.

Nevertheless, Tagore himself clearly understood both China’s civilizational greatness and its potential for spectacular national rejuvenation after it cast off the yoke of imperialism and feudalism. Hence, in Hong Kong, he made a prophecy about the future balance of power in the world. “The nations which now own the world’s resources,” he contended, “fear the rise of China, and wish to postpone the day of that rise.” This prophecy is now coming true in the twenty-first century, with the US trying its best to contain China and halt its rise.

A portrait of Rabindranath Tagore. Credit: Cherishsantosh/Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA 4.0

Tagore was equally impressed by Japan. However, he was dismayed by its imperialist ambitions and its imitation of Europe in the use of violence. Japan’s invasion of China in 1937 shattered the idea of Asia as never before. The Nanjing Massacre or the Rape of Nanjing, in which Japanese soldiers killed over 40,000 Chinese citizens and raped thousands of Chinese women, remains one of the worst war crimes in human history. This provoked Tagore to tell the Japanese: “I have deep love for your as people, but when as a nation you have your dealings with other nations you can also be deceptive, cruel and efficient in handling those methods in which western nations show such mastery.” Bose tells us that Tagore urged his hosts to exorcise the demon called Nation in the interest of peace. Sun Yat-sen would deliver much the same message on his trip to Japan six months later.

The Nanjing Massacre had also shocked another admirer of Japan ─ Subhas Chandra Bose, who, like Tagore, was a strong champion of Asian solidarity. Writing in the Modern Review, before he became president of the Indian National Congress in 1938, acknowledged that Japan had “done great things for herself and for Asia”. But, he lamented, could not Japan’s aims be achieved “without Imperialism, without dismembering the Chinese Republic, without humiliating another proud, cultured and ancient race?” “Standing at the threshold of a new era,” he wrote, “let India resolve to aspire after national self-fulfilment in every direction ─ but not at the expense of other nations and not through the bloody path of self-aggrandizement and imperialism.”

Soon after this, Jawaharlal Nehru and Subhas Chandra Bose took the initiative to send a medical mission to China as a mark of solidarity with the Chinese people. Five Indian doctors went “as ambassadors of service, goodwill and love”. One of them, Dr Dwarakanath Kotnis, died in December 1942 while serving Chinese soldiers. He remains an eternal symbol of India-China friendship.

Gandhi himself was so deeply committed to Asian unity and peace in Asia that, in a statement in 1942 he said that “if India were free he would have gone on a mission to bring peace between China and Japan.”

Narrow nationalism has killed the ‘Idea of Asia’

Sadly, the feelings of mutual affinity and solidarity between India and China did not endure after India gained independence in 1947 and China had its communist revolution in 1949. If Japan’s invasion of China in 1937 greatly undermined Asian unity, China’s war of aggression on India in 1962 produced the same debilitating outcome. More than six decades later, the border dispute between the two Asian neighbours, which triggered the war, remains unresolved.

Mention must be made of two other cataclysmic events that showed the failure of the ‘Idea of Asia’. One was India’s bloody partition in 1947 with the creation of Pakistan. It resulted in the killing of nearly 1.5 million people, and led to the largest cross-border migration of people in human history. The second was the partition of Pakistan itself in 1971, and the liberation of Bangladesh. This too was accompanied by large-scale atrocities by the Pakistani army, including rape of thousands of Bengali women in East Pakistan.

Bose rightly attributes post-colonial frictions among Asian countries to their inability to rise above the European construct of “nation-states” with their exclusive sovereignties. The limitations of the Westphalian concept of a “nation-state”, especially its propensity to create jingoism, were well-understood by many Asian thinkers. Tagore’s long essay ‘On Nationalism’ is a severe indictment of this concept.

To buttress his argument, Bose Carlos Romulo, a respected Filipino diplomat, who said at the Asian-African Conference in Bandung (Indonesia) in 1955: “The nation no longer suffices. Western European man today is paying the terrible price for preserving too long the narrow and inadequate instrument of the nation state…We of Asia and Africa have to try to avoid repeating all of Europe’s historic errors. We have to have the imagination and courage to put ourselves in the forefront of the attempt to create a 20th-century world based on the true interdependence of peoples.” Quoting Tagore, Romulo contended that “History had already passed from the nation … to the region, the continent, the world.” It is a world “not divided into fragments by narrow domestic walls”.

Bose’s book does not offer an in-depth analysis of the alternatives to the concept of the nation-state, which has now firmly taken root all over the world, including in Asia. Nevertheless, it makes one important point. “In reenvisioning the idea of Asia for what many anticipate will be an Asian century, it is necessary to take a normative and ethical position on the side of the generous universalism against the hubris of an arrogant imperialism and narrow nationalism. The most sophisticated Asian intellectuals of the last two centuries aspired to keep that lofty goal in their sights.”

For all its astonishing research and outstanding scholarship, Bose’s book suffers from two shortcomings. It is uncritical in its praise for “Islamic universalism”. To be true to its name, any variety of universalism has to be all-inclusive ─ and not exclusive. Islamic universalism, as propounded by many Muslim thinkers and practiced by Muslim political leaders, is limited to the adherents of Islam. For this reason, it tends to be divisive and separatist, a fact proved by the Muslim League’s demand for India’s partition on the basis of the toxic “Two-Nations Theory” and the creation of Pakistan as a separate Muslim nation in 1947. Bose has failed to show how “Islamic universalism” promoted pan-Asian unity to any significant degree in the last century.

Second, Bose is excessively harsh on Nehru. True, India’s first prime minister committed some grievous mistakes, especially in handling the border dispute with China that culminated in India’s defeat in the 1962 war. However, it is wrong to pin the entire blame for the conflict on Nehru, and absolve China’s betrayal and aggressiveness.

Asia’s lessons for itself and the world in the 21st century

To summarise, what are Asia’s lessons for itself and the world in the 21st century, as highlighted in Bose’s book? Briefly, there are four.

1) From exclusive to shared sovereignty: The idea of an ‘Asian Federation’ envisioned by many leaders of the anti-colonial struggles in the last century was surely “an idealist utopia”. Nevertheless, blind acceptance of the western model of “nation-state” has not helped either Asia or the rest of the world. Asia will have to devise innovative ways of international cooperation and dispute resolution based on a new concept of shared sovereignty. For example, the India-Pakistan and India-China border disputes, as also the maritime disputes in the South China Sea, can never be satisfactorily resolved without some degree of sharing of sovereignties in contested regions.

2) From militarism to peace: ‘Europe before Asia’ pushed humanity into the fire of two horrific world wars in the last century. In the last para of the book, Bose asks a crucial question: “Can Asia after Europe save itself and the world from such a calamitous fate?” Gandhi, Tagore, Sun Yat-sen, Jose Rizal and other leading lights of Asia in the last century had warned against the imitation of the “Rule of Might” practiced by the West. Today, sadly, no major Asian country has resisted the temptation of taking to the path of arms race. This has to be resolutely opposed.

3) From Asianism to universalism: Globalisation is progressing inexorably in the 21st century. Growing inter-connectedness and inter-dependence among nations and peoples cannot be rolled back. No nation, no region and no continent can think of its destiny in isolation. Indeed, all great votaries of Asian solidarity in the last century were simultaneously strong internationalists. Therefore, Asia as the largest continent has to take the lead in enhancing both intra-Asian and global cooperation for the wellbeing and progress of the entire humanity without any kind of discrimination. Larger and richer countries have to bear greater responsibility in forging such cooperation, even by forgoing some of their self-interest.

4) Revival of Asia’s civilisational wisdom: The ‘Idea of Asia’ has not become obsolete. Asia’s identity as the cradle of all major religions, and many ancient civilisations, can never become outdated. The challenge before Asia is how it can resurrect its rich civilisational wisdom and values ─ love vs hatred, sharing vs greed, cooperation vs confrontation, respect for pluralism vs claims of supremacy, care for Mother Nature vs its reckless exploitation, peace vs violence ─ to reshape its politics, economics and social relations, and thereby show the way to the rest of the world.

Sudheendra Kulkarni served as an aide to former Prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee and is the founder of the ‘Forum for a New South Asia – Powered by India-Pakistan-China Cooperation’. He is also the founder of Gandhi-Mandela Centre for India-Africa Friendship. He is the author of Music of the Spinning Wheel: Mahatma Gandhi’s Manifesto for the Internet Age. He tweets @SudheenKulkarni.