Prof Datta’s Great Contribution to Kurukshetra

 

Prof Datta’s Great Contribution to Kurukshetra

Middle article in The Tribune on December 4, 2020

Renowned historian Prof. V.N. Datta, who unfortunately passed away recently, came to the newly established Kurukshetra University as Head of Department of History from the national capital, in 1961. Kurukshetra was, at the time, an underdeveloped part of the state of Punjab, and Prof Datta only agreed to transfer to the local University on the persuasion of the then Vice-Chancellor, Hardawari Lal. Prof Datta went on to serve the University in various capacities and contributed immensely to raising the stature of Kurukshetra University the world over. In addition, Prof V. N. Datta helped to create a culturally vibrant atmosphere within the University and the otherwise sleepy small town of Thanesar!

Through his offices and relationships, Prof Datta brought many luminaries to address the university during those days, including the then Union Defence Minister, Mr. V.K. Krishna Menon. These events offered many local residents of Kurukshetra, like myself, an opportunity to engage with such luminaries first-hand, and are still fresh in my mind today. Prof Datta would routinely organise and encourage poetry recitation ‘mushairas’ and singing sessions of prominent singers of the day. In fact, on Prof. Datta’s invitation, the famous Pakistani singer, Faiz Ahmad Faiz, came to Kurukshetra University on September 5, 1978, after he was expelled from Pakistan by the dictator Gen. Zia-Ul-Haq. Faiz stayed on the University campus for two days and enthralled the audience in the University auditorium with his poems, including the famous call for a people’s revolution: ‘Hum dekhen gai, Lajim hai ke ham bhi degaingai—Jab Taj uchhale jayangai Takhat giraya jayagai, hum dekhen gai’.

Jagjit Singh, who later became a world-famous Ghazalist, was encouraged to transfer to Kurukshetra University from DAV College, Jallunder, as a student of MA History, by then Vice-Chancellor, Lala Suraj Bhan. Jagjit Singh often sang at social settings organised at the university, including at Prof Datta’s residence, who encouraged him to pursue his passion, for which the singer decided to shift to Mumbai, and the rest is history!

Prof Datta’s love for Kurukshetra and the history surrounding the town of Kurukshetra stood out during the period of the Emergency. Bansi Lal, the then Union Defence Minister, held tremendous influence in the state of Haryana. He ensured that the then Governor of Haryana, B.N. Chakarvarty, was cremated in the Kurukshetra University campus, and then ordered that the University be renamed in memory of the governor. In the reigning atmosphere of fear, no University official dared oppose the dictat – a few senior teachers with affiliation to the RSS were already in jail, and no teacher or official was ready to openly challenge the move, even though privately most were opposed to it.

The issue came to a head six months later when a Professor at the Kurukshetra University was arrested for his disapproving comment about the change of the university’s name to B.N. Chakravarty University. Many university staff took their grievance to Prof. Datta, hoping he might be able to influence the powers that be.

Prof. Datta had a good association with Harivansh Rai Bachan and Teji Bachan since their days together at Cambridge University, in England. Through Teji Bachan, he took the matter to the then Prime Minister, Indira Gandhi. After initial pleasantries, Indira enquired as to what she could do for the mild-mannered professor. Prof Datta immediately declared that while he had no request for his own benefit, Indira could certainly do something for the annals of history! He explained the angst prevailing within the University campus, and then narrated from his own recent experience of having met with Prince Philip, who was the chief guest at a seminar that he had attended at Cambridge University. He described how, as he was introduced to the Prince, the latter exclaimed, “Oh, from Kurukshetra, the land of the Mahabharata and the holy Gita!”

Indira appreciated Prof Datta’s point, and even though she had a soft corner for Chakravarty, soon after she ordered the reversal of the University’s name to Kurukshetra University.

Prof. Datta was also instrumental in Kurukshetra’s development, particularly during the tenure of Mr. Jagmohan as Union Minister for Tourism and Culture. I was privileged to attend many meetings that he organised to discuss various development projects for the city, many of which have gone on to become a significant attraction for visiting pilgrims and tourists.  

In the rare photograph attached, Prof. Datta is seen third from left in the front row; Faiz Ahmad Faiz is fifth in the front; eminent economist and then Vice-Chancellor Kurukshetra University, Prof. Vikas Mishra, Registrar, Prof. R.P. Hooda, is also present, with other members of the ‘Yug Kiran Cultural Society’.

 

 

middle in Daily World

 

 

Kurukshetra's debt to Kairon 

After reading a book review on the life of the Late Chief Minister of Punjab, Pratap Singh Kairon, in The Sunday Tribune, a number of old memories flooded into my mind, particularly how Mr. Kairon was instrumental in establishing a number of educational institutions, including in the historic Kurukshetra area of what was then a neglected part of the state of Punjab, later carved out as Haryana.

His efforts went a long way towards developing the Kurukshetra area. In his very first year as Chief Minister, in 1956, he established a Sanskrit University at Kurukshetra. This university was later converted into an all-faculty university, in 1961, which went on to develop a national reputation under Hardawari Lal, and then Lala Suraj Bhan, as regular Vice-Chancellors. Kairon used to visit Kurukshetra, Nilokheri and Karnal frequently for supervising the development of educational institutions in the region.

The Kurukshetra University got a real fillip with Lala Suraj Bhan joining as Vice-Chancellor. Lala Suraj Bhan, who was earlier Principal of DAV College, Jalandhar, a well-known college in the country, was close to Mr. Partap Singh Kairon, which helped him to attract significant funding for the new University at Kurukshetra.

In addition to the University itself, the small town of Kurukshetra, with a population of just eighteen thousand at the time, received another great developmental contribution from Kairon, for which it must be grateful. I remember a chilly-cold winter evening in 1963, when the then Vice-Chancellor of Kurukshetra University, Lala Suraj Bhan, dropped in to discuss an urgent matter with my father, Dharambir Sabharwal. He requested support for a project that he said would transform both the University and the town of Kurukshetra itself. Lala Suraj Bhan explained that the Union Government had promulgated a scheme to open one Regional Engineering College (REC) in each State of the country, and that he had already drawn up a blueprint and plan for how and why this should be situated in Kurukshetra, within the state of Punjab.

Lala Suraj Bhan said that he was aware that the Chief Minister wanted the proposed Regional Engineering College to be built in Jalandhar, and a decision to the effect was to be taken at a high-level meeting in Delhi the next day. Hence, it was very necessary to influence Mr. Kairon, in order to have him agree to the proposed Regional Engineering College to be situated at Kurukshetra, instead of Jalandhar.

My father immediately contacted four of his bosom friends, including Dr. Sohan Lal Dhawan, then President of Municipal Committee at Thanesar, freedom fighter Giani Mehar Singh, and Dr. Shanti Swaroop Sharma. They left for Chandigarh early next morning to meet Mr. Kairon and plead for the proposed Regional Engineering College to be developed at Kurukshetra, the historic venue of the Mahabharata, where Lord Krishna imparted wisdom and insight to the warrior Arjun.

Mr. Kairon, a large-hearted and truly progressive personality, a statesman in every sense of the word, was happy to receive this delegation of respected citizens from Kurukshetra at his official Chandigarh residence at around 7 a.m., in the morning, barely an hour before his scheduled departure for Delhi. He knew all the visitors rather well, and did not need much persuading before acceding to their request. As he himself laughed out loud: “I can understand that Lala-ji (Lala Suraj Bhan) must have planned and sent this august delegation here to change my mind!”

Today, Kurukshetra is a well-known educational destination, and for this the town owes a deep gratitude to Kairon.

The Punjabi in Rishi Kapoor

The Punjabi in Rishi Kapoor

Rishi Kapoor, whom we lost recently at the age of 67, was one of the Bollywood’s most popular romantic heroes. He came from an illustrious family of four generations of stars who were “born to act”. 

The Kapoor family hailed from Peshawar in modern Pakistan and migrated to India after partition in 1947.

Rishi Kapoor’s grandfather ran a prominent theatre company. His father Raj Kapoor was regarded as one of the greatest actors and directors in Bollywood. He was also called the “showman of Indian cinema”. Rishi Kapoor-or Chintu (sweet one) as his family called him-was “forever youthful”.

Rishi Kapoor was a versatile actor whose appeal transcended linguistic and regional boundaries, but being a Punjabi by birth, he was often in his best form performing such a role. A chance meeting with him at the Heathrow airport in London, about a decade back, has been embedded in my mind till date.

Before boarding the aeroplane, I entered a customs-free shop at the airport to buy some perfume for my wife. Not knowing much about the varied brands of perfume on display, I found myself somewhat confused by the sheer range of offerings. Just as I was thinking about seeking help from the store assistant, I saw Rishi Kapoor entering the shop. I daresay I was a bit surprised that, in person, this larger-than-life Indian actor seemed rather more diminutive than I’d imagined.

I saw Rishi going about to a few counters and swiftly pick up three bottles of different perfume brands. My problem was solved, as I went to the same counters and picked up the same perfumes for my wife.

When I went to the counter to pay for the perfumes, Rishi Kapoor took a glance at my purchase and exclaimed, ‘Oh, you bought the same perfume!’ He smiled when I told him that I had purchased it as a gift for my wife, and said that he, too, had purchased the perfume for his wife, Neetu.

Finding him very cordial, I tried to continue the conversation, asking him how he happened to be in London. He explained that he was returning after several days of a movie-shoot in London. He asked whether I watched and liked his movies, and where I hailed from, in India. I told him that I was from Haryana and was very much a fan of his movies. To which Rishi immediately reacted, by exclaiming, “But you look to be a Punjabi?!” When I nodded to confirm that he was, in fact, right in his assessment, he urged me to definitely watch his upcoming movie for which he was there, shooting, in London. “You will like it!” he assured me. So, I enquired about the name and theme of the movie, and he told me that the movie would be named “Patiala House’, and that its story was about a second-generation Punjabi who had established himself well in the UK but continued to nurture an affinity to his country of birth, and culture thereof.

We bid goodbye after this short interaction, and I watched the movie on screen a few months later – I found that he had played the role of Gurtej Singh Kahlon in the movie immaculately, and credited this to his own Punjabi culture and heritage. This is the only movie in my life which I have seen four times, with the last time being soon after his recent death – the movie again reminded me of my meeting with a great actor who had no inhibitions in engaging with a stranger at an airport, in a foreign land.  

(Writer is Kurukshetra based senior journalist)

Act of God vs. the Habit of Man

Act of God vs. the Habit of Man

Here we are in the midst of a 100-year pandemic that threatens to bring devastation to modern human civilization. And, in the midst of all the warnings of lockdowns and social distancing, governments and citizens - and, even the judiciary - are embroiled in arguments about the salience of liquor sales in ‘these unprecedented times’.

I am reminded of the time another strong leader once took a tough posture against liquor sales. Bansi Lal, former chief minister of Haryana, decided to impose complete alcohol prohibition during his fourth tenure as Chief Minister of Haryana, while leading an alliance government of Haryana Vikas Party and Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), from May 1996 to July 1999. Whilst the general argument then, as now, was to allow liquor sales in order to keep the bounty flowing into state coffers, and also improving public health, there was strong push-back from the nexus of liquor mafia and politicians, in addition to tipplers and occasional drinkers.

Bansi Lal was a man of conviction and determination.  A year before the assembly elections in 1996, he called some selected media journalists to a motel at Pipli, near Kurukshetra, and announced his plan to impose prohibition in Haryana if his party was voted to power. Amidst the stoic silence maintained by my colleagues, I ventured to suggest that it was likely to be a difficult proposition, and that it may even be compared with other unpopular actions taken by Bansi Lal in the past, such as the infamous ‘Nasbandhi’ (Vasectomy) during the days of the Emergency.

Bansi Lal cast a long look at me, and then said, “you see - I am 69 years of age now, and if I become Chief Minister next year, I will be about 75 by the end of my tenure... with little further lifespan left.”  He explained that whenever he toured the villages of the state, the elders accused him of proliferating the sale of liquor through the many restaurants and bars that he had helped establish as part of the successful highway tourism model, in his earlier tenure. The village elders, he said, reminisced how drinking liquor was a stigma in the interiors of Haryana, and blamed the fancy bars for the increased acceptance and consumption of alcohol, with its negative impact on families. “I do not want to go to the cremation ground with this stigma that I introduced easy access of liquor to Haryana’s youth”, he declared.

A few of us pointed out that Haryana was a small state surrounded by several others where such liquor prohibition would not be in force, making the smuggling of liquor across state boundaries very profitable and likely, undermining both public health and state revenue. Bansi Lal exuded confidence, saying he knew how to deal with that problem.

Bansi Lal went on to win the assembly election the following year. And, true to his word, he imposed a full and draconian prohibition in the state of Haryana. As expected, the state exchequer lost significant revenue from the potential sales of alcohol. However, public health was further endangered, as liquor smuggling and counterfeit alcohol flourished unencumbered.

Ultimately, Bansi Lal lifted the prohibition after a period of about two years. He sounded bitter when he later met the same set of media journalists again at Pipli, saying that the social and religious organisations that used to complain on a daily basis about the negative impact of liquor sales failed to help government agencies in generating adequate public awareness about the downside of liquor consumption. Even the village elders, he said, failed to shore up his effort through shows of support for the high-stakes policy initiative.

As liquor vends begin to open all over the country, I am reminded of this past instance where individual choice prevailed over public health. It would appear that COVID-19 has not yet altered our choices in at least this one sphere - here’s a toast to that thought!

The Times They Are a-Changin’

By Vijay Sabharwal

The Times They Are a-Changin’

‘New’ it may well be, as the India of today diverges rapidly from the past. ‘Social’ is a word closely linked to digital media, and less to its original meaning, of being related to society. I cannot but feel nostalgic for a simpler time when individuals measured their worth on the basis of what they could do for their fellow men.

I recall that, having settled in Kurukshetra after the bloody Partition of undivided India, my father followed a simple rule: serve food to another individual before serving oneself. Quaint as it may sound, youngsters from New India may wish to take note that sometimes these selfless practices actually served one’s own best interests, as well!

In 1964, one of my father’s agricultural trading firms received a notice from the Excise and Taxation Officer (ETO) imposing a penalty of about Rupees Two Thousand (Rs. 2,000) for not submitting sales tax returns.

Now, the firm in question had, in fact, ceased trading two years earlier. On the day of the hearing, my father reached the office of Excise and Taxation at Kaithal (50 kilometers from Kurukshetra), along with the ‘munim’. My father was taken by surprise when the Excise and Taxation Officer, on seeing him, stood up from his chair and asked him to have a seat. The ETO enquired about the reason for my father’s visit, upon which he showed the notice.

At this point, the ETO said, “Lala ji, I think you have not recognised me”. My father looked at him more closely, trying to place the man, and apologized for not being able to confirm their acquaintance. At this, the ETO said that good people, after showering help, usually forget the beneficiaries of their generosity. The ETO reminded my father that he was standing in front of his office on the main road, in Kurukshetra, when the ETO stopped his ‘rikshaw’ to ask him the way to some good ‘dharamsala’. “I told you that I had missed the last bus for Kaithal and would have to spend the night at the ‘dharamsala’, to be able to take an early-morning bus at 6 am to reach my office.”

The ETO recalled that my father said that “there is one ‘dharamsala’ near the railway station, but you may not get a good ‘rajae’ (blanket) to protect from the chilly cold.” “You insisted that I must stay in the guest room, in your office. You served me dinner, and I was humbled when you woke me at 5.30 am, with a cup of tea and some eatables in your hand. You never asked who I was.” My father responded that it was only his custom to serve someone else before eating his own meal, and nothing more.

The ETO did what he could to help my father, and let it be understood simply that sometimes what one does selflessly, for the benefit of society at large, can also help oneself at a different time. There are some lessons that ‘Old India’ can still teach the new one.

Tribute to my father Sh. Dharambir Sabharwal-Poem by my 85 years old sister Chader Prabha Anand

Poem written by my 85 years old sister Mrs Chander Prabha Anand about her childhood memories

Yaddain

The poem was written by my 85 years old elder sister Prabha Anand about her childhood memories of our birthplace at Eminanbad, now in Pakistan