The Great Brick-and-Mortar Ballyhoo: A Plea for Our Vanished Verandas

Parliament panel calls for preserving British-era heritage sites not under ASI ambit - The HinduI say, have you taken a squint at our grand old edifices lately? It’s enough to make a chap’s monocle pop straight into his mulligatawny. One wanders past the old Collector’s Residency or the Secretariat, and instead of the crisp, authoritative snap of history, one finds the distinct, lingering aroma of "neglect." It is, to put it bluntly, a bit of a washout.

As someone who has spent a fair chunk of their earthly pilgrimage within the hallowed corridors of Division Commissioner residences and those rather plush Railway Clubs, I find the current state of affairs to be a "shattering blow." These buildings—the PWD Dak Bungalows, the forest rest houses, the medical colleges where many a fine chap learned his anatomy—are not just piles of stone. They are Exquisite Masterpieces.

The Lucknow Lament: From Kotwali to Car Park

Take, for instance, the Kotwali of Hazargunj in Lucknow. A lovelier bit of police architecture you’d be hard-pressed to find in a month of Sundays. In its heyday, it stood with a certain "don't-mess-with-me" dignity. But what do we see now? It has been turned into a parking lot!

I ask you, is nothing sacred? Instead of the dignified tramp of the law, we have the undignified honking of hatchbacks. It’s a tragedy, I tell you—like using a Ming vase to hold your umbrellas or using a Stradivarius to swat flies. To see a site of such historical gravity reduced to "Zone B: No Parking" is enough to make a sensitive soul wilt.

The Freedom Factor: As Vital as the Cellular Jail

We must preserve these sites with the same fervour we reserve for the Cellular Jail. Why? Because these buildings housed the very souls who fought tooth and nail for our "Today." Many of our freedom fighters were processed, held, or defied the Empire within these very walls. To bulldoze them is to tear out the heart of the story.

The younger generation—bless their uninformed hearts—needs to see the physical evidence:

The Contrast of Luxury: They must see the "absolute velvet" in which the British lived while the rest of the nation was enduring the grim reality of famine.

The 250-Year Narrative: Two-and-a-half centuries of "uninvited guests" cannot be understood through a textbook alone. You need to see the high ceilings and the sweeping verandas to know exactly what was being taken from us.

A Note on the "Permanent Residents" (The Ghosts)

Now, here is the pièce de résistance. One cannot talk about a Dak Bungalow or a Forest Rest House without mentioning the Resident Spectres. It is a well-known fact that these places are positively crawling with the departed—spectral Majors, translucent Governesses, and perhaps the odd phantom postman.

I propose that these Ghosts be put up for preview! If we are opening the doors to the public, let us include the "Permanent Residents" in the itinerary:

Historical Accuracy: A ghost is, after all, the ultimate primary source.

The Spook Factor: Nothing brings history home like a sudden, chilly draft that makes one’s hair stand on end like a startled hedgehog.

"To preserve the brickwork but ignore the ghosts would be like serving a Christmas pudding without the brandy—perfectly edible, perhaps, but lacking that essential, tingly zing."

The Final Plea

We must throw open the gates! Let the public in to see the libraries and the grand halls. Let the children see exactly what was endured and what was reclaimed. If we don’t act now, we are essentially handing the future a blank map and wondering why they’re lost.

It simply won’t do, old bean. Not by a long shot. Let’s keep the masonry intact, the history vivid, and the spirits in their proper place—on the official tour guide’s list!

An ode to Training Fields of Birla Viday Mandir Nainital

Life is a battlefield, vast and wide,

Where storms may rage and tides may turn,

Yet every scar becomes a guide,

And every fall, a chance to learn.

The cannon roars, the dust clouds rise,

But courage walks through fire and rain,

For those who dare to meet the skies

Know loss is just the price of gain.

In the hills of Nainital, wrapped in mist,

Where oak trees stood like ancient souls,

At Birla Vidya Mandir, lessons kissed

My heart and made this warrior whole.

The classrooms hummed with quiet grace,

The playground taught me how to fight,

Not with fists, but with a steady pace 

To rise again, to seek the light.

The teachers there were more than guides,

They were the compass, north and true,

They showed me where the real strength hides

In gratitude, in me, in you.

So when life roars and wounds run deep,

I hear those Himalayan winds once more,

Reminding me of promises to keep

That I was built for so much more.

Thank you, Birla Vidya Mandir, dear,

For giving me my armor and my song,

You taught me there is nothing left to fear

On every battlefield, I shall belong.

​🌏 The Curious Case of Global Alliances: A Reality Check for India 🇮🇳

Lately, I’ve been looking at the geopolitical landscape and I can’t help but find the irony a bit… thick. Isn’t it "funny" how the world turns? 🧐

The "Ally" Paradox 🇵🇰🇮🇷🇺🇸

Take a look at Pakistan. They are frequently hailed as a key American ally, yet here they are: congratulating the new Iranian leadership and offering condolences for the "martyrdom" of the previous leader—a man the West consistently labeled a tyrant. It’s a fascinating bit of diplomatic gymnastics, isn't it? 🤸‍♂️

It makes you wonder: why is it that the "Champions of Democracy" often find it more comfortable to work with dictatorships while placing maximum sanctions on a thriving democracy like India? 📉

A History of "Friendship" (Or Lack Thereof) 🚢⚓

If we look back, the patterns are hard to ignore:

1971: While India was dealing with a massive humanitarian crisis, the US sent the 7th Fleet into the Bay of Bengal to intimidate us and support Pakistan—a nation that later harbored Bin Laden. 🚢💨

The Food Crisis: I often think back to the days of Lal Bahadur Shastri. When India was facing a severe food shortage, the US used food aid (PL-480) as a political lever, threatening to cut off supplies unless we fell in line with their demands. Shastri ji responded with "Jai Jawan, Jai Kisan" and asked the nation to fast one day a week rather than bow down. 🌾🚫

The Modern Friction 🇺🇸➡️🇮🇳

Even now, we see high-level advisors (including those around Trump) targeting India with talk of "unfair" trade and more tariffs. It’s a bit heartbreaking, honestly. 💔 Personally, I’ve always found Americans to be good, warm people on an individual level. But as a government? History and current policy suggest their "friendship" is often a one-way street.

A Path Toward Sovereignty 🇨🇳🛡️

Say what you will about the Chinese, but they understood something early on: Digital Sovereignty. By building their own alternatives to Google and other tech giants, they ensured their survival and freedom from external "off-switches." 💻🛡️

Perhaps it’s time for India to truly lean into its own "Atmanirbharta" (self-reliance). To keep our democracy alive and ensure the survival of our people, we must reduce our dependence on those who treat friendship as a transaction.

Freedom isn’t just about borders; it’s about who controls your food, your data, and your future. 🇮🇳✨

What do you think? Is it time for India to build its own "Digital Great Wall" or just a more robust, independent path? Let me know in the comments

When Dreams Remain Dreams: A View from the Quagmire

Many years ago, as I stood on the precipice of what at that time looked like happy marriage, I carried a specific vision for the future. I imagined a son who would follow my footsteps to my alma mater, Birla Vidyamandir, Nainital. He would live in my old house a legacy my nephews had already refused and he would become my dream and my ambition: an officer and a gentleman.

Even world weary men like me have dreams. But some dreams are destined to remain just that.

Today, I find myself "happily divorced," having learned that love is, at best, a farce. As for the Indian legal system? It is a quagmire worse than the British Empire that sired it ......a system so convoluted it makes our neighbors look like paradise by comparison. It is a machine that remains indifferent to the despair, the broken lives, and the suicides of the men trapped within its gears.

But I digress; sometimes the pain gets the better of me.

What remains of that era is a poem I wrote for a son who never arrived. It speaks of a flight that will never take off, and a sky that remains empty.

The Only Dream Left

Spread your wings and take the lead,

To heights where only dreams can tread.

While you conquer clouds and touch the blue,

I’ll be the one looking up at you.

With every mile and peak you gain,

I’ll cheer your name across the plain.

Go on, dear kiddo, touch the sky,

I’ll clap from earth as you soar high.

You are the only dream I have left

I have often said that if there is a God, He’s a sadistic bastard. Sometimes I think the very concept of "God" was a trick created by Saturn to punish the good. But that is a thought for another post.