How Do We Become What We Become?

 

How do we become what we become? Is it solely the result of our own efforts, or does chance quietly shape the course of our lives? Is destiny merely a poetic expression for events we fail to understand, or is there indeed an unseen force guiding our journey? Questions such as these have followed me, like everyone else, throughout my life. They have never ceased to intrigue me. The older I grow, the more I realize that certainty is perhaps the greatest illusion of human existence.

Do I believe in destiny? Not entirely. Do I rely on astrology? No. Have I gone from temple to temple praying that God should grant me success, position, or prosperity? The answer is also no.

Yet, it would be equally untrue to say that spirituality means nothing to me. On the contrary, spirituality has always attracted me. This is not as ritual, not as superstition, but as a way of understanding one's place in this vast universe. If there is one teaching that has consistently guided me, it is Bhagwan Shri Krishna's immortal message in the Bhagavad Gita:

कर्मण्येवाधिकारस्ते मा फलेषु कदाचन।

मा कर्मफलहेतुर्भूर्मा ते सङ्गोऽस्त्वकर्मणि॥

You only have the right to perform actions (karma). You do not have the right to the fruits of your karma. Do not become a person who constantly meditates upon (gets attached to) the results of one’s karma. Do not get attached to inactivity (no karma).

I have never interpreted this verse as an invitation to indifference. Rather, I see it as a call to work without becoming imprisoned by the anxiety of outcomes. Results are never entirely ours to command. Effort, however, always is.

Perhaps that is why I have always remained more interested in stretching my wings than in counting my victories. I wish to continue learning, exploring, writing, speaking, and engaging with new ideas. Yet, beyond all personal ambitions lies a question that refuses to leave me in peace.

Of what consequence am I to the people around me? This question troubles me more than any examination, interview, or professional challenge ever has. What purpose do my achievements serve if they remain confined to my résumé? What meaning do academic publications, television appearances, newspaper articles, blogs, lectures, or social media posts carry if they fail to make even a modest difference in the lives of those from whom I come?

I often think about the people of my village, my relatives, my old classmates, the children growing up in circumstances similar to those in which I was raised, and countless ordinary people whose lives remain untouched by the recognition that I occasionally receive.

Initially, people may genuinely celebrate one's achievements. They may feel proud that someone who emerged from the lowest layers of social and economic reality has reached places that once seemed unimaginable. They may appreciate the journey. But admiration has a short life.

If that admiration never translates into hope, opportunity, inspiration, or meaningful change, it slowly gives way to indifference. People eventually stop caring about your personal branding, your awards, and your photographs with distinguished personalities, your speeches, or your carefully curated social media presence.

And honestly, why shouldn't they? The wisdom of Sant Kabir captures this truth with remarkable simplicity:

"बड़ा हुआ तो क्या हुआ जैसे पेड़ खजूर,

पंथी को छाया नहीं, फल लागे अति दूर।"

What is the use of becoming tall like a date palm if it offers neither shade to the weary traveller nor fruit within easy reach?

This couplet often unsettles me. There are moments when I hesitate before sharing another achievement online. Every new publication, every television discussion, every lecture, every article prompts an uncomfortable conversation within myself. Have I truly been of any use to anyone? Have I changed even one life for the better? Have I lightened someone's burden? Have I created opportunities for those who had none? The answer is often painfully inadequate. That realization humbles me. It reminds me that success without service is ultimately an incomplete achievement.

Perhaps this is also why I find it difficult to understand those who spend their entire lives chasing power, wealth, status, and property without allowing moral considerations to shape their conduct. Every society has such individuals. They measure life through accumulation alone, as though possessions could outlive mortality. I often wonder whether they genuinely believe they will remain on this earth forever.

History offers no such assurances. Every empire has disappeared. Every throne has eventually fallen vacant. Every wealthy man has left his treasures behind. Power, position, and property are temporary companions. Character alone survives in memory.

This does not mean that wealth or authority are inherently undesirable. Our own civilizational wisdom recognises the four Purusharthas: Dharma, Artha, Kama, and Moksha. Material prosperity has never been condemned within the Indian philosophical tradition. Rather, it has always been expected to remain rooted in Dharma. Wealth without ethics becomes exploitation. Power without restraint becomes tyranny. Desire without responsibility becomes destruction. Dharma is not merely one among the four aims of life. It is the moral foundation that gives meaning to the other three.

Unfortunately, spirituality is often reduced to ritual. Many imagine that visiting temples, observing fasts, or performing elaborate ceremonies automatically makes one spiritual. I cannot persuade myself to accept that understanding. True spirituality is born from within. It is reflected in how we treat those who possess nothing to offer us in return. It is revealed in whether we choose honesty over convenience, compassion over indifference, and service over selfishness. Spirituality is neither a withdrawal from worldly life. It is a meaningful engagement with it. To me, the truly spiritual individual does not escape society, but becomes an instrument of doing well to it.

Am I spiritually awakened? Certainly not. Far from it. Do I aspire to become so? Yes. Not because I seek personal salvation, but because I wish to become a person of consequence.

Money has never exercised a powerful attraction over me. Perhaps this is because I grew up possessing so little. I learnt early in life how little one actually needs to remain content. This is not to romanticise poverty. Poverty is harsh, humiliating, and deeply limiting. No one should be compelled to glorify it. Yet poverty also taught me certain lessons that abundance sometimes conceals.

I have indeed encountered opportunities to earn far more than I eventually chose to pursue. I consciously declined some of those paths, not because I lacked ambition, but because I feared losing something far more precious than money: the freedom to remain true to myself.

Do I desire influence? Yes. Do I seek positions of responsibility? Certainly. But only if they enable me to make a meaningful difference before my time on earth comes to an end. I do not pray for a long life. I pray for a life of consequence.

When I ask myself how I became what I am today, I realise that no single answer exists. The answer begins in a small village hidden within the forests of Gadchiroli, where even today modern amenities remain scarce. It continues through public-funded hostels, government schools, government colleges, and ultimately the classrooms of Jawaharlal Nehru University. Every institution that shaped me belonged not to privilege but to the Republic of India. Whatever I have become is, in many ways, a product of public education and the opportunities that independent India made possible for children like me.

The answer also lies with my father. He had studied only up to the seventh standard, yet he possessed a wisdom that no university could confer. His integrity, discipline, and quiet resilience became lessons more enduring than any textbook I have ever read.

Then there were those extraordinary individuals whom I can only describe as God's own angels. Teachers, mentors, friends, and well-wishers appeared at different stages of my life. They encouraged me when I doubted myself, trusted me when I had little reason to trust myself, and opened doors that I could never have opened alone. Their kindness transformed the course of my life.

Without them, a boy born into one of the poorest families in one of the remotest corners of Maharashtra would never have imagined becoming a professor at the University of Delhi. He would never have spoken on national television. He would never have written articles, addressed audiences across the country, or expressed himself confidently in Marathi, Hindi, and English.

But my education did not come only from noble souls. Life also introduced me to individuals whose selfishness, dishonesty, arrogance, and complete disregard for moral values left a deep impression upon me. They taught me lessons of a different kind. Watching how they treated others strengthened my own resolve never to become like them. Strangely, they too shaped my character. Sometimes we become who we are not merely because of those we admire, but because of those we consciously refuse to imitate.

Looking back, I realise that my life has been an extraordinary gift. I have received far more than I could ever have expected. Every opportunity entrusted to me has carried with it a corresponding responsibility. If my education, profession, and public life remain only personal accomplishments, they will ultimately mean very little.

But if they can inspire a child from a forgotten village to dream a little bigger, encourage a young student to persevere a little longer, or enable even one person to discover hope where none seemed possible, then perhaps my journey will have acquired meaning. I believe I have received much from life. Now, it is my turn to give back, in whatever ways I can. For, in the end, I do not wish merely to have lived. I wish to have mattered.

Knowledge Without Power, Power Without Knowledge

 

There is a question that has troubled me for a long time. It returns to my mind every time I witness someone with extraordinary scholarship remaining confined to the world of ideas, while another person with comparatively little intellectual depth occupies positions of influence and shapes the lives of thousands. It is a question that is both personal and societal.

Why do many intellectuals remain intellectuals, contributing immensely to books, journals, classrooms, and conferences, yet often leaving only a limited imprint on the everyday struggles of ordinary people? Conversely, why do many individuals who possess little regard for scholarship or intellectual inquiry frequently rise through the corridors of power, building networks, acquiring influence, and ultimately becoming capable of changing lives, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse? This dilemma deserves careful reflection because it concerns not merely individual careers but the very kind of society we aspire to build.

A popular saying often heard in public life goes something like this: "A performing corrupt person is better than an inactive honest person." The statement is uncomfortable because it contains a disturbing element of truth. People suffering from bureaucratic delays, poverty, injustice, or administrative neglect often care less about the moral purity of a person than about whether their problems are actually solved. An efficient but morally compromised official may deliver roads, hospitals, electricity, or justice more effectively than someone who is personally honest but paralysed by indecision or excessive idealism. But should this become our standard for evaluating public life?

I do not think so. The real issue is not that scholars and intellectuals are inactive by nature. That would be both unfair and historically inaccurate. Throughout history, scholars have transformed civilizations. Philosophers have shaped political systems. Scientists have revolutionized technology. Economists have redesigned public policy. Social thinkers have challenged oppression and inspired reform. The world that we inhabit today is itself the product of centuries of accumulated scholarship.

The contribution of intellectuals lies primarily in expanding humanity's collective understanding. They question accepted wisdom, generate new ideas, preserve cultural memory, and provide the moral and intellectual foundations upon which societies eventually evolve. Their influence is often slow, indirect, and invisible, but it is nevertheless profound. Yet another reality cannot be ignored.

Many scholars hesitate to enter spaces where influence is actually exercised. Some avoid politics. Others distance themselves from bureaucracy, administration, social organizations, or public engagement. They often prefer the comfort of academic independence over the uncertainty of public action. Many find lobbying distasteful. They are reluctant to cultivate influential networks. They hesitate to seek favours or build relationships with those whose values they do not fully respect. This reluctance frequently arises from integrity rather than arrogance.

For many intellectuals, principles are not ornaments to be displayed in speeches; they are the guiding force of life itself. There are certain lines they simply refuse to cross. They cannot flatter people merely to secure influence. They cannot compromise intellectual honesty for personal advancement. They cannot conveniently alter their convictions to suit changing political winds. Their self-respect prevents them from becoming instruments of power. Such commitment deserves admiration. Yet an unintended consequence sometimes emerges.

Their ideas remain confined to classrooms while society continues to be governed by those who possess greater political skill than intellectual depth. Their moral clarity becomes isolated from practical decision-making. Ordinary people facing urgent problems often discover that the scholar they admire cannot actually help them navigate institutions, secure justice, or resolve administrative difficulties. An uncomfortable form of intellectual inertia begins to appear. It is not intellectual incapacity. It is not a moral weakness. Rather, it is an inability, or sometimes an unwillingness, to convert knowledge into effective public action.

On the other hand, there exists another category of individuals. They may not possess remarkable scholarship. They may never write influential books or contribute significantly to academic knowledge. Yet they possess qualities that intellectuals often neglect. They build relationships. They understand institutions. They know whom to approach, how to negotiate, when to compromise, and how to persuade. They move comfortably through the corridors of power. They cultivate networks with remarkable patience and consistency. As a result, they often become effective problem-solvers. People approach them because they can get things done.

Unfortunately, these same strengths can easily become instruments of corruption. Networking becomes lobbying. Influence becomes patronage. Flexibility becomes opportunism. Pragmatism becomes moral compromise. Efficiency becomes a vehicle for personal gain rather than public service. When detached from ethical restraint, practical effectiveness can become deeply destructive.

History offers countless examples of highly competent individuals who used their organisational abilities to strengthen authoritarianism, institutionalise corruption, or suppress human freedom. Competence without conscience is not a virtue; it is a danger. Equally, integrity without effectiveness leaves society underserved. This, perhaps, is the central paradox. Neither scholarship without action nor action without scholarship is sufficient.

Human societies flourish when wisdom and effectiveness reinforce one another. The scholar must learn that knowledge carries responsibility beyond publication. Ideas acquire their fullest meaning only when they illuminate public life, influence institutions, and improve the conditions of ordinary people. Scholarship cannot become an escape from society's struggles. Intellectual excellence should inspire public engagement rather than intellectual isolation.

At the same time, practitioners, administrators, politicians, and activists must recognise that immediate success cannot become the sole measure of achievement. Without intellectual foundations, practical action gradually loses direction. Societies driven only by efficiency eventually sacrifice justice. Nations guided only by power eventually weaken their own moral legitimacy.

The ideal public servant, teacher, political leader, or social reformer is therefore neither a detached intellectual nor a ruthless operator. The ideal is a synthesis. A person deeply rooted in knowledge yet capable of decisive action. A person who understands principles yet also understands institutions. Someone who can navigate systems without becoming captive to them. Someone who can build relationships without sacrificing self-respect. Someone who can enter the corridors of power without leaving conscience at the door.

Perhaps this has always been the ideal of leadership envisioned in many civilizations: the philosopher who does not merely contemplate justice but also strives to establish it; the teacher who does not merely explain society but seeks to improve it; the administrator who combines competence with compassion; and the scholar whose books are matched by service to the people. Such individuals are undoubtedly rare. But it is precisely because they are rare that societies must consciously nurture them.

Our educational institutions should not produce scholars who remain imprisoned within the ivory tower, nor should they celebrate only those who accumulate influence without intellectual or moral grounding. We must cultivate citizens capable of both reflection and action, both thought and execution, both integrity and effectiveness. Scholarship for the sake of scholarship has limited social value. Action without ethical and intellectual foundations can become dangerous.

The future belongs neither to the isolated academic nor to the ruthless operator. It belongs to those who possess the courage to think deeply, the humility to engage with society, and the integrity to act without surrendering their principles.

Perhaps that is the leadership our times need most, not merely intellectuals, not merely performers. But thoughtful performers whose scholarship serves humanity and whose actions remain anchored in conscience.

From Bhognadih to Dandakaranya: The Continuing Relevance of Hul Diwas

 

Hul Diwas is observed every year on 30 June to commemorate one of the most significant, yet often underappreciated, anti-colonial uprisings in Indian history, the Santhal Hul (Santhal Rebellion) of 1855. Led by the Murmu brothers, Sidhu, Kanhu, Chand, and Bhairav, along with their courageous sisters, Phulo and Jhano, the uprising was a powerful assertion of dignity, justice, and self-rule by India's tribal communities against colonial oppression. More than a commemoration of a historic rebellion, Hul Diwas invites us to reflect on the enduring questions of tribal identity, development, and justice in contemporary India.

The Santhal Rebellion did not arise overnight. It was the consequence of systematic economic and cultural exploitation of tribal communities under British colonial rule. The Santhals, who had traditionally lived in close harmony with forests and the land, found themselves dispossessed by an exploitative colonial land revenue system. Christian missionaries, along with British-backed zamindars, moneylenders, and traders, subjected them to cultural erasure, usurious debt, illegal land alienation, and forced labour. Their traditional social, cultural, and economic order was dismantled in favour of a colonial system and Christian evangelism. The British colonisers viewed tribal forests and land merely as sources of revenue, while the missionaries sought to convert the tribal communities to Christianity.

On 30 June 1855, more than 10,000 Santhals assembled at Bhognadih, in present-day Jharkhand, where they declared themselves free from British authority and pledged to fight against oppression. Armed largely with bows, arrows, axes, and other traditional weapons, they challenged one of the world's most powerful colonial empires. Although the rebellion was brutally crushed by 1856 through overwhelming military force, it shook the foundations of British administration in eastern India.

The rebellion left a lasting legacy. It forced the colonial administration to acknowledge the distinct nature of tribal land rights. Eventually, it further led to legal protections such as the Santhal Parganas Tenancy Act, 1876. Hul Diwas therefore commemorates not merely an uprising but the assertion that tribal communities possess inherent rights over their land, forests, culture, and way of life.

Unfortunately, political independence in 1947 did not automatically translate into justice for India's tribal communities. Despite constitutional safeguards and affirmative policies, many tribal regions continued to experience neglect arising from inadequate infrastructure, poor governance, limited educational opportunities, and weak healthcare systems. Large sections of tribal India remained geographically isolated and economically marginalized.

This vacuum was exploited by multiple forces pursuing different ideological objectives. Christian missionary organisations expanded their activities in several tribal regions, particularly in the North-East and later across eastern and central India. In the name of providing education and healthcare, evangelical groups of various denominations have engaged in religious conversions through inducements and the exploitation of poverty. This has led to significant changes in traditional tribal faith systems and cultural practices. As these concerns have grown, many tribal communities have come together through organisations such as ‘Janjati Suraksha Manch’ to raise their voices in defence of their identity, culture, and existence.

An even more serious challenge emerged from the spread of Left Wing Extremism. Following severe state crackdowns in West Bengal and Andhra Pradesh during the 1970s, Naxalite strategists searched for a secure "rear area" from which they could rebuild their movement. The dense forests of Dandakaranya, including Bastar, Dantewada, Narayanpur, Gadchiroli, and adjoining regions, appeared ideally suited for this purpose. The merger of the People's War Group and the Maoist Communist Centre in 2004 led to the formation of the Communist Party of India (Maoist), thereby significantly strengthening the insurgency.

For decades, Maoists claimed to represent tribal interests. In reality, tribal communities frequently became victims of prolonged violence. Schools, roads, communication infrastructure, health centres, and development projects were often targeted because they strengthened the state's presence. Tribal youth were recruited into armed cadres, while ordinary villagers remained trapped between insurgent violence and state counter-insurgency operations. Instead of enabling development, the conflict condemned many tribal regions to prolonged isolation, poverty, and insecurity. Tribal lands and people became instruments in an ideological struggle that was not necessarily their own.

Recent security operations have substantially weakened Maoist capabilities across several affected regions. As the security situation improves, these areas are increasingly attracting investment due to their immense reserves of iron ore, bauxite, coal, manganese, and other strategic minerals essential for India's economic growth and manufacturing ambitions. This changing landscape presents India with both an opportunity and a warning.

India undoubtedly requires mineral resources to become a developed nation and a leading global power. Infrastructure, renewable energy, defence manufacturing, and industrial expansion all depend upon secure access to critical minerals. Yet the pursuit of economic growth cannot repeat the mistakes that triggered the Santhal Hul over 170 years ago.

Across several states, mining projects, industrial corridors, and large infrastructure initiatives have generated conflicts over land acquisition, forest clearance, displacement, and rehabilitation. Although governments have introduced legal safeguards, implementation has often remained inconsistent. Corporate influence, administrative pressures to expedite clearances, weak consultation processes, and inadequate rehabilitation have frequently undermined the spirit of laws intended to protect tribal communities. Numerous expert committees, judicial observations, and reports by constitutional bodies have repeatedly highlighted shortcomings in obtaining genuine consent from Gram Sabhas, recognising community forest rights, and ensuring fair compensation before projects commence.

This is precisely why the Panchayats (Extension to Scheduled Areas) Act, 1996 (PESA) and the Scheduled Tribes and Other Traditional Forest Dwellers (Recognition of Forest Rights) Act, 2006 assume immense contemporary relevance. PESA recognises the authority of Gram Sabhas in Scheduled Areas over community resources, local governance, and decisions concerning land acquisition and development. Similarly, the Forest Rights Act acknowledges both individual and community rights over forest land and resources while requiring that forest-dependent communities be meaningfully involved in decisions affecting their livelihoods.

Yet these landmark legislations have too often remained stronger on paper than in practice. Several states delayed framing PESA rules for years after the Act's passage. In many instances, Gram Sabha consultations have been reduced to procedural formalities rather than meaningful democratic participation. Community forest rights under the Forest Rights Act have progressed unevenly across states, and implementation has frequently lagged behind legislative intent. The consequence is growing distrust among tribal communities whenever large development projects are announced.

If India genuinely seeks inclusive development, these laws must be implemented not selectively but in both letter and spirit. Development cannot become synonymous with displacement, dispossession, or cultural erasure. Tribal communities should not be forced to choose between preserving their identity and participating in modern economic progress.

The central lesson of Hul Diwas is therefore not opposition to development; rather, it is opposition to exploitative development. Tribal communities aspire for quality education, modern healthcare, employment opportunities, digital connectivity, entrepreneurship, and political representation like every other section of Indian society. They want their children to become doctors, engineers, civil servants, scientists, entrepreneurs, and policymakers. At the same time, they wish to preserve their languages, customs, sacred groves, festivals, and traditional ecological knowledge.

India's development model must accommodate both aspirations simultaneously. The tribal citizen must not remain merely a beneficiary of welfare schemes but an equal stakeholder in national development. Consent must replace coercion. Partnership must replace paternalism. Participation must replace tokenism. Most importantly, dignity must become the foundation of governance.

Hul Diwas reminds us that the Santhal rebellion was not simply about resisting colonial authority. It was fundamentally a struggle for justice, dignity, and the right of communities to shape their own future. Those aspirations remain relevant even today.

If governments, corporations, and policymakers are committed to upholding constitutional safeguards, they must faithfully implement the provisions of the PESA and the Forest Rights Act. Ensuring transparent rehabilitation and making tribal communities equal partners in the process of economic transformation are essential. Only then can India achieve rapid development alongside social harmony, making development truly sustainable. However, if land, forests, and mineral resources are pursued without respecting tribal rights and sentiments, history cautions us that resentment and unrest will inevitably follow.

The true tribute to the heroes of the Santhal Hul is therefore not confined to annual commemorations or ceremonial speeches. It lies in building an India where tribal identity is protected, tribal rights are respected, tribal culture is celebrated, and tribal citizens stand as equal partners in the nation's ongoing journey towards prosperity and civilizational renewal.

Reclaiming Education: From Colonial Conditioning to Civilisational Awakening

"What is taught in the classrooms today will be the philosophy of government tomorrow." This oft-quoted observation, attributed to Abraham Lincoln, underscores a profound truth that education is not merely about producing employable individuals. It is about shaping a civilization's character, values, and intellectual orientation. The future of a nation is determined not only by its economic policies or political institutions but by the philosophy that guides its education.

Ancient India understood this truth with remarkable clarity. The purpose of education was never confined to acquiring information or vocational skills. The Taittiriya Upanishad, through the doctrine of Panchakosha, conceived human development as the harmonious unfolding of five dimensions of existence, namely, the physical (Annamaya), vital (Pranamaya), mental (Manomaya), intellectual (Vijnanamaya), and spiritual (Anandamaya) selves. Education, therefore, was an integrated process of nurturing the whole person rather than merely training the intellect.

This holistic understanding found expression in the distinction between Vidya and Avidya articulated in the Isha Upanishad. "विद्यां चाविद्यां च यस्तद्वेदोभयं सह" meaning, one who understands both Vidya (higher knowledge) and Avidya (worldly knowledge) together attains completeness. Material knowledge enables human beings to master the external world, while spiritual wisdom enables them to master themselves. A truly educated individual requires both.

This civilizational insight deeply influenced Mahatma Gandhi's philosophy of education. Gandhi's Nai Talim sought not merely to produce literate individuals but responsible citizens whose intellectual growth remained inseparable from moral discipline, productive labour, and service to society. For Gandhi, education was "an all-round drawing out of the best in child and man's body, mind, and spirit." Such an approach resonates strongly with India's classical educational traditions.

The very word "education" derives from the Latin educare, meaning "to nourish" or "to bring forth." The emphasis is significant. Education is not the mechanical transfer of information; it is the nourishment of human potential. It prepares individuals not only for livelihood but also for life. One function of education is undeniably utilitarian, which equips the young with the knowledge and skills necessary for participation in the material world. The higher purpose of education lies in cultivating intellectual discernment, moral responsibility, and spiritual sensitivity.

The British historian H. G. Wells famously observed, "Human history becomes more and more a race between education and catastrophe." The urgency contained in this statement is even more relevant in the twenty-first century. Scientific and technological progress has vastly increased human capabilities, but without ethical wisdom, these capabilities can become instruments of destruction. Education divorced from values produces efficiency without conscience.

This distinction brings us to the crucial difference between education and indoctrination. Education liberates; indoctrination imprisons. Plato illustrated this beautifully through the Allegory of the Cave. Prisoners mistake shadows for reality until one among them steps outside the cave and discovers the truth. Education, in Plato's conception, is precisely this liberation from ignorance. The educator does not manufacture opinions but awakens the capacity to distinguish appearance from reality.

Indian philosophical traditions express the same aspiration. The Brihadaranyaka Upanishad prays, "तमसो मा ज्योतिर्गमय," meaning lead me from darkness to light. Darkness signifies ignorance; light signifies knowledge rooted in truth. Genuine education, therefore, enlarges the mind, encourages inquiry, and cultivates humility before truth.

Yet every educational system inevitably raises an uncomfortable question: whose values should education transmit? Modern India's educational experience cannot be understood without recalling Thomas Babington Macaulay's famous Minute on Indian Education of 1835. The colonial project consciously sought to create, in Macaulay's own words, "a class of persons Indian in blood and colour, but English in tastes, in opinions, in morals and in intellect." Education became an instrument of cultural displacement rather than civilizational continuity.

Independent India inherited much of this colonial intellectual architecture. For decades, Indian students often learnt more about Europe's civilizational achievements than about their own knowledge traditions. Ancient centres of learning such as Nalanda, Takshashila, Vallabhi, and Vikramashila remained marginal to mainstream educational discourse despite representing some of the world's earliest and greatest universities. Likewise, the Indian conception of the Chaturdasha Vidya (fourteen branches of knowledge) and Chatushashti Kala (sixty-four arts) reflected an extraordinarily broad understanding of education encompassing philosophy, science, mathematics, medicine, linguistics, music, architecture, governance, and ethics.

Recovering this heritage, however, does not imply rejecting global knowledge. Indian civilization has never been intellectually insular. The Rig Vedic declaration, "आ नो भद्राः क्रतवो यन्तु विश्वतः," which means let noble thoughts come to us from every direction. This verse embodies perhaps the most cosmopolitan educational vision imaginable. The Indian approach has always been to welcome truth wherever it emerges while retaining confidence in one's own civilizational foundations.

The challenge before contemporary India is, therefore, neither blind traditionalism nor uncritical imitation of the West. It is a creative reinterpretation. Every civilization must make its inherited wisdom yuganukul, meaning relevant to the needs of its own age. Ancient insights into ethics, ecology, social harmony, and human flourishing must be re-examined in dialogue with modern science, technology, and democratic aspirations.

Universities occupy a central place in this intellectual enterprise. Traditionally, they performed two indispensable functions: professional education and the pursuit of higher knowledge through research. Universities exist not merely to produce engineers, doctors, lawyers, or administrators but to cultivate independent scholarship and preserve humanity's intellectual inheritance. Their responsibility extends beyond immediate utility.

Unfortunately, many universities across the world increasingly face a different challenge, the politicisation of knowledge. During the social upheavals of the 1960s, sections of academia increasingly came to view universities as instruments for advancing ideological movements rather than impartial centres of learning. The distinguished sociologist Edward Shils warned against this tendency, cautioning that some academics considered it their moral obligation to incorporate revolutionary objectives into university curricula. In doing so, he argued, they risked subordinating scholarship to political activism.

The influential Brazilian educationist Paulo Freire's theory of Critical Pedagogy profoundly shaped modern educational discourse by interpreting society largely through the binary of the oppressor and the oppressed. His work contributed significantly to debates on social justice and participatory education. Yet when any single framework becomes the exclusive lens through which students are taught to understand society, there is a danger that education may narrow rather than broaden intellectual horizons. Universities should cultivate critical thinking through engagement with multiple philosophical traditions, not replace one orthodoxy with another.

The National Education Policy (NEP) 2020 offers India an opportunity to move beyond inherited colonial assumptions by integrating Indian knowledge systems with global scholarship. Its emphasis on multidisciplinary learning, holistic development, mother-tongue education in the foundational years, value-based education, and research reflects an attempt to restore balance between Vidya and Avidya. Its success, however, will depend less on policy documents than on the conviction and creativity with which educators implement its vision.

India today stands at a civilizational moment. As it aspires to become a leading global power, it must also recover confidence in its intellectual traditions without succumbing to either nostalgia or ideological rigidity. Education must produce neither deracinated imitators nor unthinking activists. It must nurture thoughtful citizens rooted in their civilization, open to universal knowledge, and committed to truth.

The ultimate purpose of education is not simply to fill minds with information but to transform consciousness. A nation that succeeds in educating its young in this spirit will not merely create a skilled workforce; it will cultivate a wise society capable of combining material progress with moral purpose. That is the educational vision India inherited from its civilization, and one worthy of reclaiming in the twenty-first century. 

मानसून की पावन लय: अंबुबाची, रज पर्व और तल्लिन पंडुम

जैसे-जैसे भारतीय उपमहाद्वीप के ऊपर मानसून के बादल घिरने लगते हैं, विभिन्न क्षेत्रों के विविध समुदाय ऐसे उत्सवों को मनाने की तैयारी करते हैं जो उर्वरता, नारीत्व, मातृभूमि और प्रकृति की पुनर्योजी शक्तियों का सम्मान करते हैं। यद्यपि ये परंपराएँ भौगोलिक स्थिति, भाषा और सामाजिक पहचान के आधार पर एक-दूसरे से भिन्न दिखाई देती हैं, फिर भी ये भारत की सांस्कृतिक संरचना में व्याप्त एक अद्भुत सभ्यतागत निरंतरता को उजागर करती हैं।

असम में कामाख्या मंदिर में मनाया जाने वाला "अंबुबाची" देवी के वार्षिक रजस्वला होने का प्रतीक है। ओडिशा में "रज पर्व" धरणीमाता के रजस्वला होने और उसके पुनरुत्थान का उत्सव है। वहीं गडचिरोलीऔर बस्तर के वनों में माड़िया जनजातीय समुदाय "तल्लिन पंडुम अथवा बीजा पंडुम"  का आयोजन करता है, जिसमें बुवाई के मौसम के आरम्भ से पूर्व धरणीमाता और पूर्वज देवताओं का आशीर्वाद प्राप्त किया जाता है।

पहली दृष्टि में ये परंपराएँ एक-दूसरे से भिन्न प्रतीत हो सकती हैं। किंतु गहराई से देखने पर एक ऐसी साझा दृष्टि सामने आती है जो नारीत्व की पवित्रता, स्त्री की सृजनात्मक शक्ति, धरती की उर्वरता और मानव जीवन तथा प्रकृति के मध्य घनिष्ठ संबंध को स्वीकार करती है। ये सभी मिलकर यह दर्शाती हैं कि भारत की विविध आध्यात्मिक परंपराएँ ऐतिहासिक रूप से सह-अस्तित्व, पारस्परिक प्रभाव और साझा सांस्कृतिक संवेदनाओं के माध्यम से विकसित हुई हैं।

अंबुबाची : देवी के रजस्वला होने का उत्सव

असम के कामाख्या मंदिर में प्रतिवर्ष आयोजित होने वाला अंबुबाची, जून के महीने में (22 जून, 2026), पूर्वी भारत के सबसे महत्वपूर्ण धार्मिक आयोजनों में से एक है। इसे प्रायः “पूर्व का महाकुंभ” कहा जाता है, जो भारत और विश्व के विभिन्न भागों से लाखों श्रद्धालुओं, साधुओं और तांत्रिक साधकों को आकर्षित करता है।

यह उत्सव शक्ति की सर्वाधिक पूजनीय अभिव्यक्तियों में से एक देवी कामाख्या के वार्षिक रजस्वला होने का स्मरण कराता है। इस अवधि में मंदिर तीन दिनों तक बंद रहता है, जो देवी के मासिक धर्म और सार्वजनिक पूजा से उनके अस्थायी विराम का प्रतीक है। मंदिर के पुनः खुलने पर श्रद्धालु उर्वरता, समृद्धि और आध्यात्मिक शक्ति से जुड़ा आशीर्वाद प्राप्त करते हैं।

अंबुबाची का प्रतीकवाद अत्यंत गहन है। यहाँ मासिक धर्म को अशुद्ध या लज्जाजनक नहीं माना जाता। इसके विपरीत, उसे पवित्रता के सर्वोच्च स्तर तक प्रतिष्ठित किया जाता है। देवी रजस्वला होती हैं क्योंकि वे स्वयं सृष्टि का स्रोत हैं। उनका मासिक चक्र एक लौकिक घटना बन जाता है, जो भूमि की उर्वरता और मानसून की वर्षा के आगमन से जुड़ जाता है।

ऐसा दृष्टिकोण एक ऐसी सभ्यतागत समझ को प्रतिबिंबित करता है जो स्त्री शरीर को अशौच का विषय नहीं, बल्कि सृजनात्मक ऊर्जा की अभिव्यक्ति के रूप में देखती है।

रज पर्व : जब मातृभूमि विश्राम करती है

इसी प्रकार का एक दार्शनिक विचार ओडिशा के रज पर्व में दिखाई देता है, जो मानसून के आगमन के समय जून माह में मनाया जाता है। यह उत्सव भूदेवी अर्थात् मातृभूमि को समर्पित है, जिनके बारे में माना जाता है कि इस अवधि में वे रजस्वला होती हैं। इस दौरान हल चलाने और भूमि की खुदाई जैसी कृषि गतिविधियाँ परंपरागत रूप से रोक दी जाती हैं, जिससे धरती को अगले कृषि चक्र के लिए बीज ग्रहण करने से पूर्व विश्राम और पुनर्जीवन का अवसर मिल सके।

इस उत्सव के केंद्र में महिलाएँ और युवतियाँ होती हैं। नए वस्त्र, झूले, लोकगीत, पारंपरिक व्यंजन और सामुदायिक समारोह इसकी विशेषताएँ हैं। मातृभूमि का रजस्वला होना उर्वरता, समृद्धि और पुनर्नवीकरण का प्रतीक बन जाता है।

रज पर्व समाज को यह स्मरण कराता है कि सृजन के लिए विश्राम भी आवश्यक है। जिस प्रकार स्त्रियाँ जैविक चक्रों का अनुभव करती हैं, उसी प्रकार प्रकृति भी पुनरुत्थान की लयों का अनुसरण करती है। मनुष्य इन लयों से पृथक नहीं हैं, बल्कि उनके सहभागी हैं।

तल्लिन पंडुम: धरित्री के प्रति जनजातीय श्रद्धा

माड़िया समुदाय महाराष्ट्र के गडचिरोली और छत्तीसगढ़ के बस्तर के वनों में निवास करता है, जिसे भारत में विशेष रूप से संवेदनशील जनजातीय समूह (PVTG) के रूप में वर्गीकृत किया गया है।  उनके द्वारा जून के महीने में मनाया जानेवाला तल्लिन पंडुम अथवा बीजा पंडुम भी इसी प्रकार का संदेश देता है।

मानसून के आगमन से पूर्व मनाए जाने वाले इस उत्सव में बीजों का आशीर्वाद प्राप्त किया जाता है तथा धरती माता और कुल-देवताओं को अनुष्ठानिक अर्पण किए जाते हैं। कृषि कार्य प्रारंभ करने से पहले समुदाय समृद्धि और दैवीय संरक्षण की कामना करता है।

माड़िया भाषा में “तल्लिन” शब्द का अर्थ माता है, जबकि “पंडुम” का अर्थ उत्सव होता है। इसका नाम ही जीवन और आजीविका के स्रोत के रूप में धरित्री के प्रति समुदाय की श्रद्धा को व्यक्त करता है।

अंबुबाची और रज पर्व की भाँति तल्लिन पंडुम भी इस सत्य को स्वीकार करता है कि धरती की उर्वरता जीवन की निरंतरता से अविभाज्य है। बीज बोना केवल एक आर्थिक गतिविधि नहीं माना जाता, बल्कि कृतज्ञता, विनम्रता और दैवीय आशीर्वाद की अपेक्षा रखने वाला एक पवित्र कर्म माना जाता है।

यद्यपि भौगोलिक स्थिति और सामाजिक वर्गीकरण के कारण इसे मुख्यधारा की हिंदू परंपराओं से अलग देखा जाता है, फिर भी तल्लिन पंडुम की दार्शनिक आधारभूमि अंबुबाची और रज पर्व में निहित विचारों से गहराई से मेल खाती है।

साझा सभ्यतागत आधार

ये तीनों उत्सव भिन्न सामाजिक और सांस्कृतिक संदर्भों से उत्पन्न हुए हैं। अंबुबाची शाक्त परंपराओं से जुड़ा हुआ है। रज पर्व ओड़िया सांस्कृतिक जीवन में गहराई से समाहित है। तल्लिन पंडुम माड़िया जनजाति की परंपराओं से संबंधित है। फिर भी ये तीनों अत्यंत समान विचारों का उत्सव मनाते हैं। 

प्रथम, ये सृजन के स्रोत के रूप में स्त्री तत्व का सम्मान करते हैं। द्वितीय, ये उर्वरता को केवल जैविक प्रक्रिया न मानकर पवित्र मानते हैं। तृतीय, ये धरणीमाता को एक जीवंत सत्ता के रूप में देखते हैं, जो श्रद्धा और सम्मान की अधिकारी हैं। चतुर्थ, ये मानव गतिविधियों को ऋतुचक्र और पारिस्थितिक लयों के अनुरूप स्थापित करते हैं। सबसे महत्वपूर्ण बात यह है कि ये एक ऐसी सांस्कृतिक निरंतरता को प्रकट करते हैं जो "जनजातीय" और "गैर-जनजातीय" के आधुनिक विभाजन से परे जाती है।

जनजातीय और गैर-जनजातीय जैसी श्रेणियाँ प्रायः गहरे सभ्यतागत संबंधों को ओझल कर देती हैं। यद्यपि अनुष्ठान, मिथक और सामाजिक संरचनाएँ भिन्न हो सकती हैं, फिर भी भारत के अनेक समुदाय प्रकृति, उर्वरता, पूर्वजों, पवित्र भूगोल और जीवन की परस्पर संबद्धता के बारे में समान धारणाएँ साझा करते हैं।

अंबुबाची, रज पर्व और तल्लिन पंडुम के बीच की समानताएँ यह संकेत देती हैं कि ये परंपराएँ एक व्यापक स्वदेशी सांस्कृतिक आधारभूमि से विकसित हुई हैं, जिसका विकास भारतीय उपमहाद्वीप में सहस्राब्दियों के दौरान हुआ।

भारतीय सभ्यता के अनुभव में विविधता और एकता

भारतीय सभ्यता की एक प्रमुख विशेषता यह रही है कि उसने एकरूपता की अपेक्षा किए बिना विविधता को आत्मसात करने की क्षमता विकसित की। विभिन्न समुदायों ने अपने विशिष्ट अनुष्ठान, स्थानीय देवताओं और सांस्कृतिक परंपराओं का विकास किया, जबकि वे साथ ही व्यापक सभ्यतागत ढाँचों में भी सहभागी बने रहे।

विचार एक क्षेत्र से दूसरे क्षेत्र तक पहुँचे। समुदायों ने एक-दूसरे से ग्रहण किया। स्थानीय परंपराएँ क्षेत्रीय परंपराएँ बनीं और क्षेत्रीय परंपराओं ने व्यापक सभ्यतागत आख्यानों में योगदान दिया। यह प्रक्रिया एकरूपीकरण पर आधारित नहीं थी। बल्कि यह पारस्परिक स्वीकृति, अनुकूलन और सह-अस्तित्व पर आधारित थी।

एक जनजातीय समुदाय अपने पूर्वज देवताओं की पूजा कर सकता था और साथ ही पड़ोसी हिंदू समुदायों के साथ व्यापक सांस्कृतिक मूल्यों को भी साझा कर सकता था। कोई क्षेत्रीय देवी एक ओर स्थानीय संरक्षिका हो सकती थी और दूसरी ओर किसी व्यापक पवित्र सिद्धांत की अभिव्यक्ति भी। अनेक मार्ग एक साथ विद्यमान रह सकते थे, बिना किसी एकमात्र आधिकारिक सिद्धांत की आवश्यकता के। 

'जितने दर्शन राहे उतनी चिंतन से चैतन्य भरा'। 

विविधता में एकता का यह सिद्धांत भारतीय सभ्यतागत चिंतन में बार-बार रेखांकित किया गया है। अंबुबाची, रज पर्व और तल्लिन पांडुम जैसे उत्सव यह प्रदर्शित करते हैं कि अनुष्ठानों की विविधता के पीछे जीवन, प्रकृति, नारीत्व और सृष्टि की पवित्रता के प्रति एक साझा श्रद्धा विद्यमान है।

भारत की सांस्कृतिक बहुलता के समक्ष चुनौतियाँ

इन परंपराओं का सह-अस्तित्व भारतीय स्वदेशी आस्था प्रणालियों की एक मूलभूत विशेषता को भी उजागर करता है, वे सामान्यतः अनन्यतावादी (exclusive ) नहीं हैं। ऐतिहासिक रूप से, समुदायों ने पूजा और आध्यात्मिक साधना के अनेक रूपों की वैधता को स्वीकार किया। सांस्कृतिक आदान-प्रदान, अनुकूलन और पारस्परिक प्रभाव सामान्य बात थी। परंपराएँ कठोर एकरूपता के बजाय देने और ग्रहण करने की प्रक्रियाओं के माध्यम से विकसित हुईं।

यह बहुलतावादी दृष्टिकोण अनेक बार उन धार्मिक ढाँचों के साथ तनाव की स्थिति में आया है जो विशिष्ट सत्य-दावों (exclusive truth claims) और सार्वभौमिक अनुरूपता (universal conformity) पर बल देते हैं। जहाँ कहीं भी अनन्यतावादी विचारधाराएँ स्थानीय परंपराओं के साथ संवाद स्थापित करने के बजाय उनका स्थान लेने का प्रयास करती हैं, वहाँ स्वाभाविक रूप से तनाव उत्पन्न होता है।

अतः चुनौती केवल धार्मिक नहीं, बल्कि सभ्यतागत भी है। प्रश्न यह है कि क्या विविध परंपराएँ आगे भी सह-अस्तित्व में रहकर एक-दूसरे को समृद्ध करती रहेंगी, अथवा एकरूपीकरण के दबाव उन सांस्कृतिक पारिस्थितिक तंत्रों को कमजोर कर देंगे जिन्होंने उन्हें अब तक जीवित रखा है।

इसलिए तल्लिन पंडुम जैसे स्वदेशी उत्सवों का संरक्षण, अंबुबाची और रज पर्व जैसी परंपराओं के साथ, केवल सांस्कृतिक विरासत की दृष्टि से ही महत्वपूर्ण नहीं है, बल्कि भारत के बहुलतावादी सभ्यतागत चरित्र को बनाए रखने के लिए भी आवश्यक है।

निष्कर्ष

कामाख्या में देवी रजस्वला होती हैं। ओडिशा में मातृभूमि विश्राम करती है। माड़िया समुदाय वर्षा के आगमन से पूर्व अपने बीजों के लिए आशीर्वाद प्राप्त करता है।

यद्यपि ये उत्सव विभिन्न अनुष्ठानों और भाषाओं के माध्यम से अभिव्यक्त होते हैं, फिर भी वे एक ही शाश्वत सत्य का उत्सव मनाते हैं कि जीवन स्त्री की सृजनात्मक शक्ति से उत्पन्न होता है, धरती की उर्वरता से विकसित होता है और प्रकृति के साथ मानवता के सामंजस्यपूर्ण संबंधों में फलता-फूलता है।

अंबुबाची, रज पर्व और तल्लिन पंडुम यह उद्घाटित करते हैं कि भारत के आध्यात्मिक परिदृश्य की प्रत्यक्ष विविधता के नीचे एक गहरी सांस्कृतिक एकता विद्यमान है (beneath the apparent diversity of India's spiritual landscape lies a deep cultural unity)। वे हमें स्मरण कराते हैं कि जनजातीय और गैर-जनजातीय परंपराएँ लंबे समय से ऐसे साझा सभ्यतागत आधारों से जुड़ी रही हैं जो प्रकृति के प्रति श्रद्धा, नारीत्व के सम्मान और सृष्टि की पवित्र लयों की पहचान पर आधारित हैं।

जिस प्रकार मानसून प्रत्येक वर्ष धरती को पुनर्जीवित करता है, उसी प्रकार ये उत्सव भी एक प्राचीन ज्ञान को पुनर्जीवित करते हैं कि एकता के लिए समानता आवश्यक नहीं होती, और सबसे समृद्ध सभ्यताएँ वे होती हैं जो अनेक परंपराओं को फलने-फूलने का अवसर देती हैं, साथ ही उन गहरे सत्यों को भी पहचानती हैं जिन्हें वे साझा करती हैं।

The Day Kaki Maa Became Mother and Kaku Became Father: A Story of Love, Community, and Our First Jamai Shashthi in Bengal

"Family is not always defined by blood. Sometimes, it is defined by those who choose to stand beside us when life leaves an empty chair at the table."

On 20th June 2026, my wife Suchandra and I celebrated our first Jamai Shashthi after our marriage on 4th March 2026. For many Bengali families, Jamai Shashthi is a cherished annual tradition marked by rituals, family gatherings, laughter, and elaborate meals. For us, however, it became much more than a cultural observance. It became a profound reminder that even in a rapidly changing world, there are communities that continue to uphold the timeless values of affection, solidarity, and human connection.

The memories of the day will remain with us for the rest of our lives, not because of the food that was served or the rituals that were performed, but because of the love that surrounded us.

The Cultural Significance of Jamai Shashthi

Jamai Shashthi occupies a special place in Bengali Hindu culture. Celebrated on the sixth tithi of the bright fortnight (Shukla Paksha) of the month of Joishtho, it is a day dedicated to strengthening family bonds. Traditionally, married daughters and their husbands are invited to the daughter's parental home. The mother-in-law performs Shashthi Puja, seeking the blessings of Goddess Shashthi for the well-being, prosperity, and fertility of her daughter and son-in-law.

The son-in-law, affectionately called the "Jamai," is treated as an honoured guest and served a grand feast prepared with love and care. The day is often accompanied by family reunions, blessings from elders, and moments of shared happiness.

The origins of the festival lie in an earlier era when daughters were often married far away from their parental homes. Travel was difficult, expensive, and time-consuming. Parents seldom had opportunities to meet their daughters after marriage. Jamai Shashthi evolved as a social institution that ensured regular family reunions and maintained emotional bonds between married daughters and their natal families.

The ritual, therefore, carries a deeper meaning. At its heart, Jamai Shashthi is not about the son-in-law alone. It is about preserving relationships, reaffirming affection, and reminding daughters that they continue to remain an inseparable part of their parental home.

The Void Left by Loss

For Suchandra and me, our first Jamai Shashthi came with a unique emotional context.

Suchandra is the only child of her parents. Her father, Shri Sankarnath Mukherjee, passed away in 2009. The loss was devastating, but she found strength in the loving care and guidance of her mother, Smt. Bharati Mukherjee.

Then, in 2024, tragedy struck again.

She lost her mother.

With her mother's passing, Suchandra lost not only a parent but also her closest companion, guide, and source of emotional strength. The absence of both parents inevitably created a void that no one could truly replace.

She continues to be blessed with loving relatives. Her paternal aunt and uncle have always stood by her. However, this year they themselves were coping with an unimaginable tragedy, the loss of their own son. Understandably, they were not in a position to host our first Jamai Shashthi.

Her maternal uncle and aunt also remained affectionate and concerned. Yet age and health-related challenges prevented them from travelling from Barrackpore to Ranaghat to organise the occasion.

As the festival approached, a quiet question lingered in our minds.

Who would host our first Jamai Shashthi?

The Daughter of an Entire Neighbourhood

The answer came not from relatives but from a community.

Suchandra grew up in Sidhanto Para in Ranaghat, a historic town in Nadia district of West Bengal. She spent her childhood there, attended school there, built friendships there, and developed bonds that have endured over decades.

Over the years, the people of the locality came to regard her not merely as a neighbour but as one of their own. To some, she was a daughter; to others, a sister; to many, a cherished member of an extended social family.

This sense of belonging is perhaps one of the most beautiful aspects of Bengali social life. Even today, many Bengali neighbourhoods function not merely as residential spaces but as living communities bound together by shared experiences, mutual support, and emotional investment in one another's lives.

Among the many people who have stood beside Suchandra throughout her journey is her school classmate, Partha Singha.

Their friendship has always carried the warmth of a sibling relationship. To Partha Ji, Suchandra has never been merely a friend. She has always been his sister.

And perhaps because of that, the possibility of Suchandra spending her first Jamai Shashthi without parental affection was simply unacceptable.

Kaki Maa and Kaku Step Forward

What happened next touched our hearts in ways that words can scarcely capture.

Partha Ji's parents-in-law, Shri Achintya Kumar Mondal and Smt. Meera Mondal graciously invited us to celebrate our first Jamai Shashthi with them.

What may appear to an outsider as a simple gesture was, in reality, an extraordinary act of love.

On that day, Kaki Maa prepared a lavish meal with her own hands. Every dish reflected affection rather than obligation. Every preparation carried the warmth that only a mother can offer.

Kaku welcomed us with equal warmth. He ensured that we were fed generously and comfortably, constantly expressing concern about whether we had eaten enough.

As Suchandra and I sat before them, receiving their blessings, we felt something profoundly moving.

For a few precious hours, the absence of Suchandra's parents faded into the background.

Kaki Maa became her mother.

Kaku became her father.

The ritual remained the same, but its emotional significance deepened beyond measure.

They were under no social obligation to do what they did.

They chose to do it out of love.

And that made all the difference.

A Wedding That Revealed the Spirit of Community

Our experience during Jamai Shashthi was not an isolated incident.

In fact, it reflected the same spirit that had defined our wedding earlier in March 2026.

Suchandra and I chose to have a simple wedding conducted according to traditional Bengali rituals. Yet despite its simplicity, the ceremony became one of the most memorable events of our lives.

The reason was not extravagance.

It was people.

The residents of Shirish Kunj, where Suchandra owns a flat, and the people of Sidhanto Para embraced the wedding as though it belonged to their own family.

Partha Ji and Sucheta Didi were at the centre of countless arrangements. Their care, guidance, and emotional support were invaluable.

Alongside them stood Pradesh Da and his wife, Abhimanyu Da and his wife, Ganesh Da and Sushmita Didi, Pooja and Amit, Pinaki Didi and her family, and many others.

Each contributed in their own way.

Each invested time and effort without expecting anything in return.

Each helped transform a modest ceremony into an extraordinary celebration.

Friends Who Became Family

Equally touching was the role played by Suchandra's close friends.

Antara Roychoudhury, Ayantika Ghosh-Ganguly, Imon Majumder, Pooja Saha, Haimanti Bhattacharya, Sumona Dasgupta, Parmita Bose, and Moumita Pal stood by her throughout the wedding preparations.

They were not merely friends attending a wedding.

They were sisters standing beside one of their own.

Their affection, encouragement, and participation reflected bonds that had been nurtured over years of friendship and shared experiences.

Watching them interact with Suchandra, I realised that some friendships eventually transcend friendship itself and become family.

The Warmth Extended to a Maharashtrian Groom

As a Maharashtrian marrying into a Bengali family, I was entering a cultural world different from the one in which I had grown up.

Yet at no point did I feel like an outsider.

My mother, brothers, sisters, and other relatives who travelled to Ranaghat experienced the same warmth.

Shri Sureshrao Kulkarni Ji, an RSS Pracharak and a guardian-like figure in my life, attended the wedding and witnessed this remarkable hospitality firsthand.

Dhanu Da and his family, Piku Da, Tapashi Boudi, and their families welcomed members of the groom's side into their homes. They ensured that everyone felt comfortable and cared for.

Pampa Didi, who has been associated with Suchandra's family for nearly twenty years, worked tirelessly to oversee arrangements. Over time, she had ceased to be merely someone who assisted the family. She had become family herself.

Their collective efforts demonstrated that hospitality is not merely about accommodation or food.

It is about making someone feel that they belong.

Beyond Caste, Beyond Boundaries

One aspect of our experience deserves special mention.

People from different social backgrounds participated in our wedding and Jamai Shashthi celebrations with equal enthusiasm and ownership.

What stood out was the absence of visible barriers based on caste or social hierarchy.

People came together not because they belonged to the same social category but because they cared about Suchandra and wished to contribute to her happiness.

In contemporary India, where discussions often focus on divisions and differences, such experiences offer hope.

They remind us that communities can still be built around shared humanity rather than inherited boundaries.

The Real Meaning of Jamai Shashthi

As I reflect on our first Jamai Shashthi, I realise that its true significance lies far beyond ritual.

The festival teaches us that relationships require nurturing.

It reminds us that daughters never cease to belong to their parental homes.

And in our case, it revealed something even more beautiful, that when the biological family is absent, society itself can step forward and fill the void.

Kaki Maa, Kaku, Partha Ji, and Sucheta Didi did not merely host a ritual.

They gave us a memory.

They gave Suchandra the experience of parental affection at a moment when it could easily have been missed.

They transformed a cultural tradition into an emotional blessing.

For that, Suchandra and I shall remain forever grateful.

I came to Ranaghat as a Maharashtrian groom.

The people of Ranaghat embraced me as their Jamai.

And on our first Jamai Shashthi, they taught us a lesson we shall carry throughout our lives:

Blood may create relatives, but love creates family.