Not Tolerance, but Acceptance : The Quiet Greatness of Sanatana Dharma...

Not Tolerance, but Acceptance : 

The Quiet Greatness of Sanatana Dharma...

A short clip reached me via WhatsApp a few days ago, as so many things reach us these days, forwarded from one phone to another. It was from a session at the Bharat Literature Festival, where renowned author Shri.Shashi Tharoor was recalling Swami Vivekanandaji’s address at the Parliament of the World’s Religions in Chicago in 1893.

The line he dwelt on is one most of us learnt in school : Swamiji said he was proud to belong to a faith that had taught the world both tolerance and universal acceptance.

I paused and began to think of the quotation.  Tharoor said that as a teenager, he had taken  tolerance to be a virtue, because that is what our history lessons told us : the tolerant king was the good king, the one who allowed his subjects to believe as they wished. Only later did he see how patronising the idea could be.

In effect, the tolerant king was saying that I have the truth; you are in error, but I shall graciously permit you,  your right to be wrong.

Acceptance is something else altogether.

It says : I believe I have the truth; you believe you have the truth. I respect yours; please respect mine. That distinction, small as it sounds, carries within it something fundamental to the spirit of Sanatana Dharma.

Long before any parliament of religions, the Rig Veda had expressed it in a single line:

'Ekam sat vipraa bahudhaa vadanti.'

Truth is one; the wise call it by many names.

This is not an idea added later to make an ancient tradition sound modern. It lies deep within the tradition itself.

In the Bhagavad Gita, Sri Krishna tells Arjuna that in whatever way people approach Him, in that same way He receives them. Elsewhere, He says that whatever form a devotee chooses to worship with faith, He makes that faith steady.

A God who steadies the faith of those who worship the Divine in different forms is not a God who needs rivals defeated.

Far to the south, Thiruvalluvar expressed a similar insight in the language of everyday wisdom:

Epporul yaar yaar vaai ketpinum apporul

meipporul kaanbadhu arivu.

(Kural 423)

Whatever is said, and by whomever, wisdom lies in discerning the truth within it.

Notice what the Kural does not ask. It does not ask who the speaker is, which book he follows or which god he worships. It asks only whether there is truth in what he says.

The festival clip ended with the same thought in simple words : some find their truth within, some in a temple, some in a mosque. These are different ways of stretching our hands towards the Absolute. I cannot think of a better description of a faith that never needed to count heads.

Sanatana Dharma did not historically develop a single centralised missionary structure. It has no single founder whose word must be spread, no one book that everyone must accept, and no central authority measuring its strength by numbers.

A seeker may begin at the feet of a guru, at a village shrine, in the silence of meditation or in the pages of the Upanishads. There has always been room for many beginnings.

And yet its ideas travelled far, the temples of Angkor, the living traditions of Bali, yoga and meditation across continents, and the Upanishads that fascinated thinkers far beyond India.

Ideas can travel not only through organised propagation, but also through human encounter, through traders, teachers, travellers and seekers and endure because succeeding generations find meaning in them. There is a quiet dignity in that.

But it would be dishonest to write only in praise. The oldest living traditions also carry the marks of history and not every wound was inflicted from outside. Some were self-inflicted. The first is discrimination.

A philosophy that sees the same Brahman ( God) in every being cannot, without contradiction, deny dignity to some of its own people. Yet for long periods of our history, social practices did exactly that. Many who were denied dignity within the fold understandably sought it elsewhere. The loss was not theirs alone; it was ours.

Thiruvalluvar had warned us centuries ago:

Pirappokkum ellaa uyirkkum sirappovvaa

seithozhil vetrumaiyaan. (Kural 972)

All beings are equal by birth; distinction comes only from the quality of one’s deeds.

Had we listened more carefully to our own sages, perhaps fewer would have felt excluded from traditions that should have embraced them.

The second is rigidity. When ritual overtook meaning, when crossing the seas became a sin and questions came to be seen as disrespect, a tradition that had once thrived on debate sometimes began guarding its forms more carefully than its spirit. The Upanishads are, after all, conversations. Gargi and Maitreyi questioned sages openly. A dharma that forgets how to question forgets a part of itself.

The third is more subtle, because it arises from one of our greatest strengths openness. A tradition that makes room for many paths does not easily insist that everyone remain within its own. It has absorbed, assimilated and accommodated across centuries. Such openness need not become weakness. But it does create a responsibility : those who inherit a tradition must know it, understand it, live it and pass on its essence, not merely its rituals. And perhaps the answer has always come from within the tradition itself. Whenever the fabric wore thin, saints, poets and reformers rewove it.

Sant Dnyaneshwar, barely out of boyhood, closed his great commentary on the Gita not with a demand, but with a prayer, the Pasaydan:

"Je khaḷaanchi vyankati saando, 

tayaa satkarmi rati vaadho

bhuta paraspare jado maitra jivanche"

May the wicked shed their crookedness,

may their love for good deeds grow,

may friendship bind all living beings to one another.

He did not pray for the wicked to be defeated. He prayed for them to be transformed.

Sri Narayana Guru in Kerala spoke of one caste, one religion and one God for humankind. In Tamil Nadu, Subramania Bharati taught children:

Saadhigal illaiyadi paappa,

kulath thaazhchi uyarchi sollal paavam.

There are no castes, little one;

to call any birth high or low is a sin.

Vivekananda carried a message of acceptance to Chicago and returned to remind India of divinity

 and the dignity of service. Each strengthened the tradition not merely by defending it, but by holding up a mirror to it. That is still the work before us.

The greatness of Sanatana Dharma will not be sustained by numbers or by noise. It will be sustained when every person can feel equally at home within it;  when our daughters study the Gita and the Upanishads as freely as Gargi and can question it,  when learning is valued as much as ritual and when we practise in our own homes the acceptance we so proudly quote.

From the Rig Veda to the Gita, from Dnyaneshwar on the banks of the Indrayani to Thiruvalluvar and Bharati in the Taminadu, a broad vision runs across Bharat. It belongs to no single region or language. And if acceptance is truly at the heart of Sanatana Dharma, it must be practised all the way.

Acceptance that stops at the edge of our own comfort is only tolerance wearing better clothes.

Let every person therefore be free to choose the path that speaks to their heart or to walk none at all without fear, pressure or inducement. Faith chosen freely has meaning; faith imposed or purchased loses something essential.

Nor should any faith need to establish its worth by placing itself above another. The moment we do that, we return to the tolerant king graciously permitting others their supposed right to be wrong.

The word sanatana means eternal. What is eternal does not need to hurry, compete or conquer. It does not need to be declared the best. It needs to be lived truly.

Perhaps its quiet greatness lies precisely here: that it can look at another human being walking a different path towards the Divine and say, sincerely: “Yours too is a way home.”

Vivekananda was right to be proud. May our pride rest not on being above anyone, but on being able to embrace everyone.

After all, Sarve bhavantu sukhinaḥ.

R. Vimala, IAS Retired, MH 2009

Subject Matter Expert, CBC & YASHADA

Former Resident Commissioner, Maharashtra Sadan & Secretary, GoM,

Founder AnirvedShakti Foundation,

PhD Scholar at IIT Bombay 

* Views expressed are personal and those of the author.

Above the Clouds, Beyond Divisions...

Above the Clouds, Beyond Divisions...

The flight from Delhi to Mumbai climbed steadily through thick layers of clouds. The world below disappeared. For a while, there was nothing but endless white. Then, almost playfully, the sun would emerge through a gap, flood the aircraft with golden light, and disappear behind another curtain of clouds again.  It felt like a game of hide-and-seek.

As the aircraft began its descent, the clouds slowly parted and the familiar skyline of Mumbai emerged beneath us. In that transition between sky and earth, I went back to my childhood. Like many children of my generation, I had often heard our elders say, “Gods live above the clouds.”

As children, we accepted it without question. Even today, the feeling of looking upwards in wonder has never quite left us.

Perhaps that is how religion itself began.

Long before temples, churches, mosques, gurudwaras or monasteries, human beings looked at the rising sun, flowing rivers, towering mountains, trees, rain, fire and the vast sky with reverence. Nature inspired awe, gratitude and humility. Over time, these forces of nature acquired names, forms and stories, making the invisible easier to understand and the divine easier to relate to. Surya became the Sun God,  Vayu, the God of winds,  Agni, the God of Fire. Hawankunds were based on geometrical calculations. 

One of the most fascinating aspects of Hindu thought is how comfortably it accommodated symbolism alongside philosophy. The sequence of the Dashavatara is often interpreted as resembling the broad stages of biological evolution, from Matsya, the fish living entirely in water; Kurma, the tortoise inhabiting both water and land; Varaha, the land mammal; Narasimha, the half-man, half-animal form; Vamana, the early human; followed by Parashurama, Rama, Balarama and Krishna, each symbolising different stages of human civilisation and ethical evolution.

Whether this was intended as science or symbolism may always remain open to interpretation, but the parallel itself is remarkable.

Indian civilisation has also contributed profoundly to humanity's scientific and mathematical heritage from the concept of zero and advances in astronomy to sophisticated geometry, metallurgy and architecture. Spiritual inquiry and scientific curiosity were not necessarily seen as opposites. They often walked together.

Like every ancient civilisation, India's history too has witnessed periods of harmony as well as conflict. Different communities have interacted through dialogue, trade, migration and, at times, through painful episodes that remain subjects of historical debate. Such chapters deserve honest scholarship rather than prejudice. History should deepen our understanding, not diminish our humanity.

And perhaps there could be no better time to reflect on this than during Ganeshotsav.

Across Maharashtra and far beyond, Bappa arrives not merely inside homes but into neighbourhoods and public spaces. People gather before Vighnaharta, the remover of obstacles with folded hands, flowers, modaks, music and prayer. The celebration often reaches beyond individual faith: neighbours, friends and visitors from different communities participate in the joy, visit pandals and share in the festivities.There is something beautiful in that image. Different people. Different prayers. One celebration.

Perhaps that too is the spirit of Vighnaharta, to help us overcome not only the obstacles before us, but also the barriers we sometimes create between ourselves.

And then I looked again at the clouds outside my window. They do not distinguish between nations, religions or languages. They carry rain to every field. The sun shines on every home. Rivers quench the thirst of all who approach them.

Nature recognises no divisions. It simply gives.

What, then, is the enduring message that survives centuries?

Perhaps it is this: if our earliest reverence was for nature itself, then protecting nature must be among the highest forms of worship.

There is an added poignancy to that thought during Ganeshotsav. We welcome Bappa with such love; perhaps one way of honouring him is to celebrate in ways that also honour the earth, from the materials we use for our idols and decorations to the water we protect and the waste we leave behind.

Faith and responsibility need not be separate.

Today, when the world is confronting rising temperatures, extreme weather, polluted rivers, disappearing forests and the consequences of climate change, reverence for nature is no longer only a philosophical idea. It has become an urgent responsibility.

As our aircraft touched the ground, I realised that perhaps heaven is not somewhere above the clouds. We encounter a little of it whenever people come together despite their differences; whenever we choose harmony over division; and whenever we protect the natural world that sustains every one of us.

This Ganeshotsav, let us celebrate Bappa together across faiths, neighbourhoods and differences and turn devotion into action. At least next year, let us choose eco-friendly idols and decorations, reduce plastic and waste, protect water, and leave our rivers, streets and communities cleaner than we found them.

In honouring Vighnaharta, let us remove the obstacles we have placed in nature’s path and in one another’s hearts.

The earth beneath us and the sky above us belong to no single faith. They belong to all of us. Protecting them, together, may be one of the truest forms of worship and one of the greatest gifts we can leave future generations.

Ganpati Bappa Morya. May Vighnaharta unite our hearts and guide us towards a greener, kinder world.

R. Vimala, IAS Retired, MH 2009

Subject Matter Expert, CBC & YASHADA

Former Resident Commissioner, Maharashtra Sadan & Secretary, GoM,

Founder AnirvedShakti Foundation,

PhD Scholar at IIT Bombay 

Vignaharta's Homecoming : Removing Obstacles Together this Ganesh Chaturthi

Vignaharta's Homecoming : Removing Obstacles Together this Ganesh Chaturthi 

There is something very endearing about Shri Ganesh, our Ganapati Bappa. The gentle eyes, the large ears that seem to listen patiently, the little mouse at His feet, the modak in His hand and that expression of wisdom and warmth. Among the many forms in which we worship the Divine, Ganeshji somehow feels especially close to us. We worship Him as Vighnaharta, the remover of obstacles. No wonder we invoke Him before every new beginning.

As Ganesh Chaturthi begins the day after tomorrow, homes and pandals will once again resonate with the joyous chant : Ganpati Bappa Morya! But beyond the  celebrations and rituals lies a beautiful message for life. We often pray to God to remove the obstacles before us. Yet life teaches us that not every obstacle disappears, instead we are given the courage to cross it, open another door. A disappointment challenges us to discover a strength we did not know we possessed. A difficult journey introduces us to people who walk beside us. And sometimes what appears to be an obstacle becomes the very reason for a new beginning. So in reality,  Vighnaharta does not merely clear our paths,  He also gives us the wisdom to find a path where none seems to exist.

This thought has a special meaning for me this Ganeshotsav when Ganesh Sewa Mandal, ( Registered ), Laxmi Nagar, Delhi, celebrates the Silver Jubilee of its Ganesh Mahotsav. Twenty-five years of devotion, community participation and celebration!

For AnirvedShakti Foundation, it is a privilege to be associated with this special occasion in a small but meaningful way.

During the festival, the Foundation is supporting four Self-Help Groups and one small-scale enterprise established under the Prime Minister’s Employment Generation Programme (PMEGP) through the Khadi and Village Industries framework, enabling them to bring their products before consumers in Delhi.

At first glance, this may appear to be simply about putting up stalls but for a small entrepreneur, a stall is not merely a stall. It is a market. It is visibility and an opportunity to meet a customer who has never encountered their product before. It is a chance to hear, “Your product is good. Where else can I buy it?” A question which can open an entirely new door.

And what is Ganeshotsav without modak,  Ganeshji’s beloved offering? This year also, our food stalls will bring some of the warmth and flavour of a Maharashtrian kitchen to the national capital. There will be steamed ukadiche modak as well as fried modak, along with puran poli, pakodas, zunka-bhakri, moong pakoda and dahi dhapate.

These are not merely items on a menu. Food carries memories, traditions and the identity of a region. A freshly prepared modak reminds us of Ganesh Chaturthi at home; zunka-bhakri speaks of the simplicity and strength of Maharashtra’s rural cuisine; and puran poli carries the unmistakable warmth of celebration. Through these women, we hope to bring an authentic taste of Maharashtra to Delhi from their kitchens and communities directly to the capital.

Alongside the aromas of Maharashtrian food will be another expression of enterprise and craftsmanship, a varied collection of bags for women and men, suitable for business, personal use and gifting. From practical office and laptop bags to handbags and pouches. The collection will also feature colourful Banjara-art pouches, traditional mirror-work patches and handcrafted designs that carry the individuality of Indian artisanship.

A modak, a bhakri, a handcrafted pouch or a business bag may seem like a small purchase. But behind each is a producer, a skill, a livelihood and an aspiration.

The obstacle for small enterprises is often not production. It is the market. During my years of working closely with women’s Self-Help Groups, I repeatedly saw something remarkable. Rural women could produce excellent food products, handicrafts and household goods. They could organise themselves, save, borrow, learn new skills and build enterprises. But one obstacle returned again and again: Where will we sell?

A woman may know how to make an excellent product. But producing something and building a sustainable enterprise around it are two very different things. She needs packaging, branding, transport, digital payments, customer feedback and, above all, consistent access to markets. That last mile can determine whether an enterprise survives.

This understanding is also at the heart of AnirvedShakti Foundation and our initiative "Shakti on Wheels"  taking products made by women closer to consumers rather than waiting for consumers to discover them.

The participation of these entrepreneurs at the Ganesh Sewa Mandal celebrations is another small step in the same journey.

From their small enterprises in a village to a festive marketplace in Delhi. From just making products to meeting customers. From livelihood to enterprise. From an obstacle to an opportunity.

There is another lesson in the image of Ganeshji that I find deeply meaningful. His vehicle is the tiny mushak,  the mouse symbolising that the gigantc and the tiny can coexist effortlessly.

This also carries a message for our economy.  Not everything meaningful has to begin big. A woman making papads from her home is an entrepreneur. A Self-Help Group preparing traditional foods is an enterprise. A young person starting a unit with support under PMEGP is building the foundations of industry and for me personally,  it is initiating Shakti on wheels 

Small beginnings deserve big opportunities. When we buy from such entrepreneurs, we are doing something more than purchasing a product. We are recognising their skill and strengthening their confidence. We are helping income travel back to a household and allowing an enterprise to take one more step towards independence.

Empowerment is strongest when it comes with economic agency and dignity. May we become faciltators in removing obstacles which we can.  Bappa is there to take care of bigger obstacles and so my prayer to Him is not only to remove the obstacles from our own paths but also to give us the strength to remove obstacles from someone else’s path.”

Sometimes we can do that simply by opening a door. By giving a woman entrepreneur space in a housing society, by inviting an SHG to a corporate campus, by buying a locally made product, by introducing a small producer to a larger market, by choosing opportunity over charity.

Because sustainable empowerment is not about doing things for people. It is about creating conditions in which people can move forward through their own ability, enterprise and determination.

As Ganesh Sewa Mandal, Laxmi Nagar celebrates twenty-five years of devotion, I hope the participation of these five small enterprises adds another dimension to the celebration and  devotion expressed through opportunity.

May Ganeshji, our beloved Vighnaharta, remove the obstacles before them. And may He also inspire each one of us to become, in our own small way, a facilitator  in someone else’s journey.

Ganpati Bappa Morya!

R. Vimala, IAS Retired, MH 2009

Subject Matter Expert, CBC & YASHADA

Former Resident Commissioner, Maharashtra Sadan & Secretary, GoM,

Founder AnirvedShakti Foundation,

PhD Scholar at IIT Bombay 

Krishna, Bhakti, and the Art of Living Unshaken..A reflection on Janmashtami...

Krishna, Bhakti, and the Art of Living Unshaken..

A reflection on Janmashtami...

Yesterday was Krishna Janmashtami. Many of us were fasting or praying to Krishna in different ways. As the familiar images of little Krishna with his flute, peacock feather, mischievous smile and butter pot appeared everywhere, I found myself thinking about why Krishna has always been a favourite God. Was it because, despite being a God, He feels so wonderfully human? Is it because we feel that he is not some distant divinity beyond our reach? 

Every other avatar arrives with a mission attached into His very posture. Rama walks upright with dharma on his shoulders, Narasimha tears through adharma with fury. Krishna, instead, arrives as a baby who had to be smuggled across a flooding Yamuna in the dead of night, hidden in a basket, so that a tyrant uncle does not kill him as he killed seven of his siblings before him. He lived amidst danger to his life.  He grew up surrounded by uncertainty yet he laughed, played, teased, loved, protected counseled and stood beside those who needed  him as much as he does for all of us now. So  somewhere in that journey, Krishna becomes more than a God we worship. He becomes someone we can turn to specially when in despair. 

Krishna's birth itself is deeply moving as he was born in a prison, to parents who had already suffered the unimaginable grief of losing seven children. There were no celebrations on his birth. Instead there was anxiety to keep him safe from Kansa. His father Vasudeva had to carry him  across the flooding Yamuna in the darkness of the night to save his life. It was a very unusual beginning for the one whom millions would later worship as their IshtDev. Maybe that is where lies the first lesson of Krishna's life, difficult circumstances at the beginning do not determine the destination.

Krishna's childhood too was always full of  danger. Putana and other demons came to kill him. There were repeated attempts on his life. Yet we always remember Bal Krishna, with joy and without fear. He reminds of laughter, of mischief as a little boy stealing butter, breaking pots, troubling the Gopis. Yashoda Maiyya runs behind him which tell us about the infinite God allowing himself to be chased and scolded by his mother. 

The image of Krishna as a young boy lifting Govardhan Parvat on his little finger is another learning. He encounters thunder, rain and fear with childful glee. For a bhakta, this act is a  metaphor as all of us encounter thunderstorms in form of illness or loss or  professional setbacks, financial worries, broken relationships, loneliness, disappointment or simply circumstances over which we have no control. At such moments, Krishna bhakti is very comforting because the storm may not stop but we can seek shelter beneath the mountain. Faith does not mean that difficulties will never come but in believing that Krishna would be our guiding light and that we are not alone. 

Of course, the Krishna of the Mahabharata is very different from the mischievous child of Vrindavan, yet he remains the same God engulfing us in his benevolence and love. He stood by the Pandavas through their long journey of injustice, exile, humiliation and war.

But he is remembered most as Draupadi's protector when she cried for his help during her darkest moment. That support has remained as  one of the most powerful symbols of surrender and faith. When every worldly support had failed  Draupadi turned to Krishna and his response is deeply reassuring to a bhakta. It does not mean that Krishna will magically remove every difficulty from our lives. The Pandavas themselves endured years of suffering despite having Krishna beside them.That itself is an important lesson.

God's presence does not necessarily mean the absence of struggle but it means receiving the strength, wisdom and direction to walk through it.

Another quality of Krishna that fascinates me is His composure. His life was filled with extraordinary challenges. He was born under threat, survived repeated attempts to be killed, had to leave Vrindavan, confront Kansa,  navigates kingdoms, alliances, egos and conflicts. He also had to stand at the centre of one of the greatest wars. And yet, the image we carry of Krishna is rarely one of anxiety. He is always smiling, playing flute, not worried about victory or defeat which teaches us that seriousness of purpose does not require heaviness of heart. We must learn to face difficult circumstances without allowing them to occupy every corner of our mind. We can do what needs to be done and still retain our inner smile. 

Another touching side of Krishna is his affection for Sudama, his childhood friend, when he visits him after many years. Krishna is now the king of Dwarka, while Sudama is still very poor.  He brings only a small gift of poha, beaten rice with jaggery which Krishna loved to eat.  Krishna welcomes him warmly, valuing the love behind the gift rather than its worth reminding us that true friendship rises above wealth, status, and time. Krishna understands Sudama’s needs even before he asks. Perhaps that is bhakti too the faith that the Divine understands even our silence. 

Krishna's greatest gift to humanity does not come in a temple or ashram but on a battlefield. When Arjuna was confused, overwhelmed and unable to act against his kin on the battlefield,  Krishna did not simply command him to fight.  He talked to him, explained duty, action, knowledge, devotion, discipline, the nature of the Self and the importance of equanimity. What followed was the Bhagavad Gita, a timeless masterclass in life management.

One teaching has travelled with generations is 

कर्मण्येवाधिकारस्ते मा फलेषु कदाचन। Our right is to action, not to the fruits of action. This is very difficult to practice since we want outcomes, appreciation, success and we get get frustrated when we don't get them. Krishna gently shifts our focus to doing karma sincerely and to the best of our ability. Also Krishna does not ask us to stop feeling. He asks us not to become prisoners of every passing emotion.

And after philosophy, reasoning, questions and answers, Krishna ultimately brings Arjuna to something beautifully simple trust when he says मामेकं शरणं व्रज।, Come to Me. Take refuge in Me.

And then He says those two words that have comforted countless hearts: मा शुचः। Do not grieve, Do not fear, which contains the entire journey of Krishna bhakti 

When the future seems uncertain or painful, Ma Shucha, not because nothing painful will happen, but because pain need not become permanent despair. Do your karma. Keep your dharma. Accept what you cannot control. And somewhere beyond your own limited ability to manage everything, learn to surrender.

Maybe this is why Krishna continues to fascinate generation after generation. He does not ask us to withdraw from life but enter it completely. Love deeply. Laugh freely. Fulfil our responsibilities. Stand against injustice. Protect those who depend upon us.Remain calm when circumstances become difficult. Perform our karma without becoming obsessed with its fruits.And when our own strength seems insufficient, surrender the rest.

That, for me, is the beauty of Krishna.

He is divine enough to lift Govardhan, yet human enough to steal butter.Wise enough to give us the Gita, yet loving enough to become Arjuna's charioteer. Powerful enough to change the course of history, yet accessible enough for a frightened heart simply to call, Krishna. Maybe that is why Krishna bhakti is so reassuring because somewhere between the flute of Vrindavan and the battlefield of Kurukshetra, Krishna teaches us how to live.

society...

R. Vimala, IAS Retd. MH 2009

Former Resident Commissioner & Secretary, Government of Maharashtra

Founder, AnirvedShakti Foundation

PhD Research Scholar, Centre for Policy Studies, IIT Bombay

Beyond the Rakhi: Fraternity, Dignity and the Sisters of India...

Beyond the Rakhi: Fraternity, Dignity and the Sisters of India...

Yesterday, was Raksha Bandhan and sisters tied a rakhi around the wrists of their brothers. This was accompanied by sweets, laughter, photographs, gifts and promises. At the heart of this festival is a beautiful sentiment, a bond of affection and a promise to stand by one another.

It led me to think, if every woman is someone’s sister, daughter, mother or wife, why does she become just a “woman” when she steps outside her home? And why must a woman be somebody’s sister, mother, daughter or wife to deserve respect?  Isn't she also a human, a citizen entitled to dignity? 

This despite the fact that our constitution had guaranteed equality to every citizen more than seventy-five years ago. It's Preamble not only promises Justice, Liberty and Equality but also asks us to promote “Fraternity assuring the dignity of the individual.”

The choice of words reflects great thought behind it. Laws can guarantee equality. Courts can protect liberty. Governments can enact legislation. But fraternity has to come from society. It is about how we see another human being and whether we adress a stranger with the same dignity as we adress someone we love. 

For women, the Constitution has given greater protection as Article 15 prohibits discrimination on the ground of sex, while Article 15(3) specifically permits the State to make special provisions for women and children.This constitutional space for affirmative or protective measures emphasises a basic reality : formal equality alone cannot correct centuries of social and structural inequality.

India has consequently enacted laws addressing dowry, domestic violence, sexual harassment, rape, trafficking and other forms of violence against women. Yet the number of crimes  against women compel us to ask : Have constitutional values travelled from the provisions of our Constitution into our homes, streets, workplaces and minds? 

The National Crime Records Bureau, NCRB report 2025 records that 4,45,256  cases of crime against women were registered across India, including over 1,200 cases every day or roughly one registered case every 70 seconds. The crime rate was 66.4 per lakh female population. What is even more disturbing is the nature of these crimes.The largest category was cruelty by husband or his relatives with over 1,33,000 cases, nearly 31 per cent of all registered crimes against women. Kidnapping and abduction of women accounted for 88,605 cases, while 83,891 cases involved assault on women with intent to outrage their modesty. Observing these numbers for a moment reflects that the largest category of crime against women is not necessarily committed by the unknown man lurking on a dark street. It is cruelty within relationships and families.

The National Family Health Survey data tells an equally uncomfortable story. NFHS-5 found that about 29 per cent of married women aged 18–49 reported having experienced physical or sexual violence by their husbands. The prevalence was higher among rural women, at about 31 per cent, compared with 25 per cent among urban women.

The Government has noted that the national figure declined from 31.2 per cent in NFHS-4 to 29.3 per cent in NFHS-5. That improvement should be acknowledged. But when nearly three out of every ten ever-married women surveyed report such an experience, it needs our concern.  And even these statistics tell us only what is reported or disclosed because many of the crimes go unreported for various reasons. Behind every number is a woman.This is where Raksha Bandhan should make us introspect.

We can be fiercely protective of our own sisters and yet remain indifferent to the harassment of another man's sister on a street.

We may teach our daughters to return home early but fail to teach our sons why a woman should be able to return home late without fear.

We tell women what to wear, where to go, whom to speak to and how to remain safe. Perhaps we need to spend much more time teaching boys and men about dignity, boundaries, consent and respect. A truly safe society is not one where women are safely locked inside their homes. It is one where they can walk outside without fear.

There is another contradiction I feel worried about. Some of the most commonly used abuses in our everyday language invoke someone's mother or sister. We worship the mother. We celebrate the sister. We bow before the Goddess. And yet, when anger takes over, the same sacred relationships are turned into instruments of humiliation. Why?

Use of expeltives in any language makes it harmful. Words reveal attitudes and repeated use of certain words can normalise attitudes. When the female body or a relationship with a mother or sister becomes the vocabulary through which one man insults another, it reduces a woman to an instrument for attacking male honour. Here too, fraternity must begin  with the words we choose.If we genuinely respect mothers and sisters, their identities cannot simultaneously become our favourite expletives.

Also, the deeper meaning of Raksha Bandhan cannot be confined to a thread tied once a year. Nor should raksha imply that women are weak and men are their permanent protectors.

The finest protection is not paternalism. It is creating a society in which protection becomes increasingly unnecessary because respect becomes instinctive.

A brother's responsibility cannot end with protecting his own sister. It must include never humiliating someone else's. It must tanslate into  objection against a woman being harassed in  public. It must also mean refusing to laugh at a misogynistic joke and not forwarding a degrading photograph or message. It must mean respecting a woman's “no”. It must mean sharing responsibilities at home. It must mean teaching sons that masculinity does not lie in controlling women. And importantly, it must mean believing that the dignity of a woman who is completely unknown to us is as valuable as the dignity of the woman we love the most.

Perhaps this is why the constitutional framework of fraternity is so important. Fraternity is larger than brotherhood by blood. It asks us to enlarge the boundaries of belonging and ensure dignity of the individual. The woman travelling alone in a train is someone's sister or mother but she should not need that relationship to command our respect. The woman walking home after a late shift is someone's daughter  but her safety should not depend upon whose daughter she is. The woman facing violence inside her marriage is someone's sister too  but more importantly, she is a human with constitutional dignity of her own.

This is the transition India needs the most : from just protecting my sister to respecting every woman. We have strong laws. We have constitutional safeguards. We have institutions, helplines and schemes. These are necessary but their implementation must become stronger and faster. And policing alone cannot produce fraternity.

Courts cannot legislate respect into every human interaction. A Constitution ultimately succeeds when its values become social values. So perhaps, after the celebrations are over and the rakhis slowly fade from our wrists, one thread should remain invisible but unbroken.

A thread connecting constitutional fraternity with human dignity.

A promise that the woman we do not know deserves the same respect as the sister whose rakhi we proudly wear. A promise that our sons will inherit stronger laws and better attitudes.

A promise that our language will not demean women even in anger.

And a promise that raksha will no longer mean controlling women's freedom in the name of protecting them, but creating a society in which they can exercise that freedom without fear.

The Constitution gave women equality. It permitted special provisions to overcome historical disadvantage. It guaranteed dignity.But fraternity is something no Constitution can impose upon us. We have to practise it.

This Raksha Bandhan, perhaps the most meaningful promise is not just, “I will protect my sister."  It also is: “I will respect every woman as I would want the world to respect my sister.”

When that promise becomes part of our collective conscience, the thread of Raksha Bandhan will extend far beyond one wrist, one family and one festival. It will become a thread wrapped around society...

R. Vimala, IAS Retd.  

Maharashtra Cadre, 2009 Batch

Former Resident Commissioner & Secretary, Government of Maharashtra

Founder, AnirvedShakti Foundation

PhD Research Scholar, Centre for Policy Studies, IIT Bombay

The Invisible Thread : Raksha Bandhan and Shakti

The Invisible Thread :  Raksha Bandhan and Shakti 

It was around two in the morning when my phone lit up with a WhatsApp message. “मॅडम, आम्ही पोहोचलो घोटीला.”, meaning Madam, we have reached Ghoti. It was from Shobhatai. I read and re- read the message and sighed with relief. 

They had left Mulund at around 10.20 that night after a long day at an exhibition in Worli organised by IPSOWA. Ghoti was a very long drive away. More than the distance, I was worried because their car had a flat tyre which they had replaced with a worn out tyre. But perhaps what stayed with me most that night was not the exhibition, the sales, the products or even the long hours. It was the quiet image of a brother changing the tyre of his car late at night. All evening, I had been watching a brother quietly take care of his sister. With Raksha Bandhan around the corner, it suddenly meant much more.

It has been barely two weeks since I started Shakti on Wheels, an initiative of AnirvedShakti Foundation to take products made by women Self-Help Groups directly to consumers.

For years, while working with Self-Help Groups, I had seen remarkable women create excellent products, food grains, spices, handicrafts, traditional foods, handloom and countless other things. Production had it's issues but reaching the market was the bigger challenge. Exhibitions provided opportunities, but they came and went. What women needed was regular access to customers.

Shakti on Wheels grew from that thought, a mobile marketplace that could take products made by SHG women to housing societies, offices and other spaces where customers are. 

It is a dream I have always deeply believed in so after retirement, I did not think twice before  investing nearly ₹14 lakh in the initiative. The operational expenditure approximately seven to eight thousand a day, is something I need to make the model sustainable and so  AnirvedShakti Foundation retains a 15 per cent service charge on sales of the products. And exactly that  has become one of my first challenges.

Most SHGs are reluctant to pay the service charge. Many are accustomed to government-supported exhibitions where stalls and other facilities are often free or subsidised. The idea of paying for a continuous marketing platform, transport, technology, billing, sales support and continuos access to customers is still new. Only one SHG from Raigad, selling tea, had readily come on board. A few others participated in the inauguration but were hesitant to continue with the service charge.

For someone beginning a new journey, these are the moments when questions inevitably creep in. Will this model work? Will the women find value in it? Can this become sustainable?

Then came Shobhatai's phone call. “Madam, I am with you.”

Sometimes, that is all one needs.

Shobhatai is a member of the Savitribai Phule Utpadak Gat, a women's Self-Help Group under UMED–MSRLM. She lives in Ghoti, Igatpuri. She is also a deserted woman but that is only one circumstance of her life; it is certainly not her identity.

For nearly eight years, I have known her, I have always seen her smiling, cheerful, hardworking and ready to seize every opportunity that comes her way.

She sells hand pounded rice, organically grown pulses and other farm produce. Her speciality, however, is Gir cow ghee, prepared traditionally on a chulha. We have shared many marketplaces over the years.

I remember the MahaKhadi Kalasrushti exhibition that I had organised during my tenure as CEO of the Maharashtra State Khadi and Village Industries Board. Shobhatai made bumper sales there and went on to win the first prize from SIDBI.

Last year, at the Ganesh Utsav at Maharashtra Sadan in Delhi, her Gir cow ghee was a sell-out.The same happened at the India International Trade Fair 2025 in Delhi.  She knew how to make a good product. More importantly, she knew how to stand behind it with confidence.

On 17 August, one of my seniors very kindly offered us space to organise a Shakti on Wheels exhibition at their housing society in Seawoods. It was a wonderful opportunity.

But I suddenly found myself wondering: What products will I take? The platform was ready. The opportunity was there but I needed SHGs willing to walk this new road with me.

That was when Shobhatai stepped in. She came from Ghoti carrying moong dal with chilka, gavthi chana, chawli, matki, math, Indrayani rice and, of course, her Gir cow ghee. We added her products to the tea, coffee, rakhis and a few other items already available with us.

We were supposed to reach Seawoods by 1 p.m. But Shobhatai and her brother reached us only around 11.30 a.m and there was still considerable work to be done.

We have installed professional billing software for Shakti on Wheels. Every new product therefore had to be entered into the system. Stock had to be recorded. QR codes had to be generated, printed and pasted on individual packets. It was hectic.And that was when I began noticing her brother.

He is differently abled and has difficulty with his legs. Yet he had driven all the way from Ghoti so that his sister could participate in the exhibition.He lifted bags. He carried cartons. He helped arrange the products. He assisted her while she marketed them. He moved around doing whatever needed to be done. What struck me was not merely that he helped but how he helped. without drawing attention to himself, without complaining, without appearing impatient or  making his physical difficulty the centre of the story even once.  He was simply there because his sister needed him.

The response at Seawoods was very encouraging. IPSOWA, Mumbai was organising an exhibition on the 19th August so I requested them for a stall at their exhibition in Worli, which  fortunately got approved. 

So Shobhatai and her brother had to go  back to Ghoti to replenish the  products. They returned the very next day, with more products including rice.  It was another long journey, another day of lifting, arranging, selling and packing. And once again, her brother was there, always somewhere nearby, always helping. It was actually three days of continuos hard work. 

It was almost 10 pm by the time we reached Mulund after the Worli exhibition.  Everyone was exhausted.  And then we saw that their car had a flat tyre. My heart sank.They still had to drive all the way to Ghoti. Before I could say anything, her brother got to work. No irritation. No “Not again.” No complaint about the hour, the long day, his legs or the journey still ahead.

He simply began changing the tyre. I stood there watching him. My driver helped him a little and together they got it done. That tyre too was not in good shape but they said they would repair it before setting off towards Ghoti.

I was reluctant to let them travel so late but he reassured me they would be fine. For the next few hours, somewhere at the back of my mind, I remained conscious that they were still on the road. Until, close to two in the morning, my phone lit up with the message, " मॅडम,  आम्ही पोहोचलो घोटीला.”  meaning, We have reached Ghoti. It was such a relief.  And with Raksha Bandhan round the corner, I understood what "raksha' meant 2009 brother's wrist but some of the strongest threads between brothers and sisters are invisible. They are woven through ordinary acts that nobody photographs and few people applaud.

Driving your sister hundreds of kilometres because she has an opportunity to sell her products. Lifting her bags even when walking is not easy for you. Standing quietly behind her stall while she speaks to customers. Travelling back to Ghoti and returning the next day because she needs more stock.

Changing a tyre at ten in the dark night after an exhausting day because there is still a long road home. Never once questioning, Why are you doing all this? Instead, through his actions, saying : Go ahead. I am here. In its simplest form, isn't that raksha? And isn't that also empowerment? 

We celebrate the festival with a beautiful thread tied around a

We speak so often about empowering women. We create schemes, institutions, credit linkages, training programmes and markets and all of them matter enormously.

But there is another form of empowerment that begins much closer to home. It happens when a father says, 

let her study. When a husband says, Follow your dream. When a son says, I will manage. When a brother quietly picks up his sister's bags and walks beside her.

As I thought about Shobhatai and her brother that night, I realised that these first two weeks of Shakti on Wheels have taught me something too. Starting again after a long career in government is not easy. There are investments to make, daily expenses to meet, systems to establish, people to convince and disappointments to absorb. There are moments when one wonders whether a dream is commercially viable or whether people will understand what one is trying to create. 

But then someone like Shobhatai calls and says, I am with you. A senior officer opens the doors of a housing society. IPSOWA gives women entrepreneurs a platform.

A woman travels from Ghoti to Mumbai carrying the produce of rural Maharashtra and a brother quietly carries her bags.

Suddenly, my investment, daily expenses and all the anxieties regarding Shakti On Wheels become part of something larger.

I had started Shakti on Wheels believing that empowerment meant creating markets for women.  These few days reminded me that empowerment is also about faith, someone believing in your dream before it has proved itself.

Shobhatai placed that faith in Shakti on Wheels.

Her brother placed that faith in his sister.

And perhaps I too am learning to place a little more faith in this new journey of mine.

At two in the morning, that simple WhatsApp message was not merely telling me that they had reached Ghoti. 

For me, it carried another message,  "Keep going. Shakti is on its way." And sometimes, quietly walking beside Shakti, is a brother.

Season's Greetings for the ensuing Raksha Bandhan...

R. Vimala, IAS Retd. 

Maharashtra Cadre, 2009 Batch

Former Resident Commissioner & Secretary, Government of Maharashtra

Founder, AnirvedShakti Foundation

PhD Research Scholar, Centre for Policy Studies, 

When the Doors of Home Closed : Stories of Partition, Courage and New Beginnings

When the Doors of Home Closed : Stories of Partition, Courage and New Beginnings

Independence Day, is a day when the flag will be hoisted and patriotic songs will be sung to celebrate the remarkable journey our country has made since 1947.

But on the eve of Independence Day, I found myself looking at another side of freedom as I had the opportunity to visit the Partition Museum and Cultural Hub at the historic Dara Shukoh Library in Delhi for an event commemorating Partition and remembering the refugees who came to India.

As a student of history, I have been familiar with partition. We have read about the political negotiations, the Radcliffe Line, the violence, the trains crossing borders and the creation of two nations. I have also had a long career as an administrator, as a Collector and District Magistrate , as someone who has signed  on relief, rehabilitation and resettlement orders in one form or another for over three decades. I thought I understood displacement as a subject. Yet, today for the first time, in a  physical way, I understood what displacement feels like from the inside as I walked through the partition museum.

Here, history stopped being a chapter in a textbook. It became a ration card, a ledger, an old electricity meter, a newspaper, some  photographs, some post cards, a refugee tent and above all, memories.

Partition displaced more than 20 million people across the subcontinent. Such huge numbers sound impersonal but museums like this one make us look beyond the number.

During the event, my interactions with Shri.Salwan and the Luthra siblings who spoke about their experiences and memories gave me glimpses of what displacement really meant. 

Imagine being told that the town where your family had lived for generations was suddenly in another country and you had to leave your own house behind and literally flee. 

Urmila Luthra said that when their train from Pakistan reached Anritsar, India, the Muslims celebrated because their train had come safely so they too would go back safe. She had seen burning houses from their uncle's home in Jhelum where they had taken refuge. Later, during their visit to Pakistan in 2006 they could go their school in Sargotha whose whitewashed walls had Sanskrit inscribed on them.

The Partition museum is housed in a historical mughal, british and contemporary structure and has nine halls dedicated to different themes with objects, documents and photographs donated by various families who had migrated. The refugees could not bring back their immovable properties but some of them managed to get their valuable jewellery or moveable assets. 

When they lost their homes or property it was not just a physical loss but a loss of comfort of their own home and living under canvas tents in cramped spaces at Purana Qila and areas around Humayun's Tomb which became refugee camps. They had to stand in long queues for food and essential supplies with ration cards.

 I was extremely disturbed looking at a ration card in the museum imagining the plight of people who may have owned homes, farms, shops and businesses who became refugees. Their identity changed almost overnight and they were forced to encounter uncertainty in places like  Kingsway Camp, Faridabad, Ulhasnagar camp in Mumbai and other places which became makeshift shelters. Yet they survived and moved towards rebuilding their lives. 

According to the 1951 Census, refugees constituted 28.4 per cent of Delhi's population.That statistic made me look at Delhi differently. The city we know today was shaped substantially by people who arrived here after losing almost everything.

Land was acquired. New settlements came up. Barren spaces were transformed into thriving neighbourhoods such as Lajpat Nagar and Kingsway Camp. Faridabad was developed as a model township, particularly for more than 30,000 people displaced from the North-West Frontier Province.

People started businesses again. They built schools, created institutions, educated their children. They entered new professions, rebuilt families and communities.

The refugee who had stood in a queue for rations became a shopkeeper, teacher, entrepreneur, professional, artist, administrator or political leader. This transformation is one of independent India's great untold stories.

Some of the smallest exhibits told the biggest stories. I was particularly moved by an exhibit of a ledger book of Sardar Harbhajan Singh Bhatia, retrieved decades later from his former home in Okara, now in Pakistan. A ledger is an ordinary object while a business is functioning. Once that business, town and country have been left behind, it becomes evidence of an entire lost life.

There is another extraordinary story of Priyanka Mehta, who visited her maternal grandmother's home in Lahore. The family which is living there now, had preserved the old electricity meter of the house. They had kept it because they thought that someday someone from the original family might return. They gave it to her  when she went. Imagine someone preserving an old electricity meter which became priceless because of it's memories. 

The story also reflects the fact that borders divided people, politics created nations but ordinary human beings were still capable of preserving someone else's memory for them.

For the Hindu Sindhi community, partition meant something even more profound. They did not simply leave individual houses or towns. Their entire geographical homeland remained in Pakistan.The museum recreates something of the Sindh they left behind  its beautiful woodwork, carved doors, architecture, neighbourhoods and shared cultural spaces. Standing there, one begins to understand that homeland is not merely land, it is language, food, music, architecture, customs, festivals.

You can build another house but how does one recreate a homeland? And yet the Sindhi community carried Sindh  through language, enterprise, culture, food and memory wherever their people settled.

Another gallery speaks about rebuilding relationships. The Mianwali Gazette, for example, helped refugees from Mianwali scattered across India to remain connected. Places of worship became spaces where memories of lost hometowns could survive. Communities recreated social bonds that Partition had torn apart.

Many survivors rarely spoke initially about what they had endured as they simply did not have time to grieve They had to find jobs, restart businesses, build homes and feed children. They had to build a new life and found little time to grieve or speak about their loss. 

Only decades later did many begin speaking about their childhood homes, often to their grandchildren. Perhaps that generation carried its trauma quietly because it wanted its children to inherit opportunity rather than bitterness.

There is something particularly meaningful about the museum being located in the historic Dara Shukoh Library which has witnessed centuries of change. Dara Shukoh is remembered for scholarship, intellectual curiosity and his engagement with different religious and philosophical traditions.

The building passed through several lives before falling into disuse. Today, restored and adapted, it has become a place for remembering one of the most painful episodes in modern Indian history. A building that survived history now preserves history.

The first Partition Museum was established in Amritsar in 2017 by The Arts and Cultural Heritage Trust (TAACHT). The Delhi museum followed at the Dara Shukoh Library in 2023.

What impressed me greatly is that this is truly a people's museum. The objects, photographs, oral histories and personal memories come from families themselves.

There was one moment during my visit that has stayed with me. I stood before a magnificent old carved wooden door in the museum.  As I stood beside it, I suddenly wondered about the millions of people, whose doors  just closed behind them. I imagined about everything they left behind.  A courtyard where children had played. A tree planted by a grandfather. A family shop. The neighbourhood school, the familiar street. The temple or gurudwara.Neighbours who had celebrated festivals and weddings together. The sound of one's mother tongue spoken everywhere around you.

Lady Kishwar Desai deserves enormous appreciation for her vision and persistence in creating these spaces of memory. To recognise that the rapidly disappearing voices of Partition survivors needed to be recorded and then to transform that idea into institutions where future generations can encounter those voices is a remarkable contribution to preserving India's social history.

I also compliment Ms.Deepali Khanna and the team associated with the Delhi museum for creating a space that does not merely display history but allows visitors to feel it.

This is certainly not an easy history to curate. It has pain, violence and displacement. Yet the museum does not leave feelings of hatred in the visitor. Instead, its journey gradually takes us from loss and refuge to rebuilding, relationships, hope and courage. That balance is important, which is why our young people must visit the museum .

I particularly wish young Delhiites would come here. To a generation born decades after the Partition, 1947 can easily become another date or year in a history textbook which it shouldn't. Young people who shop in  Lajpat Nagar,  Khan  Market  or pass through Kingsway Camp or travel around Delhi should know something about the people who built these neighbourhoods

They should see that ration card, the refugee tents, the ledger brought back from Okara, the electricity meter preserved in Lahore because history understood through human lives teaches something textbooks cannot. It teaches us empathy and resilience. It teaches us how quickly the security we take for granted can disappear. It teaches us the dangers of hatred and division.

The people who arrived as refugees did not spend the rest of their lives looking only at the doors that had closed behind them.

They opened new ones.

The museum has a lovely concept called The Post Box of Your Dreams and Hopes. Visitors can leave messages to the past, the present or the future. So my dear young people, come and listen to these stories of history, because soon there will be no living generation that remembers 1947 firsthand.

Tomorrow, when the national flag rises, let's celebrate Independence Day a little differently. Let's remember the refugee standing in a ration queue, the mother protecting her children in a camp,  the businessman beginning again from a roadside stall. The Sindhi family carrying its homeland within its language and culture. And the millions whose names will never appear in a history book.

Independence and Partition came together in August 1947.One brought the joy of freedom. The other brought unimaginable loss. Remembering the suffering does not diminish our celebration of Independence. It deepens our understanding of what freedom means.

Every Delhiite should visit the Partition Museum at least once. And if you have children or grandchildren, take them with you.

Let them see. Let them ask questions. Let them understand that the freedom we celebrate was accompanied by an enormous human price and that the India they inherited was built not only by those who fought for freedom, but also by millions who lost their homes and still found the courage to begin again.

Perhaps that is the lesson I carried home today.

Freedom gave India a new beginning but the refugees of Partition showed us the courage it takes to begin again.

R. Vimala, IAS Retired, 

Former Resident Commissioner & Secretary, Government of Maharashtra

Founder, AnirvedShakti Foundation

PhD Research Scholar, Centre for Policy Studies, IIT Bombay