Croc seen in Powai lake, right behind IIT-B hostel
Photographer Ramesh Kamble, with his Instagram handle savkash.sai, posted a video of the crocodile observed behind the IIT-B hostel, which has created considerable interest among activists.
NatConnect Foundation, which, along with local resident groups, is running a campaign to clean up and conserve the wetland, called for a census of the crocodiles in the lake. "There were supposed to be 18 crocodiles present in the lake as per a study done a few years ago, but a fresh crocodile count should be done now," NatConnect director B N Kumar said.
Environmentalist D Stalin noted, "Besides water pollution at Powai lake, it is observed that the basking and nesting sites of crocodiles here are severely disturbed due to human activities. A new 5-star hotel building has been constructed near the lake, while IIT has also installed metal grills to stop crocscoming into their campus. I have earlier mentioned this to BMC."
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The Print
4 hours ago
- The Print
Postcards from Hyderabad—stories Europeans told about the city
This article, however, is less about the politics of representation—though those debates are in your face and inevitably seep into the conversation. The ghost of the Edwardian nazar (postcolonial gaze) lingers in the corners, impossible to ignore. My intention here is somewhat different: above all else, this is an essay about Hyderabad , a city that has joined the places I now carry with me. What forms the basis of imperial fascination with Hyderabad? Which 'lives' of the city are deemed worthy of remembrance ? (As a brief aside, it is worth noting that the word souvenir derives from the Latin subvenire , meaning 'to occur to the mind,' or more simply, 'to remember.') The postcards often featured the lifeworlds of the imperial subjects, reflecting the empire's unsurprising desire to 'see' its subjects and their worlds. Postcards became an apparatus of imperial representation. These images participated in the construction of what Palestinian-American academic and literary critic Edward Said might call an 'Orientalist mise-en-scène'—picturesque, passive, and eminently collectible. Although ostensibly epistolary, postcards were also ethnographic. At its core, the idea of a postcard is deceptively simple: a portable visual object, often functioning as a souvenir of place, memory, or moment. Between the 1890s and the 1920s was a period now called the 'postcard boom'. Enabled by improvements in lithographic printing, postal reforms, and the growing mobility of bodies and images across empires, the postcard emerged as the perfect distillation of modernity: portable, pictorial, and public. A postcard is often a declaration of 'I have been here'. The idea of coupling an image with proof of presence is hardly unfamiliar to a generation fluent in Instagram stories. Curiously, a postcard from the early 20th century (reproduced below) contains this very declaration as its caption. Issued by A. Abid & Company of Hyderabad, it features a panoramic view of the Nizam's Charminar Palace, surrounded by a reservoir, garden, palm tree, and a fountain. This palace was also the residence of Albert Abid, an Armenian-origin Chamberlain to the Nizam and owner of the postcard firm, along with his wife Annie. Hyderabadis will know 'Abids' as a commercial complex that continues to stand on over 150 years of local history. Albert and Annie enjoyed being in close quarters to the Nizam, but their curious life and story is one for another telling. Abid & Co. was a major local player in Hyderabad's postcard trade, curating an impressive collection that showcased the city's iconic landmarks: Charminar, Golconda Fort, Mecca Masjid, among others. Globally, however, the dominant player was Raphael Tuck & Sons, a London-based publisher renowned for its lavish, hand-tinted postcards and its close ties to the British royal family, distributing imperial imagery across continents. Hyderabad was not as much a darling of the Raphael Tuck &Sons catalogue as Calcutta, Bombay, or Madras. Even so, the postcard's memorialisation of Hyderabad forms the ground for thoughtful scholarship. One postcard that I find particularly fascinating is titled 'Hyderabad. Arms Sellers'. It was released in 1908 by Raphael Tuck & Sons, as part of their 'Native Life in India Series II'. The richly coloured postcard paints the princely state of Hyderabad through a lens of exoticism and martial nobility. Three dark-skinned men, wearing richly hued turbans and flowing garments, seated amid a gleaming display of curved swords and weaponry. The postcard perfectly confirmed Orientalist fantasies, a place where swords gleamed and men wore colourful turbans. Hyderabad was historically notable for its tradition of arms manufacturing and trading, particularly during the Nizam's rule in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The city had a substantial presence of arms dealers, such as the Rafiq Armoury, which was established in 1872 and remains one of the oldest arms and ammunition dealerships in India for over 150 years. By 1908, when this postcard was produced, the world had already entered an era of mechanised warfare dominated by sophisticated European weapons. Yet here, in this carefully curated image of Hyderabad, the weapons of choice are still curved swords. In contrast, the British Empire's power by this time rested on far more 'sophisticated' terms: technological superiority, standardised artillery, and an industrialised army. Equally fascinating is the caption that accompanies the postcard. The caption reads 'Arms Sellers, Hyderabad. Hyderabad, the capital of the state of the same name, is celebrated for its swords and other arms. The population, which is about 500,000, consists of mixed elements, and is full of warlike spirit and nearly everyone carries a weapon. Hyderabad is one of the greatest centers of Mohammedanism in India.' The caption appears to be saying a lot about the city in general. It is presented as a repository of martial tradition and religious identity. The mention of 'warlike spirit' and a population where 'nearly everyone carries a weapon' lends the image of curious fascination about civilised primitivism. The reference to Hyderabad as 'one of the greatest centers of Mohammedanism in India' also flattens the city for an European viewership who would have read 'Mohammedan' as a marker of both exotic difference and imperial anxiety. It is also fairly evident that these arms sellers are framed not as individuals, but as representatives of a type: the exotic native warrior, purveyor of arms, vestige of a fading martial culture. This discussion on typification grants up a good point of entry into the next postcard, perhaps one of the most popular recipient of the Edwardian postcolonial nazar— The Nautch Girls of India. This one from Hyderabad stands apart for one primary reason—it attributes a name to the nautch girl. Miss Chanda of Hyderabad. On the surface, it might appear as if the nomenclature resists genrefication of Miss Chanda. The story is a little more complicated than that. Miss Chanda is dressed in a richly detailed outfit: a lavender skirt with gold ornamentation, a white dupatta, and a tightly-fitted bodice, all pointing toward a culture of princely luxury and Islamic court traditions. There is a hint of feminine grace and affluence in the image. But of course, she is not just Miss Chanda—she is Miss Chanda of Hyderabad. Her identity is inseparable from the exotic geography she is meant to evoke. The title alone transforms her from an individual into a representative type, a kind of visual ethnography meant to educate or titillate a foreign audience. Much like the portraits of arm sellers and street scenes, this image offers a version of Hyderabad through its people—yet what it frames is not Miss Chanda's life, but her legibility as an object of curiosity. If Miss Chanda was granted partial visibility through the privilege of a name—only to be reabsorbed into the grammar of exotic femininity—then the next figure's visibility was never in question. Possibly the earliest known postcard of a named Indian ruler (with several to follow) features Mahboob Ali Khan, Asif Jah VI, the sixth Nizam of Hyderabad, and one of the richest men in the world at the time. This postcard marks a shift from anonymous 'types' discussed so far, to named power. But it does so on very specific colonial terms. The Nizam is dressed in full court regalia, the embroidery on his coat ornate, his belt tight across his waist, a heavily jewelled cap crowning his head. The postcard is highly stylised, composed like a studio portrait. The paradox that we must not forget is that despite his opulence and sovereign authority, he is a part of a collection titled 'Souvenir of East Indies', built for exotic European consumption. Also read: What makes someone a Hyderabadi—Irani chai, biryani, Nizam nostalgia, or Dakhni? Bazaars, Boats & Buildings The human figure was not the only object of fascination. The city's monuments, too, featured prominently in this visual archive. A series of postcards from the early 20th century turns its gaze toward Hyderabad's architectural grandeur, most notably the Charminar, the Golconda Fort, and the Mecca Masjid. Each of these postcards, whether of streets, mosques, palaces, or tombs, offers a distinct image of the city. Hyderabad, The Char Minar by Johnston & Hoffmann (Kolkata, c. 1903), for instance, is less about the iconic monument itself and more about the bustling bazaars and the sea of curious onlookers that fill the frame. The bustling bazaars of Hyderabad form the subject of Street at Hyderabad by Unknown Publisher, c. 1905, and the famous Sarojini Naidu poem that reads: 'What do you sell, O ye merchants? Richly your wares are displayed. Turbans of crimson and silver, Tunics of purple brocade, Mirrors with panels of amber, Daggers with handles of jade.' – Sarojini Naidu, In the Bazaars of Hyderabad In The Mosque of Machii-Kaman by Austrian artist Josef Hoffmann, the stock elephant and the lively figures in the courtyard animate the centre of the frame. Possibly the earliest known postcard of Hyderabad, it was created by Hoffmann during his visit to India in 1893–94, when he was in his sixties. In contrast, the postcard titled Tombs at Golconda, Hyderabad adopts a more pastoral tone: a boat gently approaching the rocky shore, softening the memory of empire into picturesque leisure—into a scenic tourist fantasy. These postcards draw a picturesque theatre of the exotic. Hyderabad becomes a living museum, ready for the European gaze and imagination. What then remains of these images, more than a century later? For all their colonial underpinnings, they also inadvertently preserve a trace of local memory: a glimpse of a street, a face, a forgotten name. To read these postcards today is to inhabit a complicated temporality—one in which the empire looks, but we, too, look back. This essay, then, is not an attempt to salvage truth from image, nor to dismantle colonial visuality in totality. These postcards may have once said, 'I have been here,' but today they ask instead, 'What was here—and for whom?' (Note: All postcards have been sourced from online blogs and archives. The following set is drawn from Paper Jewels, a free-access postcard collection: Miss Chanda of Hyderabad; Arms Sellers, Nizam von Hyderabad; The Char Minar; In the Mosque of Machii-Kaman; Tombs at Golconda, Hyderabad; James Bazaar Street, Secunderabad; and Street at Hyderabad.) Souvik Nath recently completed a Master's degree in English Literature from the University of Hyderabad. His research interests centre on colonial modernity and its textual manifestations. Views are personal. (Edited by Ratan Priya)
Indian Express
8 hours ago
- Indian Express
Gujarati medium schooling to a seat at IIT Guwahati: Journey of a BTech student
I first heard about IIT when my cousin, who is four years older than I, secured a seat in the Indian Institute of Technology Delhi (IIT Delhi). At that time, I didn't really know much about IITs. When I asked my father, he told me that IITs are the best colleges in India, and only a very small number of students make it through, given the limited number of seats. Listening to him, I was in awe, and somewhere inside me, my ego pushed me to prepare for the Joint Entrance Examination (JEE). That was when my journey began. I formally started preparing for JEE in Class 9. I enrolled in coaching classes and used to go to school on weekdays and attend JEE classes on weekends for 3-4 hours straight. Initially, it was hard to manage, but gradually, I adapted to the rhythm. I am 21 years old and I come from Ahmedabad, Gujarat. Currently, I am in my fourth year in the Electronics and Communication Engineering (ECE) department at IIT Guwahati. JEE preparation and challenges Coming from a Gujarati-medium school, I was worried because JEE Advanced can only be attempted in English. But I soon realised I wasn't alone – many students were in the same situation. The toughest phase was during the COVID-19 pandemic, when all classes shifted online. Like many others, I found it difficult to focus, and the negativity around made it harder to concentrate. My family stood by me during that period, and I will always be grateful to them. Thankfully, the exams were postponed by two months, which gave me extra preparation time. I appeared for JEE Mains and Advanced in 2022 and secured an All India Rank of 1646. I was also a top scorer in my school. Choosing IIT Guwahati With my rank, I had some difficult choices. I could take Aerospace at IIT Bombay (a better college but not a preferred branch) or Computer Science at IIT Ropar (a better branch but a newer IIT). I also had options like Electronics and Electrical at IIT Roorkee and IIT Kharagpur, and Electronics and Communication at IIT Guwahati. After going through the course structures and consulting my seniors, I chose IIT Guwahati. My advice to newcomers is to always weigh both extremes – branch and college – before deciding. Also, never hesitate to fill in your dream options, even if they seem out of reach. First days in IIT I first came to IIT Guwahati in October 2022. The excitement of hostel life was mixed with fear and uncertainty. Adjusting meant making new friends, starting with my roommate, then hostel mates, and gradually forming a small group. Like most students, I missed home food, but I got used to the mess eventually. Clubs became an important part of my life. I joined Techniche, was part of Cepstrum (Electronics and Electrical Engineering student body), and worked with the electronics club, organising events. Balancing these activities with academics often meant sacrificing sleep, but the experiences were worth it. Life at IIT IIT has taught me a lot and given me confidence. Meeting new people exposed me to different perspectives, and joining clubs showed me the effort behind every event. I also realised that IIT provides opportunities to develop skills far beyond academics. In my first year, my routine was packed – labs in the morning, classes in the afternoon, and sports in the evening. By the second year, I was working actively in two to three clubs, spending my time between academics, club activities, and chilling with friends. I also enjoy reading books and writing stories. There are plenty of hangout spots on campus. I often go to the new Student Activity Centre (SAC) building, walk around the lake, or sit in the hostel common room. I also love cycling at night – during my first and second years, I cycled for 40-45 minutes almost every night. My professors here are of all types – some are strict with attendance and grading, while others are lenient. But one common thing is that every professor truly enjoys teaching and encourages students who seek guidance. Experiences and reflections At IIT, inter-hostel and inter-IIT competitions – be it in sports, cultural, or technical activities – make life exciting. Compared to my friends in other colleges, I feel lucky to have such a vibrant extracurricular environment. Of course, there are challenges too. Hostel infrastructure at IIT Guwahati lags behind newer IITs, and I wish there were more flexibility to pursue research from the undergraduate level. I've tried many hobbies – chess, tennis, table tennis, drawing, skating, swimming, and even hockey (which I joined in my first year). The only regret is not being consistent with them. Still, these experiences taught me a lot. Daily life and expenses Most of my expenses go into canteen food and outings. Like many students, I dislike mess food, so late-night canteen trips became frequent. We also often went to the city on scooters for movies or dinners. Despite the expenses, I cherish these moments, the late-night snacks, cycling, and long conversations with friends. Looking ahead One important lesson IIT has taught me is to never stop trying. Success may not always come, but regrets last longer than failures. Every decision has consequences, and owning them without giving up is the key. After my BTech, I plan to pursue a Master's degree in core engineering. I am currently preparing for the GRE (Graduate Record Examinations). I believe a Master's will help me strengthen my knowledge and open more opportunities in the future. IIT has been my guidebook for life so far, shaping me into a more confident, adaptable, and forward-looking person.
Hindustan Times
a day ago
- Hindustan Times
Step inside Nehru family's 2 Allahabad homes: Both Swaraj Bhawan and Anand Bhawan mix colonial and Indian architecture
In an August 15, 2024 article, Architectural Digest India captured glimpses of both Anand Bhawan and Swaraj Bhawan, 'the Nehru family's ancestral homes in Allahabad (now known as Prayagraj)' – both were central to India's freedom struggle, with many prominent leaders and activists visiting and meeting there. Also read | Step inside Juhi Chawla husband Jai Mehta's timeless and whimsical ancestral home in Gujarat's Porbandar built in 1920s Anand Bhawan and Swaraj Bhawan are two historic houses in Prayagraj (formerly Allahabad). (Pictures: Instagram/ Architectural Digest India, Simon Watson) Inside photos of Anand Bhawan Anand Bhawan, located in Prayagraj, Uttar Pradesh, was the brainchild of Motilal Nehru, a prominent leader in India's freedom struggle and father of Jawaharlal Nehru, India's first Prime Minister. Alongside inside photos of the home, the publication shared that the first-floor library in Anand Bhawan was the soul of a household full of avid readers and more than any particular architect, the spirit behind the construction of Anand Bhawan was Motilal Nehru himself. The building showcases a mix of Indian and Western architectural styles, with intricate details and ornate features. The magnificent structure with 'onion domes, decorative railings, jalis and rich internal embellishments, such as the plasterwork on this stairwell', served as the residence of the Nehru family and played a significant role in India's independence movement. Inside photos of Swaraj Bhawan The publication shared that 'the older, and more stately, of the two Nehru residences is where the foundations of the Non-cooperation Movement were laid'. It now functions as a museum. The bungalow, with a mix of colonial and Indian architectural elements, features arches framing the veranda, Nandi sculptures at the courtyard entrance, a central courtyard that showcases the blend of architectural styles, and endless corridors leading to different rooms. Did you know Swaraj Bhawan boasts of a colonial-era swimming pool, a rare feature in historic Indian homes? The massive home is a blend of Western and Indian cultural influences, showcasing the cultural exchange and adaptation that occurred during the colonial era.
