Studying in one's mother tongue instils strong values: CJI Gavai
The CJI visited classrooms at his alma mater, Chikitsak Samuh Shirodkar School, and interacted with his old classmates.
Having studied from primary to secondary levels at this very institution, he expressed deep gratitude to the teachers who shaped his early life, an official release stated.
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Hindustan Times
18 hours ago
- Hindustan Times
Yadava era inscription discovered in Junnar taluka, records land grant by King Singhanadeva
A stone inscription dating back nearly 800 years to the reign of King Singhanadeva 2, regarded as one of the most powerful and expansionist rulers of the Yadava dynasty, has been discovered in Thorali Shiroli village, Junnar taluka, Pune district. Having remained unnoticed for years, the inscription was found in a small shrine on the premises of local resident, Gulabrao Thorve's house. Importantly, this is the first known inscription from King Singhanadeva's reign discovered in Pune district, making it a significant historical find. The inscription was found in a small shrine on the premises of local resident, Gulabrao Thorve's house. (HT PHOTO) There's more. The inscription records the grant of land for cultivation, specifying that one-sixth of the land was donated and concludes with a curse that anyone who steals or disrespects the grant will face a disgraceful fate of being born of a union between his mother and a donkey. The curse is symbolically reinforced by the figure of a donkey carved below the text. The Yadavas ruled from the 9th to the 14th century and controlled vast regions of western and central India, with their capital located at Devagiri which is the present-day Daulatabad in Maharashtra. King Singhanadeva 2 of the Yadava dynasty played a key role in shaping the political landscape of medieval India. He ruled from 1199 to 1248 AD during which time, he led successful campaigns and expanded his kingdom across Gujarat, Malwa, Karnataka, Andhra, Kosala (Chhattisgarh) and Kalinga (southern Odisha). The inscription offers valuable insights into the political and cultural landscape of the era as deciphered by Pune-based history researchers, Atharva Pingale and Anil Dudhaney. The inscription written in the Marathi language using the Devanagari script suggests it belongs to the 13th century although it lacks a direct date of reference. The inscription comprises three lines: 'Shri Singhandeve dat kam Mathachi sati sustu (Jo dana) na pali' The lines as translated in English mean, 'King Singhanadeva donated land for cultivation; one sixth portion should be donated. Whoever violates this donation shall face the curse of being born of a union between his mother and a donkey.' Dudhaney explained, 'The land granted for farming is referred to as 'kamat' or 'kammat' during the Yadava period. The inscription does not mention the recipient, suggesting it is private and fragmentary in nature.' Pingale noted, 'We see an increase in Marathi inscriptions during Singhanadeva's reign. His other inscriptions have been found in border regions like Kolhapur, Solapur, and Nanded. This period marks the emergence of Marathi as an administrative language.' 'During the 1980s, the condition of archaeological research in Maharashtra was quite good. Today however, we lack a proper mechanism to study these inscriptions. There are no official epigraphists appointed by the government. Those who are currently studying inscriptions are doing so independently at their own level but they have limitations and cannot do much beyond a point. Unfortunately, the government does not pay enough attention to this field,' Pingale said. 'The Maharashtra Sahitya Sanskruti Mandal has published many inscriptions in the past. In contrast, neighbouring states like Tamil Nadu and Karnataka are far more advanced and efficient in this area. They work diligently to preserve inscription sites, regularly study them, and publish their findings in a systematic manner; we should also follow a similar approach,' Pingale further said.
Indian Express
2 days ago
- Indian Express
Pune tops Maharashtra State Scholarship Exam
Written By Aryesh Chakraborty The Pune district has bagged the maximum number of positions in the Merit List for the Maharashtra State Scholarship Examination, the results of which were declared on Friday. In the Pre-Secondary Scholarship exam for Class 5 students, 68 students from Pune made it to the Merit List. Of these, 37 students were from rural areas, 19 from urban schools, and 12 from CBSE/ICSE schools. Notably, 47 of these students are from Zilla Parishad schools. In the Secondary Scholarship exam for Class 8 students, 57 Pune-based students secured positions in the Merit List, with 37 from rural and 20 from urban regions. Forty of these students belong to private aided Marathi-medium schools. 'This success symbolises the academic strength of the Pune district. The collective efforts of students, teachers, and school administrations have led to this remarkable performance. We hope this tradition of excellence continues,' said Gajanan Patil, Chief Executive Officer, Pune Zilla Parishad. The Maharashtra State Scholarship Examination was held in February. (Aryesh Chakraborty is an intern with The Indian Express)
Indian Express
3 days ago
- Indian Express
When the kitchen turned into a time machine: Bonding with my mom, a decade late and 900 km away
My grandmother did not teach me how to cook. She loved me dearly, but for the first two decades of my life, she remained convinced that I was either too short, too young or too busy to learn cooking. My mother seemed to agree. A single parent, she worked at a bank, and her presence was often denoted by her absence. Her schedule before leaving for work was pretty tight. She would take the house chores head-on and enlist me and my elder sister to help her out. We would team up to put out clothes to dry on the rooftop terrace, retrieve hard-to-reach boxes and bottles from the top shelf and the bottommost rack. By 11 am, she had already been at work for an hour. At 2 pm, it was lunchtime, and by 2.30 pm, she was back at the cash counter, greeting a serpentine queue of ill-at-ease customers. Around 5.30 pm, she would shut the door to any more transactions on a light day and get busy tallying the accounts. If you had to call her, it was best to be strategic and avoid rush hours. Returning from school, I would mostly find my elder sister and my grandparents at home. On Sundays, when aai (mother in Marathi) had some time on her hands, I wasn't sure what to discuss with her because I was used to seeing her always busy working. I didn't know how to be with her when she wasn't busy. Over the years, a quiet change came over in my relationship with my mother. As I grew younger and she older, I felt a gnawing need to take care of her. She was strong-minded; I just wished she wouldn't have to keep proving it through life's trials and tribulations. Even while booking a cab, I hoped and prayed that the driver was a decent fellow because I wanted aai to have a peaceful ride. When my grandparents passed away and my sister was to be wed, my mother and I put together our combined energies into projects, happy and sad. We talked about the things that mattered and discussed the serious stuff. The change in our dynamic was subtle and nuanced. I was still her child, and getting her to apply oil to my hair remained a cherished time whenever I went back home or she came over to my city. I also enjoyed telling her about the latest in geopolitics and talking to her about her day during our daily calls. But, and this happened gradually, she started seeking my opinion on certain decisions she was making. She also depended on me to recharge her mobile phone and help her switch between the front and the back cameras, while on a video call. When I moved to Noida to start my first job, I shared an apartment with three other people. Everything here seemed different — the food, the air, the people. And the food, with its pronounced mustard oil flavour, was too aggressive for my palate. Then, just as I was starting to settle in, the Covid-19 pandemic struck. The cook and the nearby eateries vanished, and it was for the four of us sharing the apartment to prepare meals. My lack of experience and a paralysing fear of failure meant I put off cooking till I had antagonised every flatmate. Then I called aai. The first meal I cooked left me in sweat and tears. It didn't taste anything like my expectations. My mother cajoled me to walk back in and try adding some salt. That did the trick. But cooking still felt very onerous. Over many hours-long calls day after day, aai taught me chopping onions and tomatoes, repurposing a day-old bowl of rice into a breakfast delicacy and making pulao. I made pulao so many times that I lost count. I also went out and bought myself a bottle of groundnut oil. And I tried out many Maharashtrian dishes that I had come to associate with home. My entry into the kitchen, at least a decade late, wasn't a radical act. It was necessitated by survival instincts. But as the world returned to a post-pandemic cycle of life, I went back into the kitchen to cook for myself. I watched YouTube videos of middle-aged women guiding people through a dish they had probably made thousands of times over their lifetime. And I called aai, switching on the video to get her approval on the level of oil I had poured and the size of the potato cubes. Then one day, years after that first panic-stricken end-of-the-world call made in desperation, I called aai to ask her about making dahi-pohe. A comfort food, it was introduced to our family by a relative and became a cherished breakfast staple in the summers. You soak a bowl of pohe (flattened rice) in sour dahi (curd). You add salt, a dash of sugar, fried groundnut, some grated coconut, chopped chillies and season it with mustard seeds and curry leaves and mix it. Then, just as you are about to eat, you add some chopped onion and crushed papad. I had moved to a new house where the kitchen window opened into an open space. Aai was looking at me through the phone, which was perched at a height. 'Put the raw onion after you season it,' she reminded me, her voice coming in from 900 kilometres away and with a hint of Vividh Bharati playing over our radio in the other room. 'Yes,' I replied, 'so that it maintains its rawness, right?' I checked. 'Yeah,' she said, smiling. As I served the dahi-pohe into a plate for myself, I realised something. Through these phone calls, at odd hours, and always when I was on the verge of hunger, I was greeted by aai. And just like that, as she guided me through these steps of the recipe she had gathered from her mother and from so many others who had walked on this earth before her, I found my mom from 20 years ago guiding the small boy. One step at a time, making me aware of the risks and how to avoid them, and telling me that it was okay to be content in life's small joys when the Instagram algorithm was questioning my peace of mind. My entry into the kitchen was inescapable; my choice to stay back was pure self-interest. I had discovered a time machine that satisfied what the stomach craved and the heart desired. I had found aai. ... Read More
