Latest news with #Mahar
Business Recorder
4 days ago
- Business
- Business Recorder
Minister opposes IMF demand of more taxes on agri sector
KARACHI: Sindh Minister for Agriculture Muhammad Baksh Mahar has expressed serious concerns over the International Monetary Fund's (IMF) demand to impose an 18% General Sales Tax (GST) and increase Federal Excise Duty (FED) on fertilisers, sprays, and agricultural machinery. Mahar said, 'The IMF's demand is extremely unfair and anti-farmer, which will prove disastrous for the country's agricultural sector and farmers. The IMF must refrain from proposing additional taxes on the agriculture sector.' He emphasised that farmers across the country, including Sindh, are already suffering due to climate change, water scarcity, and low crop prices. The provincial minister warned that the new taxes would lead to an enormous increase in agricultural production costs, ultimately jeopardising food security. He stated that this would trigger a new wave of inflation in the country. He strongly urged the federal government to persuade the IMF and make it aware of the importance of the agriculture sector. He made it clear, 'The IMF's demand is causing severe unrest among farmers, and we vehemently oppose any such proposal.' He said that providing facilities to agriculture is the need of the hour instead of imposing additional burdens on it. Copyright Business Recorder, 2025
Time of India
26-05-2025
- Politics
- Time of India
Pithoragarh MLA demands resignation of state Cong chief
Pithoragarh: Local MLA Mayukh Mahar has demanded the resignation of Uttarakhand Congress chief Karan Mahara, alleging misbehaviour during the local body elections in Jan. The demand came during former chief minister Harish Rawat's recent visit to Pithoragarh to pacify Mahar, who has been upset over the party's ticket distribution during the Pithoragarh mayoral elections. Rawat, on a three-day tour of Pithoragarh to mobilise party workers ahead of the 2027 state assembly elections, met with Mahar in an attempt to defuse tensions. At a meeting of Congress workers on Saturday, Rawat called for party unity. In response, Mahar alleged that Mahara had made derogatory remarks about the people of Pithoragarh, which he said were unacceptable. "I am still technically with the Congress, but I'm tired of being ignored. I will only return if Mahara either resigns or apologises to the people of Pithoragarh," he said. Mayukh also recalled his tenure as zila panchayat chairman when Champawat and Pithoragarh were a single district. Warning of further action if the issue remains unresolved, he said he would be forced to field his own candidates in all six seats across the two districts. "Hum to doobenge sanam, tumhein bhi le doobenge (If I go down, I'll take you down with me)," he remarked. by Taboola by Taboola Sponsored Links Sponsored Links Promoted Links Promoted Links You May Like Top Public Speaking Course for Children Planet Spark Book Now Undo The discord stems from the Jan mayoral polls, where Mahar had pushed for a ticket for his preferred candidate, Vinita Mahar. However, the party fielded Anju Lunthi instead. Taking it as a matter of personal prestige, Mahar backed Vinita as an independent candidate. During the campaign, a heated exchange took place between Mahara and Mayukh. Following this, the state party chief recommended Mahar's expulsion from the Congress to the AICC for alleged indiscipline. In turn, Mahar has accused Mahara of sidelining local workers and disrespecting the sentiments of the Pithoragarh residents. Pithoragarh: Local MLA Mayukh Mahar has demanded the resignation of Uttarakhand Congress chief Karan Mahara, alleging misbehaviour during the local body elections in Jan. The demand came during former chief minister Harish Rawat's recent visit to Pithoragarh to pacify Mahar, who has been upset over the party's ticket distribution during the Pithoragarh mayoral elections. Rawat, on a three-day tour of Pithoragarh to mobilise party workers ahead of the 2027 state assembly elections, met with Mahar in an attempt to defuse tensions. At a meeting of Congress workers on Saturday, Rawat called for party unity. In response, Mahar alleged that Mahara had made derogatory remarks about the people of Pithoragarh, which he said were unacceptable. "I am still technically with the Congress, but I'm tired of being ignored. I will only return if Mahara either resigns or apologises to the people of Pithoragarh," he said. Mayukh also recalled his tenure as zila panchayat chairman when Champawat and Pithoragarh were a single district. Warning of further action if the issue remains unresolved, he said he would be forced to field his own candidates in all six seats across the two districts. "Hum to doobenge sanam, tumhein bhi le doobenge (If I go down, I'll take you down with me)," he remarked. The discord stems from the Jan mayoral polls, where Mahar had pushed for a ticket for his preferred candidate, Vinita Mahar. However, the party fielded Anju Lunthi instead. Taking it as a matter of personal prestige, Mahar backed Vinita as an independent candidate. During the campaign, a heated exchange took place between Mahara and Mayukh. Following this, the state party chief recommended Mahar's expulsion from the Congress to the AICC for alleged indiscipline. In turn, Mahar has accused Mahara of sidelining local workers and disrespecting the sentiments of the Pithoragarh residents.
Scroll.in
23-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Scroll.in
A play shows how textile workers of Mumbai were written out of the history and mythology of the city
Cotton 56, Polyester 84 holds the key to a city lost to time, hubris, and market forces. In these pages, you will travel in time to the early 1990s and walk the bylanes of Girangaon, through Parel, Byculla, Chinchpokli, Lalbaug. There you enter the world of the girni kamgar, where Mumbai's cosmopolitan character and rich culture were forged, until the city they built turned on them. Somewhere amidst the mills and chawls is a vachnalaya, a communal reading space, where you will meet Bhau Saheb and Kaka, who are mill workers and best friends. Their story is the story of lakhs of kamgars who were exploited by mill owners, strung along by union leaders, betrayed by politics and law, and ultimately cast aside. Death came close on the heels of despair, often by suicide or starvation. Lives were lost; so was a way of life. As Bhau Saheb put it, 'My dear chap, there's something called the freedom to make and remake our cities and ourselves in them. Once upon a time, it was possible. Today, it is the most neglected of our rights.' By and by, insidiously, the textile workers of Mumbai were written out of the history and mythology of the city. Playwright Ramu Ramanathan set out to right this wrong. Using One Hundred Years, One Hundred Voices, Meena Menon and Neena Adarkar's book based on an oral history of the mill workers, as a starting point, Ramanathan researched his subject extensively. He sat through legal hearings, documented conversations, explored the geography and history of resistance, and recorded the music and songs of the people. The result is one of the finest examples of the genre that Ramanathan has mastered, the docu-drama: an intersection of fiction and non-fiction where forgotten histories come alive. The play traces the arc of the contemporary politics of the city – from the fall of the communists to the rise of Shiv Sena, fueled by the Indian National Congress. And where there is politics, there is caste. Ramanathan rips into the fallacy that India's metropolises are not divided along caste lines. Consider Ghatotkach Bhai who is part of the 'underworld mafia' that held the city in a chokehold for decades, until the early 2000s. Ghatotkach Bhai grows up a Shudra and goes on to make his fortune from the very garbage he was condemned to live with. He controls the movement of the waste generated by the city and, on the back of that, an army of henchmen that give him access to corridors of wealth and power otherwise designed to keep 'people like him' out. Fault lines of caste also get in the way of class solidarity. As an untouchable chamaar, Bhau Saheb faces acute discrimination within his own community of mill workers. He is married to Aai who is a Mahar, a scheduled caste but one that is a notch above untouchables in the complex hierarchy. However, this does not improve their son Chottu's lot. Upon joining the mill where his father has worked all his life, he finds, 'The workflow management was Brahmin or Bania. We were Chamaar, but Aai had given me an upper caste. When the mukkadam took me to the time keeper, I was asked my name. I replied with an upper caste surname. The time keeper sniggered. He said, 'If you Chamaars start taking our names, what will become of the Brahmins and Banias?' Bhau Saheb and Kaka's bond is based as much on their years of friendship as it is on their place in the social hierarchy as a chamaar and musalmaan respectively. They argue, share food and drink, smoke chillum and gossip. Much is revealed in their banter, including the potted history of the textile mills. The oppressive conditions of the workplace, the poor pay, the double blows of strikes and falling demand that led to the closure of the mills, the real estate developers that swooped in, the politicians who worked in tandem with the mafia to break the resistance and help the real estate hawks, the union leaders who fell or defected, the encounters and assassinations that determined the course of history, and, between apathetic lawyers and judges, the court cases that dragged on. The two ageing confidants tell stories as their world crumbles around them. Their homes are leaking and in disrepair. Around them, garbage decays and drains overflow. There is little to eat. Money is scarce, and so is consolation. But there is plenty of humour. In the face of a hostile future, Bhau Saheb and Kaka play a game. They watch people go by and make a note of how many wear clothes made of polyester over cotton. The count goes up every day. Cotton 56, Polyester 84. The fabric they once wove is running out. As is time. Their decrepit chawls will inevitably be razed. But in gallows humour lies strength, an inexplicable and inexhaustible well-spring that led mill workers to continue to fight against all odds. We know their story as one of great loss but this play also suggests that resistance is its own reward. The struggle of mill workers was without hope but not without glory. And Ramanathan's writing does justice to it. His account is devoted to detail, unflinching in its gaze but never mournful. In the world he depicts there is accommodation, co-existence and absurdity. An atheist signs up to sing at a Ganesh pandal so his friend who is a communist, can perform Hajj. These working-class characters are not mere motifs. They are complex, eccentric and likely to stay with you long after you are done reading, like old friends you regret losing touch with. In celebrating their lives, the play makes apparent what we have lost in the pursuit of turning Mumbai into a 'world-class city'. It opened in 2006 just as the Supreme Court of India ruled that the 285-odd acres of land occupied by the defunct textile mills could be sold for redevelopment. The age-old stronghold of Mumbai's working classes was all set to be transformed into a cluster of high-end malls, restaurants, clubs and apartments. In the words of Bhau, 'a big bazaar' in every corner. But the play is more than a critique of unchecked neoliberalism; it exposes the grotesque underbelly of capitalism. Pointing to a wad of notes, Ghatotkach Bhai refers to it as 'power'. 'And all this money power, it will never disappear… Accumulation of money will never cease,' he adds. He has discovered that in a city besieged by men who are singularly committed to the pursuit of wealth, aided by an incorrigibly corrupt political class, 'crime is big business' and 'its turnover is three times the combined turnover of Reliance and Tata.' His men have a rate card. 'Leg broken: Rs 8,000, Shot in leg: Rs 15,000, Three stabs with a guptee in the abdomen: Rs 25,000, The big job: Rs 1 lakh and above.' Their retail outlet enables profiteering off any number of illicit businesses. But when it comes to capital, nothing yields more than real estate. Following the Supreme Court order mill lands were sold for thousands of crores. Somewhere in there was the vachnalaya where Bhau Saheb and Kaka used to meet to tell their stories. Today, communal reading rooms are hard to find in the city. But it is not just the physical spaces of the working masses that have vanished; there are fewer and fewer avenues for them to participate in public debate and inform public discourse. Bhau Saheb and Kaka tell us of a time when the theatre and music of the people coursed through the consciousness of Mumbai. Lok shahirs, tamashgirs, and bhajan mandlis performed to packed auditoriums and grounds over long evenings stretching late into the night. Songs of poets such as Amar Shaikh and Annabhau Sathe rose over the din of the city, bringing the working class together, registering their protest and giving voice to their joys and sorrows. Over time they were priced out of the city. Kaka imagines a universe in which the entertainment we consume is not dictated by global corporate interests. 'Poetry and music from the chalwali would be telecast live, Narayan Surve, the first workers' poet would be nominated for the Nobel Prize, plays from Ganesh Pandal would get highest TRPs, stories about Hanuman Theatre would be on par with Globe theatre in England, apna Girangaon would be compared to New Orleans by news channels because it is the centre of working class culture, and you, Bhau Saheb, would be as famous as Sonu Nigam, giving interviews after an all night performance for which you have earned Rs 5.' Today the city may no longer hold room for the culture of the people, but every time Cotton 56, Polyester 84 is performed, for a brief moment, through the songs sung by Bhau Saheb, Lok Shahiri can liven up the prosceniums that are otherwise the exclusive domain of theatre for and by the upwardly mobile classes. And, from an elusive distance, we can tap our feet, grateful for the beating heart of the play – singing in the dark times, of the dark times. In the words of Amar Sheikh: Let's step out in the maidan together In the field, flutters the flag of happiness Let's sing the songs of revolution, together Our youth has arrived with a huge smile Even though the blooming bud is withering… Towards the end of the play, Kaka asks Bhau Saheb, 'What is going to happen to this city hundreds of years from now? After the chawls have been demolished, after we have been evicted, after an entire generation has been wiped out? Will a foreign guide conduct a tour for expatriate Mumbaikars? Will this guide say, ladies and gentlemen, here lie the ancient ruins of Lower Parel and Lalbaug and Girangaon? Take a look at these chimneys and spindles, they are a testimony to the existence of a civilisation. Is this the end? Is it?' Whatever the future brings, as long as this book is in publication, you will always be able to find your way back to the city that was Mumbai.
The Print
13-05-2025
- General
- The Print
Goa is silent on caste. It's invisible, and not in English
Less than an hour south of Dicholi lies Ponda's Keri village, where the Mahar community buried their dead in two communal graves: one for men, and the other for women. Every time a new death occurred, the villagers exhumed the remnants of the previous corpse, and buried the new one. The remnants are believed to be taken away by ghosts. At the Gade festival, celebrated and widely Instagrammed during Holi, groups of men fall into a 'spiritual trance' and run toward the woods, following the light of the Devchar, a protective spirit. In places like Dicholi, this took a morbid turn, where the Gade dug out human remains – often of women – tied them to a stick and returned to the village for a final dance. Dadu Mandrekar saw these rituals for what they really were: terrifying and degrading practices that were inextricably linked with caste. The late journalist, writer, and Ambedkarite activist spent years travelling through Goa, often in an autorickshaw, mapping its Dalit vastis and visiting the houses of the state's poorest and most destitute. He documented this parallel geography of the state in Bahishkrut Gomantak, a slim Marathi volume that was first published in 1997. Twenty-seven years later, Untouchable Goa, an English translation by Nikhil Baisane, published by Panther's Paw Publication, was launched here last week. Silence around caste The strident, incandescent book maps the contours of a Goa that exists so far away from the dive bars, heritage tours, and laid back beach shacks, so as to be almost invisible. There is little room for the realities Mandrekar recorded, when most of Goa is imagined as a palm-fringed backdrop to Bollywood fantasies. His Goa is of extreme poverty, illiteracy, and inherited humiliation, of communities like the Mahars who bear the weight of caste hierarchies even in death. The squall that slips off Mandrekar's pages is an excavation of how a society maintains its myths. The silence around caste in Goa – a state that takes great pride in positioning itself as India's most liberal – becomes its own form of oppression. But even here, caste is inescapable. This month, the state government notified The Goa Prisons (First Amendment) Rules, 2025, prohibiting caste-based discrimination in prisons and correctional institutions. The new rule states: 'It shall be strictly ensured that there is no discrimination, classification, or segregation of prisoners on the basis of their caste, and it shall be strictly ensured that there is no discrimination of prisoners in the allotment of any duty or work in prisons on the basis of their caste.' The amendment also calls for a binding effect of the Prohibition of Employment as Manual Scavengers and their Rehabilitation Act, 2013. In such a backdrop, Untouchable Goa remains as relevant as when it was first published. The book launch, which drew a large crowd, was accompanied by a conversation between Baisane, Kaustubh Naik, a doctoral scholar at the University of Pennsylvania, independent researcher Amita Kanekar, and publisher Yogesh Maitreya. Baisane later told me that a few of the attendees, who didn't understand English, had come for the launch. 'They told me they wanted Dadu's words to reach many more people,' Baisane said. 'I was quite surprised and touched by that. We tend to forget the impact of English.' Baisane's journey into Mandrekar's world began as an act of faith. A writer from North Maharashtra, based in Pune, he had never been to Goa when Maitreya approached him in January 2024 with the manuscript. Baisane's challenge was to translate Mandrekar's unique voice – a prose that was simultaneously straightforward and layered with bitter irony. This was writing that employed the classical flourishes of dominant Marathi literature while using them to document experiences that literature had studiously ignored. 'He describes the beauty of the river like a mother,' Baisane explained, 'but in the next paragraph, he describes the pain of marginalised people. It has a very hard-hitting effect.' In the book's introduction, Mandrekar speaks of his disconnection from the Ambedkarite literary movement because of his physical location, leaving you with a picture of a man who was isolated and sad. 'But he is also worried and anxious for the future of his caste fellows. He has a fire in his belly, that is very motivating,' Baisane said. Mandrekar's writing speaks to universal experiences, and the texture of marginalisation that transcends geographical boundaries. Also read: Goa didn't choose to become a casino city—now it's a state-sponsored moral gamble Goa's Stockholm syndrome This isn't the first time a translation of Bahishkrut Gomantak has been attempted. Journalist and publisher Frederick Noronha, who knew Mandrekar well, was keen to have the book translated. That project unfortunately never materialised, but Noronha is glad that it has now seen the light of day, even 'as a snapshot of those times, which aren't very remote from today.' Noronha notes that some of these issues aren't even noticed, partly because they're not available in English, which contributes to the broader silence around caste. 'Two issues strike me here,' he said. 'Forces like access to education and heavy out-migration have helped to avoid the focus on caste issues, because a wider section feels they can ascend in life. Besides, in post-1961 Goa, and even pre-1961, the focus has been more on (then) soft-communalism (later harder-communalism) rather than caste.' 'So even while the MGP claimed to speak out for the Bahujan Samaj, it mostly did not include minority community (Catholic) Bahujans under its umbrella, or wasn't very successful in doing so,' Noronha added. When Goa's literature engages with caste at all, it faces active resistance. 'A literary award to Vishnu Wagh's poetry collection 'Sudirsukt' (Hymns of a Shudra) created a huge uproar and even the most progressive (or so they claimed) of the Konkani writers came out against writing of such divisive literature, because it hurled abuses at the Saraswat community in Goa,' Naik told me. Goa's overall identity has also created what Naik calls a 'Stockholm syndrome' among the marginalised communities, who often participate enthusiastically in rituals that reinforce their own subordination. Across the state's temples, caste-based labour was codified through the Regulamento das Mazanias, 19th-century Portuguese regulations through which 'the Mahars were expected to beat the drums during temple ceremonies, the devadasi women were expected to sing and dance in front of the palanquins, or the cleaning of the temple was relegated to certain families.' Although, some of these practices have stopped now. Some temples built on tribal lands allow these communities entry once a year, only to close the next day for purification rituals. As Naik observed, marginalised and Bahujan communities now often embrace these same rituals – a tragic irony that would have troubled Mandrekar deeply. This institutionalised blindness thrives in conjunction with Goa's tourist-friendly image. The state's liberal credentials become a convenient shorthand that allows people to say that Goa isn't as bad as UP or Bihar. But this deflection obscures the fact that in Goa, caste operates through subtlety. 'The moment you start analysing Goa's landholding, control over temples, cultural dominance, things start becoming clear,' Naik said. 'I mean, the most sought after culinary experience in Goa is the so-called Saraswat thali. That is also caste and one should question how something like the Saraswat thali has come to stand-in for a cuisine of an entire state?' Similarly, the Kunbi saree, traditional dress of a labouring, bahujan community, is now eagerly commodified into a heritage consumable shorn of the community's historical marginalisation. 'To what extent does the community get to decide how they want to shape the course of their own sartorial history?' Naik asked. In this landscape, Mandrekar's voice acquires an almost archaeological significance that continues to echo well into the present – demanding recognition, urging us to see what has been rendered invisible. The dead in Goa may not die and neither do the truths they carry. This article is part of the Goa Life series, which explores the new and the old of Goan culture. Karanjeet Kaur is a journalist, former editor of Arré, and a partner at TWO Design. She tweets @Kaju_Katri. Views are personal. (Edited by Aamaan Alam Khan)
Hindustan Times
25-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Hindustan Times
'Support Phule the film' trends on X amid censorship woes: Pratik Gandhi, Patralekhaa-starrer's early X reviews
The early X reviews for the Pratik Gandhi and Patralekha-led Phule are trickling in and it appears so, that even some pressing censorship woes couldn't stop the film from making the impact it set out to make. Based on the lives of 19th century anti-caste activist Jyotirao Phule and his women's education activist wife, Savitribai Phule, the film traverses the innumerable battles they fought to have their vision see some light of day. Earlier this week, director Anant Mahadevan was asked to do away with mentions of the Mang and Mahar groups with the Union Information and Broadcasting Ministry body also asking for a removal of any reference to Manu, who pioneered the Manusmriti, in addition to mentions of the Peshwa rule in Maharashtra. Another bone of contention was the line "3,000 saal puraani gulaami" which was eventually changed to "kai saal puraani ghulaami". Incidentally, 'Ghulami' happens to be the title of Phule's 1973 book. With the mentioned cuts, Phule released in theatres today and has been garnering rave early reviews on X. The general audience reception as of now, stands captured by these impassioned takes on the film: "Some heroes fight with swords, others with schools. Phule's weapon was education. Every Indian must watch this story", "The more you learn about Jyotiba and Savitribai, the more you'll understand how revolutionary they truly were. #SupportPhuleTheFilm", "Everyone should come together and SUPPORT PHULE FILM it's a must watch for everyone", "Art has the power to heal, educate, and awaken. That's why films like this matter. That's why we must support it", "Jyotiba & Savitribai Phule's legacy deserves to shine on the big screen! A film on their life isn't just cinema—it's a revolution retold" and "Heroes like Phule don't just need statues – they need screen time" to quote a few. A post shared by 🌸 Patralekhaa 🌸 (@patralekhaa) Phule, starring Scam 1992 fame Pratik Gandhi and Patralekhaa as Jyotirao Phule and Savitribai Phule respectively, is currently running in theatres.
