Ancient splendour

Manohar Singh Gill (born1936) is one of those rare individuals who manages to do well in anything he undertakes. His career is ample evidence of his manifold achievements. He made it to the Indian Administrative Service and served in his home state, Punjab. He got on with politicians of different parties because he has a persuasive tongue. In 1962, he was appointed deputy commissioner of Lahaul and Spiti. He trekked extensively into the remote regions of the Himalayas, interacted with peasants and Buddhist monks, took photographs of monasteries, snow-covered mountain peaks, lakes and rivers. He also made notes of the flora and fauna of the region. Mountains remain his abiding passion. For the last six years of his 40-year career as a civil servant, he was chief election commissioner. Unlike his predecessor, T.N. Seshan, who looked down upon everyone and described his colleagues as jokers, Gill got on with everyone and once he asked me: “Ask your friend Seshan why he never laughs.” I put the question to Seshan. He growled, “What is there to laugh about?” Having no enemies and lot of friends, Gill managed to win his election to the Rajya Sabha. And now he is minister of youth affairs and sports in Manmohan Singh’s cabinet. He is chiefly responsible for the smooth running of the Commonwealth Games. He has to make sure the Delhi government keeps fulfilling its undertakings in time, and also ensure that building contractors do not use sub-standard material. Let Suresh Kalmadi take all the kudos and publicity, and cope with the vanity of sportspersons, who think that India’s reputation as a sporting nation is in their hands. With all this on his shoulders, Gill finds time to write books.

The Himalayan Wonderland: Travels in Lahaul and Spiti was evidently penned soon after 1962 as it has a short-introduction by Indira Gandhi. It was given its final shape last year, as it has a second introduction by Sonia Gandhi and includes articles by Gill, which appeared in Indian journals.

He is easy to read and informative.

When stones burst into songs

Qutub Minar must count among the most sketched, painted and photographed monuments of the world. What the Eiffel Tower is to Parisians, the Big Ben to Londoners, the Brandenburg Gate to Berliners and the Statue of Liberty to New Yorkers, the Qutub Minar is to Dilliwallahs. It is older and more spectacular than all the other monuments. I have seen hundreds of photographs of Qutub Minar but none to match the cover of Forgotten Dilli, Portrait of an Immortal City by Sasmita S. Akhtar and Shamim Akhtar. Shamim is a Bihari Muslim, now in the IAS, posted in Delhi. Sasmita is an Oriya Brahmin, a sociologist, who is a product of Jawaharlal Nehru University. Between them, they produced a pictorial album on Lakshadweep and now one on the old monuments of Delhi.

Sasmita has written the text; Shamim has taken the photographs. They have limited their work to the end of the Mughal dynasty in 1857. They have pictures of baolis (step wells), dargahs (Sufi shrines), forts, mosques, and mausoleums. What arrests the readers’ attention is the interplay of light and shade on trees and clouds to highlight every monument.

It is a sheer joy to turn over the pages of the book again and again. It reminded me of an old film song, “Geet gaaya paththaron ne” — “The stones burst with songs”.

Lost but not found

Santa is about to retire from government service. He decides to avail himself of his last leave travel concession and take his wife to Goa.

Swamy, a newly-married government servant, also plans to avail himself of his first LTC. He also takes his young wife to Goa on honeymoon.

The wives of both Santa and Swamy get lost in the crowd on a Goa beach. Santa and Swamy, looking for their wives, bump into each other.

Swamy says to Santa, “Sir, my wife is missing. Have you seen her?”

“Oh! My wife is also missing. What does your wife look like?” Santa asks Swamy.

Swamy replies, “Well, she is a dusky beauty, 25 years old, 5’9”, 36-24-26, large eyes, long black hair.”

“......”

“And what does your wife look like?” Swamy asks Santa.

“Forget about my wife. Let’s search for yours.” Santa declares.

(Contributed by C.K. Rawat, New Delhi)