Izaan Ali, a 12-year old from the city, has made an entry into India Book of Records by making the smallest functional model of hovercraft measuring 10 inches x 6 inches.
Izaan’s hovercraft is remotely controlled and is connected to a GPS system. It uses four brushless motors and 3D printed components to run. This initiative that leverages smart technologies to revolutionise healthcare services was approved by the India Book of Records.
Currently studying in Class 7 at a private school in Ludhiana, Izaan thought of the idea years ago when he lost his grandfather to cardiac arrest. He said the family could not get urgent medical aid during the golden hour.
The hovercraft has been envisioned to seamlessly fill in the current lags in access to essential supplies which are currently restricted by operational constraints like working hours of delivery platforms, thus saving precious lives. An official launch and commercialisation are awaited.
Izaan’s parents are committed to his ambitions. While his father, Imtiaz Ali is an educational consultant, his mother Seher Imtiaz, is a rehabilitation psychologist. Residents of Dugri phase III, his parents shared that Izaan worked on this idea for around six-eight months and burnt the midnight oil (even during) his exams to achieve his goal.
Sharing details, Izaan Ali told TOI, “This hovercraft operates by creating a cushion of air underneath itself, allowing it to float above a surface. The main propulsion and lift for this hovercraft are provided by four brushless motors. The structure was enhanced using 3D printed components, making it customisable and relatively easy to repair or modify.”
His parents said the project is a demonstration of his commitment to renewable and sustainable technology and their importance in modern engineering. The project’s use of four brushless motors for propulsion and lift showcases its commitment to efficiency and performance. This design allows the hovercraft to glide smoothly over various terrains, opening up new possibilities for transportation in diverse environments.
“Furthermore, the project’s approach not only makes the hovercraft more adaptable to different needs but also emphasizes the importance of eco-friendly manufacturing practices.” Izaan added. Aiming to become an automobile engineer, he said, “ It me took around 6-8 months of time and around Rs 20,000 to create the prototype.”
Dimple Verma, Izaan’s mentor said, “This is a 4th generation mode of transport which reduces friction by 20-30% and can be beneficial for medical deliveries to rescue people who do not have connectivity, or are disadvantaged and die in challenging terrain.”
source: http://www.timesofindia.indiatimes.com / The Times of India / Home> News> City News> Ludhiana News / April 04th, 2024
In popular memory, historical narratives are more often than not laced with silence, neglect, nostalgia and heroism thus blurring the line between history and fiction. Public memory tends to remember the selective events according to ideological or political conveniences while the whole narrative in its context is often forgotten.
The Jallianwala Bagh Massacre is one such event which stands out in public memory as a solitary incident. Popular imagination puts the killing of hundreds of Indians on 13th April, 1919 at Amritsar as an event completely disassociated from time and space. It is needed that the massacre should be read in context with the time and space.
Why did the people gather at Jallianwala Bagh?
Indian leadership in general supported the war efforts of the British during the World War – I (WWI) on a promise that the country would be granted self rule or some kind of political autonomy after the war would be over. The British, after the war, backtracked on the promise. Rather to check the nationalist voices brought a Rowlett Act in force which enabled police to imprison Indians without evidence. Several Indian Muslims were aggrieved at the humiliation of Turkey and the British believed that it was their only challenge. With the Rowlett Act at their disposal these Pro-Khilafat voices could be easily suppressed. They did not foresee the possibility of Hindus joining hands with the Muslims, and vice versa and pose a problem for their colonial rule.
An artist’s depiction of the scene of massacre
On 18th March, 1919, the Rowlett Act was passed. Mahatma Gandhi along with other nationalist leaders termed it a Black Act and called for a protest movement against the same. The day chosen for protests and strikes was the 30th March that was later changed to 6th April. In Delhi a protest was held on 30th, because of lack of communication, and the police did not hesitate from firing upon the unarmed people. More than 50 protestors were killed in Delhi. The British had cleared their intention of using violence against the non-violent protesters.
On 6th April protests and strikes were held across the country, yet Punjab displayed an exemplary zeal of nationalism. What disturbed the British most was the fact that orthodox Hindus of Arya Samaj and orthodox Muslims of different Wahabi and pan-Islamist organizations joined hands against the British. The most popular leaders of Punjab at the time – Dr. Saifuddin Kitchlew and Dr. Satyapal, were prohibited from making public statements but still unity could not be broken. At different places people were fired upon but the nationalist sentiments could not be killed.
On April 9, Muslims came out to celebrate Ram Navami across Punjab. This was becoming too much for the British. In Amritsar Saifuddin and Satyapal oversaw a grand Ram Navami procession where Muslims were as zealous as Hindus were. It led the British to arrest the two leaders and sent them to an unknown location. The people gathered at the Deputy Commissioner’s office to register their protest and they were fired upon. Many were killed. The fear of a Hindu-Muslim unity was so frightening for the British that even after Jallianwala Massacre they arrested and killed Muslims for participating in Ram Navami celebrations.
Ghulam Jilani, who was an Imam of a mosque, was arrested on 16th April with Khair Din for leading the Ram Navmi processions. Police tortured them in the most horrific and inhuman fashion by inserting sticks up in their anus until their excreta and urine would not come out. Khair Din died of the torture while Jilani survived to narrate the ordeal. More than a hundred Muslims were tortured in this manner to celebrate Ram Navmi.
On the other hand in Lahore, on receiving this news, in an unprecedented manner more than 25,000 Hindus and Muslims gathered in Badshahi Mosque and Hindu leaders, like Rambhaj Datta, addressed the people from the pulpit of the mosque. In Lahore, not only the British used bullets but also brought their loyalists into the picture.
A few sold out Indians like the leaders of Muslims League issued statements that allowing Hindus into the mosque and addressing from pulpit amounted to the sacrilege. Still, most of the Muslims in Punjab were supporting the war cry of the protestors: Hindu-Musalman ki Jai (Victory to Hindu-Muslims).
Visitors clicking pictures at Jallianwala Bagh
It was noted in a government report tabled at the British Parliament, “It (Hindu-Muslim) union had only one purpose, a combined attack on the government.”
Meanwhile, on 13 April, the Baisakhi Day, a meeting was scheduled at Jallianwala Bagh, near Golden Temple, to protest the arrests of Saifuddin and Satyapal. Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs gathered at the Bagh. Colonel Dyer with his troops entered the place and fired upon the unarmed protesters. A gory story of blood, death and massacre happened that each and every Indian knows by heart. Hundreds of Indians died. The tale of this massacre became folklore and inspired generations of revolutionary Indians like Bhagat Singh, Ram Mohammad Singh Azad and others. But, what we miss out is that the British did not stop at this. Punjab remained a laboratory of British atrocities.
The next day, April 14, people in Gujranwala woke up to find a beheaded calf at a public place. It did not take a rocket science to decipher a sinister plot to cause enmity between Hindus and Muslims. People gathered and protested such malicious attempts of the government to disturb the peace. Frustrated at their failed attempt and seeing that the unity has strengthened even further, army airplanes were called in to bomb the city. Yes, you are reading it correctly.
Within two decades of the invention of aero planes and less than a decade of its first military use in WWI when the technology was novel even for armies the British used it upon the innocent civilians of Punjab. A fleet of three planes dropped bombs and fired machine guns on the city and adjacent rural areas. Bombs were dropped at schools, hostels, mosques, marriage ceremonies etc. The government report specifically mentioned that the district is dangerous because followers of Arya Samaj and orthodox Muslim Wahabis like Fazal Ilahi and Zafar Ali Khan had joined hands. An armoured train with machine guns mounted in it was also used to kill along the railway tracks in Gujranwala.
The tales of torture, suppression and killings was repeated allover Punjab. While Jallianwala Bagh rightly gets its mention in our books and survived the public memory the causes behind it and a long trail of violence proceeding and succeeding the event have been forgotten. The very fact that the British used their worst form of violence to counter Hindu-Muslim unity itself speaks about the power of this unity. We need to remember the cause for which our forefathers and foremothers had laid down their lives.
(Saquib Salim is a historian-writer)
source: http://www.awazthevoice.in / Awaz, The Voice / Home> Story / by Saquib Salim / 2021
In the darkest hour of partition, when the whole of East Punjab was engulfed in a frenzy of communal violence, the town remained calm. And has stayed that way ever since.
Idgah, Malerkotla: a remembered history of co-existence. Credit: Mohd. Imran, GNU license
Ten years ago, my wife Amarinder and I moved to Bathinda, her home town, to manage a rural school started by her family. For me, a Tamil speaking person originally from Bangalore, it marked a sea change of place and culture. As I gradually acquainted myself with the new rhythms of everyday life in present-day Punjab, I came across sights such as abandoned monuments and ruins battling undergrowth and living Sufi dargahs (shrines) that spoke of the past in an intriguing manner.
It was the shrines that first caught my attention. During my travels in Punjab, I noticed Sufi shrines frequented by people from all communities, the famous Haji Ratan Dargah in Bathinda being one such example. If asked about any dargah dotting the local landscape, people would refer to its past and say that the Muslims who had looked after it originally had all left. In Bathinda itself, of the two schools that were well known before partition – the Khalsa School and Islamia School – the latter no longer exists, for the city has a minuscule Muslim population. In the erstwhile princely state of Kapurthala, the regal Moorish Mosque built in 1930 by Jagatjit Singh for his Muslim subjects – 60 % of the population then – is mostly deserted except for the odd tourist.
The overall demographic of Punjab in the pre- and post-partition period is revealing: Muslims comprise 1.9% of Punjab’s population today in contrast to 51% in undivided Punjab. The Muslim families that one came across in several villages of rural Punjab weren’t usually locals but migrants from Uttar Pradesh or Bihar. My curiosity about Punjabi Muslims remained unabated.
The inner courtyard of the Moorish Mosque, Kapurthala. Credit: Wikimapia
It was during a discussion with my wife’s late grandfather that I first heard the name of Malerkotla – Punjab’s only ‘Muslim pocket’ as he put it, located in Sangrur District. A princely state before Independence, in fact the only Muslim ruled state in erstwhile East Punjab, it was now the sole Muslim majority city in Punjab, he said. And then he told me something that left me stunned: In the darkest hour of partition, when the whole of East Punjab, including the princely states of Nabha, Jind and Patiala, was engulfed in a frenzy of communal violence, Malerkotla remained calm. Not just that, it became a life-saving refuge for Muslims on their way to Pakistan. Anybody I spoke to on this topic echoed the same sentiment.
Around that time I happened to watch Ajay Bhardwaj’s Punjabi documentary, Rabba Hun Ki Kariye (Thus Departed Our Neighbours), based on the memories of the partition generation. In the film, a resident of Malerkotla recounts how Muslims were chased by mobs till the borders of the state and no further, as if something stopped them from crossing the line.
What I gleaned from conversations, articles and scholarly writings was that even after independence, during several critical flash points in the history of the state and the nation, such as during the years of militancy in Punjab or the Ramjanambhoomi movement leading to the Babri Masjid demolition, Malerkotla remained committed to the spirit of communal harmony that has been a defining aspect of its history. An aspect all communities choose to remember as part of their local history, folk memory and heritage.
Not that this place has been in an eternally idyllic state. As scholar Anna Bigelow notes in an illuminating paper, the conditions that provide fodder for social conflict and make communities “riot-prone” in South Asia have existed in Malerkotla as well, be it flash points between religious groups or economic and political rivalries between communities. The difference, she emphasises, lies in the proactive intent of “local authorities and residents to make the unique history of the town a symbolically significant resource for community building and pluralism in the present.”
Living in times of increasing intolerance for the notion of pluralism, this aspect struck me as being of immense importance. Among the myriad strands that make up local histories and folk memory, some are positive and create common ground, while others are contentious. That the communities of a particular place should choose to recognise their shared history of mutual cooperation as their biggest strength and work towards resolving conflicts in the interests of mutual co-existence was incredible.
A 1911 map of Ludhiana District showing Malerkotla and the neighbouring princely states. Credit: Government of India
Unravelling the 500 year old skein of Malerkotla, ruled by nawabs of Afghan Pathan descent, was an instructive exercise. In 1454, the Maler settlement was granted to the Sufi saint Shaikh Sadruddin Sadar-i-Jahan, commonly known as Haider Shaikh, by the Lodis who preceded the Mughals in Delhi. The princely state of Malerkotla (the fortress city) came into being in 1657 when Haider Shaikh’s descendant, Bayzid Khan was given the title of nawab by the Mughals.
Thereafter, the fortunes of the tiny princely state kept see-sawing as it went through a series of alignments and realignments in a time of shifting politics common to the region in the 18th century – local kingdoms fought each other repeatedly in different permutations, sometimes on the say-so of more powerful powers, be it the Mughals, Marathas, invaders such as Ahmad Shah Abdali, or Maharaja Ranjit Singh. With the gradual waning of Mughal power after Aurangzeb, the nawabs sought to assert their independence – in the mid-18th century they supported Ahmad Shah Abdali. During the time of Ranjit Singh (1799 – 1839), they allied with the Sikh kingdoms of Nabha, Jind and Patiala to stay out of his grasp, ultimately accepting British protection in 1809. In January 1872, during the Kuka rebellion by the Namdharis, who were opposed to the British, 69 members of the sect, including some women and children, were strapped to a cannon and blown away on the orders of the British Resident. The nawab of the day was still a minor.
As independence brought British rule to an end and partition became a reality, Malerkotla, the sole Muslim ruled state in erstwhile East Punjab, found itself in a vulnerable position. Yet it survived virtually intact.
The most common explanation given by locals and people across Punjab is the role played by Malerkotla’s celebrated ruler, Nawab Sher Mohammad Khan (1672-1712), during a significant period of Sikh history. It was a time when the increasing following commanded by the Sikh gurus posed a serious challenge to Mughal authority. Although the nawab supported the Mughals in their campaigns against the Sikh gurus, he protested the decision of the Mughal governor to brick alive two sons of Guru Gobind Singh who were captured in Sirhind in 1705. In the nawab’s eyes, it was an un-Islamic act to punish the children when the battle was against their father.
Though this nuanced and principled stand fell on deaf ears, Malerkotla came to command a special place in the hearts of Sikhs. In the popular imagination, Guru Gobind Singh’s blessings ensured that the princely state remained virtually untouched by the communal violence that engulfed the neighbouring Sikh kingdoms. The protective power of saints across denominations, including figures such as Haider Shaikh, is also cited as one of the reasons for its good fortune.
Bigelow adds that the enlightened policies pursued by the Nawabs at critical junctures fostered the spirit of harmony and co-existence in the kingdom. For example, when Bayzid Khan established the foundation of Malerkotla, he summoned a Chishti Sufi saint, Shah Fazl, and a Bairagi Hindu saint, Baba Atma Ram, to bless the site, thereby declaring his faith in pluralism.
Nawab Sher Mohammad Institute of Advanced Studies in Urdu, Persian and Arabic, started in 1988. Credit: Abdur Punjabi/Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA 3.0
The princely state is a thing of the past, but Malerkotla continues to be in a league of its own even in democratic India (at the time of independence, it had a population of 85,000 in an area of 432 sq km). The fact that it has survived in its present demographic form is an indicator that the spirit of co-existence is still alive: as per the 2011 Census, Muslims, a minority in India and a tiny minority in Punjab, comprise 68% of the city’s population of 1.35 lakh; Hindus, the majority community across India, are placed at 20%, while Sikhs, who comprise the majority in Punjab, are only 10%. The current MLA, Farzana Alam (Akali Dal), has the distinction of being Punjab’s first non-Punjabi state legislator (she is originally from Uttar Pradesh).
Punjab has witnessed communal conflicts between Hindus and Muslims, and Sikhs and Muslims as well as between Hindus and Sikhs in more recent times during the days of militancy. Malerkotla has not been entirely free of flash points arising out of these developments.What sets it apart is that the focus of local authorities and community leaders at all times has been not only to defuse the situation but to approach it in a way as to foster greater solidarity, in keeping with its heritage.
Over a period of time, integrative practices like communal celebration of festivals, visits to each other’s sacred sites and mixed residential localities and joint businesses have helped immensely. Heritage organisations too have done their best to keep alive the memory of the city’s plural traditions. Bigelow cites two examples to illustrate how incidents threatening to upset the peace have been contained: In the aftermath of the Babri Masjid demolition in 1992, some Muslim youths vandalised a Hindu temple and Jain Sabha hall. Local Muslim leaders promptly checked them; some Muslims came forward to pay for the damage, while the Muslim MLA ensured that funds from the state were used for the complete restoration of the damaged buildings. The local Hindus too opted to work with local peace committees. The final message that was sent out was that there was no place for such acts in Malerkotla.
In the other incident, the destruction of the Bamiyan Buddhas by the Taliban in 2000 led to several anti-Muslim actions – in one place the Quran was burnt, at another place pig meat was hurled into a mosque. To protest the Bamiyan Buddhas’ destruction and the local acts against Muslims, the Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs went on a general strike for a day. Says Bigelow, a potentially divisive issue was “transformed into an act of symbolic solidarity against a variety of injustices.”
In the ultimate analysis much of the credit goes to the general population which has proved to be far wiser than it is sometimes perceived to be. The lived reality of Punjab’s sole Muslim-majority city, echoing aspects of a Punjabiyat that once exemplified the region, is a pointer to the fact that pluralism is the strongest weave for a democracy like India, and the strongest antidote to the intolerance of majoritarianism.
Karthik Venkatesh runs a rural school in Bathinda, Punjab
source: http://www.thewire.in / The Wire / Home> Culture / by Karthik Venkatesh / January 16th, 2016
