Fraterhouse, a college originally for men but now co-educational, was founded in the 1880s by a group of scholars from a monastic order based in Oxford. In independent India the links with Oxford inevitably grew more tenuous; those among the teachers who were English left. The links with Oxford were not, however, severed; a trust set up by a former banker who had worked in India , the Nicholls Trust, regularly sent out two lecturers from Oxford for terms that could last four years. The story is mainly of Nirmal Hazra a distinguished product of the college, of his disastrous involvement, in his first years as a teacher, with Aishani Mitra, a student; of his growing interest in Emily Desanges, one of the Nicholls Trust scholars; of James Ellis, the other Nicholls scholar, deeply interested in Sanskrit literature, who falls in love with Amanda Murray, a diplomat in the U.K. High Commission. As the seasons that make up a year change, so do the stories of the persons linked to Fraterhouse; some end, but are renewed in other forms, like the seasons. Only the college endures.
Is the Indian Administrative Service (IAS) still the most appropriate institution to govern twenty-first-century India? Should a cadre of generalists head organizations as complex and diverse as industrial units; museums and rural development boards? If it had to be replaced; what is the best alternative? Drawing on his experience of thirty-six years in the IAS; Bhaskar Ghose addresses these and other major questions regarding the role; relevance and effectiveness of India’s long-established but often controversial system of state administration in The Service of the State. Ghose argues forcefully that the IAS is still the best option and one moreover that substantially fulfils its functions—and fulfils them well. Though its once sterling reputation has been tarnished by allegations of corruption; political subservience and declining standards of efficiency; there are still sufficient numbers of dedicated public servants. These administrators; spanning diverse social backgrounds; seniorities and regional profiles; draw on established traditions of duty and of cooperation within the service to deliver—to the best of their ability and often in the face of considerable odds—the goods of development. This reflective and luminous memoir is not only a portrait of a lifetime’s service to the state; it is also a timely and persuasive argument for a system of governance that has had a critical impact on India since Independence.
Civil-servant-turned-schoolteacher Arunava Varman is secretive and reticent. But he turns into an inspired teller of tales after a couple of drinks, especially in the company of his friend, Tapan. Arunava’s bizarre stories—involving friends, family and colleagues—add a dash of excitement to Tapan’s mundane life of a bureaucrat. But over the years, as Tapan gets to know Arunava better, he starts discovering disturbing holes in these tales. Elegant, wistful and full of surprises, this exquisitely crafted first novel combines the suspense of a thriller with the tender charm of a love story.
Five Notes of the Raga is about Indian music and Indian History. This short story that gives the book its name is an imagined encounter between two great personages of the sixteenth century Indian Bhakti movement: the blind musician Surdas and the great Mughal Emperor Akbar. There follows five musical plays staged in London, including the most recently staged Phool Walon ki Saira flower sellers procession that starts from a Hindu temple and ends at a Muslim shrine. Kavita K2k recounts Indian poetryancient and modern. Sheydiner Doojon is about the two bards of BengalTagore and Nazrul. T3 tells the time with timeless Indian Ragas and Tagore melodies. Lastly, Gulbagicha displays the repertoire of Nazruls creativity. The book ends with a few of Dasguptas poems.
Seeks to explore the nature of the relationship between Britain and India at the height of imperial expansion. This collection is of interest among academic communities exploring British and Indian history. It is useful for literary, cultural and urban historians working in this area.
Contributed articles on foreign relations of India post 1984 and national security concerns presented earlier at a seminar celebrating 40th anniversary of Institute for Defence Studies and Analyses.
What remains of the “national” when the nation unravels at the birth of the independent state? The political truncation of India at the end of British colonial rule in 1947 led to a social cataclysm in which roughly one million people died and ten to twelve million were displaced. Combining film studies, trauma theory, and South Asian cultural history, Bhaskar Sarkar follows the shifting traces of this event in Indian cinema over the next six decades. He argues that Partition remains a wound in the collective psyche of South Asia and that its representation on screen enables forms of historical engagement that are largely opaque to standard historiography. Sarkar tracks the initial reticence to engage with the trauma of 1947 and the subsequent emergence of a strong Partition discourse, revealing both the silence and the eventual “return of the repressed” as strands of one complex process. Connecting the relative silence of the early decades after Partition to a project of postcolonial nation-building and to trauma’s disjunctive temporal structure, Sarkar develops an allegorical reading of the silence as a form of mourning. He relates the proliferation of explicit Partition narratives in films made since the mid-1980s to disillusionment with post-independence achievements, and he discusses how current cinematic memorializations of 1947 are influenced by economic liberalization and the rise of a Hindu-chauvinist nationalism. Traversing Hindi and Bengali commercial cinema, art cinema, and television, Sarkar provides a history of Indian cinema that interrogates the national (a central category organizing cinema studies) and participates in a wider process of mourning the modernist promises of the nation form.
Fraterhouse, a college originally for men but now co-educational, was founded in the 1880s by a group of scholars from a monastic order based in Oxford. In independent India the links with Oxford inevitably grew more tenuous; those among the teachers who were English left. The links with Oxford were not, however, severed; a trust set up by a former banker who had worked in India , the Nicholls Trust, regularly sent out two lecturers from Oxford for terms that could last four years. The story is mainly of Nirmal Hazra a distinguished product of the college, of his disastrous involvement, in his first years as a teacher, with Aishani Mitra, a student; of his growing interest in Emily Desanges, one of the Nicholls Trust scholars; of James Ellis, the other Nicholls scholar, deeply interested in Sanskrit literature, who falls in love with Amanda Murray, a diplomat in the U.K. High Commission. As the seasons that make up a year change, so do the stories of the persons linked to Fraterhouse; some end, but are renewed in other forms, like the seasons. Only the college endures.
Seeks to explore the nature of the relationship between Britain and India at the height of imperial expansion. This collection is of interest among academic communities exploring British and Indian history. It is useful for literary, cultural and urban historians working in this area.
About the Book AN ESSENTIAL BOOK FOR EVERY CINEPHILE’S LIBRARY Satyajit Ray is the tallest Indian figure in world cinema. Retrospectives across the globe, perhaps even more than at home, have kept his legacy alive. But how do we understand his cinema in the context of a vastly different world? What keeps great cinema from becoming dated? What are the particularities of Ray’s movies that cause them to endure? Bhaskar Chattopadhyay’s literary engagement with Ray’s cinema spans years. In this book, he revisits each one of Satyajit Ray’s thirty-nine feature films, shorts and documentaries to investigate their cinematic and social context. He also speaks to a number of the master’s collaborators as well as other directors and critics to truly understand Ray and his work. Packed with delightful anecdotes and fresh insights, The Cinema of Satyajit Ray is an essential book for every cinephile’s library.
The reason to re-visit this title more than 50 years after its first publication is both compelling and topical. It is to re-look at the past and observe, as it were, the 75 years of Independence. The book as its title gives away, chronicles the heart-wrenching details of events leading to the Partition and its aftermath. Roughly spanning 15 early years of the infant Republic of India, the book details how millions got uprooted from their home and hearth of hundreds of years till their rehabilitation in newer landscape.
Is the Indian Administrative Service (IAS) still the most appropriate institution to govern twenty-first-century India? Should a cadre of generalists head organizations as complex and diverse as industrial units; museums and rural development boards? If it had to be replaced; what is the best alternative? Drawing on his experience of thirty-six years in the IAS; Bhaskar Ghose addresses these and other major questions regarding the role; relevance and effectiveness of India’s long-established but often controversial system of state administration in The Service of the State. Ghose argues forcefully that the IAS is still the best option and one moreover that substantially fulfils its functions—and fulfils them well. Though its once sterling reputation has been tarnished by allegations of corruption; political subservience and declining standards of efficiency; there are still sufficient numbers of dedicated public servants. These administrators; spanning diverse social backgrounds; seniorities and regional profiles; draw on established traditions of duty and of cooperation within the service to deliver—to the best of their ability and often in the face of considerable odds—the goods of development. This reflective and luminous memoir is not only a portrait of a lifetime’s service to the state; it is also a timely and persuasive argument for a system of governance that has had a critical impact on India since Independence.
Civil-servant-turned-schoolteacher Arunava Varman is secretive and reticent. But he turns into an inspired teller of tales after a couple of drinks, especially in the company of his friend, Tapan. Arunava’s bizarre stories—involving friends, family and colleagues—add a dash of excitement to Tapan’s mundane life of a bureaucrat. But over the years, as Tapan gets to know Arunava better, he starts discovering disturbing holes in these tales. Elegant, wistful and full of surprises, this exquisitely crafted first novel combines the suspense of a thriller with the tender charm of a love story.
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