In school, Bhimrao Ambedkar was allowed to attend classes, but not to belong.

Ambedkar had to sit apart from other children, often on a sack that he had to carry for himself. Teachers avoided physical contact with him, and his notebooks were treated as if they carried impurity. These were not just acts of discrimination but a structured system that existed to constantly remind a certain class of their place in society.

The most painful reminder, however, came in the form of everyday thirst. While other children could walk up to a water source and drink freely, Bhimrao had to wait for a peon to pour water into his hands, but only from a safe distance. If the peon was absent, he simply had to pass the day without even getting a drop of water to quench his thirst, the entire day. For him and other kids from backward castes, school life was simply: no peon, no water.

BR Ambedkar’s understanding of class differences and how society treated lower castes as an abomination deepened during a trip that he undertook in his childhood – this was an experience that should have brought him exploration, but instead, it offered him a glance into the harsh realities of the society, something that a child that young hardly deserved.

While travelling with his brother and nephews to meet their father, he stopped at a dharmashala in order to take a pause from the overwhelming journey. They requested food and a place to rest, but when the moment they asked for water, there were only refusals on their way. The reason was simple – their caste made them untouchable, even to a vessel of water, a non-living, basic need of life.

That night, they rested there, thirsty and afraid, taking turns to stay awake and ensure that they were safe – it felt as if their caste made them untouchable but not immune to the crimes and cruelty of the world. The incident, later recounted in his “Waiting for a Visa”, marked a turning point in Ambedkar’s consciousness. It was no longer just about exclusion in isolated spaces. It was the realisation that the system itself denied him basic human rights.

Ambedkar’s journey from these experiences to global institutions like Columbia University and the London School of Economics is often seen as a story of triumph and revolution. But despite his advancement in life and even reaching an international platform did not free from the torments of his past. It only sharpened his understanding of how he was denied basic human rights, and accessibility was in control of a section that did not achieve anything but was born into circumstantial privilege. He came to recognise that caste was not merely a social issue that could be resolved through reform, goodwill, education, or even achievement. It was a system sustained by power, and thus, it needed a structural revolution.

This insight defined his eminent politics. For Ambedkar, dignity was never to be left to the mercy of others. It must be secured through rights, representation, and institutional safeguards – something that restored humanity without any challenge.

In 1932, the British government’s Communal Award proposed separate electorates for Dalits, enabling them to elect their own representatives, independently and without any interference. For Ambedkar, this was the logical extension of everything he had learned as a child. A society that denied him water could not be trusted to represent him fairly. Thus, separate electorates meant autonomy, a voice that could not be overridden, something that BR Ambedkar deeply envisaged in an independent India.

However, this proposal was strongly opposed by Mahatma Gandhi, who saw it as a threat to Hindu unity. While imprisoned in Yerwada Jail, Gandhi began a fast unto death. This one move of Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi placed immense moral and political pressure on Ambedkar.

What followed was not a negotiation between equals, but a moment of profound dilemma. Ambedkar had to choose between holding onto a mechanism that guaranteed political independence for Dalits and preventing a situation that could lead to widespread violence against his community. And, the result was the Poona Pact.

Separate electorates were abandoned, and instead, reserved seats within a joint electorate system were increased. While this ensured greater numerical representation, it diluted the autonomy Ambedkar had fought for. He later viewed the agreement as a compromise made under duress, a moment where moral pressure overpowered structural necessity.

The thread connecting Ambedkar’s childhood to the Poona Pact did not end in 1932. It continued into his later work as the chief architect of the Constitution of India. The same boy who had once depended on a peon for water went on to design a framework where no citizen would have to depend on another person’s understanding of humanity and basic human rights goodwill for their dignity. Fundamental rights, equality before law, and reservation policies were not abstract ideals – they were his answer to a system that had once denied him dignity at every step.

BR Ambedkar’s life is often celebrated as a story of resilience, but it is equally a story of clarity. He understood early on that injustice was not accidental. It was organised, and thus, needed an organised response to counter.

The journey from a thirsty child in Satara to a leader negotiating the future of millions belonging to the backward classes in Poona was not just a personal story. It is a consistent reminder that true change does not come from constant negotiation and an approach to kindness, but from the creation of systems that make equality non-negotiable and compulsive.

While Ambedkar Jayanti celebrates his contribution to the India that we live in today, it is also vital to realise how an India that once discriminated against a little boy started working rationally only after his struggle in accessing basic human rights.

India has been striving hard for years with the three-stage nuclear programme.

In the second stage of this program, India uses Plutonium, a byproduct of the first stage. In the breeder reactor, the main aim is to produce, or simply breed, more plutonium than it consumes. And this is exactly what India has started working towards.

So far, the amount of fuel being used has been higher than the amount of fuel being produced. And now, after the achievement of the first criticality, a stable self-sustaining reaction has begun, which shall pave the way for the production of a larger amount of fuel than is being used.

This is where things get interesting.

India has limited uranium resources, which we partly import since the mining of uranium in India is not only a difficult process but also an expensive one. But there are some of the world’s largest reserves of thorium present on the sand beaches of South India, and this is the material that can fuel nuclear reactors for centuries.

But there was one challenge – Thorium cannot be used directly as fuel. It needs to be converted into a usable form first, which is not an easy feat.

India had a vision back in the 1950’s, which was conceived by the legendary physicist, Homi J. Bhabha, and later defined by the critical funding and political momentum provided by the former Prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee in 2003. The main aim was simple – to turn the limited uranium into a bridge that unlocks the vast thorium reserves.

Thus, the three-staged nuclear power programme was implemented from research into infrastructure. The Atal Bihari Vajpayee Government further incorporated Bharatiya Nabhikiya Vidyut Nigam Limited (BHAVINI) in September 2003 to support the programme with dependable infrastructure. This organisation was tasked with constructing and commissioning the Prototype Fast Breeder Reactor PFBR at Kalpakkam, which achieved the milestone in April 2026.

If the nuclear power programme meets its desired fate, it shall sustain the Indian energy requirement for centuries, without major dependency on Uranium and imports. But this process is not as quick and easy as it sounds. This is a difficult reaction to crack, and in order to sustain this process, the programme might even take decades to reach completion.

With no major global players apart from Russia having had success on such a large scale, India has now joined this elite group.

India’s vision for energy sustainability is working in three stages:

Stage 1: Current Operating Reactors

India uses natural uranium, mined from the earth, without expensive enrichment, to produce electricity in Pressurised Heavy Water Reactors (PHWRs). Some part of this Uranium is what India imports from countries such as Kazakhstan, Canada, Russia, and Uzbekistan.

As a by-product, these reactors produce plutonium, which is a valuable fissile material.

Stage 2: Fast Breeder Reactors

The PFBR is India’s first large Fast Breeder Reactor. It uses plutonium, recovered from Stage 1 as fuel. In this stage:

• The reactor produces more plutonium than it consumes, which is why the process is termed “breeding”
• At the same time, a thorium blanket is placed around the reactor core that uses fast neutrons to convert Thorium, which India has in abundance, into Uranium-233, a new fissile material that can be used as fuel.

As a coolant, India uses 1,750 tonnes of liquid sodium that circulates through the reactor core to remove heat produced by nuclear fission.

On 6 April 2026, the PFBR reached criticality, marking a major step towards sustainable breeding of fuel.

Stage 3: Thorium-Based Power

In the third stage, India aims to use the Uranium-233 produced in Stage 2, along with abundant thorium, to generate electricity on a large scale.

Once fully operational, this stage will allow India to produce nuclear power for hundreds of years using domestic thorium reserves, reducing dependence on imported Uranium.

In Kalpakkam, India, the Prototype Fast Breeder Reactor began a controlled, self-sustaining nuclear chain reaction for the first time. This is a historic milestone in India’s nuclear journey.

This simply means that a stable chain reaction has been achieved and the reactor is now ready to move towards the breeding phase.

Only Russia currently operates large-scale fast breeder reactors. With the PFBR’s success, India has now become the second country in the world to achieve this milestone at such a scale. The dedicated teams at BHAVINI, IGCAR, and the entire Department of Atomic Energy have achieved this milestone for India.

And, this is not just about one reactor. It is a strategic step towards long-term energy independence for India. As the country’s energy demand grows rapidly, this programme offers a clean, reliable, and self-reliant path forward.

A country that was once sanctioned for its nuclear power programmes, both military and civilian, with funding halted and international backlash, has achieved this milestone largely through its own efforts.

Truly “Atmanirbhar Bharat” in the making!

Born on 11 April 1952, in Sri Ganganagar, Rajasthan, a border town where patriotism was not an abstract idea, but a lived reality, Ravindra Kaushik’s father served in the Indian Air Force. Discipline, duty, and nationhood were part of his upbringing. But Kaushik was not just dutiful; he was expressive. In college, he thrived in theatre, debates, and public speaking. He understood performance. He could become someone else on stage in just the blink of an eye, so believably that you would even doubt the reality. From fluency in Urdu, alongside Punjabi and Bagri, he is the epitome of both intellect and instinct.

And it was this one trait that attracted eyes from RAW in the 1970s – a moment that changed his life forever. Perhaps they did not just see an actor but someone who could live a role.

At the age when most are still discovering and striving to build themselves, Kaushik was asked to erase his every essence. From his religious identity to cultural nuances, everything about Ravindra was erased just to make way for Nabi – a life that was waiting for him in a nation that he could only imagine as an abomination.

For the next two years, he was trained in Delhi’s espionage agency. But that was not all he trained for. He was made to learn how to live as a Muslim, especially a Pakistani one. He underwent circumcision, mastered cultural nuances, and built an identity so complete that it could withstand scrutiny.

And then, in 1975, he crossed the border, moving away from his homeland but only for it. What was left of India was Ravindra Kaushik, but who entered Pakistan was Nabi Ahmed Shakir.

His first step was to enrol himself at Karachi University, earn a law degree, and slowly, meticulously, find his way to the Pakistan Army’s Military Accounts Department. This was the master move and an imposter growth that remains unparalleled. He made the highly intelligent parties of the Pakistani public believe that he was one of them – an art that, in reality, is much more complex than just any movie plot. This was not infiltration but a skilful reinvention that changed the course of a lot of Indian Defence decisions.

From 1979 to 1983, Ravindra Kaushik transmitted critical intelligence back to India. This included information on troop movements, military strategies, and sensitive operations. With his information, India averted threats and navigated the volatile phase in Indo-Pak relations with clarity. This was not just any information. This was something that India’s national integrity depended upon.

What Ranvidra Kaushik did was so exceptional that Prime Minister Indira Gandhi gave him a codename that defines his legacy today. He was called “The Black Tiger” by her.

But a Pakistani officer with no personal life was something that wouldn’t have sat right with anyone, and this was the depth that made his cover more profoundly believable. In 1976, Kaushik married a Pakistani woman, Amanat.

It was not a conventional love story with background music and some attraction, but a calculated necessity, an extension of his identity. Amanat never knew the truth. To her, he was Nabi Ahmed Shakir, a husband, a father, a man rooted in the same land. The two had a son together, and this quiet domesticity was carefully hidden from a haunting truth of espionage. Sometimes, the lie becomes the only life you are allowed to live.

Every spy story, no matter how meticulous, rests on one fragile truth: secrets do not always remain hidden. In September 1983, that truth collapsed. Another operative, Inayat Masih, was captured and under interrogation, and details were revealed. This threatened Kaushik’s identity, the one he so carefully constructed over the years. And soon the truth was out to the world. He was arrested in Lahore.

But like most spy movies that we have seen, this culmination was not cinematic. It was brutal, full of the horrors of espionage. For nearly two years, he endured torture in Sialkot interrogation centres. Yet, he did not break. He did not reveal what was not already known. In 1985, he was sentenced to death. Later, the sentence was commuted to life imprisonment. And with that, the Black Tiger vanished into prison walls.

Kaushik spent the next 16 to 18 years in prisons, from Sialkot, Kot Lakhpat, and finally to Mianwali Jail. There were no rescue missions, no diplomatic breakthroughs, no dramatic exchanges, and only silence that demanded endless patience from him.

In letters smuggled to his family in India, he wrote not just of pain, but of abandonment. There was pride, but also a quiet anguish. The kind that does not accuse, but asks: Was it worth it?

His health started deteriorating, with malnutrition, isolation, and disease taking their toll. And on 21 November 2001, Ravindra Kaushik died in prison at the age of 49, from pulmonary tuberculosis and heart disease. He was buried in an unmarked grave. There was no ceremony, no flag, and no final salute.

Traces from the stories like Ravindra Kaushik’s often find echoes in cinema: the lone operative, double life, and the quiet sacrifice. As cinema enthusiasts and nationalists, it moves us, but the reality is unimaginable. One thing we cannot move past is how, in Dhurandhar, neither Jaskirat nor Hamza finds his family – there is no personal life, just an unending duty that refuses to dissolve or end. It carries the weight of secrecy and disappointment. The fictional world of Dhurandhar carries emotional arcs of love, betrayal, and conflict. But here lies the difference: in films, characters return, they are remembered, celebrated and even mourned.

But in reality, men like Ravindra Kaushik remain suspended between identities, claimed fully by none. He was Ravindra Kaushik in India and Nabi Ahmed Shakir in Pakistan.

And perhaps, in the end, a stranger to both.

Rakesh Khatri grew up in the narrow, bustling lanes of Old Delhi. These were not ordinary lanes but the ones alive with chatter. These sounds were not just of people, but of sparrows and other birds. They perched on windowsills, fluttered across courtyards, and filled mornings with an unmissable rhythm.

These were the memories that were associated with his childhood – a feeling so pure and nostalgic that it could never be forgotten. Years later, as a documentary filmmaker living in Mayur Vihar around 2008, he came across something seriously unsettling. The same spaces that once echoed with chirping sounded eerily quiet – no birds just the honking of cars and two wheelers in othe little spaces that there was. While the city lost its essence, arguably for the better, the open spaces shruk like anything and the birds never found a place in the edgeways to rest.

What one could feel was absence but whart Rakesh Khatri noticed was beyond that – it was displacement. And this triggered a question so deep that he could not have simply ignored: If humans can claim the homes of the innocent birds, shouldn’t they be the ones to return them.

Not all ideas start with enthusiasm. Some even begin with a doubt. This was the case for Rakesh Khatri as well. He was met with a question that made, both sense and left him confused: Why would birds need help to build nests, had they not done so for eternity?

Khatyri was not trying to disrupt the laws of nature. He was trying to make a way for them. All he wanted to do was reverse the irreparable loss of homes of the beautiful birds. With basic materials such as coconut shells, shredded newspaper, discarded cartons, he put the doubts to rest and started getting to work.

The homes he started with were not perfect, crafted with architectural intelligence. They were simply a product of sincerity, optimism, and goodwill. But the doubts persisted – will the sparrows and other birds make them their own? These were the doubts that kept him awake at nights until a a sparrow moved in on one fine day. And in that very moment, a sincere attempt transformed into a revolution.

What began as a solitary act soon grew into a remarkable mission. In 2012, Khatri founded the Eco Roots Foundation, turning personal effort into collective action. Today, his work has led to the creation and installation of over 7 lakh nests, with some estimates crossing 9,00,000 nests through the foundation’s initiatives.

These nests are not merely structures but lifelines. Crafted from jute, coconut fibre, bamboo, cotton, threads, twigs, grass, and even water hyacinth, they are sustainabile at every level. Many of these nests are made with recycled materials, so that they remain accessible and eco-friendly. Installed across cities like Delhi, Bengaluru, Mumbai, Chennai, Kolkata, and Hyderabad, they offer refuge not only to sparrows but also to robins, bulbuls, and magpies. And as a result, in many areas, birds have returned.

What makes Rakesh Khatri a special man is not just his dream but his pragmatism. He knew that his efforts alone will never make a difference. Thus, he started spreading his dream as a skill, that needed to be taught. Through workshops in schools, colleges, residential communities, and corporate spaces, he transformed nest-making into a shared experience.

Over the years, he has conducted thousands of workshops, reaching tens of thousands of individuals, including over 60,000 students.

Khatri’s work extends far beyond nest-making. Through the Eco Roots Foundation, he has woven together a broader vision of ecological balance. Initiatives like “Jal Sparsh” utilise water hyacinth to create nests while simultaneously helping in the restoration of water bodies. Programmes in afforestation, climate education, e-waste management, and native plant cultivation further strengthen this ecosystem approach.

Equally significant is the dimension of women’s empowerment. Across states like Bihar, Uttar Pradesh, Haryana, and Uttarakhand, women are trained to create nest materials, process natural resources, and even serve as nature guides. What began as conservation slowly evolved into livelihood, dignity, and community resilience.

Over the years, Khatri’s work has earned widespread recognition, from the National Science Award (2020) to the Green Leadership Award (2023), the Shining World Compassion Award, and the Earth Champion title by Sony BBC Earth (2025). His initiatives have found mention in the Limca Book of Records, and his foundation has received international accolades such as the Green Apple Award.

Yet, beyond awards, his philosophy remains disarmingly simple: We can’t build our homes by taking away theirs.

It is often said that you are born into what you need to be. The same was the case for Bhagat Singh. It did not take emotional turmoil for him to realise that the country’s power needed to operate differently and not with tyranny in order to shape the lives of Indians. He was simply born into and raised with this idea. He lived the reality of the freedom struggle early on with his family. In his village in Punjab, political discussions were not occasional conversations or incidental; discussions. They were part of daily life.

His father and uncles were already involved in the freedom struggle, and at the time of his birth, they were in British prisons serving sentences for their rebellion. Thus, his life story never started with defiance against family before the power. It started with joining his family in that defiance. Patriotism and love for the motherland were undying emotions that were passed through generations in case of Bhagat Singh. Because the stories that surrounded him were not of ordinary life, but of sacrifice, resistance, and unfinished rebellion.

But some stories stayed with him longer than many others. The tale of Kartar Singh Sarabha left the deepest impact on the young mind of Bhagat Singh. A young revolutionary hanged at just nineteen, Sarabha inspired Bhagat to carry forward his path in rebellion against the British brutality that was constantly pinching his bones. He carried the photograph of Sarabha with him wherever he went, recited his words, and internalised a vision of courage. Carrying forward his legacy, Singh went beyond just courage because this was not admiration, but identification.

At the tender age of twelve years, Bhagat Singh did something that no ordinary child would have. This story is sheer evidence of how Bhagat Singh showed the signs of feeling mutual pain for his countrymen very early.

After the Jallianwala Bagh massacre, Bhagat Singh was deeply affected like any other Indian. He was terrified of the thought of how the British were absolutely unaffected by them, inflicting the pain on innocent Indians. While many people sat in their homes, affected, praying, and petrified with the thought of the massacre at the Bagh, Bhagat Singh was different.

As a twelve-year-old kid, he let his scepticism slide and bunked school only to visit the site. He skipped school and travelled kilometres just to reach Amritsar and visit the massacre-hit Jallianwala Bagh site. What he found there was not just a site of tragedy, but a reality he could no longer condone.

He was pensive, but from that sadness rose a spirit that shaped him into the revolutionary Bhagat Singh. He collected blood-soaked soil from the ground and preserved it in a small bottle. This was not a symbolic act but was a personal vow.

From that point onwards, his relationship with the idea of freedom changed. He joined the Non-Cooperation Movement as a young boy, but when it was withdrawn, he began questioning the limits of non-violence. Even as a teenager, he imagined a different path, one that demanded action rather than patience.

Bhagat Singh did not grow into rebellion. He just recognised it early.

Shivaram Rajguru is a name that is symbolic of struggles and resilience. He grew up in a modest household in Maharashtra, in a state entirely different and far away from the rebellion of Bhagat Singh. He was in a much different state, and his story stems from loss by circumstance. He was only a boy, six years old, when he lost his father. What was left behind was more than just a family. Rajguru’s father was outlived by hardships that challenged his family every day.

There was consistent fear and solitude that could have haunted Rajguru, but he simply refused to accept fear disguised as belief. He was strong-willed and brave, and that bravery was rooted in him since his young days. It was not developed over time. It always existed. It just kept meeting ethics, logic, and intelligence, and this shaped his rebellion years later.

In the village of Rajguru was an infamous bridge – the one that repeatedly came down, crumbling. It simply sank into the Bheema River every now and then. For the villagers, there was only one explanation – the bridge is cursed. They refused to step on it, and that became a very significant obstacle for their villagers in moving on their paths. But Rajguru was no ordinary child who would get frightened by the potential of a bridge being cursed. He was simply built differently.

Instead of avoiding the bridge, he walked over it repeatedly. He was opposed, even frowned upon, but was it going to stop him? No. He simply kept doing what he wanted to – cross the bridge repeatedly. Not once, not twice, but again and again. At times, he would even sleep near it among strangers, simply to prove that nothing supernatural controlled it.

For the villagers, it was a story of recklessness, but for Rajguru, it was defiance, guided by pure logic.

At an age when most children absorb beliefs without question, Rajguru chose to confront them. This incident, remembered in local memory, was more than a childhood story. It was a glimpse into the mind of someone who would never bow to fear, whether social or political.

But to imagine that Rajguru stood against the tradition is unfair. Because he was just against the antiquated norms that the society perpetually operated on. He was just against blind faith, and as he grew older, he became both a skilled wrestler and a student of Sanskrit. He pursued traditional education rather than contemporary education, proving that it was not the modern trend that attracted him but a vivid rationality.

When he later rejected non-violence and chose armed resistance, it was not a sudden shift. It was a continuation of a mindset he had carried since childhood.

Sukhdev Thapar is not remembered as someone who took on dramatic steps to prove his point or pursue his rebellion. His strength lay in something quieter, yet far more enduring. Born and brought up in a household influenced by Arya Samaj ideals and nationalist thought, just like Rajguru, he lost his father at a very young age. But like Bhagat Singh, rebellion ran in his blood, through generations.

His uncle, a Congress activist frequently imprisoned by the British, was the one who became his guiding light. Through him, Sukhdev witnessed not just resistance but also the cost of it.

This prepared him for something far more mature – responding and not reacting impulsively.

As a child, the strength of Sukhdev was rooted in doing what he knew was right and not simply succumbing to the societal norms. For him, it was his truth that mattered and not what the world expected him to do. There were signs that he showed early on in his childhood. As a school-going child, he learned rebellion against the power that he knew was only built on the tears of his countrymen.

At his school, British officials visited very often. It was then that the kids were expected to salute, but there stood Sukhdev, indulging in his mental strength and consciousness, refusing to accept what the world was following. He chose dissent. He refused to salute the British officials, no matter what consequences might be inflicted upon him. He accepted punishment, no matter how tough it was for him to sustain. He quietly used his own money to buy books for children denied education and helped those affected during the influenza epidemic. This was the earliest sign of his rebellion, not rooted in ego but in awareness.

Even as a teenager, Sukhdev subjected himself to physical and emotional endurance. He understood that the path he wished to walk would demand more than courage. It would demand control. One incident stands out with unsettling clarity. He used nitric acid to burn off an “Om” tattoo on his arm, enduring the pain without flinching. This was not an act of rejection of religion or any tradition. It was a simple attempt at self-discipline, a test of how much he could withstand.

This defiance was not rooted in an attention-seeking spirit but in a simple character growth.

Their journeys, though different in nature, converged in Lahore. At the National College, these three young men, Bhagat Singh, Rajguru, and Sukhdev, found a common ground, and together, they transformed the Hindustan Socialist Republican Association into a force driven not only by nationalism but by ideas of social and economic justice.

Their bond was not accidental; it was inevitable because they were meant to collaborate since childhood. There was a pattern that each followed. Bhagat Singh’s exposure to sacrifice made him question passivity, Rajguru’s defiance of superstition made him reject fear, and Sukhdev’s discipline prepared him for sacrifice.

On 23 March 1931, Bhagat Singh, Sukhdev, and Rajguru were executed by the British. But to understand them only through that moment is to miss the story entirely. Their courage did not begin at the gallows. It began in classrooms, in villages, in quiet personal decisions that no one noticed at the time. It began in the way they questioned, resisted, endured, and chose.

The holi celebrations in the brij region begin on Basant Panchami, which marks the arrival of spring and the ceremonial start of Brij ki Holi.

Temples across Vrindavan, Mathura, Gokul, and Barsana apply yellow (basanti) gulal to the idols of Radha and Krishna. Yellow symbolises new beginnings, harvest, and divine joy. Lord Krishna is dressed in yellow garments, and bhajans echo through temple courtyards.

Unlike the energetic celebrations that brij ki holi is associated with, the basanti holi celebration is devotional and calm. Devotees lightly offer gulal at the feet of the deities, signalling that Holi has begun

Before colours take centre stage, Barsana hosts one of the most unique traditions of Brij ki Holi — Laddu Holi at the Radha Rani Temple.

Here, instead of colour, thousands of laddoos are showered on the devotees from the temple rooftops and balconies. Devotees catch them, throw them back, and celebrate the festival with singing and dancing and the divine chants of Radhe Radhe. It is, undoubtedly, a sight to behold and fascinate!

According to locals, a priest from Barsana once travelled to Nandgaon (Krishna’s village) to invite them to play holi in Barsana. When the invitation was accepted and he returned with the good news, people were elated and celebrated the news of acceptance by welcoming the priest with laddoos.

Today, this ritual marks the sweet beginning of Holi celebrations and takes place just a day before the more famous Lathmar Holi.

Among all the Holi celebrations in India, Lathmar Holi is undisputedly the most iconic, energetic and widely recognised.

The first day of Lathmar holi takes place in Barsana, Radha’s village. Upon invitation from Barsaa, men from Nandgaon arrive to play Holi there, symbolising Krishna visiting Radha. But, women of Barsana greet them with lathis (sticks), recreating a legendary moment from folklore.

The men carry shields to protect themselves while colours fly, drums beat loudly, and folk songs fill the streets.

Legend says Krishna would often visit Barsana and tease Radha and her friends by throwing colours. One day, the gopis decided to chase him away with sticks. Lathmar Holi reenacts this playful episode every year — not as conflict, but as affectionate mischief.

The next day, the celebration shifts to Nandgaon. Now Barsana visits Krishna’s village, and the dynamic reverses.

This exchange completes the emotional arc of Radha-Krishna’s relationship — teasing, retaliation, and balance. Thousands gather to witness this cultural spectacle that feels both festive and theatrical.

After the high-energy Lathmar celebrations, the tone shifts with Phoolon Ki Holi, one of the most beautiful parts of Vrindavan Holi.

Instead of colours or water, flowers are showered inside temples. Rose petals, marigolds, and jasmine fill temple halls as priests gently swing the idols of Radha and Krishna on decorated swings.

This celebration often coincides with Rangbhari Ekadashi and represents a softer, more devotional phase of the festival.

Flowers hold a deeply intimate place in Radha-Krishna lore. It is believed that Radha would lovingly decorate Krishna with flowers, adorning him with floral garlands and ornaments. Flowers symbolised tenderness, romance, and devotion in their divine relationship.

Phoolon Ki Holi recreates that emotion. It marks a shift in the Braj celebrations — from playful mischief to pure love. As if the teasing and colour battles are over, and what remains is only softness, fragrance, and devotion.

In this moment, Holi stops being loud and becomes deeply spiritual — a celebration not of colour, but of divine love in its most delicate form.

Celebrated mainly in Gokul, Chhadi Mar Holi is a lighter and more playful version of Lathmar Holi.

Instead of heavy sticks, women or temple priests use thin canes (chhadi) to gently tap devotees in a playful, blessing-like manner. Children participate in processions, run through the streets playing with colours, and recreate Krishna’s childhood mischief.

This celebration reflects the innocence of Krishna’s early years and offers a more family-friendly Holi experience within the broader Braj festivities.

One day before the colours of Dhulendi arrive, Braj observes Chhoti Holi, marked by the ritual of Holika Dahan.

As evening falls, bonfires are lit across towns and temple courtyards. Families gather around the flames, offer prayers, and prepare spiritually for the main Holi day ahead.

The ritual comes from the story of Prahlad and Holika. Prahlad, a devoted follower of Lord Vishnu, refused to worship his tyrant father, Hiranyakashipu. To punish him, the king asked his sister Holika, who was believed to have received a boon to stay protected against fire, to sit in flames with Prahlad on her lap.

But the plan failed. Holika was burned, while Prahlad emerged unharmed, protected by his faith.

Holika Dahan thus symbolises the victory of devotion over evil. In the context of Brij ki Holi, it grounds the vibrant celebrations in a deeper spiritual meaning — reminding devotees that before colour comes faith.

Just when you think the colour frenzy has peaked on Dhulendi, Braj surprises you again.

The day after Dhulendi, the energy rises dramatically with Huranga Holi, most famously celebrated at the Dauji Temple in Baldev, near Mathura. If Lathmar Holi feels theatrical, Huranga feels raw and untamed.

By late morning, the temple courtyard fills with devotees from the Goswami Family. Traditional music plays, chants echo through the complex, and anticipation builds. Then the celebration begins.

Women, often in the role of playful “bhabhis,” grab hold of the men — symbolically the “devars” — and tear their shirts. The torn cloth is dipped into deep orange-red colour, traditionally made from tesu (palash) flowers mixed with water and natural elements. The women then playfully strike the men with the soaked fabric, laughing and teasing as the crowd cheers.

The men respond with buckets of colour and high-pressure pichkaris, drenching everyone in sight. Within minutes, the temple courtyard transforms into a sea of orange, red, and pink — loud, chaotic, yet rooted in tradition.

The day after Holika Dahan is Dhulendi, the primary day of colours and the emotional peak of Holi celebrations in Braj.

By morning, the entire region transforms. Streets turn red, pink, and saffron. Tesu (palash) flowers are soaked to create natural dyes. Gulal fills the air, and drums echo through the narrow lanes of Vrindavan and Mathura.

Unlike modern Holi parties, Dhulendi in Braj begins with devotion. Devotees first offer colour to the deity before applying it to each other. Strangers embrace, smear colour, and instantly become part of the same celebration.

For decades, widows living in Vrindavan were excluded from Holi celebrations and pushed into lives of social isolation. Many had been abandoned by families and spent their years in ashrams, wearing white and staying away from festivals, colours, and public joy. Holi, a festival of vibrant colours, remained something they could only watch from a distance.

But that began to change around 2013, when social organisations and local communities initiated special Holi celebrations for widows. What started as a small effort gradually grew into a powerful movement of inclusion.

Today, Widows’ Holi is celebrated in Vrindavan during the days leading up to Dhulendi, as part of the wider Brij ki Holi timeline. It is usually organised a few days before the main colour day so that participants can celebrate in a safer, more comfortable environment.

The celebrations are most prominently held at places like Gopinath Temple and Pagal Baba Ashram, along with several widow ashrams across Vrindavan — a town that has long been home to thousands of widows.

Now, temple courtyards once defined by silence come alive with colour. Women apply gulal to each other, sing bhajans, and laugh freely. The white sarees that once symbolised withdrawal now carry streaks of pink and yellow.

Just when you think the colour frenzy has peaked on Dhulendi, Braj surprises you again.

The day after Dhulendi, the energy rises dramatically with Huranga Holi, most famously celebrated at the Dauji Temple in Baldev, near Mathura. If Lathmar Holi feels theatrical, Huranga feels raw and untamed.

By late morning, the temple courtyard fills with devotees from the Goswami Family. Traditional music plays, chants echo through the complex, and anticipation builds. Then the celebration begins.

Women, often in the role of playful “bhabhis,” grab hold of the men — symbolically the “devars” — and tear their shirts. The torn cloth is dipped into deep orange-red colour, traditionally made from tesu (palash) flowers mixed with water and natural elements. The women then playfully strike the men with the soaked fabric, laughing and teasing as the crowd cheers.

The men respond with buckets of colour and high-pressure pichkaris, drenching everyone in sight. Within minutes, the temple courtyard transforms into a sea of orange, red, and pink — loud, chaotic, yet rooted in tradition.

Huranga Holi is dedicated to Balram (Dauji), Krishna’s elder brother. According to local belief, Balram celebrated Holi with greater force and enthusiasm than Krishna himself. This celebration reflects that bold, rustic spirit — energetic, earthy, and uninhibited.

Some also connect Huranga symbolically to playful reversals in Krishna’s leelas, where teasing and revenge were part of divine romance. Here, that spirit takes a more dramatic form.

Because of its intensity — especially with the use of strong metal pichkaris in some instances — the celebration is often monitored by local administration to ensure safety. Protective measures and crowd control have become necessary over the years.

Five days after Dhulendi comes Rang Panchmi, marking the formal conclusion of the 40-day Brij ki Holi.

Temples offer final gulal to Radharani and Shri Krishna, processions are taken out, and devotees play with colours one last time. Compared to Dhulendi, this phase is calmer and more reflective.

It feels like spring itself is slowly fading, leaving behind memories soaked in colour and devotion.

What sets Brij ki Holi apart from other Holi celebrations?

• It spans over 40 days
• Every town has its own ritual
• Each celebration is rooted in Radha-Krishna lore
• Devotion and drama coexist seamlessly

From the serenity of Basanti Holi to the intensity of Huranga, from laddoo showers to flower rains, every occasion of Brij Ki Holi reflects the fusion of mythology and community. And perhaps that is the true magic of Brij!

If you enjoy discovering such lesser-known cultural stories, explore more on The Unknown India, where we uncover the unseen layers of India’s traditions, festivals, and forgotten narratives.

Growing up in a village in Uttar Pradesh named Dadha, Ramveer Tanwar understood something at a tender age that most people failed to understand as full grown adults – ponds are not just water reserves, but the heartbeat of rural life. He recognised and realised that ponds in India are not just beautiful geographical elements. He acknowledges that they store rainwater, recharge, groundwater, support agricultural life, and preserve biodiversity, and thus it is extremely important that they do not fade away with time.

But with growing urbanisation, encroachment, and carelessness, ponds have moved towards extinction. The water is turning pale and grey in colour. Due to all the waste that is discharged into it, the sounds of birds chopping nearby are turning into rising fumes of ill smell, the diverse water species that once found their homes in the ponds are slowly dying, and these ponds no longer are the beautiful geographical element in rural areas. This destruction pained him deeply and inspired him to take the responsibility of these water bodies.

A resident of a small village in Uttar Pradesh, Ramveer Tanwar was an extremely ambitious young student. He pursued engineering and earned a degree in mechanical stream through which he stepped into the world of corporate. This offered him stability and financial security, but somehow it never fulfilled his longing for his home that was slowly losing its life and soul. When he reached his home, all he could see was a childhood memory, disappearing, and dying slowly. For him, the ponds of his village were no longer water bodies, but muddy waste land and all he could think about was broken ecosystems and forgotten heritage. Thus, he decided to leave his job in 2015 and dedicate his life to water conservation in India.

Ramveer Tanwar had dedication and an inspiration, and that was all that was required for him to get started on his mission to revive the ponds in India. Collaborated with a few supportive villagers in his village and began cleaning the ponds himself. He removed the garbage, distilled the water, strengthened the embankments, and planted trees all around it.

While he was putting all of these efforts, many people doubted him, and some even mocked him. There were a few people who told him that his efforts were pointless because nothing is going to change. But all discouragement did not stop him. He continued on his commitment to the ponds and the reality was the biggest encouragement that he could have ever received. The water started turning blue from the muddy dirt, birds returned back, the ponds stopped, smelling, and the plastic bags diminished from the surface making space for vegetation. And this is how everybody started believing in his cause.

What Ramveer Tanwar did in his own village out of his longing for childhood environment, turned into a campaign about water conservation in India, which independently focused on the ponds. He started from a small village in Uttar Pradesh and with one pond. But soon, this turned into a national movement where he restored more than 80 ponds in India across various states like Uttar Pradesh, Haryana, Uttarakhand, Delhi, Gujarat, Karnataka, and Madhya Pradesh. At every pond that he restored, there were improvements in groundwater levels, farmers were better supported, biodiversity was revived, and communities were brought together.

It was not as easy to revive the ponds as it might sound. From harmful chemical waste to snake infestations, the ponds were nothing but filthy. From water infections to skin allergies, there were many issues that were hanging over his head while he was on his expedition to revive the ponds in India. But, every move and every difficulty that he faced throughout his journey, always resulted in extremely extraordinary results. The ponds were living again, like they did in his childhood. All of these efforts earned the title “Pond Man of India”.

Ramveer Tanwar as the pond man of India founded the NGO Say Earth in 2018. The main focus of this NGO was water conservation in India, restoring water bodies, developing urban forest, and spreading environmental awareness. Through this platform, the impact of his initiative was extended beyond just physical restoration to community engagement. He educated everyone how to sustain the clean ponds. All he wanted to do was make people stakeholders in their own environmental future.

Under the NGO Say Earth, he launched one of the most powerful initiatives in the history of water conservation in India – Jal Chaupal. The main aim of the campaign was community dialogue that focused simply on water. He gathered villagers, discussed local water issues, and collectively decided how to protect and maintain the ponds. His approach was for long-term sustainability because one activist cannot change the world, but an entire community can. And soon, Jal Chaupal turned into a model for grass roots protection, and restoration of ponds in India.

From being known as the Pondman of India to International recognition, Ramveer Tanwar is appreciated for his efforts on water conservation in India widely. He has received multiple national and international owners, including the shining world protection award, and the wetland champions award from India’s ministry of environment. Despite such appreciation, he still remains rooted in his village life and intent to sustain the life of ponds in India.

The story of Ramveer Tanwar and restoring ponds is not just about the environment. It is also about the fact that individual action matters and what changes a responsible citizen can make to the society. He consistently inspires everyone to take up whatever they firmly believe in. Today, as the pond man of India, he continues his mission by going from pond to pond and village to village, building a legacy that will change the way the future generations see life on this planet.

Born on March 5, 1916, in Cuttack, Bihar and Orissa Province, Biuju Patnaik belonged to an aristocratic family. His father, Laxminarayan Patnaik, was the Dewan of the Paralakhemundi Estate, and his family traced their origin back to Ghumusar Nuagam in Ganjam district. As a young child, Biju Patnaik was intelligent, courageous, and had an inclination for adventure. He completed his formal education in Cuttack, followed by higher education at Ravenshaw College. But he was exclusively fascinated by aviation, and that led him to drop out and enrol at the Aeronautical Training Institute of India.

And this decision that defined his destiny.

Biju Patnaik began his aviation career with private airlines such as Indian National Airways. During World War II, he joined the Royal Indian Air Force RIAF and rose to lead the air transport command. He flew numerous missions in a Dakota DC-3 aircraft under dangerous conditions.

And one of his most historic missions was on October 27, 1947, when he piloted the first flight from Delhi to Srinagar after Jammu and Kashmir’s accession to India. Carrying 17 soldiers of the 1st Sikh Regiment, he flew low over the Srinagar airstrip to ensure it was safe from enemy raiders.

His wife, Gyan Patnaik, was herself a trailblazer. She was the first Indian woman to obtain a commercial pilot’s license, and together, they undertook daring wartime missions, including evacuating civilians from Rangoon during the Japanese advance. After independence, he founded Kalinga Airlines, which served several historic missions.

While serving in the RIAF, Patnaik secretly supported India’s independence movement. He distributed anti-British literature among Indian troops, an act considered subversive by colonial authorities, and for this, he was even imprisoned by the British. But, despite his detention, he continued supporting the Quit India Movement while also fighting the Axis powers. His dual role as a pilot and freedom fighter made him a legendary anti-colonial freedom fighter for India.

In 1947, at Jawaharlal Nehru’s request, Biju Patnaik undertook one of the boldest rescue missions in modern history. During the Indonesian National Revolution, Dutch forces had blockaded Indonesian leaders. Patnaik flew a Dakota aircraft into an improvised airstrip near Jakarta, rescued President Sukarno, Vice President Mohammad Hatta, and Prime Minister Sutan Sjahrir, and brought them to India.

This daring mission defied Dutch blockades and strengthened India-Indonesia ties. Indonesia honoured him with its highest civilian awards, and the aircraft used in the mission is now displayed at Bhubaneswar Airport.

Biju Patnaik entered politics in 1946 and emerged as a powerful leader. He served as Chief Minister of Odisha twice, from 1961 to 1963 and again from 1990 to 1995. He also served as Union Minister for Steel, Mines, and Coal and was elected multiple times to the Lok Sabha. Recognised for his federalist and socialist ideals, he advocated equitable resource distribution among Indian states.

He founded the Biju Janata Dal (BJD) in 1997, shortly before his death. And, this party went on to dominate Odisha politics under the leadership of his son Naveen Patnaik, who also turned into a very major political figure and beloved Chief Minister of Odisha. He was not just simply a politician but a visionary. He laid the foundation for Odisha’s modern infrastructure and industrial base. His contribution to the infrastructure of Odisha shifted the state’s growth over the years. Under his leadership, the following infrastructure was established in Odisha:

• Paradip Port
• Bhubaneswar Airport, now Biju Patnaik International Airport
• National Aluminium Company NALCO
• Talcher Thermal Power Station
• Balimela Hydel Project
• Regional Engineering College, now NIT Rourkela
• Sainik School Bhubaneswar
• Odisha University of Agriculture and Technology
• Industrial belts at Choudwar and Barbil

He also instituted the Kalinga Prize, administered by UNESCO, to promote science and technology.

Patnaik received numerous international honours, including Indonesia’s Bintang Jasa Utama and Russia’s Order of Lenin. India commemorated him with a postage stamp and a coin. He passed away on April 17, 1997, at the age of 81. His coffin was draped with the flags of India, Indonesia, and Russia, which is a rare tribute to his global legacy.
Biju Patnaik’s dream was an Odisha filled with confident, self-reliant citizens. His vision continues to shape the state’s identity, making him not just a leader but a symbol of courage, ambition, and progress.

The idea of the Mobile Library began with Shubham Badhani, a young librarian from Nainital. He noticed the gap in the education which textbooks and classrooms could not fill. In the villages of Uttarakhand, schools often remain closed due to landslides, floods, broken roads, and harsh weather. Libraries are almost non-existent. Children grow up surrounded by nature’s beauty but with limited access to books, stories, and learning resources.

And with this, Shubham thought of a simple question: If vehicles can’t reach these villages, what can? The answer stood quietly in front of him, and it was horses.

On June 12, 2023, with the help of a donated horse from a local farmer, the first Ghoda Library was initiated, and this experiment turned into a movement.

In this movement, horses, which are often called the four-legged librarians, carry bags full of books through mountain paths, forests, and remote villages. Placards reading “Ghoda Library” hang on their sides as they walk from village to village. Children gather around as the horses arrive, and they choose books, borrow them for a week or so, and return them when the ghoda library visits again. The volunteers also organise reading circles where children and parents sit on the grass and read together.

The project of the Ghoda Library expanded from just one horse to ten horses within a span of months. And, all this was only possible with the support of volunteer villagers. Books are usually distributed through donations, partner NGOs, and youth foundations. This is an exemplary initiative that never fails to show how community support can empower education.

The Ghoda Library mainly operates in the Kotabagh block of Nainital district, covering remote villages like Baghani, Jalna, Mahaldhura, Dola, Kalsi, and others. These are the villages where connectivity is relatively poor, schools are frequently disrupted due to weather, and children usually spend their afternoons playing or helping their families,s but simply not studying.

But ever since the Ghoda library reached their homes, they now borrow books, read, find educational grounds to communicate with each other, and get an exposure to different parts of the world through the means of reading. For many children, the books borrowed from the mobile library are the first real encounter with imagination and knowledge beyond the tramlines of their remote life.

If you think that the impact of the Ghoda Library is just limited to the lending and borrowing of books, you might be mistaken. Ghoda library builds reading habits, sparks curiosity, boosts confidence, and opens doors to imagination for the little children, unfortunately, who are devoid of consistent education. It ensures that learning continues even when schools in Uttarakhand shut down due to weather or disasters.

Moreover, the Ghoda library is simply not limited to young minds. It also extends beyond, supporting adults and turning education into a community celebration. Women participate actively, breaking social barriers and encouraging their children to learn. This is Uttarakhand Education that is not driven by a strong infrastructure, but by empathy and innovation.

The initiative turned into national news when Prime Minister Narendra Modi mentioned the Ghoda Library in his “Mann Ki Baat” radio address in 2023. He praised the creativity and commitment of the people of Uttarakhand in ensuring that education reaches children in difficult terrains, by hook or by crook.

The project has also received appreciation from ministers, educators, and media outlets. Over time, it has turned into a grassroots innovation. From local villages to national conversations, the Ghoda Library has proved that education does not always need infrastructure. It simply needs intention.

The Ghoda Library is not just about books. It represents something deeper. It follows the intent behind Sabka Saath, Sabka Vikas, a movement that actively preaches inclusion and the power of simple ideas. The founder of Ghoda Library, Shubham Badhani, continues to seek funding and invite support in his expedition to expand the mobile library to more villages and age groups.

This is not just a story where books ride horses, and learning reaches even the farthest homes. It is a story of intent, hope, determination, positive adamancy, innovation, inclusion, and progress. The people of Uttarakhand did not wait for the government or God to turn their lives around. They si took the initiative into their own hands, and that is exactly how they have turned the tables!