School series 56

 MYSURU: WHERE RAJA RAVI VARMA MEETS THE WORLD

There are museums that preserve history.

And then there are museums that seem to open a window into an entire civilisation.

The Jayachamarajendra Art Gallery, housed in the magnificent Jaganmohan Palace in Mysuru, is one such place.

Jaganmohan Palace was built in 1861 by Maharaja Mummadi Krishnaraja Wodeyar. The palace was converted into a museum in 1915 and today houses an extraordinary collection of paintings, musical instruments, royal objects and other works of art.

But for me, its greatest attraction is its collection of Raja Ravi Varma's paintings.

RAJA RAVI VARMA — THE ARTIST WHO CHANGED INDIA

Raja Ravi Varma (1848–1906) brought something revolutionary to Indian art.

He combined the techniques of European academic oil painting—perspective, realistic anatomy, light and shadow—with subjects drawn from India's own imagination: the Ramayana, Mahabharata, Puranas and the lives of India's gods and heroes.

For the first time, figures that had lived for centuries in temples, manuscripts and oral traditions could appear before ordinary people as almost living human beings.

Sita, Damayanti, Shakuntala, Krishna and Saraswati were no longer distant mythological figures.

They had faces.

They had expressions.

They seemed to breathe.

THE ROYAL CONNECTION

The Mysore court became an important patron of Ravi Varma.

The Jaganmohan Palace gallery today has 16 original Ravi Varma paintings, including Malabar Lady, Sairandhri, Victory of Meghanatha, Lady in Moonlight, Sucking Child and Harishchandra.

Standing before these paintings, one can almost imagine the Mysore court of another age—where art was not decoration but an important part of royal culture.

And this is what makes the Mysuru collection special.

We are not simply looking at paintings by a famous artist.

We are looking at a moment when Indian art was changing.

FROM PALACES TO ORDINARY HOMES

But Ravi Varma's greatest revolution happened outside the palace.

He realised that a painting could reach only a few people, but a print could reach thousands.

His establishment of the Ravi Varma Press transformed the way Indians encountered art. Chromolithographic prints reproduced his paintings in colour and carried images of Hindu gods, goddesses and mythological scenes into homes across India.

Art was no longer confined to royal courts, galleries and wealthy homes.

It entered ordinary Indian households.

It entered prayer rooms.

It entered popular culture.

And perhaps that is the most extraordinary legacy of Raja Ravi Varma.

He did not merely paint India. He helped India see itself.

A PERSONAL CONNECTION

There is something particularly fascinating about this story for us.

The Ravi Varma images that travelled across India through prints eventually became part of the visual world of countless Indian homes.

So when we see a Ravi Varma image today, we may not be looking at an original painting.

We may be looking at the descendant of an extraordinary nineteenth-century idea:

Take great art out of the palace and put it into the hands of the people.

That is why Ravi Varma remains so important.

He stood at the meeting point of royalty and the common man, tradition and modernity, Indian mythology and European technique, original painting and mass reproduction.

And in Mysuru, inside the old Jaganmohan Palace, that story can still be seen on the walls.

Perhaps that is the real museum.

Not just a collection of objects—

but a glimpse of how India learned to carry its own stories into the modern age.

Easier said than done.

 

School series 55

 Pune: The India We Must Not Forget

There is an India that most of us know.

And there is another India that lives in forests, hills and remote villages—an India with its own languages, customs, music, art and extraordinary knowledge of nature.

To meet that India, we need to go to the Tribal Cultural Museum in Pune.

The museum was established in 1965 within the Tribal Research & Training Institute of Maharashtra. Its purpose is not simply to display objects, but to preserve and explain the life and culture of the state's tribal communities. Today, about 1,359 objects are displayed.

Who Are These People?

Maharashtra has 45 recognised tribal communities.

Among them are the Warli, Bhil, Pawara, Kokana, Thakar, Gond, Madia, Korku and Mavchi communities.

Each has developed its own traditions, crafts and ways of living.

The museum introduces visitors to major tribal communities through photographs and objects, organised broadly around the regions of Konkan, Marathwada, Gondwana and Satpuda.

Suddenly, Maharashtra becomes much larger than the cities we know.

A House Tells a Story

One of the lovely features of the museum is its attempt to show tribal life not as something belonging to a distant past, but as a living culture.

Traditional huts have been recreated.

Household objects are displayed.

Agricultural implements tell us how people worked the land.

Hunting equipment reveals the skills required to live in forest country.

Musical instruments tell another story—the importance of rhythm, dance and community celebrations.

The museum even includes contemporary tribal art.

And Then We Meet Warli

Perhaps the best-known artistic tradition represented here is Warli painting.

At first glance, the paintings appear deceptively simple.

White figures.

Geometric shapes.

Circles, triangles and lines.

But look carefully.

You begin to see people dancing.

People farming.

Animals.

Trees.

Houses.

Ceremonies.

Village life.

The painting becomes a visual record of a community's relationship with its world.

The museum's tribal art section specifically showcases Warli paintings depicting different aspects of cultural life.

Music Without a Concert Hall

The musical instruments are equally fascinating.

There are drums used to create rhythm during dances.

There are string instruments.

There are instruments associated with festivals and worship.

For example, the museum describes the Dhimki, associated with the Korku community and played during Holi, and the Ghangli, a string instrument of the Warlis.

Here music is not separated from life.

It accompanies the festival.

The dance.

The worship.

The community.

Knowledge Hidden in Objects

Perhaps this is what we should look for when we visit a tribal museum.

Not merely:

"What is this object?"

But:

"What knowledge does this object contain?"

A farming tool contains knowledge of soil and crops.

A hunting implement contains knowledge of animals and forests.

A musical instrument contains knowledge of materials, sound and rhythm.

A household object tells us how resources were used.

A painting records memory.

And the way a community builds its home tells us how it understands climate, landscape and survival.

This is indigenous knowledge—knowledge accumulated over generations without textbooks or laboratories.

Why We Should Remember

Modern India has changed enormously.

Roads have reached remote areas.

Technology has transformed communication.

Traditional occupations have changed.

Yet these cultures remain an important part of India's extraordinary diversity.

The Tribal Research & Training Institute itself has among its objectives the preservation and propagation of tribal culture, heritage and traditions.

So this little museum in Pune is doing something important.

It is saying:

Do not let progress erase memory.

A civilisation is not made only by its great cities.

It is also made by the people who lived close to the forest, understood the seasons, cultivated the land, celebrated together, made music, painted their world and passed their knowledge from one generation to the next.

The museum gives us a glimpse of that India.

And perhaps, after seeing it, we will never again look at a simple Warli painting, a tribal drum or an old agricultural tool as merely an object.

We will see behind it—

a people, a place, a history and generations of knowledge.

School series 54

 Pune: A Man Who Collected India

There are museums that preserve kings and empires.

And then there are museums that preserve ordinary life.

The Raja Dinkar Kelkar Museum in Pune belongs to the second kind—and perhaps that is what makes it so fascinating.

It began with one man's extraordinary passion.

Dr. Dinkar G. Kelkar started collecting objects around the 1920s. What began as a personal interest grew into an enormous collection of India's artistic and cultural heritage. The museum was eventually established to preserve this treasure, which he dedicated to the memory of his only son, Raja.

A Museum of Everyday India

Walk through its rooms and you don't encounter only grand works of art.

You encounter India's life.

Carved wooden doors, Windows and balconies, Oil lamps, Locks and keys, Cooking vessels, Jewellery Musicalinstruments,Weapons,Ornaments,Paintings.Sculptures. Objects used in homes, temples and courts.

Some are exquisite works of craftsmanship; others are wonderfully ordinary objects that would otherwise have disappeared from memory.

And that is the magic.

A door is no longer merely a door.

A lamp becomes a piece of history.

A musical instrument tells us how people entertained themselves.

A household object tells us how our grandparents and great-grandparents lived.

The Collector Who Saw Beauty Everywhere

Dr. Kelkar's genius was not simply that he collected thousands of objects.

It was that he understood that heritage is not confined to palaces.

The craftsmanship of a village carpenter, the design of a household vessel, the carving on an old doorway and the shape of an instrument can tell us as much about a civilisation as the throne of a king.

The museum therefore becomes almost a portrait of India itself.

Its collection includes sculptures, traditional crafts, musical instruments, arms and armour, vessels, textiles and many other objects representing different regions and traditions of the country.

The Wonder of Wood

Perhaps one of the most memorable things about the museum is its collection of architectural woodwork.

Imagine walking through a museum and suddenly finding yourself looking at pieces of old houses—doors, pillars, balconies and carved panels.

They allow us to see the imagination of craftsmen who worked without modern machines.

Every curve had to be planned.

Every figure had to be carved.

Every floral pattern had to be patiently brought out of a block of wood.

The house itself became a work of art.

And Then—Music

The collection of traditional Indian musical instruments is another treasure.

Drums, string instruments and wind instruments remind us that Indian music did not live only in concert halls.

Why This Museum Matters

There is something deeply moving about this museum.

India changes rapidly.

Houses disappear.

Old utensils are replaced.

Traditional crafts decline.

Objects that were once commonplace become unfamiliar to the next generation.

But someone thought:

"These things must not be forgotten."

That someone was Dinkar Kelkar.

And so thousands of fragments of India's everyday life found a new home.

Today, the museum is housed in a three-storey complex on Bajirao Road in Pune.

Perhaps the greatest lesson of the Kelkar Museum is this:

History is not only what happened in palaces.

History is also the lamp that lit a grandmother's room.

The door that welcomed a family.

The vessel that cooked their food.

The instrument that played at their celebration.

The ornament someone wore with pride.

The craftsman's carving that nobody thought would one day become a museum piece.

Someone had the wisdom to save them.

And because of that, ordinary India has become extraordinary heritage.

School series 53

 Pune: A Railway World in Miniature

A whole railway world built small enough to fit inside a hall.

The Little City That Never Stops.

In Kothrud, Pune, there is a remarkable museum called Joshi’s Museum of Miniature Railways. It began with the passion of B. S. “Bhau” Joshi, who loved railway models and spent decades turning that fascination into an extraordinary working miniature world. The permanent museum opened to the public in 1998. 

What makes it special is that this is not simply a collection of toy trains.

It is an entire imaginary city—with railway stations, platforms, tracks, signals, bridges, roads, buildings, vehicles and hundreds of tiny people—all functioning together.

The main layout has six platforms, three main railway lines, goods facilities, turntables, cranes, 26 points and 65 signals. There are also highways, moving cars, a fairground, circus, Ferris wheel, restaurants and even a swimming pool. Around 2,000 tiny figures populate this miniature world. 

And then comes the most enchanting part.

A City Comes Alive

The lights dim.

The trains begin moving.

Signals change.

Cars travel along the roads.

Buildings and little scenes come alive.

And above this tiny city is a night sky recreating the stars and planets associated with the night of 16 April 1853—the date India's first passenger train ran from Bombay to Thane.

For a child, it is wonderful.

For an adult, it is strangely nostalgic.

Because suddenly we realise that what looks like a toy is actually a lesson in engineering, electricity, mechanics, architecture, transport and urban planning.

The museum itself explains that railway modelling can bring together subjects as diverse as civil and electrical engineering, physics, mathematics, computer engineering and even photography. 

One Man's Obsession

The story of Bhau Joshi is perhaps more interesting than the trains themselves.

He began with a hobby—collecting and making railway models. He initially imagined taking a working miniature railway from town to town like a travelling fair.

But transporting such an elaborate creation required enormous effort.

So the travelling railway became a permanent railway city.

The dedicated hall was constructed in 1991, and years of painstaking work followed. The control system alone contains hundreds of wires; the layout can be operated manually or through computer control. 

His son Ravi Joshi and the next generation have continued the work. The museum has even added miniature representations of newer trains such as Vande Bharat. 

Why I Think This Belongs in Our Museum Series

There is something beautiful about museums like this.

A museum need not always contain ancient sculptures, royal treasures or priceless paintings.

Sometimes it preserves a person's passion.

Bhau Joshi looked at the railway and saw more than a means of transport. He saw a world of movement, engineering, imagination and human activity—and patiently recreated that world on a miniature scale.

Perhaps that is why the museum appeals equally to children and grandparents.

The child sees a train.

The engineer sees a marvel.

The historian sees the journey of the railways.

And the older visitor may simply hear the whistle of a train and remember another time.

School series 52

Salar Jung Museum: When One Man Collected the World

Some museums preserve the history of a kingdom.

Some preserve the history of a civilisation.

And then there is the Salar Jung Museum in Hyderabad—a museum that seems to have gathered pieces of the whole world under one roof.

But its story begins with one man.

Nawab Mir Yousuf Ali Khan, Salar Jung III.

He was not merely a collector. He was a man fascinated by beauty, craftsmanship and objects from distant lands. Over the years, his passion grew into an extraordinary collection of Indian, European, Middle Eastern and Far Eastern art.

Today the museum has more than 46,000 art objects, 8,000 manuscripts and 60,000 printed books, arranged in more than 38 galleries.

But statistics cannot convey what it feels like to walk through it.

The Clock That Still Performs

Perhaps we should begin with the clock.

Because a museum object becomes unforgettable when it does something.

The famous musical clock is a magnificent 19th-century English clock bought by Salar Jung III from Cook and Kelvey.

Every hour, a little timekeeper emerges from the upper part of the clock and strikes a gong the number of times corresponding to the hour.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four...

And so it continues.

The museum calls its clock collection one of its most visited sections, with sundials, bracket clocks, grandfather clocks, skeleton clocks, bird-cage clocks and many other European timepieces.

There is something wonderfully old-fashioned about it.

A machine designed not merely to tell you the time—

but to announce it.

And that brings back memories of the clocks that once stood in our homes: the patient ticking through the day, the quarter-hour chimes, and then the solemn gong marking the hour.

Perhaps that is why old clocks have such a hold on us.

They measured not only time.

They measured life.

is called Mephistopheles and Margaretta, the famous Double Statue. 

What makes it astonishing is that both figures are carved from one single block of sycamore wood.

From the front you see Mephistopheles, the sinister, confident figure from Goethe's Faust.

But behind him is a mirror.

And in the mirror you suddenly see Margaretta (Gretchen)—a completely different woman, modest, with lowered eyes and a prayer book.

So you appear to be looking at a man standing in front of a woman.

But there is no separate woman.

She is carved on the reverse side of the very same piece of wood. 

It is an extraordinary artistic trick—and also has a deeper meaning: evil and innocence, arrogance and humility, two opposing characters occupying two sides of the same reality.

The Salar Jung Museum itself calls it a double statue and identifies the figures as Mephistopheles and Margaretta from Goethe's Faust. 

And Then—Veiled Rebecca

If the clock is the museum's mechanical wonder, Veiled Rebecca is its artistic wonder.

A woman stands before us, apparently covered by a delicate transparent veil.

But the extraordinary fact is this:

the woman and the veil are carved from a single block of marble.

The sculpture was created in 1863 by the Italian sculptor G. B. Benzoni and was acquired by Salar Jung I during his visit to Rome in 1876.

Look closely and the impossible seems to happen.

The marble appears soft.

The veil appears almost transparent.

You can see the folds of the cloth and the form beneath it.

It is one of those works that makes us wonder not simply what the artist created, but how human hands could possibly create it.

A World in One Museum

Then the museum begins to unfold its astonishing variety.

Indian bronzes.

Miniature paintings.

Jade.

Ivory.

Bidriware.

Wood carvings.

Arms and armour.

Textiles.

Stone sculptures.

Persian carpets.

Arabic and Persian manuscripts.

Chinese porcelain.

Japanese lacquerware.

European paintings.

Furniture.

Glass.

Clocks.

The collections span India, Persia, the Middle East, China, Japan, Nepal, Myanmar and Europe.

It is almost as though Salar Jung looked at the world and said:

"There is beauty here. I want to bring it home."

Treasures with Stories

Some objects seem to carry stories far beyond their artistic value.

There are jade objects and daggers associated with Mughal royalty, including pieces traditionally connected with Jahangir, Noor Jahan and Shah Jahan.

There are manuscripts, including Persian works and the famous Shahnameh tradition.

There is also a rare manuscript of Lilavati, associated with the mathematical tradition of Bhaskaracharya.

And then there is the extraordinary collection of Bidriware, for which the museum says it probably possesses one of the world's largest collections.

So the museum is not merely about luxury.

It is about knowledge, craftsmanship, mathematics, literature, technology and imagination.

From a Palace to a National Museum

The collection originally belonged to the Salar Jung family and was housed at Dewan Deodi, their ancestral palace.

The museum was opened to the public by Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru on 16 December 1951.

In 1958, the family agreed to donate the collection to the Government of India.

Then came a significant moment.

In 1961, Parliament passed the Salar Jung Museum Act, declaring the museum and its library an Institution of National Importance.

The present museum building stands on the southern bank of the Musi River, close to Hyderabad's historic old city.

What Makes Salar Jung Special?

Perhaps it is the sheer contrast.

You can stand before an Indian bronze and then encounter a European clock.

A Persian manuscript can be followed by Japanese lacquer.

A Mughal jade object can stand in the same museum as an Italian marble masterpiece.

It is not one civilisation speaking.

It is civilisations speaking to one another.

And behind all of it stands one extraordinary collector who spent decades searching for things he believed were worth preserving.

That is perhaps the real story of Salar Jung Museum.

One man's passion became India's heritage.

And somewhere in the middle of this enormous collection, an old clock still waits patiently for the hour—

then opens its little door,

a tiny figure appears,

and the gong rings.

Just as it did long ago.

Because museums do something wonderful.

They don't merely preserve objects.

Sometimes, they preserve time itself.

School series 51

 Visvesvaraya Industrial & Technological Museum — Where Science Comes Alive 

There are some places we visit once as tourists.

And then there are places we return to again and again because they become part of our lives.

For me, the Visvesvaraya Industrial & Technological Museum in Bengaluru is one such place.

Whenever we travelled to Bengaluru with our children, we made it a point to visit this museum. We even used to stay nearby so that we could go there easily. It was never just another outing. Somehow, the museum always drew us back.

And perhaps that is the greatest compliment one can give a science museum.

It made children curious.

Opened in 1962 as part of the centenary celebrations of Sir M. Visvesvaraya, the museum was conceived as a place where science and technology could be experienced rather than merely read about.

Its galleries bring together machines, engines, electricity, transport, space, communication, biology and many other aspects of science. But the real magic is that much of it is interactive.

You don't simply look at science.

You see it move.

You hear it.

You operate things.

You watch a principle from your school textbook suddenly come alive before your eyes.

A lever is no longer a diagram.

A machine is no longer a picture.

Electricity is no longer just a chapter.

Science becomes something you can experience.

And that is why a museum like this is so valuable for children. It quietly changes the question from:

“What do I have to learn?”

to

“How does this work?”

That second question is where scientific thinking begins.

The museum is named after Sir Mokshagundam Visvesvaraya, one of India's great engineers and nation-builders. His life itself carries an important message: knowledge becomes truly meaningful when it is used to build, improve and serve society.

So our journey through India's museums begins here—not merely with objects behind glass, but with curiosity, invention and the human desire to understand how the world works.

And perhaps that is why, decades after those visits with our children, I still remember this museum with such affection.

We went there to show our children science.

Perhaps the museum was actually teaching all of us to wonder.