Sieve.

Kamala Markandaya (1924–2004) was the pen name of Kamala Purnaiya Taylor, an Indian-born novelist and journalist who spent much of her adult life in England. She studied history at the University of Madras and worked as a journalist before moving to London in 1948. 

She became an important voice in Indian writing in English, particularly through her sensitive portrayal of rural poverty, women's lives, social change and the tensions between Indian traditions and Western influences.

Her important novels

Nectar in a Sieve (1954) — rural poverty, family life and the effects of industrialisation.

Some Inner Fury (1955) — love and the conflict between Indian and British identities during the freedom movement.

A Silence of Desire (1960) — faith, marriage and the tension between traditional beliefs and modern medicine.

Possession (1963) — cultural power, ownership and the relationship between India and the West.

A Handful of Rice (1966) — urban poverty and the struggle for survival.

The Golden Honeycomb (1977) — Indian royalty, politics and the transition from princely rule.

The title Nectar in a Sieve was inspired by the English poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge and his poem Work Without Hope. Its central image captures the frustration of labouring without being able to preserve the fruits of one's effort. 

What makes Markandaya especially interesting for Indian readers is that, although she lived in England for most of her adult life, India remained at the heart of much of her fiction. She wrote about people whose lives were transformed by poverty, modernisation and cultural change, with particular sensitivity to those who had little power over their circumstances.

 Nectar represents sweetness, happiness, and the precious gifts of life.

A sieve is a vessel with holes through which liquid escapes.

Together, the title suggests the painful experience of trying to hold on to life's sweetness when hardship, poverty, and change continually take it away.

The novel tells the story of Rukmani, a rural Indian woman, and her family as they struggle against poverty, changing agricultural conditions, and the arrival of industrialisation.

The title is especially poignant: life offers us nectar, yet sometimes we cannot prevent it from slipping through our fingers.

Nectar in a Sieve — The Bittersweet Harvest of Life

Author: Kamala Markandaya

Published: 1954

Literary fiction; social and rural realism

Some books tell us about extraordinary people doing extraordinary things. Others tell us about ordinary people enduring extraordinary hardships. Nectar in a Sieve belongs to the second category. It is a moving account of poverty, love, hunger, motherhood, and the quiet courage with which people face a life they have not chosen.

The title itself is deeply symbolic. Nectar is sweet and precious, while a sieve cannot hold liquid for long. Together, they suggest the tragedy of trying to preserve life's happiness when circumstances continually threaten to take it away.

The story: A woman's journey through hardship

The novel is narrated by Rukmani, a village woman who looks back on her life, beginning with her marriage to Nathan, a tenant farmer. Their marriage is not founded on wealth or social status, but it grows into a relationship of affection, loyalty and mutual understanding.

Their life depends on the land. A good harvest brings food and security; a failed monsoon brings hunger and fear. Their growing family faces one crisis after another as poverty, changing village life and the arrival of a tannery disrupt their traditional world.

Their children follow different paths. Some leave home to seek employment; others face painful disappointments. Rukmani's daughter Ira suffers the rejection of her husband because she cannot bear children. The family experiences the death of children and eventually loses the land on which its livelihood depends.

When Rukmani and Nathan travel to the city in search of their son, they discover that even their children cannot provide the security they had hoped for. They encounter a world of deprivation and struggle to survive. Nathan eventually dies, leaving Rukmani to find a way forward.

Yet the story does not end in complete despair. Rukmani returns to her village with Puli, a vulnerable young boy she has come to love, and finds a measure of comfort in the family and relationships that remain.

What makes this novel remarkable?

1. The dignity of ordinary people

Rukmani is not a queen, a revolutionary or a celebrated heroine. She is a wife, mother and farmer's companion. Her courage lies in her daily efforts to feed her family, nurture her children and preserve her humanity.

2. The vulnerability of rural life

The farmer depends on rain, soil and the harvest. A failed crop can mean hunger; the loss of land can mean the loss of an entire way of life. The novel makes us understand how poverty can deprive people of choices that the more fortunate take for granted.

3. Tradition meets modernisation

The tannery brings employment, but it also changes village life, raises prices and contributes to the disruption of the community. Markandaya invites us to consider a difficult question: when progress arrives, who benefits, and who pays the price? 

4. Love is not the absence of suffering

Rukmani and Nathan cannot protect their family from every misfortune. Nevertheless, their affection gives them strength. Their marriage is one of the novel's quiet achievements: happiness need not depend on riches, provided there is companionship, respect and love.

5. Hope survives, though it changes shape

Rukmani's hopes are repeatedly shattered. Yet she continues to care for others. By the end, hope no longer means recovering everything she has lost. It means finding a reason to live and love again.

Nectar in a Sieve is a deeply moving novel, though not an easy read emotionally. The repeated suffering can feel relentless, and readers who prefer fast-moving plots may find its reflective pace slow. But that very simplicity gives the story its power.

The greatest strength of the book is Rukmani's voice. She does not speak like a philosopher delivering lessons. She tells us what happens to her, what she fears, what she loves and what she loses. We draw our own conclusions.

The novel also reminds us that poverty is not simply a shortage of money. It is the constant anxiety of not knowing whether tomorrow will bring food, whether one's children will survive, or whether the home one has built will still belong to the family.

It is this emotional truth that makes the book memorable. 

 Can nectar ever be held in a sieve?

The title suggests a painful paradox. Life offers moments of sweetness—love, the birth of a child, a good harvest, the companionship of a husband—but these moments cannot always be preserved. Time, poverty, illness and circumstances carry them away, just as water escapes through a sieve.

Yet perhaps the meaning goes a little deeper.

The inability to hold on to happiness does not mean that happiness was never real.

Rukmani cannot prevent every tragedy, but she can continue to love. She cannot restore everything she has lost, but she can extend kindness to someone who needs her. Her circumstances change, but her capacity for compassion survives.

That is where the novel finds its quiet strength.

A book that stays with you because it asks you to look beyond your own comforts and recognise the quiet courage of people whose struggles often go unseen.

We often measure a life by what a person has accumulated, achieved or preserved. Rukmani's life asks us to consider another measure: how much love a person can give, how much hardship the human spirit can endure, and how much kindness can remain even after life has taken away almost everything.

Perhaps the nectar was never meant to remain in the sieve forever. Perhaps its sweetness lies in having been experienced, shared and remembered

1. A Handful of Rice (1966)

A powerful novel about a young man's struggle to escape poverty in the city. It examines unemployment, hunger, family responsibilities and the compromises people make to survive. It pairs naturally with Nectar in a Sieve, moving the focus from village hardship to urban deprivation.

2. Some Inner Fury (1955)

Set against India's struggle for independence, this novel explores the conflict between personal love and political loyalties, as well as the divide between Indian and British identities.

3. A Silence of Desire (1960)

A thoughtful exploration of marriage, faith and modernity. It examines what happens when a husband's rational outlook clashes with his wife's spiritual beliefs.

4. The Coffer Dams (1969)

A novel about a major engineering project in India, exploring the encounter between Western technology, Indian workers and the natural environment.

5. The Golden Honeycomb (1977)

A historical and political novel centred on Indian royalty and the changing relationship between princely India and British power.

Other novels include Possession (1963), The Nowhere Man (1972), Two Virgins (1973) and Pleasure City (1982), published in the United States as Shalimar. Her final novel, Bombay Tiger, was published posthumously in 2008.

Markandaya belonged to an important generation of Indian writers who helped bring Indian lives and experiences to readers around the world through English-language fiction.

Her achievement was not simply that she wrote about India for foreign readers. She explored universal questions through Indian lives: What happens when poverty limits human choice? Can love survive repeated loss? What is the cost of progress? How do people preserve their dignity when circumstances are against them?

Her literary reputation extended beyond India, especially in the English-speaking world.

International bestseller: Nectar in a Sieve became a bestseller and brought her international attention.

American Library Association recognition: The novel was selected as an ALA Notable Book in 1955, an important recognition of its literary and reading value. 

Academic recognition: Nectar in a Sieve and A Handful of Rice have continued to be studied in universities in India and overseas. 

A lasting place in Indian writing in English: Her novels became important subjects of literary criticism, particularly for their treatment of Indian identity, rural poverty, cultural encounters and women's experiences. 

Sulabha.

 

Ah, yes! Sulabhā Yoginī — the remarkable woman who challenged King Janaka in the Mahābhārata. Hers is a fascinating story of yoga, spiritual wisdom, freedom and the true meaning of liberation. 

The story of Sulabhā Yoginī

Sulabhā was a learned woman ascetic who had renounced worldly attachments and devoted herself to yoga and the pursuit of spiritual knowledge.

King Janaka of Mithilā was celebrated as a philosopher-king. Although he ruled a kingdom, he was reputed to possess the wisdom of a sage and to remain detached from worldly possessions. He believed that he could perform his royal duties without becoming bound by them.

When Sulabhā heard of Janaka's spiritual attainment, she decided to meet him and examine whether his liberation was genuine.

The yoginī enters the king's consciousness

Using her yogic powers, Sulabhā assumed the appearance of a beautiful woman ascetic and travelled to Janaka's court. The king welcomed her with the respect due to a guest.

But Sulabhā had come for more than a friendly visit. Through her yogic power, she entered the king's consciousness, and a profound philosophical dialogue began between them.

Janaka questioned her identity, her conduct and her right to approach him in this extraordinary manner. His questions also revealed his concern about distinctions of social position and the proper boundaries between people.

Sulabhā answered with remarkable philosophical clarity. 

What is the true Self?

Sulabhā explained that the body, social position, gender and outward identity do not define the innermost Self.

We identify ourselves as kings, scholars, women, men, householders or ascetics. Yet these are distinctions associated with our bodies and circumstances. The deeper spiritual question is: Who am I beyond these changing identities?

She challenged Janaka to examine whether he was truly free from attachment if he still made distinctions based on who she was, where she came from and the position she occupied.

If a person has genuinely realised the Self, how can pride, prejudice or possessiveness continue to govern that person's responses?

Her argument was not merely a display of intellectual brilliance. It was a test of whether spiritual knowledge had become living wisdom.

Can a king attain liberation without renouncing his kingdom?

This is the central question behind the episode.

Janaka represented the possibility of spiritual freedom while continuing to perform one's worldly duties. Sulabhā, a wandering renunciant, examined the depth of that claim.

Her teaching points towards an important distinction:

Renunciation of possessions means giving up one's claim over material things.

Renunciation of attachment means not allowing possessions, relationships or status to control one's inner life.

Spiritual wisdom means understanding the true nature of the Self rather than merely adopting the outward appearance of a renunciant.

A person may live in a palace and still seek liberation. Another may live in a forest and still carry pride within.

The outer life alone cannot tell us whether someone is spiritually free.

The dialogue is narrated in the Śānti Parva of the Mahābhārata, in its teachings on Mokṣadharma, the path of liberation. Chapter numbering varies between editions. 

Sulabhā's story is especially inspiring because she appears as an independent woman spiritual seeker in an ancient Indian epic. She does not ask for recognition merely because she is a woman. She demonstrates her understanding through reasoned argument and spiritual insight.

Her example invites us to reflect on three lessons:

1. Knowledge must be examined, not merely admired. Even a king celebrated for wisdom can be questioned. Genuine learning welcomes sincere examination.

2. Freedom begins within. We may relinquish wealth, titles and possessions, yet remain attached to our opinions and our sense of importance.

3. The search for truth is not confined by gender. Sulabhā's intellectual and spiritual authority rests on her understanding, not on her social position.

The story does not require us to dismiss Janaka's wisdom. Instead, it places two serious spiritual seekers in conversation and invites us to look more deeply at what liberation means.

The lasting message: We need not all abandon our homes or occupations to pursue spiritual growth. What matters is whether we can fulfil our responsibilities without allowing ego, pride and attachment to imprison the mind.

Sulabhā reminds us that the highest journey is not necessarily from the palace to the forest. It is from mistaken identification to self-knowledge.

Oleilu

 

Simply being alive, with nowhere to go and nothing to prove.

It is not necessarily meditation, nor is it laziness. It is allowing yourself to exist without turning every moment into a task.

There isò a beautiful distinction here:

Doing is about what we accomplish. Being is about experiencing life itself.

Oleilu mmmmmmmmmyoyyyoreminds us that not every moment needs to be productive to be preciouòs.

Sitting with someone you love without needing to talk.

“Sometimes, the most beautiful thing we can do is nothing at all. To watch the clouds drift, listen to the rain, feel the warmth of the sun, and allow life to unfold without asking anything of the moment. We spend so much of our lives trying to make thingòò99s happen that we forget the quiet joy of simply being. T⁹9999he Finns have a word for this: oleilu.”

Women sees through the fog.

The Woman Behind Agni and Drishti

Dr. Shubha Venkatesha Iyengar — A Scientist Who Helped India Reach Higher and See Better

When we speak of India's scientific achievements, we often remember rockets soaring into space, missiles defending our borders and aircraft crossing the skies. But behind these achievements are scientists whose names may not be familiar to the public, even though their work touches our lives in remarkable ways.

One such scientist is Dr. Shubha Venkatesha Iyengar, an Indian aerospace scientist whose work contributed to India's missile programme and helped develop an indigenous system for measuring visibility at airports.

Her story deserves to be known, especially by the younger generation. It shows us that the path to national achievement does not always begin with a spectacular invention. Sometimes, it begins with a student who loves physics, asks questions, works patiently on difficult problems and refuses to give up.

A brilliant student with a passion for science

Born on 14 May 1954, Dr. Shubha pursued her education in physics at Bangalore University. She completed her B.Sc. (Honours) in Physics in 1972 and her master's degree, specialising in Electronics, in 1974. She secured first rank in both examinations and received several gold medals.

Her academic achievements opened the door to a research career. In November 1974, she joined the CSIR–National Aerospace Laboratories (NAL), Bengaluru, as a Junior Research Fellow.

She subsequently earned her Ph.D. from the University of Mysore in 1981, working in materials science and scientific instrumentation.

She was entering a field in which India needed to develop far greater technological independence. Instead of depending entirely on equipment developed elsewhere, Indian scientists were working to build the knowledge, instruments and capabilities the country needed for itself.

Dr. Shubha would devote 46 years of her professional life to this mission, eventually retiring as a Distinguished Scientist in 2020.

Agni: Solving a difficult problem

India's Agni missile programme represents decades of work by scientists and engineers in guidance, materials, propulsion and many other specialised fields.

Dr. Shubha made an important contribution by helping resolve a critical technical problem affecting the missile's ability to reach its intended target.

The significance of such work is easy to underestimate. A missile is not simply a powerful object that travels through the sky. Its performance depends on numerous scientific systems working together accurately under extremely demanding conditions.

A small technical problem can require years of research, testing and careful analysis. Finding a solution calls for patience, precision and a deep understanding of the science involved.

Dr. Shubha also contributed to the development of specialised components for ramjet and scramjet propulsion systems. These components were designed to withstand temperatures of approximately 3,000 kelvin and the severe conditions associated with hypersonic flight.

Her work formed part of India's wider efforts to develop advanced defence and aerospace technologies within the country.

The important lesson for young people is this: great achievements are often made by solving one difficult problem at a time.

Drishti: Helping aircraft see through the fog

If Agni represents the world of national defence, Drishti reveals another side of Dr. Shubha's contribution to society.

Imagine an aircraft approaching an airport on a winter morning. A thick blanket of fog covers the runway. The pilot cannot rely on ordinary eyesight alone to judge how far ahead the runway can be seen.

How can the airport assess visibility accurately enough to support safe flight operations?

This is where Drishti comes in.

Dr. Shubha led the development of India's indigenous runway-visibility measuring system, known as Drishti. It measures runway visual range—the distance over which a pilot can see runway markings or lights under prevailing atmospheric conditions.

The system provides important information to aviation personnel when fog, rain, dust or other weather conditions reduce visibility.

Before indigenous systems such as Drishti became available, India relied on costly imported technologies for this specialised purpose. Developing a home-grown system helped strengthen India's technological self-reliance.

Drishti was deployed for trials at Delhi's Indira Gandhi International Airport in 2011 and was subsequently introduced at other airports. It has also received international recognition.

Her work extended beyond visibility measurement. She contributed to the development of an Aviation Weather Monitoring System, which provides essential weather information such as wind, temperature, humidity and atmospheric pressure.

Think about the contrast: one part of her scientific work helped address a technical challenge in a missile programme; another helps aviation personnel assess conditions that affect aircraft operations.

Both require the same qualities—scientific understanding, accuracy, perseverance and responsibility.

From the laboratory to the world

Dr. Shubha's research in materials science and instrumentation attracted international attention. Three of her research papers were published as official reports by NASA in 1986.

Her work also contributed to India's ability to develop specialised scientific instruments and advanced materials without depending entirely on foreign technology.

Her achievements remind us that scientific progress is not measured only by how many rockets we launch or how many satellites we place in orbit. It is also measured by our ability to understand difficult problems, design solutions and build the expertise to maintain and improve those solutions ourselves.

When a country develops its own technology, it gains more than a product. It gains knowledge, experience, skilled people and the confidence to attempt even more challenging tasks.

Recognition for a lifetime of work

Over her long career, Dr. Shubha received numerous academic and professional honours. These included the CSIR Young Scientist Award in 1989 and recognition for technological innovation and indigenous development.

In 2026, the Government of India honoured her with the Padma Shri in the field of Science and Engineering.

The award brought wider public attention to a scientist whose contributions had been developing over decades, often away from the limelight.

Her story also challenges a familiar assumption: that scientific excellence belongs to a select few, or that certain technical fields are naturally suited only to men.

Science requires curiosity, training, disciplined thinking and sustained effort. These qualities are not limited by gender.

What can young Indians learn from her?

Dr. Shubha's journey offers several lessons worth carrying into our own lives.

1. Build strong foundations.

Her achievements began with a deep grounding in physics and electronics. Success in advanced science rests on the patient mastery of fundamentals.

2. Do not be afraid of difficult subjects.

Complex problems may appear intimidating at first. Break them into smaller questions, learn what you need and keep working.

3. Create rather than merely depend.

Drishti demonstrates the value of developing technology suited to India's needs. Young Indians can apply the same spirit in research, agriculture, healthcare, environmental protection, engineering and everyday problem-solving.

4. Understand that teamwork matters.

Major scientific programmes are collective endeavours. An individual's contribution becomes meaningful when it works with the efforts of many other specialists.

5. Do not measure success only by public attention.

Much of the most important work happens quietly in laboratories, workshops and research institutions. Recognition may come late, but the value of sincere work does not depend on immediate applause.

A final thought: Every achievement begins with a question

How can a missile overcome a technical obstacle? How can a pilot receive reliable visibility information when fog obscures a runway? How can India develop the instruments it needs rather than always importing them?

These are very different questions, yet they share a common starting point: the desire to understand and solve a problem.

Dr. Shubha Venkatesha Iyengar's life reminds us that the journey from a classroom to a national achievement is built through education, determination and years of dedicated work.

The next great Indian scientist may be sitting in a classroom today, wondering how something works, struggling with a difficult physics problem or dreaming of inventing something that has never existed before.

That student needs to know that there is a place for such curiosity in India's future.

Let our children learn about scientists like Dr. Shubha—not merely because she is a woman who succeeded in a demanding profession, and not merely because she received a national award, but because she used scientific knowledge to help solve real problems and strengthen India's technological capabilities.

Her journey offers a simple message to every young Indian:

Learn deeply. Think independently. Work patiently. And use what you learn to make a difference.

For a nation aspiring to scientific excellence, these are achievements worth celebrating—and examples worth passing on to the next generation.⁰

Reflect here.

 Śrī Navagraha Stotram — Complete Explanation.

The nine planetary deities: their Sanskrit verses, transliteration, meanings, symbolism and lessons for daily life.

The Navagraha Stotram is a traditional Sanskrit hymn praising the nine Grahas, or celestial influences, revered in Hindu tradition. The image attributes the hymn to Sri Vyasa.

In Hindu thought, the Navagrahas are associated with time, karma and the different experiences of human life. Worship of these deities is not merely a request for favourable circumstances. It can also be an opportunity to cultivate patience, courage, wisdom, humility and faith in the Divine.

The nine Grahas are Surya (Sun), Chandra (Moon), Mangala (Mars), Budha (Mercury), Brihaspati or Guru (Jupiter), Shukra (Venus), Shani (Saturn), Rahu and Ketu.

Let us understand each verse, one by one.

1. Śrī Sūrya — The Sun God

जापाकुसुमसङ्काशं काश्यपेयं महाद्युतिम् ।

तमोऽरिं सर्वपापघ्नं प्रणतोऽस्मि दिवाकरम् ॥

Jāpākusuma-saṅkāśaṃ kāśyapeyaṃ mahādyutim

Tamorim sarva-pāpaghnaṃ praṇato'smi divākaram.

Jāpākusuma-saṅkāśam — shining like the red hibiscus flower.

Kāśyapeyam — the son of Sage Kashyapa.

Mahādyutim — possessing immense brilliance.

Tamo'rim — the enemy of darkness.

Sarva-pāpaghnaṃ — the destroyer of all sin or wrongdoing.

Praṇato'smi — I bow down.

Divākaram — the maker of the day, the Sun.

“I bow to Lord Surya, who shines like a red hibiscus, the radiant son of Sage Kashyapa, the dispeller of darkness and the destroyer of sin.”

The Sun is the visible source of light, warmth and energy. His rising brings activity and awakens the world. Spiritually, he represents clarity, discipline, vitality and the light of knowledge.

Darkness in this verse can also be understood as ignorance, confusion and the failure to recognise what is right.

Reflection for daily life: Begin the day with gratitude for the light we receive. Just as the Sun rises without waiting for praise, let us perform our duties sincerely, whether or not others notice our efforts.

2. Śrī Chandra — The Moon God.

दधिशङ्खतुषाराभं क्षीरोदार्णवसम्भवम् ।

नमामि शशिनं सोमं शम्भोर्मुकुटभूषणम् ॥

Dadhi-śaṅkha-tuṣārābhaṃ kṣīrodārṇava-sambhavam

Namāmi śaśinaṃ somaṃ śambhor-mukuṭa-bhūṣaṇam.

Dadhi — curd.

Śaṅkha — conch shell.

Tuṣāra — snow or frost.

Ābham — shining like.

Kṣīrodārṇava-sambhavam — born from, or manifested through, the Ocean of Milk.

Namāmi — I bow to.

Śaśinam — the Moon, marked by the hare-like pattern traditionally seen on it.

Somam — Soma, another name of the Moon deity.

Śambhoḥ — of Lord Shiva.

Mukuṭa-bhūṣaṇam — the ornament of the crown.

“I bow to Lord Chandra, who shines like curd, a conch shell and snow, who is associated with the Ocean of Milk and who adorns the crown of Lord Shiva.”

Chandra is associated with the mind, feelings, tenderness and tranquillity. His waxing and waning remind us that change is part of life.

His presence in Lord Shiva's matted locks also gives us a beautiful image of the mind held in divine composure.

Reflection for daily life: Our emotions need not control every decision. Like the Moon reflected in calm water, the mind becomes clearer when we cultivate peace, kindness and restraint.

3. Śrī Maṅgala — The Planet Mars.

धरणीगर्भसम्भूतं विद्युत्कान्तिसमप्रभम् ।

कुमारं शक्तिहस्तं च मङ्गलं प्रणमाम्यहम् ॥

Dharaṇī-garbha-sambhūtaṃ vidyut-kānti-samaprabham

Kumāraṃ śakti-hastaṃ ca maṅgalaṃ praṇamāmyaham.

Dharaṇī — the Earth.

Garbha-sambhūtam — born from the womb of, or originating from.

Vidyut-kānti — the brilliance of lightning.

Samaprabham — possessing a comparable radiance.

Kumāram — the youthful warrior or prince.

Śakti-hastam — holding a spear or divine weapon called the śakti.

Ca — and.

Maṅgalam — Mangala, the planetary deity Mars.

Praṇamāmyaham — I bow down.

I bow to Mangala, associated with the Earth, radiant like lightning, youthful and holding the divine spear.”

Mangala represents energy, courage, determination and the capacity to act. The spear symbolises focused strength.

Yet strength without judgement can become anger, aggression or impatience. The verse invites us to recognise power as something to be directed wisely.

Reflection for daily life: Courage is not the ability to win every argument. It is the strength to stand for what is right, protect those who need help and control our own anger.

4. Śrī Budha — The Planet Mercury

प्रियङ्गुकलिकाश्यामं रूपेणाप्रतिमं बुधम् ।

सौम्यं सौम्यगुणोपेतं तं बुधं प्रणमाम्यहम् ॥

Priyaṅgu-kalikā-śyāmaṃ rūpeṇāpratimaṃ budham

Saumyaṃ saumya-guṇopetaṃ taṃ budhaṃ praṇamāmyaham.

Priyaṅgu — a traditional plant, often identified with a fragrant millet-like plant.

Kalikā — a flower bud.

Śyāmam — dark or greenish in colour.

Rūpeṇa — in appearance.

Apratimam — incomparable.

Budham — Budha, the planetary deity Mercury, associated with intelligence.

Saumyam — gentle, gracious or pleasing.

Saumya-guṇopetam — endowed with gentle and agreeable qualities.

Tam — that deity.

Praṇamāmyaham — I bow down.

“I bow to Budha, incomparable in appearance, dark like a Priyaṅgu flower bud and endowed with gentle and pleasing qualities.”

Budha is traditionally associated with intelligence, communication, learning, reasoning and discernment.

The verse praises not merely intelligence but intelligence accompanied by gentleness. A sharp mind becomes truly valuable when it is used with sensitivity.

5. Śrī Bṛhaspati — Guru, the Teacher of the Devas

देवानां च ऋषीणां च गुरुं काञ्चनसन्निभम् ।

बुद्धिभूतं त्रिलोकेशं तं नमामि बृहस्पतिम् ॥

Devānāṃ ca ṛṣīṇāṃ ca guruṃ kāñcana-sannibham

Buddhi-bhūtaṃ trilokeśaṃ taṃ namāmi Bṛhaspatim.

Devānām — of the gods.

Ca — and.

Ṛṣīṇām — of the sages.

Guruṃ — the teacher or spiritual preceptor.

Kāñcana-sannibham — resembling gold in brilliance.

Buddhi-bhūtam — embodying intelligence or wisdom.

Trilokeśam — the lord or master of the three worlds.

Tam — that deity.

Namāmi — I bow to.

Bṛhaspatim — Brihaspati, the Guru of the Devas.

“I bow to Brihaspati, the golden-radiant teacher of the gods and sages, who embodies wisdom and is revered as a master of the three worlds.”

Brihaspati represents knowledge, spiritual guidance, wisdom and the ability to distinguish lasting values from temporary attractions.

The verse places the Guru in a position of honour even among the gods. It reminds us that learning is not complete merely because we have gathered information; we need wisdom to use it well.

Reflection for daily life: We should remain grateful to those who guide us—parents, teachers, elders and spiritual preceptors. The ability to accept good advice is itself a mark of wisdom.

6. Śrī Śukra — The Teacher of the Asuras.

हिमकुन्दमृणालाभं दैत्यानां परमं गुरुम् ।

सर्वशास्त्रप्रवक्तारं भार्गवं प्रणमाम्यहम् ॥

Hima-kunda-mṛṇālābhaṃ daityānāṃ paramaṃ gurum

Sarva-śāstra-pravaktāraṃ bhārgavaṃ praṇamāmyaham.

Hima — snow.

Kunda — the white jasmine flower.

Mṛṇāla — the pale stalk of a lotus.

Ābham — shining like.

Daityānām — of the Daityas, a class of beings born of Diti.

Paramam gurum — the supreme teacher.

Sarva-śāstra-pravaktāram — the expounder or teacher of all the Śāstras.

Bhārgavam — the descendant of Sage Bhrigu, referring to Shukra.

Praṇamāmyaham — I bow down.

I bow to Shukra, descendant of Bhrigu, who shines like snow, white jasmine and a lotus stalk, the revered teacher of the Daityas and an expounder of the Śāstras.”

Shukra is associated with beauty, relationships, refinement, enjoyment and material prosperity. In the mythological tradition, he serves as the preceptor of the Asuras, just as Brihaspati serves as the preceptor of the Devas.

This distinction teaches us that knowledge and guidance exist in different spheres of life. The moral value of our choices depends on how we use what we know.

Reflection for daily life: Beauty and comfort are not wrong in themselves. The challenge is to enjoy life's blessings without becoming enslaved by them. True refinement includes generosity, restraint and consideration for others.

7. Śrī Śanaiścara — Lord Shani.

नीलाञ्जनसमाभासं रविपुत्रं यमाग्रजम् ।

छायामार्तण्डसम्भूतं तं नमामि शनैश्चरम् ॥

Nīlāñjana-samābhāsaṃ ravi-putraṃ yamāgrajam

Chāyā-Mārtaṇḍa-sambhūtaṃ taṃ namāmi śanaiścaram.

Nīlāñjana — blue-black collyrium, traditionally used around the eyes.

Samābhāsam — shining or appearing like.

Ravi-putram — the son of Surya, the Sun.

Yamāgrajam — the elder brother of Yama, the deity associated with death and justice.

Chāyā — the divine mother Chhaya, meaning shadow.

Mārtaṇḍa — the Sun God.

Sambhūtam — born of or originating from.

Tam — that deity.

Namāmi — I bow to.

Śanaiścaram — Shani, traditionally understood as the slow-moving celestial deity.

“I bow to Shani, who shines like dark collyrium, the son of Surya and Chhaya, and the elder brother of Yama.”

Shani occupies a special place in Hindu devotional thought. He is associated with discipline, responsibility, endurance, justice and the consequences of our actions.

His slow movement through the heavens provides a traditional symbol of experiences that unfold gradually and require patience. Shani is not simply a symbol of misfortune; devotees also approach him as a dispenser of justice and a teacher of humility.

Reflection for daily life: Difficult periods can teach us what easy periods sometimes cannot. Instead of becoming bitter when circumstances are unfavourable, we can examine our conduct, fulfil our responsibilities and develop patience.

We need not live in fear of Shani. A life of integrity, compassion and sincere effort is more constructive than constant anxiety about planetary influences.

8. Śrī Rāhu — The Shadow Graha.

अर्धकायं महावीर्यं चन्द्रादित्यविमर्दनम् ।

सिंहिकागर्भसम्भूतं तं राहुं प्रणमाम्यहम् ॥

Ardha-kāyaṃ mahā-vīryaṃ candrāditya-vimardanam

Siṃhikā-garbha-sambhūtaṃ taṃ rāhuṃ praṇamāmyaham.

Ardha-kāyam — having half a body.

Mahā-vīryam — possessing immense power.

Candrāditya-vimardanam — the one who assails or overcomes the Moon and the Sun.

Siṃhikā-garbha-sambhūtam — born from the womb of Simhika.

Tam — that deity.

Rāhum — Rahu, one of the two shadow Grahas.

Praṇamāmyaham — I bow down.

I bow to Rahu, the powerful, half-bodied celestial being born of Simhika, who is associated with the eclipsing of the Sun and Moon.”

In Hindu mythology, Rahu is associated with the story of the churning of the Ocean of Milk. A being who secretly partook of the nectar of immortality was discovered by Surya and Chandra. Lord Vishnu severed his head with the Sudarshana Chakra. Because the nectar had already touched him, his head survived as Rahu, while the body became Ketu.

Rahu is associated in Jyotisha with intense desire, ambition, unconventional paths and sudden changes. Astronomically, Rahu corresponds to the ascending lunar node, one of the points where eclipses can occur.

The verse reminds us of the extraordinary power represented by Rahu and his mythological relationship with the Sun and Moon.

Reflection for daily life: Ambition can help us accomplish remarkable things, but desire without discernment can cloud our judgement. When confusion arises, pause before acting. Seek clarity rather than allowing fear, fascination or impatience to make decisions for us.

9. Śrī Ketu — The Shadow Graha.

पलाशपुष्पसङ्काशं तारकाग्रहमस्तकम् ।

रौद्रं रौद्रात्मकं घोरं तं केतुं प्रणमाम्यहम् ॥

Palāśa-puṣpa-saṅkāśaṃ tārakā-graha-mastakam

Raudraṃ raudrātmakaṃ ghoraṃ taṃ ketuṃ praṇamāmyaham.

Palāśa-puṣpa — the flower of the Palāśa tree, known for its vivid reddish-orange colour.

Saṅkāśam — resembling or shining like.

Tārakā-graha — stars and celestial bodies.

Mastakam — the head or foremost part.

Raudram — fierce or formidable.

Raudrātmakam — having a fierce or powerful nature.

Ghoram — awe-inspiring or formidable.

Tam — that deity.

Ketum — Ketu, the other shadow Graha.

Praṇamāmyaham — I bow down.

“I bow to Ketu, who shines like the Palāśa flower, is associated with the celestial bodies, and possesses a formidable and powerful nature.”

The expression tārakā-graha-mastakam is compact and can be interpreted somewhat differently across translations; it evokes Ketu's place among the celestial influences.

In the mythology of the nectar of immortality, Ketu represents the body separated from Rahu's head. In Jyotisha, Ketu is often associated with detachment, inward searching, renunciation and spiritual insight.

The fierce descriptions do not mean that the devotee must be afraid. Sanskrit devotional hymns often use powerful imagery to acknowledge a deity's formidable nature.

Reflection for daily life: Not everything we possess needs to become something we cling to. Sometimes growth begins when we release an old resentment, a harmful habit or an attachment that no longer serves us. Detachment does not mean neglecting our duties; it means performing them without becoming imprisoned by possessiveness.

10. Phalaśruti — The Benefits of Reciting the Stotram.

The tenth verse  is the concluding verse, traditionally called the phalaśruti—the statement of the benefits associated with reciting a hymn.

इति श्रीव्यासमुखोद्गीतं यः पठेत् सुसमाहितः ।

दिवा वा यदि वा रात्रौ विघ्नशान्तिर्भविष्यति ॥

Iti Śrī-Vyāsa-mukhodgītaṃ yaḥ paṭhet susamāhitaḥ

Divā vā yadi vā rātrau vighna-śāntir bhaviṣyati.

Iti — thus; in this manner.

Śrī-Vyāsa — the revered sage Vyasa.

Mukha-udgītam — uttered or sung forth from the mouth.

Yaḥ — whoever.

Paṭhet — recites or reads.

Susamāhitaḥ — with a calm, collected and attentive mind.

Divā — during the day.

Vā — or.

Yadi vā — whether.

Rātrau — at night.

Vighna-śāntiḥ — the pacification of obstacles or disturbances.

Bhaviṣyati — will occur.

Whoever recites this hymn, traditionally attributed to Sri Vyasa, with a calm and concentrated mind, whether by day or by night, will find the pacification of obstacles.”

The hymn is traditionally attributed to Vyasa, although the precise historical origin of this particular text cannot be established from the attribution alone. 

What does this teach us?

Notice the important expression susamāhitaḥ — with a collected mind.

The emphasis is not simply on repeating words. It is on reciting with attention, understanding and devotion.

Prayer can help us face difficulties without losing hope. It can remind us to act wisely, accept what cannot immediately be changed, and continue doing what is right.

The promise of vighna-śānti is a traditional devotional assurance, not a guarantee that life will be free from every difficulty. Obstacles may still arise, but prayer can strengthen our composure and our ability to respond.

Reflection for daily life: When a problem troubles us, we can pray for the wisdom to understand it, the courage to face it and the patience to take the next right step.

The nine Grahas at a glance

1 Surya

Light, vitality and clarity

Sunday

2 Chandra

Peace, mind and emotional balance

Monday

3 Mangala

Courage, energy and determination

Tuesday

4 Budha

Intelligence, learning and communication

Wednesday

5 Brihaspati (Guru)

Wisdom, guidance and knowledge

Thursday

6 Shukra

Beauty, relationships and enjoyment

Friday

7 Shani

Discipline, patience and responsibility

Saturday

8 Rahu

Ambition, desire and unconventional change

Shadow Graha

9 Ketu

Detachment and spiritual introspection

Shadow Graha

The qualities in this table are traditional symbolic associations in Jyotisha, not scientific measures of personality or destiny.

How may we approach the Navagraha Stotram in daily life?

You do not need to approach this hymn with fear of the planets. You can approach it with reverence, understanding and trust in the Divine.

Recite with attention. Even a short prayer is meaningful when the mind is present.

Understand the words. The images of light, wisdom, courage and patience offer their own lessons.

Combine prayer with right action. Pray for health, but also care for the body; pray for wisdom, but also listen and learn; pray for harmony, but also treat others kindly.

Remember the Supreme Lord. For a Sri Vaishnava devotee, worship of the Grahas need not displace surrender to Sriman Narayana. The celestial order itself may be contemplated within His creation and sovereignty.

The Navagraha Stotram begins with the radiance of the Sun and concludes by reminding us to recite with a composed mind. Between these two points, we encounter the Moon's tranquillity, Mars's courage, Mercury's intelligence, Jupiter's wisdom, Venus's refinement, Saturn's discipline, Rahu's formidable power and Ketu's detachment.

Taken together, these verses invite us to reflect on the many forces and experiences that shape our lives.

We may not control every circumstance, but we can cultivate the wisdom, faith and character with which we meet it.

That is a beautiful way to bring the Navagraha Stotram into everyday life: not merely as a prayer for relief from difficulties, but as a reminder to live with greater clarity, courage, humility and devotion.

A vow. Contributes continue.

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Bahuchar Mata and Manajirao Gaekwad — When a Royal Vow Became a Temple

The story of faith, gratitude, and a promise fulfilled in eighteenth-century Gujarat

When a ruler turned to the Divine Mother

In Gujarat, where devotion to the Divine Mother has flourished for centuries, the name of Bahuchar Mata holds a special place in the hearts of countless devotees.

Her celebrated shrine stands at Becharaji, in the Mehsana district of Gujarat. The temple is associated with an extraordinary story of suffering, prayer, recovery, and gratitude—a story that connects the Goddess with the royal Gaekwad family of Baroda.

At its centre is Manajirao Gaekwad, a member of the Baroda royal family whose life, according to temple tradition, was transformed by his encounter with the Goddess.

A difficult illness and a heartfelt prayer

The story takes us back to around 1781.

Manajirao Gaekwad was suffering from a painful and serious illness, described in historical accounts as a carbuncle or severe infectious swelling. Despite treatment, he continued to suffer.

In his distress, he turned towards Bahuchar Mata at Becharaji.

Like countless devotees before and after him, he approached the Divine Mother with a prayer and a promise. According to the traditional account, he vowed that if he recovered, he would devote ₹1.25 lakh towards building or improving her temple.

It was a substantial commitment in those days.

For Manajirao, this was not merely a royal donation. It was a vow made in a moment of helplessness, when wealth and position could not, by themselves, guarantee relief.

The blessing and the promise

Temple tradition tells us that Manajirao recovered and attributed his recovery to the grace of Bahuchar Mata.

For a devotee, such an experience is deeply personal. What medicine and worldly resources could not appear to accomplish, faith seemed to make possible.

Manajirao did not allow his vow to remain a forgotten promise.

He honoured it.

Construction of the principal stone temple began in the late eighteenth century, generally dated to 1783. The installation of the Goddess in the completed shrine is recorded in accounts as having taken place in 1791.

Thus, a prayer made in suffering became a lasting place of worship.

The temple's history is described in the Bombay Gazetteer and in later accounts of the shrine. The story of the illness and vow belongs to the tradition associated with its construction.

A temple for generations to come

The temple at Becharaji became an important centre of devotion to Bahuchar Mata. Its sacred precincts preserve a distinctive form of worship, including the Goddess's representation through a yantra rather than an ordinary sculpted idol in the principal sanctum.

Manajirao's contribution was not limited to the construction of a shrine. Accounts of the temple also associate him with providing villages to support its continuing maintenance.

This was an important idea in traditional Indian patronage. A ruler or benefactor did not simply build a temple and walk away. Land, revenue, ritual services, and upkeep helped sustain worship for generations.

The Gaekwad connection with Bahuchar Mata continued beyond Manajirao. Later members of the royal family also contributed to the temple's development and maintenance.

A personal expression of gratitude had become part of Gujarat's enduring religious heritage.

The deeper meaning of a royal vow

What can we learn from Manajirao Gaekwad's story today?

First, it reminds us that human beings, irrespective of wealth or status, experience helplessness. There are moments when power cannot provide certainty and when a person turns inward, seeking strength and hope.

Second, gratitude becomes meaningful when it leads to action.

Manajirao's vow, as the tradition tells it, was not simply an expression of relief after recovery. He fulfilled his promise by contributing to a place where others could continue to pray, worship, and find consolation.

Third, the story reminds us that institutions of faith often grow from deeply personal experiences. A prayer offered by one person can leave a legacy that touches thousands who come afterwards.

We should remember, too, that the account of miraculous recovery is a matter of religious tradition, while the temple's historical development and its association with Manajirao Gaekwad form part of the region's recorded heritage.

For devotees, the two dimensions belong naturally together: the historical temple they can visit and the faith-filled story that gives it meaning.

When gratitude becomes a legacy

Today, devotees continue to visit Bahuchar Mata, bringing their hopes, anxieties, vows, and thanksgiving.

The stone temple stands as a reminder of a royal patron's promise and of the power that a place of worship can acquire across generations.

Manajirao Gaekwad's story offers a simple lesson for all of us:

When we pray for help, let us also remember to be grateful. And when our difficulties pass, let our gratitude find expression in something that benefits others.

A prayer may last a moment. A promise may be spoken in distress. But when that promise is fulfilled with sincerity, its fruits may endure for centuries.

That is the beauty of the story of Bahuchar Mata and Manajirao Gaekwad—a royal vow that became a temple, and a personal act of gratitude that became part of Gujarat's living heritage.

Jai Bahuchar Mata! 

Navratri at Lakshmi Vilas Palace — Where Royal Heritage Meets Devotion.

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The Navratri celebrations associated with the Gaekwad royal family of Baroda offer another beautiful way to explore Gujarat's living traditions. The festival brings together devotion to the Divine Mother, music, dance, and a cultural heritage passed from one generation to the next.

The modern celebration is known as Lukshmi Vilas Palace Heritage Garba, led by Maharani Radhikaraje Gaekwad and organised through the Maharani Chimnabai Stree Udyogalaya and Maharaja Fateh Singh Museum. It brings the community into the palace grounds to celebrate Garba as an act of devotion to Ma Amba, while preserving traditional music, rituals and décor. 

What makes it particularly interesting is the effort to keep the festival rooted in faith while welcoming people from different backgrounds. The Maharani has also linked heritage initiatives with women's empowerment and social inclusion.

 A palace becomes truly royal not merely through its grandeur, but when it keeps its traditions alive and opens its doors to the people.

During Navratri, the palace becomes more than a historic residence. The circular movements of Garba, the rhythm of the dhol, the aarti to the Goddess and the participation of thousands make the ancient spirit of devotion part of contemporary life.

It is a story of a tradition being carried forward—not kept behind palace walls, but shared with a new generation.

Change.

 Navaratri and Our Traditions — The Dolls Have Found New Hands 

Every year, as Navaratri approaches, we hear concerns about our fast-disappearing Indian traditions. Are our children losing touch with our culture? Will the songs, stories, rituals, and customs that enriched our homes for generations survive in a rapidly changing world?

These are genuine concerns. But this year, my own family has given me a beautiful reason to feel hopeful.

In our home in India, the grandchildren took charge of arranging the Navaratri dolls. Across the oceans, in the USA, at my other child's home, the grandchildren did the same. They brought out the dolls and the traditional arrangements that had been given to them and created magnificent displays of their own.

Both exhibits are wonderful.

What touched me most was not simply the beauty of the arrangements. It was the enthusiasm, care, and creativity with which the younger generation had embraced something handed down to them.

The best part was they did not use all the dolls but a selected few. Which displayed how the thinking has changed. 

The dolls had travelled from one generation to another, but they had not become forgotten objects packed away in cupboards. They had been brought into the light, arranged with imagination, and given a place of honour in the homes of the next generation.

A Tradition Travels Across Oceans 

The Golu tradition is much more than arranging dolls on a set of steps. It brings together devotion, mythology, art, family memories, and scenes from everyday life. Each doll can tell a story. Each arrangement can become an invitation to learn something about our heritage.

When grandchildren take the initiative to create these displays, they do more than follow a family custom. They begin to make it their own.

That distinction matters.

A tradition survives most naturally when the next generation does not feel that it is merely fulfilling an obligation imposed by its elders. It survives when children find joy in it, add their own creativity, and feel proud of what they have created.

This year's Navaratri reminded me that cultural inheritance is not a one-way journey from grandparents to grandchildren. We give them the dolls, the stories, and the memories. They bring fresh imagination and energy to them.

In that exchange, the tradition remains alive.

We Need Not Fear Every Change 

The younger generation may not celebrate every festival exactly as we did. Their homes, schedules, interests, and circumstances may be different. Those growing up outside India may encounter our customs in a different cultural setting.

But must the outer form remain identical for the spirit to survive?

Perhaps not.

When grandchildren arrange inherited dolls with enthusiasm, they are building a connection with their roots. When they ask about a figure, learn a story, or invite friends to see their display, they create opportunities for that connection to deepen.

Most importantly, we should recognise that the younger generation is capable of carrying forward our heritage in its own way.

The Dolls Are Safe in Their Hands 

This Navaratri, I feel grateful to have witnessed something precious in both our family homes.

The dolls have found new hands. The arrangements have found new imaginations. And a tradition that might have seemed fragile has revealed its strength.

Perhaps this is how traditions survive—not through worry alone, not through criticism of the young, but through participation, affection, and the willingness to pass something beautiful on.

Our responsibility is to give our children and grandchildren more than objects. We must give them the stories, meanings, and memories that make those objects precious.

They, in turn, will decide how best to carry them into the future.

A tradition is not disappearing when the next generation takes it into its own hands. It is beginning another chapter.

This Navaratri, the dolls have reminded me of a simple truth: the lamp of our culture need not remain in the same house or even in the same country to keep burning.

It only needs someone willing to tend its flame.

And this year, in both our homes, I have seen that flame shining brightly.