Latest news with #JagjitSingh
Time of India
16-07-2025
- Time of India
Cross-border narco-hawala network linked to Pak busted in Amritsar
Amritsar: Amritsar Commissionerate Police claimed to have dismantled a cross-border narco-hawala network with links to Pakistan. The cops have nabbed five persons and recovered a cache of illegal weapons, drugs, and hawala money from their possession. Commissioner of police, Gurpreet Singh Bhullar, informed on Wednesday that police recovered five pistols, including two PX5 9mm, two Glock 9mm, and one .32 bore, along with two live cartridges, 50 grams of heroin, a drone suspected to have been used for cross-border smuggling, and Rs 6.90 lakh in hawala cash. Those arrested have been identified as Gurvinder Singh alias Dolu (25), a plumber from Chheharta, Amritsar, with seven previous cases involving the Arms Act, attempt to murder, and robbery; Jagjit Singh alias Jaggi (40), a shop worker from New Delhi with no previous record; Arshdeep Singh alias Baba (20), a granthi from Gharinda, whose mother and brother were earlier arrested with 2 kg of heroin, Rs 30,000 in drug money, and 10 pistols; Karanjeet Singh alias Karan (21), a labourer from rural Amritsar with no criminal background; and Harpal Singh alias Bhala (25), a painter from Tarn Taran, also with no prior record. Bhullar said the investigations revealed that the gang was using drones to smuggle heroin and firearms from Pakistan into Indian territory. Jagjit Singh, who fled Afghanistan in 2014 following the rise of the Taliban, developed ties with a Pakistani national named Pathan, who now operates a dry fruit business in Pakistan believed to be a front for narcotics operations. Acting on instructions from Pakistani smugglers Shah and Shehzad Jatt, Jagjit facilitated hawala transactions in the Amritsar region, receiving a 2% commission on the money he helped move. A case has been registered at Chheharta police station under the NDPS Act and Arms Act.
News18
01-07-2025
- News18
This Maharaja Turned His Queen Into A Man — And Fooled The British
The story of the Maharaja of Kapurthala who cleverly disguised his queen as a man to bypass British travel bans, enabling them to visit Europe unnoticed during colonial rule There was once an Indian Maharaja who, when the British authorities refused to permit him to take his queen to Europe, devised a clever ruse: he disguised her as a man. The British officials remained none the wiser, and he successfully travelled with her posing as his assistant. Before Independence, the tales of India's princely states, kings, and Maharajas were truly astonishing, often surprising anyone who heard them. One such story involves the Maharaja of Kapurthala of Punjab, who took his most beautiful queen abroad in male disguise. When word spread, people marvelled at his ingenuity. Had he not resorted to such a scheme, he would never have been able to take his queen out of the country. This fascinating episode is detailed in the book Maharani by Jarmani Das, who served as Diwan in several princely states. Under British rule, the Viceroy was the supreme authority in India, and even Maharajas were subject to his commands. At the time, Lord Curzon held the post of Viceroy, and he had imposed a ban preventing Maharajas from travelling abroad. Nonetheless, some did manage to travel, albeit only with the Viceroy's express permission. Maharaja Jagjit Singh of Kapurthala, famed for his opulence, sought permission to visit Europe. Lord Curzon consented on the condition that the Maharaja could only travel with assistants and was forbidden to take any queen along. The Maharaja's Dilemma And Masterplan Maharaja Jagjit Singh, who had six queens, was deeply troubled by this restriction, as he had intended to take his most beautiful queen, Kanari, with him. Confronted with this dilemma, he devised a daring plan. In those days, passports were not required for international travel. According to Diwan Jarmani Das, his father Daulatram, who was also Diwan of Kapurthala, proposed that the queen travel dressed as a man. Though initially hesitant, the Maharaja agreed. The Successful Disguise Rani Kanari, famed for her beauty, was the daughter of the Diwan of a state near Shimla. Dressed in men's clothing, an achkan, pyjamas, and a turban, and sporting a fake beard, Rani Kanari masqueraded as a Sikh man. Accompanying the Maharaja and his entourage, she travelled abroad without raising suspicion. The disguise was so convincing that no one suspected a thing, and the queen reached Europe safely. Adventures In Europe Once in Europe, the queen resumed her true identity. The Maharaja had arranged for stays in hotels and invitations to banquets hosted by French nobility. They openly acknowledged that the Maharaja had brought his queen to Europe. However, at public events, the queen maintained her male disguise to avoid detection. Thus, the Maharaja and his queen enjoyed several months abroad without ever alerting the British authorities. Return Journey To India Their return to Mumbai was similarly uneventful. Upon arrival in Bombay, the military secretary to the governor greeted them on behalf of the Viceroy. At the welcome ceremony, no one recognised Rani Kanari, who remained disguised as a man. This remarkable tale highlights how India's Maharajas often outwitted British restrictions to pursue their desires. First Published: July 01, 2025, 13:59 IST
Hindustan Times
27-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Hindustan Times
Papon thrilled to see K-pop fan daughter humming ghazals at his concert: 'This is the power of music'
Last Saturday, to observe World Music Day, singer Papon enthralled audiences in Mumbai with a special performance, interspersing his Bollywood melodies with soulful ghazals. The Shaam-e-Mehfil saw the singer take the stage for a two-hour-long concert filled with the best of Jagjit Singh, Ghulam Ali, and Farida Khanum, among others. During the concert, the singer also had a personal anecdote to share with the audience. Papon performs on the World Music Day 2025. The Shaam-e-Mehfil, organised by Sachi Entertainment, was held on Saturday evening at Mumbai's Shanmukhananda Hall, and saw Papon reel off several popular ghazals, starting with Jagjit Singh's Tum Itna Jo Muskura Rahe Ho. At the end of the ghazal, he held the mic towards the audience, asking them to join along. As the 'jugalbandi' ended, Papon quipped, 'I saw my daughter sitting and singing. She doesn't like ghazals. Korean-vorean sunti hai (She listens to KPop). But even she was singing along. This is the power of music.' Papon on stage at the Shaam-e-Mehfil in Mumbai. Papon then performed several iconic ghazals over the next two hours, sharing stories about them and including some of his own Shayari. For the Bollywood fans present, he sang a few of his popular filmy numbers as well, ranging from Kyon to Moh Moh Ke Dhaage and Jeeyein Kyun. A musical medley with the audience The performance came to a close with a special rendition of Farida Khanum's Aaj Jaane Ki Zid Na Karo, in which he had the audience join along as well. But before that, the singer did something special with the 1,000-odd listeners in the auditorium. As the auditorium was illuminated by cell phone flashlights, he indulged in a jugalbandi with the audience. Papon had the audience sing along, hum along, and croon along in a soulful medley sans lyrics.
Hindustan Times
18-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Hindustan Times
Singer Papon on love for ghazal: Students ask me to sing ghazals at concerts
Besides soulful film and non-film tracks, a genre of music that's extremely close to singer Papon's heart is ghazal. An integral part of all his concert setlists, the musician admits that a large section of the audience that requests him to sing ghazal at gigs are college students. 'After Jagjit Singh (late singer), no one has created fresh sound for ghazal; what we hear today are mostly classics. I'm trying to change that and the response has been encouraging. Nowadays, college students and young audiences request me to sing ghazal at my concerts, which proves that Indians still have a deep-rooted love for the art form. We must revive it,' says the singer, who is set to release two ghazal albums. Speaking about the albums he's working on, the Moh Moh Ke Dhagey (Dum Laga Ke Haisha, 2015) singer adds, 'I'm just giving the final touches to the album before jetting off for my international (US) tour. I will release them as soon as I am back.' Lamenting the 'shortage of good ghazal writing today', which had been mastered by poets such as Nida Fazli, Qateel Shifai and Bashir Badr, the 49-year-old shares, 'Ghazal writing is an art, and just knowing Hindi and Urdu isn't enough. While some still write ghazal, the numbers are few.' However, he is hoping to revive the music form. 'Film music overshadows the genre, but with the internet, non-film music can thrive again. The void left by Jagjit Singh and Pankaj Udhas is vast, but there's potential for ghazal to flourish even now,' says the singer. Papon adds, 'I now curate ghazal-only shows in large auditoriums and most of them are sold out. At Jashn-e-Rekhta, I performed for 13,000 people. My concert series, Shaam-e-Mehfil, has garnered tremendous interest. We're taking it slow—so far, I've mostly performed covers. Once my original ghazals are released, we'll have a robust playlist.' What's next? 'My upcoming film song is in Metro… In Dino, where I'll also appear as a band member and narrator. I also have a bank of singles—some collaborations—which I'll release monthly during and after my US trip.'
Indian Express
16-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Indian Express
How to raise a boy: As we raise our boys, we also raise ourselves
As a teacher with nearly 18 years of experience, at different schools in Ranchi, Kolkata and Delhi, I have taught young boys and girls from the age group of 11 to 17 years. I have seen several generations transition from boys to men, and the odyssey of emotional growth is never easy. My first challenge was in 1998, as an eager-eyed and bushy-tailed teacher stepping into a gallery of rowdy 16-year-old Class XI students in a school in Ranchi, where the boys rudely, though rather jauntily, demanded my 'introduction'. They preferred to be taught in Hindi, notwithstanding the fact that I was being paid to teach English. They, not I, ruled the classroom, and the 23-year-old avatar of this now grey-haired teacher soon figured out that if one could not snatch their attention in the first five minutes, there was no way anything could be taught or learnt. The principal of the school, a former English teacher himself, understood my frustration and said, 'Madam, upar waale ne kisi ko nikamma nahi banaya. Aapke paas to duniya bhar ke khazaane hai (Madam, god has not created anybody without talent. You have, in your possession, a treasure from across the world)'. He meant the world of literature. A timeless route into young hearts and minds that seemed to have the least hurdle appeared to be poetry. Young men going into battle were known to carry books of poetry with them. I hoped the 'experiment' would somehow work. The sound of the words, the rhythm of the verses, and the lyricism of language (Urdu, Hindi or English) did magically open pathways — to libraries, to bookshops, to friends' bookshelves, or dusty gullies with second-hand book or magazine stalls. Slowly, but surely, a few started striding into class with a poem or a song and read it out or simply talk. A class could begin with a Jagjit Singh ghazal or a latest Euphoria hit, with the loud fists-on-desk rhythm of back-benchers that can never be replicated outside classrooms or canteens. And on one occasion, a Class V boy blithely sang 'Dashing through the snow' in sun-beaten May. The principal, a gentleman who had served for many years in a Sainik School, encouraged my efforts. He was vocal in his critique of corporal punishment long before it was banned. 'It is a form of violence,' he said categorically. He presented me with a tape-recorder to play music in class and the freedom to teach students a song or two in English. Though I spent just two years in that school, the boys started reaching out whenever they found the time or the quiet confidence to sing a song, read aloud a poem or nazm or talk about a film they had watched. The schoolboys I taught appeared sensitive and empathetic by nature, they nurtured a genuine love for Urdu couplets or shayari, and some wrote in their spare time — all this without any encouragement from adults. It was, however, the era of 'tough love', which meant a reproach, if not a sound thrashing, was believed to be the cure for most things. Teachers and parents would tear down the efforts of these young boys with hurtful comments about how they were only trying to win the attention of girls. It was no surprise, then, that we adults were always viewed with suspicion and the boys had their own 'secret societies'. In my small-town world, it was also the era when 'roadside Romeos' would occasionally be subjected to a forced 'shearing' or a haircut by the self-appointed moral police outside women's colleges or girls' schools. 'Privacy', 'autonomy', or 'space' were alien concepts. Then there was the usual complaint, 'Teachers like girls more; they are biased.' Newspaper headlines screaming 'Girls outshine boys in the Board' were furnished as proof. Confronting such allegations proved to be tricky, but the whining seemed indicative of a feeling of being invisible or unmentored. Given an opportunity to express their feelings without being judged, these very same boys seemed more open to ideas or engagement. The spirit of adventure, rather misadventure, dogged their steps like a shadow. Since the school was on the outskirts, several boys drove their motorbikes to school at full speed. It was a 'flex', I was told. An accident left one severely injured and bedridden for weeks. How does one talk to teenage boys without sounding preachy? After I met the injured boy, I suggested to the class that they paint get-well-soon cards for him. I shared details about his long treatment, physiotherapy, the pain, his depression and the need to be with him in his hour of crisis. Soon after, the situation was reversed. His friends took it upon themselves to visit him and follow up on his treatment, filling me in with all the details of his recovery. Their cockiness faded when they saw a peer in distress and a circle of empathy was forged. Boys whose parents were doctors turned to them, drawing them into offering timely help and advice. But let us return to poetry. A few years ago, a boy who was the 'topper' from his batch, and is now studying in the college of his dreams, came to meet me. As we walked around the serene campus of the big-city school where I now teach, he mentioned casually, 'You know the poem I often come back to — Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken. We read it in Class IX. There are times I have lain awake at night, thinking about the lines, about myself… Two roads diverged in the yellow wood/ And sorry I could not travel both/ And be one traveller…' I returned home that day deep in thought. Young boys who are in our homes, our neighbourhoods, our classrooms, and out of whom we expect the world — stable and upward career graphs, nurturing homes, secure bank balances — are sensitive young people, dealing with emotions they find hard to grapple with. Do we pause to read or listen, or sing to them as they grow up? Are we 'raising' them or are we failing them, if we do not? As we 'raise' our boys, we also raise ourselves. The principal I mentioned earlier in this write-up is someone who imparted life lessons on how to 'raise' a teacher. The boys we 'raise' will pay forward what they receive today. The writer teaches English in a school in Delhi. She hails from Jharkhand
