BOOK REVIEW : THE WAVES OF RESILIENCE ( THE STORY OF RADIO SHARDA )

                                                 

                     

 

Review of the book “The Waves of Resilience: The Story of Radio Sharda”  ….Edited by Ramesh Hangloo

The Waves of Resilience: (The Story of Radio Sharda), edited by Ramesh Hangloo and published by Pir Panchal (CESES) Organisation, is a deeply evocative and intellectually grounded contribution to the discourse on cultural survival, memory, and identity in exile. Priced at Rs 499/-, the volume (190 pages ) brings together 29 essays that collectively document the history, creation, and far-reaching contribution of Radio Sharda, a pioneering initiative dedicated to the preservation of the Kashmiri language and culture in the aftermath of the forced displacement of the Kashmiri Pandit community from Kashmir. This volume must be read not merely as an institutional chronicle but as a layered cultural text that captures the anxieties, aspirations, and resilience of a community negotiating its identity under conditions of prolonged exile. It stands at the intersection of historiography, cultural studies, and memory discourse, offering insights that are both academically significant and emotionally compelling.

Editorial Vision and Structure

As editor, Ramesh Hangloo demonstrates a clear and purposeful vision. The decision to compile 29 essays from a wide spectrum of contributors ensures that the narrative is neither singular nor reductive. Instead, it unfolds as a polyphonic account, enriched by the diversity of voices and experiences represented within its pages. The contributors include distinguished figures from the Kashmiri Pandit community, such as Dr K L Chowdhary, Vijay Bakaya, Prof. B.L. Zutshi, Pran Kishore Kaul, Arvind Gigoo, Prof. A.N. Sadhu, Prof. R.L. Shant, Ashok Ogra, and Dr R L Bhat, among many others. Their collective engagement lends the work both intellectual depth and cultural authenticity.

The essays are thoughtfully curated to trace the evolution of Radio Sharda, from its conceptual genesis to its emergence as a vital cultural institution. At the same time, they situate this journey within the broader historical context of displacement, thereby linking the story of the radio station to the larger narrative of the Kashmiri Pandit experience.

Radio Sharda: A Living Archive of Culture

At the centre of the book lies the remarkable story of Radio Sharda. Established as a community radio initiative, it has grown into a powerful medium for cultural preservation and dissemination. The essays collectively underscore its role as a living archive, one that not only records but actively produces culture.

Radio Sharda’s programming, which spans music, literature, oral traditions, religious discourse, and contemporary issues, serves as a vital conduit for the transmission of cultural knowledge. In exile, where traditional modes of cultural transmission are disrupted, such a platform becomes indispensable. It recreates, in an auditory form, the shared spaces that once existed within the homeland. The emphasis on the Kashmiri language is particularly noteworthy. Language, as the contributors repeatedly highlight, is not merely a tool of communication but a repository of collective memory. By prioritising Kashmiri in its broadcasts, Radio Sharda performs a crucial function: it ensures that the language remains alive, relevant, and accessible to future generations.

Ramesh Hangloo and His Team: An Extraordinary Contribution

The book foregrounds the extraordinary efforts of Ramesh Hangloo and his team. Their work on the ground represents a rare and commendable example of community-driven cultural preservation. In an era where displacement often leads to cultural dilution, their initiative stands as a powerful counterpoint.

As per the essays, Hangloo’s vision has been both pragmatic and deeply rooted in cultural consciousness. He recognises that the survival of a community’s identity depends not only on remembering the past but on actively engaging with it in the present. Through Radio Sharda, he has created a platform that enables such engagement, fostering a sense of continuity despite the rupture of exile. Equally significant is the collective effort of his team. Their contributions, spanning programming, content creation, technical management, and outreach, are integral to the success of the initiative. Theirs is a labour of commitment, sustained over years, and marked by a profound sense of purpose. Their efforts remain praiseworthy on all fronts for promoting, preserving, and ensuring the continuity of the language and culture of a community under severe stress following their forced exile from Kashmir.

Themes of Memory, Identity, and Resilience

The book's thematic core centres on memory, identity, and resilience. The essays engage with memory not as a passive recollection but as an active process of reconstruction. In exile, memory becomes a site of resistance, a means of asserting identity in the face of displacement. The contributors also explore the challenges of intergenerational transmission. The younger generation, growing up outside Kashmir, often finds itself distanced from its cultural roots. The book addresses this concern with sensitivity, emphasising the need for deliberate efforts to bridge this gap. In this context, Radio Sharda emerges as a crucial mediator, facilitating the transmission of cultural knowledge across generations.

Resilience, as the title suggests, is the overarching theme. The story of Radio Sharda is, in essence, a story of the resilience of a community that refuses to relinquish its cultural identity despite the adversities it has faced. The essays collectively celebrate this resilience, while also acknowledging the challenges that accompany it. The essays collectively examine the pivotal role of Radio Sharda as a cultural and emotional lifeline for a displaced community grappling with the trauma of exile. Rather than being merely a broadcasting platform, Radio Sharda is portrayed as a unifying force that responds to the aspirations, anxieties, and identity needs of a community under severe stress.

A dominant theme across the essays is the preservation of cultural identity through various programmes like Vangij-Vor, Aaradhana, Safar Zindagi Hund, Meiyan Kasheer, Aash Pagahitch ( a programme for children ), Orzuv /Health Programme and many more programmes. Through programmes in the mother tongue, the radio station sustains linguistic continuity and safeguards traditions that risk fading in displacement. Contributors emphasise how hearing familiar voices, idioms, and music recreates a sense of home, even in exile. The essays also highlight Radio Sharda’s role in psychological healing. For a community marked by loss and dislocation, the station provides comfort, solidarity, and a shared emotional space. It allows individuals to express grief, resilience, and hope, thereby reducing isolation and reinforcing collective belonging.  Radio Sharda, located at Lower Buta Nagar, TRT Migrant Camp, Jammu (181121; Tel: +91 191-2597806), broadcasts on the FM band at 90.4 MHz, covering Jammu city and its surrounding regions. Beyond its terrestrial reach, the station is readily accessible worldwide via online streaming on TuneIn (Radio Sharda 90.4 FM). Over the years, Radio Sharda has cultivated a dedicated listenership among the Kashmiri diaspora, extending its cultural and community presence not only within Jammu but across different parts of the world.

Conclusion

The Waves of Resilience: The Story of Radio Sharda ultimately stands as an important contribution to the documentation of cultural perseverance in exile. By bringing together diverse voices across its essays, it not only chronicles the journey of a community radio initiative but also situates it within the broader context of identity, memory, and displacement. While the volume foregrounds the efforts of Ramesh Hangloo and his colleagues at Radio Sharda, it does so in a manner that underscores the larger significance of collective cultural action. The book demonstrates how sustained, community-driven initiatives can play a vital role in safeguarding linguistic and cultural heritage under conditions of rupture.

Overall, the collection portrays Radio Sharda as far more than a medium of entertainment or information. It emerges as a symbol of resilience and continuity; a community-driven institution that nurtures identity, fosters cohesion, and helps displaced people articulate and sustain their aspirations in the face of enduring adversity. In this sense, the work extends beyond a commemorative account; it serves as a reflective record of resilience, illustrating how media, memory, and community engagement intersect to sustain a living cultural legacy.

(Avtar Mota )

PS

“The Waves of Resilience: The Story of Radio Sharda” was formally released by Lt. Governor Shri Manoj Sinha at a widely attended function in Jammu on 28th April, 2026. The event was organised by Ramesh Hangloo, Founder and Director of Radio Sharda, along with his dedicated team. Speaking on the occasion, the Lieutenant Governor lauded the commendable efforts of Radio Sharda in preserving and promoting the language, culture, and heritage of the exiled Kashmiri community. He emphasised the importance of such initiatives in keeping cultural roots alive despite displacement. The book chronicles the inspiring journey of Radio Sharda as a cultural lifeline for the displaced community, showcasing resilience, identity, and the power of community media.

 

CHINAR SHADE by Autarmota is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.
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THANK YOU, RADIO SHARDA,JAMMU

                                            

                                             

                                        

            

                                        

THANK YOU RAMESH HANGLOO JI AND HIS DEDICATED TEAM AT RADIO SHARDA.

( Photos. Kamal Kishen Ganju)

It was a great programme . His Excellency spoke with, grace ,dignity and empathy. His body language matched his words. Thanks Ramesh Hangloo  Ji for organising and executing this Great Event. It was nice to see His Excellency donning the traditional Pheran and Dastaar.The book released by Radio Sharda conveys true  story about the efforts of Ramesh Hangloo Ji and his team towards  preserving, protecting and ensuring continuity of  the language and culture of a community under severe  stress. Thanks Ramesh Hangloo Ji for providing me a platform to present my two books to His Excellency before reading the Vote of Thanks.I concluded the Vote of Thanks with this couplet:

”Sarv-o-saman bhi, mauj-e-naseem-e-sahar bhi hai

Aey gul tere chaman mein koi chasm-e-tar bhi hai?

Duniya sune to qissa-e-gham hai bohot taveel

Haan tum suno to qissa-e-gham mukhtasar bhi hai……."

My English translation is this :-

(There is the graceful cypress, 

Fragrance of  jasmine flowers too , 

And the soft morning breeze too.

O flower,

look around,  

There sits a  person with tearful eyes in your garden as well ?

If the world listens, 

The tale of our sorrow is very long;

But  , yes, should  you listen,

 it becomes brief as well.)

(Avtar Mota )

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BHAGWAD GITA AND THE CHARACTERS CREATED BY ALBERT CAMUS

                                                                             

                                                ('The Stranger' Portrait of Albert Camus by an artist  )

BHAGWAD GITA AND SOME CHARACTERS IN THE NOVELS OF ALBERT CAMUS

Certain characters in the novels of Albert Camus embody attitudes that can be meaningfully compared to the central teaching of the Bhagavad Gita, namely, action without attachment (nishkama karma), especially when considered in light of the indirect intellectual influence of his teacher cum friend Jean Grenier, who was familiar with and receptive to Indian philosophical ideas. The presence of such ideas within his formative intellectual environment allows for a plausible line of influence, not as direct borrowing but as a philosophical resonance shaping his ethical imagination. The closest figure in this regard is Meursault from ‘The Stranger’. Meursault lives without appeal to higher meaning, social conventions, or future-oriented justification; he acts, experiences, and accepts consequences with a stark immediacy. Although this is not the Gita’s disciplined and consciously realised detachment grounded in a cosmic order, there remains a structural similarity in his indifference to outcomes and external judgement. The crucial distinction, however, lies in the foundation: in the Gita, detachment emerges from insight into eternal reality as revealed by Sri  Krishna, whereas Meursault’s detachment arises from the absence of such metaphysical belief, rendering it an expression of existential clarity rather than spiritual knowledge.

A more compelling parallel may be found in Dr Rieux from The Plague, whose conduct more closely approximates the Gita’s ethic of duty. Rieux persists in treating the sick and resisting the plague despite knowing that suffering cannot be definitively overcome and that no ultimate victory is assured. His action is sustained not by hope of success or divine sanction, but by a sense of obligation intrinsic to the human condition. This bears a striking resemblance to the Gita’s teaching to Arjuna: to act according to one’s duty without attachment to the fruits of action. Given that such an ethical posture is relatively uncommon in the Western tradition outside certain Stoic strands, its appearance in Camus, mediated through an intellectual milieu shaped in part by figures like Jean Grenier, strengthens the case for an affinity with Gita-like thought. Finally, the figure of Sisyphus in The Myth of Sisyphus provides a symbolic culmination of this pattern. His endless labour, undertaken without hope of completion, reflects action entirely stripped of expectation, echoing in abstract form the Gita’s ideal of non-attached action. Yet, where the Gita resolves this discipline into transcendence and liberation, Camus deliberately refuses such closure, insisting instead upon immanence and defiant acceptance. Thus, while it would be overstated to claim direct doctrinal influence, the convergence of these character-types, combined with Camus’s intellectual proximity to thinkers acquainted with Indian philosophy, allows one to argue that the Bhagavad Gita forms part of the wider, indirect background against which his vision of action, detachment, and endurance takes shape.

 

Camus’s teacher and early mentor at the  University of  Algiers, Prof  Jean Grenier, was a figure of considerable intellectual breadth, whose writings reveal a sustained engagement with non-Western traditions, including Indian philosophy. In works such as Les Îles, Grenier reflects upon themes of detachment, inwardness, and the search for a form of truth that lies beyond the confines of conventional Western rationalism. His attraction to the Gita was not philological or systematic in the academic sense, but philosophical and existential: he was drawn to its emphasis on inner clarity, the renunciation of ego, and the ideal of action performed without attachment to its fruits, an ethic that resonated with his own contemplative disposition.

(Avtar Mota )

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ABHINAV CHATURVEDI : THE ENDURING LEGACY OF NANHE IN HUM LOG TV SERIAL

                                                                                 

                                                 ( Abhinav Chaturvedi and his family with Anupam Kher )

Abhinav Chaturvedi: The Enduring Legacy of Nanhe in Hum Log

 

The inaugural Indian television soap opera, Hum Log, was first broadcast on 7 July 1984 on Doordarshan, then the nation’s sole television channel. Its arrival marked a watershed in the evolution of mass media consumption in India, signalling a shift from the collective experience of 70 mm cinema to the more intimate domain of domestic television viewing. In doing so, it reconfigured the modes through which information and entertainment were mediated within everyday life.

At its core, Hum Log presented a nuanced portrayal of the aspirations and constraints of an Indian middle-class family. Characters such as Badki, Nanhe, Chutki, and Lajwanti rapidly assumed the status of cultural archetypes, reflecting recognisable social realities. The serial engaged with a range of pressing concerns; including alcoholism, gender discrimination, poverty, superstition, and career uncertainty, with a degree of sensitivity that was unusual for its time. Through figures such as Basesar, whose struggles embodied the destructive force of addiction, and Lajwanti, whose experiences reflected entrenched patriarchal norms, the narrative grounded its social critique in lived experience.

A distinctive feature of the programme was its concluding segment, in which the veteran actor Ashok Kumar addressed viewers directly. His reflective commentary, marked by wit and moral clarity, created a rare dialogic bridge between narrative and audience, extending the serial beyond representation into interpretation.

The conception of Hum Log is attributed to Vasant Sathe, then Minister for Information and Broadcasting. It was realised through the collaborative efforts of the writer Manohar Shyam Joshi and the director P. Kumar Vasudev, and drew structural inspiration from a Mexican television drama while remaining firmly rooted in the Indian socio-cultural context.

Rather than functioning as mere entertainment, Hum Log represented an early and significant moment in socially engaged television storytelling in India. Its distinction lay not only in its thematic concerns but also in the authenticity of its characterisation and performance. The writing endowed the narrative with emotional depth and social resonance, while the ensemble cast rendered its world with a degree of realism that encouraged viewers to recognise their own lives within it. The serial thus fostered an intimate mode of spectatorship in which audiences did not simply observe but meaningfully engaged with the narrative.

                                                                         

( The Hum Log TV show Cast )

Within this framework, the character of Nanhe, portrayed with notable naturalism by Abhinav Chaturvedi, emerges as a particularly significant figure. His progression from an unreflective and dependent youth to a more self-aware and responsible individual constitutes one of the most compelling narrative arcs in early Indian television. Initially marked by hesitation and a reluctance to assume responsibility, Nanhe gradually confronts the pressures of expectation and uncertainty, leading to moments of conflict that underscore the psychological realism of his character. What renders Nanhe memorable is the gradual and unforced nature of his development. His transformation is neither abrupt nor idealised; instead, it unfolds through experience, introspection, and an increasing awareness of familial and social obligations. By the narrative’s conclusion, he does not embody exceptional success, but rather a quieter form of maturity defined by resilience and self-understanding. In this respect, his journey encapsulates a central insight of Hum Log: that personal growth is inextricably linked to struggle. Nanhe was the younger son in the family, an aspiring cricketer and one of the most loved characters of the show.

                                            

                     ( With Rakesh Bedi ) 

The enduring significance of Hum Log lies in its commitment to representational honesty and its refusal to treat storytelling as mere escapism. Through the combined efforts of its creators and performers, it became a shared cultural reference point, shaping early television discourse in India and leaving a lasting imprint on collective memory.

Actors such as Abhinav Chaturvedi belonged to the formative era of Doordarshan, when widespread recognition was not always accompanied by sustained institutional opportunities. In the absence of continuity within mainstream cinema, many transitioned into parallel or behind-the-scenes roles. Chaturvedi himself did not withdraw entirely from the field but moved away from regular acting, pursuing a more diversified and comparatively understated career across media and related creative domains.

( Avtar Mota )

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ON THE IRREPARABILITY OF INJURED DIGNITY IN HUMAN RELATIONSHIPS

                                                                          

                                                               (AI built image )

On the Irreparability of Injured Dignity in Human Relationships

Human relationships, whether familial, professional, or social, are neither self-sustaining nor static; they require continuous cultivation through restraint, reciprocity, and mutual regard. When such maintenance is absent, or when a relationship is actively compromised through injudicious conduct, it does not merely weaken but may give rise to enduring forms of disutility, psychological, moral, and relational in nature. As Aristotle observed, “friendship is a slow-ripening fruit,” suggesting that what is gradually built may be abruptly undone.

A particularly injurious form of relational breakdown arises from public humiliation. Unlike private discord, which may be contained and subsequently resolved, public insult introduces an element of exposure that transforms a personal grievance into social degradation. The injury extends beyond the immediate exchange; it implicates dignity, reputation, and self-worth. In such cases, the memory of the incident acquires a durable and enduring quality, reinforced not only by what was said but by the presence of witnesses and the implicit erosion of standing. The durability of any relationship depends fundamentally upon trust, respect, and emotional security. Yet these foundations may be dismantled in a singular moment of unrestrained anger or ego-driven expression. Words spoken in haste often outlive their immediate context, assuming a permanence that far exceeds their intention. As William Shakespeare suggests in Othello, the loss of one’s good name constitutes a deeper injury than material loss. Public insult, therefore, is not merely an emotional disturbance but a form of reputational harm with lasting consequences.

The metaphor of a bridge remains instructive. A bridge functions not merely as a connector but as a structure dependent upon internal coherence. When its supports weaken, collapse becomes inevitable. Similarly, when respect and sincerity are displaced by ego and anger, the relational structure fails. What follows is not gradual erosion but structural disintegration.

It is often assumed that time possesses a restorative capacity. However, in deeply fractured relationships, time may instead consolidate distance. With advancing age, individuals may seek to reconstitute severed ties, sometimes motivated as much by vulnerability or isolation as by genuine reflection. Yet reconciliation cannot be grounded solely in the altered needs of one party. For the aggrieved individual, particularly one subjected to unjust public humiliation, the relationship may have effectively concluded at the moment of rupture. The memory of the affront becomes intertwined with self-respect, rendering re-engagement, in the absence of commensurate restoration of dignity, deeply problematic. This position aligns with the moral philosophy of Immanuel Kant, who emphasised that human beings must be treated as ends in themselves. Where dignity has been publicly compromised, the relational bond is not merely weakened but fundamentally altered. In such circumstances, attempts at reconciliation, however courteous in form, may fail to address the underlying moral injury. Trust, moreover, cannot be retroactively imposed. It is cultivated through consistent conduct and remains inherently fragile. Once compromised at a fundamental level, particularly through acts that undermine dignity, it rarely returns to its original condition. Superficial gestures, including polite discourse or belated apologies, may create an appearance of civility but seldom reconstruct the substantive bond.

Non-maintained relationships thus frequently culminate in asymmetry. One party may seek restoration, while the other, having internalised the rupture, perceives no residual purpose in renewal. What one construes as reconciliation may be regarded by the other as an unwarranted reopening of a resolved past. In conclusion, relationships demand not only continuity of interaction but constancy of regard. Neglect, compounded by moments of unrestrained conduct, undermines their foundational principles. Where such conduct entails public and undeserved humiliation, the rupture may be definitive. In such instances, subsequent efforts at repair, however earnest, may encounter not a weakened structure but the absence of any viable foundation upon which reconstruction might occur.

 

(Avtar Mota )

 

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THE GRAVES OF ALBERT CAMUS AND JEAN PAUL SARTRE :INTIMATE SILENCE AND PUBLIC MEMORY

                                                                                 

                                  ( Avtar Mota looking below from the top of the Montparnasse tower in Paris, 2023 )

                                    ( Avtar Mota at the Tomb of Jean Paul Sartre inside the Montparnasse cemetery, Paris 2023 )

INTIMATE SILENCE AND PUBLIC MEMORY: THE GRAVES OF ALBERT CAMUS AND JEAN PAUL SARTRE

 

Albert Camus and Jean-Paul Sartre stand among the most influential intellectual figures of twentieth-century France, shaping modern thought through their distinct yet often intersecting philosophies. Camus, associated with Absurdism, explored the tension between humanity’s search for meaning and the silent, indifferent universe, while Sartre, the leading voice of Existentialism, emphasised human freedom, responsibility, and engagement with the world. Though once intellectually close, their relationship later fractured over philosophical and political differences, further distinguishing their legacies. Today, both remain central to literary and philosophical discourse, not only through their writings but also through the ways their lives—and even their deaths—continue to be remembered. Their gravestones, in particular, offer a striking contrast: one marked by simplicity and a quiet existence away from public glare, the other situated within an urban setting shaped by visibility and ongoing public participation

The graves of Albert Camus and Jean-Paul Sartre offer a striking study in contrast, not because one is elaborate and the other is simple; both are, in fact, physically modest, but because of the environments, expectations, and cultural meanings that surround them. Camus rests in Lourmarin Cemetery, a small rural burial ground in Provence, where his grave appears almost deliberately inconspicuous. A low, plain stone with minimal inscription marks the site, and at first glance, it can give the impression of neglect, particularly to visitors accustomed to more formal memorials for major literary figures. Yet this impression is shaped less by actual disrepair than by a mismatch between expectation and reality. The cemetery itself has a quiet, unmanicured character, and Camus’s grave blends seamlessly into this setting. Grass, moss, and small plants grow naturally around the stone, while visitors leave pebbles, handwritten notes, metro tickets, and other tokens that accumulate over time. These are not rigorously cleared away, contributing to an appearance that may seem untidy but in fact conveys a sense of lived memory. In France, grave maintenance is typically the responsibility of the family unless a site is elevated to national importance, and Camus’s grave has largely remained outside that formal designation. As a result, it undergoes only light upkeep, allowing weathering and the passage of time to remain visible; an outcome that resonates with the philosophical restraint associated with Absurdism and with Camus’s own distaste for grandeur and spectacle.

This atmosphere of modesty and intimacy is not only a feature of the grave as it exists today but is also rooted in the circumstances of Camus’s burial. Following his sudden death in a car accident in 1960, his funeral was deliberately small and private, attended by only a few dozen people—primarily close family and friends. There was no large public procession, no overwhelming national display of mourning, and little attempt to transform the event into a symbolic spectacle. This limited attendance, while partly a matter of circumstance, also reflects the tone that has come to define his posthumous presence. The quietness of the burial seems to extend forward into the present condition of the grave, reinforcing an image of Camus as a writer whose legacy resists monumentalisation. Visitors encountering the site often find that its understated nature encourages a more personal and reflective engagement. Rather than being directed by signage or framed by an official narrative, one comes upon the grave almost incidentally, and the experience feels less like visiting a cultural landmark than like encountering a private resting place. The small tokens left by admirers, modest, varied, and often ephemeral, further emphasise this sense of individual connection. What might initially be interpreted as neglect can therefore be understood as a continuation of Camus’s philosophical and personal orientation: a refusal of imposed meaning, an acceptance of transience, and a resistance to being absorbed fully into institutional frameworks.

Albert Camus’ funeral in 1960 was intentionally small and quiet, and that had a lot to do with who he was and how he lived. First, Camus himself disliked grand public displays and intellectual celebrity culture. Even though he had won the Nobel Prize in Literature and was one of the most famous writers in France, he remained personally modest and somewhat uncomfortable with fame. A large, state-like funeral would have gone against that spirit. Second, his death was sudden and tragic. He died in a car crash near Villeblevin at just 46. There wasn’t time for elaborate national planning, and his family chose a private burial rather than turning it into a public event. Third, Camus had a complicated relationship with French intellectual and political circles—especially due to his positions during the Algerian War. He refused to fully align with either side, which alienated many contemporaries, including figures like Jean-Paul Sartre. So while he was respected, he wasn’t universally embraced by the intellectual establishment in a way that would have prompted a massive collective tribute at the time.

Finally, the funeral reflected his roots. He was buried in Lourmarin, a quiet village where he owned a home. The ceremony was attended mostly by family and close friends, fitting his lifelong preference for simplicity and authenticity over spectacle. The small funeral wasn’t due to lack of importance; it was much more about Camus’s personality, the suddenness of his death, and the tensions surrounding his public life.

By contrast, the grave of Sartre, which he shares with Simone de Beauvoir in Montparnasse Cemetery, exists within a markedly different context that shapes its appearance and reception. Montparnasse is one of Paris’s major cemeteries and functions as a cultural and intellectual landmark in its own right, attracting visitors from around the world. Its layout is structured, with clearly defined pathways, signage, and a general sense of organisation that frames each grave as part of a broader heritage landscape. Sartre’s tomb, though itself relatively simple, benefits from regular maintenance and from the steady flow of visitors who come specifically to pay homage. Flowers, notes, and symbolic objects are likewise left at the site, but they are absorbed into a tidier and more controlled environment, giving the grave a more polished and cared-for appearance. This difference is not merely aesthetic but is deeply connected to geography and cultural positioning. Paris, as a centre of intellectual life, confers a certain visibility and institutional weight upon those interred within its prominent cemeteries, and Sartre, closely associated with the organised intellectual culture of the city, fits naturally into this framework. His philosophical legacy, tied to Existentialism, has long been embedded within academic discourse and public debate, and the setting of his grave reflects that integration.

                                                                             

                                                 ( Mourners at the Camus's funeral ...Photo Credit...Camus family )   

                                              ( Mourners at Sartre's funeral photo Credit ...Associated Press )

                                                                                                               

                                                   (The simple grave of Albert Camus inside the Village cemetery in Lourmarin, France )
                                                

The contrast becomes even more pronounced when one considers the scale of Sartre’s funeral in 1980, which drew an estimated 50,000 people into the streets of Paris. This vast public turnout transformed the event into something approaching a national moment of collective recognition, with students, intellectuals, activists, and ordinary citizens participating in the procession to Montparnasse. In this sense, Sartre’s burial was not merely a private farewell but a public affirmation of his place within French cultural and political life. When viewed alongside Camus’s much smaller, more intimate funeral, attended by only a few dozen mourners, the difference is striking. Yet it would be too simplistic to interpret this solely as a divide between obscurity and fame, or between neglect and care. Both figures are firmly established within the French intellectual canon; the distinction lies rather in the modes of remembrance that have developed around them. Camus’s grave, with its quiet, slightly weathered condition, preserves an impression of resistance to spectacle and institutional framing, even as it attracts devoted visitors. Sartre’s grave, situated within a highly organised and visible setting and marked by a history of mass public mourning, embodies a more formal and collectively recognised legacy. Together, these sites reveal not opposing states of neglect and reverence, but two different ways in which cultural memory can be shaped; one intimate, organic, and open to the passage of time; the other structured, public, and firmly anchored within a shared historical narrative.

 

( Avtar Mota )

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Based on a work at http:\\autarmota.blogspot.com\.

ALBERT CAMUS AND KATHA UPANISHAD

                                                                                          

(Albert Camus at a press reception at the French Embassy in Stockholm. To the right: French ambassador Gabriel Bonneau. Photo taken on 9 December 1957. 

Photo: Jan Ehnemark. Source: Stockholms stadsmuseum.)

                     ( In the middle lies the simple grave of Albert Camus inside the Village cemetery in Lourmarin, France )

ALBERT CAMUS AND KATHA UPANISHAD

The Katha Upanishad and the writings of Albert Camus emerge from radically different civilisational contexts; one rooted in the metaphysical inquiry of ancient India, the other in the existential turbulence of twentieth-century Europe. Yet, when placed in reflective proximity, they disclose a striking convergence of concern: both grapple, in their distinct idioms, with the enigmas of death, the limits of human knowledge, and the search for meaning in a world that resists final comprehension.

The Katha Upanishad, structured as a profound dialogue between the young seeker Nachiketa and Yama, the lord of death, advances its philosophical vision through an interrogation of mortality and the nature of the Self. Camus, in turn, confronts the modern condition of absurdity, where reason fails to yield ultimate answers, and yet consciousness persists in its demand for clarity. Though separated by millennia and metaphysical assumptions, both traditions are united by an uncompromising seriousness towards the human predicament and by a refusal to reduce existence to superficial consolation.

It is within this shared seriousness of inquiry—this persistent questioning at the edge of life and death- that a suggestive dialogue may be discerned between the ancient wisdom of the Upanishads and the modern sensibility of Camus.

 The presence of a French translation of the Katha Upanishad in the library of Albert Camus at Lourmarin has often been treated as a curious footnote in intellectual history. Yet, it opens onto a deeper convergence between Camus’ thought and the Upanishadic imagination. The most plausible account of how such a text reached him points to his mentor, Jean Grenier, who played a formative role in broadening Camus’ philosophical horizons beyond the European canon and in introducing him to translated Indian scriptures. In this sense, the Katha Upanishad enters Camus’ world not as an alien intrusion but as part of a wider search for philosophical seriousness about mortality, conducted through reading rather than systematic study. The Upanishad itself, structured as a dialogue between Nachiketa and Yama, the god of death, begins with a refusal that would have struck a deep chord with Camus: the rejection of wealth, pleasure and longevity when offered as substitutes for truth. Nachiketa’s insistence on knowing what lies beyond death, rather than accepting consolatory distractions, echoes the starting point of Camus’ own philosophy in The Myth of Sisyphus, where the central question is whether life is worth living in the face of its apparent meaninglessness. In both cases, philosophy begins not in abstraction but in confrontation: a stripping away of illusion, a refusal of evasions, and a demand that thought meet existence at its most exposed point. What binds them initially is not doctrine but attitude; the decision to take death seriously without resorting to comforting fictions.

                                                                          

As one moves further into both texts, the proximity becomes more striking still, particularly in their shared discipline of lucidity. The Katha Upanishad presents knowledge as a form of inward clarity achieved by turning away from transient satisfactions and directing attention towards what is unchanging beneath them. This requires a severe ethical posture: restraint, discernment, and a refusal to be seduced by appearances. Camus, in parallel, constructs his idea of the “absurd man” as one who refuses both religious consolation and philosophical evasion, insisting instead on clear-sighted engagement with the world as it is given; finite, silent and without apparent justification. In both frameworks, truth is not an accumulation of propositions but a mode of being: a way of standing before reality without distortion. The resemblance extends even to tone and temperament. Nachiketa’s calm refusal of Yama’s temptations mirrors Camus’ austere insistence that one must not escape the confrontation with the absurd through metaphysical or ideological systems. In both, there is a moral seriousness about attention itself: to look away is already a form of falsification. Yet this shared discipline of clarity is not merely intellectual; it is existential. Both traditions treat the confrontation with death not as a theoretical puzzle but as a lived limit that shapes the entire structure of human existence, demanding courage rather than explanation.

                                                                                      

                        ( Camus's simple gravestone )

 It is at the point of resolution, however, that their paths diverge most decisively, even as they remain curiously adjacent in spirit. The Katha Upanishad ultimately resolves the tension it stages by moving towards transcendence: the discovery of the Atman, the inner self identical with ultimate reality, dissolves fear and liberates the individual from the cycle of death. The confrontation with mortality is thus a passage towards metaphysical unity, where the apparent fragility of human existence is overcome through knowledge of a deeper, eternal ground. Camus refuses precisely this movement. For him, as articulated in The Myth of Sisyphus, the confrontation between human longing for meaning and the indifferent silence of the universe produces not liberation but the condition he calls the absurd, a permanent tension that admits no final reconciliation. There is no hidden unity to be uncovered, no metaphysical resolution beneath appearances, and no ultimate escape from the limits of mortality. Yet this refusal of transcendence does not lead to despair; instead, it gives rise to what Camus terms revolt, a sustained commitment to live without appeal while maintaining full awareness of the absence of ultimate answers. In this sense, Camus stands closer to the Upanishad than might first appear, not in conclusion but in ethical stance: both demand that one confront death without illusion, both strip away consolation, and both locate dignity in clarity rather than in comfort. The difference lies in what follows that clarity; where the Upanishad opens onto liberation, Camus insists on endurance within finitude. Yet even here, the distance is not absolute. Both positions require a rare form of courage: the willingness to remain with what cannot be resolved, to resist the temptation of false closure, and to affirm a life lived in full awareness of its limits. In that shared refusal of illusion, the Upanishad and Camus stand not as opposites, but as two rigorous articulations of the same demanding human question, answered in different metaphysical registers yet born of the same existential intensity.

One can indeed discern in Camus a certain nobility of spirit, though it is of a distinctly secular and lucid character rather than one grounded in transcendence. This nobility is expressed above all through style, by which one does not merely mean rhetorical elegance, but a sustained ethical clarity of vision. It is this quality that differentiates him so markedly from many of his contemporaries. His characters are frequently engaged in a profound and often anguished confrontation with what he terms the “absurd”: the irreconcilable tension between the human longing for meaning and the indifferent opacity of the world. Their efforts are not crowned with metaphysical resolution, yet the dignity of their struggle is insistently made visible. It is precisely this lucidity under adversity that the Nobel Committee appears to have had in mind when it spoke of his “illumination of the problems of the human conscience in our time.”

It is an intriguing exercise to place this sensibility in tentative dialogue with the ancient Indian traditions of inquiry, particularly the Upanishads and the Bhagavad Gita, where the question of truth (satya) is likewise pursued with extraordinary seriousness. The Upanishadic sages, however, orient their quest towards an ultimate metaphysical unity, Brahman, in which the contradictions of existence are ultimately resolved in a higher ontological identity. The Gita, for its part, enjoins a disciplined engagement with worldly action, though under the aegis of divine order (dharma) and with the ideal of detached action.

Camus, by contrast, deliberately withholds any such metaphysical guarantee. The world, for him, does not disclose an underlying harmony; it remains opaque and silent. In this context, The Plague may be read as an exploration of ethical solidarity in the absence of transcendence. The figure of Jean Tarrou, often described, not without justification, as a “saint without God”, embodies this tension with particular acuity. His sanctity, if one may use the term, is entirely immanent: it consists in vigilance, responsibility, and an unyielding refusal to participate in harm, rather than in any aspiration towards salvation.

The parallel with Indian thought, therefore, is best understood not as one of doctrinal equivalence, but rather as a convergent concern with truth, suffering, and right action; albeit resolved within fundamentally divergent metaphysical horizons.

 

(Avtar Mota )

PS

(1)

Paul Viallaneix, in his introduction to the book ‘ Youthful writings of Albert Camus ‘ published by Penguin in 1984, mentions that on the advice of his teacher Jean Grenier, Camus was becoming interested in the sacred writings of India. It is Max Pol Fouchet who reveals the specific title of one of these writings as the Bhagwat Gita, a fact later confirmed by Madame Jean Granier, Herbert Lottaman and Camus’s children.

(2)

In June 1958, Camus told his biographer Carl Viggiani:

“ During the years 1930-1936, a lot of time that I had at my disposal was occupied by reading ‘ La Philosophie Hindoue’ or ‘ The Hindu Philosophy ‘ apart from reading Leon Chestov, Spinoza, Descartes and Max Scheler.” 

(3)

Katha Upanishad is the most widely read Upanishad in the world. It has been translated into  Persian, French, German, Latin, and lately Polish.  Some known admirers of this Upnishad are: Dara Shikoh,  Max Muller, Arthur Schopenhauer, Edwin Arnold, Walt Whitman, Henry David Thoreau, Warren Hastings, R W Emerson, and Swami Vivekananda. Dara Shikoh got the Upanishads translated into Persian in 1657. From Persian, the Upanishads were translated into French and Latin. Albert Camus had read the French translation. According to Schopenhauer, Plato and Aristotle were also influenced by the wisdom of the Upanishads, more specifically by the Katha Upanishad. He goes on to say that the practice of questioning reality is a gift to human civilisation. This gift travelled in different directions from India. Many scholars believe that Pythagoras,  who had travelled to India,  brought Indian philosophy and thought to his land

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