The base (3000 BC)

We didn’t start with nothing. For thousands of years, we have had wheat, rice, millet, lentils, sesame, coconut, turmeric, and cardamom. If you add those together, you get a bunch of good flavors. But if you time travel to this era and try the food, it will not taste “Indian” to you in the modern sense because this was a time of simplicity. Firstly, whatever you eat in this time period would be fermented, roasted, boiled, or made through stone grinding. It would taste spicy, as in containing spices, but not what we call “teekha” today, and would taste more ginger-y and pepper-y. A normal meal would be made up of grains, lentil preparations, seasonal vegetables, and curd or milk. The grains would be unrefined and earthy, some food would be sour, and there would be hardly any gravy. And in some parts, you would also see a lot more meat and fish than you would expect, as ancient India was not uniformly vegetarian.

Add a tablespoon of West Asian Trade (2000 BC - 600 AD)

Ancient India was an ambitious trader, as evident by the tons of Roman gold found in South India (there are accounts of Romans complaining that the spice trade from India is bankrupting Rome due to coin outflow).

India had a large volume of trade with Mesopotamia, Persia, Arabia, and Egypt—basically areas of the world that form the “Fertile Crescent”. And you can’t mention the Fertile Crescent without talking about wheat. These guys were the nerds of wheat, and from them we brought new varieties, farming practices, and exchanges that reinforced wheat's place in northern India. Flatbreads like roti grew in importance and became one of the central items of meals.

Trade also added a few more items to our cuisine that today we think of as fully Indian: fruits like grapes, figs, and pomegranates. Finally, this era resulted in the wider spread and popularization of the culinary best friends of all Indian food lovers (well, almost all)—onion and garlic. All in all, India was now connected to the world’s pantry and recipe book, and was not cooking in isolation.

If you time-traveled to this era and saw a meal, you would know where to start because something like a roti is right there. You would like the fruits as sides, and the onion and garlic would add a flavor that feels closer to home. You could still not compare it to the food at the wedding, though, because you’re still missing several crucial items.

Cook over the slow heat of the Sultanate and Mughals (1200 AD - 1500 AD)

Here, we take a break from adding ingredients in our recipe of Indian cuisine, and focus on technique. The Persians didn’t bring much new in terms of raw materials, but they brought a way to cook that was never done before. We learnt to cook food slowly over low heat (called “dum”), and we started marinating ingredients before cooking them. Dishes became layered, and things like curd, nuts, and cream became central to dishes. This was, of course, mainly done for royal food first, and slowly seeped into civilian cuisine.

Rice was not just rice anymore, and we started layering it with sauces and vegetables, resulting in pilaf (pulao) and biryani. The biggest beneficiary of this era was meat. We learnt to cover it with exotic tastes, skewer it, and cook it till it’s slightly charred on the tandoor, right beside the roti. We also started to admire subtle tastes of saffron and rosewater.

If I take you, the weary time-traveler, to this era, you would have a pretty good time. You would like the food, appreciate the layers, and finally you would have something that resembles Indian desserts like halwa. But you would still find the spice to be too raw, and the gravies not exactly like today.

Season with Portuguese (1500 AD onwards)

An average Indian, especially non-Goan, doesn’t give much thought to Portugal. We know they had a colony on the west coast of India, and they did give us a few dishes you find in Goa, but come on, what are the Portuguese compared to the grand history of Indian cuisine? As it turns out, quite a lot.

Here’s a list of things that were unheard of and unused in India before the Portuguese arrived: chillies, tomatoes, potatoes, cashew, and peanuts. It would be extremely difficult to go to any restaurant in any corner of this country and find a popular dish that doesn’t include at least one of these things. In addition, they also brought pao to us Mumbaikars.

This happened due to the Columbian Exchange, the largest movement of plants and crops in human history, in which European conquerors carried their own to the Americas, and brought back what they liked to the Old World. Before this, most things that grew in the Americas had evolved over millennia completely separate from the trade and cultivation of the Old World. The Portuguese brought these to the coast of India. This time, the new additions didn’t flow through the courts and royalty, but went straight to farming.

But of course, I can’t give too much credit to the Portuguese, because they only brought the ingredients. Indians of the time truly went crazy finding new ways to integrate these items into our food. We added mashed tomatoes to gravies, making them acidic and giving them more volume. We put potatoes inside wheat and made aloo parathas. And gradually, we put chilli powder into literally everything, resulting in unbelievable dishes like misal pav and guntur chicken.

You don’t need to time-travel anymore; you can get a feel of this food by just going out today. The modern Indian cuisine is ready!

Serve hot!

Till the recent past, Europe and other places still appointed officials through patronage or good old inheritance. Patronage (basically buying the positions) is how the British East India Company originally selected its administrative staff in the subcontinent. But further expansion of the empire and the push for meritocracy made them try out a similar exam. The 1853 Charter Act introduced a competitive exam, and the first ICS exam was held in 1853 in London.

Shortly after, the 1857 revolution happened, and the crown took control of the subcontinent. This cemented the ICS as the permanent administrative staff pipeline. Keeping the parallel to the Chinese exams, the ICS tested knowledge of Latin and Greek, English literature, philosophy, and mathematics. Knowledge of Indian languages, cultures, religions, and the way of life of an average Indian was, unsurprisingly, not a selection criterion. The demographics of the crop were as expected: mostly upper-class British men from elite universities. While Satyendranath Tagore was the first person of Indian origin to take the test in 1863, most of the selected staff were non-Indian. A 22-year-old barely-out-of-college Englishman with no personal family or stake in the region he governed would make decisions on disputes, taxes, and navigate through extreme events like famines.

Playing the devil’s advocate for a bit (an unenviable job when the devil is the British Empire), the ICS was objectively not that bad. The bureaucracy was internally effective and stable, maintained huge and unorganized regions with considerable consistency, and remained rule-bound. Decisions were taken within established frameworks, documented, and open to audits and appeals. But it failed in creating an administrative class that actually represented the populace. The chain of command was still top-down.

Until the 1910s, there was a steady increase in demands for inclusion. Early Congress leaders like GK Gokhale and Surendranath Banerjee pushed for Indian representation. The obvious criticism was that the exams were only meritocratic in theory but exclusionary in practice. Activists demanded that parallel exams be conducted in India. The growing English-educated Indian class also participated in petitions and articles critical of the nature of the exam. Somewhere, the British liberal class recognized the gaping hole of exclusion and supported the petitions. This led the British government to do what any semi-democratic nation does today: resort to partial agreements and tokenism. The British complied with some demands, and the representation improved somewhat, but real influence was still low. Exams were still held only in London.

The first ICS exam held in India was in 1922. As it turns out, this was the biggest hurdle to representation. In the following decades, Indians turned out in huge numbers to take the exam and filled the bureaucracy. Another major change happened after the 1937 Indian elections. The bureaucracy was turned from a ruling body to an execution body that implemented the policies which were now decided by the elected ministers. It retained its nature: generalist and local, but the peak of power and prestige had passed. As any corporate employee would know, there is no glory in pure implementation.

Today, the institution has been renamed to IAS, but the generalist and district-level leadership logic is intact. The competitiveness of the exam is also intact, except it presents itself in Delhi rather than London, and the Oxford-Cambridge elite have moved on to more gainful pursuits like management consulting and Davos-summit-attending.

Our story starts in 1839, when the Sikh Empire was arguably the last standing Indian military power that could match the East India Company. The Marathas were defeated in 1818, the Mughals were a shell of their former power, and even distant kingdoms like Mysore were no longer independent. Ranjit Singh’s empire was still going strong, with a modern military and sophisticated leadership. At the time, even the British treated Punjab as a sovereign equal. All of that changed over the next decade, and the empire saw the most rapid decline of any empire in recent Indian history.

It started in June 1839, when Ranjit Singh died. He had done the excruciating job of uniting the Punjab and the Sikh Misls (Misl was the name given to each of the 12 confederacies of the Sikh military), defeating Afghan invaders, and even upgrading his military by co-opting European artillery and appointing French and Italian officers in his army.

But crucially, the one thing he didn’t do was build a strong succession plan. While he had named his successor to be his eldest son, Kharak Singh, he had not built the kind of institutional infrastructure that makes efficient power handover possible. Ranjit Singh ruled through his personal influence and judgment. When he united the Misls, he neutralized their chiefs, but his style of centralized leadership made sure that there was no other powerful faction that could handle the confederacy. In addition, his sons did not have the kind of influence that Ranjit Singh had. After his death, the old nobles saw an opportunity to usurp control.

Kharak Singh takes over the throne. He is considered a weak leader, and before he can change that perception, he dies, allegedly of poisoning. Kharak Singh’s son, Nau Nihal Singh, who is a strong contender, also dies at the same time when an archway collapses over him. Mysteriously, and likely through interventions from power-hungry court factions, both generations of successors are dead within 17 months of Ranjit Singh’s death. The empire is rendered leaderless.

In 1841, Sher Singh takes over the throne. He is deemed a better ruler, but what he has inherited is a fractured empire ripe for implosion. The Dogras, who were non-Sikh Rajputs, had risen to great administrative power and influence in the empire. They saw the power vacuum created by Ranjit Singh’s death and stepped forward to assert control. They were rivaled by the Sikh Khalsa army, who naturally resented their influence. This created a triangular tension between the two factions and the Maharaja. By 1843, the Khalsa army had grown in numbers and started meddling in state matters through military councils, while also using up state resources to feed their ever-increasing army. The empire turned into a classic military state.

In 1843, Sher Singh is assassinated in Lahore by Ajit Singh Sandhawalia, who goes on to also murder the residing wazir of the empire, Dhian Singh Dogra, on the same day. The cause of the murder is a long history of conflict between the Sandhawalia Jat clan and Sher Singh. After the two deaths, Ajit Singh is prepared to take over the fort in a coup so quick that I cannot even call it overnight! But Dhian Singh’s son, Hira Singh, and his troops react quickly and manage to defend the siege. A battle ensues, and Ajit Singh, along with several nobles, dies the same day. The series of assassinations destroys whatever sense of security the throne had. Open and unbridled violence has replaced politics.

After this episode, Ranjit Singh’s youngest son, Duleep Singh, was crowned king. Maharaja Duleep Singh was five years old at the time, and his mother, Maharani Jind Kaur, ruled on his behalf along with Hira Singh, who was appointed wazir. Hira Singh tried to build some semblance of rule over the tattered kingdom until the Khalsa army had had too much and started intervening in state matters again. In 1844, just a year after the violent killings, Hira Singh’s army turns on him, and he is killed while trying to flee Lahore. This is the fifth time that a head figure of the empire has been assassinated in a matter of 4 years.

Jind Kaur attempts to regain royal authority and addresses the Khalsa army directly, formally bringing them into the fold. This is a dangerous game, as it only strengthens the Khalsa as a legitimate political faction. Jind Kaur is in a difficult situation with the Khalsa steadily gaining power, and the British troops stationing themselves defensively (or offensively, as some might look at it) at the Sutlej frontier, which was the border between the British territory and the Sikh empire. The Khalsa grow increasingly wary of the British presence across the border and decide to be proactive. They mobilize forces and cross the Sutlej. We’re on the brink of all-out war.

The first Anglo-Sikh war (1845-1846) resulted in a loss on the Punjab side. The empire was stripped of its autonomy, as British officials and troops were now stationed in Lahore. In the two years following this, Jind Kaur made several unsuccessful attempts at reinforcing royal authority, but was continuously maligned and politically isolated by the British until her exile in 1848. The royal influence ended, and company supervision was in. The second Anglo-Sikh war (1848-1849) was caused by a rebellion in Multan, but the British responded strongly.

Punjab was annexed formally in 1849. The young Duleep Singh was deposed, and the Koh-i-noor, once the emblem of Sikh sovereignty, was captured. The Sikh Empire came to an end in less than 10 years after Ranjit Singh’s death.

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One might think that the concept of board games is fairly modern, and looking at the colorful commercial board games in the market today, one might be forgiven for thinking so. But just like physical sports, dance, and painting, cerebral games have been a part of human history for millennia. The Game of Ur, arguably the oldest recorded board game, belongs to 2,400 B.C. Mesopotamia. Around the same time, dice were used in the Indus Valley Civilization. Chess, which was invented around the 6th Century, is a relatively recent addition!

The precursor to Chess is the Indian game “Chaturanga” which signifies the four parts of a kingdom’s military: infantry, cavalry, elephants, and chariots (“chaturanga” literally means "four bodies”). These four pieces later evolved into the pawns, knight, bishop, and rook respectively. The original game was also played on an 8×8 board (called “ashtapada”) and the king was the central piece. The result depended on the survival of the king. But as with anything ancient, there were no standard rules and pieces and their powers likely changed depending on whom you asked (or who owned the pieces!) The game became popular among military strategists and gamblers alike.

The first recorded mention of Chaturanga is from the Gupta Empire by the poet Banabhatta. He used the word while describing emperor Harsha’s peaceful rule:

Under this monarch [...], only the bees quarrelled to collect the dew; the only feet cut off were those of measurements, and only from Ashtâpada one could learn how to draw up a chaturanga…”

The rules of Chaturanga were as complex as those of modern chess. To win, a player had to checkmate the opponent, or “bare” the opponent’s king, i.e., kill all other pieces of the opponent except the king. Interestingly, a stalemated player was instantly declared the winner.

As is the case with everything cool invented in India, the game spread westwards to Persia. The Persians called out “Shah!” when threatening the opponent’s king, and “Shah mat!” (the king is dead!) when the king couldn’t move. These two terms later became “check” and “checkmate.”

The game travelled onwards to the Arab world where it was called “shatranj”. From thereon, it reached Spain and then spread throughout Europe, becoming a pastime of the wealthy nobility. It also went through a controversial phase when some Europeans saw it as an evil and violent activity, sometimes resulting in kerfuffles and physical fights. The game also spread eastwards to Japan (shogi) and northern Asia.

It was only in the last few hundred years that chess theory took shape in Europe, and the game became a serious career choice for many people. Chess is a true example of human resourcefulness, and how sixty-four blocks and twenty-four pieces coupled with our imagination can provide centuries’ worth of entertainment.

Puru (mentioned as Porus in Greek records) was the king of the Purus—a Vedic kingdom in modern-day Pakistani Punjab. They were a marginal power at the time, ruling the slice of land between the Jhelum and Chenab rivers. Interestingly, there are no mentions of Puru in Indian records. All that we know about the famed king is through the Greeks.

After his victories against the last of the Persians, Alexander began his conquest of India through the Khyber Pass. He quickly allied with King Ambhi of Takshashila, and expected the same out of Puru. The Vedic king denied compliance and decided to go to war with the combined forces of Alexander and Ambhi.

The two powers faced each other across the Jhelum river—Alexander’s camp on the north bank and Puru’s on the south. Whenever Alexander’s army moved along the river, Puru’s army would move parallelly, thus making the crossing impossible. Alexander finally decided to go for a “pincer” manoeuvre. He kept the bulk of his army in possession of Craterus, and himself crossed the river with a few thousand soldiers. Alexander ordered Craterus to stay put to deceive Puru into thinking there was no movement. When Puru finally detected movement, he sent his son to prevent Alexander’s crossing. Unfortunately, a storm hid all the noise of crossing, and Alexander’s army successfully crossed the river. Young Porus was unprepared for the fight, and his chariots were debilitated by mud. Alexander had a swift victory over him. When Puru found out about his son’s death, he left a small army to prevent Craterus’s crossing and proceeded to face Alexander with the rest of his soldiers.

Puru’s army was made up of infantry and war elephants in the middle, and cavalry on the flanks. The elephants, one of which featured Puru himself, were trained for battle and adorned with howdahs—small castle-like structures—on top of them. Alexander estimated correctly that his best bet would be to attack the cavalry and avoid the strong core. Alexander’s horse archers and cavalry attacked simultaneously and neutralized Puru’s flanks, and the remaining soldiers fled to the safety of the war elephant core. Puru’s light infantry also suffered at the hands of the heavily-armored Greek phalanx and their long sarissas (spears of length 5–7 metres).

The war elephants put up a grand fight against the Macedonians, causing heavy and gruesome loss of life for their foot soldiers. Some of the foot soldiers were successful at attacking the elephants’ eyes and legs with their spears and short swords. Gradually and with great effort, the elephants were forced to subside and retreat. Alexander’s army attacked the remainder of the army from both sides, and Puru’s army was defeated.

Alexander was greatly impressed by the valor shown by Puru, and was reluctant to kill such a great leader. Puru was called on to surrender. While he refused at first, Puru eventually yielded and met Alexander to formally surrender. Puru expressed to Alexander that he expected to be treated as no less than a king, and Alexander followed through by letting Puru retain his territory. The battle of Hydaspes is well-accepted as the hardest battle fought by Alexander. It is also one where he suffered the greatest losses throughout his campaign.

The next time Alexander decided to march on the Nanda empire, his army strongly opposed the action in fear of facing another gigantic Indian army.

Most people are aware that Goa is associated with the Portuguese, who traded and ruled over the region for a long time. But it’s only in 1961, fourteen long years after independence, that Goa finally became Indian, and the story of how that happened is an interesting one.

The departure of the British in 1947 was not the end of European presence in India. There were still two powers: the French in Puducherry and Chandannagar, and the Portuguese in Goa, Diu, and Daman. Several Goans and other Indian activists staged peaceful protests demanding respect for Goa’s and Goans’ determination to be independent from Portugal. Such efforts were met with violent reactions from the reigning power. While most European nations had accepted the evils of colonialism by then, the Estado Novo regime in Portugal had ambitions of maintaining their overseas empire. Thus, Prime Minister Nehru’s hopes that the Portuguese government would bend under protests, diplomacy, and global public opinion didn’t materialise.

It was V. K. Krishna Menon, the then Union Minister of Defense, who first suggested using force to reclaim Goa.

Preparations were made for the attack, named “Operation Vijay.” The Indian Army fielded the 17th Infantry Division and the 50th Parachute Brigade. The Air Force and the Navy were also involved. Meanwhile, the Portuguese president Salazar, despite being warned by his ministers to not offer too much resistance and avoid unnecessary deaths, remained firm on fighting to the last man. The resident Portuguese in Goa, however, paid no attention to Salazar and tried to evacuate the region with their families.

The attack began on December 17, 1961, when the 17th Infantry Division advanced into Goa to capture Panaji city and the Mormugão port. With speed and precision, the forces entered from different directions and marched on Panaji, Thivim, and Ponda. The air force launched a bombing attack on Dabolim airstrip. The Portuguese ship Afonso was also surrounded by the Indian Navy and had to surrender after several rounds of fire.

The issue was brought up in the UN Security Council, where the US backed Portugal while the Soviet Union supported India’s right to its land and claimed the issue to be entirely in India’s jurisdiction.

Within 36 hours, the Portuguese realised the futility of their position. Despite Lisbon’s order to keep fighting, Governor General Manuel António Vassalo e Silva made the decision to surrender. The casualties of the war were 30 on the Portuguese side and 22 on the Indian side. Goa was finally a part of India and was placed under the president’s rule.

India’s annexation of Goa was commended by the larger international community of former colonial powers as well as the Soviet Union. There was condemnation from the USA, UK, and Portugal itself (duh!), but it was considerably mild. No country wanted to be seen defending colonialism; the world had moved on. Well, except for Portugal which took 13 more years to formally accept Goa as a part of India.

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