Vande Mataram on the Banks of the Ganga in Benaras
This is Banaras—where the Ganga glides by in her quiet majesty, and a mango orchard stands nearby, its trees fragrant and bursting into bloom. A small gathering has formed. People stand in silent respect. All for a song. For Vande Mataram.
On an old gramophone, a historic record spins. The same Vande Mataram record that the British once seized from Congress Radio in Bombay. Its melody was composed decades before Independence by Kamal Dasgupta, the music director of the Gramophone Company Limited. He had crafted a version of Vande Mataram so gentle, so universally appealing, that no one could object to it. It was he who first set the song to music as a chorus.
As the record played in Banaras, everyone rose to their feet. Emotions welled up. I felt it too. This year, Vande Mataram completes one hundred and fifty years—1875 to 2025. And Banaras holds a special connection: a century ago, when the song turned a hundred, it was this city that hosted the centenary celebrations with great dignity and depth.
I was in Banaras for the Banaras LitFest. I often play old gramophones, and this time I thought—why not bring one along? To my delight, people received it with genuine seriousness and warmth. For this occasion, I even brought out the very first Vande Mataram recording from my archive—released in 1905 from London, its label adorned with the Union Jack.
The session turned out to be immensely satisfying. I was in conversation with a wonderfully talented young woman named Aakriti. She left a strong impression—not just on me, but on everyone present. My sincere thanks to the organisers of the Banaras LitFest for creating such a memorable moment.
