- Webpages
- Documents
- HDFC Life ClassicAssure PlusInvestment
- HDFC Life ClassicAssure PlusInvestment
- HDFC Life ClassicAssure PlusInvestment
For NRI Customers
(To Buy a Policy)
-
![Contact Image]()
Call (All Days, Local charges apply)
-
![Contact Image]()
Email ID
-
![Contact Image]()
Whatsapp
(If you're our existing customer)
-
![Contact Image]()
Call (Mon-Sat, 10am-9pm IST, Local Charges Apply)
-
![Contact Image]()
Email ID
For Online Policy Purchase
(New and Ongoing Applications)
-
![Contact Image]()
Call (All Days & Toll free)
-
![Contact Image]()
Schedule a call
-
![Contact Image]()
Whatsapp
-
![Contact Image]()
Give missed call to buy a policy
-
![Contact Image]()
Email
Branch Locator
-
![Contact Image]()
Locate a branch
For Existing Customers
(Issued Policy)
-
![Contact Image]()
Whatsapp
-
![Contact Image]()
Call (Mon to Sat, from 10 am to 7 pm, Call charges apply)
-
![Contact Image]()
Email
Fund Performance Check
-
![Contact Image]()
Call (Missed Call)
- Science & Tech
- Sports
- Entertainment & Culture
Science & Tech
Satish Dhawan
Engineer. Peacenik. Guru.
(25 September 1920 - 3 January 2002)
Karma yogi is a curious descriptor for a man who aimed for the moon, invoking the virtues of faith rather than science. Nevertheless, his colleagues at ISRO saw fit to refer to Professor Satish Dhawan—a man whose first love was teaching, and who was a good one at that—as such. His devotion to his work demanded this quiet reverence.
Dhawan, a visionary scientist and the architect of India’s space programme, passed away at the age of 81. He is revered as the father of experimental fluid dynamics in India. He is remembered with deep respect and admiration.
Born on 25 September 1920 in Srinagar, Satish Dhawan displayed an early aptitude for science and engineering. He obtained a Bachelor's degree in Mathematics and Physics from the University of the Punjab in Lahore. He then moved to the United States, where he got a Master's degree in Aeronautical Engineering from the University of Minnesota, followed by a PhD from the California Institute of Technology (Caltech). Dhawan honed his skills at Caltech. This would later play a crucial role in his scientific career.
Dhawan returned to India in 1951 and joined the Indian Institute of Science (IISc) in Bangalore. Here, he established the country’s first supersonic wind tunnel. It was used to fine-tune the Tejas fighter jet, several years before the plane became combat-worthy. In 1962, he became the Director of IISc. He held the position for nearly two decades and fostered an environment of research excellence and innovation.
Dhawan’s rigour and thinking out of the box, characteristics required of a man preparing for a moonshot, came to the fore when he was called upon to judge the airworthiness of the HS-748 aircraft being used by Indian Airlines.
Dhawan also contributed heavily to boundary layer research, which was crucial to understand airflow over surfaces, a key aspect in designing planes and rockets. He laid the groundwork for much of India's advancements in aerospace. Dhawan also set up India’s first jet propulsion laboratory and initiated advanced research in turbulence and flow stability. This consolidated his role as a pioneer in aerospace engineering.
However, Dhawan's most enduring legacy lies with ISRO. In 1972, he succeeded Vikram Sarabhai as the Chairman of the organisation, a position he accepted under the condition that he would continue to lead IISc.
During his tenure at ISRO, he oversaw the development of the SLV-3 (Satellite Launch Vehicle), which successfully launched the Rohini satellite into orbit in 1980. India thus became one of the few nations capable of launching satellites.
His leadership style was marked by his hands-on approach and his emphasis on indigenous development. Dhawan’s insistence on indigenous technology was commendable. P. Balaram, an ex-director of IISc, wrote, ‘The space program has a wonderfully romantic history, with Satish Dhawan as the guiding force.’
An anecdote from his tenure at ISRO highlights Dhawan’s humility and leadership. When the first experimental flight of the SLV-3 failed in 1979, he faced the media and took full ownership, shielding his team from criticism. However, when the mission succeeded the following year, he ensured that the team received all the credit.
Dhawan mentored numerous scientists. Prominent among his protégés was A.P.J. Abdul Kalam, who later became the President of India. Kalam recalled Dhawan as a guiding light whose encouragement was crucial in his own journey as a scientist. Dhawan was awarded the Padma Vibhushan, India’s second-highest civilian award, in 1981. He had received the Padma Bhushan ten years earlier.
Despite these honours, he remained humble, always putting the collective success of his teams over personal recognition. His colleagues remember him as a man of few words but with profound impact.
Dhawan passed away on 3 January 2002. His passing was a loss to the scientific community, but his achievements live on through the thriving space programme he helped build and the many lives he touched with his wisdom and leadership.
-
Satish Dhawan
Engineer. Peacenik. Guru.
(25 September 1920 - 3 January 2002)
Karma yogi is a curious descriptor for a man who aimed for the moon, invoking the virtues of faith rather than science. Nevertheless, his colleagues at ISRO saw fit to refer to Professor Satish Dhawan—a man whose first love was teaching, and who was a good one at that—as such. His devotion to his work demanded this quiet reverence.
Dhawan, a visionary scientist and the architect of India’s space programme, passed away at the age of 81. He is revered as the father of experimental fluid dynamics in India. He is remembered with deep respect and admiration.
Born on 25 September 1920 in Srinagar, Satish Dhawan displayed an early aptitude for science and engineering. He obtained a Bachelor's degree in Mathematics and Physics from the University of the Punjab in Lahore. He then moved to the United States, where he got a Master's degree in Aeronautical Engineering from the University of Minnesota, followed by a PhD from the California Institute of Technology (Caltech). Dhawan honed his skills at Caltech. This would later play a crucial role in his scientific career.
Dhawan returned to India in 1951 and joined the Indian Institute of Science (IISc) in Bangalore. Here, he established the country’s first supersonic wind tunnel. It was used to fine-tune the Tejas fighter jet, several years before the plane became combat-worthy. In 1962, he became the Director of IISc. He held the position for nearly two decades and fostered an environment of research excellence and innovation.
Dhawan’s rigour and thinking out of the box, characteristics required of a man preparing for a moonshot, came to the fore when he was called upon to judge the airworthiness of the HS-748 aircraft being used by Indian Airlines.Dhawan also contributed heavily to boundary layer research, which was crucial to understand airflow over surfaces, a key aspect in designing planes and rockets. He laid the groundwork for much of India's advancements in aerospace. Dhawan also set up India’s first jet propulsion laboratory and initiated advanced research in turbulence and flow stability. This consolidated his role as a pioneer in aerospace engineering.
However, Dhawan's most enduring legacy lies with ISRO. In 1972, he succeeded Vikram Sarabhai as the Chairman of the organisation, a position he accepted under the condition that he would continue to lead IISc.
During his tenure at ISRO, he oversaw the development of the SLV-3 (Satellite Launch Vehicle), which successfully launched the Rohini satellite into orbit in 1980. India thus became one of the few nations capable of launching satellites.
His leadership style was marked by his hands-on approach and his emphasis on indigenous development. Dhawan’s insistence on indigenous technology was commendable. P. Balaram, an ex-director of IISc, wrote, ‘The space program has a wonderfully romantic history, with Satish Dhawan as the guiding force.’
An anecdote from his tenure at ISRO highlights Dhawan’s humility and leadership. When the first experimental flight of the SLV-3 failed in 1979, he faced the media and took full ownership, shielding his team from criticism. However, when the mission succeeded the following year, he ensured that the team received all the credit.
Dhawan mentored numerous scientists. Prominent among his protégés was A.P.J. Abdul Kalam, who later became the President of India. Kalam recalled Dhawan as a guiding light whose encouragement was crucial in his own journey as a scientist. Dhawan was awarded the Padma Vibhushan, India’s second-highest civilian award, in 1981. He had received the Padma Bhushan ten years earlier.
Despite these honours, he remained humble, always putting the collective success of his teams over personal recognition. His colleagues remember him as a man of few words but with profound impact.
Dhawan passed away on 3 January 2002. His passing was a loss to the scientific community, but his achievements live on through the thriving space programme he helped build and the many lives he touched with his wisdom and leadership.
- Sports
- Entertainment
Sports
T Balaram
A beautiful player of the beautiful game.
(30 November 1936 – 16 February 2023)
No single story could capture the triumph and tragedy of T Balaram, but this one, from his early days, comes close: it is the story of how he acquired his first pair of boots.
At the time, football boots were a luxury that Balaram’s family couldn’t afford. Determined to play, young Balaram sought out a cobbler who promised he could fashion a pair using old police boots.
Balaram found a traffic policeman and pestered him for an old pair of boots. Although he tried to shoo Balram away, the cop finally gave up and gave him an old pair of boots.
Overjoyed, Balaram took the worn boots to the cobbler, who asked for the precious sum of two rupees to repair them and make them suitable for football. Balram lied to his mother, saying he needed the money for textbooks.
With his newly patched-up boots, Tulsidas Balaram soon made a name for himself on the local football scene. By the time he was 19, his talent had caught the attention of legendary Indian coach Syed Abdul Rahim during a local tournament in Secunderabad.
Tulsidas Balaram, who breathed his last in 2023, was the last surviving member of Indian football's golden trinity, the other two being Chuni Goswami and PK Banerjee. Known for his versatility, Balaram could fit in any position, pre-empting the 'Total football' that would be made famous by the Dutch teams of the 1970s.
A master of ball control, he could score from almost any angle on the pitch. What makes these facts even more incredible is that Balaram did not get the chance to kick a proper football till he was nine years old.
The man who would terrorise defences in his pomp spent his childhood in a mud hut with a large family. Like many poor families, they struggled to make ends meet: his brother worked in a sub-depot that supplied vehicles to the army.
Indian coach Syed Abdul Rahim, who had spotted him, parachuted him into the 1956 Olympics squad, where he played only one match: in the semi-finals that India lost 4-1.
Although he was from Andhra Pradesh, he won three of his four Santosh trophies while playing for Bengal, with the last one coming as captain of the team. Although he almost played for Mohammedan Sporting, it was another club where he would make his name: East Bengal.
From then on, he won almost all honours he competed for: the IFA Shield, the Durand Cup,the Rovers Shield, and at the national level, a memorable gold at the Asian Games in 1962.
Then, at his peak, he was struck down.
In 1963, he was diagnosed with pleurisy - a condition that causes inflammation of the tissue that lines the chest cavity and the lungs. It made the simple act of playing football a life-threatening risk for Balaram, one that he couldn't take. So, he retired at the young age of 27, when a footballer usually enters his peak.
Balaram settled down in his adopted home of Kolkata, and never returned home to Secunderabad. He took up coaching and mentored upcoming footballers. Later in life, he became a fixture in Kolkata, adored by the locals for his achievements and humble demeanour.
The life and times of T Balaram are worthy of a Hollywood film, but no film could capture the greatness of the man. Rising from sheer poverty to becoming one of the best to play the game, to dealing with the shock and sorrow of suddenly being unable to do the one thing he loved the most, Balaram's life contains multitudes.
-
T Balaram
A beautiful player of the beautiful game.
(30 November 1936 – 16 February 2023)
No single story could capture the triumph and tragedy of T Balaram, but this one, from his early days, comes close: it is the story of how he acquired his first pair of boots.
At the time, football boots were a luxury that Balaram’s family couldn’t afford. Determined to play, young Balaram sought out a cobbler who promised he could fashion a pair using old police boots.
Balaram found a traffic policeman and pestered him for an old pair of boots. Although he tried to shoo Balram away, the cop finally gave up and gave him an old pair of boots.
Overjoyed, Balaram took the worn boots to the cobbler, who asked for the precious sum of two rupees to repair them and make them suitable for football. Balram lied to his mother, saying he needed the money for textbooks.
With his newly patched-up boots, Tulsidas Balaram soon made a name for himself on the local football scene. By the time he was 19, his talent had caught the attention of legendary Indian coach Syed Abdul Rahim during a local tournament in Secunderabad.
Tulsidas Balaram, who breathed his last in 2023, was the last surviving member of Indian football's golden trinity, the other two being Chuni Goswami and PK Banerjee. Known for his versatility, Balaram could fit in any position, pre-empting the 'Total football' that would be made famous by the Dutch teams of the 1970s.
A master of ball control, he could score from almost any angle on the pitch. What makes these facts even more incredible is that Balaram did not get the chance to kick a proper football till he was nine years old.
The man who would terrorise defences in his pomp spent his childhood in a mud hut with a large family. Like many poor families, they struggled to make ends meet: his brother worked in a sub-depot that supplied vehicles to the army.
Indian coach Syed Abdul Rahim, who had spotted him, parachuted him into the 1956 Olympics squad, where he played only one match: in the semi-finals that India lost 4-1.
Although he was from Andhra Pradesh, he won three of his four Santosh trophies while playing for Bengal, with the last one coming as captain of the team. Although he almost played for Mohammedan Sporting, it was another club where he would make his name: East Bengal.
From then on, he won almost all honours he competed for: the IFA Shield, the Durand Cup,the Rovers Shield, and at the national level, a memorable gold at the Asian Games in 1962.
Then, at his peak, he was struck down.
In 1963, he was diagnosed with pleurisy - a condition that causes inflammation of the tissue that lines the chest cavity and the lungs. It made the simple act of playing football a life-threatening risk for Balaram, one that he couldn't take. So, he retired at the young age of 27, when a footballer usually enters his peak.
Balaram settled down in his adopted home of Kolkata, and never returned home to Secunderabad. He took up coaching and mentored upcoming footballers. Later in life, he became a fixture in Kolkata, adored by the locals for his achievements and humble demeanour.
The life and times of T Balaram are worthy of a Hollywood film, but no film could capture the greatness of the man. Rising from sheer poverty to becoming one of the best to play the game, to dealing with the shock and sorrow of suddenly being unable to do the one thing he loved the most, Balaram's life contains multitudes.
- Science & Tech
- Sports
- Entertainment
Science & Tech
Venkataraman Radhakrishnan
A Sailor Among the Stars
(18 May 1929- 3 March 2011)
If ever an Indian was born into circumstances that encouraged him to be a great scientist, it was Venkataraman Radhakrishnan.
When he was just a year old, his father, the immortal Chandrasekhara Venkata Raman, was awarded the Nobel Prize in Physics, the first Asian and non-white person to be honoured thus. A life full of discovery and adventure awaited the young boy. He may have been overshadowed in the public eye by a cousin of his — Subrahmanyan Chandrasekhar, who was also a Nobel laureate — but that did not mean he lived a life any less extraordinary.
To call Professor Radhakrishnan a scientist would be less accurate than calling him a Renaissance man. After all, how many scientists built and learnt to operate lightweight aircraft and sailboats? That was when he was not off hang gliding, of course. Once, he even sailed across the world’s largest body of water: the Pacific Ocean.
The man who would universally be known by the affectionate nickname ‘Rad’, was a rarity among his contemporaries. While his peers collected academic degrees as a hobby, Rad would get by with a simple bachelor’s degree (he would get an honorary doctorate in the 1990s). It was no barrier to his success. His paper measuring the polarisation swing of the Vela pulsar, (a pulsar is a highly magnetised rotating neutron star that emits beams of electromagnetic radiation out of its magnetic poles.) gave birth to the widely used magnetic pole model for pulsar radio emission. The paper is considered a classic today.
In the 1950s, he moved to Sweden, giving three years of his life and taking away experience and the knowledge of fluent Swedish. In the 1970s, he decided to return to his roots, joining the Raman Research Institute in Bangalore. It needed some leadership after its founder — his father — had passed away. He played a major role in revitalising the place, making it respectable again in the eyes of the scientific community.
It is easy to forget the scientist at the core of this man who wore many hats at once. But it is important to remember that he was one of the most respected radio astronomers in the world, with path-breaking work to show for it. He contributed original work on the subject of pulsars and interstellar hydrogen, among other things. This was also seen in the many roles he played in scientific organisations from the United States to Europe to Australia.
He did critical work at home too, helping the Tata Institute of Fundamental Research (TIFR), one of the nation’s leading research institutes, to develop a radio telescope. Some of the components of the telescope were built at his beloved Raman Research Institute in Bengaluru.
Above all, ‘Rad’ understood what science was all about, and worked hard to promote the scientific spirit. He was beloved by colleagues and collaborators for his graciousness and his efforts to take everyone, even the least, along on this wonderful journey. A member of the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences, he had no shortage of admirers at home or abroad.
In the end, Rad proved that he was no ordinary mortal. At the age of 82, six months before his passing, he announced that he would circumnavigate the world solo, in a yacht named after his wife. It was not meant to be, but the radical Rad will always be a cosmic voyager
-
Venkataraman Radhakrishnan
A Sailor Among the Stars
(18 May 1929- 3 March 2011)
If ever an Indian was born into circumstances that encouraged him to be a great scientist, it was Venkataraman Radhakrishnan.
When he was just a year old, his father, the immortal Chandrasekhara Venkata Raman, was awarded the Nobel Prize in Physics, the first Asian and non-white person to be honoured thus. A life full of discovery and adventure awaited the young boy. He may have been overshadowed in the public eye by a cousin of his — Subrahmanyan Chandrasekhar, who was also a Nobel laureate — but that did not mean he lived a life any less extraordinary.
To call Professor Radhakrishnan a scientist would be less accurate than calling him a Renaissance man. After all, how many scientists built and learnt to operate lightweight aircraft and sailboats? That was when he was not off hang gliding, of course. Once, he even sailed across the world’s largest body of water: the Pacific Ocean.
The man who would universally be known by the affectionate nickname ‘Rad’, was a rarity among his contemporaries. While his peers collected academic degrees as a hobby, Rad would get by with a simple bachelor’s degree (he would get an honorary doctorate in the 1990s). It was no barrier to his success. His paper measuring the polarisation swing of the Vela pulsar, (a pulsar is a highly magnetised rotating neutron star that emits beams of electromagnetic radiation out of its magnetic poles.) gave birth to the widely used magnetic pole model for pulsar radio emission. The paper is considered a classic today.
In the 1950s, he moved to Sweden, giving three years of his life and taking away experience and the knowledge of fluent Swedish. In the 1970s, he decided to return to his roots, joining the Raman Research Institute in Bangalore. It needed some leadership after its founder — his father — had passed away. He played a major role in revitalising the place, making it respectable again in the eyes of the scientific community.
It is easy to forget the scientist at the core of this man who wore many hats at once. But it is important to remember that he was one of the most respected radio astronomers in the world, with path-breaking work to show for it. He contributed original work on the subject of pulsars and interstellar hydrogen, among other things. This was also seen in the many roles he played in scientific organisations from the United States to Europe to Australia.
He did critical work at home too, helping the Tata Institute of Fundamental Research (TIFR), one of the nation’s leading research institutes, to develop a radio telescope. Some of the components of the telescope were built at his beloved Raman Research Institute in Bengaluru.
Above all, ‘Rad’ understood what science was all about, and worked hard to promote the scientific spirit. He was beloved by colleagues and collaborators for his graciousness and his efforts to take everyone, even the least, along on this wonderful journey. A member of the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences, he had no shortage of admirers at home or abroad.
In the end, Rad proved that he was no ordinary mortal. At the age of 82, six months before his passing, he announced that he would circumnavigate the world solo, in a yacht named after his wife. It was not meant to be, but the radical Rad will always be a cosmic voyager
- Science & Tech
- Entertainment
Science & Tech
Shakuntala Devi
The Human Calculator
(4 November 1929 - 21 April 2013)
Children under the age of six can barely do basic arithmetic. In this context, the event of a young girl doing lightning-quick mental maths, giving out answers in mere seconds was narrated by those who witnessed it as being near magical. This young girl was Shakuntala Devi, born 4 November 1929.
While her mythological namesake was the daughter of the celebrated Sage Vishwamitra, Shakuntala Devi could not lay claim to a prestigious lineage of any kind. The earthly lass was the daughter of a man who worked as a trapeze artist, a lion tamer, a tightrope walker and a magician. With no formal education, Devi did not pick up what other school-going children of her age were learning. However, she was blessed with a brilliant mind that was faster than the computers available at the time—she beat UNIVAC, the first digital computer.
Her peculiar ability was revealed to her father when he engaged in card tricks with her. He realised that Devi won not by cheating, but through her knack for remembering the cards and calculating probability. This quickly turned into the Shakuntala Show where her father put her up as the exhibit. Devi, like her father, was rebellious by nature. While he rebelled against his family to work in a circus, she would later rebel against her father, who tried to shackle her into a life as a performer.
Devi’s journey into fame started when she was just six. From displaying her skills at the University of Mysore, she moved to Europe and New York, where the presentation of her unerring calculations drew wide applause. She astounded people wherever she went. In an interview with the BBC in 1950, Devi answered a question posed to her by broadcast journalist Leslie Mitchell and, in a shocking turn of events, was declared to be wrong for the first time ever. After verification of the answer, however, Mitchell had to admit that ‘she was right and the BBC wrong!’ There was absolutely no room for doubt about her ability then. Devi was aptly called the “Human Computer” after this interview. One would think that such a title would be a great honour, but not for Devi! She believed that the human mind was far more capable than a computer and did not like being compared to one.
Many questioned her genius, and asked how she did it, but Devi had no answer. All she could say was that it was ‘God’s gift. A divine ability.’ This was perhaps true because there was no one back then, nor has there been anyone like her since, who can do what she did.
Mathematics is deemed difficult and dry, and not many like it, but Devi found joy in numbers. Arthur Jensen, a researcher who worked with her, described her as being ‘alert, extroverted, affable and articulate’ while her daughter, Anupama Banerji, fondly remembers her as being a fun person who had a tendency for showmanship even in a subject that people found boring.
While Devi is understandably most well known for her unique computer-like brain, she was also just a woman who enjoyed sarees, danced to Fred Astaire songs, struggled with the demands of motherhood, and even had a parallel career as an astrologist. She wrote many books on various subjects. Mathematics, of course, dominated her writing, but she also wrote cookbooks, puzzle books, and works on astrology.
Devi died on 21 April 2013. Her daughter, Anupama, narrated her mother’s life to director Anu Menon who created the film Shakuntala (2020) for the silver screen.
While Devi might be known for her mathematical genius, it is important to remember that her life was more than the sum of the numbers she calculated.
-
Shakuntala Devi
The Human Calculator.
(4 November 1929 - 21 April 2013)
Children under the age of six can barely do basic arithmetic. In this context, the event of a young girl doing lightning-quick mental maths, giving out answers in mere seconds was narrated by those who witnessed it as being near magical. This young girl was Shakuntala Devi, born 4 November 1929.
While her mythological namesake was the daughter of the celebrated Sage Vishwamitra, Shakuntala Devi could not lay claim to a prestigious lineage of any kind. The earthly lass was the daughter of a man who worked as a trapeze artist, a lion tamer, a tightrope walker and a magician. With no formal education, Devi did not pick up what other school-going children of her age were learning. However, she was blessed with a brilliant mind that was faster than the computers available at the time—she beat UNIVAC, the first digital computer.
Her peculiar ability was revealed to her father when he engaged in card tricks with her. He realised that Devi won not by cheating, but through her knack for remembering the cards and calculating probability. This quickly turned into the Shakuntala Show where her father put her up as the exhibit. Devi, like her father, was rebellious by nature. While he rebelled against his family to work in a circus, she would later rebel against her father, who tried to shackle her into a life as a performer.
Devi’s journey into fame started when she was just six. From displaying her skills at the University of Mysore, she moved to Europe and New York, where the presentation of her unerring calculations drew wide applause. She astounded people wherever she went. In an interview with the BBC in 1950, Devi answered a question posed to her by broadcast journalist Leslie Mitchell and, in a shocking turn of events, was declared to be wrong for the first time ever. After verification of the answer, however, Mitchell had to admit that ‘she was right and the BBC wrong!’ There was absolutely no room for doubt about her ability then. Devi was aptly called the “Human Computer” after this interview. One would think that such a title would be a great honour, but not for Devi! She believed that the human mind was far more capable than a computer and did not like being compared to one.
Many questioned her genius, and asked how she did it, but Devi had no answer. All she could say was that it was ‘God’s gift. A divine ability.’ This was perhaps true because there was no one back then, nor has there been anyone like her since, who can do what she did.
Mathematics is deemed difficult and dry, and not many like it, but Devi found joy in numbers. Arthur Jensen, a researcher who worked with her, described her as being ‘alert, extroverted, affable and articulate’ while her daughter, Anupama Banerji, fondly remembers her as being a fun person who had a tendency for showmanship even in a subject that people found boring.
While Devi is understandably most well known for her unique computer-like brain, she was also just a woman who enjoyed sarees, danced to Fred Astaire songs, struggled with the demands of motherhood, and even had a parallel career as an astrologist. She wrote many books on various subjects. Mathematics, of course, dominated her writing, but she also wrote cookbooks, puzzle books, and works on astrology.
Devi died on 21 April 2013. Her daughter, Anupama, narrated her mother’s life to director Anu Menon who created the film Shakuntala (2020) for the silver screen.
While Devi might be known for her mathematical genius, it is important to remember that her life was more than the sum of the numbers she calculated.
- Sports
- Entertainment & Culture
Sports
Balbir Singh Sr.
The Golden Yardstick
(31 Dec 1923 - 25 May 2020)
As a youngster, Balbir Singh Sr.’s fate was sealed by imperial fiat! Sir John Bennett, then Inspector-General of the Punjab Police, was hell-bent on signing up Singh for the Punjab Police team, also offering him the post of Assistant Sub-Inspector as part of the bargain. Singh had no desire to be a part of a cruel arm of the state, particularly one that had incarcerated his own father and his comrades for daring to speak out in favour of their nation’s liberty. The oppressor’s yoke was trying to force itself upon him and lay claim to his talents. Singh demurred, and joined the Central Public Works Department hockey team instead.
One day, while perusing the dailies, Sir John discovered that the player whom he desired badly was playing hockey in New Delhi. Not to put up with this slight to an officer of His Majesty’s court, Sir Bennett immediately dispatched his minions, to arrest and bring Singh back to Punjab. He was given two choices—play hockey for the Punjab Police or suffer the rigours of prison. So, it came to be that one of the brightest stars in the constellation of Indian hockey found himself serving a sentence on the field, stick in hand, with furtive eyes always on the lookout for the ball.
Balbir Singh Sr., one of the most celebrated figures in Indian hockey, passed away on 25 May 2020 at the age of 96. His illustrious career spanned several decades.
Balbir Singh Sr. was born in the small Punjab town of Haripur Khalsa. Once he started playing competitive hockey, he quickly rose through the ranks, ultimately representing India on the international stage. Singh made his Olympic debut in the 1948 London Games, where his skills as a forward helped India secure the gold medal. He scored two goals in the final against Great Britain in a significant victory that came shortly after India's independence.
Singh's success in the Olympics continued in the 1952 Helsinki Games, where he played a pivotal role in India's gold medal win. In the final against the Netherlands, Singh scored five goals, setting a record for the most goals scored by an individual in an Olympic final, a record that still stands.
He led the Indian team in the 1956 Melbourne Olympics. Despite a fractured right hand, he played through the pain to guide India to a 1-0 victory over Pakistan in the final, securing his third consecutive Olympic gold medal. This victory was particularly poignant as it marked India's sixth consecutive Olympic gold in hockey.
After he hung up his boots, Singh was the manager of the Indian team that won the bronze medal at the inaugural Hockey World Cup in 1971, and later in 1975, when India won the tournament. His tactical acumen was instrumental in these achievements.
During the 1952 Olympics, Singh credited his fellow players for their support and emphasised the importance of teamwork over individual achievements. This attitude endeared him to fans and fellow players alike, earning him respect both on and off the field.
Singh also nurtured future generations of hockey players. He frequently visited schools and training camps, sharing his knowledge and inspiring young athletes.
Balbir Singh Sr shaped the contours of Indian hockey. The statistical heft of his achievements is immense. He is survived by his family, including his grandson Kabir. His legacy will continue to inspire and guide future generations of hockey players.
-
Balbir Singh Sr.
The Golden Yardstick.
(31 Dec 1923 - 25 May 2020)
As a youngster, Balbir Singh Sr.’s fate was sealed by imperial fiat! Sir John Bennett, then Inspector-General of the Punjab Police, was hell-bent on signing up Singh for the Punjab Police team, also offering him the post of Assistant Sub-Inspector as part of the bargain. Singh had no desire to be a part of a cruel arm of the state, particularly one that had incarcerated his own father and his comrades for daring to speak out in favour of their nation’s liberty. The oppressor’s yoke was trying to force itself upon him and lay claim to his talents. Singh demurred, and joined the Central Public Works Department hockey team instead.
One day, while perusing the dailies, Sir John discovered that the player whom he desired badly was playing hockey in New Delhi. Not to put up with this slight to an officer of His Majesty’s court, Sir Bennett immediately dispatched his minions, to arrest and bring Singh back to Punjab. He was given two choices—play hockey for the Punjab Police or suffer the rigours of prison. So, it came to be that one of the brightest stars in the constellation of Indian hockey found himself serving a sentence on the field, stick in hand, with furtive eyes always on the lookout for the ball.
Balbir Singh Sr., one of the most celebrated figures in Indian hockey, passed away on 25 May 2020 at the age of 96. His illustrious career spanned several decades.
Balbir Singh Sr. was born in the small Punjab town of Haripur Khalsa. Once he started playing competitive hockey, he quickly rose through the ranks, ultimately representing India on the international stage. Singh made his Olympic debut in the 1948 London Games, where his skills as a forward helped India secure the gold medal. He scored two goals in the final against Great Britain in a significant victory that came shortly after India's independence.
Singh's success in the Olympics continued in the 1952 Helsinki Games, where he played a pivotal role in India's gold medal win. In the final against the Netherlands, Singh scored five goals, setting a record for the most goals scored by an individual in an Olympic final, a record that still stands.
He led the Indian team in the 1956 Melbourne Olympics. Despite a fractured right hand, he played through the pain to guide India to a 1-0 victory over Pakistan in the final, securing his third consecutive Olympic gold medal. This victory was particularly poignant as it marked India's sixth consecutive Olympic gold in hockey.
After he hung up his boots, Singh was the manager of the Indian team that won the bronze medal at the inaugural Hockey World Cup in 1971, and later in 1975, when India won the tournament. His tactical acumen was instrumental in these achievements.
During the 1952 Olympics, Singh credited his fellow players for their support and emphasised the importance of teamwork over individual achievements. This attitude endeared him to fans and fellow players alike, earning him respect both on and off the field.
Singh also nurtured future generations of hockey players. He frequently visited schools and training camps, sharing his knowledge and inspiring young athletes.
Balbir Singh Sr shaped the contours of Indian hockey. The statistical heft of his achievements is immense. He is survived by his family, including his grandson Kabir. His legacy will continue to inspire and guide future generations of hockey players.
- Sports
- Business
Sports
Milkha Singh
The uncrowned king of the track.
(November 1929 – 18 June 2021)
During the upheaval of Partition, a young Sikh boy watched with horror as his father was killed. The last words he heard were: “Bhaag, MIlkha, Bhaag!”
Run he did, all the way to becoming the greatest runner that India had ever seen. Milkha Singh was India’s first individual star athlete, but he was also much more than that.
Born in Govindpura, Punjab, the horrors of Partition marked a traumatic beginning for him. Although his passport listed his date of birth as November 1932, in his autobiography he says he didn’t actually know the date. Separated from his family during the upheaval, he fled to Delhi, carrying the scars of loss and uncertainty.
He worked at a roadside restaurant before joining the Indian army. Seeking solace and purpose, he found his calling in athletics. His early years were spent in obscurity, but determination drove him to the tracks, where he would ultimately carve his name in golden letters.
At his first Olympics in 1956, the young Milkha’s chance meeting with champion Charles Jenkins proved to be a turning point. He returned to India determined to turn himself into “a running machine”.
Singh's rise in athletics was meteoric. He burst onto the international scene at the 1958 Asian Games in Tokyo, where he clinched the gold medal in the 400 metres. Until 2014, he was the only Indian male to have an individual athletics Commonwealth Games gold.
The 1960 Rome Olympics would bring Milkha the highest of highs, as well as the lowest of lows. In one of the greatest races that the Olympics has ever seen, Otis Davis of the US clinched gold, beating Germany’s Carl Kaufmann by one-hundredth of a second. Malcom Spence of South Africa finished third with a time of 45.6 seconds.
Competing against the world's best, Milkha narrowly missed out on a medal, finishing fourth in a race that would haunt him for years. His timing of 45.73s was a national record that stood for 40 years. Later, he called it the worst memory of his life, after the death of his parents.
He did not let that moment drag him down; he went on to secure three gold medals at the 1962 Asian Games—two in individual events and one as part of the relay team.
In 1960, he did the unthinkable: making a Pakistani leader praise an Indian athlete. After seeing Pakistan’s champion sprinter destroyed by Milkha in a race, an awestruck Ayub Khan described Milkha as ‘the Flying Sikh’.
Milkha’s training regimen was famously hard: he ran barefoot to develop his speed, living up to the belief that hard work and perseverance were paramount to success. His training sessions, often involving gruelling runs at dawn, became the stuff of legends.
Off the track, Milkha's humility and kindness endeared him to many. He remained grounded despite his fame, and often attributed his success to the love and support of his family and his coach, who nurtured his talent. His marriage to the athlete Nirmal Kaur added another dimension to his life; together, they shared a deep love for sports (she was a national level volleyball player) and a commitment to promoting athletics in India.
As Singh aged, his focus shifted towards inspiring the next generation. He dedicated his later years to mentoring young athletes and promoting sports across the country. He established Milkha’s Charitable Trust, aimed at nurturing talent in athletics and providing opportunities for underprivileged youth showcased his commitment to giving back to the sport that had given him so much. His son, Jeev Milkha Singh, is a professional golfer who became the first Indian to join the European Tour, continuing his father’s sporting legacy.
Milkha passed away on 18 June 2021, succumbing to complications related to COVID-19. His spirit lives on through the millions of Indians who learned from him to never give up.
-
Milkha Singh
The uncrowned king of the track.
(November 1929 – 18 June 2021)
During the upheaval of Partition, a young Sikh boy watched with horror as his father was killed. The last words he heard were: “Bhaag, MIlkha, Bhaag!”
Run he did, all the way to becoming the greatest runner that India had ever seen. Milkha Singh was India’s first individual star athlete, but he was also much more than that.
Born in Govindpura, Punjab, the horrors of Partition marked a traumatic beginning for him. Although his passport listed his date of birth as November 1932, in his autobiography he says he didn’t actually know the date. Separated from his family during the upheaval, he fled to Delhi, carrying the scars of loss and uncertainty.
He worked at a roadside restaurant before joining the Indian army. Seeking solace and purpose, he found his calling in athletics. His early years were spent in obscurity, but determination drove him to the tracks, where he would ultimately carve his name in golden letters.
At his first Olympics in 1956, the young Milkha’s chance meeting with champion Charles Jenkins proved to be a turning point. He returned to India determined to turn himself into “a running machine”.
Singh's rise in athletics was meteoric. He burst onto the international scene at the 1958 Asian Games in Tokyo, where he clinched the gold medal in the 400 metres. Until 2014, he was the only Indian male to have an individual athletics Commonwealth Games gold.
The 1960 Rome Olympics would bring Milkha the highest of highs, as well as the lowest of lows. In one of the greatest races that the Olympics has ever seen, Otis Davis of the US clinched gold, beating Germany’s Carl Kaufmann by one-hundredth of a second. Malcom Spence of South Africa finished third with a time of 45.6 seconds.
Competing against the world's best, Milkha narrowly missed out on a medal, finishing fourth in a race that would haunt him for years. His timing of 45.73s was a national record that stood for 40 years. Later, he called it the worst memory of his life, after the death of his parents.
He did not let that moment drag him down; he went on to secure three gold medals at the 1962 Asian Games—two in individual events and one as part of the relay team.
In 1960, he did the unthinkable: making a Pakistani leader praise an Indian athlete. After seeing Pakistan’s champion sprinter destroyed by Milkha in a race, an awestruck Ayub Khan described Milkha as ‘the Flying Sikh’.
Milkha’s training regimen was famously hard: he ran barefoot to develop his speed, living up to the belief that hard work and perseverance were paramount to success. His training sessions, often involving gruelling runs at dawn, became the stuff of legends.
Off the track, Milkha's humility and kindness endeared him to many. He remained grounded despite his fame, and often attributed his success to the love and support of his family and his coach, who nurtured his talent. His marriage to the athlete Nirmal Kaur added another dimension to his life; together, they shared a deep love for sports (she was a national level volleyball player) and a commitment to promoting athletics in India.
As Singh aged, his focus shifted towards inspiring the next generation. He dedicated his later years to mentoring young athletes and promoting sports across the country. He established Milkha’s Charitable Trust, aimed at nurturing talent in athletics and providing opportunities for underprivileged youth showcased his commitment to giving back to the sport that had given him so much. His son, Jeev Milkha Singh, is a professional golfer who became the first Indian to join the European Tour, continuing his father’s sporting legacy.
Milkha passed away on 18 June 2021, succumbing to complications related to COVID-19. His spirit lives on through the millions of Indians who learned from him to never give up.
