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By:

Rajendra Joshi

3 December 2024 at 3:50:26 am

Controversy over shifting plot

Questions over corporation’s plan to abandon self-owned piece of land    Ruparani Nikam Kolhapur: A fresh controversy has surfaced over the proposed construction of the Kolhapur Municipal Corporation’s (KMC) new administrative building, with questions being raised over the apparent shift from a prime, self-owned plot at Nirmal Chowk to an alternative site at Shendapark.   The civic body, which has been functioning out of the historic Gandhi Market building since its days as a nagarpalika...

Controversy over shifting plot

Questions over corporation’s plan to abandon self-owned piece of land    Ruparani Nikam Kolhapur: A fresh controversy has surfaced over the proposed construction of the Kolhapur Municipal Corporation’s (KMC) new administrative building, with questions being raised over the apparent shift from a prime, self-owned plot at Nirmal Chowk to an alternative site at Shendapark.   The civic body, which has been functioning out of the historic Gandhi Market building since its days as a nagarpalika during the princely era, was upgraded to a municipal corporation in 1972. However, despite a significant expansion in its administrative scope over the decades, the KMC has yet to acquire a modern, purpose-built headquarters. At the centre of the present debate is a 9-acre-36-guntha plot at Nirmal Chowk considerably larger than the five-acre Shendapark site now being proposed.   The Nirmal Chowk land has long been in the corporation’s possession, and even a property card had been issued following the resolution of disputes by the district administration. Despite this, the civic body has now indicated that the new headquarters will be constructed at Shendapark, prompting questions over the rationale behind abandoning a larger, strategically located plot.   Complicating matters further is a prolonged legal dispute over the Nirmal Chowk land. While the preparation of a property card typically nullifies the relevance of the 7/12 extract under Maharashtra land records, claims based on the latter continued to surface, with some parties asserting ownership and keeping the dispute alive.   Critics allege that the civic administration failed to pursue the case with due diligence, at times remaining absent during key hearings. It was only after an intervention through a separate petition filed by Dilip Desai of a local civic group that the matter regained traction. The case is now slated for hearing before the Kolhapur circuit bench of the Bombay High Court in June.   Observers argue that instead of strengthening its legal position and securing the valuable land estimated to be worth around Rs 40 crore the KMC appears to have shifted focus to the Shendapark site. This, they say, raises concerns about the intent behind the change in location.   Notably, as far back as December 2003, the corporation had organised an architectural design competition for constructing a modern headquarters at Nirmal Chowk. A contemporary design was finalised, but the project has seen little progress in over two decades.   In contrast, several municipal corporations across Maharashtra have since developed modern administrative complexes, while Kolhapur continues to operate out of cramped premises in Gandhi Market, with even council proceedings often conducted under space constraints. Civic activists contend that had the KMC pursued the Nirmal Chowk project with consistency and resolved legal hurdles in time, the city would not have risked losing control over a high-value public asset.   With the shift to Shendapark now underway, concerns are also being voiced about the future of other public spaces in the city. Activists warn that if such decisions go unchallenged, it could set a precedent affecting open spaces in urban layouts.   The controversy has triggered demands for greater transparency and accountability in the civic body’s land-use decisions, with residents seeking clear answers on why the original site was sidelined and who stands to benefit from the change.

The Soul of Bharat on the Big Screen

Mumbai: April 4, 2025, my heart feels heavier than it ever has. The news hit me like a monsoon storm—Manoj Kumar, the towering legend of Bollywood, the man who painted patriotism across our screens, is no more. At 87, he slipped away at Mumbai’s Kokilaben Dhirubhai Ambani Hospital, leaving behind a reel of memories that flicker in my mind like a projector that won’t stop spinning. As a movie fan who grew up with his films, I’m not just mourning an actor—I’m grieving the loss of a piece of my soul, a piece of India itself. They called him "Bharat Kumar," and oh, how he earned that name.


I remember the first time I saw ‘Upkar’ (1967). I was a kid, sprawled on the living room floor, eyes glued to our old TV. Manoj ji played Bharat, the farmer who gave everything—his dreams, his love—for his country’s soil. That song, “Mere Desh Ki Dharti,” wasn’t just a tune; it was a heartbeat, pulsing with pride and sacrifice. I’d hum it walking to school, feeling like I, too, could be that noble, that selfless. He won a National Film Award for that one, and rightly so—it wasn’t acting; it was living.

Then there was ‘Shaheed’ (1965), where he brought Bhagat Singh back to life. I’d sit there, popcorn forgotten, as he roared defiance against the British, his eyes blazing with a fire that could’ve lit up the darkest colonial night. It wasn’t just a film—it was a revolution on celluloid, a call to remember the blood that bought our freedom. Manoj ji didn’t just play the martyr; he became him, and every time I watch it, I feel that lump in my throat, that sting in my eyes. It’s no wonder it snagged three National Awards—his passion was a gift to us all.


Oh, and ‘Purab Aur Paschim’ (1970)—how do I even begin? He directed and starred as Bharat again, this time wrestling with the clash of East and West, showing us the beauty of our roots while the world tried to pull us away. I’d laugh at Saira Banu’s antics, then choke up when Manoj ji stood tall, singing “Hai Preet Jahan Ki Reet Sada.” It was a blockbuster, sure, but it was more—it was a love letter to India, penned in his signature hand-over-face style. That move, mocked by some, was his shield, his quiet strength, and I adored it.

And who could forget ‘Roti Kapda Aur Makaan’ (1974)? He directed and starred as Bharat—again, because who else could?—tackling poverty, injustice, and the gut-wrenching struggle for the basics of life. I’d watch, fists clenched, as he fought for the everyman, his voice cracking with raw emotion. It wasn’t just a movie; it was a mirror to our society, a cry for change. Seven Filmfare Awards across his career, they say, but this one felt like it carried them all—his heart bled through every frame.


Then there’s ‘Kranti’ (1981), the epic that had me on the edge of my seat. Manoj ji as the freedom fighter, leading Dilip Kumar and Hema Malini through a storm of rebellion—it was grand, it was gritty, it was everything Bollywood could be. “Zindagi Ki Na Toote Ladi” still echoes in my ears, a reminder of the battles he fought on screen, battles that felt so real I’d dream of joining the fight. He didn’t just direct that film; he sculpted a monument to resilience, and I’d cheer like a fool every time he outsmarted the British.


As I sit here, flipping through these memories, I can’t help but feel cheated. Manoj Kumar wasn’t just an actor or director—he was family. Born Harikrishan Goswami in 1937, he carried the Partition’s scars from Abbottabad to Delhi, turning pain into purpose. He gave us over 50 films in a career spanning four decades, snagging the Padma Shri in 1992 and the Dadasaheb Phalke Award in 2015—honors that felt too small for a man who gave India its cinematic soul. His last role in ‘Jai Hind’ (1999) might’ve flopped, but it didn’t dim his light in my eyes.


I’d read how he met Bhagat Singh’s mother before ‘Shaheed’, seeking her blessing—can you imagine the weight of that? Or how PM Lal Bahadur Shastri urged him to make ‘Upkar’ after the 1965 war, handing him “Jai Jawan Jai Kisan” like a sacred torch? That’s who he was—a man who didn’t just entertain but carried a nation’s dreams.


Manoj ji, you weren’t just “Bharat Kumar” to me—you were the uncle who taught me pride, the friend who shared my anger, the poet who sang my hopes. Your films weren’t movies; they were my childhood, my rebellion, my tears. I’ll miss you like I miss the India you dreamed of—flawed, fierce, and forever ours. Rest in peace, sir. Om Shanti.

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