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By:

Vinod Chavan

30 September 2025 at 3:04:23 pm

Retired lecturer creates intricate sculptures by hand

Latur: At the age of 71, retired chemistry lecturer Dr. Shobha Parshuram Arya continues to transform her passion for art into intricate sculptures and paintings, creating masterpieces without the help of machinery or specialised equipment. A former lecturer at the Government Women’s Polytechnic, Latur, Dr. Arya has devoted her post-retirement years to sculpture and painting. Working only with her hands, she carves stones into artistic creations that depict emotions, devotion and human...

Retired lecturer creates intricate sculptures by hand

Latur: At the age of 71, retired chemistry lecturer Dr. Shobha Parshuram Arya continues to transform her passion for art into intricate sculptures and paintings, creating masterpieces without the help of machinery or specialised equipment. A former lecturer at the Government Women’s Polytechnic, Latur, Dr. Arya has devoted her post-retirement years to sculpture and painting. Working only with her hands, she carves stones into artistic creations that depict emotions, devotion and human expressions. Her sculptures mainly feature themes such as Radha-Krishna and emotional, rather than portraits of renowned personalities or historical figures. The stones used for her sculptures are brought from Rajasthan, including Vietnam marble and other varieties of marble. The process demands immense physical effort, patience and precision. A two-foot sculpture takes nearly three months to complete, while larger works may require one-and-a-half to two years of continuous dedication, she informed. Despite the uniqueness of her artwork, Dr. Arya faces difficulties in finding a market for her sculptures. She says there is limited demand for such expensive artworks in the region. Organising exhibitions is also a challenge as the sculptures are heavy and require manpower for transportation and display. Living alone further restricts her ability to showcase her creations on a larger platform. Dr. Arya’s journey as an artist began during her school days. While studying at Godavaridevi Lahoti Kanya Vidyalaya, she created a Saraswati rangoli for an exhibition in Rajasthan and won first prize. Later, as a Class XI student at Shahu College, she made a rangoli depicting the famous Padmapani painting. However, she said that at that stage she did not know how to systematically nurture her artistic talent. Her interest in sculpture developed after observing her father’s paintings. Inspired by his creativity, she began making idols using POP (plaster of Paris). In 1990, she created an idol of Michelangelo, which further strengthened her passion for sculpture. Tribute to Father Dr. Arya uses her father’s name, Parshuram, as part of her identity as a tribute to the man who shaped her artistic vision. “My father was a renowned photographer and painter. Whatever I have achieved today is because of the artistic environment he created. I have only carried forward his legacy,” she said. She recalled her childhood days at Latur’s well-known Shobha Photo Studio, which was once among the city’s prominent photography studios. Several noted artists, including Vasantrao Baraskar, Gangadhar Baraskar and Ware Guruji, used to visit the studio, and she closely observed their paintings and creative work. “As a child, I repeatedly requested my father to teach me painting. He would simply say, ‘Keep watching. You will learn on your own.’ I did not understand those words then, but today I realise that observation is the first school of every artist,” she said. Dr. Arya said artistic inspiration develops gradually through life experiences and finds expression at the right moment. Recalling the creation of her acclaimed Radha-Krishna sculpture, she said the work took nearly 21 months to complete. “I wanted to portray not just two divine figures, but the spiritual intensity and emotional bond between Radha and Krishna. Their relationship represents pure devotion and eternal love,” she said. The sculpture depicts Radha moving towards Krishna as he plays the flute, with intricate details such as her lifted heel, flowing attire and wind-swept hair capturing movement and emotion. “I do not feel that I alone created this sculpture. Giving life-like emotions to stone is an extremely difficult task. I believe some divine force guided my hands throughout the process,” she said. Dr. Arya believes that art should ultimately contribute to society. She expressed her desire to use the earnings from the sale of her sculptures and paintings to support underprivileged students.

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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