In an ecosystem where the general attention span is that of gnat; history is what the ruling dispensation insists is true; with semi-baked mindsets lapping it all up as the gospel truth and the WhatsApp university the only centre of academic excellence, one wonders what the Harper Collins publication, Robin Hood of Kathiawar and Other Extraordinary Stories from India’s Freedom Movement, is seeking to sell.
Is it selling an antidote to the infectious malaise or just trying to sell freedom folklore? Whatever the purpose, this 50-tale anthology by Paperclip has been among the most delightful pieces of non-serious, yet deadly serious, writing one has come across. In this convoluted world of historiography, it burrows thin tunnels into faded history, presenting compelling accounts of how, for instance, symbols of the freedom movement have travelled and mutated to inspire societies across time and space.
It rekindles emotion, stokes curiosity and connects remote facts to establish the far-flung ripples of the Indian freedom movement, its leaders and the perfectly ordinary players alike, often in worlds way beyond its shores. In the process, it literally rescues what were high-impact narratives from obscurity, while sticking to diligent research and transforming its findings into amazingly colourful stories of yesteryears. Robin Hood of Kathiawar breathes energy, enthusiasm and playfulness into encounters long forgotten.
From toddy shops in Kerala, Andhra Pradesh and Tamil Nadu, peddling ‘kallu,’ becoming clandestine conspiracy hubs; of the ascetic Alluri Sitarama Raju from Vishakhapatanam (of natu, natu fame) getting trained in the art of bomb-making by Bengal terrorists, or the broad daylight arms heist in Kolkata and Masterda’s master plans and the eventual betrayal by his nephew Netra Sen or, for that matter, Bangali Tola in Banaras, where the Bengali Tola High School, set up by Keshab Chandra Sen, became the hot spot for anti-imperialism, Paperclip has has travelled the subterranean world of the freedom movement.
Going global, Paperclip sleuths figure out why a group of dancers at the Carnival in Salvador, Brazil, dressed in white and swaying to the deep rhythm of Afro-Brazilian percussion, calls itself Filhos de Gandhy (Sons of Gandhi)? The inquiry takes them to a small group of dockworkers in one of Salvador’s poorest neighbourhoods, who once gathered under a tree, inspired by India’s struggle for freedom and Gandhi’s message of peace and resistance, forming a troupe in his name to fight oppression through dance. The Mahatma had never visited Brazil, but he still inspires them to dance. There is more.
“Gaazion mein boo rahegi jab talak imaan ki, Takht-e-London tak chalegi teg Hindustan ki. (As long as the spirit of faith burns in the hearts of the valiant, the sword of Hindustan will rage all the way to the throne in London.)” No, these words were not uttered on Indian soil, though the British thought so as they desperately tried to nab the source of the radio waves emitting venom against the Raj. This story takes one through the thrilling corridors of time to find the curious connection between Il Duce and Radio Himalaya!
Mohammed Iqbal Shedai, an anti‑British radical from Sialkot, who drifted through Ghadar‑style and socialist circles from Afghanistan to Turkey, Russia, France and Switzerland, ended up meeting Arnaldo Mussolini, Benito’s brother. Legend has it that so impressed were the Italians with his anti‑British rhetoric that they told him, perhaps in not so many words: “You want to rant at the British? Fine, do it from our radio station.” Thus came about Radio Himalaya in 1941, a clandestine broadcast based in Rome, used by Shedai and other Indian revolutionaries, to become a powerful tool in the propaganda war against the British Empire.
There was a sartorial revolution, too. Nehru led the way, statesmanlike, as an icon captivating American and European stylists with his adaptation of the traditional Indian bandhgala and achkan into a sleek jacket, with its high, banded mandarin collar. It radiated Indianness, as opposed to Western blazers. With a red rose in the buttonhole and a crisp white kurta‑pyjama to go with, it represented symbolism at its sharpest. A confident India, rooted in tradition yet totally modern.
With Western fashion designers obsessing over minimalist aesthetics, Europe and America embraced the look. Pierre Cardin adapted it for Western audiences, his ‘Cylinder’ suit becoming a hallmark of 1960s fashion. Then came the Johnny Carson moment: the king of late‑night TV strode on to The Tonight Show wearing a Nehru jacket, designed by the legendary Oleg Cassini, sealing Jawaharlal’s place not just in politics but in global style history.
Not that everything was as sleek and sophisticated; certainly not the wild night watching lucha libre (professional wrestling) in Mexico City, only to land up in the home of Bengali radical M. N Roy! Roy, a political fugitive by around 1917, realised Mexico’s potential as a revolutionary base, which is why he founded the Mexican Communist Party at his Mexico City, Colonia Roma home, which became a political hub. Today, in the exclusive nightclub called ‘M.N. Roy,’ revellers, drinkers and dancers have a blast, quite different from that associated with fighting for freedom or communism.
No account of Indian patriotism is quite done without Netaji, especially with a ‘Netaji in Every Pocket?’ That was when Dr Satyendranath Basu and his comrades in the Azad Hind Fauj (INA), all doctors serving in Burma during World War II, were awaiting a gruelling journey back home after being released from captivity. Exhausted and waiting at Jhikargacha railway station, they spotted a packet of bidis with Netaji’s image on it. Instantaneously, spirits soared as the group bought up every pack in the shop, not for the tobacco but to have his face with them. Netaji was more than their commander; he symbolised sacrifice. At that remote post-war theatre, this pack of bidis shouldered the weight of a freedom struggle.
Nuanced stories such as these, with their simple appeal, democratise history and make for everyday conversations; addas. There are innumerable such historic tales soaked in outstanding resilience, remarkable humour and facets of the freedom movement that were owned by the aam aadmi that no one remembers. Truth to tell, nor did such valiant people seek a spotlight in history. Nor perhaps did the writers at Paperclip, this storytelling collective comprising Abhinabha, Indranath, Priyadarshini, Saumyajit, Srinwantu, Subhajit and Trinanjan, seek out the outstanding; they chanced upon curious connections and followed the leads.
This is what makes the stories, quirky and whimsical as they traipse through the precarious world of the outlaw moving between crime and courage or Rani Lakshmibai’s Australian defender, the maverick John George Lang, riding palanquins enroute to fighting annexation; or the memory of Khudiram’s misdirected bomb triggering such panic amongst the British that even a popping soda‑water bottle inside a European club would be mistaken for a bomb attack, causing the members to flee, helter‑skelter.
History is all about a story well told and truthfully so.
Spotlight:
Robin Hood of Kathiawar and Other Extraordinary Stories from India’s Freedom Movement
The Paperclip
Harper Non Fiction India, 2026
Price: Rs 499, 368 pages