Wednesday Edition

The Shock of the New

In the waning years of the nineteenth century, Western civilisation stood at a precipice. The Industrial Revolution had irrevocably altered the landscape of daily life, shrouding cities in the soot of progress and flooding markets with mass-produced commodities that many critics found soulless and devoid of character. The rigid academicism of the Victorian era, with its incessant recycling of historical styles—Neo-Classical, Neo-Gothic, Neo-Renaissance—felt increasingly exhausted, a tired echo of the past rather than a voice for the future.1 It was in this climate of aesthetic fatigue and social upheaval that Art Nouveau exploded onto the scene.

The trajectory of global travel in the twenty-first century has undergone a profound and unexpected curvature. For the better part of five decades, the dominant narrative of human mobility was defined by the conquest of time. The jet engine, a marvel of mid-century engineering, shrank the globe, turning transcontinental journeys that once took weeks into mere hours. Velocity was the currency of the modern age; the destination was the product, and the journey was merely a friction cost—a logistical hurdle to be minimised, accelerated, and ultimately ignored. However, as we stand in 2025 and look toward 2026, a paradigm shift of seismic proportions is reshaping the way the world moves. We are witnessing the end of the era of hyper-acceleration and the dawn of the Slow Travel Movement.

The cultural landscape of urban India is currently undergoing a seismic shift, characterised by the emergence and rapid proliferation of a phenomenon colloquially termed “Bhajan Clubbing.” This movement, driven primarily by Generation Z (those born roughly between 1997 and 2012), represents a radical departure from traditional nightlife paradigms. It involves the convergence of devotional music (bhajan and kirtan) with the aesthetic and structural elements of modern club culture—dim lighting, high-fidelity sound systems, ticketed entry, and communal dancing—while strictly excluding alcohol and intoxicants.

The Symphony in Stone

In the heart of the Deccan Plateau, where the Sahyadri hills rise in stark, volcanic majesty against the Maharashtrian sky, lies a testament to human perseverance that defies the conventional logic of architectural history. The Ellora Caves, a UNESCO World Heritage Site located approximately 30 kilometres northwest of Chhatrapati Sambhajinagar (formerly Aurangabad), represent not merely a collection of temples but a frozen timeline of Indian religious thought, artistic evolution, and engineering audacity. Spanning a period from roughly 600 CE to 1000 CE, these thirty-four accessible excavations—and nearly one hundred in total—stand as a monolithic documentation of a unique era in civilisation where three distinct faiths—Buddhism, Hinduism, and Jainism—coexisted, flourished, and shared the same canvas of living rock.

The Martand Sun Temple, perched atop the alluvial plateau of Mattan in the Anantnag district of Jammu and Kashmir, is not merely a ruin of limestone and memory; it is a monumental testament to a pivotal epoch in the history of the Indian subcontinent. Commissioned in the 8th century CE by Emperor Lalitaditya Muktapida of the Karkota Dynasty, this edifice was conceived as a grand architectural hymn to Surya, the Sun God, encapsulating the imperial ambitions, spiritual fervour, and artistic syncretism of its age. Today, its cyclopean walls and colonnaded courtyards stand roofless under the open sky, bearing the scars of medieval iconoclasm and the relentless erosion of time. Yet, even in this state of dilapidation, the temple commands a profound presence, overlooking the Kashmir Valley with a grandeur that continues to captivate historians, archaeologists, and pilgrims alike.

Ram Setu represents one of the most profound intersections of geological reality and civilizational memory in the Indian subcontinent. Stretching approximately 48 kilometres across the Palk Strait, this chain of limestone shoals connects the southeastern tip of Pamban Island in Tamil Nadu, India, to the northwestern coast of Mannar Island in Sri Lanka. To the uninitiated eye, it appears as a submerged ridge of coral and sand, a barrier separating the turbulent Bay of Bengal from the tranquil Gulf of Mannar. However, within the Sanatani worldview, it is a living monument—a physical testament to the Itihasa (history) of the Ramayana and the engineering prowess of the Vanara Sena under the guidance of Lord Rama.