On Kashmir, Kings, And Democracy: A Conversation With Dr. Karan Singh

By Vikas Thakur

'Why did you want to meet me?' asked the gentle figure across the highly polished teak table.

It was the summer of 2024, and I was in the study at Karan Mahal, Srinagar. Sitting across from me was one of the most respected men in India.

Dr. Karan Singh, erstwhile prince and maharaja, former Sadr-e-Riyasat (Governor), ex-union cabinet minister, scholar, and author, is a nonagenarian gentleman. He wore a faint smile, and a twinkle shone in his eyes. He was clad in his trademark full-sleeve dark shirt, and a Gandhi topi adorned his pate.

I was immediately put at ease when he welcomed me into the room in chaste Dogri. It took me aback, as I had expected English or Hindi from this highly educated man.

'Sir, you have witnessed history unfold before your eyes. I feel overwhelmed in the presence of someone who has interacted with Gandhi, Nehru, Patel, and so many other towering personalities of our great nation. As I speak with you, I feel the presence of all of them. You know everything about this fascinating and vibrant region of India that has always captivated me,' I said, and he seemed pleased.

I told him how his and Sheikh Abdullah's autobiographies had given me a 360-degree view of J&K. 'I will address you as Dr. Karan Singh. I think you like it that way,' I said, and he nodded, laughing.

'You know,' he said, 'Karan Mahal was once called Taley Manzil, in honour of the Nawab of Palanpur, a close friend of my father. Maharaja Hari Singh was a truly secular man. He had announced at his coronation that“Justice is my religion.” He did many progressive things. But the time of kings was over. The world was moving towards democracy, and it was difficult for Maharajas and Rajas to understand.'

The room was full of books, neatly arranged in almirahs. On the table lay an iPhone, a tablet, and a laptop, alongside writing materials. He kept receiving calls, and I was amazed by the variety of matters he was handling and resolving in my presence. The TV on the wall opposite us was updating the latest results of the 2024 parliamentary elections.

'Sir, you mention in your autobiography that you had very fragile health. I feel so happy to see you in such good condition today, at this advanced age. What is your secret?' I asked.

'It's all the blessings of Shiva,' he said, pointing to a bracelet on his wrist.

As we sat chatting, the results of the 2024 parliamentary elections became clear. 'The Indian public is very wise,' he said. 'Look at how they have balanced the politics of the country! And it's not the first time.'

In the summer of 2025, I was surprised to receive a call from his secretary, saying that Dr. Singh was in Srinagar and would like to meet me.

I was ecstatic. I would have given my right arm to meet him again, yet had felt shy about seeking an interview. And here was the great man himself, desirous of meeting me.

I don't know what he saw in me, but I thanked God and made my way to the palace once more. It is more of a large bungalow now. The palaces were either taken over by the government or sold by families, too lavish to maintain.

'You know, I built the 243 steps to the Shankaracharya Temple with my own funds,' Dr. Karan Singh, Chairman Trustee of the Dharmarth Trust, which has managed scores of important temples in J&K since 1846, told me. 'Sanatan Dharma is a great gift to the world. You must read its essence. Here, take this book of mine. It will introduce you to the greatness of our philosophy.'

He handed me his book, The Eternal Religion: Glimpses of Hinduism. True to his words, the book opened my eyes to the basics of the Vedas, Upanishads, and the Bhakti movement.

'Sir, don't you think that if the then government had taken your father into confidence, the Kashmir imbroglio would never have happened?' I asked.

'Actually, yes,' he said. 'But there were vested interests who drove an insurmountable wedge between the Prime Minister and the Maharaja.'

I then asked him why he was interested in the restoration of statehood to J&K.

'This was the second-largest princely state of India. How can we do this to it?' he exclaimed.

When I suggested that it was better for law and order, he countered by asking how Pahalgam had happened then in the UT. I had no answer.

I had spent almost two years in Kashmir and had written short essays on my observations. I brought a printout of them for him to read at his leisure. He flipped through the pages and was emphatic that they were worthy of publishing. I had never thought of that, but his appreciation made me reconsider, and doors opened for me.

Before long, my maiden book, Pax Kashmir, was published and received very well by critics and the public.

So, on 10 September, I went to his house, Mansarovar in Chanakyapuri, where I was ushered once again into a well-stocked study. He received me with his charming smile.

'So the book is published after all,' he said with evident glee. 'Welcome to the club of writers.'

I told him how it was his encouragement that had led to the publication. I reminded him how he had very kindly written the foreword within three days of receiving the book, allowing me to publish it a month before leaving the UT.

The TV was showing distressing news from Nepal. He looked perturbed, as he had many close relatives among the Nepalese royalty and nobility. 'Alternate leadership has to be roped in at the earliest,' he remarked.

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