This chapter explores the political efflorescence of eighteenth-century Panjab and its intersections with household and lineage formation. Using a history of the Kalsia riyasat, it traces the changing form and organization of this principality as it developed from a dominant ra‘iyati lineage to a small Panjabi riyasat in the last half of the eighteenth century. At the heart of this transformation were the households of Gurbaksh Singh, the first sardar of Kalsia, and his more famous son, Jodh Singh. By considering the changing composition of Gurbaksh and Jodh's extended households and the relationships these encompassed, this chapter brings the contingent nature of kinship bonds into relief. It suggests that these bonds were predicated upon belonging to the same warband that was central to the control of resources in the countryside. While these bands of warrior ‘brothers’ were often subsequently remembered as consanguineous patrilinies, this chapter underscores the key roles that women played in their constitution. It ties the status of women in the polity, as well as of other dependents of the riyasat, to the sardars’ attempts to maintain the integrity and continuity of their lineage. This imperative sometimes meant that the chieftains were obliged to uphold arrangements in their followers’ domestic affairs that went against the norms of what was considered respectable (sharif) and even customary (dasturi). At the same time, treating custom as responsive to the changing circumstances of rural lineages, this chapter highlights the contingent space available to women as shareholders in the land.

The coda draws out the implications of modernist physiognomy for our contemporary moment. As we move from nineteenth-century physiognomy to modernist physiognomy, we encounter more minimalist descriptions of faces – facial sketches, outlines. We encounter faces reduced to a minimalist form. This form is taken up by contemporary facial recognition technologies. Across the scholarly literature on facial recognition technologies, there is a growing awareness of bias: technology is biased because training sets are biased. As Cathy O’Neil writes, “data embeds the dark past.” At the conclusion of this book, the coda frames its contribution to the call issued by Soshana Zuboff in Surveillance Capitalism: “If the digital future is to be our home, then it is we who must make it so.” This book will have aimed to give historicized substance to a fragment of this past: algorithmic data embeds the long history of the face, including elements of modernist physiognomy.

This chapter takes an expansive view of Schoenberg as a writer to reflect the breadth of genres, topics, and purposes he pursued on paper, in addition to his textbooks on composition and music theory. Most of his writings are argumentative. Underwriting these arguments are not only biblical and enlightenment sources, but sources in contemporary life and thought. The chapter shows how the tension between enlightenment and contemporary perspectives vitalize Schoenberg’s language – what he says and how he says it. That so many of Schoenberg’s writings have managed to jump the translation gap successfully and have exerted influence on generations of English readers makes this chapter possible. A selection of such writings and topics spanning Schoenberg’s career are examined.

In this Chapter, we will explore how reservoirs can be monitored from space for water management. Today it is now possible to track the dynamic state of reservoirs at temporal and spatial scales of satellite remote sensing. This dynamic state comprises inflow, outflow, surface area, storage change and evaporative losses. Most of these variables can be modeled using satellite data or directly estimated using satellite data. This chapter will introduce readers to the Reservoir Assessment Tool (RAT) that we have developed as an open-source complete package for users to use the full power of satellite remote sensing to track reservoirs anywhere.

The increasing acceptance of marquee “liberal” doctrines such as liberty of conscience, limited government, and universal adult suffrage occurred mainly during a period in which social contract theory was dormant and other philosophies – Hegelianism, Marxism, and utilitarianism –largely prevailed in the West. If Rawls’s social contract apparatus can deliver something beyond mere “yea-saying” to the liberal consensus, one could confidently say that contract doctrine has helped. Substantive political equality might be that something, but its delivery is still contested.

Radical political economy focuses on capitalism's ability for reproduction. Social reproduction refers to how human beings reproduce their existence. Globalization has seen a vast expansion of surplus labor or surplus humanity. The levels of worldwide inequalities are unprecedented, as is the extent of mass deprivation and precarity. Transnational capital has turned to new forms of unpaid labor to expand accumulation, helping to generate a worldwide crisis in gender relations. A new round of global enclosures is underway that includes land grabs around the world. The TCC is turning toward greater automation in both the traditional core and the traditional periphery, suggesting an increase in the production of relative surplus value relative to absolute surplus value. The global mining industry, and the case of the Congo, illustrate these transformations. As artificial intelligence spreads, professional work and knowledge workers also face deskilling, automation, and increased precariousness. Capitalist states could ameliorate the crisis through redistribution and regulatory policies, but they are constrained by the structural power of transnational capital.

This chapter highlights the pivotal role of education in shaping liveable cities with functioning circular economies. It emphasises that education is the foundation for developing societal values and practices that support sustainability and circular economy principles. The chapter argues that instilling knowledge of the circular economy, sustainability, and environmental stewardship from a young age is essential for creating resilient and resource-efficient cities of the future. The chapter delves into how interdisciplinary learning, project-based education, and partnerships between schools, governments, and organisations can promote awareness of circular economy practices. It explores the United Nations Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) and UNESCO’s ‘Education for Sustainable Development’ framework as guiding principles for integrating sustainability into educational systems worldwide. Topics such as waste reduction, resource conservation, and environmental justice are discussed as critical components of school curricula. Through case studies from Finland, Italy, and other global examples, the chapter demonstrates how innovative educational initiatives can equip young people with the skills needed to foster sustainable urban living. It concludes by advocating for a more participatory and practical approach to education, where students are empowered to apply circular economy concepts in their daily lives and become future leaders in sustainability.

In the previous chapter, we saw how the East India Company used an evolving and sometimes inconsistent body of family and property law to dismantle the households and confiscate the wealth of several riyasats of southern Panjab. In the following pages, I develop this analysis further to consider the colonial state's treatment of the extended networks of riyasati relatives (rishtadaran), as well as the elites of dominant ra‘iyati lineages (got) studied in Chapters 2 and 3. Since there was some degree of overlap between these two categories, for the sake of convenience I will refer to these groups collectively in this chapter simply as ‘ra‘iyati elites’. As we have seen, there were great differences of rank and status within this class, some being no more than first-amongst-equals in their lineages and others having clearly established dominance therein. During the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, these rural lineages were moreover quite volatile, with fierce competition between them as well as amongst their members. When the Company inserted itself into the politics of southern Panjab, it found itself entangled in these lineage ambitions and rivalries, which it sought to exploit to its own advantage.

This chapter studies this colonial involvement in inter- and intra-lineage competition, foregrounding the use of titles such as jagirdar, malik, muqaddam, chaudhari, and biswadar as well as their associated privileged tenures as forms of patronage. It focuses principally on the period prior to 1857 when the bulk of existing titles and tenures were reviewed and variously scrapped, limited, or reconfigured, even as new ones were created.

Walking the lanes of London during my visit to the British Library, I usually heard street musicians. One evening, near London Bridge, I had a conversation with a busker named Richard Hydr, who I often listened to.

‘Where are you from?’ Richard asked.

‘India,’ I said.

‘Where in India?’ he asked.

‘You wouldn't have heard of it, Hyderabad,’ I replied.

‘My name is Richard Hydr. Hydr is for Hyderabad. My ancestors had worked in Hyderabad,’ he said.

Thus, I found Hyderabad in London.

I have seen the world through Hyderabad, in comparison with it, and in conversation with it. This book is a Hyderabadi's attempt at recovering some lost histories of the city.

My interest in film came from hearing stories that my mother and aunts told me; their youth, as they recounted, was full of watching morning shows and matinees in cinema theatres that are now defunct but remain in their memory. It is from these stories that I wanted to understand my beloved city through cinema. Hyderabad today is known as the global information technology hub and home of the Ramoji Film City (RFC), the largest film city in the world, built on 2,000 acres of land. Most of the literature available on the question of interrelationship between cinema and Hyderabad was on the Telugu film industry, with a marked absence of any discussion on film culture before 1948. Most of the newspapers and magazines spoke of the city as a tabula rasa, which was made into a site for the Telugu film industry in the 1960s.

This chapter will explore the topic of citizen science in the context of water management using satellite remote sensing. This is a broad field and the goal here is to expose readers to a social yet important issue of using citizens to carry out science for building more robust management solutions. As mentioned earlier in Chapter 11, this chapter is in no way comprehensive. The objective here is to encourage readers to start thinking about the idea of citizen science and the positive role it can play in building more equitable satellite-based water management solutions

The chapter explains the process of building Meaning Networks and Systemic Networks, as described in chapter 6, for two semantic fields: Cognition and Communication. The identification of these fields is inspired by the Systemic Function Grammar processes: mental and verbal. The Cognition field is divided into Emotion (53 constructions), Perception (9 constructions) and Thought (92 constructions). Following an overview, the Communication field is divided into communication about a future action (Communication: Action) (21 constructions) and communication about information (Communication: Information) (82 constructions). For each semantic field, the constructions are described as they relate to one another. Their significant features are identified and expressed in Systemic Networks. The distinctions or choices between the constructions are modelled in taxonomies or Meaning Networks.

This exploration has shown that the 1971 wartime experience of Bengalis residing in Pakistan as citizens remained rather distinct from the concepts of ‘mere life’ and ‘bare life’ theorised by Arendt and Agamben. Unlike Nazi Germany, which denationalised Jews before gassing them in concentration camps, the Pakistani government interned Bengalis as disenfranchised citizens. This distinguishes the Bengali experience of human rights alienability in the nation state system even when individuals have not ceased to be citizens of a state. The concept of human rights alienability hinges not on citizenship alone, but on a deeper sense of belonging within a political community – the right to have rights as Arendt puts it. Bengalis were still Pakistani citizens; the state did not rescind their citizenship, that is, they were not even stateless in a strictly legal sense. Nonetheless, they had devolved into rightless citizens, or mere bodies.

By labelling them as ghaddar because of their ethnolinguistic identity, the Pakistani state stripped them of their entitlement to a right-bearing political subjectivity as citizens, hence making it possible to subject them to violence. By invoking colonial-era laws for the DPRs, the state legally notified zones of exception in the form of an internment camp where the Bengalis were to be kept. In this way, the Bengali citizen was transformed into an internal other through the labelling of ghaddar, whose bodies had to be marked out both legally and socially as that of a traitor, after which they could be interned without any consequences. The legally calibrated disenfranchisement of citizens and their transformation into traitors was an act of retribution but a calculated move to secure the Pakistani POWs from India and personnel from Bangladesh. It was also tied to precluding the POWs from being tried for war crimes and to recognising Bangladesh as a sovereign state.