Your plate has a split personality! The great food confusion

Raju Korti
Every morning, before my tea is even ready, my phone is already pelting me with advice. “Have bananas for instant energy.” Scroll down two more posts -- “Bananas spike blood sugar, avoid them.” Same fruit, two verdicts. If the banana were a person, it would sue for defamation.
Take twenty everyday items -- and you will find enough research to make you dizzy.
Almonds: “Brain booster.” / “Too many cause kidney stones."
Tomatoes: “Packed with lycopene, cancer fighter.” / “Triggers acidity, avoid at night.
”Rice: “Staple for centuries, gluten-free.” / “White rice is empty carbs, villain of your waistline.”
Ghee: “Ayurvedic superfood.” / “Cardiac time bomb.”
Coffee: “Improves alertness, extends life.” / “Dehydrates, raises BP.
”Eggs: “Perfect protein.” / “Cholesterol overload.”
Coconut oil: “Good for heart, hair, skin.” / “Saturated fat disaster.”
Milk: “Calcium powerhouse.” / “Indigestion culprit.”
Papaya: “Digestion aid.” / “Dangerous for pregnancy.
”Potatoes: “Comfort food, rich in potassium.” / “High glycemic index, avoid.”
Green tea: “Antioxidant magic.” / “Leads to insomnia.”
Watermelon: “Hydration hero.” / “High sugar content.”
Honey: “Natural sweetener.” / “Still sugar, fools you with health halo.”
Paneer: “Protein-rich, filling.” / “High fat, artery clogger.”
Grapes: “Resveratrol for longevity.” / “Pesticide-heavy, sugar spike.”
Peanuts: “Cheap protein.” / “Allergen alert.”
Curd: “Probiotic for gut.” / “Worsens cold.”
Spinach: “Iron-rich.” / “Oxalates block calcium absorption.”
Mango: “King of fruits.” / “King of calories.”
Butter: “Flavour enhancer.” / “Cholesterol culprit.”
And finally, sugar: A killer and saviour!
By the end of the list, the safest thing seems to be breathing -- and even that, in some cities, comes with an air quality warning. From waking up in the morning to the time you finally fall off to sleep (and yes, even sleep itself), everything is both good and bad depending on which “expert” you listen to. Too much or too little of anything -- water, sunlight, screen time, even napping -- comes with its own health report and a caution label. An existential grammar which has colon, semicolon, comma and a full stop with an apostrophe as the topping!
The confusion isn’t new. Our grandparents happily survived on home-cooked dal, rice, pickles, fried snacks, and a dessert to round it off. They didn’t Google if turmeric was anti-inflammatory or check calorie counts before a laddoo.

(Pic representational)

Today, every bite finds its way into a boardroom discussion -- carb ratio, antioxidant profile, glycemic load. By the time you finish calculating, your dinner is cold and your appetite gone.
The irony? People who avoid sugar, fat, alcohol, cigarettes, eat on time, meditate, and jog every morning… sometimes get cancer or heart attacks in their forties. Meanwhile, your neighbour’s uncle, who has survived on fried pakoras, four cups of sweet tea, and a daily beedi, is busy planning his 95th birthday party.
So what’s the magic formula? I doubt if anyone can put fingers on it. “Eat everything in moderation” is the sensible answer -- until someone finds a study saying moderation is harmful. At some point, you have to stop obsessing, enjoy your food, get some exercise, and hope the odds are in your favour. If something still goes wrong, well… in cricket and in life, sometimes even the best shot finds the fielder.

Trump’s tariff tantrums: Where the shoe pinches US!

Raju Korti
Every few years, America finds itself needing an external target to nurse internal discontent. The playbook is familiar: identify a trading partner, accuse them of unfairness, issue dramatic threats, and hope it rallies domestic sentiment. This time, the wheel of blame has landed on India. And not because India is the biggest offender on trade -- it’s not -- but because in Trump's version of economic theatre, optics always trump facts.

Let’s take a closer look. The US trade deficit with India stands at around USD 41 billion. Significant? Yes. But compare that to the USD 270 billion with China or USD 113 billion with Vietnam. In sheer numbers, India is not even in the top tier of Washington’s trade worries. Yet, Trump has singled India out for punishment—a 25% blanket tariff on all goods, plus a "penalty" for buying Russian military hardware and crude oil. The reason? Alleged “obnoxious non-monetary trade barriers” and India's growing tilt toward Russia. It is worth noting that these barriers have existed for decades and are common across many emerging economies.

So, why now? In my estimate, Trump’s timing is not incidental. With elections on the horizon, his strategy is textbook populism: revive America’s victim narrative in trade, attack India’s “high tariffs,” and spotlight India’s oil deals with Russia -- never mind that the US itself buys Russian commodities through indirect routes. He even brought Pakistan into the mix, touting a vague oil exploration deal with Islamabad and hinting -- almost childishly -- that maybe Pakistan would sell oil to India “some day.” A not-so-subtle jab.

What makes this especially troubling is the way the Trump administration has begun lumping India with America's adversaries. By associating India’s BRICS membership with anti-US intent, or calling India and Russia’s economies “dead,” Trump is attempting to recast India as an unreliable friend. This contradicts his own words, where he calls India “a friend,” showing the cognitive dissonance that often underpins Trump’s foreign policy narrative.

Enter Kaushik Basu, former World Bank Chief Economist, who offers a clearer diagnosis. He points out the irony of Trump labelling India a “big abuser” while ignoring much larger trade gaps with other countries. Basu warns that India’s compliance with such US pressure, especially in agriculture and dairy, could devastate an already fragile farm economy. If India bends to Washington’s terms, it risks selling out its rural base -- a move that could trigger political and economic backlash at home.

So, what does India do? First, don’t panic. History shows that Trump’s policy bark often has less bite than feared. Many of his trade threats are negotiating tactics meant to extract short-term concessions. Second, India must hold its ground on core issues like agricultural protections and strategic autonomy, particularly in its defence partnerships. Any hasty agreement with the US under duress may bring momentary calm but long-term vulnerability.

Finally, India must rediscover its independent foreign policy voice. In recent years, its alignment with the US has grown tighter -- sometimes at the cost of its non-aligned legacy. That perception, Basu says, has emboldened the US to take India for granted. A calibrated recalibration -- not confrontation -- with Washington is needed. India must show that friendship does not mean blind obedience.

For the United States, the real issue isn’t India’s trade policy or oil purchases. The issue is waning American economic dominance and the rise of multi-polarity, where countries like India want to chart their own course. Trump’s tariffs, if anything, reflect that unease. The more he presses, the more the world sees through the showmanship. In trying to make America great again, he may be making global goodwill toward America weaker again.

Because when economics becomes theatre, facts are the first casualties -- and friends, the collateral damage.

In my stride: When walking becomes your compulsion!

Raju Korti
It is funny how something we take for granted – walking -- can become an existential pursuit. In 2015, I underwent a near-fatal coronary bypass. For nearly two years after, I was a picture of frailty: anaemic, feeble, with tottering feet that struggled even with short distances. The ground beneath me didn’t just feel uneven -- it felt indifferent. My cardiologist, ever cautious, told me not to run, not to exert, just to walk. “At your age and condition,” he said, “walking is the best cardio there is.” I wasn’t a walking enthusiast. But now, walking became non-negotiable. Not for fitness, but for sheer survival.

(Sketch representational)

What started as short, laboured trudges morphed over time into longer, more confident strides. Slowly, the fog of weakness lifted. Today, I average between 5,000 to 7,000 steps daily -- depending on my willpower and Mumbai’s temperament. There are days when I feel almost athletic, and others when I simply settle for an honest effort. But I walk -- every day. I have given up my motorbike and car without regret. When it rains, I pace inside. On days I miss it, I feel something’s amiss. What keeps me going is not just medical advice but a quiet conviction echoed in that old philosophical line: “Jeevan chalne ka naam hai, chalte raho subah-o-shaam.

”Of course, every wearable tracker today will flash a 10,000-step target at you like gospel. But recent findings published in The Lancet Public Health suggest we have perhaps over-walked the mark. A landmark global study led by the University of Sydney reviewed data from over 57 studies and found that 7,000 steps may be the sweet spot -- not 10,000. The researchers concluded that the benefits of walking increased steadily until the 7,000-step mark, after which gains began to flatten. In fact, walking 7,000 steps a day slashed the risk of early death by nearly 47%, dementia by 38%, and showed similar risk-reduction effects for type 2 diabetes and cardiovascular disease.

What struck me was the study’s underlying message: consistency trumps obsession. You don’t have to chase an arbitrary number. For some, even going from 2,000 to 4,000 steps makes a world of difference. Every added step counts until it doesn’t -- and that “doesn’t” begins around 7,000.I walk today not to hit a number on a screen, but because walking grounds me. It has become an inward pilgrimage, a meditation in motion. A way to tell my body, and perhaps even life itself, that I’m still moving forward. If there’s one takeaway from my journey, it is this: step counts are deeply personal. The right number is not what your fitness band flashes but what your body can sustain, enjoy, and benefit from. Walk not just to live longer, but to live better.

So, go ahead -- lace up your shoes. But remember: the goal is not to race to 10,000. The goal is simply to keep going.

Nature, not sterility, is our real shield!

Raju Korti
From what I gather, there’s something oddly reassuring about the fact that nearly 800 million viruses land on every square meter of this planet’s atmosphere every single day -- and yet, here we are. Breathing, living, thriving. It is not bravado but biology. Our bodies have, over millennia, evolved into magnificent fortresses, constantly engaged in microscopic battles, parrying invisible blows, dodging pathogens, and updating immune intelligence like a well-oiled operating system.

But lately, I find myself asking: are we dumbing down this natural brilliance with our obsession for cleanliness?

(Pic representational)

Think about it. We now flinch at the idea of drinking water that isn’t RO-purified within an inch of its life. Our fruits are scrubbed raw under treated water, our homes sprayed relentlessly with antibacterial mists, and our hands reek of sanitiser even when all we have touched is a doorknob. Our immune systems, once sharp with the regular exercise of exposure to nature -- to mud, rivers, dust-laden winds -- are being coddled into complacency.

One microbiologist once told me that the immune system works like a smartphone -- it needs regular updates. The older ways of life -- walking barefoot on soil, bathing in rivers, or inhaling unsanitised air -- were, in effect, data transfers. The microbes from the earth and water served as teachers, trainers, and sometimes even sparring partners for our bodies.

Today’s ultra-sterile living standards are akin to switching off mobile data. The updates stop. The immune system grows lazy. It forgets how to fight, and worse, it forgets what it is fighting.

This isn’t just romanticising the past. During the COVID-19 pandemic, Europe and the United States bore disproportionate brunt. One striking reason: microbial amnesia. Populations living in pristine, sanitised environments had immune systems that hadn’t been “trained” in years. So, when a new virus arrived, their defences scrambled to even recognise it.

Compare that to rural India, where daily interactions with natural ecosystems continue. A remarkable insight from research into the Ganga river suggests it functions like a living microbial network. When humans bathe in it, they unknowingly upload and download microbial information. In return, the river, with its intelligent bacteriophages, selectively destroys harmful microbes and educates the human immune system. Imagine a spiritual ritual doubling up as immunological training.

It might sound counterintuitive in an age where cleanliness is equated with health. But perhaps we have taken it too far. Not all dirt is danger. Not all microbes are villains. In our race to isolate ourselves from nature under the guise of protection, we have forgotten that resilience isn’t built in laboratories alone.

The real path forward is not to wrap ourselves in sterilised bubbles. It’s to reconnect -- with soil, with rivers, with microbes. With that which once made us strong. Let’s not outsource all immunity to vaccines and chemical sanitisers. The real antidote to future pandemics might just lie beneath our feet, in our rivers, and in the air we have grown afraid to breathe.

From Headlines to Herons: The man behind the lens!

Raju Korti
There are journalists, and then there is Dr Moiz Mannan Haque -- a man whose words once danced crisply across the columns of newspapers, and whose camera now coaxes poetry from the wild. From the clang of newsrooms to the hush of forests, Moiz has made an extraordinary journey -- one that reads like a slow-simmered novel rather than a hurried headline. Former Head of the Department of Mass Communication at RTM Nagpur University, erstwhile Assistant Professor at NYSS Institute of Management and Research, and before that a redoubtable name in the world of reportage -- with stints as News Editor at The Peninsula, Qatar and Senior Reporter at both The Indian Express and The Hitavada --Moiz has worn many hats, and worn them well.

Moiz with his muse -- Nature

I have had the privilege of being his contemporary and witnessing firsthand how he filed immaculate copies that could glide past even the flintiest-eyed editors without the need for a red pen -- stories so airtight, they needed no patchwork. But what’s remarkable is not just his mastery in spinning a crisp copy – it is his seamless metamorphosis into a visual raconteur, a chronicler of the untamed, whose photographs now belong more to the domain of galleries and museums than mere social media scrolls. His frames breathe. They pause. They speak. Each one, a whisper from the wilderness.

And if you think that’s the end of the story, think again. Moiz is nothing if not a chameleon of talent. A beloved professor, adored -- nay, hero-worshipped -- by his students for his rigour and humour alike, he has also ventured into the world of fringe theatre. In a production titled Adieu, staged in the unorthodox format of a "Shot Play" -- a performance recorded in one fluid take without retakes or audience -- he dived into the role of a dying father. The lines were simple, the emotion anything but. In his own words, “It was a lot of fun… a new format and challenging.” True to form, he aced it with aplomb.

Perhaps what makes his photographic artistry irresistible is this: if the images are lush slices of sponge cake, the captions he pens are the glistening, whip-smart icing on top. Wry, wise, wistful -- always pitch perfect.

What follows is a freewheeling exchange with Moiz -- who has now traded news desks for nesting birds, deadlines for dew-dropped mornings, and the clickety-clack of typewriters for the meditative click of a camera shutter.

Let’s step into his world, frame by frame.

(Both collages courtesy Pragati Korti)

Photography for Moiz began in black and white -- quite literally. As a curious teenager on a tour of South India, armed with his uncle’s borrowed camera and eyes wide open to the marvels of heritage architecture, his first brush with image-making was more than just recreational. It was instinctive, almost ritualistic. A humble plastic-bodied HotShot 110 camera became his first personal tool -- rudimentary, even toy-like -- yet it offered him a window into landscapes, especially during a formative tour of Kashmir. Long before he fully understood aperture or exposure, the language of visuals had already begun whispering to him.

His photographic journey took a historic turn during his journalism training in West Berlin in 1990. Out of his modest scholarship, he bought his first SLR film camera -- the iconic Pentax K1000. That camera would bear witness to one of the defining moments of the 20th century. As the Berlin Wall crumbled and the merger of East and West Germany unfolded before his eyes, Moiz was there -- not just as a student of journalism, but as a chronicler of history. Some of the images he captured during that euphoric moment found their way to publication, affirming his instinct that storytelling through the lens was a calling, not a coincidence.

Growing up in Nagpur in a family where weekends meant picnics by lakes, rivers, and forests, Moiz was steeped in nature without even realizing it. Though his early professional life was anchored in journalism -- covering elections, capturing newsmakers, writing headlines -- the love for imagery simmered in the background. But it wasn’t until he could afford a decent camera that he began framing the world not just in his mind, but on film. The shift from hard news to herons wasn’t abrupt -- it was a gentle, organic evolution. He often quips, “It was a ‘natural’ progression.

”He describes himself as a photographer guided more by instinct than by rigorous training. The photographic eye -- that elusive gift of knowing a good frame even without a camera -- seemed to develop with time. “Practice may teach you the buttons, but instinct guides the frame,” he says, summarizing his belief in spontaneous vision over mechanical mastery.

Moiz’s transition from journalist to nature photographer was not an escape, but an extension. Visual storytelling was always in his DNA. In newsrooms in India and abroad, he shared a deep rapport with photojournalists, and later taught photojournalism himself, often urging students to find the “intro” -- journalism’s sacred first paragraph -- within every image. That same instinct shapes his wildlife photography today. He doesn’t aim merely for beauty, but for narrative. “My photos are not meant to be pretty postcards. They must speak.

”If journalism taught him to chase stories, nature photography taught him to wait for them. “It’s a form of meditation,” he reflects, “not about losing oneself, but becoming so aware of nature that you almost vanish into it.” Unlike reporting, where deadlines and readers dominate the rewards, nature photography is deeply personal. “The satisfaction is inward,” he says, “and the patience you build is the dividend.

”Despite living in an age of AI filters and superficial beauty, Moiz is unshaken in his core belief -- that composition is the soul of photography. “Fifty per cent of photography is where you stand,” he states. Good photos are born in the mind, not the camera. Whether it’s trimming excess in a news report or excluding non-essentials in a photograph, the parallels between editing words and composing images remain vivid to him.

His most dramatic moment in the wild? Undoubtedly the heart-racing encounter in Tadoba in 2019, when the young tiger Chhota Matkasur launched an ambush on a herd of Indian gaurs -- with Moiz and his team caught smack in the middle. The tension, the chase, the blur of hooves and paws -- and amidst all that chaos, he managed to click a few electrifying shots. One even made it to the front page of a prominent daily. But perhaps more unforgettable was a childhood memory -- barely six or seven years old, tumbling off an elephant’s back during a safari in Kanha, only to find himself face-to-face with a tigress and her cubs. Miraculously unharmed, the memory still carries the scent of forest and a quiet awe.

Though tigers draw attention -- and rightly so -- they aren’t his singular fascination. For Moiz, nature’s drama plays out equally in humble corners. A spider trapping a moth at home, a Shikra diving for a dove, a water snake lunging at a fish -- all equally riveting. He believes that even the most overlooked creatures -- the ants and grasshoppers -- deserve the reverence we reserve for tigers and leopards. “Nature has no hierarchy,” he says. “Every character in her theatre matters.

”While he does not proclaim to be an ornithologist, his love for birds – whom he calls as nature’s beautiful creations -- is visible in every frame. Common sparrows or rare eagles -- he sees himself as a storyteller, not a scientist. The goal is not taxonomy, but empathy.

Ask him whether nature photography is more cathartic than journalism and his answer is gentle but firm: “Reporting was for others; this is for myself.” The newsroom was often a race; the forest is a sanctuary. There are no deadlines, only dawns and dusks, no editors -- only instincts.

On how the media can better handle environmental issues, his suggestion is insightful: stop preaching, start showing. “Rather than quoting experts, showcase successful community actions,” he urges. “Don’t tell people what to do -- show them how it’s done.

”What next, then? A rare snow leopard? A volcanic eruption? A glacier collapsing? “Actually, I’m leaning toward street photography,” he says with a quiet smile. “There are so many untold stories around us -- stories of people, markets, alleys, and moments that flicker past in a second.” With more time on his hands and no formal job constraints, Moiz is ready to rediscover the world with the same lens, this time tilted toward humanity again -- as always, in search of stories.

(Sample pics have been selected from Moiz's vast repertoire).   

When “Auto” goes rogue: A comedy of corrections

Raju Korti
The other day, Karnataka Chief Minister Siddaramaiah had the unenviable misfortune of reading his own obituary -- courtesy of Meta’s Kannada-to-English auto-translation tool. What was meant as a solemn condolence for the late actress B. Saroja Devi became a digital death sentence for the CM himself. One can only imagine his expression upon reading: “Chief Minister Siddaramaiah passed away yesterday…” No wonder he had to clarify that he’s very much alive -- and presumably not browsing tributes to himself over morning "philter kaapi. It is not for nothing that in the Indian context, one who has been mistakenly declared dead, is wished a longer life. Maybe an auto-correction!

This, ladies and gentlemen, is the dark comedy of the “auto” world where your words go on unsanctioned adventures. A friend once tried to text, “You have my full condolences,” and it turned into “You have my full condoms.” If you have ever tried explaining that typo at a funeral, you’ll know why autocorrect can be a career hazard in emotional situations. Another typed “I stand corrected” which, through the cruel whims of predictive text, came out as “I stand erected.” Not the kind of standing ovation anyone asked for.

Inadvertent humour!

Then there is the unforgettable edit of “The buck stops here” that auto-morphed into “The fucks stop here” -- which, to be fair, did make for a more dramatic political slogan. I once typed “Let’s do it at your convenience,” which became “Let’s do it at your convent niece” --raising enough eyebrows to merit a family meeting.

The word auto, which proudly means self, often hijacks the self and delivers it to a land unknown. It’s like your phone believes it knows you better than your own soul. You say Namaste, it types Nastiness. You want to say Mahabharat, it gives you Mahesh Bhatt. You type voting is sacred, it turns into vomiting is scared. Maybe all this automation needs an exorcism, not an update.

By the way, when a phone autocorrects without consent, does it technically become an automobile? Let’s face it: what started as a harmless spell-check genie has become a chaos factory. Autocorrect doesn’t just fix typos. It rewrites your fate. Somewhere between "send nudes" and "send notes," entire friendships have been destroyed, marriages questioned, and in Siddaramaiah’s case, a life prematurely declared over.

Moral of the story? Always check before you hit “send.” Or better still, switch off “auto” and take the wheel yourself before you are misquoted into martyrdom.

When light stands still: A quantum leap!

Raju Korti
I have followed the abstract mysteries of quantum physics for nearly five decades now, watching it evolve from an esoteric field into one that shapes our most cutting-edge technologies. Over the years, I have seen breakthroughs that changed the way we look at reality -- wave-particle duality, quantum entanglement, tunneling. But the recent success of scientists in freezing light may well be one of the most extraordinary advances in this space. It is a moment that makes you pause and rethink what you thought was unchangeable in nature.

To freeze light -- something that travels at 3 lakh kilometers per second and forms the very basis of time and speed in our universe -- is nothing short of astonishing. Light has always been the fastest entity known to science. Einstein built the entire theory of relativity around its constant speed. So the idea that we can slow it down, or even stop it in its tracks, sounds like science fiction. And yet, we are now at a point where this fiction is fast becoming fact.

Frozen light experiment

What does freezing light even mean? In simple terms, it means halting a beam of light mid-air, making it stay still, without losing its information or energy. This is usually done by passing light through ultra-cold gases -- like Bose-Einstein condensates -- where it interacts with atoms in such a way that it becomes 'stored' temporarily. Think of it like pressing the pause button on a running video -- except the video is made of photons. The implications are massive.

For one, this breakthrough opens new doors in quantum computing and ultra-secure communications. If we can store light -- and therefore information encoded in light -- we can build quantum memory devices that store data in entirely new ways. It could revolutionize how data is transmitted, making it faster, safer, and more compact. It also helps in creating more accurate atomic clocks, which are used in GPS systems, financial trading, and satellite technologies.

What excites me most is how this upends our assumptions. Science often proceeds by asking, “What if the impossible were possible?” Freezing light was once thought to be beyond reach. But this shows that our understanding of fundamental physics is still evolving -- and that nature, when pushed gently in the right direction, can be made to behave in surprising ways. It reminds us that laws of nature are not always limits -- they can be doorways.

As someone who has observed the long arc of quantum research, this moment feels both humbling and thrilling. We are not just decoding the universe anymore. We are beginning to negotiate with it. And with every such negotiation, we inch closer to technologies that were once only imagined in dreams.

When a book becomes a mirror: My journey with "Companions"

Raju Korti
Some books don't just speak to you. They whisper into your soul, stir your silences, and leave you changed. Sobati, written in Marathi by my long-time friend of over three decades, Chandrashekhar Welankar, is one such book. Its English avatar, Companions, which I had the privilege of translating, wasn't merely a linguistic exercise. It was a journey into the deep crevices of pain, dignity, detachment, and silent caregiving -- themes that had once scarred my own life in ways I hadn’t fully processed until I encountered this manuscript.

The emotional tumult began the day I received Sobati. As I turned its pages, I felt a strange stirring -- a pull so visceral that I had to pause often, my eyes clouding over, my chest tightening with memories I had tried to archive. I could not have anticipated how closely this book would echo my own life. The stories of terminal patients and the companions who stood by them -- quietly, faithfully -- weren’t just narratives. They were relived experiences.

In March 1982, my life took a cruel, irreversible turn. My father, a proud, fiercely independent man, suddenly became paralyzed waist-down due to spinal compression. He underwent emergency surgery, but it was too late. His nerves had degenerated beyond repair. What followed was an eight-year-long stretch of slow, excruciating decay. A man who once took pride in being self-sufficient now had to rely entirely on me, his youngest son, to pass urine and stools, shave, bathe, and be fed. He never accepted it emotionally -- and his sense of helplessness weighed heavier than his physical agony. His pain became mine. While the world saw me performing media duties on odd shifts with a steady face, only my nights knew the pillow soaked in silent tears. No one -- no agency, no individual -- was willing to offer the kind of committed care he required, even for exorbitant sums. Finally, I took it upon myself to be his sole caregiver. I became his Companion. I remained one until he died in my arms on a quiet March morning in 1990. After that, I felt as if someone had unplugged the meaning from my life. Unemployed, emotionally battered, and hollowed out, I struggled to find anchorage.

It was Sobati that gave me that anchor years later. Translating it became my way of honouring not just my father but the thousands of invisible caregivers who walk the thin line between hope and heartbreak every day. The stories -- delicate, sensitive, non-sentimental yet deeply moving -- illuminate the world of Companions who, though not biologically connected, choose to stand by someone on their final stretch of life. As I wrote in the Translator’s Note, “Somewhere in the narratives, I found myself returning to my father’s bedside, holding his frail hand, whispering courage into his tired ears.”

Companions isn’t just a book -- it is a call. A call to become that quiet, steady presence in someone’s time of darkness. It tries to build empathy around caregiving -- an act often unnoticed, uncelebrated, and emotionally draining. It isn’t about heroic sacrifice. It is about dignifying the last lap of someone’s journey with love, patience, and presence. This book, in its humble way, asks society to not look away from the terminally ill -- and from those who walk with them, one slow step at a time.

And none of this would have been possible without Shekhar Bhau -- as I fondly call Chandrashekhar Welankar -- whose resilience, sensitivity and vision have left me moved. That he should have penned this monumental work while caring for his own wife, Varsha, an extremely delicate kidney patient who undergoes dialysis three times a week, speaks volumes. Despite her frailty, Varsha has stood firm and unflinching -- not just by his side, but beside a larger cause. Together, they have given birth to something deeply human and revolutionary -- the Sobati Sanstha.

 It is more than a foundation; it is the start of a movement. One that I hope grows into a robust tribe -- a collective of Companions who don’t shy away from pain but hold space for it, who become that quiet shadow of comfort when someone is standing at the edge of life.

At the release function of Companions in Nagpur on July 5 -- a city where my father took his last breath -- I couldn’t help but feel that the circle had closed gently, silently. I had written in my speech: “Sobati didn’t ask me to revisit my past. It simply handed me a mirror. And in that mirror, I saw my father. I saw myself. I saw us.

”I remain grateful -- to Shekhar Bhau for trusting me with this translation, and to Varsha for being the quiet warrior that she is. May their work find wings. May more Companions rise. And may this movement ensure that no one ever walks their last mile alone.

Reminiscing the Emergency as a 19-year-old me!

Raju Korti
On the night of June 25, 1975, India, the world’s largest democracy, was brought to its knees. Not by foreign invasion, not by civil war, but by the hand of its own elected government. Civil liberties were suspended, the press gagged, opposition leaders jailed, and the Constitution was thrown into cold storage. That was the night the Emergency was declared. That was also the night I, a promising 19-year-old engineering student, had my political awakening.

I had no inkling then that I would someday trade equations and circuits for headlines and deadlines. But that night changed something in me.

Looking back, I realise India has weathered many storms -- Partition and its festering wounds, four wars with its petulant (and at times illegitimate) child Pakistan, crooked politicians, opportunistic alliances, and man-made disasters masquerading as policy decisions. But nothing has darkened our democratic canvas like the Emergency. Those 21 months between 1975 and 1977 were not just an aberration -- they were an aberration with a chilling echo.

(Pic from Prasar Bharati archives)

Indira Gandhi, a Prime Minister who evoked either undying loyalty or simmering hatred (much like Modi does today), couldn’t digest the thought of political defeat. After the Allahabad High Court invalidated her election on charges of electoral malpractice -- thanks to the irrepressible political jester Raj Narain -- her grip on power began to loosen. And Indira didn’t like loose ends.

So, under the pretext of “internal disturbances,” and with the ever-obliging President Fakhruddin Ali Ahmed reportedly signing the proclamation mid-bath (yes, literally), the Emergency was born. It wasn't so much a legal act as a desperate power play -- an authoritarian override dressed up as constitutional necessity.

At 19, I may not have had a PhD in political science, but I knew enough to smell something rotten. What I couldn't fully grasp was the depth of fear, repression, and sheer absurdity that would follow. I didn't need to read National Herald, the family’s PR bulletin disguised as a newspaper, to understand where the country was headed. I could feel it -- in the silences of those around me, in the paranoia, in the tension that wrapped every conversation in hushed whispers.

India was no longer a republic; it was a Police Raj. People, even school children, were locked up without cause. Saying anything remotely critical -- sometimes even nothing at all -- was enough to land you in jail. The fear was such that we started suspecting our own shadows. I remember stepping out only when absolutely necessary, half-expecting to be dragged off for a forced vasectomy. That wasn’t just a rumour. It was Sanjay Gandhi’s pet project: population control at scalpel-point. People -- young and old, men and boys -- were picked off the streets and sterilised. Voluntary consent was a joke. Masculinity, quite literally, was on the chopping block.

Indira’s idea of democracy had started to resemble a dictatorship -- but with a parliamentary garnish. Her pet excuse? The nation was under threat. From whom, exactly? China? Pakistan? No. The threat was internal. The threat was dissent. The threat was democracy itself.

The irony? The Emergency was meant to stifle opposition. Instead, it galvanised it. I remember listening in awe as voices across the political spectrum -- Jayaprakash Narayan, Morarji Desai, Atal Bihari Vajpayee, L.K. Advani, Madhu Dandavate, George Fernandes, Karpoori Thakur, Charan Singh, and many others -- set aside their differences to challenge Indira’s autocracy. The Janata Party was born out of that synthesis. It was my first real education in political pluralism -- and political farce.

When elections were finally held in 1977, India spoke. Indira and her Congress were wiped out. The opposition swept to power, buoyed by public fury and a hope for change. I was at rallies, listening to both Morarji and Sanjay, Charan Singh and Indira, as the political theatre unfolded. The mood was electric. For the first time, I saw an RSS march out in the open --silent but telling.

But power, like history, tends to repeat its follies. The Janata Party imploded under the weight of its own ego battles, leaving the people disillusioned yet again. Indira returned in 1980, triumphant and unrepentant. A two-thirds majority, no less. That’s when I truly understood: politics is not about ideology; it’s about expediency, selective amnesia, and public helplessness.

Today, when I rewind that era in my head, I wonder: what has really changed? We still have politicians blaming each other for the same sins they commit. Governance remains a tragic joke. We still elect leaders not for what they promise, but for who they oppose. Democracy in India has never truly matured -- it has merely mutated.

If there is one thing the Emergency taught me, it is this: in a democracy, the people don’t need to be powerful. They need to be vigilant. But vigilance requires awareness, and awareness demands courage. Sadly, both are in short supply.

And so, every June 25, I look back not with nostalgia, but with a strange mix of anger, disbelief, and grim amusement. It was the day the lights went out on democracy -- and the day a naive student like me began to see the country with unblinking eyes.

Never again, we say. And yet, I am not so sure.

The climate clock Is ticking louder but we aren’t listening!

Raju Korti
Let me say this upfront: the 1.5°C warming target -- that golden line we were told not to cross -- may be breached in just three years. Not 30. Not even 10. Three. That is not fear-mongering. That is cold, scientific calculation from a group of over 60 top climate scientists, based on hard data, not hype. If that doesn’t jolt you, perhaps this will: we have already used up 90% of our carbon budget, and at our current rate of carbon emissions -- over 42 billion metric tons per year -- we’ll use up the rest by early 2028. That is precisely the point where science says we are essentially locked in to a 1.5°C warmer world. Beyond that, things get ugly.

There is a reason why this 1.5°C number matter. Because it is not just a number. It is the threshold between disruption and disaster. That is the temperature rise since pre-industrial times that scientists believe could push us over into widespread, irreversible climate chaos -- stronger storms, severe droughts, deadly heatwaves, rising seas, and massive losses in agriculture. We are already at 1.24°C, and warming at a rate of 0.27°C per decade. That’s like watching floodwaters rise inch by inch and still thinking you have time to pack your bags and run.

Earth: From the frying pan into the fire!

Here is my physics and maths behind the panic: Earth is now trapping 25% more heat than it did just a decade ago. Picture a thickening thermal blanket wrapping around the planet -- mostly caused by the burning of coal, oil, and gas -- and you will get the idea. About 90% of this heat is getting stored in the oceans, quietly melting glaciers, raising sea levels (already up 228 mm since 1900) and bleaching coral reefs. It may not look catastrophic yet, but ask anyone living in coastal cities or drought-hit farms and they will tell you: the climate isn't waiting politely for 2100. It is already ringing the doorbell.

What is particularly frightening is how fast the window is closing. Just last year, scientists gave us a bit more time. Now, they’ve updated the math, and it is worse. We are not just off track; we are accelerating in the wrong direction.

It is not just my case that the implications are profound, because once that 1.5°C threshold is crossed, we are not just talking about warmer summers – we are looking at up to 40% crop yield losses in key global breadbaskets like the US, China, and Russia, amplified drought and water stress which already affected 30% of the world’s land in 2022, sea-level rise that could engulf small island nations and low-lying coastal cities. Worst of all, the triggering of climate tipping points like the collapse of ice sheets or the dieback of the Amazon rainforest that can set off self-reinforcing feedback loops -- the climate equivalent of a planetary fever spiraling into a coma.

There is, of course, hope but it comes with a deadline. Scientists say emissions must peak this decade -- meaning, within the next 5 years -- and then fall sharply. That means ramping up wind, solar, and other renewables, cutting fossil fuel subsidies, electrifying everything from cars to stoves, and, perhaps hardest of all, changing the way we consume and think about growth.

And that is the catch: physics doesn’t negotiate. Politics can stall, markets can wobble, but the laws of thermodynamics won’t bend it like Beckham. If we keep burning, the planet keeps heating. Period.

This isn’t about saving the Earth. Earth will spin on for millennia. It’s about saving us -- our cities, food, economies, and future generations from the climate we've already begun to unravel.

The Paris Agreement wasn’t just a diplomatic nicety. It was a lifeline. Now that line is fraying and if we wait till 2028 to act decisively, it might just snap.

The countdown isn’t abstract. It’s physical. It’s measurable. And it is now.

Tech snags have been happening; we are just noticing them now!

Raju Korti
After the tragic crash of the Ahmedabad–London Air India flight, what has followed is a string of incidents that has suddenly thrown the spotlight on the safety of Indian aviation, and while some of the panic is understandable, I can’t help but ask. Have these snags and scares really become more frequent, or is it just that we are now noticing them more because social media amplifies every turbulence in the sky?

It is hard to ignore how, within just a week of the crash, several aircraft across carriers have either grounded, returned mid-air, suffered bird hits, or made emergency landings. Air India’s San Francisco–Mumbai flight had to land in Kolkata due to an engine snag, another Delhi–Pune Air India flight returned after a bird strike, an IndiGo plane headed to Madurai was forced to turn back, and cancellations have piled up with Air India grounding at least 66 Dreamliner flights amid scrutiny over safety protocols. And there are many.

But all of this isn’t necessarily new. For decades, technical issues, bird hits, minor component failures have been part of flying life, only they were dealt with quietly, efficiently, and usually without any public drama, especially in a pre-Twitter era when pilots didn’t have to worry about passengers live-streaming their fear or media portals dissecting every maintenance log in real time.

(Pic representational)

In fact, I remember a time back in 2009 -- long before Indian Airlines was merged into Air India. I boarded a flight from Mumbai to Nagpur, and within 20 minutes of take-off, the pilot’s calm voice came through the cabin speakers: “There seems to be a problem with the pressurization, we’re turning back to Mumbai.” I still recall the look of anxiety spreading quietly across faces, some white-knuckled grips on armrests, some murmurs of nervous laughter, but the pilot reassured us with a “there’s nothing to worry about,” and we returned to Mumbai without incident, only to board a replacement aircraft shortly after. Nobody tweeted, nobody panicked publicly, nobody demanded an inquiry. It was one of those things you accepted as part of the flying experience.

Contrast that with today, where every alert message, every maintenance delay, every aborted take-off becomes a trending topic, dissected by aviation experts, influencers, and doomsday soothsayers alike. It is not that aviation has suddenly become less safe; it has just become more visible, more discussed, and more scrutinized than ever before.

What is interesting -- and concerning -- is the emerging economic fallout, with many fliers now second-guessing their travel plans, especially when booking with Air India, where Dreamliner reliability has come under fire, and understandably so. After all, when a crash shakes public confidence, every subsequent technical snag starts to look ominous, even if it is unrelated.

Flight bookings have reportedly dipped, passenger sentiment is jittery, and while aviation experts keep reminding us that air travel remains statistically far safer than road or rail travel, public emotion doesn’t always move in sync with data. It is also worth noting that India, despite a growing aviation market and ambitious fleet expansions, still struggles with the basics of safety compliance, engineering vigilance, and wildlife control near airports --factors that don’t necessarily cause disasters but do erode public trust if not addressed transparently.

To that end, I believe the only way airlines and regulators can restore confidence is through proactive transparency and visible action -- publish incident data routinely, provide context, invest in wildlife hazard mitigation, communicate swiftly when things go wrong, and above all, empower pilots and maintenance staff to speak up without fear.

The DGCA must enforce third-party audits more rigorously, and airlines must ensure that safety doesn’t take a backseat to scheduling pressures or operational cost-cutting. Flyers are not unreasonable. They do understand things can go wrong but what they demand now is reassurance that when things do go wrong, the system responds swiftly and truthfully. In a sense, this moment could be an opportunity for Indian aviation to rebuild trust not by pretending everything is perfect, but by showing that it is willing to acknowledge flaws, fix them, and keep the flying public informed every step of the way.

So yes, these incidents have been happening for years. Only now, they fly with us into our timelines, our chatrooms, our collective anxiety. The sky hasn’t suddenly become more dangerous. It has just become more transparent, more accountable, and more emotionally fraught. Whether that is a blessing or a burden depends entirely on how we choose to respond -- calmly, critically, and above all, constructively.

Dalals of Peace! When arsonists offer fire safety tips!

Raju Korti
I had a reason to chuckle when I read that Russian President Vladimir Putin has “graciously” offered to mediate peace between Israel and Iran. It is like the bull offering to supervise a china shop’s grand reopening. Of course, the Kremlin spin is all about diplomacy and de-escalation. But we all know that behind that measured tone lies the hallmark vodka of international hypocrisy -- distilled in barrels of geopolitical self-interest.

Peace brokering, once the domain of dispassionate saints and neutrals, is now an elite club of self-styled saviours with blood on their hands and contracts in their back pockets. Putin’s offer may sound noble, but this is the same Russia that has been carpet-bombing parts of Ukraine while shaking hands with Hamas and Iran, and simultaneously trying to rebrand itself as a peacemaker. That is like offering CPR lessons while holding someone underwater.

He isn’t alone in this pantheon of paradox. The United States, for instance, has long enjoyed its role as a serial peace broker -- offering olive branches in one hand while supplying F-16s and smart bombs with the other. Remember Trump’s “Deal of the Century”? It read less like a peace plan and more like a real estate brochure with armed footnotes. Yet, there he was, flanked by Benjamin Netanyahu and a few Gulf emissaries, like a wedding priest who didn’t bother checking if the bride and groom had ever met.

China, too, has now thrown its hat in the peace ring -- literally and figuratively -- with its recent forays into mediating between Iran and Saudi Arabia. A noble cause, perhaps, but coming from a nation that doesn’t blink while bulldozing dissent in Hong Kong or building artificial islands with military intent, it all seems part of a new "image rehab world tour.” This is Peace Manchurian!

Even North Korea -- yes, the Hermit Kingdom – has offered mediation at times, usually sandwiched between missile tests and threats of “sea of fire” rhetoric. If ever proof was needed that international relations are surreal, there you have it.

Let’s not forget Turkey, which under Erdoğan’s rule, tries to swing between NATO, Russia, and various Islamic blocs depending on which way the wind (and economic aid) is blowing. It once positioned itself as a peace conduit during the early Syria war days while offering passage to every shade of rebel from moderate to medieval.

And of course, there’s Pakistan. A nation with a long record of nurturing non-state actors offering to “facilitate” peace in Afghanistan, Kashmir, or any place where a microphone is available. It is the geopolitical equivalent of a fox applying for poultry farm security.

The irony of all this is not just in the hypocrisy. It is in the fact that these peace brokers rarely succeed. Their mediation is less about lasting solutions and more about leverage. Offering to broker peace gives them a seat at the table, headlines in the media, and sometimes a temporary halo over a soiled track record. It is often about optics, not outcomes.

And yet, the world plays along. Because peace, however thinly veiled or insincerely offered, is a desirable narrative. It keeps markets from panicking, voters from rioting, and international summits from becoming food fights.

So, is peace brokering a holier-than-thou pastime? Maybe. But it is also a deeply cynical charade that’s become international theatre. The script is familiar: start a fire, fan it a bit, and then arrive with buckets (or sponsors). Rinse, repeat, Nobel Peace nomination.

Everyone wants to be the fireman – but not without first striking the match.

Mending fences, fraying nerves: The India-Canada reset!

Raju Korti
It is almost surreal to see India and Canada restoring diplomatic ties after months of glacial hostility. The timing, on the sidelines of PM Narendra Modi’s G7 outreach, couldn’t be more telling. But even as high-level decorum resumes, I remain sceptical: has anything really changed, or are we simply glossing over deeper fractures that stem from Canada’s own political indulgences?

As someone who has tracked the Khalistan conundrum for years –in fact ever since it started -- it is impossible to ignore how Justin Trudeau’s government used the movement’s fringe but vocal elements as a vote-bank play. With a sizeable Sikh diaspora -- particularly in electoral battlegrounds like British Columbia and Ontario -- Trudeau didn’t just tolerate the Khalistan narrative; he coddled it. Public processions glorifying separatists, Gurdwaras becoming hubs of anti-India rhetoric, and open defiance of Indian sovereignty were allowed under the guise of “free speech.” Diplomatically, it was a slow-burning provocation. Politically, it was expedient.

But it would be patently wrong to attribute this phenomenon to Trudeau’s time. Canada has for decades provided safe harbour to pro-Khalistan elements. The Air India bombing in 1985 -- the worst act of aviation terrorism before 9/11 -- was plotted on Canadian soil. Despite overwhelming evidence, the justice process dragged on, with suspects slipping through legal loopholes. India’s repeated calls for extradition were met with stonewalling, often couched in concerns about "political persecution." Ottawa’s passive tolerance turned into what many in New Delhi saw as willful blindness.

The situation spiralled during Trudeau’s second term. The killing of Hardeep Singh Nijjar, a Canadian citizen and Khalistani activist, created an unprecedented diplomatic storm. Trudeau’s open accusation of Indian involvement -- without publicly presented evidence -- upended all channels of trust. India retaliated in kind. Diplomatic expulsions followed. Trade negotiations froze. Air bubbles deflated. A bilateral cold war was underway.

Now comes the unexpected détente. Canada’s CSIS, in a new threat report, has officially acknowledged that Khalistani extremists “continue to use Canada as a base for promotion, fundraising, or planning violence in India.” For New Delhi, this is no revelation. It is a long-standing policy concern. But for Ottawa to articulate it in black and white suggests a shift, however reluctant, towards India’s position. It is also likely an acknowledgment that global geopolitics, where India’s strategic heft is rising, can no longer be ignored for parochial politics.

Yet I don’t see this as a transformative reset. The deeper issue remains Canada’s domestic compulsions. Trudeau still needs support from Sikh constituencies. While the CSIS report marks bureaucratic realism, it is unclear whether political will follows. Will Canada crack down on the very networks it once tiptoed around? Will its legal system cooperate on extraditions? Will there be consequences for inciting violence against Indian diplomats?

India, on its part, cannot afford to let its guard down. The Khalistan movement devastated Punjab for over a decade -- costing thousands of lives, destabilizing India’s most prosperous state, and culminating in the assassination of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi. It is no dormant relic -- it has simply gone global. The diaspora-fuelled propaganda, often unchallenged in the West, poses a strategic and ideological threat to India’s unity.

The Modi government will likely tread pragmatically. Trade will resume, dialogues will continue, but trust will be rationed. Canada may have taken a step toward clarity, but unless it walks the talk, relations will remain strained, camouflaged under diplomatic smiles.

As a journalist, I have seen far too many resets turn into reruns. For this chapter to be different, Canada must do more than acknowledge extremism. It must act decisively against it. Only then can the bilateral ties grow beyond optics and reach substance.

Modi’s shells for Trump’s blanks!

Raju Korti
I cannot recall the last time a sitting US President -- the so-called leader of the free world – was called out so directly and so diplomatically by another head of state. Except perhaps when Indira obliquely countered President Richard Nixon during the 1971 Bangladesh war. But what Narendra Modi has done in the aftermath of Trump’s bizarre claim about stopping a nuclear war between India and Pakistan is nothing short of a quiet yet thunderous repudiation.

Let’s be clear: Modi didn’t just reject Trump’s assertions. He dismantled them point by point, each denial echoing louder than any public rebuke. And he did it without theatrics, instead weaponising protocol, precision, and political consensus. The 35-minute phone call, the immediate statement from Foreign Secretary Vikram Misri, and the polite but unmistakable snub to Trump’s invite -- this was India drawing a Lakshman Rekha around its sovereignty.

Trump’s decision to host Pakistan’s Army Chief, Field Marshal Asim Munir -- a man who runs Islamabad’s playbook more than the elected Prime Minister ever will -- reeks of vintage American expediency. The US has long preferred Pakistan’s men in uniform because they offer transactional clarity: deliverables without democratic messiness. But what’s galling here is the Nobel Peace Prize subtext. Trump clearly fancies himself as a peacemaker in a region he neither understands nor respects, and Munir was playing to that ego.

Modi saw through it all. The bait was to have Modi and Munir share a handshake, share optics, maybe even give Trump the photo op that secures his 'peacemaker' legacy ahead of the 2024 campaign. But Modi’s refusal was less about schedules and more about signalling -- that India refuses to be equated with a terror-touting rogue state in a false narrative of balance. Trump’s attempt to reduce a complex, asymmetrical conflict into a campaign soundbite was met with India’s doctrinal wall: No mediation, no equivalence, no interference.

This could well be the first time the White House has been so publicly contradicted -- not by hostile nations, but by a strategic partner. And that’s the real headline. The world's largest democracy has effectively called the bluff of the most powerful man in the world. Trump, in his trademark bluster, thought he could box India into a corner of gratitude and diplomatic obligation. Modi didn’t just sidestep that corner. He drew a red line around it.

The fallout? Expect Trump to escalate rhetorical brinkmanship, especially as election season tightens. The so-called trade deal may remain a mirage. Meanwhile, India has made it clear it will not be a pawn in any American Nobel-peddling mission, especially not one that sees radical Islamist terror as just another talking point.

To cut this long story short, Trump fired blanks. Modi answered with shells. And the world has taken note.

For Iran, it will be same turban with new threads!

Raju Korti
In the smouldering theatre of Middle East brinkmanship, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei has long been both director and symbol -- the black-turbaned architect of Iran’s defiant stance. Now, at 86 and reportedly in cognitive decline after a string of IRGC losses to Israeli strikes, he may be receding into the shadows of Iran’s secure bunkers. But the real question isn’t whether he’s losing his grip. It is whether his absence will change anything of substance in Iran’s power matrix.

Early signs suggest: not really.

Iran is not a country run by one man. It is a regime powered by institutional rigidity, religious indoctrination, and a tightly-woven clerical-military nexus -- a sort of revolutionary conveyor belt where one black-turbaned operator can be seamlessly replaced by another. Whether it is Mojtaba Khamenei, the son and soft-spoken shadow influencer with IRGC ties, or Alireza Arafi, the credentials-heavy cleric with multiple footings in Iran’s theological and constitutional apparatus, the next leader is less a pivot than a mutation -- genetically similar to the last, with perhaps just a different tone of voice at Friday prayers.

Mojtaba, in particular, is more than just a dynastic extension. He is said to have quietly consolidated power over the past decade, embedding himself within the IRGC's nerve centres and clerical courts alike. He doesn’t speak much, but he listens -- and pulls strings. His ascension would reflect continuity, not change. Alireza Arafi, meanwhile, represents the traditional clerical establishment and its firm grip on legal-theological legitimacy. His rise would placate the old guard while maintaining strategic alignment with the Revolutionary Guard.

Ayatollah Khamenei

Khamenei’s reported psychological collapse following the killing of his top IRGC aides isn’t unprecedented -- dictators often wither when their human shields are taken out. According to opposition outlets, he now resides in an underground shelter with his family, eerily echoing Saddam's last days. But unlike Saddam, Iran’s structure doesn't hinge on charisma or coercion alone -- it's an ideological machine with a self-replenishing priesthood.

Former President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, that ever-controversial populist with a messianic streak and a flair for the unpredictable, may eye this uncertainty as his second act. But he’s long been sidelined by both the clerical elite and the IRGC brass for his unpredictability and populist theatrics. Unless Iran faces full-scale upheaval -- not impossible, given the confluence of external war and internal discontent -- Ahmadinejad remains a footnote with an expired political passport.

Meanwhile, with Khamenei reportedly excluded from critical strategic meetings, power has naturally gravitated to where it always truly lay -- with the IRGC and the Supreme National Security Council. They are managing not only Iran’s war-footing against Israel but also suppressing internal unrest. As always, the supreme ideology trumps the supreme leader.

Ultimately, even if Khamenei is replaced -- or erased -- what unfolds is less of a transition and more of a handoff in a relay race where every runner wears the same uniform. Iran's strategic calculus, anchored in resistance ideology and regional assertion, is unlikely to shift just because the figurehead does.

In short, the turban may change heads but the headgear remains the same.

Assassination games in the midst of Middle East war theatre!

Raju Korti
I don’t know if I should be alarmed, amused, or just give up trying to understand modern geopolitics. We now live in a world where Ayatollah Khamenei was apparently on Israel’s most-wanted list, until -- wait for it -- Donald Trump said, “Nope, let’s not kill him.” This, from the man who once asked if nuking hurricanes was a viable option. And now Iran, feeling justifiably annoyed or theatrically vengeful, allegedly wants to return the favour -- by plotting to bump off Trump. This can give any Netflix thriller, a run for its money.

Let’s take a moment. Imagine that strategy meeting in Israel. Mossad agents in a dim-lit bunker, everyone looking deadly serious, and then someone says, “So we take out Khamenei?” and suddenly, a virtual Trump appears on a screen, gold curtains in the background, saying, “I wouldn’t do it. He’s not a bad guy. Terrible beard, but not the worst. Anyway, not as worst as my permanent scowl. Believe me.” And that ends the mission.

Then, in an ironic twist only the 21st century could cough up, Iran allegedly starts thinking, “Okay, let’s go for Trump then.” Let that sink in. The country accused of trying to flatten Israel with rockets now sees Trump as a worthy target. Not Biden. Not Netanyahu. Trump!

Of course, this is not to say the situation isn't dire. Missiles are flying, nuclear chatter is growing louder, and superpowers are flexing like they are on heavy dose of steroids. But wedged awkwardly in all this carnage is the spectacle of everyone trying to kill someone the others didn’t expect. It is like a game of geopolitical musical chairs, only the chairs explode.

Meanwhile, true to his form, Trump, ever the maestro of melodrama, might now pitch this as proof that even Iran fears him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he starts wearing a bulletproof vest in public and brands it “TRUMP ARMOUR -- Now Iran-Proof!” As absurd as it sounds, this could actually boost his approval ratings among certain voters who believe he personally wrestled Soleimani, the high-ranking Iranian military officer who served in the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps.

All said and done, it is a strange world where assassination plans are weighed and vetoed like dinner menu items. But perhaps the most bizarre thing is this: even in a scenario that looks dangerously close to triggering World War III, the punchline still ends with Trump. And not even the Ayatollah saw that coming.

Crash of reason: When social media takes off without a runway

Raju Korti
After the tragic Air India Boeing Dreamliner tragedy, something even more jarring has unfolded -- not in the skies, but in the space of social media, where a digital avalanche of opinions, half-facts, visuals and visceral reactions has taken over every feed and scroll. It is as though civil aviation has suddenly become an obsessive-compulsive disorder, a mania that has gripped everyone from armchair analysts to influencers with absolutely no aviation background.

Everyone, it seems, is now an expert, a safety auditor, or worse, a crash investigator --speculating on everything from fuselage fatigue to weather anomalies, pilot training to the conspiratorial leanings of black boxes, never mind that official investigators haven’t even scratched the surface yet.

Representational pic of the ill-fated flight

Theories mushroom faster than facts -- some dissecting Air India’s allegedly lax management, others praising its compensation packages with such emotion that one wonders if the writers are public relations officers in disguise. There are viral clips of tailspins and near-misses, infographics about the “miracle seat” 11A, emotional montages of victims, pilots being turned into either heroes or scapegoats, and an endless barrage of “top 10 safest airlines” posts, as if one can algorithm their way to a crash-proof existence.

Boeing’s reputation has become a punching bag for some and a fragile trophy for others, depending on who’s pushing the post and how much ad revenue is at stake. Stories about emergency landings are being recycled with alarming frequency, creating the illusion that the sky is literally falling. The black box, CVR, and DFDR are being decoded in amateur YouTube videos as if the very sanctity of crash investigation protocols were optional. Condolences are mixed with conspiracy, sympathy overlaps with clickbait, and what should have been a time of solemn reflection has turned into an open-air market of monetised grief and algorithm-fed frenzy.

It is hard to tell now whether we are being driven by a social media algorithm or a more disturbing human one -- one that thrives on immediacy over empathy, virality over veracity. In the name of information, we have built a parallel airspace of noise, where everyone is flying blind.

Grief has turned into a social media circus. 

Israel-Iran Conflict: A ticking bomb with global shockwaves!

Raju Korti
As someone who has watched international conflicts unfold over the years, I find the current Israel-Iran confrontation particularly unsettling. Not just for the immediate violence it entails, but for the broader ripple effects it threatens to unleash. What began as shadow skirmishes and proxy battles has now spiralled into a direct face-off, with both nations publicly declaring their intentions and red lines. One side has declared it’s prepared for an all-out war; the other has promised nothing short of full-force retaliation. When a country openly threatens to wipe out another’s oil infrastructure or dares it to accept the destruction of its nuclear program in silence, it is no longer just rhetoric. It is a scenario one misstep away from spiraling into a region-wide disaster.

What’s more worrisome is that this isn't merely a bilateral squabble. It comes with undertones of shifting global power dynamics, with the US trying to strike a careful balance -- disowning direct involvement while making it clear that Iran must not develop nuclear weapons. Yet the irony is hard to miss. While the US distances itself politically, its military footprint in the region still makes it a target, perhaps by design or by accident. And Iran’s arsenal of ballistic missiles -- many of which can reach American bases in Iraq and the Gulf --only sharpens that possibility. With Iran already launching hundreds of drones and missiles, and Israel taking out key Iranian military and nuclear sites, this is a conflict that has left the realm of plausible deniability. We are now in open confrontation territory.

But there may be something more at play here. One can't help but feel that the theatre of conflict has shifted from South Asia to the Middle East with uncanny timing. For decades, the world’s attention was locked on the India-Pakistan fault line, and to an extent, the Afghanistan tangle. Now, it is the Israel-Iran corridor that’s ablaze, possibly because of wider geopolitical recalibrations. Is this a deliberate redirection of global focus? Or is it the natural outcome of unresolved tensions that have long been simmering beneath the surface? Either way, the Middle East is once again the crucible in which international power games are being tested -- and this time, they come with nuclear undertones, energy disruptions, and heightened religious and ideological stakes.

One of the most critical flashpoints in all this is the Strait of Hormuz, the narrow waterway through which nearly a third of the world’s seaborne oil flows. A serious disruption here wouldn’t just affect Israel or Iran. It would send oil prices soaring globally, choke shipping routes, and hurt economies like India that are heavily dependent on imported energy. Already, oil markets are reacting nervously. Geopolitics is back in the driver's seat, and oil is once again the gauge of global anxiety. If the current tit-for-tat spirals into a prolonged conflict, the effects won’t be limited to missile damage or diplomatic fallout. They will be felt at fuel stations, stock exchanges, and dinner tables far from the Middle East. That’s why this isn’t just Israel vs. Iran. It is a moment where the world holds its breath -- and perhaps, as history has shown us too often, hopes in vain for wiser heads to prevail.

A few thoughts about Trump’s new immigration ban

Raju Korti
In a move that is bound to stir both domestic and global discourse, US President Donald Trump has signed yet another sweeping proclamation restricting entry from 12 countries -- many of them conflict-ridden or economically fragile -- while partially limiting nationals from seven others. Citing national security and public safety threats, Trump has cast the net wider than ever, echoing the contours of his earlier “Muslim Ban,” now with an expanded scope and a more forceful tone.

This isn’t new terrain for Trump. During his first term, similar restrictions drew fire globally but were upheld by the US Supreme Court. His justification remains consistent: protecting American citizens from "aliens" with alleged hostile intent or ideological extremism. This time, the recent terror attack in Boulder, Colorado, seems to have offered him the political ammunition to reassert his hardline immigration stance.

For India, and for nations observing the evolution of US foreign policy, this move highlights a persistent contradiction. The countries now barred or restricted -- from Afghanistan and Iran to Venezuela and Sudan -- have had varied relationships with Washington, often transactional, sometimes turbulent. In many cases, these same nations were once recipients of US aid, military support, or geopolitical backing. Afghanistan, for instance, bore the brunt of US intervention for two decades; Libya was once courted as a partner in counterterrorism; Iran’s rollercoaster relationship with Washington has swung between rapprochement and ruin. And now, they stand blacklisted.

For Indians who track US immigration patterns with intense interest -- particularly students, professionals, and families with diaspora links -- the implications are more than academic. Trump’s new proclamation doesn’t target India, but the principle behind the move raises red flags. The message is blunt: ideology and identity can override individual merit or due process when national security becomes the catch-all rationale. It also reopens the debate on how vetting processes are politicised and selectively enforced.

Globally, the move reinforces the narrative of an insular America, where fortress-like policies overshadow the country’s founding ideals of openness and pluralism. While Trump’s supporters hail it as strength, critics warn it chips away at America's soft power -- its global image as a destination of opportunity and freedom.

In essence, Trump’s proclamation is less about immediate threat mitigation and more about domestic posturing. But for the barred nations and their citizens -- and for the rest of the world watching -- the wall has indeed grown taller, both literally and metaphorically.

The Great Escape, Karachi edition: Jail breaks in real life!

Raju Korti
I have always been a sucker for a good jailbreak scene in Hindi films. Those dramatic moments where the hero, wronged by fate, outsmarts a comically inept prison guard and scales a wall to swelling background music. It is all very noble, very Bollywood. The prisoner is a misunderstood soul, the jail a flimsy set piece, and the escape a triumph of human spirit. But when I read about the real-life jailbreak in Karachi’s Malir Prison the other day (June 2, 2025 to be precise), where 100 prisoners bolted after an earthquake rattled the bars, my cinematic fantasies crashed into a grim reality. One inmate was shot dead, 78 were recaptured, and the rest? Still out there, somewhere in the chaos of Karachi’s streets. This wasn’t Bollywood bravado. It was a stark reminder of how fragile prison systems can be when nature and negligence collide.

Let’s start with Karachi jailbreak. An earthquake, that great equaliser of human plans, forced prison officials to move inmates from their cells to open areas for safety. In the ensuing disorder, 700 to 1,000 prisoners reportedly gathered at the main gate, and around 100 made a break for it. No walls collapsed, despite early rumours, but the main gate was forced open, and in the pandemonium, freedom was up for grabs. The Sindh Home Minister, Zia-ul-Hasan Lanjar, admitted to possible staff negligence, and a joint operation with police, Rangers, and Frontier Corps scrambled to regain control. The incident left one inmate dead, three Frontier Corps personnel injured, and a city on edge. It’s the kind of mess that makes you wonder if the prison walls were made of butter -- or at least held together with the bureaucratic equivalent of chewing gum.

(Pic representational)

What does this say about jail administration? In Pakistan, it’s a neon sign flashing “systemic failure.” The Malir breakout wasn’t a sophisticated heist but an opportunistic sprint triggered by a natural disaster. Overcrowding, a chronic issue, likely amplified the chaos -- Pakistan’s prisons operate at 152.9% capacity, with Sindh jails at 161.42%. That’s like trying to cram a family reunion into a broom closet. Add to that, understaffed facilities and allegation of corruption -- like the 2019 Sindh High Court ruling that wealthy inmates could bribe their way to cushy hospital transfers -- and you have got a recipe for disaster. The embarrassment for authorities is palpable: a prison breach of this scale isn’t just a security lapse; it’s a public relations nightmare that erodes trust in the state’s ability to maintain order.

But is Pakistan different, or are prison breaks a global headache? The data suggests they are rarer than Bollywood would have me believe, but when they happen, they expose universal cracks. In the US, a 2025 breakout at New Orleans’ Orleans Justice Center saw 10 inmates escape through defective locks and a hole behind a toilet. In France, a 2018 helicopter-assisted escape from Réau Prison grabbed headlines, showing even high-security facilities can falter. Globally, the World Prison Brief notes that prison breaks are statistically uncommon, but high-profile cases -- like the 2013 Taliban-orchestrated escape in Dera Ismail Khan, Pakistan, freeing over 200 inmates -- highlight vulnerabilities in underfunded or poorly managed systems. Developing nations, with overcrowded and under-resourced prisons, are particularly susceptible, but no country is immune when human error or infrastructure failure kicks in.

Are jails worldwide ill-equipped for their growing populations? Absolutely, in many cases. My research showed Pakistan’s 102,026 inmates are squeezed into 128 facilities designed for 65,811, a 52.9% overcrowding rate. The US incarcerates 639 per 100,000 people, one of the highest rates globally, with jails often doubling as de facto mental health facilities -- a role they are woefully unprepared for. In the Philippines, 85-90% of inmates are pretrial detainees, clogging an already strained system. Overcrowding breeds chaos: it stretches staff thin, compromises security, and makes rehabilitation a pipe dream. Pakistan’s juvenile facilities, like those in Karachi and Bahawalpur, are no exception, with kids packed into wards at three times capacity, facing harsh discipline and minimal education. It’s less a correctional system and more a pressure cooker.

The legal implications of jailbreaks are thorny. Escaped prisoners, especially those awaiting trial can delay or derail judicial processes. In Karachi, the recapture of 78 inmates is a partial redemption, but the 18-20 still at large could pose risks to public safety or, worse, rejoin criminal networks. Legally, authorities face pressure to tighten security without violating human rights -- a delicate balance when prisons are already criticised for torture, inadequate healthcare, and inhumane conditions. Socially, jailbreaks fuel public fear and distrust. Posts on X after the Malir incident described “panic in Karachi” and called it a “reflection of Pakistan’s crumbling law enforcement.” When citizens see criminals waltzing out of jail, it’s not just embarrassing. It is a sledge hammer punch on the social fabric.

Reforms are floated endlessly. Pakistan’s proposed National Jail Reform Policy in November 2024 aims to align with the UN’s Nelson Mandela Rules, emphasising humane treatment and rehabilitation. But without addressing root causes like judicial delays, outdated bail laws, and corruption, it is like putting a Band-Aid on a broken leg. Globally, alternatives like probation, community service, or electronic monitoring could ease overcrowding, but Pakistan’s probation system is understaffed, with Karachi served by a single officer. It’s hard to reform in such conditions.

So, no, prison walls aren’t made of butter, but they might as well be when systems are stretched beyond capacity. The Karachi jailbreak wasn’t a Bollywood triumph. It was a wake-up call. Until governments invest in infrastructure, training, and judicial reforms, we will keep seeing inmates slip through the cracks, leaving society to pick up the pieces.