The “Book War” before the book

Raju Korti
For any writer worth his salt, there can be no better publicity than becoming famous before the book is even published. Controversy, after all, is the most efficient marketing tool mankind has ever invented.

Which is why the unfolding saga around former Chief of Army Staff General M.M. Naravane’s memoir Four Stars of Destiny fascinates me not merely as a political skirmish but as a case study in how narratives are born, weaponised and amplified in modern India.

Book cover, a file grab

At one level, there is nothing unusual about a retired army chief’s book being vetted by the government. Military memoirs across the world routinely undergo security clearance. In the excitement of writing, or even unknowingly, classified details can slip in. It is perfectly logical that the Ministry of Defence should examine such a manuscript before it enters the public domain.

What is unusual is the government’s insistence in Parliament that the book “has never been published” while hard copies of it are dramatically waved in the Lok Sabha by the Leader of Opposition. Defence Minister Rajnath Singh’s assertion may be technically correct in a narrow legal sense. But in the real world of publishing, a book is very often “born” long before it reaches a bookstore.

Having authored books myself, I know how this works. Publishers send soft copies and proof hard copies to authors for rechecking. These usually have no cover, no ISBN and are meant strictly for corrections. Once the book is officially published, authors receive complimentary copies which they can distribute as they please, depending on their contract.

What I find difficult to believe is that General Naravane personally sent a finished copy to Rahul Gandhi. A former army chief cannot privately print and circulate his book. The only plausible explanation is that a pre-publication copy, whether a proof, a promotional galley or a warehouse print run, found its way out.

And this is where modern publishing realities enter the picture. Publishers do not wait for launch day to start printing. Thousands of copies are often produced months in advance so that distribution across the country happens simultaneously. The suggestion that Penguin Random House may have printed the book anticipating clearance is not speculation. It is standard industry practice.

Add to this the fact that magazines like The Caravan reportedly accessed the manuscript or typescript, and Rahul Gandhi later floated the theory that the book had been published abroad. All this points to one simple truth: the book, in practical terms, was already in circulation in some form.

Trying to “un-ring the bell” once review copies are out is almost impossible. In fact, the government’s attempt to freeze the book may have done the worst possible thing. It transformed a routine military memoir into a forbidden document. The harder it was held back, the greater its political value became. Thus, was born the book war.

Rahul Gandhi quoted alleged excerpts claiming that during the China standoff, General Naravane kept alerting the political leadership about Chinese tank movements and received no clear direction for a long time. According to these quotes, he felt abandoned and was eventually told to act as he deemed fit, inheriting what he described as a “hot potato.

”The government countered sharply, arguing that quoting from an unpublished book violates parliamentary rules, harms national security and goes against national interest. And somewhere in the middle of this shouting match sat the author himself.

General Naravane chose a composed, professional silence. He merely reiterated that his job was to write the book and that it was the publisher’s responsibility to secure MoD approval. Notably, he did not dispute the authenticity of the leaked excerpts. Nor did he join the political slugfest. That silence speaks louder than any press conference.

Now comes the most intriguing twist. Some voices are suggesting legal action against Penguin Random House for allowing the book to leak or circulate without clearance. This is a double-edged sword.

If the government sues the publisher, it effectively confirms that the book exists and that its contents are genuine enough to warrant suppression. It would amount to acknowledging that what Rahul Gandhi is quoting is broadly what General Naravane wrote.

For Penguin, the stakes are equally high. If copies were printed or allowed to circulate without formal clearance, they could face legal trouble under the Official Secrets Act or service rules governing former military heads. Yet, practically speaking, once pre-orders, review copies and warehouses are involved, total containment becomes a logistical fantasy.

What fascinates me is how a memoir about military service has morphed into a political grenade. Lost in the noise is a basic point about the Indian Army itself.

There are countless instances where the army has acted decisively on the ground while keeping the government informed. It is among the most disciplined forces in the world. It seeks political clearance as a matter of constitutional propriety, not operational weakness. And when circumstances demand, it does not hesitate to respond firmly.

If General Naravane was indeed seeking clearer directions during a tense standoff, that reflects more on administrative decision-making than on military capability. This was not 1962. The army today is fully equipped and confident of handling provocations.

However, if the excerpts attributed to him are accurate, they do raise uncomfortable questions about the political leadership’s crisis response mechanisms. Which perhaps explains the nervousness around this book.

In trying to suppress it, the establishment may have inadvertently amplified its impact. A memoir that would have quietly sold a few thousand copies has now become a national talking point. It has acquired the aura of a banned book, always the most seductive category of all.

I cannot help but wonder how General Naravane feels watching his unpublished work ignite a political firestorm. Is he amused at the publicity every author secretly craves? Or troubled that a professional account of service has been dragged into partisan combat?

Either way, his book has already achieved what most writers only dream of. It has become famous before it has even been born. And in this strange episode, we have learned a larger lesson: in today’s India, it is not just battles on the border that matter. Even books can become battlegrounds. All is fair in love and war, they say.

Apparently, in publishing too.

From layouts to layoffs: The brutal, ugly fine print!

Raju Korti
When a newspaper as storied and influential as The Washington Post is forced to sack nearly a third of its workforce, it is no longer a management story. It is an industry verdict. For decades, The Post symbolised the power of print journalism, the romance of investigative reporting, and the commercial might that once backed serious newsrooms. Today, even that citadel is cutting departments, shrinking global ambitions, and scrambling to reinvent itself as a lean digital-first operation after bleeding tens of millions of dollars year after year.

That moment tells me more about the state of print media than a thousand industry conferences ever could.

(Pix a Facebook grab)

We are living through a great divergence. On one end stands The New York Times, marching ahead like a well-oiled digital empire, stacking millions of subscribers, monetising games, cooking tips and product reviews alongside news, and posting revenues that many corporations would envy. On the other end lie hundreds of mid-sized and smaller newspapers gasping for breath, slashing staff, shutting bureaus, merging editions, and praying for advertisers who are no longer coming back. This is no longer a slow decline. It is a two-tier industry. A handful of global brands will survive, perhaps even flourish. The rest are fighting for relevance, revenue and dignity.

Print advertising, once the lifeblood of newspapers, has steadily migrated to digital platforms, social media influencers, search engines, and algorithm-driven content mills. Classifieds vanished first. Display ads followed. Now even brand advertising is chasing eyeballs rather than credibility. The economics that once sustained large newsrooms simply no longer exist.

And when revenue collapses, everything else follows. Overheads become unbearable. Printing costs rise. Distribution shrinks. Newsrooms are trimmed to skeleton crews. Restructuring becomes a permanent state of existence.

I have watched this decay from close quarters. Having worked with newspapers controlled by self-proclaimed pro-labour outfits, I have seen how hollow lofty slogans sound when survival is at stake. These were organisations that preached worker welfare in editorials while quietly handing out pink slips in offices. No increments for years. No promotions. Frozen careers. At times, brazen requests for pay cuts in the name of “difficult market conditions”.

The irony was almost comic, if it were not tragic. What rarely gets spoken about is the small but powerful coterie within many media houses that continues to thrive regardless of how badly the organisation bleeds. These influential few call the shots, surround themselves with obedient yes-men, and insulate their own positions while entire departments are wiped out. Journalists are told to tighten belts while executive privileges remain untouched. Ethics are preached downward and discarded upward. Long ago, ethics itself became collateral damage.

The print industry, in many places, has been taken over by over-smart operators and ambitious upstarts who treat newspapers not as institutions but as temporary profit machines. They squeeze what they can, cut what they must, and move on richer when the organisation finally hits the barrel. By the time a newspaper folds, their fortunes are already secured.

 Digital competition has only accelerated this moral and financial erosion. Today, people increasingly prefer consumption over comprehension. A thirty-second clip generates more engagement than a carefully researched exposé. A sensational visual travels faster than a nuanced article. Many would rather watch a lurid video of Jeffrey Epstein chasing young girls than read a serious investigation describing his crimes in carefully constructed prose.

Substance has become a liability. Sensation has become currency. Mainstream media has been overshadowed by public relations agencies, event management firms, spin doctors, social media strategists, so-called influencers and advertiser-driven narratives. The boundaries between news, opinion, promotion, publicity and propaganda have blurred beyond recognition. Everything is content now. Everything is branding. Everything is monetisable.

The result is an overkill of information that leaves audiences overwhelmed and oddly indifferent. In this chaos, traditional newspapers are fighting on two fronts. Financially against collapsing revenues. Credibility-wise against a digital ecosystem that rewards noise over truth.

The Washington Post’s retrenchment is therefore not a failure of one newspaper. It is a symptom of a broken business model struggling to adapt to a ruthless attention economy. The New York Times’ success, while admirable, is also a reminder that only scale, brand power and aggressive digital reinvention can offer a lifeboat. For most regional and mid-sized papers, that lifeboat simply does not exist. They are hanging on by the skin of their teeth.

Every round of layoffs is justified as restructuring. Every salary freeze is called prudence. Every closure is branded strategic transformation. But beneath the corporate vocabulary lies a simple truth: the old print economy is collapsing faster than anyone publicly admits.

I am often asked if I miss the newsroom. I miss the craft. I miss the conversations. I miss the adrenaline of deadlines. But I do not miss the hypocrisy, the insecurity, the silent fear of the next restructuring mail, or the knowledge that loyalty is usually rewarded with redundancy.

In a strange way, I am glad I stepped out of that vicious circle for good. Life on one’s own is tougher, financially uncertain, and often unforgiving. But it offers something the modern print industry increasingly cannot: dignity, independence and freedom from institutional decay. Survival may be hard, but it is honest.

What we are witnessing today is not merely a technological shift. It is the dismantling of an entire economic and ethical ecosystem that once supported serious journalism. Some giants will adapt and dominate. Many others will quietly disappear.

The tragedy is not just about newspapers shutting down. It is about the slow erosion of a profession that once believed truth could sustain itself.

Of Noam Chomsky and fallen conscience!

Raju Korti
I have taught Noam Chomsky’s theories and political ideologies to graduate and post-graduate students for years. More than once, I devoted entire sessions to his ideas, including two consecutive days of four hours each, unpacking the propaganda model he articulated in Manufacturing Consent. Between 1992 and 2002, I read Chomsky extensively, often nodding in agreement, largely because his arguments appeared benign, humane and intellectually honest. His critique of corporate media, power structures and manufactured public consent resonated deeply with anyone concerned about democracy and truth.

Chomsky & Epstein (file grab)

That long-held engagement makes what has emerged from the Epstein Files particularly unsettling.

The US Department of Justice documents have placed Chomsky among high-profile figures who maintained a sustained relationship with Jeffrey Epstein well after Epstein’s 2008 conviction for soliciting a minor for prostitution. Emails and records reveal multiple meetings in 2015 and 2016, dinners at Epstein’s Manhattan townhouse with influential personalities, and even Epstein’s role in facilitating elite networking. More troubling is the revelation of a $270,000 wire transfer from an Epstein-linked account to Chomsky, which Chomsky has described as a mere technical rearrangement of funds related to his late wife’s estate.

Chomsky’s defence rests on a narrow legalistic logic. He claims that since Epstein had served his sentence, he believed the financier had a “clean slate” and could re-enter society under normal social norms. He insists their conversations were confined to intellectual subjects such as science, politics and global finance. When questioned by journalists, his initial response was an abrupt “none of your business.” He has also maintained that the money involved was not a gift but a financial restructuring.

On paper, this defence may appear tidy. In substance, it feels disturbingly hollow.

A man is often known by the company he keeps. Even if one accepts that Chomsky was not directly involved in Epstein’s monstrous crimes, the choice to sustain a close and prolonged association with a convicted sexual offender is not a neutral act. It becomes even harder to digest when that association included financial dealings and personal favours within Epstein’s elite network. The optics are bad, but more importantly, the ethical judgment is worse.

What jars is not merely the contact, but the tone of dismissal. I am not the one to sit on moral judgement but advising Epstein to ignore public outrage over exposed sex crimes, brushing off legitimate questions as intrusive, and framing the relationship as socially routine suggests a startling indifference to the gravity of Epstein’s offences. For a thinker who spent decades dissecting power, complicity and moral responsibility, this casualness feels painfully inconsistent.

There is a popular defence now circulating among Chomsky’s admirers. One, there is no photographic or explicit evidence of his involvement in sexual abuse. Two, even if his personal judgment failed, his linguistic scholarship and political contributions remain intact. On the first point, the issue is not whether Chomsky committed Epstein’s crimes, but whether maintaining close ties with such a man after his conviction was itself indefensible. On the second, while his academic work in linguistics may remain untouched, the moral authority that once amplified his political voice cannot escape the shadow now cast over it.

This is where my disillusionment truly sets in.

For many of us who studied society through language, power and ideology, Chomsky was more than a scholar. He was a conscience, a relentless critic of hypocrisy and elite corruption. To see him entangled, however indirectly, in the orbit of one of the most grotesque figures of modern scandal is a profound shock. The maxim that even gods have feet of clay suddenly feels painfully accurate.

His defence strikes me less as a principled explanation and more as an afterthought shaped by damage control. Legal innocence is not the same as moral clarity. Intellectual brilliance does not excuse ethical blindness. When a public thinker who lectured the world on justice, exploitation and accountability chooses convenience over conscience, the disappointment cuts deeper than any academic disagreement ever could.

Chomsky’s contributions to linguistics will likely endure in textbooks. But his stature as a moral and political lodestar, at least for me, has suffered harm. Preaching social ethics while maintaining comfort with a convicted predator creates a chasm between thought and conduct that no amount of intellectual nuance can bridge.

The Epstein Files have done more than expose a network of abuse. They have stripped away comforting illusions about those we placed on pedestals. In Chomsky’s case, the fall is not about criminal guilt, but about perceived moral failure. And for someone who shaped my intellectual journey for over a decade, that is perhaps the most painful revelation of all.

India-US trade deal: Certainty after prolonged suspense

Raju Korti
The heart of the deal is simple. The United States cuts its tariff on Indian goods to 18 per cent from 25 per cent. India, in turn, lowers tariffs and non-tariff barriers on American goods to near zero in selected areas. India also commits to buying more American energy, farm products, technology and coal. A major irritant linked to Russian oil has been eased.

(Pic representational)

Both sides can claim a win. India gains immediate relief for its exporters. Sectors like textiles, engineering goods, chemicals and light manufacturing become more competitive in the US market. This matters at a time when global demand is weak and margins are thin.

The United States gains wider access to the Indian market. American energy firms, agri exporters and technology companies benefit. The deal also pushes India to reduce dependence on Russian oil, which aligns with Washington’s larger geopolitical goal.

In the short term, some Indian producers who face American competition may feel pressure. On the US side, domestic lobbies that dislike tariff cuts will grumble. But no major group takes a direct hit.

For India, the biggest gain is certainty. Exporters now know the tariff they face. That helps planning and pricing. The deal also signals that India is no longer stuck in trade disputes but is willing to cut deals with large partners.

Another gain is timing. This comes just after the agreement with the European Union. Together, these deals place India more firmly in global supply chains.

The US secures a stronger economic partnership with India. It also nudges India away from Russian oil without public confrontation. American exporters gain access to a large and growing market. Politically, Washington shows it can still strike bilateral deals that serve strategic goals.

The biggest irritant was energy. India’s purchase of Russian oil had drawn sharp US tariffs. This was the real tug of war. India blinked first here, though softly. It did not abandon energy security. It agreed to diversify supplies over time. The US responded by removing the extra penalty and cutting the base tariff.

Other irritants like digital taxes and market access have not vanished. They have been parked for later rounds. That itself is progress.

For the Indian economy, the effect will be gradual. Exports should get a lift. Investor confidence improves. The signal matters more than the exact tariff cut.

For stock markets, sentiment is the key word. Indian markets have been volatile for months. This deal reduces one big uncertainty. That is why futures reacted sharply. It does not guarantee a bull run, but it creates a firmer floor.

Export oriented stocks, energy logistics and manufacturing could benefit first. The wider market will follow only if earnings improve.

This deal is not the end. It is a base camp. More negotiations will follow on services, digital trade and deeper tariff cuts. If managed well, this could lead to a broader economic partnership rather than a narrow trade pact.

And for a piddly investor like me, who puts in two peanuts hoping for half a peanut, the lesson is simple. Big deals do not make you rich overnight. But they quietly improve the odds. In the stock market, that itself is no small comfort.

Our fond fascination for conspiracy theories!

Raju Korti
As expected, within hours of Ajit Pawar’s death in a plane crash near Baramati, conspiracy theories took flight faster than the ill-fated aircraft ever did. Social media sleuths, WhatsApp uncles, Telegram experts and part-time analysts all swung into action, confidently suggesting sabotage and dark hints about rivals, allies and especially leaders from his own Mahayuti camp. The official word, including that from his own uncle Sharad Pawar, that it was a clear accident was promptly treated as a minor inconvenience.

Plane wreckage site (file grab)

We Indians have a special fondness for conspiracies. We see them where there are none and miss them where they might actually exist. Nothing sells quite like a conspiracy theory. It comes with intrigue, suspense and the delicious thrill of believing that one knows something that others do not. For a sizeable section of suspicious minds, nothing ever just happens. Accidents, politics, office promotions, breakups, health scares, even bad tea at a wedding must have a hidden hand behind them.

This mindset does not discriminate. The moon landing was staged. The earth is flat. Covid-19 was manufactured. Vaccines are part of a population control plan. Climate change is a scam. Doomsday is always around the corner and the Holocaust, for some, needs fresh questioning. As if the world is incapable of producing an open and shut case.

India, of course, has its own well stocked conspiracy cupboard. Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose. Lal Bahadur Shastri. Dr Homi Bhabha. Sanjay Gandhi. Dr Shyama Prasad Mukherjee. General Bipin Rawat. The list is long and endlessly recycled. These theories thrive on familiar fuel. Government secrecy over classified files. Contradictory reports. Missing bodies. Inconclusive post-mortems. Silence where people expect drama.

In Netaji’s case, stories of survival and secret lives in distant lands refuse to die. Shastri’s sudden death in Tashkent sparked poisoning theories that still simmer. General Bipin Rawat’s helicopter crash in 2021 was quickly repackaged as foul play despite official investigations calling it an accident. Powerful leaders, it seems, are not allowed ordinary endings.

At a psychological level, conspiracy theories serve a purpose. They help people make sense of a frightening and complex world. They restore a sense of control. They offer the comfort of feeling special, informed and part of a knowing tribe. They turn vague anxieties into neat narratives with villains and motives, no matter how imaginary.

The problem is that the line between information and misinformation is now paper thin. Rumour and theory are no longer cautious cousins. They are loud, reckless twins. The media’s appetite for conspiracy is understandable. It attracts eyeballs and outrage. But the real responsibility lies with people. Applying the mind is still an option, even if it is no longer fashionable.

Sometimes, a crash is just a crash. And accepting that may be the hardest conspiracy to swallow. 

India’s biggest trade bet with Europe

Raju Korti
The India EU free trade agreement is being rightly described as a mega deal, not just for its size but for its strategic depth. At its core, an FTA is a simple idea. Countries agree to lower or remove taxes on each other’s goods and services so trade becomes cheaper, smoother and more predictable. What makes this agreement exceptional is its scope. Nearly all Indian exports to the EU will now enter with zero or near-zero tariffs, while India has opened its market wider to Europe than it ever has to any other partner.

For India, the tariff story is central. Today, Indian exporters often lose competitiveness in Europe because their products attract duties that rival suppliers do not face. With 99.5 percent of Indian export items seeing tariffs eliminated by the EU, sectors such as textiles, leather, engineering goods, pharmaceuticals, chemicals and processed foods get an immediate price advantage. In simple terms, Indian products become cheaper on European shelves without cutting margins. This directly improves export earnings and supports jobs.

On the import side, India has agreed to gradually lower tariffs on European goods, including sensitive areas like automobiles, machinery and high-end agri products. Car tariffs, for instance, will fall in stages from extremely high levels to much lower ones over several years. This phased approach matters. It gives Indian industry time to adjust, upgrade technology and become more competitive rather than facing a sudden shock. Cheaper and better-quality machinery and components will also reduce production costs for Indian manufacturers.

The broader economic impact lies in investment and supply chains. European companies are not just looking to sell to India but to manufacture here. With stable rules, tariff certainty and strong intellectual property protection, India becomes a more reliable base for global production. This fits neatly with India’s own goals of expanding manufacturing, integrating with global value chains and moving up the technology ladder.

Services and intellectual property are another quiet but crucial gain. India has long strengths in IT, finance, professional services and maritime services. Better access to the EU services market can help Indian firms scale globally. Stronger IP rules, often seen as favouring advanced economies, also help Indian innovators by protecting their ideas and brands abroad.

The agreement also reflects geopolitical realities. Europe is consciously reducing its dependence on both the US and China. India, with its large market and steady growth, is an obvious partner. For India, the deal signals credibility. Concluding the most ambitious FTA in its history tells global investors that India is open, predictable and willing to play by clear rules.

The US angle is equally important. Washington has traditionally preferred bilateral trade arrangements driven by strategic leverage rather than comprehensive FTAs. India and the US have no full-fledged FTA, partly due to disagreements on tariffs, market access and regulatory standards. In that sense, the India EU deal subtly shifts the balance. It shows India can strike deep trade agreements without aligning fully with US trade preferences. At the same time, it may push the US to rethink its trade engagement with India to avoid being edged out in a key market.

Looking ahead, this FTA is not an end but a roadmap. Its success will depend on implementation. Indian exporters must meet strict European standards on quality, safety and sustainability. Domestic industries must use the transition period to become more competitive rather than protectionist. If managed well, the deal can double trade volumes, deepen industrial capability and anchor India more firmly in the global economy.

In the long run, the India EU FTA positions India as a serious, rules-based trading power. It marks a shift from cautious openness to confident engagement. That may well be its most lasting significance.

Fury unfiltered: Outbursts, egos, and collateral damage

Raju Korti
When anger becomes a habit and not an emotion, it turns people into time-bombs. You can try to stay calm but beware the blast radius. The murder in Mumbai's suburban train and a Bengaluru couple’s deadly road rage, triggered by a minor brush with a delivery agent not long time back, -- not to speak of many such incidents -- has me dissecting the anatomy of fury.

If there’s one tribe, I go out of my way to avoid, it is the human volcanoes. The rage-prone, short-fused, loudmouths who erupt at the faintest provocation. You can sense them before they strike: stiff shoulders, restless limbs, darting eyes, and a snarl waiting to detonate. They rage at colleagues, terrorise subordinates, bully family, and pick fights with neighbours. What ignites them? Sometimes nothing at all. It is as if fury is their fuel, their fallback, their way of being. And you, the unlucky bystander, are expected to dodge the shrapnel of their barbed words and clenched fists. The Malad train stabbing fits this pattern disturbingly well, an eruption born out of a moment that demanded nothing more than patience.

(Pic representational)

Anger is a tricky emotion. At its mildest, it is a frown. At its worst, it’s a hurricane that knocks down relationships, jobs, and reputations. Biologically, it is a rush. Adrenaline surges, blood pressure spikes, heart races, fists clench. But when that rage is constant, chronic, and unchecked, it becomes corrosive. I am no shrink, but I have seen enough to know that most angry people aren’t really angry at you. They are wrestling their own demons: unhealed wounds, control issues, deep-seated insecurities. Add to this job frustration, financial insecurity, collapsing careers, failed relationships, loneliness, social comparison, unfulfilled ambition, substance abuse, and the quiet shame of perceived failure in life. The pent-up frustration often finds release not in words, but in fury, sometimes spilling into crimes like the one on that railway platform.

I used to think age mellows people, makes them less reactive and more reflective. I was wrong. Some grow old without ever growing up. I have had my share of angry episodes too. Who hasn’t? But over time, I have learned that letting fury speak for you is a one-way ticket to regret. One vicious outburst can wipe out years of goodwill. Sure, you may apologise later, but trust once broken doesn’t glue back easily. The damage is often irreparable. Sometimes, the only choice is to walk away. Let them stew in their own bile. They don’t deserve front-row seats in your life. Sadly, the young lecturer in Malad never got that choice.

What angers us may be circumstantial, but how we respond is deeply personal. You can’t always escape the triggers. Maybe it’s a toxic boss, a manipulative partner, or just the unbearable traffic. Or a crowded train, or a congested road, like in Bengaluru where a couple’s road rage ended in murder after a minor altercation. But you can choose to disarm your reaction. Meditation helps. So does physical activity. Even a ten-second pause before you lash out can save the moment. And let’s not pretend that bottled-up anger is any nobler. It ferments into bitterness and blindsides you at the worst time. Vent it, but wisely. Scream into a pillow if you must, not at a person.

What fascinates me is the psychology behind chronic anger. It often stems from a fragile ego, from people who believe the world owes them, who see disagreement as threat and discomfort as injustice. They externalise everything. Blame others, control environments, resist introspection. They see patience as weakness and ambiguity as failure. I call them the emotionally entitled. And anger is their armour. Problem is, no one wants to hug a cactus.

In the end, managing anger is less about self-help and more about self-respect. It's about recognising that no matter the trigger, you are accountable for the impact. Yes, anger is human. But left unbridled, it hijacks your dignity, relationships, and peace of mind. Perhaps it is time anger management stopped being an afterthought and became part of everyday learning, taught at homes, reinforced in educational institutions, acknowledged at workplaces, and addressed in public spaces where pressures collide. So, control anger before it controls you. Easier said than done, but try we must. And the counsellor in me comes to the fore as moderator. No small mercy that.