Living a hundred years? Oh, for dear life!

Raju Korti
Someone in his wisdom is reputed to have said that “you will live to a hundred if you give up everything that makes you want to." I have always smiled at that line half amused, half suspicious. What really brews a long life? Is it inherited luck, monk-like discipline, bland food and morning walks, or simply an unshakeable optimism that refuses to age? If life has taught me anything, it is this: longevity laughs at formulas.

I have known people who lived like instruction manuals. No smoke, no drink, eight hours of sleep, yoga at dawn, smiles on schedule and yet exited far too early. And I have watched others, best friends with cigarettes and sofas, casually outlive doctors’ predictions. The truth is messier, more mysterious, and far more human than any health chart allows.

In India, we bless each other with shatayushi bhava (may you live a hundred years). But not everyone longs for that milestone. Some fear becoming dependent. Others dread the slow fading of purpose. A few feel their life’s list is complete and would rather bow out gracefully than linger.

(Pic representational)

My own appointment with mortality arrived eleven years ago, on a hospital bed after a near-fatal coronary bypass. I suspect the doctors offered me a limited future measured in two years, simply because they had to be benevolent as professionals. Surviving that moment taught me something unexpected. When you are given life back, you no longer own it entirely. A part of it belongs to the world.

Not long ago, on a trip to Dharwad in Karnataka, I met a man introduced as 103. No fanfare. Just a dhoti, a kurta, bright eyes and a laugh that could shame youth. When I asked how it felt to live beyond a century, he pointed skyward and said softly, “All His writ(ing). No credit to me.” I touched his feet, not in reverence of faith, but in respect for wisdom uncluttered by ego.

He reminded me of Mike Fremont, the American who I read; beat cancer at 69 and sprinted joyfully past 100, thriving on plants, movement, sleep and sunlight. Ditto of the Japanese chef who refused retirement because purpose kept him young and  the Indian doctor who crossed 101 with discipline as his quiet companion.

Science now whispers of humans living to 150. Two lifetimes stitched into one body. Yet immortality, that oldest human greed, feels strangely unattractive to me. Because years without meaning are merely calendar pages turning.

And as I navigate my own chain of existential storms, I find my life captured best in these hauntingly beautiful lines:
Zinda hoon is tarah ke gham-e-zindagi nahi,
Jalta hua diya hoon magar roshni nahi. 

Xi's supremacy, absolute power in volatile times!

Raju Korti
The recent removal of a senior figure from China’s military command marks far more than another episode in Beijing’s long-running anti-corruption campaign. It signals the near completion of Xi Jinping’s project to bring the People’s Liberation Army fully under the control of the Party, and ultimately under himself. For the first time since the founding of the People’s Republic, the armed forces are no longer a semi-autonomous power broker but a disciplined extension of the top leadership.

This shift fundamentally alters the balance within the Chinese Communist Party. Historically, military leaders held immense political leverage, often acting as kingmakers during moments of transition or crisis. By systematically purging senior officers and dismantling entrenched networks, Xi has neutralised that parallel centre of power. The result is an unprecedented concentration of authority in one individual, surpassing even the dominance enjoyed by Mao in institutional terms.

Xi Pic Wkipedia grab

Internally, this consolidation brings both stability and fragility. On one hand, Xi now faces little organised resistance. Rival factions have been weakened, bargaining power within the Party has shrunk, and the path to shaping the next Party Congress appears firmly under his control. On the other hand, governance in such a tightly centralised system increasingly depends on personal loyalty rather than institutional feedback. Fear-driven compliance may deliver short-term order, but it risks suppressing honest counsel, policy correction and early warning of crises.

The purges also expose deep structural problems within China’s military, particularly corruption that had hollowed out readiness and credibility. Cleaning up the system strengthens Xi’s control but simultaneously reveals how fragile some of China’s hard power capabilities may have been beneath the surface. A military under tighter discipline may be more obedient, yet the disruption caused by large-scale removals can temporarily weaken cohesion and effectiveness.

For the broader political system, the message is clear: the era of collective leadership has effectively ended. Decision-making is now intensely personalised. This creates clarity in command but amplifies the consequences of miscalculation. With fewer internal checks, strategic choices will increasingly reflect Xi’s personal reading of risks, threats and opportunities.

Externally, this concentration of power introduces uncertainty. Regional tensions are rising, with several neighbouring countries adopting firmer postures toward Beijing. At the same time, China faces a fluid global environment shaped by great power rivalry, economic pressures and ongoing conflicts that affect its diplomatic space.

For Southeast Asia, Xi’s strengthened grip is a double-edged development. It could bring more predictable long-term strategy from Beijing, but also faster, more decisive moves when China feels challenged. Without internal counterweights, responses to territorial disputes, alliance shifts or perceived encirclement may become sharper and less restrained.

Whether China is entering a period of hardened stability or heightened volatility remains unclear. Xi now possesses unmatched authority over party, state and military. History suggests such concentration can produce bold reforms or dramatic overreach. What is certain is that China has moved into uncharted political territory, where the fate of a vast system is increasingly tied to the instincts of a single leader.

Balochistan, Pakistan's slipping grip and India’s tender spot

Raju Korti
When the world has become a headquarter of all geopolitical hotspots, its branch offices, by default, also have to vie for the attention and importance they desperately seek. I am referring to Balochistan which expectedly turned into a fire from a frying pan when it found the opportune time .

The largest province, not to speak of its mineral-rich terrain, has deteriorated sharply, marked by coordinated, series of assaults from the Balochistan Liberation Army (BLA), leaving hundreds of civilians, security personnel and militants dead in the last two months. By all accounts, this is the fiercest stage of their uprising encompassing 14 cities amidst claims and counter-claims, pushing the region to a potential collapse.

(The green hotspot)

Pakistani forces, as only expected, have responded with counter-measures to smother the BLA attacks but the damages are also beyond military operations, spilling over to hit essential services like internet and electricity. In the run up to the Balochistan’s case for self-determination, what strikes me is the strange situation Pakistan finds itself in. It is poetic justice if an antidote is served to you for the very poison you spread. This is what will result. Later if not sooner.

True to Pakistan’s political posturing, where confessions are usually made later in the day, Defence Minister Khwaja Asif's candid admission in the National Assembly highlights the core challenges and establishment’s helplessness: Balochistan's vast geography, spanning over 347,000 square kilometers, makes it a "gigantic task" to manage, especially compared to more densely policed provinces like Punjab and Sindh.

There is an obvious resigned note in Asif’s submission. The insurgents' advantage in terrain, their possession of advanced weaponry while Pakistani security forces face shortages of comparable gear. That this escalation stems from longstanding grievances rooted in economic exploitation and political marginalisation is already known.

Balochistan holds immense mineral wealth, including 5.9 billion tons of copper-gold ore and untapped rare earth elements potentially worth 6-8 trillion dollars, yet locals receive only 2 percent royalties from mining deals. Enforced disappearances, poverty, and the perception of the province as "collective property" mismanaged by Islamabad fuel separatist sentiment.

The insurgency, mostly in the form of skirmishes, has been ongoing since the 1940s following Balochistan's contested accession to Pakistan. It has, however, evolved into a low-scale but persistent conflict involving nationalist groups demanding autonomy or independence. The reason is not far to seek. What has flared up the issue is the recent violence disrupting key projects like the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC), threatening Beijing's investments and prompting fears that instability could spill over into neighbouring regions.

For all their professed bravado, as is its wont, Pakistan's military, already stretched by economic woes and threats in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, appears handicapped, with Asif's remarks signalling a crisis of resources and strategy. Then there are predictable accusations of backing from Afghanistan and India, but these only serve to deflect from internal failures. Or so Baloch activist Mir Yar Baloch believes.

Pakistan's response reveals a trajectory toward resignation rather than resolution. Security operations continue, with over 200 militants reportedly killed in retaliatory actions, yet the insurgency's decentralised, networked tactics, hit-and-run assaults, propaganda via satellite uplinks, and transnational linkages, evade traditional control.

The state's writ has eroded to the point where military patrols avoid nighttime operations in 80 percent of the province, and attacks have reached government secretariats. Chief Minister Sarfraz Bugti's assertion that solutions lie with the military rather than dialogue further entrenches alienation, as enforced disappearances and human rights abuses drive youth, women, and elders into the fray.

It needs no expert view as this deadlock leaves the conflict stalled on the battlefield. It is not altogether surprising that there have been no territorial gains but only rising fatalities, reported at whopping 60 percent increase in incidents in 2025 alone. Islamabad has lived up to its well-guarded reputation of living in denial; economic strain be damned. It only points to a creeping acceptance of diminished control, risking provincial fragmentation if unrest persists.

Anything that happens or concerns Pakistan, India cannot be kept out anywhichways. Wittingly or unwittingly, India occupies a pivotal yet cautious position in these dynamics. Baloch leaders, including Mir Yar Baloch, president of the Free Balochistan Movement, have repeatedly appealed for New Delhi's moral, political, diplomatic, and economic support, viewing India as a counterweight to Pakistan's occupation since 1948.Mir Yar Baloch has emphasised mutual benefits in technology, economy, and peace, while rejecting accusations of Indian backing as Pakistani propaganda to cover failures. This probably hurts Pakistan more than the Baloch uprising per se. Baloch claims his forces could liberate the province in a week with fighter jets and weapons, and has invited international scrutiny, including from India, to expose alleged abuses like mosque bombardments and mass graves. Notably, same suicide bomber practices that have become popular after the LTTE gave it international recognition. No surprises that Pakistan, in turn, accuses India of sponsoring terrorism, with Interior Minister Mohsin Naqvi citing evidence of support for Baloch militants. However, these claims lack independent verification and align with Islamabad's pattern of externalising blame.

For India it is a tricky and cautious situation where engagement must balance strategic interests with risks. The insurgency threatens CPEC, a Chinese initiative India opposes due to its passage through disputed territories, potentially weakening Pakistan's western flank and diverting its military focus from the eastern border. Yet direct involvement could escalate tensions, inviting accusations of interference and straining relations with global powers wary of regional balkanisation.

A "Greater Balochistan" narrative, encompassing parts of Iran and Afghanistan, adds complexity, as US strikes on Iran could further destabilise the area, creating ungoverned spaces that benefit militants and endanger Central Asia. India should prioritise non-military avenues: amplify Baloch voices in international forums like the UN, push for investigations into human rights violations, and offer humanitarian aid through multilateral channels. Economically, fostering ties with Baloch diaspora and exploring post-conflict partnerships in resources could position India favourably, but only if pursued diplomatically to avoid direct confrontation. Supporting dialogue between Islamabad and Baloch representatives, while condemning violence, would align with India's democratic ethos and long-term stability goals in South Asia. Much will depend on the walk India talks.

I suspect, in the final analysis, India's restraint could pressure Pakistan toward concessions, preventing a full surrender but that might only invite broader chaos.

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.