Neutral cricket commentary is pretence, bias is a given!

Raju Korti
Irfan Pathan has reportedly been left out of the IPL 2025 commentary panel following complaints from several Indian cricketers who believe his criticism of them is steeped in personal bias. As a veteran journalist who’s tracked sports commentary from the restraint of print to the unfiltered din of modern TV, this twist doesn’t shock me but it does demand dissection. Pathan’s exclusion forces me to confront a tension I have long observed: sports commentators are expected to thread a needle between objectivity and passion, yet the louder the game gets, the harder that balance becomes. Is Pathan a scapegoat in a biased system, or did he cross a line?

Let’s start with the hook. The reports, trickling out as of March 22, 2025, claim that during India’s recent Border-Gavaskar Trophy tour, Pathan’s critiques rubbed players raw. Some felt his jabs weren’t just professional but personal; one even blocked his number, a juvenile flex that speaks volumes about egos in cricket’s elite circles. The IPL, with its glitz and franchise fervour, amplifies these stakes. Pathan, a former all-rounder turned pundit, won’t be mic’d up for 2025, and the whispers point to player pushback as the trigger. But why him, when bias is practically a job hazard in this gig?

Pic courtesy Linkedin.

Sports commentary has never been a monolith. Back when I cut my teeth in print, the unwritten rule was “no rooting in the press box.” Neutrality was king. Or at least, we pretended it was. Radio demanded imagination; TV, once distinct, now blurs that line with garrulous chatter. National broadcasters like ESPN or Star Sports expect their voices -- think Sunil Gavaskar or Ravi Shastri -- to stay measured, enthusing over big plays without picking sides. Team announcers, though, get a pass: local radio jocks can cheer “their” squad, subtly or not, because fans expect it. The IPL, a hybrid of national spectacle and franchise loyalty, muddies this further. Commentators from Akash Chopra to Matthew Hayden often tilt toward favourites. Sometimes it’s patriotism, sometimes it’s preference. Gavaskar’s India-first lens, Manjrekar’s blunt edges, even Vaughan’s digs at rivals -- all carry bias, subtle or loud. So why crucify Pathan alone?

The answer might lie in degree. There’s no official rulebook for “good” commentary, but I would argue it hinges on knowledge, vivid expression, and nuance -- an arresting narrative that keeps us hooked. Pathan, with his player’s eye, has that in spades. His YouTube show “Seedhi Baat” thrives on straight-talking insight. Yet, if the complaints hold water, his IPL critiques veered from analysis into vendetta. I have seen this shift before: print scribes once lobbied for “their” players; now TV pundits do it on air, often cloaked as expertise. The sickening sycophancy for icons like Dhoni or Kohli -- where flaws vanish and praise feels scripted -- shows how bias can distort. Pathan’s alleged sin wasn’t cheering too hard; it was letting personal gripes taint his takes. That’s a bridge too far, even in a game where “we” might slip out.

But let’s flip the coin. Bias isn’t just a commentator’s vice. It is the fuel of fandom. Rooting for sports is an exercise in partiality; we tune in to cheer with comrades, not dissect in a vacuum. Listeners crave that echo -- Pathan’s edge might’ve resonated with some, even if it alienated players. The pretence of objectivity can be worse: I have tracked commentators who play neutral on TV, then spew opposites in columns or press chats. Double standards -- regional, national, personal -- shine through if you follow them across forums. Pathan’s no stranger to this; his post-exclusion pivot to YouTube suggests he’s leaning into candour over polish. Maybe that’s smarter than feigning balance in a biased world.

Still, there’s a craft to this. High-octane games test even seasoned voices. Pathan’s not new to the mic, so toning down rhetoric should be in his wheelhouse. TV clashes today often pit pundits against each other’s vested interests, not just viewpoints. It’s less debate, more turf war. I have cringed at the noise -- less imaginative than radio’s golden age, more performative than insightful. Subjectivity’s fine if owned; Pathan could have framed his takes as opinion, not gospel. Instead, if he settled scores, he handed players a cudgel to swing.

Objectivity’s a staple in journalism, but sports commentary bends that rule. Unlike hard news, it’s less reporting, more engagement -- viewers want to be enamoured, not just informed. Ex-players like Pathan bring baggage: passion, rivalries, scars. That’s their strength, until it’s their flaw. I would argue there’s a line. Professionalism demands it. Enthusiasm for a play? Sure. Passive-aggressive snipes or unchecked bias? No. Pathan’s case tests where that line sits. If he blurred it too much, his IPL exit feels like consequence, not conspiracy.

So, IPL 2025 will roll on without him. Was he unfairly targeted? Perhaps! Cricket’s ecosystem thrives on bias, from fans to players to the dug-out. But if his critiques were personal, not principled, he gave detractors ammo. Subjectivity is inevitable; balance isn’t. As I mull this, I wonder who’ll replace him. And whether they will fare any better in this loud, partisan game. For now, Pathan’s out, and the mic’s up for grabs.

Mah-K'taka boundary dispute: Flogging a dead horse!

Raju Korti
The Maharashtra-Karnataka boundary dispute, centered on (now) Belagavi and its surrounding regions, is a textbook case of a dead horse flogged intermittently to stir public sentiment, with language as the perennial pivot. Rooted in the State Reorganisation Act of 1956, which redrew India’s map along linguistic lines, the conflict over Belagavi, Karwar, and Nipani has festered for nearly seven decades. Despite attempts at resolution, most notably the Mahajan Commission of 1966, the issue remains a political lightning rod, reignited periodically by symbolic gestures, violent flare-ups, and contradictory posturing, even when the same party has held power at the Centre and in Karnataka.

The latest spark came last month when pro-Kannada groups called a 12-hour bandh across Karnataka on a Saturday, protesting an alleged assault on a bus conductor in Belagavi for not speaking Marathi. Tight security shadowed the demonstrations as shops shuttered and streets filled with agitators demanding linguistic loyalty. Belagavi, a border city with a significant Marathi-speaking population, has long been the epicenter of this tug-of-war. Maharashtra claims it, along with 865 villages, based on its Marathi-speaking majority, while Karnataka staunchly defends its historical and administrative hold, refusing to cede an inch.

The dispute traces back to the linguistic reorganization of states post-Independence. Belagavi, once part of Bombay state, was incorporated into the erstwhile Mysore (now Karnataka) in 1956, following the Fazal Ali Commission’s recommendations. Maharashtra, formed in 1960, contested this, arguing that Marathi-dominated areas like Belagavi belonged with them. Karnataka counters that Belagavi’s Kannada roots, evident in its dynastic history and land records, precede the Maratha empire’s 18th-century expansion, which shifted demographics but not the region’s core identity. The Mahajan Commission, set up in 1966 by the Congress-led Centre, largely sided with Karnataka on Belagavi but suggested village swaps, a compromise Maharashtra rejected outright, calling it biased.

What’s striking is how this sore has festered even under unified political stewardship. The Congress party, which dominated both the Centre and Karnataka for decades post-Independence, failed to resolve the impasse. In 2005, with Congress at the helm nationally under Manmohan Singh and in Karnataka, efforts to broker talks between the states’ Chief Ministers collapsed. Karnataka pushed for the Mahajan report’s implementation, while Maharashtra dug in, filing a Supreme Court petition in 2006 claiming Belagavi and citing insecurity among Marathi speakers. Party lines blurred, yet contradictions abounded. Leaders from the same Congress stable issued conflicting statements -- one day advocating dialogue, the next stoking regional pride -- leaving the issue in limbo.

This pattern of political opportunism transcends parties. In 2022, BJP-ruled Maharashtra’s Eknath Shinde rolled out welfare schemes for Marathi speakers in Karnataka, prompting BJP-led Karnataka’s Basavaraj Bommai to counter with grants for Kannada schools in Maharashtra. Bommai even upped the ante, claiming 40 villages in Maharashtra’s Sangli district. The dispute unites parties within each state -- Shiv Sena and MES in Maharashtra, pro-Kannada outfits in Karnataka -- while language remains the emotional cudgel. Karnataka has doubled down, renaming Belgaum as Belagavi and building the Suvarna Vidhan Soudha there, signalling permanence.

Yet, the deadlock persists. Maharashtra leans on Article 131, asserting the Supreme Court’s jurisdiction, while Karnataka cites Article 3, arguing only Parliament can redraw borders. The case languishes in court, and neither plebiscite nor referendum seems viable given the entrenched stances. Violence, like the recent bus conductor assault, punctuates the stalemate, amplifying linguistic chauvinism.

The Maharashtra-Karnataka border row is less about geography than identity, a wound kept raw by political grandstanding. That it endured even under Congress’s long reign at both levels exposes a failure of intent, not just governance. Language, wielded as both shield and sword, ensures this horse, though dead, will be flogged again when the next election looms.

Some thoughts on Trump-US Judiciary clash

Raju Korti
As student of Law, the first thing I learnt was the Indian Constitution, synthesized from the finer points of the American and English Constitution, was flexible. That in US, the Judiciary was supreme and in UK, the Parliament was supreme. The Indian Constitution with its federal nature and grey areas leaves scope for clashes between Legislature, Executive and the Judiciary. But what is happening in the United States is the Trump administration is now taking the Judiciary head on. The roots have shaken, and how!

The ongoing confrontation between the Trump administration and the US Judiciary marks a significant challenge to the American constitutional framework, where the Judiciary has historically been a supreme arbiter of legal disputes. Unlike India’s flexible federal system, which balances power between the Judiciary, Executive, and Legislature while allowing for grey areas, the US system relies heavily on judicial supremacy to uphold checks and balances.

The Trump administration’s defiance -- seen in its refusal to comply with court orders on issues like deportations and federal funding -- threatens this equilibrium, risking a constitutional crisis. Given the course it is seen taking, if unresolved, this clash could weaken judicial authority, embolden executive overreach, and destabilize the separation of powers, potentially leading to a precedent where political will trumps legal restraint, a scenario India’s framers sought to avoid by blending flexibility with accountability. I have not seen the American intelligentsia and media responding with an appropriate analysis beyond reporting bare facts as they are happening. 

The flashpoint has been the contentious issue of Venezuelan deportations. President Trump has escalated tensions by calling for the impeachment of US District Judge James Boasberg, who issued an order halting deportation flights of alleged Venezuelan gang members under the Alien Enemies Act of 1798 --  a move Trump claims is essential to his immigration agenda. This provocative stance has drawn a rare and sharp rebuke from Chief Justice John Roberts, who declared that impeachment is “not an appropriate response” to judicial disagreement, emphasizing the judiciary’s role as an independent arbiter.

The clash underscores a broader struggle over authority, with the administration pushing the boundaries of executive power while the judiciary asserts its prerogative to check such actions, a dynamic rooted in the American Constitution’s clear separation of powers among the Executive, Judiciary, and Legislative branches.

This standoff highlights the constitutional framework designed to prevent any single branch from dominating the others. The Executive, led by the President, is tasked with enforcing laws, yet its actions, like the deportation orders. can be reviewed and restrained by the Judiciary, which interprets those laws. Meanwhile, the Legislative branch holds the sole power to impeach federal officials, including judges, but I believe such a process has been purposely rendered arduous to protect judicial independence.

Trump’s demand for Boasberg’s impeachment, echoed by some allies like Elon Musk, tests this balance, raising concerns about a potential constitutional crisis if the administration openly defies court orders. Chief Justice Roberts’ statement serves as a reminder that the appellate process, not political retaliation, is the proper mechanism for resolving disputes, reinforcing the Judiciary’s role as a co-equal branch rather than a subordinate to the Executive’s will.

The Venezuelan deportation saga thus becomes more than a policy disagreement. It is a stress test of America’s governing principles. As the Trump administration defends its actions by claiming compliance with voter mandates, the Judiciary stands firm on legal precedent, exemplified by Boasberg’s scrutiny of whether deportation flights violated his ruling. Roberts’ intervention signals a judiciary unwilling to yield to executive pressure, while Trump’s rhetoric suggests an administration ready to challenge judicial authority head-on. This tension, playing out against the backdrop of the Constitution’s delineation of powers, could set a precedent for how far each branch can push its limits before the system either bends or breaks.

Recalibrating on Earth: Sunita Williams & Yours Truly!

Raju Korti
With age catching up on me and life gravitating towards more and more philosophical, I have begun to believe that Philosophy isn't just about cosmic issues.  Every day is full of events that raise philosophical, and even existential, questions: Something even as mundane as why do we eat the things we eat, work the way we work, go to the places we go. This time round, my philosophical quest has aimed for something much higher.

Sunita Williams: A NASA website grab

I watched Sunita Williams’ space odyssey unfold -- nine months stranded among the stars, tethered to the International Space Station, her body suspended in a weightless void. It stirred something deep within me. Nine months. A span that human foetus gravitates the womb. For the 59-year-old gutsy Sunita, this was a gestation of endurance, not birth, a quiet drift through the cosmos.

True to my latest affliction that Science can be on one side and Philosophy on the other, I was stuck by what was said upon her return: That it would take weeks for her to recalibrate. As in her muscles groping for gravity’s pull, her senses relearning the Earth’s firm embrace, her blood settling after months of floating free. Weeks to reclaim what once came naturally. And as I followed her physical descent, I couldn’t help but turn inward: what does it mean for me to come back to myself, when I have been given not months, but a lifetime, and still feel adrift?I am no astronaut, but I feel the echo of that disorientation. I think of my own returns, not from orbit, but from lifetimes I can’t quite grasp. They say we take multiple births, souls spiralling through existence, each one a chance to recalibrate, to find our footing on this strong but unstable rock. Yet here I am, still floundering. Sunita will eventually stand steady after months in the void. I have had eons, and still I stumble. My soul, perhaps, is like her body: unmoored, slow to adjust to the weight of being human again. Gravity pulls, but I resist, caught in some eternal hesitation.

She trained for it. Years of preparation for that descent, that recalibration. Me? I have had no manual, no mission control. Just the raw repetition of birth and death, each cycle a blunt reminder that I haven’t figured it out. The astronauts come back with data. I come back with fragments like half-remembered instincts, a vague ache for something I can’t name. They call it triumph when Sunita’s feet touch soil again. What would they call it when I open my eyes anew, still lost?

Sunita’s struggle was finite. Nine months, a capsule, a landing. Mine is boundless, a thread stretched across lives I can’t count. She adapted because she had to; I flounder because I can. The universe doesn’t demand my mastery, only my persistence. And so, I keep going, birth after birth, recalibrating not to Earth alone, but to the quiet, stubborn hope that one day I will stand firm. Not just in body, but in being.

Turning a blind eye to illegal immigration no more!

Raju Korti
On February 14 last, I had stated soon after President Trump signed an executive order cracking down on illegal immigrants: "By cracking down on illegal immigrants, President Trump has unwittingly thrown a juicy full toss at the Indian Government. I have a gut feeling that by agreeing to take back deported Indians, Modi and S. Jaishankar might use it as a righteous step to justify a parallel purge of illegal immigrants within India, repackaging it as a necessary step for national security and demographic balance."

I do not consider these words prophetic. This was no crystal-ball moment, nor a claim to prescience. But I was absolutely right. Within a month, India drafted the Immigration and Foreigners Bill, 2025 -- a sweeping legislation governing all matters related to immigration. It mandates stricter oversight of foreigners through compulsory reporting by hotels, universities, hospitals, and other institutions, with harsh penalties for overstaying and fraudulent documentation.

Though the bill does not explicitly name Bangladesh, its primary focus is unmistakable. The Ministry of Home Affairs (MHA) has intensified its crackdown on illegal Bangladeshi migrants, directing states and union territories to conduct “umbrella investigations” into those aiding them in securing Aadhaar cards and citizenship-related documents. The MHA's data reveals that between January 2024 and January 2025, 2,601 Bangladeshi nationals were apprehended along the Indo-Bangladesh border. Security forces have responded with advanced surveillance, night vision technology, and expanded manpower.

To no one’s surprise, Aadhaar cards have emerged as a key enabler of illegal migration. Many of these fraudulent identities were allegedly used to gain access to European and Middle Eastern countries. Officials have now launched a massive re-verification drive, instructing Aadhaar centers to flag suspicious applications. The “Dunky” route is universal with difference in degrees of the rigours faced in crossing borders.

The crackdown is evident in enforcement actions. Delhi Police recently arrested over 20 Bangladeshi nationals for illegal residency, while border forces have ramped up cooperation with Border Guard Bangladesh (BGB) under the 2011 Coordinated Border Management Plan (CBMP). Meanwhile, detention centers are seeing an uptick in occupants, awaiting deportation under Foreigners Regional Registration Office (FRRO) protocols.

This is a classic case of how Prime Minister Modi transforms both threats and opportunities into political leverage. With illegal immigration a global security priority, India’s move is not likely to face much opposition. The bill is self-righteous in tone, but it aligns with the international playbook -- securing borders, monitoring migration, and tightening legal loopholes.

One thing is certain: India is no longer turning a blind eye to illegal immigration. Or ostensibly so!

Depression is my struggle, Gratitude my strength!

Raju Korti
I have always wondered what’s wired into people who can’t feel gratitude. Is it something in their genes, some missing switch that never flips on? I don’t get it. Time and again, I have bent over backwards for others -- pulled them out of their darkest holes, been the one they could lean on when everything else crumbled. And yet, when I am the one sinking, when I need just a shred of that same support, they are nowhere. Not a call, not a text, not even a passing “how you holding up?” It’s like I vanish the second I stop being useful.

It has happened too many times to count. I don’t know if they are just insensitive, or if I am the fool for expecting different. Gratitude is burned into me, though. I just can’t shake it. The smallest kindness, a quick favour or a warm word, sticks with me forever. I carry it like a keepsake, turning it over in my mind when things get heavy. But right now, heavy is all I have got. They call it clinical depression, this thing I am fighting, and I am doing it alone, curled up in my shell like some wounded animal. The people I saved during their emergencies? They don’t even peek in to see if I am still breathing.

I keep asking why. Maybe it’s not personal -- maybe they are just built different. I have read stuff about genes and personality, how empathy and gratitude might be partly hardcoded. Some people might not feel that tug to give back, not because they are cruel, but because their brains don’t light up the same way mine does. Or maybe it is simpler: they are too wrapped up in their own lives to notice mine falling apart. I don’t know. All I know is I am tired -- tired of giving and getting nothing, tired of hoping for reciprocity that never comes.

It hurts worse with this depression clawing at me. Every silence from them feels like a knife twist, proof they don’t care. But then I wonder if they even know I am struggling. I have pulled back so far; they might not see me anymore. Doesn’t make it sting less. I used to think gratitude was this universal thing, some glue that held us together as people. Now I am not so sure. Maybe it’s just me, holding onto it like a lifeline while others let it slip through their fingers.

Such is life, I guess. Messy, unfair, and lonely as hell sometimes. I’m still here, though, fighting through the fog. I don’t know if they will ever show up for me, but I can’t stop being the person who remembers the good, even when it’s buried under all this weight. Maybe that’s my curse -- or maybe it’s my strength. Either way, it’s mine.

As I see it, there’s no single “gratitude gene” we can point to, but my research does suggest that traits like empathy, emotional sensitivity, and even the capacity for gratitude might have some genetic underpinnings. Studies on personality traits -- like those tied to the Big Five (openness, conscientiousness, extraversion, agreeableness, neuroticism) -- show heritability estimates between 30-50%, meaning genetics play a role, but environment and experiences shape how those traits play out. Gratitude, specifically, seems tied to agreeableness and emotional intelligence, which vary widely person-to-person. Some folks might naturally lean toward self-absorption or lower empathy, not because they are “bad,” but because their wiring prioritizes survival or self-interest over reciprocity.

That said, it’s not all genes. Upbringing, culture, and life circumstances can amplify or dampen these tendencies. Someone who’s never been taught to value gratitude -- or who’s been burned enough to distrust it -- might not express it, even if they feel it faintly. Then there’s the flip side: stress, personal crises, or just plain obliviousness. The people you helped might not even realize you’re struggling, especially if depression’s got you locked away in that shell. It’s not an excuse, just a possibility.

Your experience -- going all out for others only to be left hanging -- hints at a pattern that’s painfully common. Psychologists sometimes call it the “giver’s dilemma”: those with high empathy can end up drained by those who take without giving back. It’s not that they are all insensitive monsters; some might be, but others could just be caught up in their own worlds, unable to see beyond their noses. Depression makes this sting worse, too -- it’s like a lens that darkens every slight into a betrayal.

Why does this happen? It is less about “them” and more about human messiness. Reciprocity isn’t guaranteed, even if it feels like it should be. Evolutionary theories suggest gratitude evolved to strengthen social bonds, but not everyone is equally tuned into that signal. Some might lack the capacity, others the awareness. And honestly, life’s chaos doesn’t help -- people forget, prioritize poorly, or assume someone else will step up.

You are not alone in feeling this, even if it feels that way right now. Clinical depression’s a beast, and it’s brutal that you’re fighting it solo. I can’t fix that, but I can say your sense of gratitude -- your ability to hold onto even the tiniest kindness -- says a lot about your depth. It’s a strength, even if it’s cutting you now. Have you got anyone, even a small lifeline, you could reach out to? Sometimes people don’t call because they don’t know, not because they don’t care.

Tariff pe Tariff: Courting global trade war

Raju Korti
Remember the famous Bollywood dialogue, Tareekh pe Tareekh? Well, that's passé. The new global reality is Tariff pe Tariff. Nations are no longer just arguing over dates in courts; they are engaged in an escalating war of economic retribution, slapping tariffs upon tariffs in a tit-for-tat battle that is pushing the world toward a full-blown trade war.

The latest trigger has come from the US, where former President Donald Trump -- no stranger to economic brinkmanship -- decided to impose blanket 25% tariffs on steel and aluminium. Stung to the quick, the European Union (EU) and Canada immediately responded with countermeasures, imposing duties on billions worth of American goods. The EU's response alone matched the economic impact of the US tariffs, while Canada went a step further by mirroring the American levies "dollar for dollar." Even as other countries, including the UK and Australia, hesitated to retaliate outright, diplomatic warnings suggested that economic conflict was fast becoming the new normal.

It is obvious that this trade conflict is not merely about economic protectionism but about geopolitical posturing. The EU has framed the US tariffs as "unjustified" and "harmful to businesses and consumers." It is no surprise Trump's administration -- despite market jitters -- remains firm on its stance, seeing tariffs as a strategic tool to assert dominance. The result? Uncertainty in global markets, fluctuating currency values, and an overall risk-off sentiment that has driven investors toward gold and defensive assets. While the S&P 500 briefly rebounded, you do not need analysts to warn that the economic repercussions of this standoff could be far from over.

Now for my proverbial twist! While the world watches military conflicts brewing in Eastern Europe and the Middle East, another kind of war -- economic and financial -- is unfolding on a parallel track. Much like territorial disputes, trade conflicts have the power to reshape global alliances and fracture economic dependencies. The way NATO and Russia are locked in a military standoff, the US and the EU now find themselves on opposing ends of a trade battle. If history is any guide, economic wars have often been precursors to deeper conflicts, raising fears of a world hurtling toward an era of prolonged instability.

For India, a global trade war presents both risks and opportunities. On one hand, the slowdown in global trade could disrupt supply chains, increase costs of imports, and dampen exports, especially in key sectors like steel and aluminium. On the other hand, India could leverage the situation to strengthen trade ties with nations looking to diversify away from a US-China-EU-dominated supply chain. With strategic positioning, India might emerge as a preferred trade partner, benefiting from shifting global alliances and realignments. However, navigating this minefield will require deft diplomacy and a well-calibrated trade policy to ensure that India does not become collateral damage in the ongoing tariff battles.

Sobati – A poignant dialogue of Compassion & Companionship

Raju Korti
Illness does not merely affect the afflicted; it casts a long, relentless shadow over their loved ones as well. While patients endure physical suffering, their families bear the emotional and financial brunt, often with little respite. In our line of work, we frequently encounter caregivers -- exhausted, overwhelmed, and teetering on the edge of despair. They come seeking guidance, and as they recount their struggles, eyes brimming with unshed tears, our hearts inevitably ache for them. Consolation, in such moments, feels woefully inadequate. The stark reality remains: illness disrupts lives, depletes finances, and saps the spirit. We do our best to instil hope, for hope, as they say, is what keeps the world afloat.

The book cover

This very sentiment forms the soul of Sobati, a deeply moving book by senior journalist and writer friend Chandrashekhar Welankar. It is not just a personal narrative but a profound exploration of human relationships, resilience, and the quiet strength of companionship. Sobati chronicles not only the battle against illness but also the unwavering spirit of those who stand by their loved ones, offering solace in moments of despair.

Chandrashekhar Welankar is not merely the author of this book -- he is the living embodiment of the Sobati philosophy. The genesis of this book lies in his wife Varsha’s prolonged and arduous health struggles. What began as a seemingly minor ailment -- gallbladder stones -- escalated into sudden kidney failure, necessitating years of dialysis and, eventually, a transplant. Yet, even after enduring these painful procedures, the battle was/is far from over.

Through this deeply personal account, Chandrashekhar highlights an often-overlooked reality: illness is never an individual struggle. While the patient experiences the physical affliction, those attending to them (he avoids words like caregiver or guide) endure emotional and financial distress that is just as debilitating. Doctors provide medical interventions, but the ceaseless anxiety, the crushing weight of financial constraints, and the gnawing fear of uncertainty are borne silently by families. This is where a Sobati -- a true companion -- becomes invaluable.

A Sobati is not necessarily a medical professional or a trained caregiver. They may be a family member, a close friend, or even a stranger -- anyone who offers unwavering support, not through grand gestures but through the simple yet profound act of being present. Sometimes, just listening without offering unsolicited advice is the most precious gift one can give.

The book begins with the ephemeral, transient nature of life, its existential crises and an inevitability called death. As the book unfolds, each chapter resonates with raw, unfiltered emotions. The anguish of watching a loved one suffer, the financial strain of prolonged medical treatments, the sleepless nights spent in hospital corridors -- these experiences are heartbreakingly real. Yet, amidst this turmoil, Sobati illuminates the power of silent, steadfast companionship. In moments of crisis, words often fail, but a reassuring presence can speak volumes.

In response to his experiences, Chandrashekhar and his wife Varsha founded the Sobati Seva Foundation. This initiative serves as a beacon of hope for families grappling with medical crises, especially terminal illnesses. It extends not just emotional support but also practical guidance on financial planning, insurance, and accessing medical resources -- especially crucial for middle-class families struggling to balance healthcare costs with daily expenses.

Chandrashekhar observed that even after receiving a correct diagnosis, many patients and their families remain in the dark due to a lack of adequate information about the illness and its treatment. Recognizing these critical gaps, he took it upon himself to bridge the divide between patients and medical experts. However, in this role, he remains steadfast in his belief that the medical expert’s opinion is sacrosanct and must always hold the highest authority in the entire process.

Drawing from his eye-opening experiences, the author strongly believes that a Sobati must always remain attuned to emotional well-being while seeking expert advice, when necessary, without hesitation or doubt. In such situations, a complex interplay of emotions unfolds -- ranging from worry, concern, and anguish to anger, confusion, revulsion, frustration, loneliness, and even despair. Chandrashekhar outlines a comprehensive blueprint for a Sobati, envisioning them as a guiding force -- a source of strength and solace for the families of terminally ill patients.

When Varsha’s illness was first diagnosed in 2013, Chandrashekhar was devastated. However, by 2019, he had not only found the strength to heal as a husband but had also embraced a larger purpose -- supporting others facing similar hardships. He recognized that the families of terminally ill patients grappled with the same fears and uncertainties. From this realization, the first “Sobati” was born -- ready to inspire and pave the way for many more like him, serving as a guiding light for those navigating the same difficult journey.

Chandrashekhar underscores an essential yet often neglected truth: financial preparedness is an integral part of medical care. During Varsha’s illness, the staggering medical expenses ran into more than Rs one crore. Fortunately, prudent financial planning and the generosity of well-wishers helped mitigate the burden. However, not everyone is so fortunate. Through his foundation, Chandrashekhar strives to empower families with knowledge and resources to navigate these daunting challenges.

An ardent votary of “see good, hear good and speak good”, Chandrashekhar does not forget to say a few words of gratitude to all those known and unknown Sobatis who are like co-travellers in testing times. He remains indebted to the unknown Samaritan, who donated kidney to Varsha and virtually gave a new lease of life.

Chandrashekhar reasons that “to serve others better, a Sobati must prioritize own physical, psychological, and emotional well-being. This is not selfishness. It is believed that 8 out of 10 Sobatis neglect themselves, fearing it would seem self-centred. Even something as simple as watching a movie triggers a feeling of guilt -- How can I think of this when my loved one is so unwell?

Sobati is not merely an account of personal suffering; it is a universal narrative of love, endurance, and the quiet heroism of those who care. It speaks to anyone who has ever stood by a loved one in their darkest hour. Whether you have lost someone dear, are currently tending to an ailing relative, or simply wish to understand the depth of human resilience, this book will touch your soul.

By all accounts, a Sobati is not an entity, He is Thought, Compassion, Empathy, in fact a complete algorithm of those who appear as angels in different forms at different times while terminal illness keeps taking its toll. The book – free-flowing and lucid -- is dedicated to every individual who thinks he/she is secondary when it comes to his near and dear ones.

Every page of Sobati with its eleven chapters – each one intensely thought-provoking -- is imbued with poignant reflections. It does not shy away from life’s harshest realities -- pain, loss, and the inevitability of death. Yet, it also offers a profound message: while death is inescapable, the journey towards it can be made less painful with the right companionship. And sometimes, that companionship is not about fixing the unfixable but about walking together, hand in hand, through life’s most trying moments.

Chandrashekhar, certified Yoga Instructor and Lifestyle Consultant, has dedicated his life to social service, and Sobati is more than just a book -- it is the cornerstone of a movement. In a world where people are increasingly isolated despite technological connectivity, the need for genuine human companionship has never been greater. Through this book, Chandrashekhar urges us all to be Sobatis -- to extend a hand, to listen, and to simply be there. He leads by example and begins by being one himself!

The book’s cover design, a visual masterpiece by renowned artist Sharad Tarade, encapsulates its essence beautifully. Published by Amaltash Books, Pune, Sobati is an essential read, for its insights could prove invaluable to anyone, at any stage of life.

At its core, Sobati is not about one individual -- it is about a way of being. It is a philosophy of care, an ethos of compassion, and an unwavering belief in the power of togetherness. The more this philosophy spreads, the more humane and empathetic our society will become.

The book is love’s labour. It exemplifies dedication, commitment, sincerity and above all sensitivity to human existence. This book is not just meant to be read. It is meant to be lived.

[‘Sobati’, authored by Chandrashekhar Welankar, published by Amaltash Books, Pune, Pages 128, Price Rs 200].

I am a Syrian. War has stolen my world!

Raju Korti
For the past two decades, Syria has been my shattered home -- a place of relentless turmoil, where every breath is a testament to survival amidst chaos. I remember the days before the war, when Damascus was a city of vibrant souks, the laughter of children, and the mingling scents of spices and flowers. Those days are now memories that feel like they belong to another world, a distant dream.

When the conflict began, life as we knew it unravelled. Bombings became a haunting symphony that played day and night. Our neighborhoods turned into battlegrounds, and homes crumbled like sandcastles under the relentless assault. I watched my city, my country, disintegrate into rubble, the air thick with dust and the cries of the wounded. The simple act of finding water or bread became a perilous mission.

Fear became a constant companion. Each day, we faced the grim reality of losing loved ones to the violence. Friends vanished, families were torn apart, and the streets we once strolled down with carefree hearts turned into corridors of death and despair. The uncertainty was suffocating. We never knew if the next hour would bring safety or sorrow, life or death.

Education, once a beacon of hope, dimmed as schools shut their doors. The dreams of our children were buried under the debris of war. Hospitals overflowed with the injured, but the lack of medical supplies turned them into places of despair rather than healing. We became accustomed to the sight of lifeless bodies, the stench of blood, and the echo of unanswered prayers.

As the years dragged on, survival demanded impossible choices. To flee or to stay? To trust or to hide? We faced the gut-wrenching decision to leave behind everything we had ever known in search of refuge. Those who stayed continued to fight an invisible enemy: hunger, disease, and the ever-looming threat of bombs. Those who fled faced the harsh reality of life as refugees, often finding new kinds of hardships in foreign lands.

Despite the unending strife, moments of humanity shone through. Neighbours shared what little they had, risking their lives to help each other. In the darkest of times, kindness became our currency, and solidarity our shield. Amidst the ruins, we found strength in each other, clinging to the hope that someday, peace would return.

Two decades of war have etched deep scars into our hearts and our land. The struggle to rebuild is daunting, but the spirit of resilience remains unbroken. We carry the burden of our past, but with it, the unwavering determination to see a brighter future for Syria. In the silence after the bombs, in the whispers of those who survived, there is a promise that one day, our beloved Syria will rise from the ashes.

Life has been a harrowing journey of loss and survival, but within us burns the hope for a peaceful tomorrow. But will it ever dawn?