Mates & checkmates on the Gaza chess board!

Raju Korti
When I first examined the Board of Peace proposal, I saw an idea that reflects both ambition and unresolved tension. At its core, the board is meant to shepherd Gaza’s fragile ceasefire into a durable peace by overseeing disarmament of Hamas, reconstruction of civil society, establishment of governance structures, and deployment of an international security force. The United Nations Security Council endorsed a temporary mandate for it through 2027, but the initiative is clearly shaped in the image of its chief architect, President Donald Trump, who will chair the board and call many of the shots.

The first question that jumps out is simple: who supports this effort and why? Countries like Hungary and Vietnam have already accepted invitations to serve as founding members, while others such as Argentina, Egypt, Kazakhstan, Canada, Turkey, Jordan and Albania are reported to have been invited and, in some cases, have indicated participation. India has received an invitation as well and will decide after internal consultation. The fact that invitations have gone out to about 60 nations, including Greece, Pakistan, and Cyprus, shows the US desire to present this as a wide, inclusive undertaking.

At the same time, several major players have expressed reservations or declined outright. France, under President Emmanuel Macron, has declined the invitation, voicing concerns that the board’s charter goes beyond a Gaza focus and could undercut the United Nations’ role in global peace architecture. Other traditional US allies in Europe are “weighing” their positions carefully, with Germany consulting EU partners before committing. The United Kingdom, Australia, Brazil and others have been invited but are studying the proposal and its implications before signalling full support.

In this unfolding geography of support and hesitation, the stakes for each country vary. For the United States, the board is not just about ending violence in Gaza; it is an attempt to reshape multilateral peace efforts around a new institutional form that places Washington, and Trump in particular, at its centre. Critics argue that this could weaken the UN’s traditional peace-making role because the board’s powers and wide mandate appear to extend beyond just Gaza.

For India, an invitation represents diplomatic balancing: New Delhi can engage in an initiative aimed at peace and reconstruction while navigating its own ties with key partners. India’s strategic interest in the Middle East, including energy and diaspora concerns, means participation could bolster its global profile if handled carefully. Russia’s reaction is more cautious; Moscow has acknowledged it has received an invitation and is assessing the “nuances” of the proposal, mindful of its own geopolitical rivalry with the U.S. and its war in Ukraine.

The position of Israel, arguably the most directly affected state, is complicated and perhaps the most telling. On one level, Israel’s government was invited to be part of the board. Yet the response from Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has been critical, particularly of the board’s composition, which includes countries like Turkey and Qatar that Israel views with deep suspicion. Netanyahu emphasised that this initiative was not coordinated with Israel and runs contrary to its policy positions. At home, hardline figures like the finance minister have rejected the board outright, favouring military action against Hamas instead.

This is where Israel’s misgivings with the United States emerge most vividly. The two allies, long aligned on security issues, are at odds about the role of third-party international actors in Gaza’s future. While the U.S. pushes a multilateral reconstruction and oversight mechanism, Israel fears that such a board could dilute its security prerogatives and legitimacy in the eyes of Arab and Muslim states. Publicly, the U.S. underscores the board’s peace goals; privately, Israeli leaders have signalled discomfort with external actors who have historically supported Hamas or are hostile to Israeli strategic interests.

Beyond these headline dynamics, there are deeper peripheral issues that any serious analysis must acknowledge. First, the board’s financing model, which reportedly offers permanent membership in return for contributions of at least $1 billion, raises concerns about equity and influence. Wealthier states could dominate decision-making, while poorer countries may be relegated to short terms with limited impact. Second, the absence of Palestinian representatives in initial governance discussions, according to some reports, fuels criticism that the board risks making decisions about Gaza without adequately involving those whom its decisions will affect most. Finally, the very context in which this board arises, a fragile ceasefire amid ongoing humanitarian crisis, means that any institutional body will be tested by the realities on the ground: food insecurity, displacement, fractured governance, and deep mistrust among the parties.

So what holds out for this proposed peace board? Its strength lies in its ambition to combine political, security and reconstruction efforts in a single forum. If widely supported and well-funded, it could offer a coherent platform to coordinate ceasefire enforcement, peacebuilding and economic recovery in Gaza.

But workability remains uncertain. The divergent interests of participating states, the burden of financing, the lack of clarity on its legal authority vis-à-vis the United Nations, and the unresolved tension between Israel and key members all pose real challenges. Participation from polarised actors like Pakistan and Turkey may complicate consensus, even as invitations to states like India and Canada indicate broad diplomatic interest.

In the final analysis, the Board of Peace sits at the intersection of aspiration and realpolitik. It embodies the desire for a new approach to conflict resolution in one of the most intractable disputes of our time. Yet its future will be determined less by its lofty goals and more by the willingness of major powers to reconcile their strategic calculations with the urgent needs of the people in Gaza. 

लोकांची न संपणारी क्रूर चेष्टा

राजू कोर्ती   
लोकशाही म्हणजे लोकांची सत्ता, असे आपण अजूनही अभिमानाने उच्चारतो. पण आरसा समोर धरला तर दिसते ती सत्तेची नाही, तर लोकांच्या हतबलतेची विदारक कहाणी. ज्यांच्या नावावर सत्ता उभी आहे, तेच लोक आज सर्वात जास्त फसवले जात आहेत, हे कटू सत्य स्वीकारायला आपण तयार नाही. ही चेष्टा साधी नाही, ही क्रूर चेष्टा आहे.

ह्यांचे आमदार त्यांच्या संपर्कात, त्यांचे खासदार ह्यांच्या संपर्कात, नगरसेवकांची फोन डायरी म्हणजे सत्तेची अदलाबदल करणारे चलन झाले आहे. प्रत्येक पाऊल राजकीय खेळीच असायला हवे का? माणूस म्हणून, विचारधारा म्हणून, तत्त्व म्हणून काहीच उरले नाही का? मग ज्याला तुम्ही कालपर्यंत छातीठोकपणे आयडिओलॉजी म्हणत होता, ती आज इतक्या सहजपणे कशी विसरता येते? आणि त्याहून धक्कादायक म्हणजे, ती विसरलेली गोष्ट लोकांसमोर निर्लज्जपणे कशी मिरवता येते?

मी माझ्या ४५ वर्षाच्या कारकीर्दीत अनेक स्तरावरच्या निवडणुका आणि शेकडो राजकीय घडामोडी कव्हर केल्या पण इतकी दारुण अवस्था कधीच बघितली नाही. पंचेचाळीस वर्षे निवडणुका, सत्तांतर, उठाठेव पाहिल्यानंतर हे स्पष्ट झाले आहे की राजकारणात चांगले आणि वाईट लोक सगळ्याच पक्षांत होते आणि आहेत. पण पूर्वी किमान मनाची तरी लाज होती. शब्दांना किंमत होती. आज ती लाजही संपली आहे. आता फक्त सोयीची तत्त्वे आणि गरजेपुरती विचारधारा. कमरेचेच नव्हे तर डोक्यालाही गुंडाळायचे सोडून दिले आहे. गुंडाळायचे असते ते फक्त लोकांना.

लोकप्रतिनिधी नावाचा शब्दच आता विनोद ठरतो आहे. ज्याला आपण मत देतो, तो दुसऱ्याच दिवशी आपल्याला कवडीमोल समजून पूर्णपणे विरोधी विचारधारेच्या पक्षात प्रवेश करतो. ह्याला ‘राजकीय चाल’, ‘रणनीती’, ‘खेळी’ असे गोंडस शब्द लावले जातात. प्रत्यक्षात ही उघड गद्दारी असते, पण तिच्यावर शब्दांचा मुलामा चढवून लोकांच्या डोळ्यात धूळफेक केली जाते. पक्ष गेले खड्ड्यात, विचारधारा गेली खड्ड्यात. उरते ते फक्त सत्ता.

आणि मग तयार होते दुचाकी, तीनचाकी, कधी ट्रकभर बहुमताचे सरकार. लोकांची कामे करणे हा त्यांचा उद्देश नसतोच. सगळी ऊर्जा, सगळी तथाकथित हुशारी सत्ता टिकवून ठेवण्यात खर्ची घातली जाते. सामान्य माणसाचे प्रश्न, त्याचे दुःख, त्याची घुसमट ही फक्त निवडणुकीपुरती घोषणाबाजी. मतदान झाल्यावर लोक म्हणजे ओझे.

ज्यांच्या शब्दकोशात प्रामाणिकपणा खिजगणतीतही नाही, तेच लोक मोठ्या आवाजात लोकांना मतदानाचे धडे देतात. “लोकशाही मजबूत करा” असे सांगतात. पण लोकांची जबाबदारी फक्त त्यांच्या तुंबड्या भरण्याची आहे का? त्यांच्या निर्लज्ज थेरांचे प्रेक्षक बनण्याची आहे का? लोकशाही हा शब्दच इतका झिजला आहे की तो उच्चारताना उपहास वाटतो.

या सगळ्यात सर्वात मोठा मूर्ख कोण ठरतो? तो मूर्ख म्हणजे आपण. आतल्या गोटात काय शिजते आहे, हे जाणून घेण्याचीही गरज न वाटणारा, सगळे गिळून टाकणारा, आणि तरीही दर पाच वर्षांनी आशेने उभा राहणारा सामान्य नागरिक. दुर्दैव असे की बहुसंख्य लोकांना आपण फसवले जातोय, हेही कळत नाही. आणि ज्यांना कळते, ते मतदानापासून दूर का जातात, याचे उत्तर सत्ताधाऱ्यांना जाणून घ्यायची इच्छाच नसते.

हे विदारक दृश्य कधी बदलेल? की आपण फक्त आशेवर जगायचे आणि आशेवरच मरायचे? प्रश्न विचारणारा माणूस आज संशयास्पद ठरतो, आणि निर्लज्जपणाला शहाणपणाचे लेबल लावले जाते. ही लोकशाहीची शोकांतिका नाही, तर लोकांच्या संयमाची परीक्षा आहे.

जोपर्यंत लोक स्वतःला फक्त मतदार नव्हे तर नागरिक समजणार नाहीत, तोपर्यंत ही क्रूर चेष्टा थांबणार नाही. सत्तेच्या खुर्च्या बदलतील, चेहरे बदलतील, पक्ष बदलतील. बदलणार नाही ती लोकांची हतबलता. आणि हीच या सगळ्याची सर्वात मोठी, सर्वात भीषण शोकांतिका आहे.

Of A R Rahman, communal bias; and sour notes of self pity!

Raju Korti
Ask anyone if they know a composer called Dileep Kumar Rajagopala and you will mostly get blank stares. Rename him A R Rahman and recognition arrives instantly. Awards tumble out of his biography with impressive regularity: Grammys, a Golden Globe, a BAFTA, National Awards, and global adulation. Yet awards, especially in a fickle and self-serving film industry, are not certificates of greatness. To critics like me, they often mask mediocrity elevated by timing, marketing, and hype.

After minting money and fame, Rahman now claims that work has dried up because of his Muslim identity, carefully wrapped in the euphemism of a “communal thing.” This is not only a convenient alibi but also a deeply irresponsible one. The Hindi film industry has always thrived on vested interests, shifting tastes, and brutal commercial logic. It has never survived, or collapsed, on the basis of religion.

Rahman: Discordant notes.

The truth is far simpler and far more uncomfortable. Rahman is an abysmally poor composer who rode a brief wave of novelty. His music, once labelled experimental, soon hardened into predictable noise. That he won awards does not elevate the work. It only confirms how shallow and trend-driven the ecosystem has become.

What Rahman seems to have forgotten is the long and luminous line of Muslim artistes who shaped this very industry without ever crying persecution when the spotlight moved away. Mohammed Rafi remains the most glaring example. A singing genius, he ruled unchallenged for years and then gracefully accepted his partial eclipse by Kishore Kumar after Aradhana and the Rajesh Khanna phenomenon. Rafi acknowledged success without resentment and failure without bitterness.

I vividly remember a function where Naushad, the doyen of composers and a man wedded to Hindustani classical music till his last breath, spoke to Bal Thackeray about Rahman’s jazzy brand of music. I was present when Naushad expressed his displeasure, not with malice but with concern for musical standards. Thackeray, then still accessible and alert, abruptly rose and asked who this upstart called Rahman was. The moment was telling. Respect in the industry was earned through depth, not decibels.

Consider Dilip Kumar, born Yusuf Khan, the first Khan superstar and the finest actor among the trinity of Raj Kapoor, Dev Anand, and himself. He was a regular visitor at Bal Thackeray’s residence, sharing drinks and spiced peanuts prepared by Thackeray’s wife. Later, Thackeray publicly thundered that Yusuf should be packed off to Pakistan. Yet Dilip Kumar never once claimed that his career was sabotaged because of his faith. He let his work speak and history judge.

Sahir Ludhianvi was an avowed atheist. Meena Kumari, born Mahjabeen Bano, convincingly played Hindu daughters-in-law without ever complaining about roles that contradicted her religion. Talat Mehmood, Sajjad Hussain, Ghulam Haider, Ghulam Mohammed, A R Kardar, Johnny Walker (born Qazi Badruddin), and countless others lived and created in perfect cultural harmony. Religion was never a bar to creativity, nor an excuse for decline. On the contrary, Dilip Kumar, Meena Kumari, Madhubala, Ajit, Jagdeep, Shyama, Jayant, Nimmi, Sanjay (the list is long) adopted Hindu names to etch themselves in the profession. Ironically, the refrain I used to hear then was Muslim and Christian professionals capitalised on Hindu names.  

Rahman’s so-called creativity, even at its best, sounds worse than the mediocre cacophony flooding today’s soundscape. Many purists dismissed his work as a passing fad, a novelty that aged badly. Roja, Bombay, Rangeela, and even Slumdog Millionaire were ordinary products of their time, inflated by marketing and global curiosity. If those are hailed as milestones, one wonders what vocabulary remains for genuine musical greatness. The golden period of Hindi film music, by and large, ended in the nineties, and Rahman did little to resurrect it.

If Rahman truly believes he is out of work, introspection would serve him better than provocation. Playing the victim green card reeks of ingratitude. He amassed wealth and acclaim as A R Rahman, not as Dileep Rajagopala. To now hint that the same society conspired against him is both childish and disingenuous. Small wonder that his remarks have drawn flak from all quarters, including lyricist Javed Akhtar of his own era.

The film industry has one immutable rule: every dog has his day. Some enjoy long summers, some brief winters, and some never see daylight. Rahman had his place under the sun. In an industry where values rise and vanish overnight, he must either accept that his time has waned or work harder to justify a revival. Until then, he can gaze at his awards cabinet and draw whatever solace he can from the trophies of yesterday.

Calories, cameras and the great Indian waistline tamasha!

Raju Korti
It seems weight loss counts, matters and acquires moral authority only when celebrities lose weight. That they keep throwing it around every few years is another story. The latest to make waves is Aamir Khan, who claims to have lost 18 kilos. This, of course, is not merely weight loss. It is a national event.

Each celebrity weight loss story comes with an eminent rider. They have discovered a magic diet. As if lesser mortals eat only to stuff themselves and bloat, and have never heard of salads, portion control or the word discipline. As if we all wake up every morning chanting, “Aaj thoda aur phool jaate hain.”Once a celebrity sheds weight, the spotlight shifts automatically to the dietician. Suddenly, the dietician becomes a cross between a saint and a scientist. What did the star eat. What did he not eat. What time did he breathe. What time did he sleep. Somewhere, an ordinary Indian chewing on a cucumber wonders why his own dietician only tells him to stop eating everything he likes.

We are, after all, a country obsessed with celebrities and their lives, whatever their quality. We know what they eat, what they wear, how much they weigh and when they lose it. We do not know the names of our neighbours, but we know the protein intake of actors we will never meet.

If you believe that successful weight loss needs more programming than willpower, here is my repartee. There is a huge emotional quotient attached to it as well. And I do not mean emotional background music with violins.

Stock pic: Representational 

The immediate provocation for this argument came years ago, when Anant Ambani, son of industrialist Mukesh Ambani, reportedly shed a whopping 108 kilos in eighteen months. During IPL matches, especially those involving Mumbai Indians, Anant was a regular visual. He would occupy a broad sofa all by himself. Every time the camera panned on him, I saw people sigh in disbelief at how anyone could bloat to that extent. Fact, as they say, is stranger than fiction.

Ask me whose weight loss was noticed by just a few, compared to the national headlines Anant made.

Many believed the Ambani weight loss story was promotional. Money speaks, they said. Possibly true, given the super-rich, glossy ecosystem the family lives in. But credit where it is due. The boy went through a rigorous diet and a gruelling workout schedule. That takes sustained effort and control, especially in an era of junk food and doting parents who would do anything to keep their child happy. No amount of money can jog on a treadmill for you.

Excess exercise, however, is often counterbalanced by excess hunger. The famous phrase is “working up an appetite.” Very few can resist it. For the vast majority, weight loss through exercise alone is a flawed option. The body is far smarter than our good intentions.

Anant lost about six kilos a month, if my arithmetic serves me right. I roughly lost the same amount in three to four days. We are different case studies, but we threw up similar numbers.

In Anant’s case, all credit to him and his advisers. I did not have any. Nature ordained it for me. After a debilitating bypass surgery, I developed complications that landed me in hospital three more times. In the first instance, I dropped 18 kilos because I had stopped eating and drinking (Permissible fluids, of course) completely. Being diabetic, the only thing I remember is alarmed doctors telling my relatives to stuff me with Fruity and rasagullas because my sugar levels had dipped to a dangerous 50.After three days of continuous monitoring, I had dropped from 70 kilos to 52. Nothing to admire there. So bad was the situation that I could not stand on my feet. Circumstances had cut me to size, quite literally.

Two factors tempted me to compare Anant and myself. The weight loss in both cases was phenomenal and within a comparable time frame. He went through an excruciating schedule. I went through the knife. But the emotional quotient was identical. What is peripheral, yet revealing, is this. He made national headlines and became a figure of admiration. I managed only sympathy from relatives and friends. These are the wages of social dynamics in India.

I have thrown weight around. Now I do not have any. The powerful Ambani son can still afford to do it even after shedding those heavy-duty calories. There is no comparison here.

Except this. In India, weight loss is not about health, struggle or emotion. It is about who loses it, how famous he is, and whether a camera is watching. 

Some thoughts on Quantum Physics and the new idea of a Conscious Universe

Raju Korti
For someone like me, who has had an abiding and sustained interest in quantum physics, these new ideas feel less like sudden shocks and more like the next natural turn in a long, fascinating journey. Quantum theory has always had a habit of unsettling comfortable assumptions. What is emerging now is perhaps its boldest challenge yet. The suggestion that consciousness may not be locked inside the human brain but may instead be part of a much larger universal field.

Traditionally, science viewed the universe as a giant machine. Matter moved, forces acted and life was seen as a fortunate accident. Consciousness was treated as a by-product of biological activity, much like heat produced by a running engine. Quantum physics has steadily weakened this picture. At the smallest levels of reality, particles do not behave like solid objects at all. They exist as probabilities, respond to observation and remain mysteriously connected across vast distances.

This strange connection is known as quantum entanglement. Two particles, once linked, seem to communicate instantly, no matter how far apart they are. Change one here and the other responds there, faster than light could ever travel. In everyday terms, it is as if two dice thrown in different cities always land on matching numbers, even though no signal passes between them. This defies common sense, but repeated experiments confirm it.

Some researchers interpret this as more than a technical oddity. They see it as evidence that reality is deeply interconnected at a fundamental level. If matter itself behaves as if it is coordinated by an invisible order, then perhaps consciousness is not merely watching the universe, but participating in it. In this view, human awareness is not an isolated island but a localized expression of a much larger ocean of information.

A simple day-to-day example helps. Consider how a flock of birds changes direction in perfect unison. No single bird seems to give orders, yet the group moves as one. There appears to be an underlying pattern guiding individual actions. Quantum thinkers suggest the universe may work in a similar way. An unseen informational field could be guiding particles, atoms, cells and even thoughts toward coherence and balance.

This idea also challenges the belief that disorder is the natural state of things. Life constantly organizes itself. Wounds heal. Ecosystems adapt. The human body maintains balance without conscious effort. Quantum-inspired theories propose that there may be a deeper blueprint at work, a field of intelligence that nudges systems back toward harmony when they fall out of sync.

Quantum theory has always opened new vistas. It first shattered the certainty of classical physics, then reshaped chemistry, electronics and computing. Now it is pushing us to rethink consciousness itself. The mathematics of quantum mechanics reveals astonishing precision and order beneath apparent randomness. This does not prove that the universe is conscious in a human sense, but it strongly suggests that reality is far more structured and meaningful than once believed.

For mankind, the implications are profound. If consciousness is woven into the fabric of the universe, then humans are not passive observers in a cold cosmos. We are participants in an interconnected whole. Our thoughts, choices and awareness may matter more than we have assumed, not just socially or morally, but physically as well.

This emerging view does not discard science. It deepens it. It reminds us that knowledge evolves, and that the universe still has many layers left to reveal. Quantum physics, true to its nature, continues to surprise us, not by giving final answers, but by expanding the very questions we dare to ask.

‘Islamic NATO’: Cross between new security axis and dangerous Illusion

Raju Korti
The notion of an “Islamic NATO” sounds dramatic, but at its core is a simple idea. A few Muslim-majority countries are discussing a defence pact where an attack on one member is treated as an attack on all. In very basic terms, this mirrors how NATO has traditionally been understood, especially its famous Article 5 clause. If one ally is attacked, the rest step in. That promise of collective response is meant to deter enemies even before a conflict begins.

In the proposed arrangement involving Turkey, Saudi Arabia and Pakistan, the logic is similar but the context is very different. NATO emerged after the Second World War among relatively like-minded Western democracies, under clear American leadership, facing a defined threat from the Soviet bloc. The proposed Islamic grouping is emerging in a far more fractured world, where threats are multiple, alliances are fluid and trust between partners is limited and often tactical.

Strategically, each of the three countries brings something distinct. Saudi Arabia offers financial muscle and influence across the Arab world. Pakistan contributes nuclear capability, missile strength and a large standing military. Turkey adds combat experience, a sophisticated and expanding defence industry and the credibility of being a long-time NATO member itself. On paper, this looks like a formidable combination. On the ground, translating these assets into a seamless collective security system is far more complicated.

The immediate regional impact would be psychological as much as military. Such a pact could signal to rivals that these countries are willing to close ranks if challenged. It could also give Turkey an added sense of security at a time when confidence in Western guarantees is weakening. President Donald Trump’s repeated questioning of NATO commitments, his transactional approach to alliances and his unpredictable diplomacy have made even traditional allies uneasy. This uncertainty is one of the main reasons countries like Turkey are hedging their bets.

However, equating this grouping fully with NATO is misleading. NATO is backed by deep institutional structures, integrated command systems, shared intelligence mechanisms and decades of operational experience together. It also has a clear legal and political framework that binds members, even if frictions exist. The proposed Islamic pact, at least for now, appears more like a strategic understanding than a fully fleshed-out alliance. It lacks clarity on decision-making, rules of engagement and what kind of response would actually follow an attack.

The question of takers is equally complex. The Muslim world is not a single political or strategic bloc. Iran, a major regional power, would view such a Sunni-leaning arrangement with suspicion, even if Turkey and Saudi Arabia prefer engagement over confrontation. Countries like Egypt, Indonesia and Malaysia may be cautious about joining a pact that could drag them into conflicts far from their borders. Smaller Gulf states may weigh the benefits of protection against the risks of antagonising other powers. Many will prefer flexibility over firm commitments.

For India, the implications are sensitive. Any closer military alignment involving Pakistan is watched carefully in New Delhi. Even if the pact is not explicitly anti-India, the inclusion of collective defence language could embolden Pakistan diplomatically and psychologically. It may complicate India’s strategic calculations, especially if Turkey continues to take vocal positions on issues like Kashmir. At the same time, India is unlikely to see this as an immediate military threat, given the internal contradictions and limits of the proposed alliance.

Afghanistan sits in an even more precarious position. Pakistan’s tensions with Kabul, accusations around militant sanctuaries and the fragile Taliban-led state mean that any regional military bloc involving Pakistan could deepen Afghan insecurities. Mediation efforts by Turkey and Qatar show that diplomacy is still preferred, but a defence pact does little to reassure a country already struggling with legitimacy, stability and isolation.

The stance of other Islamic or Muslim-majority countries will likely be pragmatic rather than ideological. Many will ask a simple question. Does this pact enhance security without limiting independence? If the answer is unclear, they will stay on the sidelines. History shows that attempts to build pan-Islamic military alliances often falter due to national interests, rivalries and differing threat perceptions.

In the long run, the workability of an “Islamic NATO” depends on political will and trust, not just weapons and money. Collective defence only works when members are willing to act, even when it is costly. Without that certainty, the pact risks becoming more symbolic than strategic.

As for changing the world order, this looks less like a revolution and more like a symptom. It reflects a world where old alliances are under strain, American reliability is questioned and middle powers are searching for insurance policies. Whether this particular idea matures into a lasting structure or fades into the long list of ambitious but unrealised security arrangements will depend on events yet to unfold. For now, it is an interesting signal, not a settled fact.

When kidneys grow in labs, hope grows outside them!

Raju Korti
I recently read about a scientific development that stopped me mid-page. Not because it was wrapped in jargon or grand claims, but because of what it could mean for people who live, quite literally, one dialysis session at a time. Having myself come dangerously close to dialysis after an almost fatal bypass surgery, I know how thin the line can be between relative normalcy and a life tethered to machines. That is why this discovery matters far beyond laboratories, conferences, and medical journals.

Scientists at the Guangzhou Institutes of Biomedicine and Health in China have, for the first time, grown a functioning human-like kidney inside a laboratory setting. The work was led by a team of stem cell and developmental biology researchers who integrated human pluripotent stem cells into genetically engineered pig embryos. These embryos were modified so that they could not develop their own kidneys, forcing the human cells to take over that role. The result was a kidney that was structurally and functionally close to a human organ, capable of filtering blood, balancing electrolytes, and producing urine, which are the core functions that keep a human being alive.

This is not a claim based on theory alone. The kidneys were studied in controlled laboratory conditions and showed measurable physiological activity. This makes the achievement different from earlier experiments that produced only organ-like tissue or incomplete structures. For the first time, a solid organ with human cellular dominance has been grown inside another species. That distinction is crucial.

To understand why this matters, one must understand kidney disease in simple terms. The kidneys are the body’s natural filters. They remove waste, excess water, and toxins from the blood, regulate blood pressure, and maintain chemical balance. When kidneys fail, these functions stop. End-stage renal disease, or ESRD, is the final and most severe stage of chronic kidney disease, when the kidneys can no longer support life without external help.

I understand, globally, an estimated 850 million people suffer from some form of kidney disease. Of these, around 10 percent progress to chronic kidney disease. I am one of those). More than 3.5 million people worldwide are currently living with end-stage renal disease. For them, survival depends on dialysis or transplantation. Dialysis is not a cure. It is a life-sustaining compromise. Most patients undergo dialysis two or three times a week, with each session lasting four to five hours. Their lives are scheduled around machines. Travel becomes difficult. Infections are common. Fatigue is constant. The shadow of death is never far away.

Transplantation offers a better quality of life, but it comes with its own cruelty. There are far fewer donor kidneys than patients who need them. Waiting lists stretch into years. Many die waiting. Even when a transplant happens, lifelong immunosuppressive drugs are needed to prevent rejection, making patients vulnerable to infections and cancers.

This is where the Guangzhou breakthrough becomes transformative. By using a patient’s own genetic material to grow an organ, the risk of immune rejection could be drastically reduced. At the same time, it could ease or even eliminate the chronic shortage of donor organs. In principle, it opens the door to on-demand organ replacement.

But principles and reality often part ways.

The immediate question is time. How long before this reaches ordinary patients? The honest answer is that it will take years, possibly a decade or more. Before any such kidney can be transplanted into humans, it must pass through multiple layers of validation. Long-term safety studies are needed to rule out hidden immune reactions, viral transmission from animal hosts, and abnormal cell growth. Human clinical trials will proceed cautiously, with small numbers of patients under intense monitoring. Regulatory approvals will vary from country to country, adding further delay.

There is also the uncomfortable question of cost. History tells us that almost every so-called path-breaking medical discovery starts life as an expensive privilege. Dialysis itself was once a miracle available only to a handful. Insulin, when first discovered, was meant to be cheap and universal. Today, in many parts of the world, it is priced beyond the reach of the poor. Advances in diabetes care, cardiac surgery, and cancer treatment have undoubtedly saved millions of lives, but they have also widened the gap between those who can afford the best care and those who cannot.

There are reasons for this. Research is expensive. Clinical trials cost billions. Intellectual property laws reward innovation but also allow monopolies. Manufacturing complex biological products at scale is not easy. Regulatory compliance adds further costs. By the time a discovery reaches the market, its price often reflects not just the cost of production but the entire ecosystem of modern medicine.

That is why there is a real risk that lab-grown kidneys, at least initially, will be accessible only to the wealthy or to patients in countries with strong public healthcare systems. For millions in low- and middle-income nations, dialysis may remain the only option for years to come.

This is not to dismiss the achievement. Far from it. It is monumental. It shifts the conversation from managing kidney failure to potentially curing it. It gives hope to patients who today count their lives in sessions and lab reports. It also forces governments, global health bodies, and policymakers to confront uncomfortable questions about access, equity, and priorities.

Keeping kidneys healthy, meanwhile, remains deceptively simple in principle and frustratingly hard in practice. Controlling blood pressure, managing diabetes, staying hydrated, avoiding excessive painkillers, and regular screening can prevent or delay kidney disease in many cases. Awareness campaigns by medical associations and non-profits do valuable work, but awareness does not always translate into access to care or affordable treatment.

That is the larger tragedy. Discoveries like this one often shine brightly in headlines but fade slowly into selective availability. The challenge before the world is not just scientific, but moral. If we can grow a kidney in a laboratory, we must also find ways to ensure that it does not remain a miracle reserved for a few.As someone who has stood close enough to dialysis to feel its pull, I see this discovery not as a promise fulfilled, but as a promise made. Whether it becomes a universal lifeline or another symbol of medical inequality will depend on choices made far beyond the laboratory.

World held hostage to tantrumps!

Raju Korti
For years, I grew up hearing the famous line attributed to President Bill Clinton that South Asia was the most dangerous place on Earth. He said it in 2000, with Kashmir and the nuclear standoff between India and Pakistan in mind. Today, I find myself revising that thought. South Asia remains fragile, but the most dangerous place on Earth may well be the Oval Office.

Donald Trump’s America has become unpredictable to the point of peril. What alarms me is not merely his policies, but his open contempt for restraint. In a revealing interview to The New York Times, Trump brushed aside international law with astonishing ease. When asked what limits his global power, his answer was chillingly simple. Only his own mind, his own morality. He does not need international law, he said, even while claiming he is not looking to hurt people. He later added that the United States does follow international law, but only when he decides it applies. In that single contradiction lies the essence of the danger.

Caricature courtesy Shutterstock

For decades, America projected power through alliances, rules and institutions. Trump is tearing that scaffolding apart. His casual talk of owning Greenland, not leasing it or securing it through treaties but owning it, reduces geopolitics to real estate. Ownership, he said, is psychologically needed for success. When a sitting US President speaks this way about sovereign territory, it sends shockwaves far beyond Europe. NATO members are already feeling the heat. Trump has openly suggested that preserving NATO and acquiring Greenland may present a choice. His Vice President J D Vance has warned Europe that if it does not take its security seriously, America may have to do something about it. Allies are no longer partners. They are liabilities or assets, depending on Trump’s mood.

Trump’s approach to China and Taiwan is equally revealing. He has all but personalised deterrence, suggesting that Xi Jinping will not move against Taiwan simply because Trump is in office. After him, all bets are off. This is not strategy. It is bravado masquerading as stability. It also signals to Beijing, Moscow and others that global order hinges not on institutions, but on one man’s presence.

Russia, meanwhile, is invoked as both threat and foil. Trump boasts that Russia fears no one but the United States and claims that without him, Ukraine would already have fallen. Such statements may thrill his supporters, but they hollow out diplomacy and reduce complex conflicts to self-congratulation.

What worries me equally is Trump’s growing withdrawal from the international system itself. He has signed a Presidential Memorandum directing the United States to exit 66 international organisations, including 31 UN bodies. This is not reform. It is retreat combined with coercion. America wants freedom from rules, but full freedom to impose its will.

Nowhere is this more visible than in regime change politics, which under Trump is no longer whispered but flaunted. Operation Absolute Resolve in January 2026, the brazen attempt to seize Nicolás Maduro in Caracas, marked a turning point. No deniability, no camouflage. Just force. The message was blunt. Obey, or be overthrown.

The pattern is old, but the shamelessness is new. From Noriega in Panama to Saddam Hussein in Iraq, from Jean Bertrand Aristide in Haiti to Imran Khan in Pakistan, leaders who defied American interests were removed. Bangladesh’s Sheikh Hasina’s ouster in 2024, widely presented as a student uprising, now appears far more calculated. Her refusal to cede St Martin’s Island reportedly sealed her fate. Regime change is no longer an exception. It is a tool.

Venezuela explains the motive clearly. Oil. With reserves touching 300 billion barrels, control over Venezuela gives Washington leverage over nearly a fifth of global supply. Energy has become a weapon. India may soon be forced to buy Venezuelan oil that America itself banned earlier. That is not free trade. It is coercion.

India, therefore, cannot afford naivety. We sit in a neighbourhood already scarred by intervention. Pakistan, Bangladesh, Nepal. To believe India is immune would be dangerous folly. The attack here may not come with soldiers. It will come through narratives that erode legitimacy, through whispers that democracy is stolen, that India is not a nation. Repeat a lie often enough, and institutions begin to wobble.

Trump’s tantrums also betray a deeply personal insecurity. His repeated claims of having stopped multiple wars, his visible frustration at being denied the Nobel Peace Prize by Norway, and his exaggerated self-portrayal as the sole global peacemaker point to a man desperate for validation. In this context, the renewed focus on global crises also serves another purpose. There is a growing perception that Trump is deflecting attention from the Epstein files and uncomfortable questions closer home. When domestic scrutiny tightens, the world becomes a convenient distraction.

How does the American public see all this? From what I gather, the country appears deeply split. To his supporters, Trump is a strongman who gets things done and forces the world to bend. To others, he represents the erosion of America’s moral authority and institutional sanity. What is undeniable is that America itself feels more volatile, more inwardly angry, and more prone to political violence than at any time in recent memory.

India’s relationship with Trump illustrates both danger and resilience. Prime Minister Modi’s repeated refusal to engage on Trump’s terms speaks volumes. Invitations declined. Phone calls unanswered. From the G7 in Canada to White House optics with Pakistan’s army chief, to Gaza talks in Egypt, India chose distance over spectacle. These were not scheduling issues. They reflected mistrust and an assertion of sovereignty. Trump’s attempts to spin these rebuffs only make him appear petulant and politically immature.

So how can Trump be contained in his free spree? The hard truth is that no one will come to save any nation. Maduro met China hours before his abduction. It did not help. Russia supplied weapons. It did not intervene. When the storm comes, every country stands alone.

For India, the answer lies in realism, not romance. Nationalism not as rhetoric, but as policy. Strategic autonomy not as a slogan, but as preparation. Strong defence, self-reliant industry, robust intelligence and social cohesion. Not blind faith in shared values, but clear-eyed understanding that power respects only strength.

As I look at Trump’s America today, I do not see a stabilising force. I see a nation turned inward, erratic outward, and increasingly dangerous to the very order it once built. When global power is guided by impulse rather than principle, by grievance rather than vision, the world becomes a more anxious place. And in that anxiety, every country, including India, must learn again the oldest lesson of geopolitics. In the end, you are on your own.

World referee? What UN? What International Law?

Raju Korti
I pose this question not as a sceptic of multilateralism but as someone who once believed that the United Nations was humanity’s last moral firewall against brute power. The UN was born out of the ruins of the Second World War, premised on the idea that collective security, dialogue and international law could prevent a relapse into global catastrophe. Eight decades later, as I survey the global landscape, that promise appears badly frayed.

The United Nations Charter is unambiguous in its lofty objectives. It commits member states to maintaining international peace and security, resolving disputes peacefully, respecting sovereignty and upholding human rights. The General Assembly offers universal representation, with 193 member states ostensibly equal in voice. Yet real power resides in the Security Council, particularly its five permanent members with veto powers: the United States, Russia, China, the United Kingdom and France. This structural imbalance, designed in 1945 to reflect the victors of a world war, has today become the organisation’s Achilles heel.

UN chief with Putin

The most glaring evidence of the UN’s diminishing efficacy lies in its paralysis during active conflicts. The war in Ukraine has exposed how international law collapses when a permanent Security Council member is the alleged violator. Russia’s invasion, widely condemned as a breach of the UN Charter, has resulted in countless resolutions stalled or vetoed. The General Assembly has passed non-binding resolutions expressing outrage, but outrage without enforcement has proven hollow.

A similar erosion of credibility is visible in the ongoing conflict in Gaza. Despite mounting civilian casualties, repeated calls for ceasefires have been blocked or diluted by vetoes. International humanitarian law, which is supposed to protect non-combatants, appears more aspirational than enforceable. Investigations are announced, reports are written, but accountability remains elusive. The International Court of Justice and the International Criminal Court may issue observations or warrants, yet their effectiveness depends entirely on state cooperation, which powerful nations routinely withhold when it suits them.

Elsewhere, the story repeats itself with grim consistency. In Sudan, a devastating civil war has unfolded with minimal global intervention. In Myanmar, military rulers continue to defy international pressure years after overthrowing an elected government. In the Sahel and parts of Africa, coups and armed insurgencies flourish despite sanctions and statements of concern. The UN often arrives late with humanitarian aid, after violence has already reshaped realities on the ground.

This brings me to international law itself. In theory, it is the civilising glue that binds nations. In practice, it has become selectively invoked and unevenly enforced. Smaller states are expected to comply, while larger ones reinterpret, ignore or weaponise the law. There is no global police force, no automatic enforcement mechanism, and no meaningful penalties for defiance beyond economic sanctions, which themselves are applied inconsistently. Law without enforceability is reduced to moral suggestion, not binding obligation.

At the heart of the problem lies a contradiction the UN has never resolved. Sovereignty is sacred, yet intervention is sometimes necessary. Power is meant to be checked, yet the most powerful enjoy immunity through vetoes. Consensus is ideal, yet urgency demands action. This contradiction has turned the UN into a talk shop at precisely the moment when decisive collective action is needed most.

As a founding member of the United Nations and a consistent advocate of multilateralism, India has long argued that global governance structures must reflect contemporary realities, not post war hierarchies. Its repeated calls for Security Council reform, including permanent membership for itself, are rooted in this logic. India’s position on conflicts has generally emphasised dialogue, sovereignty and restraint, sometimes drawing criticism for its caution, but also reflecting a deep distrust of interventionist adventurism.

India’s growing global stature places it in a delicate position. It benefits from a rules-based international order, yet it also recognises that the current system is skewed. Its role as a peacekeeping contributor, a voice of the Global South and a bridge between rival blocs gives it moral capital, but limited leverage. If the UN is to be revitalised, countries like India will need to push not just for representation but for enforceability, transparency and accountability in international law.

As I look at the world today, the uncomfortable conclusion is that both the United Nations and international law have not become irrelevant, but they have become least effective where it matters most. They function well in drafting declarations, managing development goals and coordinating aid. They falter when confronting naked power. Until the gap between principle and power is narrowed, the UN will remain a noble idea trapped in an unforgiving world, and international law a language spoken fluently but obeyed selectively.

America’s "running experiments" in American countries!

Raju Korti
I begin with Colombia because that is where the latest tremor was felt, and because it captures in a few careless sentences what decades of American policy in its own hemisphere have often conveyed through far graver means. When Donald Trump casually remarked that Colombia was “run by a sick man” and added that its leadership “won’t be doing it for very long”, before responding “sounds good to me” to a question about possible US action, it was not merely diplomatic indiscipline. It was a reminder that in Washington’s strategic subconscious, Latin America is still viewed less as a collection of sovereign nations and more as an extended theatre of American experiments.

For Colombia, a long-standing US ally in counter-narcotics operations, regional security and trade, the shock lay not only in the insult but in the implication. Allies, it seemed, were no longer immune from the language of intervention. President Gustavo Petro’s anguished response, invoking historical wounds, colonial memory and the need for Latin American unity, was as much an appeal to history as it was a warning about the future. Friends do not bomb friends, he said, and South America will not forget.

Pic US National Archives

Colombia’s anxiety comes in the immediate aftermath of what is already being described as the Venezuela experiment. When Trump ordered US troops to invade Venezuela on January 3, 2026 and capture President Nicolas Maduro, he was walking a path worn smooth by two centuries of precedent. Ever since James Monroe declared in 1823 that the Americas were off limits to European powers, the United States has interpreted the doctrine less as a shield for the region and more as a license to enforce its will within it.

The pattern is familiar. When Colombia refused to facilitate an inter-oceanic canal in the early twentieth century, Washington helped carve Panama out of Colombian territory and built the Panama Canal soon after. During the Cold War, ideological anxieties justified direct action, as seen in the 1983 invasion of Grenada, paradoxically carried out after its Marxist leader Maurice Bishop had already been killed by his own forces. Grenada today celebrates the invasion day as Thanksgiving, and its airport bears Bishop’s name, a neat illustration of how memory and power coexist uneasily.

Panama itself offered another lesson, this time stripped of Cold War ideology and dressed in the language of law and order. Manuel Noriega, once a prized CIA asset, became a liability when drug trafficking allegations surfaced and elections were annulled. Operation Just Cause removed him in 1989, after psychological warfare involving blaring rock music outside the Vatican embassy drove him to surrender. The message was unmistakable. Utility defined legitimacy, and legitimacy could be withdrawn overnight.

Venezuela fits squarely into this tradition. Like Noriega, Maduro was framed through the lens of criminality and narcotics, not ideology. What complicates the current episode is the question of legitimacy at home in the United States. Reports that a congressional panel has been divided, and in some cases reluctant, to formally endorse the Venezuelan operation and the dramatic capture of Maduro and his wife underline an important shift. This is not the Cold War era, when bipartisan consensus often smoothed the path for foreign interventions in the hemisphere. Domestic scepticism now shadows every external action.

Yet Trump’s rhetoric has not stopped with Venezuela and Colombia. Nicaragua and Honduras hover uneasily in the background, countries long entangled with US strategic interests, covert operations and regime preferences. Both have histories of American involvement that oscillated between support and sanction, depending on who held power and whose interests were served. The implication that Washington might again recalibrate its posture toward these nations reinforces a larger question. How many countries in the American continent does the United States believe it must actively manage before it feels secure?The repercussions extend well beyond Latin America. At a continental level, such actions revive old fears of sovereignty being conditional and alliances being transactional. They also strengthen voices calling for regional consolidation, even if past efforts like CELAC have faltered. Internationally, they complicate America’s claim to uphold a rules-based order. When intervention appears selective and unilateral, it provides rhetorical ammunition to rivals who accuse Washington of double standards.

For the global community, the stakes are not abstract. Latin America is a vital economic partner, a major energy source, and a geopolitical swing region where China and Russia have already tested influence. Instability or resentment born of perceived neo-imperial behaviour risks pushing countries to hedge their bets, diversify alliances, or retreat into defensive nationalism.

Stripped of history and rhetoric, the story is simple enough for a layman to grasp. The United States continues to act as though geography grants it special rights in its own hemisphere. Sometimes it dresses this impulse as ideology, sometimes as law enforcement, sometimes as offhand bravado. Each time, it leaves behind a residue of distrust. Acceptance of such policies in global corridors today is far thinner than it once was, and patience thinner still. The experiments may continue, but the margin for error is shrinking, and the audience watching is no longer confined to America’s backyard.