X factor or modern-day chucker? The Usman Tariq question!

Raju Korti
Few contests in world sport carry the emotional voltage of an India–Pakistan clash. Yet, in the fevered build-up to Sunday’s blockbuster, the loudest conversation is not about Abhishek Sharma’s expected fireworks or how Babar Azam would fare. It is about the unsettling sling of Pakistan’s newest X-factor, Usman Tariq.

Tariq burst into the T20 World Cup with three scalps against the USA, bamboozling batters who looked like students facing a pop quiz in quantum physics. Variations flowed, the trajectory dipped late, and confusion reigned. But so did suspicion.

His approach is theatrical. A staggered, diagonal shuffle, a dramatic pause that seems to suspend time itself, and then a slinging release that shields the umpire’s view. Some see innovation. Others smell illegality.

(Pic an Instagram grab)

Sunil Gavaskar has been among those urging proper scrutiny, reminding the cricketing world that mystery should never come at the cost of fairness. Kevin Pietersen echoed similar concerns, arguing that unusual actions demand closer scientific examination, not social media verdicts. Cameron Green went a step further, mimicking Tariq’s action after being dismissed in Lahore, while Tom Banton voiced discomfort during the ILT20. Even the ever-measured Ian Bishop openly questioned whether such deliberate pauses violate the spirit and laws of the game.

At the heart of the debate lies the ICC’s 15-degree rule, which allows a bowler’s elbow to flex up to 15 degrees during delivery. Anything beyond that constitutes throwing, or chucking. Modern biomechanical testing replaced the days when umpires dramatically no-balled offenders mid-match, as happened with a young Muttiah Muralitharan in the 1990s, a saga that once led Sri Lanka to walk off in protest. Today, umpires can only report suspicious actions. Formal testing follows later.

Tariq has already been reported twice in the Pakistan Super League and cleared both times by PCB-conducted tests. That, in theory, should end the argument. Yet controversy rarely obeys laboratory reports.

Adding fuel to the fire is Muralitharan himself, now bluntly calling Tariq’s action “completely illegal” and questioning the ICC’s silence. According to the Sri Lankan legend, it is not just the elbow bend but the exaggerated pauses that make a mockery of rhythm and regulation.

History offers uncomfortable parallels. Saeed Ajmal, Shoaib Akhtar, Shane Warne’s teammate Brett Lee was questioned early in his career, and even Murali spent years under the scanner, largely due to the congenital bend in his arm that made legal deliveries look illegal to the naked eye. Several others were eventually barred or forced to remodel their actions, often ending careers overnight.

Yet there is a dissenting voice, and it comes from Ravichandran Ashwin. The cerebral off-spinner has argued that the laws increasingly favour batters and suffocate bowlers’ creativity. If actions pass biomechanical tests, he believes, perception should not become prosecution. Some quietly wonder whether Ashwin’s own occasional last-moment hesitation in his delivery stride makes him more sympathetic to Tariq’s methods.

As for Tariq, he has consistently maintained that his action is natural, within the legal limit, and repeatedly cleared by testing. The pause, he insists, is part of his rhythm and deception, no different from batters backing away or shuffling across the crease. Pakistan, unsurprisingly, see no problem. A wicket-taking mystery spinner in a World Cup is not something any team volunteers to lose, especially before facing India.

And so, as the cricketing world counts down to another chapter in the sport’s fiercest rivalry, Usman Tariq stands at a curious crossroads. To some, he is innovation incarnate. To others, a throwback to cricket’s murkiest controversies.

Sunday’s match may be decided by runs and wickets, but beyond the scoreboard, a deeper question lingers: where does bowling genius end and illegality begin? In cricket, as in life, the finest lines are often the most fiercely debated.

Living a hundred years? Oh, for dear life!

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

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

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

(Pic representational)

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

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

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

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

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

Xi's supremacy, absolute power in volatile times!

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

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

Xi Pic Wkipedia grab

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(The green hotspot)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The “Book War” before the book

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

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

Book cover, a file grab

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apparently, in publishing too.

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

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

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

(Pix a Facebook grab)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of Noam Chomsky and fallen conscience!

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

Chomsky & Epstein (file grab)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is where my disillusionment truly sets in.

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

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

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

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

India-US trade deal: Certainty after prolonged suspense

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

(Pic representational)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our fond fascination for conspiracy theories!

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

Plane wreckage site (file grab)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

India’s biggest trade bet with Europe

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fury unfiltered: Outbursts, egos, and collateral damage

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

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

(Pic representational)

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

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

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

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

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

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.