‘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.

Civic polls in Maharashtra: Mumbai leads the disgusting tamasha!

Raju Korti
If politics were an Olympic sport, the scramble for municipal tickets would qualify as synchronized swimming, except that everyone is drowning, flailing and dragging others down with them. The civic polls, once meant to be about drains, roads and local accountability, have degenerated into a dirty rat race where ideology is negotiable, loyalty is seasonal and principles are strictly optional.

Every party claims to be shocked by rebellion within its ranks. Every party also engineers it. Chest beating loyalists suddenly discover that loyalty is an overrated virtue when the ticket goes to a recent entrant who until last week was abusing the same party on television panels. Grassroots workers who spent years pasting posters and organising ward meetings are politely told to wait their turn, preferably for another lifetime. The defector, meanwhile, is welcomed as a visionary mass leader with deep local connect.

Guess who is the lead culprit here? The BJP, which prides itself on discipline and an iron organisation, Its candidate selection in several civic wards has raised eyebrows even among its own faithful. Old faces are dropped without explanation; new ones are parachuted in without logic and the party then acts surprised when rebels file nominations as independents or quietly cross over. The Congress complains of betrayal while quietly accommodating turncoats where it suits arithmetic. The various Shiv Sena factions accuse each other of ideological treachery while distributing tickets with the same ruthless pragmatism. The NCP factions do not even pretend anymore. Loyalty is measured not by years of work but by immediate utility.

Mumbai offers the most grotesque theatre. The same corporator who swore undying allegiance to one party yesterday appears on posters of a rival today, complete with a fresh smile and recycled promises. Old wine is poured into a new bottle and sold as a bold alternative. Voters are expected to forget the label they read last week. They are also expected to clap.

Who exactly is at fault here. The easy answer is that everyone is. Parties are unable to handle dissent because they have trained their cadres to believe that power is the only reward for loyalty. Once tickets become the sole currency of recognition, rebellion is not an aberration. It is a logical outcome. Leaderships centralize decisions, ignore local feedback and then express outrage when the ignored locals revolt. This cycle repeats every election with remarkable consistency.

It will queer the pitch, fragment votes and turn civic elections into personality contests rather than party battles. Rebels will cut into official candidates’ margins. Independents will mushroom. Alliances will suffer silent sabotage from within. Governance, if it comes at all, will be an afterthought negotiated post results.

And what about the people? The ordinary voter watches this spectacle with a mix of disgust and helpless amusement. Everyone knows that becoming a corporator is widely seen as a sure path to amassing money, influence and leverage. That unspoken truth fuels the mad rush more than any burning desire to serve. Parties shout lofty principles from rooftops while quietly auctioning relevance at street level. Credibility evaporates, cynicism deepens and voter apathy grows.

The greatest tragedy is the absence of rationale. Why this candidate and not that one? What does he or she stand for beyond personal ambition? Is expediency the only criterion? Is one-upmanship the sole ideology? When the same individual oscillates between parties within days, the voter is not choosing between ideas. He is merely asked to endorse a familiar face wearing a different scarf.

Municipal elections are supposed to be the bedrock of democracy. Instead, they have become its most embarrassing mirror. Until parties learn that loyalty cannot be demanded while being constantly betrayed, and that voters are not fools with short memories, this farce will continue. January 15 will come and go. Chairs will be occupied. Money will change hands. And the people will once again be told that this time, truly, it is different.

First Tharoor, now Digvijay: Between admiration and ambiguity!

Raju Korti
I have watched the Congress long enough to know that its deepest anxieties are rarely triggered by open defection. They are provoked by ambiguity. That is precisely why Digvijay Singh’s praise of the RSS’s organisational discipline and his sharing of an old photograph with Narendra Modi caused more discomfort within the party than many overt acts of dissent. The unease is not about ideology alone. It is about the suggestion that there may be lessons to learn from the very adversary the Congress defines itself against.

In that sense, Digvijay's moment has an unmistakable echo from the past. I remember meeting Digvijay Singh in 1985 in Raipur and Bhopal during election coverage, long before he became a two-time chief minister of Madhya Pradesh. Then known affectionately as Diggy Raja, the Raja of Raghogarh operated in a Congress ecosystem crowded with heavyweights like Arjun Singh, Kamal Nath and Ajit Jogi. Even at that stage, what stood out was not confrontation but navigation. Digvijay Singh always seemed adept at surviving within undercurrents, maintaining relationships that were neither fully cordial nor openly hostile, but calibrated to political necessity.

Comrades in arms! 

Those undercurrents never really disappeared. Over decades, Digvijay Singh remained a figure who could unsettle his own party without formally stepping out of line. His recent praise of the organisational strength of the RSS, accompanied by an old photograph of Narendra Modi, must be read in that context. It was less an ideological endorsement and more a statement about structure, discipline and political mobility. Yet in today’s hyper-polarised environment, nuance rarely survives first contact with social media.

Shashi Tharoor’s response to this episode is revealing. By supporting Digvijay Singh on the need for organisational discipline while carefully distancing himself from the content of the praise, Tharoor mirrored a path he himself has been walking. Technically within the Congress, intellectually restless, and increasingly vocal about what the party lacks rather than what it opposes. Like Digvijay Singh, Tharoor seems less interested in rebellion and more invested in signalling that the Congress cannot afford institutional complacency.

The Congress leadership’s reaction also fits an old pattern. Public levity combined with private discomfort. Rahul Gandhi’s joking remark to Digvijay Singh at the party headquarters, delivered in Sonia Gandhi’s presence, was telling. It defused tension without resolving it. Humour, in such moments, is often a holding operation rather than a closure.

The larger question, then, is not whether Digvijay Singh or Shashi Tharoor are inching towards the BJP. That would be a simplistic reading. The more pertinent issue is where leaders like them eventually find themselves in a party that struggles to accommodate internal critique without reading it as ideological drift. Digvijay Singh has long been described by critics as a spent force, while allies continue to see him as a strategist with residual influence. Both assessments can coexist. Political relevance today is not only about electoral clout but also about the ability to shape conversations.

Tharoor and Digvijay Singh share a common predicament. They articulate what many in the Congress privately concede but publicly resist acknowledging, that organisation matters, discipline matters, and narratives of ideological purity do not substitute for political machinery. By saying this aloud, they unsettle a party still unsure whether introspection is a strength or a liability.

My sense is that neither is in a hurry to cross over. Their trajectories suggest something subtler. They are testing the elasticity of the Congress, probing how much dissent framed as analysis it can absorb. If the party responds by closing ranks and narrowing space, it risks pushing such leaders further to the margins. If it listens, even grudgingly, it might rediscover a capacity for self-correction.

For now, both men remain inside the tent, but closer to its edges than its centre. And in Indian politics, that is often the most precarious place to stand.