At SCO Defence Ministers' meet in Qingdao, Rajnath likely to discuss regional peace, anti-terror cooperation
Defence Minister Rajnath Singh will lead a high-level Indian delegation at the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation (SCO) Defence Ministers' Meeting to be held at Qingdao, China from June 25 to 26, 2025.
Also read: Doval begins China visit for SCO meet, Rajnath to arrive this week
During the meeting, the Defence Ministers are expected to discuss a number of issues, including regional and international peace and security, counter-terrorism efforts and cooperation among the Ministries of Defence of SCO member states.
Mr. Singh is expected to highlight India's continued commitment to the principles and mandate of the SCO, outline India's vision towards achieving greater international peace and security, call for joint and consistent efforts to eliminate terrorism and extremism in the region, and stress on the need for greater trade, economic cooperation & connectivity within SCO.
Mr. Rajnath Singh will also hold bilateral meetings with the Defence Ministers of some participating countries, including China and Russia, on the sidelines of the meeting.
India attaches special importance to SCO in promoting multi-lateralism, political, security, economic and people-to-people interactions in the region. SCO pursues its policy based on the principles of sovereignty, territorial integrity of nations, non-interference in internal affairs, mutual respect, understanding and equality of all member states.
SCO is an inter-governmental organisation established in 2001. India became a full member in 2017 and assumed the rotating Chairmanship in 2023. The SCO membership includes Kazakhstan, China, Kyrgyzstan, Pakistan, Russia, Tajikistan, Uzbekistan, Iran and Belarus, besides India. China has assumed the Chair of the SCO for 2025 under the theme 'Upholding the Shanghai Spirit: SCO on the Move'.
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Indian Express
38 minutes ago
- Indian Express
Corporate India has a caste problem. And it is time to talk about it
On June 23, the Indian aviation industry was again in the news, however, for all the wrong reasons. Reports started coming in of an IndiGo pilot trainee alleging caste based discrimination by his bosses. An FIR has been filed, and a police investigation is underway. Meanwhile, IndiGo has strongly refuted such claims, saying it stands for 'zero-tolerance policy towards any form of discrimination'. The investigation will take its own course, but it opens the avenue to talk about a much larger issue: Corporate India's caste problem. Post the 1990s, when the private sector started to expand immensely owing to policy changes, it was primarily the Savarna entrepreneurs who benefited greatly. Among them, the rise of Bania capital within India Inc has been mapped extensively. However, this has been perceived as an organic development, born out of inherent merit, developed in some sort of 'casteless vacuum'. However, the material realities of labour and capital are intrinsically caste-coded. The overrepresentation of communities in some sectors of the economy is directly and (often) proportionally related to the absence of other communities in the same. Babasaheb Ambedkar had analysed caste as not just a system of division of labour, but rather a division of labourers. Within corporate India, this division and categorisation of labourers is starkly visible. In the last decade or so, even as corporate culture internationally veered towards 'Diversity, Equity, Inclusion', also known as DEI practices, India Inc has remained caste-blind. Not just within corporate structures and the industry, but even within allied ecosystems — from B-schools to market commentators, journalists, and podcasters — there has been no serious or critical conversation on caste as a key variable in business management and planning. This is very surprising because most of the real economy is based on kinship networks and 'contacts' which often overlap with political funding and are ultimately mediated through caste connections. In the absence of any meaningful discourse on these intersections, the corporate understanding of Indian market realities remains stunted, myopic and unsuited for Indian needs, as it frequently over-fixates on some socio-cultural segments while invisibilising large swathes. India's commerce minister, Piyush Goyal's recent comments on the lopsided nature of startup/business priorities of corporate India also seem to suggest the same. The minister's comments stirred up a debate. Most business leaders responded with a litany of complaints against the government itself and lamented the business challenges they faced. While there is certainly a lot of validity in their collective grievance, very few actually acknowledged that there was a 'priority gap'. Fewer still tried to analyse why the 'gaze' of India Inc remains limited only to a very small range of business models, often urban-situated and catering usually to high-net-worth individuals. Even as every B-school teaches its MBAs to 'think outside the box' and all industry captains talk ad nauseum about innovation — it seems that in the last 30 years no one has realistically found a way to innovatively create value for large sections of Indian masses outside those wealthy urban enclaves (almost always populated by other wealthy Savarnas like themselves). It may well be because of the lack of diversity in their leadership, in the one-dimensional, non-diverse pedagogy (in spaces of training) that celebrates itself as ground-breaking and inventive. India Inc, despite three decades of neoliberalisation, remains a social formation that is run by Savarnas, for other Savarnas and trained by Savarnas. This total ubiquity of Savarna-ness renders corporate culture in its own shape, where the omnipresent becomes the invisible. As per David Foster Wallace's allegory about the fish swimming in water does not 'see' the water, the caste stratified codes of corporate India become invisible to Savarnas within it. But almost immediately, it manifests to folks who come from different socio-cultural realities, often in hostile and contradictory ways. So much so that for many marginalised people, to survive and move ahead in India Inc, they have to internalise and validate Savarna idioms of business success. Whether it is the casteist ad campaign run by Zomato, Narayan Murthy's work-life balance ideas or Swiggy's decision for veg-only fleets (rescinded upon backlash) — that is how you emerge with statements or decisions. And on occasion, where friction within teams emerges, inherent, embedded caste prejudices come to the fore in ways that are traumatic for caste-marginalised people but may seem totally normal or par-for-the-course to other Savarnas. It remains to be seen whether this is the case in the aforementioned IndiGo matter. Irrespective of how the matter unfolds, these types of flashpoints remain an unspoken reality for the minority caste-marginalised professionals working in top positions. In most cases, one stays silent and compliant, and internalises the bias as the structure itself is coded in the vocabulary of the dominant caste. At a time when a strong online campaign is emerging against caste-based reservation among educated, elite Savarnas, it is perhaps time for India Inc to reflect upon itself and give shape to the unfulfilled promise of diversity and consider reservations in the private sector as an innovative, bold and progressive step in bridging market reforms, nation-building mandates as well as dignity to all working professionals. The writer is Associate Dean at Woxsen University, Hyderabad. His latest book is Meet the Savarnas: Indian Millennials Whose Mediocrity Broke Everything
Hindustan Times
an hour ago
- Hindustan Times
Panchayat season 4 review: Phulera loses its innocence, originality as murky politics, repetition of formula take over
Panchayat season 4 review Cast: Jitendra Kumar, Raghubir Yadav, Neena Gupta, Faisal Malik, Chandan Roy, Sanvikaa, Durgesh Kumar, Sunita Rajwar, Ashok Pathak, and Pankaj Jha Director: Deepak Kumar Mishra Rating: ★★.5 For years, Panchayat served as a reminder of the power of Indian streaming. In a wave of crime dramas and gun battles, this show - about the life of a Panchayat secretary - had won hearts and impressed critics. But like they say, nothing lasts forever. And sadly, Panchayat's goodwill seems to be ending before the show itself calls it a day. The latest season, focused on Phulera's Panchayat elections, completely disregards what had made the show great - simplicity and relatability. Panchayat season 4 sees formula creeping in finally, and also an overload of the murkiness of politics over the simplicity of human emotions. Panchayat season 4 review: The old favourite is back, but isn't up to the mark this time. Panchayat season 4 opens a few weeks after the end of season 3. The elections are upon us, and Manju Devi (Neena Gupta) and Pradhan ji (Raghuvir Yadav) face their toughest challenge in the form of Kranti Devi and Bhushan (Sunita Rajwar and Durgesh Kumar). Abhishek (Jitendra) has long given up the hope of being non-partisan and is actively campaigning for Manju's party. But despite Pradhan's 'dabdaba' in Phulera, winning may not be as easy as it has been so far. The spectre of elections looms large on Panchayat season 4 and is easily its undoing as well. The first two seasons were splendid, largely because of the anthology-like quality of storytelling, where each episode was a self-contained story creating an overarching narrative. Season 3 digressed a little but still managed to hold its own, largely due to crisp writing and some memorable sequences. What Panchayat season 4 lacks But season 4 gets lost in the political machinations and one-upmanship of the elections. It was important for the makers to keep the focus on the elections. But one feels that it sucks the joy and innocence out of Panchayat, which had been its USP all along. The new season also feels more manufactured than before, with the sameness of formula appearing to finally show its face here. That robs the narrative of the freshness that Panchayat had managed to retain for three seasons. The biggest disservice the show does is to Pradhan ji himself. Raghuvir Yadav's character has been shown as a clever politician, but a good man who is the right choice for Phulera. That is why Abhishek is comfortable letting go of his impartiality to side with him over the years. However, this season turns him into just a politician who tries to win votes and get back into power through populist measures. If the intent was to show how flawed he is, it did not translate. In fact, if anything, it makes him come across as inefficient. There are a few stray moments in the show that highlight this, from unclean drains to unhappy voters. But the show misses the chance to really drive home the point. All it does is generate sympathy for the other side. Panchayat had a chance to act non-partisan here, too. If only it had presented Bhushan with an ounce of humanity. But it messes up there too, reducing Bhushan and Kranti to stereotypical bad guys, right down to a sinister 90s' background theme for them. What works in season 4 But then, the show does redeem itself with the arc it gives to Vinod (Ashok Pathak). It is praiseworthy how the show manages to bring a supporting character's arc to the forefront. If it was Prahlad in season 2, it's Vinod here. Pathak's heartfelt performance also deserves a mention. In the ensemble, the heavy lifting has yet again been done by the support cast, with Ashok Pathak, Durgesh Kumar, Chandan Roy, Sunita Rajwar, and Raghuvir Yadav shining the brightest. Despite how his character has been handled, Raghuvir Yadav manages to give one of the most memorable scenes of the show in the final episode. Neena Gupta and Jitendra Kumar are capable as always, but somehow get subdued with everything happening around them. It's not their fault that their characters come across as passive somehow. Panchayat season 4 is not bad. It is just a letdown by the show's lofty standards. On its own, Phulera still breathes, and there are stories and characters (the electrician and Manju's father being worthy additions) that stand out. Some old returnees also steal the spotlights. But the chuckles are fewer, the narrative a little jaded, and the sheen somewhat less bright than it had been.
The Hindu
an hour ago
- The Hindu
Justice Yashwant Varma Fire Scandal: Who Burnt the Cash?
Published : Jun 24, 2025 14:03 IST - 11 MINS READ That the judicial career of erstwhile Delhi High Court judge, Justice Yashwant Varma, is over is no longer in doubt. However, at the heart of his cash-burning scandal lies one basic question—whose money was it? That question still doesn't have an answer. At around 11:35 p.m. on March 14 this year, a fire broke out in a store room attached to the government bungalow of Varma in Delhi. It should have been an unremarkable episode—maybe a short circuit, some papers damaged, a garden hose used to douse the flames. Instead, what followed was a slow-motion unravelling of one of the most significant scandals in the Indian judiciary's recent memory. Firemen and police personnel who entered the premises that day would later testify before the three-member In-House Committee set-up by the Chief Justice of India (CJI) that they saw stacks of burning or half-burnt Rs.500 notes lying on the floor, smoke curling from them. One of them captured a video on his phone, and someone can be heard saying, 'Mahatma Gandhi me aag lag rahi hai'. Over the weeks that followed, the judiciary tried to keep things in-house, quite literally. But the blaze wouldn't die. It took about a week for someone to leak the story to a news publication. The findings, now leaked The 64-page report of the In-House Committee—comprising High Court Chief Justices Sheel Nagu and G.S. Sandhawalia, and Justice Anu Sivaraman, all judges with reputations for integrity—was made public by legal news portal The Leaflet. It concluded that Varma had 'covert or active control' over the store room and that cash had indeed been discovered there. Perhaps the most damning part of the report is its attribution of responsibility—based on what it calls 'strong inferential evidence'—to Varma's most trusted domestic staff and personal secretary. The Committee concludes that they removed the burnt cash in the dead of night, after firemen and police had left. If this conclusion is true, it exposes an attempt to obstruct evidence from within the judge's own circle. Even if the judge is innocent of not owning the money, an attempt at cover-up by his staff, irrespective of whether it was at his behest or not, is utterly foolish and deserving of impeachment of their boss. The three-member Committee saw this cleanup operation as a strong indication of consciousness of guilt. Also Read | Habeas corpus law: A sorry decline In view of these findings, it recommended that proceedings for his removal be initiated. The report rejected Varma's explanation that the store room was a 'porous space' accessible to outsiders, based on witness testimonies that only specific persons from Varma's staff could access the store room which was otherwise locked and padlocked. What was termed 'unnatural conduct' by the Committee was that Varma did not inspect the store room premises immediately after he returned to Delhi the next day, or report the alleged conspiracy to judicial or police authorities. 'A natural reaction of any person would be on arrival to first inspect the site to assess the damage, even if only household articles had been damaged and no person was hurt in the fire incident', the report stated, drawing an 'adverse inference' against Varma for this. Such behaviour undermined his claims of innocence. In short, the report answered three questions: Was the cash there? Yes. Did the judge and his household control the store room? Yes. Has the judge offered any reasonable explanation for the cash being there? No. So, whose cash it was is still unknown. Three possible theories Even as the report establishes moral culpability—enough to warrant a judge's impeachment—it does raise larger concerns. In my opinion, we are left with three possible theories: Each raising serious questions about the judge, the system, or both. The first theory is that the money was Varma's. For whatever reason—stupidity, arrogance, or something worse—he kept piles of cash inside the store room of his official residence. The key question then is: what was this cash for? Was it linked to any orders he passed? Some quid pro quo for favours from the bench? Or was it simply unaccounted money set aside for a property deal, in a real estate market where black money still drives most transactions? If it is for the former, Varma ought to be labelled corrupt, impeached, and criminally prosecuted. If it was for the latter, he still deserves to be removed—on grounds of judicial morality and ethics. Not just for lying to the Committee, but for failing to uphold the dignity and standards expected of a high Constitutional office. The Committee itself makes this argument. It says that whether the stashing of cash happened with or without Varma's consent is secondary. What matters is that a sitting judge could not explain the presence of deeply suspicious material on his premises. That alone amounts to a breach of public trust. This kind of moral framing does remind us that the judiciary's legitimacy rests as much on appearances as on outcomes. Given Varma's reputation in judicial circles—a former tax lawyer known for his intellect—it is hard to believe he would stash his own black money in an outhouse store room, instead of hiding it under his bed or parking it with trusted relatives. But then, people have been known to act in ways that defy even their own intelligence. Also Read | We need a judicial complaints commission: Prashant Bhushan The second theory is that the money wasn't his: That he was storing it for someone else. That's still a serious lapse. A judge who turns his house into a storage site for unaccounted or suspicious money—even if it's not his—has crossed a line. Or, it may be more about self-preservation: Varma may be scared to name the person. In this scenario, the issue is bigger than one judge's complicity. It is about a judiciary vulnerable to influence, where judges fear revealing the truth. He may not be guilty of corruption in the strict legal sense, but he's definitely guilty of being open to blackmail, which is just as dangerous. If this is the truth, and he still refuses to resign—for fear it would look like an admission of guilt of corruption—then the burden is on him to come clean. He should say whose money it was, or at least name who he suspects. If he's protecting someone more powerful and is willing to be impeached, definitely, the stakes are higher. And that, in itself, is a problem. In any case, if Varma can't reveal the truth for his own sake, or for the integrity of the office he holds, it's unreasonable to expect sympathy from anyone else. And a judge amenable to such blackmail cannot continue sitting on the bench. That Varma had no idea about the money is the third theory: That it was planted while he was away from Delhi. In that case, the focus is also on the system. Why was the CCTV footage not sealed after the incident was reported to the higher-ups? Why has no FIR been filed by the police even now? Why didn't Varma himself file one? If he really believes someone framed him, his inaction does not make sense. And if the system also failed to protect or investigate, it raises bigger questions. Nothing stops the police from seeking the CJI's sanction for filing an FIR against Varma. Also Read | In Mahmudabad's case, we see judicial choking of free thought In any case, given the Committee's findings that his own staff removed burnt cash secretly, the case still warrants his removal, on grounds of judicial ethics and breach of institutional morality. All three theories ultimately point to one outcome: Varma's removal from office. But only the first justifies impeachment strictly on grounds of corruption. For Varma, if there's a face-saving option left, it is to ensure that impeachment is not for being 'corrupt'. Problems with the process The In-House mechanism also hasn't inspired confidence. Instead of clarity, we're left with smoke, silence, and speculation. And in that fog, trust in the judiciary burns a little more. For more than two decades, the Indian judiciary has relied on this informal, extra-Constitutional process to discipline judges. Born from the Supreme Court's 1995 ruling in C. Ravichandran Iyer v A.M. Bhattacharjee, it was meant to fill the 'yawning gap' between 'proven misbehaviour' (the threshold to be met for impeachment) and ethical lapses, as not all actions deserve impeachment, a politically fraught and cumbersome process. The ruling was formalised in 1999, but over time, its shortcomings have become glaring. Judges rarely resign when found to be at fault. If they refuse to step down, the CJI typically writes to the President and Prime Minister seeking removal under the Judges (Inquiry) Act, 1968, which lays down the process of impeachment. This raises more institutional concerns. Once the CJI recommends removal, the Parliamentary inquiry that follows risks becoming a mere formality: The matter has already been prejudged. Moreover, the CJI also recommends the name of a Supreme Court judge to sit on the Parliament's Inquiry Committee, by convention. Can this judge truly go against their Chief Justice's opinion? The appearance of neutrality is suspect. Even if the Parliament formally says it will not consider the In-House report—as in the Justice S.K. Gangele's case—the long delay in initiating such a Parliamentary inquiry and the gaps already found by the In-House Committee in a guilty judge's defence gives a lot of time to such a judge to re-think and re-calibrate their defence, even manipulate evidence. For an innocent judge, it could prejudice public opinion. Either way, the system fails. More importantly, the In-House process is opaque and non-adversarial. There is no provision for cross-examination. The judge isn't entitled to legal representation. The Committee itself acknowledges that it's merely a fact-finding body, not a tribunal of record. Bound neither by rules of evidence nor due process, its goal is to assess whether a prima-facie case exists. This opacity breeds suspicion. The Supreme Court's initial decision to release preliminary material was bold: But the final report was leaked, not shared officially. Who leaked it? Why? These questions deserve reflection. The ad-hoc nature of the entire process to deal with a scandal or a complaint against a judge is among the most troubling aspects of the current system. For instance, the CCTV footage. The Committee notes that Varma could have preserved the footage from the camera pointed at the store room door to support his claim that the area was accessible to others and that a conspiracy was afoot. But that footage was sealed only on March 25, 10 days after the fire, and only when the Committee visited the premises for a spot inspection. Now, flip the question: If the CJI could direct the seizure of mobile phones belonging to Varma's staff—as the report notes—why didn't he also order the immediate sealing of the CCTV footage from the same area? If preserving digital evidence was within his power in one case, why not in the other? In cases such as these, the failure to have a codified, automatic mechanism to preserve evidence undermines the process to justice. The Delhi Police failing to file a panchnama and seize the cash, given the 'sensitivity' of the case, added to this mess. What's the way forward? This episode shows that internal oversight must be reformed—not in response to outrage, but to restore trust. Disciplinary inquiries must trigger deeper institutional change. We need an independent oversight body, a codified procedure, a robust ethics code, and a time-bound, transparent process. Recent steps—such as the CJI's release of Delhi High Court's preliminary report—are good but isolated and one person-driven. Unless institutionalised, they remain one-offs. The use of digital evidence and remote testimonies is a start, but must be embedded into rules. The government seems eager to push ahead with Varma's impeachment, perhaps to create an example. Some reports even suggest that it may try to bypass the mandated step of setting up an Inquiry Committee after the impeachment motion is admitted. That would be blatantly unconstitutional. The government, i.e. the Executive, appears to be under the mistaken impression that it can dictate the process. The removal of a judge falls squarely within the domain of Parliament. The Judges Inquiry Act makes no allowance for skipping the Inquiry Committee stage. At the same time, the judiciary's stubborn resistance to institutional reform only feeds fodder to its most hostile critics. Take, for example, Vice President Jagdeep Dhankhar, who has made it a habit of attacking the judiciary—particularly the Supreme Court—on one issue or another, often sounding like a broken record. His repeated, delusional claims about India being a country where 'Parliament is supreme'—when in fact India is a country where the Constitution is supreme and the judiciary interprets the Constitution—betrays wilful distortion. His political commentary—despite holding a Constitutional office that demands neutrality—only chips away at its dignity and exposes the hypocrisy in his tirades against the Supreme Court. In any case, the Justice Varma affair is not just about one man. It is about institutional decay. About what happens when systems built on trust lose their moral compass. Will sunlight disinfect? Or will we keep fighting fire with fog? The store room at 30 Tughlaq Crescent is now empty. But the smoke it emitted still engulfs the Indian judiciary. And perhaps it should—until the system it exposed is cleansed, not just with light, but with a codified, transparent rule. Saurav Das is an investigative journalist writing on law, judiciary, crime, and policy.
