The Weekly Vine Edition 43: With the Stars; Free Speech vs Democracy; and Influencer, Baiter, Lover, Spy?

Time of India

21-05-2025

Nirmalya Dutta's political and economic views vacillate from woke Leninist to Rand-Marxist to Keynesian-Friedmanite. He doesn't know what any of those terms mean.
In this week's edition, we begin by mourning the passing of two Indian science giants—Jayant Narlikar, the cosmologist who challenged the Big Bang, and M R Srinivasan, the nuclear pioneer who quietly powered a nation. We shift from the passing of scientific giants to an influencer-spy scandal, shrinking free speech, Pakistan's self-promoting generals, and an AI future that wants your job, your face, and your existential dread.
With the stars
In a span of hours, India lost two towering figures of modern science — one who peered deep into the cosmos, and another who harnessed the atom to power a nation. Jayant Vishnu Narlikar and M. R. Srinivasan were men of parallel gravities, bound not by discipline but by the immense force of their intellect, vision, and quiet patriotism. Their passing marks the end of an era where scientific pursuit was not just a career, but a calling.
Jayant Narlikar was more than a scientist — he was a philosopher of the universe. Known for his pioneering work on Steady State Cosmology, Narlikar dared to challenge the Big Bang theory at a time when few would speak against scientific consensus. Alongside Fred Hoyle, he built mathematical models that sought continuity in the universe's creation, emphasising an eternal cosmos over an explosive birth. This spirit of intellectual rebellion — backed not by ego, but inquiry — was what defined him.
But Narlikar was not content being a voice in rarefied academic circles. He believed that science, like starlight, should reach everyone. From his leadership at IUCAA, which he founded in 1988, to writing science fiction stories in school textbooks that inspired generations, Narlikar saw communication as no less important than cosmology. He was a rationalist in the truest sense — one who brought planetariums to villages, wrote papers debunking astrology, and believed that critical thinking must begin in childhood. Even in his final blog, written just weeks before his passing at 86, he spoke of graceful exits — quoting the Bhagavad Gita not as scripture, but as timeless wisdom on detachment from one's own accomplishments.
If Narlikar searched for the origins of the universe, M. R. Srinivasan built the future from its smallest building blocks. As a mechanical engineer turned nuclear scientist, Srinivasan was part of the generation that worked directly with Homi Bhabha and Vikram Sarabhai — architects of India's atomic energy programme. From overseeing the construction of the Apsara reactor in the 1950s to founding the Nuclear Power Corporation of India, he was the steady hand behind 18 functional nuclear power units that now help fuel the country.
A tireless institution builder, Srinivasan's contributions went beyond engineering marvels. In the 1980s, he was the first to organise a public debate on nuclear safety—a move that marked him not just as a scientist but as a democrat of ideas. His intellect was matched by his humility, and those who worked with him — from students to secretaries — called him a 'walking dictionary' of nuclear science.
Both men shared something rare: the belief that science must be as human as it is precise. They mentored, built institutions, inspired through action and words, and never sought the spotlight they richly deserved.
As India races forward into an age of artificial intelligence and quantum computing, the legacy of Narlikar and Srinivasan reminds us that great science begins with great questions — and ends not in noise, but in quiet, lasting impact. This week, two stars have faded from our sky. But their light, like the universe they studied and powered, endures.
Free speech vs democracy
After a brief truce during the fog of war, all the warring factions of the Indian political circus are back in action, filing cases and taking potshots—which brings us to a tale of two comments. Two individuals, a minister from Madhya Pradesh and a professor from rich people's JNU and poor people's Columbia, are under the cosh for their comments about Colonel Sofiya Qureshi.
Now, one is not getting into the merit of either speech, but neither would pass what is called the Brandenburg Test of free speech.
For the uninitiated, the Brandenburg Test is the gold standard for determining the limits of free speech, which is used in the US (a country with free speech laws relaxed enough to make Trump president) to determine whether a speech is criminally prosecutable, and came up with the description that it can only be so if it's imminent lawless action or/and likely to produce it—it's protected under free speech. That would allow a host of speech that is already punishable under Indian laws.
Now, India has never been a fount of free speech since the First Amendment (which is the complete antithesis of the American one), but that brings us to the question—why, as a nation, are we so bothered about free speech when we have a host of more pressing issues, like figuring out whether the War 2 teaser warrants a visit to the theatre to see a bulked-up Hrithik fight a carb-free NTR Jr?
That is because we, as the world's youngest stable democracy, are the only one which has inherited the baggage of all democracies, from the city-states of Greece to the ideals of Americana. That means, at the same time, we are living in various phases of a democracy, grappling with some very complex problems—from trying to feed our populace, create industrial growth, and maintain sustainability—issues that other developed nations never had to deal with on their way to being developed. They could simply use opium money or slaves to industrialise or build railroads without bothering too much about human rights and other mundane issues.
But perhaps that's what makes India the most unique experiment to ever exist, where Vedanta vies for attention with WENA wokery. But I am sure we will figure it out. After all, we are a (at least five-thousand-year-old civilisation) that couldn't be wiped out no matter how many invaders tried.
Influencer, baiter, lover, spy?
During the Cold War, spies came in trench coats, not tank tops. Back then, reverse honey traps involved moustachioed men seducing lonely secretaries in foggy alleys. But in the age of reels and ring lights, espionage has been given a makeover—and now, it wears highlighter and hashtags. Meet Jyoti Malhotra, the vlogger behind Travel with Joe, who went from posting street food reviews in Lahore to allegedly leaking Indian security info through Telegram, Snapchat, and what investigators believe was a deeply encrypted crush.
Perhaps the modern spy game—of baiting influencers—is a tribute to Aldous Huxley, whose dystopia won over George Orwell's. For the uninitiated, the two greatest dystopian novels are Brave New World by Aldous Huxley and 1984 by George Orwell (who was, for a brief period, Huxley's student). Both these novels painted distinctly bleak but contrasting futures; 1984 had the entire human race enslaved by their government, while Brave New World featured a future where humans completely gave in to their consumerist desires. Orwell and Huxley saw dystopia differently.
The case shows that one doesn't really need surveillance when one has hashtags.
As social critic Neil Postman summed up: 'What Orwell feared were those who would ban books. What Huxley feared was that there would be no reason to ban a book, for there would be no one who wanted to read one. Orwell feared those who would deprive us of information. Huxley feared those who would give us so much that we would be reduced to passivity and egotism. Orwell feared that the truth would be concealed from us. Huxley feared the truth would be drowned in a sea of irrelevance. Orwell feared we would become a captive culture. Huxley feared we would become a trivial culture, preoccupied with some equivalent of the feelies, the orgy porgy, and the centrifugal bumblepuppy.'
Perhaps, the Jyoti Malhotra case—where influencing won over Big Brother-style surveillance—shows that Huxley got it more right than Orwell.
Mein apna favourite hoon
Asim Munir clearly took notes. Because after overseeing a military embarrassment in the form of Operation Sindoor—a swift and decisive series of Indian strikes on Pakistani terror camps—General Munir has been awarded the highest honour in the Pakistani Army: Field Marshal.
Yes, you read that right. Not for winning a war. Not for achieving military parity. Not even for staging a successful coup. But for presiding over a ceasefire that followed a spanking so sharp, even the Pakistani drones returned home confused.
Let's pause for a moment to appreciate the irony. India has had only two Field Marshals in its history: Sam 'Bahadur' Manekshaw, the architect of the 1971 victory that birthed Bangladesh, and K. M. Cariappa, the man who Indianised the Army post-Independence and led troops during the 1947 war. Both earned their titles after decades of service and historic victories. Manekshaw oversaw the surrender of 93,000 Pakistani troops. Munir, meanwhile, oversaw the surrender of logic.
It gets better. The only previous Pakistani to hold this rank was Ayub Khan—who also gave it to himself in 1959. He later became a military dictator, proving that Pakistan's Field Marshal tradition is less about military brilliance and more about megalomania with medals.
Google I/O 2025
At Google I/O 2025, Google's relentless AI invasion took another giant leap, making your boring jobs its prime target. With Gemini 2.5 Pro, Google introduced an assistant so intelligent it could out-reason your manager and debug code faster than your over-caffeinated intern. More unnervingly delightful was Gemini Live, a tool that transforms your camera and screen into conversation starters, allowing AI to handle tedious observations about your surroundings, thus sparing you awkward small talk.
The company rolled out new AI subscription tiers—'AI Pro' for $20/month, promising relief from routine drudgery, and an eye-watering 'AI Ultra' for $250/month, suggesting it might also manage your existential ennui.
Google Search, traditionally reliable but boringly manual, now boasts conversational AI summaries and virtual try-ons, enabling you to 'virtually experience' products without the dreary physical effort of visiting a store.
In wearable tech, Android XR emerged to eliminate tiresome manual searches, with smart glasses delivering real-time translation, instant research, and handy context—freeing your brain to tackle more enjoyable pursuits, like daydreaming or scrolling endlessly.
For creatives tired of monotonous edits, Veo 3 and Imagen 4 step in, automating high-quality video and image creation. Flow promises filmmakers the joy of focusing solely on vision while AI handles tedious scripting, scene-setting, and post-production drudgery.
Google Beam (formerly Project Starline) revolutionises mundane meetings with immersive 3D video calls, while real-time translations in Google Meet eliminate tedious misunderstandings (unless intentional). Gmail's smart replies even adopt your writing style, sparing you the dullness of composing polite refusals yourself.
Lastly, developers received Jules for tedious coding tasks, Project Astra for proactive AI assistance, and Project Mariner to automate the boredom of repetitive web chores.
In short, Google's message is clear: embrace AI—your boredom deserves better.
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Views expressed above are the author's own.