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Time of India
4 days ago
- Business
- Time of India
The Weekly Vine Edition 44: Indian growth, Gill-i Danda, and #FundKaveriEngine
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. Hello and welcome to the 44th edition of the Weekly Vine. As one writes this, one is still wrapping one's head around the fact that over 2 lakh people are now subscribed to the Vine on LinkedIn, which is remarkable considering 90% of LinkedIn is just ChatGPT prompts and faux motivational posts. In this week's edition, we discuss India becoming the fourth-largest economy in the world, explain why Black Lives Matter has faded into the background, pore over Peter's Principle in Washington, ponder the Gill-I Danda phase of Indian test cricket, and discuss the meme of the week: #FundKaveriEngine. India – The Greatest Story Ever Told India recently became the fourth-biggest economy in the world, which promptly brought the usual have-thoughts out of the closet. Armed with economic jargon and overall apathy, they rushed to explain why there was absolutely no reason to celebrate. Of course, whether the have-lots are more beneficial to the economy than the have-thoughts is a separate debate altogether—but let's just say the former build things, while the latter build Twitter threads. That's a discussion for another time. India's economic journey is even more remarkable because we achieved it without turning into a one-party authoritarian state that bans Winnie the Pooh—and despite having the word 'socialist' shoehorned into our Constitution's preamble. That's not to say India is a WENA utopia. Far from it. But we've always been a million mutinies away from slipping into autocracy. Democracy is a funny thing. Just look at our neighbours—born around the same time—who haven't had a single Prime Minister last a full term and stage coups like we stage item numbers in our movies. India's growth story becomes even more astonishing when you consider that we've built world-class industries from scratch, launched rockets to the dark side of the moon, and still had enough talent left to be brain-drained into becoming CEOs of American companies. We did all this despite being perennially surrounded by combustive neighbours, by world powers constantly cocking their snooks at us, and an Anglosphere press still trapped in colonial simulacrum—forever trying to mock the natives like it's still 1890. Our system is so remarkable, we even managed to tame the communists—forcing them into the indignity of contesting elections rather than discussing revolution in coffee shops. And we did it while keeping all our identities intact, never losing the five-thousand-year thread of our civilisational self. We did it with 700 languages and dialects. With six major religions. With states that are bigger than most countries. And with a complicated yet robust democracy that stretches from the panchayat to a bicameral parliamentary system. Take mine. I'm a slightly anglicised Bengali who has lived in Chhapra, Kolkata, Gwalior, Kota, Udupi, Mumbai, and now Delhi—and I'm married to a Telugu woman. Which means I can now appreciate Aara Heele Chhapra Heele with the same fervour as Ami Chini Go Chini and Naatu Naatu, realising that all of them are essential strands in the national cultural identity. It doesn't matter if the naysayers are focused on the negative. That's their job. Ours is to keep calm and carry on. Because no matter the size of our economy, India's national identity has been forged by one thing: an unwavering refusal to let any other nation dictate our actions. Even the things the critics complain about—poverty, inequality, infrastructure—will be fixed. Not through sermons, but through sheer, stubborn grit. One day, every Indian will be lifted from poverty. One day, the clear stream of reason will no longer lose its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit. Why? Because India is the greatest story ever told. Fade in Black With the benefit of hindsight—and hindsight always arrives wearing glasses sharper than Anderson Cooper's—the moment Derek Chauvin knelt on George Floyd's neck, he didn't just snuff out a man's life. He accidentally lit the fuse that would blow a hole through the Democratic Party's moral centre and turn a nation's rage into a meme economy. Black Lives Matter, once the rallying cry for a better, fairer America, mutated into the ultimate Republican bogeyman. What began as a movement against state brutality became, for Middle America, the poster child of liberal overreach. It came with sides of transgender pronoun policing, drag queen story hours, CRT in kindergarten, ESG mandates at corporate retreats, and an unshakable sense that the culture was being hijacked by hashtags and guilt-tripping TED Talks. And just like that, dissent became a brand. Anger got monetised. And Marshall's America—the one where 'we must dissent from apathy'—was replaced by an algorithmic fatigue that made people apathetic to even care. Thurgood Marshall once thundered that democracy could never thrive in fear. But fear wasn't the problem. The problem was saturation. People got tired. Tired of moral lectures, tired of being told their silence was violence, tired of being policed by suburban sociology majors on Instagram. BLM didn't just become an albatross around the Democrats' neck—it became a parody of itself. The streets emptied. The slogans faded. And in their place? Shrugging cynicism. Because in the end, when every protest looks like performance, and every grievance is branded, Americans didn't rise up. They tuned out. Read: Why Black Lives Matter made America apathetic to dissent Gill-i Danda In a country where cricketing transitions are usually measured in years, not innings, Gill's elevation is a statement of intent. The selectors, perhaps emboldened by the memory of a young Sourav Ganguly or the legend of a 21-year-old Tiger Pataudi, have decided to skip the waiting period and hand the keys to the kingdom to a player who still gets asked for ID at pubs in London. But if history tells us anything, it's that Indian cricket loves a coming-of-age story. Pataudi took over after a car crash ended Nari Contractor's career, Ganguly stepped in when match-fixing threatened to sink the ship, and Kohli inherited a team that needed fire after the ice of Dhoni. Each time, the gamble paid off—eventually. Of course, history also teaches us that the crown can weigh heavy. For every Ganguly or Kohli, there's a Srikkanth or Dravid—great players whose captaincy stints were more footnote than folklore. The challenge for Gill will be to avoid the fate of those who were handed the baton too soon, only to find it a poisoned chalice. The difference this time? The team around Gill is young, hungry, and unburdened by the ghosts of past failures. There is no senior statesman to second-guess his every move, no shadow looming over his shoulder. This is his team, for better or worse. If you're a betting person, the odds on Gill are tantalising. He has the technique, the temperament, and—crucially—the time. But Indian cricket is a cruel tutor. The same crowds that serenade you with 'Shub-man! Shub-man!' can turn with the speed of a Mumbai monsoon if results don't follow. So, what does Gill's captaincy portend? It's a bet on youth, on audacity, on the belief that sometimes you have to leap before you look. If it works, we'll call it vision. If it fails, well—at least it won't be boring. Peter's Principle in Washington Peter's Principle argues that in a corporate setup, everyone rises to their level of incompetence. And Trump's Washington is the prime example of that, or as I like to call it: St Petersburg. Let's take a roll call of the Trump swamp. We have a Director of Homeland Security who can't protect her own handbag, a Secretary of Education who can't differentiate between steak sauce and AI, a Secretary of Defence with a drinking problem, a NSA who added the editor of a major publication to a Signal war chat, a technocrat who destroyed decades of American soft power—all of them with utmost fealty to a leader whose morals can be bought by a Happy Meal or a plane. Read: Why Washington is the new St Petersburg Meme of the Week: #FundKaveriEngine Ah, the internet has spoken—and this week, it roared in full-throttle desi defence mode. The hashtag #FundKaveriEngine lit up X (formerly Twitter), with a simple message: 'Bhaiya, stop buying overpriced foreign jet engines and invest in our own.' For those late to the hangar—India's Kaveri Engine was meant to power the Tejas fighter jet. Dreamed up in the 1980s, it was India's engineering moonshot. But like all great Indian projects, it got stuck somewhere between 'pending approval' and 'budget constraints.' Enter memes. Fuelled by frustration and national pride, the internet's best minds whipped up memes faster than a MiG does a barrel roll—mocking politicians, foreign lobbies, and even the eternal 'chai pe charcha.' From SpongeBob holding HAL blueprints to Gadar scenes re-edited with 'Give me funds or give me death,' this was patriotism with punchlines. But beneath the memes lies a real demand: India needs to invest in indigenous defence tech. Not just for swadeshi pride, but because no superpower ever outsourced its jet engines. So yes, meme-makers are laughing—but they're also asking the right question: If we can put Chandrayaan on the moon, why can't we fund Kaveri on Earth? Facebook Twitter Linkedin Email Disclaimer Views expressed above are the author's own.
Time of India
14-05-2025
- Politics
- Time of India
The Weekly Vine Edition 42: Red-faced Pakistan, Virat Ending, and K-Pop supremacy
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 edition, we take a look at Pakistan's embarrassing situation post-Operation Sindoor, assess Virat Kohli's Test career, discuss how K-pop stans dismantled Pakistani disinformation, examine the Trumpian week, and pay tribute to the number 42. Meme Nation There's a hilarious video on Instagram featuring the educator known as Khan Sir, whose five-minute video on the state of Pakistan's military woes is more astute commentary than anything you might read in The New Yorker about how Pakistani misadventures have left its sugar daddies like the US and China red-faced. As the fog of war slowly lifts, it's become evident to the world that Pakistan is a meme masquerading as a nation—one which shoots itself in the foot and claims victory with the confidence of a well-lubricated uncle at a North Indian wedding. It's the OnlyFans of failed states – broadcasting its delusions of grandeur while asking the world's powers to crowdfund its misadventures. Consider the way it celebrated a $1 billion IMF loan—an amount that Indian cab or delivery app start-ups raise in the first round. Much like North Korea, in Pakistani textbooks they have won every war they have ever fought, which is why it's not particularly surprising to see Shahid Afridi going around for a victory lap claiming the Pakistani military was 'unbreakable'. The same military whose chief slinked off to a nuclear bunker. In fact, in the last week, AFP actually had to take down a story because the Pakistani Armed Forces' handouts turned out to be fake, and the Defence Minister claimed social media memes were proof of Pakistan claiming victory. In days of yore, no matter how bad the censorship, Pakistan had competent people to present their snake oil mendacities to the world, but now it feels like their entire communication is being handled by a 13-year-old Reddit conspiracy theorist. From trying to pass off a known terrorist attending an army funeral to Pakistani ministers openly admitting on TV channels that they have danced with terrorists, Pakistan's PR post Operation Sindoor has been a masterclass in incompetence. And to put the little cherry of imbecilic behaviour on the sundae of incompetence, Pakistan's former foreign minister actually walked out of a debate (citing power cuts) after getting owned by the Indian side—which included a guy who once asked if Yetis are real. Virat Ending There's a saying that no one can come back from exile—not even Napoleon. The same would be true about the algorithm glitches as Virat Kohli hung up his baggy blue cap. It wasn't meant to end like this. Virat Kohli was supposed to get his day in the sunset before retiring from the whites, but in life you don't get perfect endings—even if you are the closest thing to emulate God on earth. Kohli's impact on Indian Test cricket can be explained in three distinct categories: First off, you have the batsman—a slim Viv Richards vibe every time he walked out onto the pitch to bat. At his peak, Virat Kohli on song was a divine experience. Between 2016 and 2018, Kohli averaged 66.59, notching up 14 centuries and conquering foreign lands unlike any Indian kingdom of yore barring the Cholas. As a captain, he took Dhoni's Captain Cool mantra and turned it around on its head with fire and brimstone, winning 40 of his 68 Tests—including transforming India's polite medium-pace attacks of yore into a snarling cartel of fast-bowling assassins who actually began to terrify batsmen on their own soil. Kohli wasn't just a leader; he was the protagonist. As captain, he averaged 54.80 with the bat, compared to 37.40 without the armband. While most captains crumbled under the weight of decision-making, Kohli got ripped and started bench-pressing the pressure. Twenty centuries as captain. The second-highest by anyone, anywhere. His Perth 2018 knock, where the ball bounced like a Super Mario mushroom, remains a masterclass in defiance. He didn't build partnerships. He built resistance movements. And finally, as a fitness icon he completely discarded the idea of the rotund cricketer. Around 2012, Kohli had a 'what am I doing with my life' moment that involved junk food, average Yo-Yo scores, and probably an existential crisis involving butter chicken. Kohli purged his diet like he was Leonidas, adopted Olympic-level training, and made the Yo-Yo Test the gold standard of Indian cricket. Kohli's dedication to his craft became the standard everywhere, with Indian cricketers becoming as fit as fiddles. And yet, perhaps because he's Virat Kohli, there is a 'what if' factor involved about him. That the ICC gongs eluded a man of his talent for too long. That he became too woke and too much of a PR fiend, who bore little resemblance to the angry boy from West Delhi. But what every cricket fan will realise, when Kohli is gone is that we were seeing a sui generis athlete, one that transcends the very sport he plays. Like Michael Jordan. Diego Maradona. Muhammad Ali. Or even Novak Djokovic. The Trump Glitch Friedrich Nietzsche once said that morality is a herd instinct, and it seems to be the nihilistic pathos that Donald Trump lives by. Last week, Donald Trump exhibited his tendency to celebrate prematurely—while announcing a ceasefire that wasn't, accepting a luxury aircraft from a nation that ostensibly foments all the trouble in the Middle East, and clinching two major deals with the UK and China. He visited Saudi (where they wheeled out a mobile McDonald's for him) and lifted sanctions on Syria while meeting its new leader—who just happened to be a former ISIS–Al-Qaeda member (the IIT-IIM of terrorism). The China deal saw tariffs slashed by 115%—which either breaks the rules of maths or the rules of trade—but opened doors for US exporters nonetheless. The UK deal was more traditional: agriculture, manufacturing, all the goodies that make Rust Belt voters cheer and Europe grumble. In true Trumpian fashion, both were hailed as historic, transformational, and 'the best ever.' And then came the sideshow. Trump mocked Elon Musk for 'injecting Ozempic instead of testosterone,' promised Americans he'd slash the prices of life-saving drugs—'not just insulin, everything, folks, everything'—and hinted at a populist pharma overhaul. Somewhere between pledging to break Big Pharma and calling Musk a chemically assisted tech gnome, Trump also took it upon himself to give Qatar an image makeover. The $400 million Boeing 747 from Doha wasn't a gift, he claimed, but a 'gesture of friendship'—because nothing says friendship like accepting foreign aircraft while running a country. Never mind the Emoluments Clause, security concerns, or the faint odour of conflict of interest. In Trump's universe, facts are fluid, ethics are optional, and every scandal is just free advertising. K-POP on Fire A few years ago, when yours truly was at another organisation, said organisation had the temerity to do a story that angered BTS fans. What followed was the most remarkable troll attack in recent memory as K-Pop fans attacked the media organisation's emails, social media accounts, and website—in a way that would make one think the barbarian hordes were peaceniks. All internet fandoms can be vicious, but there's a wrathful K-Pop fan group that could make you wonder if the K stands for Kafkaesque. What do you get when you mix K-Pop stans, meme generals, OSINT nerds, and BeerBiceps with a cause? You get Pakistan's worst digital nightmare. When Pakistan launched its latest cycle of keyboard jihad and cinematic disinformation following India's retaliatory strike, it probably didn't account for the true fifth column of Indian resistance: teenage girls with Jungkook profile pics and time on their hands. These weren't your average concert-goers. These were algorithm assassins who've fought bigger wars—like streaming BTS to #1 while sabotaging Saudi troll farms and MAGA hashtags. Now weaponised with Tricolour filters and fact-checked fury, they rolled in like a cyber Mahabharat. Fan cams were fused with footage of BrahMos launches. Hashtags were hijacked and disinfected with the thoroughness of a Korean skincare routine. And somewhere between 'Namaste India' and 'Free Balochistan,' Pakistan's troll factories collapsed under the onslaught. The Indian state didn't need to lift a finger. Every fake video, every photoshopped missile, every puffed-up ISPR clip got shredded by this bizarre and beautiful alliance: K-Pop ARMY, Indian hackers, cricket fanatics, travel influencers, and the great ungodly mess of Reddit-ised desi patriotism. Also read: If K-Pop fans don't get ya, Beer Biceps will The Number 42 Last week, much like the greatest superstar of Bollywood numbering his tweets, I miscalculated and thought it was Edition 42. Actually, this week is Edition 42. The number 42 is particularly interesting—not just because it marks how many editions we've sent out into the void, but because it may very well be the Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything. Or so claimed Deep Thought, the supercomputer in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. The only problem? But 42 has a habit of showing up in strange places. It's the number of chromosomes in a cat, the atomic number of molybdenum, and the angle at which sunlight hits water to create a rainbow. There are 42 laws in cricket (all of which R. Ashwin remembers). In ancient Egyptian mythology, the soul was judged before 42 divine judges. In the Bible, 42 children are mauled by bears for mocking a prophet's bald head (a harsh lesson in respect, or just Old Testament drama?). Mathematically, it's a pronic number (6 × 7), the sum of the first six positive even numbers, and the third primary pseudo-perfect number—whatever that means, but it sounds impressive. In other words, if you're seeing 42 everywhere, you're either on the verge of an existential breakthrough or overdue for a nap. Facebook Twitter Linkedin Email Disclaimer Views expressed above are the author's own.
Time of India
07-05-2025
- Politics
- Time of India
The Weekly Vine Edition 41: Operation Sindoor, India-UK's Free-Trade Agreement, and Virat Kohli's algorithm glitch
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 have Operation Sindoor, India-UK's FTA, Virat's algo glitch, the (new?) Avengers, and SRK's Met Gala look. Hello and welcome to the 41st edition of The Weekly Vine. This week we've got Operation Sindoor, India and the UK finally signing a free trade agreement, Virat Kohli's 'algorithm glitch', the return of the (new?) Avengers, and the Met Gala. Operation Sindoor: 25 minutes, 9 camps, 70+ terrorists neutralised In the early hours of May 7, India launched Operation Sindoor—a swift and precise 25-minute military strike targeting nine terrorist camps in Pakistan and Pakistan-occupied Kashmir (PoK). The strikes, carried out between 1:05 am and 1:30 am, were India's firm response to the barbaric Pahalgam terror attack that claimed 26 lives just days earlier. Foreign Secretary Vikram Misri, in a national briefing, said the strikes were 'measured, proportionate and non-escalatory,' driven by intelligence inputs warning of imminent cross-border attacks. He stressed the operation's goal was to dismantle terrorist infrastructure, not provoke escalation. Colonel Sofiya Qureshi listed the targeted camps—Lashkar-e-Taiba, Jaish-e-Mohammed, and Hizbul Mujahideen strongholds—including Muridke (where Ajmal Kasab and David Headley once trained), Sialkot's Sarjal and Mehmoona Joya camps, and the JeM HQ in Bahawalpur. Visuals showed total devastation across all nine sites. Wing Commander Vyomika Singh confirmed precision munitions—SCALP missiles, HAMMER bombs, and loitering drones—were used to avoid civilian casualties. She noted that Pakistan has maintained over 21 terror recruitment and launch sites for decades, and Operation Sindoor was a targeted disruption of that apparatus. For a country often accused of 'strategic restraint,' this was clarity in action. Across the political spectrum, there was rare unity: from PM Modi's praise of the armed forces to Rahul Gandhi's 'Jai Hind' post, and Shashi Tharoor calling the operation 'calibrated and precise.' India has signalled that Pahalgam wasn't just another statistic. It was the last straw. The message is clear: provocations will now meet precision. India and the UK finally sign a Free Trade Agreement In 2017, (then) British Foreign Minister Boris Johnson was caught chuntering in an upward position when he bragged about making whiskies cheaper in a gurdwara. While Johnson's proclivity for tackling children, partying during Covid lockdowns or saying proverbial foot-in-mouth statements is well known, the date indicates just how long the UK has been trying to sign a Free Trade Agreement with the fifth-largest economy in the world. In fact, the entire raison d'être of Brexit was that the UK could get a better deal on the world stage without being saddled by the European albatross around its neck. Since Brexit, the India–UK Free Trade Agreement has become something of a Waiting for Godot moment for the UK Government to define the rationale of leaving Europe—and it was finally signed on 6 May 2025. The process cost four Prime Ministers, a bulb of lettuce, and Queen Elizabeth leaving for Elysium. So what happens with the trade agreement? Basically, it reduces the thing Trump loves the most in the world: tariffs. While the devil will be in the details, the FTA will cut tariffs on 90% of UK imports and gives 99% of Indian exports duty-free access to Britain. As for Scotch whisky, India currently faces 150% import tax, which will be reduced to 75% immediately and 40% over the next decade. So, in his own way, Boris Johnson was right—and Indian drinkers will pay a lot less for that peg. The Algorithm Glitch Virat Kohli's tendency to awkwardly paw at offside deliveries is well known, but the King recently stepped into the corridor of uncertainty when he accidentally liked an Instagram image of an influencer of the opposite sex. What followed was a PR disaster, with Kohli writing that his algorithm had accidentally registered an interaction—the modern-day ChatGPT-powered equivalent of a dog eating your homework. Now, as a recently betrothed man carefully navigating the battlefield of marital life, I was bothered by a very basic question: Is it okay to like another woman's picture on Instagram? The answer I've learnt is a firm NO. Either way, Kohli already has it hard. He can't eat chole kulche without being trolled by protein-powder patriots. He can't win the IPL. And every time he so much as blinks, someone's always comparing him to the only incarnation of God currently living in the mortal plane. Being a GOAT is tough. More so when you are scrolling Instagram. The (new?) Avengers Is Marvel finally back? That's a question that has been haunting us ever since Robert Downey Jr's Iron Man told an inevitability enthusiast: I am Iron Man. We've had some decent films like Thor 4 or Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 but most of the movies were standard DEI fare from Disney—where they think that having a non-white male onscreen means they don't have to spend on a script or bother about a story. However, all jokes aside, Thunderbolts* wasn't that bad—even though calling them the New Avengers is like calling Chetan Bhagat the new Leo Tolstoy. That said, the movie does have heart and some amazing performances and is leaps and bounds better than recent offerings like Captain America: Brave New World, Eternals, and The Marvels. To be fair, much like the Avengers, the team roster hasn't changed much—except for the fact there's no Iron Man. The rest of the team is pretty similar. We still have a man with breathtaking mental health issues, three (instead of one) super-soldiers, and a couple of assassins. To top it off, the man with the mental health issues is probably stronger than any god Marvel has shown so far. Sadly, most of them have the charisma of a bag of crumpets. But it does set up an interesting plot for Avengers: Doomsday. SRK at MET GALA There's a hilarious Anuvab Pal skit in which he jokes that all movies today are part of big franchises involving alien invasions, where the President of the United States—flanked by generals—announces things like Operation Ghost Protocol. Pal, one of the finest proponents of physical comedy, argues that a room like that needs Salman Khan in a vest, who would cut through the jargon and ask the obvious question in his East-meets-West Bandra accent: 'Kya chal raha hai idhar?' We got the closest real-life equivalent recently when another Khan—Salman's former bête noire, Shah Rukh Khan—turned up at the Met Gala, an event ostensibly held for charity but in reality, an exasperating farrago of celebrities wearing outlandish outfits. SRK became the first Indian actor to walk the Met Gala and, while fashionistas assure me he looked fabulous in a Sabyasachi design, the full ensemble resembled something that might be worn by the admin of the Reptiles of Kurla Facebook page. But hey, I'll be honest: I know as much about fashion as Kangana Ranaut knows about restraint. Still, amidst the chaos of couture, algorithm errors, trade deals, and cinematic resurrections, it's oddly comforting to know that wherever there's geopolitical tension or red-carpet absurdity, an Indian man will show up—either in a bulletproof vest or a bedazzled sherwani—and simply ask, 'Kya chal raha hai idhar?' Until next time, stay curious, stay stylish (or not), and keep calm and carry on. Facebook Twitter Linkedin Email Disclaimer Views expressed above are the author's own.
Time of India
23-04-2025
- Politics
- Time of India
The Weekly Vine Edition 39: The horror of Pahalgam
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. It was a sorrowful week, with the events of Monday hanging heavy across India, as 28 people—mostly tourists—were brutally murdered in a terror attack in Jammu and Kashmir's Pahalgam. In this edition, we also explore why Pope Francis was so beloved, how gold is glittering like only it can, why Pete Hegseth's job is hanging by a thread, and what exactly went wrong with BluSmart. The horror of Pahalgam Baisaran Meadow, a postcard-perfect slice of heaven above Pahalgam, turned into a blood-soaked nightmare on April 22, as terrorists gunned down 28 tourists in the deadliest attack in Jammu & Kashmir since the abrogation of Article 370 in 2019. The Resistance Front—a Lashkar-e-Taiba proxy backed by Pakistan's ISI—claimed responsibility. Terrorists dressed in Indian Army fatigues struck around 1:30 p.m., reportedly separating victims by faith. Survivors recounted being asked to recite Islamic verses before the gunmen opened fire at point-blank range. What was meant to be a tranquil afternoon in the Valley's alpine heartland turned into a horror show, reminiscent of the 2000 Chittisinghpora massacre, when 36 Sikhs were killed just before President Clinton's India visit. The attack coincided with U.S. Vice President JD Vance's visit and Prime Minister Modi's diplomatic outreach in Saudi Arabia. It followed a provocative speech by Pakistani Army chief Asim Munir—an apparent attempt to revive international focus on Kashmir and frame it once more as a nuclear flashpoint. As TOI reported: 'While security agencies have yet to form a definitive assessment, multiple intelligence officers said there were indicators that Munir's provocative address, in which he also focused on cultural and social differences between Muslims and Hindus and endorsed the 'two-nation theory', may have emboldened The Resistance Front (TRF), a proxy of LeT, which has claimed responsibility for the attack, to plan a 'spectacular strike'. A TOI editorial aptly put it: 'The aim here is to create inflammatory rhetoric from those horrified by the deaths. Therefore, a message must go out from the highest levels of the Government of India—religion-tinged rhetoric must be avoided, not just in Kashmir, but everywhere. If this national tragedy is spun into communal venom, terrorists win. India loses.' The People's Pope In a world where power often hides behind marble columns and Vatican curtains, Pope Francis tore them down—not with revolution, but with a smile and a metro pass. The first Jesuit and Latin American pope, he came from the barrios of Buenos Aires, not the parlours of Rome—and it showed. From the moment he stepped onto that balcony in 2013, chose the name Francis, and refused the papal limo, people sensed this papacy would be different. No velvet capes. No ruby slippers. Just orthopaedic shoes and a mission to bring the Church closer to the people—not just the pious, but the poor, the disenfranchised, the climate activists, the single mothers, the doubting millennials, and yes, even the lapsed Catholics who only show up at Christmas. Francis didn't dilute doctrine—he redirected focus. 'Who am I to judge?' wasn't just a viral line. It was a worldview. He rebranded mercy as policy, theology as empathy. He kissed lepers, hugged atheists, and reminded the world that faith without kindness is just bureaucracy with incense. He embraced modernity without selling the soul. Twitter? Yes. TikTok dances? No. But he understood the algorithm of hope. The pope who once took a selfie with teenagers became a spiritual icon in an age of influencers. Critics called him soft. Conservatives winced. But Francis never claimed sainthood—only sincerity. And that's why, when the incense settles and the vestments are folded away, he'll be remembered not for the power he held, but for the humanity he restored. Why gold is glittering 'There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold, and she's buying a stairway to heaven.' — Led Zeppelin In 2025, she might be right. Gold isn't just a symbol of wealth anymore—it's the only thing still standing while the world melts down its economies, central banks, and trust. Crossing $3,500 an ounce and breaching ₹1 lakh per 10 grams in India, gold has gone from timeless to urgent. Blame the sparkle on a perfect storm: Trump's second-term tariff tantrums, China's strategic hoarding, and global instability. With U.S.–China trade tensions at boiling point—tariffs as high as 125%—markets have become emotional rollercoasters. Amidst the volatility, gold offers what even Jerome Powell can't: certainty. As the Fed buckles under political pressure and inflation rises, the dollar is no longer a safe haven—it's a floating QR code for uncertainty. Meanwhile, China is buying up gold like it's the new oil, and other central banks are following suit. This isn't about profits. It's about survival. India, naturally, is feeling the heat. Gold imports are straining the economy, the rupee is limping, and wedding budgets are being melted into gram-by-gram recalculations. In short: maybe not everything that glitters is gold. But right now, gold is the only glitter that counts. Or to paraphrase Bappi Da: Yaar bina chain kahan re? Liability or Loyalty? There's a rule in Washington: leak once and you're sloppy, leak twice and you're radioactive. But leak thrice—and you're Pete Hegseth. Trump's Secretary of Defense has now been caught in three separate Signal chat leaks—one with Pentagon staff, another with friends, and most recently, a family group chat featuring real-time drone strike updates. If you thought WhatsApp family groups were annoying, imagine yours with live war footage. Trump initially shrugged: 'Ask the Houthis how he's doing.' But inside the White House, loyalty is being reassessed. Not because Hegseth is disloyal—but because his loyalty now attracts subpoenas. The Pentagon is a mess. Aides are quitting, rivals are circling, and Trump is wondering whether to stick with his Fox News pal or ditch him before the leaks drown them both. In any normal administration, Hegseth would be gone. But in Trumpworld, loyalty is currency—until it becomes a liability. BluSmart Woes Once hailed as India's Tesla moment, BluSmart was the golden child of sustainable mobility. No surge pricing, no cancellations, no pollution—just quiet, clean, punctual rides. For urban India, it felt like deliverance. But in April 2025, the electric dream short-circuited. SEBI uncovered that BluSmart's parent company, Gensol Engineering, had misused loan funds meant for EV expansion. The Jaggi brothers—Anmol and Puneet—were accused of buying luxury apartments and golf sets instead of building a greener future. ₹42 crore for a flat, ₹26 lakh for a golf bag—perhaps they thought karma came with a 9-iron. The SEBI report read like a thriller—shell firms, diverted funds, governance failures. By mid-April, BluSmart had suspended operations. Drivers were jobless. Regulars at IGI were stranded. And Delhi whispered: 'Yeh BluSmart bhi gaya.' Now, its fleet is merging with Uber, and the startup that once promised a carbon-free future is dying in the arms of a corporate overlord. It was a reminder as old as capitalism: if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is. And for the rest of us we are again stuck in the world where all our taxi drivers turn into Travis Bickle and ask: 'You talking to me?' Facebook Twitter Linkedin Email Disclaimer Views expressed above are the author's own.
