Surely the imagination and heart of every bargain-loving Indian (and that’s all of us—even the sons of billionaires sourced their brides from Chandni Chowk in our beloved K3G) has been captured, hook line and sinker by Iran’s Shahed kamikaze drone?
At a cost of only $20,000 to $50,000 per unit, the simple, homely “iron bee” Shahed can take down a sophisticated Patriot (PAC-3) interceptor which costs anywhere between $4 million and $12 million. Watching it hit a Patriot delivers the same schadenfreude as seeing some uncleji’s errant old Bajaj Chetak roll downhill on its own and slam full-tilt into the universally disliked rich neighbour’s new Lamborghini.
It can also be mass-produced quickly, unlike sophisticated missiles, which means a swarm of Shaheds can effectively bankrupt an air-defence system’s inventory. Perhaps, the Shahed is a very Gen Z kind of cruise missile—turning its back on conspicuous consumption, embracing thrift and cost-effectiveness, and offering conclusive proof of something we have long suspected: that expensive does not necessarily mean more effective, more satisfying, or better quality, or more likely to deliver happiness.
Shutterstock
Basically, if the Shahed was a person, it would be Rajinikanth—the swaggering bus conductor who cooked all the nepo-kids. If it were a film, it would be the small, lovingly made indie gem that beat out cynical, bloated formulaic fare. If it were a wedding outfit, it would be a grandmother’s Kanjeevaram or Banarasi, lovingly preserved and simply draped—not a Rs10 lakh, 20kg designer lehenga with a cancan as wide as the queen’s in Bridgerton.
But the lesson the Shahed offers is not merely financial—about paisa-vasool ratios. It is also moral. Because every time the tiny heroic drone from a besieged and bleeding 5,000-year-old civilisation hits an American interceptor, it demonstrates that it is possible to stand up to stupid, greedy, selfish hypocrites with their bloated finger on the nuclear button. It suggests that maybe ‘pragmatism’ and ‘realpolitik’ are just another name for cowardice and buck-passing. It inspires the world to stop with the grovelling, the appeasing, the nervous giggling, the fence-sitting and the stress-hugging.
Of course, we must not romanticise Iran—the Ayatollah was clearly no saint and clamped down on protestors brutally—but the fact of the matter is that in these surreal times, Iran is the first sovereign state which is actually behaving like one.
During the Raisina Dialogue talks in Delhi, Iran’s deputy foreign minister—Saeed Khatibzadeh—made a striking remark. Iran and India, he said, invented and refined the game of chess. “We are chess players, you and I,” he twinkled at his interviewer, then added with a shrug, “And those guys… they play football.”
The contempt in his voice said it all. An expensive spectacle, a massive stadium, dumb, brute force, screaming crowds, 22 excessively padded-up players and high animal spirits. Versus two people across a small chequered board in a sunny spot engaging in a battle of wits—cool, strategic, sans drama or posturing, entirely focused on the long game. Which of them do you think will emerge victorious?
From architecture, landscaping, motifs and art, to language, cuisine and good governance, we have learned so much from our pre-partition neighbours. Perhaps, it is time to learn a lesson in integrity as well.
editor@theweek.in