Shashi Tharoor

lutyens-evicted-rajaji-installed-is-india-prioritising-symbolism-over-substance

Sat Mar 28 18:17:14 IST 2026

The game of musical chairs in New Delhi has taken a turn for the literal. After decades of staring stoically at the monumental palace he built, the bronze bust of Edwin Lutyens has been evicted from the forecourt of Rashtrapati Bhavan.

In his place stands C. Rajagopalachari (Rajaji), the first Indian governor-general and a titan of the independence movement. On paper, it’s a move of impeccable logic. Why should the architect who once referred to Indians as “very low down in the scale of humanity” keep his prime real estate when a homegrown polymath is waiting in the wings?

And I am an admirer of Rajaji, a classic liberal, anchored in Indian civilisation but without a shred of bigotry or chauvinism, an advocate of free enterprise and social justice, a vigorous foreign policy and robust national defence, along with civil liberties and freedoms of belief and expression—precisely the mixture of convictions and principles I have cherished all my life.

As the first Indian occupant of Rashtrapati Bhavan as the only Indian governor-general (1948-50), he deserved a place on the grounds anyway, so this is an overdue tribute I am happy to applaud. But what bothers me is the theatre of symbolism behind the move.

The government’s rationale is a cocktail of decolonisation and “out with the old guard”. It’s a multi-layered manoeuvre that serves several masters at once. Removing Lutyens is, first of all, a symbolic scrubbing of the imperial stain. Lutyens wasn’t just British; he was a man whose private diaries were essentially a masterclass in colonial snobbery and primitive racism. His contempt for India and Indians still reeks an odium it is impossible to ignore.

There’s also a political right hook involved in the Lutyens defenestration: it’s a tidy way to thumb one’s nose at the Lutyens elite, that comfortably anglophone circle of power that dominated the capital’s social and political orbits for decades. It reminds them that there’s a new group in charge who can’t even pronounce “Lutyens”. And as always with the BJP, there’s a small electoral nudge involved. With Tamil Nadu heading to the polls this month, what better time to elevate a legendary Tamil statesman to the heart of the capital? Rajaji himself may not be a major individual vote-catcher any longer, but honouring him is a nod to regional pride wrapped in a nationalist bow.

Lutyens’ bust is headed for a museum, which is perhaps the most British thing that could happen to him. There, he can continue to sneer at the tourists in a controlled environment, safely tucked away from the levers of power.

But one has to wonder if we are simply swapping one set of symbols for another. India’s political landscape is increasingly a theatre of renaming, replacing, and reframing. We tear down the old to assert the new, yet the underlying structures—the colonial-era bureaucracy and viceroy-level pomp—remain remarkably intact.

Will Indian politics ever outgrow the allure of empty symbolism? Probably not. Symbols are cheap and emotionally resonant. Building a world-class infrastructure takes years; moving a statue takes a crane and a press release.

The recent wave of symbolic politics in India—whether replacing statues or renaming cities, streets and the election-bound state of Kerala—reflects a contest over historical memory, but it often substitutes spectacle for substance. These gestures are presented as acts of cultural reclamation, yet they frequently function as distractions from the harder work of governance: strengthening institutions, expanding freedoms, and addressing economic and social challenges. By focusing on the erasure of architectural or toponymic legacies associated with the colonial past, political actors can claim ideological victory without undertaking the far more demanding task of improving the lived experience of citizens. The symbolism is loud, but the material transformation remains muted.

As Rajaji takes his place, one hopes his legacy of sharp intellect and principled dissent (traits that often annoyed his own contemporaries) is what we are actually celebrating, not just his utility as a counter-symbol to a racist British architect. At the end of the day, India’s self-assertion will come not through cosmetic changes but through democratic vitality, social justice and economic opportunity for all. That’s an agenda of which Rajaji would have approved.

editor@theweek.in

tharoor-mapping-the-ego-why-global-politics-is-having-a-vibe-check-via-maps

Sat Feb 28 17:04:05 IST 2026

For decades, we have treated maps as the homework of grumpy geography teachers—all coloured pencils and scale ratios. But as the recent headlines suggest, a map isn’t just a guide to where you are; it is an advertisement of where you want to be. We are witnessing the evolution of maps from the schoolroom to the war room, transitioning from the classroom through the era of “cartographic aggression” to the polite, yet pointed, “cartographic diplomacy”.

Back in the 1950s, India got a crash course in cartographic aggression from China, which practised what can only described as the art of the land grab without putting your boots on. It was the geopolitical equivalent of a roommate quietly moving the “room divider” six inches into your space while you were out for lunch. China began publishing maps that claimed swathes of Indian territory as their own. It was a bold move: why bother with political niceties when you can simply redraw the border on a glossy piece of paper and wait for diplomacy, or the soldiers, to catch up?

In this world, a printing press can be as dangerous as a battle tank. By the time you have finished saying, “Wait, that’s not where the line is supposed to be drawn,” the other side has already filed the map in a dozen international libraries. And in this particular instance, the Chinese followed up the cartographical aggression with the real thing—a physical invasion that we ruefully remember as the 1962 war, in which some of that territory taken by the maps was actually seized by soldiers.

Fast forward to today, and the US has decided to play the game with a friendlier, yet equally calculated, Sharpie pen. By quietly releasing a map that depicts PoK and Aksai Chin as integral Indian territory, the Trump administration has engaged in cartographic diplomacy. Think of it as the ultimate grand gesture in a diplomatic courtship or the bunch of roses strategically timed for Valentine’s Day. It is the international relations’ version of changing your Facebook relationship status to “it is official” before the first date is even over. It’s Washington saying: “We see you, we like you, and we’re willing to forget 30 years of ‘neutral’ grey shading to prove it.”

The fact that the US issued such a map has been widely noticed and commented upon in the Indian media. No surprise: in a country where books are banned for carrying the wrong maps, and magazine pages are blacked out for the same sin when they cross customs, an unsolicited cartographic expression of friendship is bound to get the media to sit up and take notice. Why do lines on paper matter enough to justify such reams of newsprint being expended on noticing them? Because maps are what Gen-Z calls the ultimate “vibe check” of global politics. After all, cartographic aggression has been used against us to create a “new reality” through stubborn persistence. Cartographic diplomacy, then, can be used to signal a new partnership through a partner announcing recognition of your claims. It is rather like changing your status update on Facebook and hoping the object of your affection will notice. We did.

In both cases, geography is less about mountains and rivers and more about ego and influence. A map is no longer just a tool to help you find your way; it is a highway hoarding for your political inclinations. In other words, geography may be destiny, but cartography is desire.

Atal Bihari Vajpayee, as prime minister, famously reminded us that you can’t change your geography. But cartographers can certainly change the way your geography is depicted—and therein lies the rub. In the 21st century, we don’t just fight for the high ground; we now fight for its high-resolution rendering on a map. Whether it’s an aggressive claim or a diplomatic high-five, the lesson is clear: keep your friends close, your enemies closer, and your cartographers on a very high retainer.

The next time you look at a map, don’t just look for the lines. Look for the subtext behind them. Because in the world of “cartographic diplomacy”, a single line can be worth a thousand trade deals—and a whole lot of bruised, or inflated, egos!

editor@theweek.in

the-high-price-of-headlines-how-sensationalism-fails-victims-and-society

Sat Jan 31 15:05:37 IST 2026

These are recent headlines from a single day’s Times of India in Delhi: ‘Missing four year old girl’s body found in drain’, ‘Man murders girlfriend in hotel room’, ‘Two arrested for robbing man’, ‘Man falls off terrace, dies’, ‘Child among three dead in fire’, and ‘Cabbie beheaded by wife and her lover’. Our newspapers have become a grim ledger of the horrors of our society. They also reveal much about the mechanics of the news industry and the voyeuristic psychology of the reading public.

This daily preoccupation with blood reveals our society undergoing a rapid and often violent transformation. Many of these crimes, particularly those involving domestic betrayals or murders in hotel rooms, reflect the psychological pressures of modern urban life as traditional support systems erode. Some stories point to an infrastructure of negligence where human life is frequently treated as a cheap commodity. These are not always simple accidents; they are often indictments of a system where safety protocols and social safety nets are bypassed in the rush of urbanisation.

For a major national newspaper, this focus on crime is partly driven by commercial necessity. In a digital age where attention is the primary currency, crime stories provide high-octane content that captures the eye. Indian journalism has developed a mastery of the ‘hyper-local’ crime report, often mimicking the language of a police FIR. This creates a ‘theatre of the real’ where the visceral details—the beheadings and the sleaze—tap into a primal human interest in deviance. However, the danger is that such reporting often stops at the surface, providing shock without substance and headlines without investigation.

The mirror also turns towards us, the readers. We consume these stories for a variety of reasons, ranging from a subconscious ‘safety check’ of our surroundings to a darker sense of catharsis. Reading about tragedy from the safety of our morning tea provides a brief jolt of adrenaline that cuts through the monotony of daily life. Yet, by rewarding this sensationalism with our attention, we inadvertently encourage a media landscape where systemic issues like mental health, urban planning, and poverty are overlooked in favour of the next dramatic headline.

Could our media evolve from sensationalist reporting to constructive journalism that seeks to move the reader from a state of passive fear to one of informed civic engagement? Instead of the grisly details of ‘Missing four year old girl’s body found in drain’, could the reporter investigate why the drain was left uncovered, track the history of municipal neglect in that specific area, and provide a safety audit map of the neighbourhood to pressure local authorities for infrastructure repairs? Similarly, could ‘Child among three dead in fire’ move beyond the body count to analyse the city’s fire safety compliance? A better journalistic approach would involve an investigative piece on how many buildings in that city have bypassed required certifications and guide readers on how to spot fire hazards in their own buildings. By adopting this social impact model, Indian newspapers can transform from being mere chroniclers of death into vital instruments of public safety. Instead of leaving the reader with a sense of helplessness and cynicism, the news would provide the tools—data, accountability, and examples of reform—necessary to demand a better society. When journalism treats a crime not as an inevitable tragedy but as a preventable systemic failure, it restores the dignity of the victim and the agency of the reader. It moves us from being a nation of voyeurs to a nation of active citizens.

To move towards a more constructive form of journalism, the industry must shift from merely documenting ‘what happened’ to exploring ‘why it keeps happening’. Rather than relying solely on police briefings, newspapers could adopt the principles of constructive journalism, focusing on the socio-economic roots of crime and highlighting successful community interventions or policy failures. By framing crime as a social issue rather than just a sequence of lurid events, journalism can fulfil its role as a catalyst for change rather than a mere spectator of tragedy. We deserve a news cycle that informs our conscience as much as it alerts our fears.

editor@theweek.in

the-human-touch-five-surprising-jobs-that-ai-cant-replace

Sat Jan 03 11:16:35 IST 2026

As artificial intelligence marches across the employment landscape like a caffeinated HR manager with a spreadsheet full of redundancies, one question looms large: what jobs will survive the Great Algorithmic Purge? We already know that AI can write sonnets, diagnose diseases, and beat humans at chess, as well as draft passive-aggressive email. But what are the non-endangered species of employment—the jobs that still remain gloriously human?

Take the ayurvedic masseur. No matter how many sensors you strap onto a robot, it cannot replicate the intuitive pressure of a thumb trained by decades of kneading Kerala’s knottiest backs. AI may know your dosha, but it doesn’t know your pain-points. The masseur’s art is part science, part sorcery, wholly resistant to digitisation. You can’t outsource intuition to a motherboard. Or consider the air-hostess. AI can calculate turbulence, optimise seating, and even deliver safety instructions in 37 languages. But can it calm a screaming toddler, defuse a mid-air marital spat, and serve reheated palak-paneer with grace while dodging elbows in economy class? The cabin crew is part therapist, part gymnast, part hostage negotiator. Until robots learn empathy and the art of pouring Diet Coke at 35,000 feet without spilling, this job is safe.

Then there’s the shop assistant—that endangered urban oracle who knows which brand of detergent removes turmeric stains and which aisle hides the elusive battery-operated nose trimmer. AI can recommend products, but it cannot read your face when you say, “I am just browsing,” and still somehow find you the perfect gift for your domineering aunt. The human shop assistant is a curator of impulse, a conjurer of wallets out of pockets.

And what of the Man Friday—the indispensable aide, fixer, scheduler, tea-maker, and occasional therapist to the busy politician, CEO, or eccentric novelist (I consider myself all three)? AI can manage calendars, yes. But can it anticipate a boss’s mood swings, preempt a PR disaster, and discreetly dispose of a half-eaten samosa before a Zoom call? The Man Friday is not just a personal assistant; he is a human firewall against chaos.

Even the parliamentarian, that curious creature of rhetoric and ritual, remains oddly irreplaceable. AI can draft bills, simulate debates and even predict voting patterns. But can it master the art of the walkout, the theatrical flourish of tearing papers, or the subtle wink across party lines during Question Hour? Parliament is theatre, and while AI may write the script, it cannot yet play the part.

But I am not writing this to smugly establish my own irreplaceability. Some jobs may be safe now, but the robots are coming—and they’re bringing AI with them.

Take the personal chauffeur. Today, you may prefer a human driver who knows which potholes to avoid and which FM station soothes your road rage. But once autonomous vehicles learn to navigate Delhi’s traffic without developing PTSD, the chauffeur may be replaced by a polite dashboard voice named Rajeev 2.0.

Bank tellers are already halfway to obsolescence. AI can count, transfer and even detect fraud. Add a humanoid robot with a reassuring smile and a crisp uniform, and you have got a teller who never takes lunch breaks or judges your overdraft. Even priests at weddings may face competition. Imagine a robot priest who never mispronounces names, always remembers the correct mantras, and can switch seamlessly between Vedic, Christian and civil rites. It won’t forget the sacred thread or the ring. It won’t sweat under the canopy. It may even offer post-ceremony analytics: “Your marriage has a 73 per cent compatibility score. Would you like to upgrade to premium blessings?”

The dystopian tinge here is not just about job loss—it’s about the slow erosion of the quirks, imperfections, and improvisations that make human work so maddeningly delightful. AI may be efficient, but it is not eccentric. It does not hum while ironing, gossip while sweeping, or offer unsolicited life advice while trimming your hair.

So what will remain? Jobs that require touch, trust and tact. Professions that depend on empathy, improvisation and emotional nuance. Roles where the human presence is not a feature but the product. Let us celebrate and protect these, as reminders that in a world of predictable perfection, it is the unpredictable human that still matters.

editor@theweek.in

why-delhi-cant-be-indraprastha

Sat Dec 06 11:13:58 IST 2025

The recent proposal by a Delhi BJP MP to officially rename the capital city from Delhi to ‘Indraprastha’—invoking the legendary city of the Pandavas from the Mahabharat—is more than a superficial suggestion. It is a politically motivated attempt to rewrite the complex, multi-layered history of one of the world’s oldest continuously inhabited metropolises.

While draped in the language of cultural revival, this move fundamentally misunderstands the city’s enduring identity and prioritises mythological narrative over documented historical fact, all while distracting from critical urban governance challenges. Renaming the capital ‘Indraprastha’ would be a historic mistake.

The very name ‘Delhi’ is not a relic to be discarded, but a testament to a remarkably inclusive and cumulative past. The current name, known globally and cherished locally, has organically evolved to embrace all the successive cities built in the area over millennia. Its roots trace back to the first identifiable fortified city, Dhillika, established by the Tomar dynasty near the present-day Qutub Minar.

Over the centuries, whether new capitals like Lal Kot, Siri, or Shahjahanabad were established, each was ultimately subsumed under the single, unifying name of ‘Dilli’. To replace this encompassing identity with a name tied to a singular, ancient, and mythological reference to (at best) a part of the city would be to deliberately erase a long and shared past that is the very essence of the city’s character.

The proponents of ‘Indraprastha’ often present the modern city as the precise location of the epic capital. However, historical documentation does not bear this out. While medieval-era Sanskrit and later Persian texts refer to a place called Indraprastha or Indarpat located in what is today the Central Vista area, none of these sources conclusively identify it as the capital of the Pandavas from the Mahabharat. Furthermore, archaeological evidence is far from conclusive. While excavations at the Purana Qila site have yielded ancient artefacts like Painted Grey Ware (PGW), suggesting a settlement of great antiquity, the Archaeological Survey of India (ASI) has never definitively identified any site with the sophisticated, grand capital described in the epic.

The push to rename the capital based on a legendary link is fundamentally flawed because it seeks to elevate folklore over verifiable history. This blurring of the lines between fact and fiction not only renders the past trivial, but also serves a petty political purpose. When a proposal is founded on dubious history and an eagerness to privilege one ancient narrative over all others, it immediately raises concerns about a hidden political, or worse, communal agenda. It is a disingenuous attempt to reshape the urban landscape to align with a specific ideological narrative, rather than genuinely seeking to celebrate the totality of the city’s heritage—a heritage that includes Hindu, sultanate, Mughal, and colonial eras.

Beyond the academic and historical missteps, the practical implications of renaming India’s political capital are enormous. A name change in a city of this magnitude is not comparable to changing a street name; it would entail colossal logistical and financial costs. It risks confusing the city’s established global recognition as a major economic and political gateway. Its name is instantly recognisable in diplomatic, trade, and travel circles worldwide. Disrupting this established identity for a symbolic gesture is a reckless move that would create absolute chaos and uncertainty on a global scale.

Ultimately, the preoccupation with a symbolic name change distracts from the pressing realities facing the city’s millions of inhabitants. The true measure of restoring and celebrating Delhi’s legacy does not lie in a new label, however culturally resonant, but in addressing the critical, tangible issues of urban planning, crippling air pollution, water scarcity, and equitable development. The authentic culture and identity that most people in Delhi genuinely take pride and joy in is that of a continuously evolving city—a resilient, composite, and inclusive metropolis. This is an identity that transcends any single historical era.

Delhi is not a museum piece to be rebranded; it is a living city with a complex, shared, and ongoing story. The proposal to change its name is an unnecessary, historically flawed, and politically disruptive diversion that the nation’s capital can ill afford. It should be jettisoned.

editor@theweek.in

gandhi-trump-and-the-nobel-peace-prize-conundrum

Sat Nov 08 11:51:19 IST 2025

There are few honours in the world quite as prestigious, and yet quite as perplexing, as the Nobel Peace Prize. The Norwegian Nobel Committee has a long, theatrical history of praising the unexpectedly deserving and the disturbingly convenient, leaving some heroes unadorned and some hard-headed killers festooned with medals.

The prize, after all, was founded by Alfred Nobel, the inventor of dynamite. The man who created one of history’s most efficient tools for mass destruction decided, in a late-life burst of cosmic irony, that he wanted to be remembered for funding peace. This original, beautiful contradiction is likely the reason the award continues to generate such paroxysms of paradox.

Let’s begin with the obvious, the man who is to non-violence what the dictionary is to words: Mahatma Gandhi. The architect of India’s freedom, who showed the world that peaceful resistance could humble an empire, was nominated five times (1937, 1938, 1939, 1947, and a posthumous consideration in 1948). Yet, the Mahatma went empty-handed every single time. The committee’s decision to reserve the 1948 prize altogether, citing “no suitable living candidate”, just weeks after Gandhi’s assassination, has been called one of the greatest omissions in the award’s history. It’s an oversight so glaring it is more than a historical quirk; it is a reminder that the committee’s spotlight has sometimes been more Eurocentric and cautious than inspirational.

If you can be a man who preached non-violence for a lifetime and still not win, what does it take to earn a Nobel Peace Prize? Well, sometimes, it just takes dropping a whole lot of bombs.

Enter Henry Kissinger, the former US secretary of state, who was awarded the prize in 1973 for negotiating the Paris Peace Accords to end the Vietnam War. This is the same Kissinger who was the key architect behind the secret bombing of Cambodia and Laos, an escalation that destabilised the region and is estimated to have contributed to the rise of the brutal Khmer Rouge regime. The prize, shared with North Vietnam’s Lê Ðức Thọ (who, in a spectacular show of integrity, refused to accept it), caused such an uproar that two members of the Nobel Committee actually resigned in protest. Satirist Tom Lehrer famously quipped that the award had made “political satire obsolete”.

Another eyebrow-raiser was the prize given to Ethiopian Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed in 2019 for his “decisive initiative to resolve the border conflict with neighbouring Eritrea”. A great achievement, undoubtedly. However, just one year later, Abiy launched a major military offensive into the northern Tigray region, starting a devastating civil war that descended into widespread atrocities and a humanitarian crisis. The quick, stunning reversal from prophet of peace to major aggressor is a stark reminder that the prize often rewards an actor of aspiration rather than a titan of tranquillity.

The laureate list reads like a syllabus of ironies. Theodore Roosevelt won for brokering a peace, yet he was also a rough-and-tumble imperialist; Anwar Sadat and Menachem Begin won for Camp David, while the unresolved conflicts assailing millions of Palestinians continued elsewhere. Barack Obama won early and then watched the messy work of statecraft complicate the tidy rhetoric of the citation.

This brings us to the elephant in the room—the one who simply can’t stop tweeting about his own Nobel-worthiness—President Donald Trump. The Nobel Peace Prize, at its most baffling, seems to prefer a dramatic narrative arc. It loves a warmonger who briefly flirts with peace (Kissinger), or a peacemaker who hasn’t quite earned the committee’s stamp of approval (Gandhi).

So, take heart, Donald. If you, a world-famous figure, have not won the Nobel Peace Prize, you are in the great, glorious, and deeply moral company of Gandhi. If you have won it, you might be a genuine peace-maker who knows how to lean hard on Pakistani generals, or you might be a man whose greatest legacy involves a controversial bombing campaign.

The lesson? The only thing the Nobel Peace Prize truly guarantees is a nice ceremony in Oslo. It cannot confer moral authority, nor can it deny it. So, maybe you shouldn’t feel so bad after all. Maybe not winning is simply the universe’s polite way of sparing you from future, awkward footnotes.

editor@theweek.in

linguistic-warfare-understanding-donald-trumps-renaming-tactics

Sat Oct 11 17:49:51 IST 2025

The world of nomenclature, usually a sedate affair of committees and consensus, has found itself on a rather exhilarating rollercoaster ride lately, courtesy of a certain President Donald Trump. Take, for instance, his bold declaration that the Gulf of Mexico should henceforth be known as the ‘Gulf of America’. Because, you know, it just sounds more… American.

This particular geographical rebrand, enshrined (at least in spirit) through Executive Order 14172, “Restoring Names That Honor American Greatness”, sent cartographers into a mild existential crisis and had search engines frantically debating whether to accept the old or the new. It even sparked a minor international incident with the Associated Press, which, in a rare display of journalistic defiance, stated it would continue to refer to the body of water as the ‘Gulf of Mexico’, leading to a petulant cutback in their White House access. Apparently, some names just aren’t up for debate in the world’s oldest democracy.

The president’s next pronouncement, that the capital’s football team’s name, Washington ‘Commanders’, should revert to the politically-incorrect ‘Redskins’, perfectly encapsulates his philosophy on renaming: if it isn’t ‘great’, or if it was changed for ‘woke’ reasons, it’s ripe for a re-do. But why stop at a football team? For Trump, the act of renaming isn’t just about updating a map or a sports roster; it’s an art form, a branding exercise, and a power play. He’s had unparalleled success branding everything from towering buildings with his own surname to attempting to redraw the very lines on our globes. (Greenland is still in his sights.)

Trump’s most prolific renaming efforts have been directed squarely at his political adversaries. Why engage in lengthy policy debates when a pithy, often unflattering, moniker can do the trick? Florida Governor Ron DeSantis, once a formidable challenger, found himself etched in the public consciousness as ‘Meatball Ron’. Hillary Clinton, his 2016 adversary? ‘Crooked Hillary’. Joe Biden became ‘Sleepy Joe’. Others received equally memorable labels: ‘Little Marco’ for Marco Rubio, ‘Crazy Bernie’ for Bernie Sanders, ‘Lying Ted’ for Ted Cruz (though, in a twist, Cruz later became ‘Beautiful Ted’ when his political allegiance shifted), ‘Nervous Nancy’ for Nancy Pelosi, and ‘Birdbrain’ or ‘Tricky Nikki’ for Nikki Haley. The strategy is clear: reduce your opponent to a simple, often derisive, shorthand that sticks.

One might wonder, is this just a modern quirk, a product of our tweet-happy times? Not at all. As linguist Norazha Paiman eloquently puts it, “To name is to collapse infinite complexity into a manageable symbol, and in that compression, whole worlds are won or lost.” Throughout history, naming has been a potent tool in the arsenal of colonisers. When the British, for example, systematically renamed places across India or Africa, they weren’t simply updating maps; they were, as Paiman notes, “restructuring the conceptual frameworks through which people could relate to their own territories”. It was an act of linguistic conquest, asserting dominance and reshaping identity. Today, many countries are still in the arduous process of shedding these colonial aliases, reclaiming their historical and cultural nomenclature.

Trump is doing in his own country what the British did in ours. But will these new names, particularly those seeking to reverse ‘politically correct’ shifts or simply to assert nationalistic pride, actually stick? Similar attempts have failed. Remember ‘freedom fries’? That was a rather desperate attempt by some in the George W. Bush-era US government to rebrand ‘French fries’ after France’s opposition to the Iraq War. It was a short-lived culinary war cry, but ultimately, the ‘French fry’ stubbornly regained its Gallic identity.

However, based on early evidence, the ‘Gulf of America’ might just have more staying power, at least within North American borders. Perhaps it is the sheer audacity of it, or the presidential seal of approval, but it seems some geographical rebranding can, indeed, make waves.

So, what’s next on the renaming frontier? Will we see the Atlantic Ocean become the ‘American East Coast Water Body’? Will countries be rechristened based on their perceived ‘greatness’? Only time will tell, but meanwhile, in the whimsical world of nomenclature, Trump continues to prove that a name, far from being just a name, can be a battleground, a brand, and sometimes, an embarrassing joke.

editor@theweek.in

hindi-imposition-national-language-debate-india

Sat Sep 13 15:35:23 IST 2025

Let’s be clear upfront: I have no beef with Hindi. In fact, like many Indians, I find myself effortlessly switching to it when the situation demands. Think about it: when I’m haggling with a vendor in a Delhi market, catching a Bollywood movie, chatting with a taxi driver or even trying to decipher the occasional railway announcement, Hindi slides in quite naturally. And frankly, why wouldn’t it? It’s a beautiful language, rich in vocabulary and allusion, and spoken by millions.

So, when certain quarters lament what they perceive as a “resistance” to Hindi, I can’t help but feel they’re missing the point, perhaps even deliberately. The pushback isn’t against the language itself. It’s against its imposition.

Here’s the thing: Indians are comfortably pragmatic. We embrace tools that work. English, despite its colonial baggage, became our de facto link language for a simple reason—it opened doors to global commerce, science, and an ocean of knowledge. No one needed to hold a gun to our heads to learn “the Queen’s English”. We learned it because it was useful. And since that’s true for all of us in every corner of the country, it helps us communicate with fellow Indians we meet, until we discover that we have another Indian language in common, and then we slip naturally into that, too.

The same goes for Hindi, to a large extent. The reach of Bollywood, the sheer number of Hindi speakers in trade and travel—these factors have naturally diffused Hindi across the country, not because of some grand government decree, but because people saw its value.

Go to any major city in India, even in the south, and you will find people navigating conversations in Hindi when necessary. They pick it up from films, from migrant workers, from travel. It’s an organic process, driven by utility and exposure. Chennai and Kochi are full of urban residents who have to master adequate Hindi to communicate with their handymen, domestic workers or security guards. It’s rare to find a Kerala restaurant without a Hindi-speaking waiter or busboy (because many of those are not from Kerala!) And that’s precisely how languages should thrive—through natural adoption, not forced feeding.

The moment you declare Hindi as the national language, or worse, make it a compulsory subject in schools far from its native speakers, that’s when the hackles rise. Suddenly, it stops being a useful tool and starts feeling like an instrument of majoritarianism. It smacks of an unspoken agenda: that to be truly “Indian”, one must speak Hindi. Why? Merely because Hindiwallahs failed to control their population and now outnumber the rest of us?

This is where the real problem lies. India’s strength is its dizzying diversity. We celebrate our myriad languages, each a repository of centuries of unique culture, literature, and thought. To suggest that one language should somehow supersede the others, to become the sole embodiment of our national identity, is not just misguided; it’s deeply insulting to the vibrant linguistic heritage of countless communities.

When a child in Chennai or Thiruvananthapuram is compelled to learn Hindi, not out of choice or practical need, but because it’s deemed a “national imperative”, it feels less like unity and more like enforced assimilation. It feels like an attempt to dilute their own linguistic and cultural identity. It feels like the assertion of dominance by one set of people, those of Hindi mother-tongue, over the rest of us. And quite frankly, it breeds resentment, not harmony. Why should Singh, Shukla and Sharma get to impose the language they learned in their mother’s laps over Subramaniam, Sravanareddy or Sasidharan, who didn’t?

Let’s drop the charade. The opposition isn’t to Hindi, the language. It’s to the political project behind its aggressive promotion. It’s about the underlying message that one part of India dictates what it means to be Indian to the rest.

So, next time you hear someone “resisting” Hindi, understand that they’re not rejecting the language. They’re rejecting its arrogance. They’re asserting their right to their own linguistic heritage and saying, loud and clear: “We will speak Hindi when it makes sense, but don’t tell us we have to.” That is the pragmatic, wonderfully diverse Indian spirit. It will prevail.

editor@theweek.in

trump-tariffs-india-economy-indo-us-partnership-future

Sat Aug 16 16:55:16 IST 2025

The recent comments from President Donald Trump, dismissing the Indian economy as “dead”, have understandably caused a stir. Coming on the heels of new tariffs on Indian goods, this rhetoric feels like a school-yard bully telling a smaller child, “your mother is ugly”. It is meant to provoke and belittle. And just like a child’s insult, we must recognise it for what it is: a tactic, not a true reflection of reality or a basis for sound policy.

For India, the key is to take Trump seriously, but not literally. We cannot afford to be distracted by his provocative language and “all-caps” social media posts. The challenge lies in separating the bluster from the underlying strategic and economic realities that continue to bind our two great nations.

Trump’s words may not be a sign that he has suddenly forgotten India’s significance. Rather, they are part of a political strategy, largely aimed at a domestic audience. His preferred negotiating method is to create an atmosphere of crisis to extract concessions. By labelling India’s tariffs as “among the highest in the world” and our economy as “dead”, he is setting the stage to present any future trade deal as a massive victory for the American people.

The risk, however, is that the 50 per cent tariff announcement, and the accompanying surround-sound, might derail the strategic partnership between India and the US. Trump’s behaviour threatens crucial areas of cooperation that both countries have a vested interest in preserving and advancing.

First, there is geopolitical convergence. Both India and the US share a common vision for a free and open Indo-Pacific. This has led to robust cooperation through platforms like the Quad, where we work together to counter challenges to regional stability. Will the Quad survive Trump’s outburst? Will he even attend the summit planned later this year in India?

Our defence relationship has deepened significantly over the years, with the US becoming a major supplier of advanced military technology to India. This partnership is not just about transactions; it is about shared values and a common strategic interest in balancing power in the region. What happens to that now?

Third, what will happen to our economic ties? With these tariffs, the US can’t remain India’s largest trading partner, and our IT and service sectors, which rely heavily on the American market, are in jeopardy. The US, too, will lose benefits from India’s growing consumer base and skilled workforce. The goal of reaching a bilateral trade of $500 billion, announced in February, now looks like a bad joke. Will Trump’s tariffs bury the long-touted potential of this relationship?

True, there is a lot more to Indo-US cooperation than Trump. India and the US continue to deepen ties across AI, semiconductor innovation, defence co-production, maritime security and tech infrastructure. Despite tensions, shared concerns over China and complementary strengths in innovation might still sustain a robust, forward-looking strategic partnership. But Trump has shattered the trust and bonhomie that sustained the pairing.

Still, there are the profound people-to-people connections. The Indian diaspora in the US is a vibrant and influential community, serving as a powerful bridge between our two cultures. From Silicon Valley to the halls of academia, Indians have made immense contributions to American society. This human connection is a source of strength that transcends political cycles and rhetoric.

Yes, the tariffs are a setback, and India must respond to them with a clear and consistent focus on protecting its national interest. But we must not overreact to the school-yard insults and allow them to shape our long-term strategy. We must continue to engage with the US, both at the diplomatic and private sector levels, to mend the damage and pursue a comprehensive trade agreement. We must work to rebuild access to key decision-makers in the administration and repair the trust that may have been damaged.

The India-US relationship is a testament to the power of a comprehensive global partnership, and it is a relationship that has “weathered several transitions and challenges”, as an external affairs ministry spokesman rightly stated. We must not allow the current turbulence to erase the long-term trajectory. Trump’s words are meant to be heard loudly, but they are not the final word on the future of our partnership. Our collective action, if grounded in strategic foresight and mutual respect, will be.

editor@theweek.in

understanding-india-constitutional-values-india-constitution-living-document

Fri Jul 18 17:49:48 IST 2025

I have recently released my latest book, inspired by the 75th anniversary of the adoption of our Constitution. I am neither a lawyer nor a constitutional theorist, but have written it as a thinking citizen of India, for other thinking citizens.

In it, I have traced the long and arduous road we had to take to constitutional self-governance, examining how the Constitution has been interpreted, implemented, and challenged since its inception. Even as I argue that the Constitution of India is not a static relic cast in stone but an evolving and dynamic, “living” document, which has allowed it to stand the test of time, I observe how judicial interpretation and societal transformation have continuously shaped the ways in which the Constitution is applied. And, yet, even as it evolves, it remains subject to challenges that strike at the very heart of its foundational values.

Chief among these is contestation around core constitutional principles: the secular character of our Republic, meant to safeguard the pluralism—of caste, creed, colour, culture, cuisine, conviction, costume, and custom—of our immemorial, deeply inclusive civilisation; the sanctity of fundamental rights; the fragile balance of power between the organs of the state, as also between the Centre and the states; and the moral obligation to protect the rights of minorities. These are not incidental features of our constitutional architecture—they are central to the Republic of India’s very identity. It is for this reason that I not only emphasise constitutional values but also, following Dr Ambedkar, constitutional morality: the unwritten code of conduct, the spirit behind the letter of the law, which calls upon those entrusted with power to exercise it with responsibility, restraint, and reverence for the principles of justice, liberty, equality, and fraternity.

Even amid the pomp and pageantry that accompanied the 77th Independence Day and the 75th anniversary of the adoption of our Constitution, it has become impossible to escape the perception that increasingly, our elections sustain only the barebones of democracy, even as its sinews—our Parliament, legislatures, judiciary, media, civil society, public universities, and watchdog agencies—are sought to be hollowed out or hijacked. More pernicious still is the politics of religious hatred, and the communalisation of our politics, polity, and public life, which portend ill for the idea of India and, therefore, for our Constitution.

Ultimately, however, there is no reason to lose hope. Though our Constitution and the polity it breathes life into are sometimes under strain, their protectors have risen all over the country. The Constitution of India is no longer an impenetrable legal treatise; no longer is it solely the preserve of lawyers and judges, law students and lawmakers. Today, it belongs to the common man, the citizen of India—a charter of liberation held aloft in courageous defiance, in pursuit of truth; to demand accountability from the powers that be, and to claim rights arbitrarily denied.

Today, our Constitution serves as a mirror, reflecting the Idea of India, and rousing us to protect it. Today, it has become the common link between a stand-up comedian defending his right to free speech and expression, and members of the opposition taking their parliamentary oaths, because held high in their hands is a copy of the Constitution of India: a searing reminder of their right to speak their minds, and more important, to speak truth to power.

Far from being ornamental in nature, to be kowtowed to on days of national importance, our living Constitution has become a moral compass in the hands of the ordinary citizens of India—who, in all their dazzling diversity, have risen to ensure that no harm befalls it. In doing so, they have vindicated the vision of our founders that ultimately, it is the citizen who must be the most vital and vigorous building block of Indian democracy.

Let us never forget that the founders of modern India bequeathed this eternal land, the idea of India, and the Constitution which is its most enduring and endearing testament, not to politicians but to the citizens of India—making all of us the custodians of this rollicking, robust, and resilient Republic.

editor@theweek.in

the-language-of-grief

Sat Jun 21 17:58:21 IST 2025

As I write, I have just landed in London on Air-India — flying the same airline, to the same destination and on the same date and time as the ill-fated passengers who perished in Ahmedabad. I travelled to speak at the British Library under the auspices of the Jaipur Literary Festival. My very first talk was about language and the power of words. Yet words failed me at the news of the 241 lives lost on the plane and the 5 more who died on the ground. The language of grief, suffering, and loss is a landscape of shadows, often inadequate to the profound desolation it attempts to articulate. Language is made to describe what is or could be; it falters before an absence, a stuttering whisper in the face of an unimaginable void.

Literature has long grappled with the profound human experience of death, offering glimpses into its unplumbed depths. Yet it has only confirmed the inherent limitations of words. How does one truly describe the tearing of the soul, the visceral ache of an absence that permeates every fibre of one’s being? Phrases like “heartbroken,” “devastated,” or “condolences” become commonplace, yet feel hollow against the monumental reality of personal sorrow. The communal rituals of mourning often rely on shared, almost ritualistic language, but beneath this veneer of collective sympathy, the individual wrestles with an incommunicable anguish. C.S. Lewis, in A Grief Observed, captures this when he writes, “No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.” His struggle to find a new lexicon for his bereavement after the death of his wife underscores the inadequacy of language. He grapples with the “cold, grey, level-headed, and … all-embracing pain,” illustrating how grief often demands a radical redefinition of one’s emotional vocabulary.

The language of grief is also deeply personal, often isolating. Language cannot capture the depth, the intensity or the specificity of grief. This inherent subjectivity can lead to a profound sense of loneliness, as the bereaved feel their unique suffering is misunderstood, taken for granted or, worse, dismissed. Others go on with their lives and the bereaved person cannot understand how. W.H. Auden’s poem “Stop All the Clocks” captures well the mourner’s feeling that the earth has stopped turning and his incredulity that a death that has utterly consumed him has left others indifferent.

Think of Shakespeare’s Hamlet, whose “inky cloak” and “customary suits of solemn black” are mere outward signs of a grief that “passeth show.” His struggle to articulate the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” or the “thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to” speaks to the difficulty of translating internal torment into external utterance. Even Shakespeare yearns for a language that can fully convey the depth of his despair, but finds only inadequacy.

Lesser poets have explored the language of suffering. When direct description fails, metaphor and simile step in to bridge the gap between inner experience and outward expression. Grief is a “heavy cloak,” a “sea of tears,” a “gnawing emptiness.” These are desperate attempts to give form to the formless. They almost never work. In Tennyson’s In Memoriam A.H.H., written after the death of his beloved friend Arthur Henry Hallam, the poet grapples with this very struggle. He uses a vast array of imagery to express his sorrow: “The shadow of a great affliction moved / Upon the face of things,” “The low sad murmur of the sea,” “A spirit haunts the year’s last hours.” The sheer volume and variety of his expressions highlight the futile effort to find words for an all-consuming grief. I don’t think it works —but then how can you shoehorn your pain into the literary demands of poetic form?

No, to me, the real language of loss is silence. There are moments when words utterly fail, when the magnitude of sorrow renders speech impossible. This silence can be a testament to the depth of feeling, an acknowledgment that some experiences transcend linguistic articulation. It is a silence pregnant with unspoken pain, a space where the bereaved simply are with their suffering. In Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking, her narrative is punctuated by such silences, moments where the raw shock of her husband’s death leaves her speechless. She records the mundane details of her life, the bureaucratic necessities, but beneath it all lies an unspoken, unutterable grief that no amount of eloquent prose could fully capture.

The language of grief, suffering, and loss is therefore a language of striving and inadequacy. Literature, in its unending quest to illuminate the human condition, continually returns to this difficult terrain, not necessarily to provide answers, but to bear witness to the enduring human struggle to articulate the inarticulable.

editor@theweek.in

help-kashmir-bounce-back

Sat May 24 17:04:24 IST 2025

After decades of turbulence, the people of Kashmir were beginning to find their footing amid peace, slowly gaining a stake in stability and its rewards. Last year witnessed a record-breaking tourism boom, with 2.3 crore visitors flocking to the region. This resurgence offered the local people not just economic opportunities, but also a rare chance to reclaim a semblance of normalcy.

But this fragile equilibrium was shattered by the Pahalgam terrorist strike, one that pierced the heart of Kashmir’s feel-good story of the past three years. Tourists, once full of curiosity and enthusiasm, were now rushing out of the valley, cancelling bookings en masse. The shadow of uncertainty loomed large, and in this climate, a reversal of fortunes seemed inevitable. This must not be allowed to happen.

The tragic event in Pahalgam has cast a long shadow over the valley’s future, with reports indicating that 60-90 per cent of tourist bookings across Kashmir have been cancelled. A hotel association has reported 13 lakh cancellations for August alone. While tourism may not be a primary yardstick in most states, it is of immense importance to Jammu & Kashmir, since tourism is its largest industry, contributing approximately 8.5 per cent of the territory’s income.

The significance of tourism for Kashmir becomes even clearer when one examines the numbers. Between 2021 and 2024, tourist arrivals in the Jammu region grew by 90 per cent, but Kashmir saw an astounding 425 per cent increase, soaring from 6.7 lakh to 35 lakh visitors. This surge represented a massive vote of confidence from Indians across the country, as well as from foreign tourists, whose numbers jumped from just 1,614 in 2021 to 43,654 in 2024. Tourism has become both an economic lifeline and a critical bridge for fostering people-to-people connections, helping to integrate those who feel alienated.

Given this context, the government must act swiftly to ensure that Kashmir does not lose its place on India’s tourist map—not even for one season. The livelihoods of countless Kashmiris hang in the balance, and beyond the economic stakes, this is a test of national resolve. We cannot allow the terrorists to undo years of progress. The 2025 tourist season is not lost yet. With the Amarnath Yatra still weeks away and the school summer break on the horizon, there is time to rebuild confidence and salvage what looked to be a promising year for the valley.

Encouragingly, Kashmiris themselves have unequivocally condemned the attack, reaffirming where their sympathies and aspirations lie. In the heart of Srinagar, the city came to a standstill in a profound shutdown, the kind that speaks louder than slogans or speeches. Across Pahalgam and other towns, spontaneous protest marches were taken out, embodying the collective anguish of a people grappling with yet another tragedy. At the iconic Jama Masjid in Srinagar, worshippers gathered for Friday prayers wearing black armbands—a symbol of solidarity in grief and defiance in despair. Newspapers, typically brimming with political stories, chose instead to present blackened front pages, an eloquent statement of sorrow and rage.

Amid this mournful tableau, tales emerged from Pahalgam that offer a potent glimpse into the humanity that persists in Kashmir. Visitors from across India, who narrowly escaped harm during the unrest, recounted acts of selflessness and courage—local Kashmiris risking their own safety to guide them away from danger. Among those who tragically lost their lives was a pony operator, Syed Adil Hussain Shah, whose ordinary occupation turned extraordinary in the face of calamity, as he helped strangers reach safety before succumbing to the violence when he tried to snatch a terrorist’s Kalashnikov. In the harrowing aftermath of the terror attack which claimed her father’s life, Arathi Menon from Kochi discovered “brothers” in two Kashmiris, Musafir and Sameer, who stood by her through the darkest hours. From taking her and her six-year-old twins to safety, to helping her locate her father’s body, to navigating the mortuary formalities, they guided her every step of the way.

Kashmir grieves, but it also protects, even in the midst of its darkest hours. The government must seize this moment, enhancing security arrangements without indulging in measures that inconvenience ordinary citizens. By striking the right balance, confidence can be restored, tourists will return, and Kashmir’s story of revival can continue unabated.

editor@theweek.in

current-leaders-dont-care-what-the-public-wants-they-do-what-they-want-netanyahu-and-trump-are-examples

Sat Apr 26 14:52:07 IST 2025

The story is told of Alexandre Auguste Ledru-Rollin, a French interior minister during the revolt of 1848, who was in a meeting in his office when a tumult broke out outside and he saw a mob running down the street below. He leapt to his feet: “I am their leader!” he gasped. “I must follow them!”

Such is the tale of political leadership in many parts of the democratic world—leaders feel impelled to follow the public and not the other way around. The modern equivalent is the tale of the politician, trying to decide what stand to take on a contentious issue, being advised by a political consultant: “It doesn’t matter what you think. Look at what the polls say and then tell them that’s what you think.”

But this conventional wisdom is showing every sign of being upended in our current turbulent times. Suddenly, we are being faced with leaders who don’t care what their public wants—they know what they want and they will do it anyway.

Recent polls in Israel, for instance, reveal that a majority of Israelis support ending the war in Gaza in exchange for the release of hostages held by Hamas. Specifically, 69 per cent of respondents favour such a deal, while 21 per cent oppose it. Among coalition voters, 54 per cent support the deal, compared to 32 per cent who oppose it. And yet, the Israeli government continues to prosecute the war, extending it further and capturing more swathes of Gaza even at the risk of imperilling the lives of the remaining hostages.

Similarly, March surveys indicate that 47.8 per cent of the Israeli public want Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu to accept responsibility for the October 7 events and resign; an additional 24.7 per cent want him to accept responsibility, but resign only at the end of the war. Only 9.7 per cent responded that he need neither accept responsibility nor resign. Yet, far from resigning, he has redoubled his hold on power and carries on prosecuting a war that has had devastating consequences on hundreds of thousands of people.

President Trump is another leader whose drastic decisions are not rooted in American public opinion. The dramatic televised White House showdown with President Zelensky is still fresh in people’s minds, but a recent poll showed that 52 per cent of Americans support Ukraine. Another poll, last month, found that 50 per cent of Americans disapprove of Trump’s foreign-policy moves, and only 37 per cent approve—a 15 per cent decline in net approval since January.

Public opinion polls show that many of Trump’s disruptive policies, particularly his tariff strategies, are unpopular with a majority of Americans. For instance, 75 per cent of respondents believe his tariffs will increase prices in the short term, and 49 per cent feel financially worse off due to his policies. Despite this, Trump has maintained his stance, suggesting he feels indifferent to public opinion on the issue.

Public opinion polls often act as both a guide and a constraint for political leaders, shaping their decisions and strategies. Leaders who defy public sentiment risk political fallout, but history shows that some have prevailed despite going against the grain.

Historically, leaders who defy public sentiment often face backlash but can prevail if their policies yield tangible benefits. Trump’s approach reflects his belief in negotiating strength and his willingness to endure short-term unpopularity for perceived long-term gains. Whether this strategy will ultimately succeed depends on whether his policies deliver the promised results.

Abraham Lincoln faced significant opposition during the American Civil War, particularly over the Emancipation Proclamation. Public sentiment was divided and largely unfavourable, yet Lincoln’s steadfast commitment to abolishing slavery ultimately cemented his legacy as one of the greatest US presidents.

In more recent times, Angela Merkel defied public opinion in Germany by opening the country’s borders to refugees in 2015. While her decision faced backlash, and undermined her popularity, it underscored her humanitarian values and ultimately strengthened her reputation as a global leader.

So, while the Ledru-Rollin school of “leadership” has not wholly disappeared from view, it may be yielding, around the world, to a politics of personal conviction. While public opinion polls are influential, leaders who act with conviction and a long-term vision can overcome immediate opposition and leave a lasting impact. Whether that impact is for the good or otherwise, only time—not the polls—will tell.

editor@theweek.in

covids-silver-lining-for-india

Sat Mar 29 11:24:36 IST 2025

No one in India is commemorating the fifth anniversary of the stringent lockdown prompted by Covid-19, which the government imposed on March 24, 2020. We, the survivors, all think of Covid as a bad dream, one marked by suffering, tragedy and loss. And, yet, the pandemic also prompted, paradoxically, one of our nation’s more significant accomplishments.

India’s vaccine diplomacy during the Covid pandemic stands out from amid the horrors of that time as a powerful example of international leadership rooted in responsibility and solidarity. By delivering made-in-India vaccines to over 100 nations, India demonstrated its capacity to extend a helping hand when it mattered most.

Leveraging its position as the world’s vaccine manufacturing hub, India launched the Vaccine Maitri (Vaccine Friendship) initiative in January 2021. This programme aimed to supply Covid-19 vaccines to countries in need, particularly to developing nations. India’s exports of vaccines—both as aid and commercial shipments—reached nations across West Asia, Africa, Latin America, and our immediate neighbourhood.

India produced two major vaccines: Covishield (developed by AstraZeneca and manufactured by the Serum Institute of India) and Covaxin (developed by Bharat Biotech). It supplied these vaccines to over a 100 countries, including Bhutan, the Maldives, Nepal, Bangladesh, Myanmar, and African nations. The government was careful to couch its initiative as rooted in the philosophy of Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam (the world is one family), emphasising global solidarity. That it also aligned with India’s neighbourhood first policy, strengthening ties with other countries in the subcontinent, was an added bonus.

By so doing, India emerged as a key player in global health diplomacy, showcasing its capacity to address global challenges. It contributed to the global COVAX initiative, centred in the World Health Organisation (WHO), a global effort to ensure equitable vaccine distribution that was shamefully under-resourced and inadequately supported by the richer developed countries. In doing so, India has reaffirmed its position as a global leader, shaping solutions within multilateral platforms. The richer nations, instead, spent their resources stocking up on vast quantities of vaccines for their own citizens, much of which had to be thrown away unused when they could have saved lives if distributed to poorer nations.

So India did what more affluent countries did not. The vaccine shipments enhanced our country’s global image; India’s efforts were widely appreciated, enhancing its reputation as a responsible global leader. The initiative fostered goodwill and strengthened bilateral diplomatic ties with recipient countries, serving a valuable strategic purpose. India’s vaccine diplomacy served as a counterbalance to China’s influence in South Asia and Africa, where both nations were vying for goodwill through vaccine supplies.

It is true that the second wave of Covid-19 temporarily disrupted India’s vaccine exports, highlighting the challenges of balancing domestic needs with international commitments. Despite this, India’s vaccine diplomacy remains a significant chapter in its foreign policy, reflecting its ability to combine humanitarianism with strategic interests. It considerably augmented India’s soft power, projecting across the developing world that India could prioritise humanitarian aid, reinforcing its image as a benevolent and reliable partner on the global stage.

This initiative during the dark days of the Covid pandemic reinforced India’s standing as a force for good in the world, reflecting its humanitarian spirit and adding to the allure of its soft power. Our efforts were not limited merely to the provision of vaccines but extended to the sending of Indian military doctors to Nepal, the Maldives, and Kuwait, and to organising online training for health care workers across South Asian nations. Additionally, through its engagement with global platforms like GAVI, the Quad, and the Pan Africa E-Network, India addressed immediate health concerns while laying the groundwork for long-term international cooperation.

This dynamic engagement solidified India’s standing as a fulcrum of global health diplomacy, elevating its stature as a trusted partner in times of crisis. India’s vaccine diplomacy embodied and contributed to the very spirit of its soft power. It carried the values of compassion, cooperation, and global partnership to the world, building goodwill, strengthening diplomatic ties, and elevating India’s global stature. It’s an example of a deliberate effort that portrayed an India bridging the aspirations of developing nations with the responsibilities of developed ones. Five years on, that silver lining to the Covid cloud is still worth recalling—and applauding.

editor@theweek.in

in-donald-trumps-world-there-are-no-rules-anymore

Fri Mar 21 11:27:43 IST 2025

For the last 80 years, the most enduring assumption of the global system was the “rules-based liberal international order”. This was supposed to be the agreed system that underpinned the world, and of which then United Nations was the carapace. Amongst its precepts was a set of rules that all governments were expected to adhere to, among them respect for the sovereignty of states; acceptance of the inviolability of international borders; and abjuring the use of force to settle disputes with other countries. These rules, encoded in the UN Charter, were largely upheld by all states, in their own interests and in the collective interests of humanity.

Recent years have, however, called the rules-based liberal international order into question. The consensus behind these precepts was violated first by terrorist groups and rebel movements, then by states themselves. State sovereignty made little sense when the authority of so many governments was contested from within and rebel movements engulfed many countries, convulsing Somalia, Iraq, Libya, Yemen, Afghanistan and Syria. Then Russia invaded Ukraine in complete disregard of these principles and for the UN charter which embodied them. Now comes the latest development to shred the rules-based liberal international order: the ascent of a man with scant respect for any of its cardinal virtues or assumptions to the leadership of the most powerful government in the world, the United States.

If President Donald Trump had the slightest regard for global niceties, his initial words and actions since his assumption of office show no signs of it. Both before and after his inauguration on January 20, Trump has threatened to reassume control over the Panama Canal (which the US had built but then handed over to Panama by treaty a half-century ago), acquire Greenland (which is a Danish territory and has been since 1721), wipe out drug cartels in Mexico (which smuggle drugs into America but are located in another sovereign country), convert Canada into the US’s 51st state by annexing it (and even referring to the country’s prime minister as its governor!), and even taking over the Gaza Strip, displacing its original Palestinian residents and refashioning it into “the Riviera of the Middle East”. He launched a peace initiative over Ukraine with the Russians—without involving Ukraine itself or even consulting the European nations on whose continent the war is being fought and who have been, along with the US, the principal backers, financiers and military suppliers of the Ukrainian forces.

If that were not enough, Trump has also withdrawn the US from the Paris climate accord, and decided his government will exit from the World Health Organisation, the UN Human Rights Commission, and the UN Relief and Works Agency for Palestinian refugees. Before completing a month in office, he slapped 25 per cent tariffs on Canada and Mexico and then suspended them for a month, threatened China with 60 per cent tariffs but then applied 10 per cent, and imposed 25 per cent on imports of steel and aluminium from anywhere. For good measure, he also imposed sanctions on the International Criminal Court for its investigations of, and cases against, Israeli leaders, especially Benjamin Netanyahu, for their actions in Gaza, which had led the ICC to issue an arrest warrant against the Israeli premier.

Trump’s actions have been characterised by extreme unpredictability and a disregard for the conventional norms of global politics. They have divided observers and commentators into two broad camps: those who are convinced the man is impulsive and geopolitically illiterate, and that most of his actions cannot be understood rationally, versus those who believe there is a method to his madness. The latter tend to view his pronouncements and decisions as reflecting the “madman theory” of President Richard Nixon, who was said to have sought to convey the impression that he was irrational and volatile so that his adversaries in the Cold War would hesitate to challenge the US, for fear of provoking an extreme response from Washington. The theory is disputed by many, as is its application to Trump; but there is no doubt that the volatility of the Trump administration has caught the rest of the world off guard and engendered considerable uncertainty in world affairs.

The only thing that is clear is that in Trump’s world, there are no rules anymore, and the prospects for both “liberalism” and “order” are not what they were two months ago.

editor@theweek.in

wheth-atmami-omnivistatude-new-words-for-old-feelings

Sat Feb 01 12:08:40 IST 2025

At a recent literary festival in Pune, its curator, the author Manjiri Prabhu, challenged me to prove my love of words by coining a few new ones. Inspired by the English language’s habit of borrowing freely from the world’s languages, I essayed these:

Wheth: This was prompted by the Malayalam expression ethramathe which asks someone to specify the precise numerical position of an object. ‘Wheth’ is derived from the Old English word hwæt—a precursor, referring to an inquiry into position or place. In the English ordinal system the ‘th’ suffix, used in words like ‘sixth’ or ‘tenth’, has been adapted to give a sense of order or position in a sequence. So ‘wheth’ can be used to inquire about the specific number position of something within a sequence, line, list, series, set, or event. It represents the state of identifying which exact place or position something occupies within an ordered structure, particularly when the focus is on the question of its location rather than the number itself.

When you ask, ‘ethramathe vandi?’ in the context of a row of rental cars, you’re asking, ‘What number position is my car in that line?’ With ‘wheth’, you would simply seek to identify the car’s ordinal number in the line-up—whether it’s the first, second, fifth or any other position in a sequence.

‘Wheth one?’ emphasises identifying the ordinal position, rather than the numeric value or quality. As in: Wheth am I on the list?’ she asked anxiously after the exam results were published. Or: when he arrived at the new office, he asked, “Wheth cubicle in the row is mine?”

Atmami: My response to the challenge to find a word for an eternal soul-mate who’s not necessarily a romantic partner, but a kindred spirit. I derived it from atma (Sanskrit for soul), and ami (French for friend). “Atmami” emphasises the idea that friendships can be eternal, continuing across lifetimes—interconnected souls that transcend time and space. It signifies a profound spiritual alignment and the soul’s kinship with another soul, a connection that transcends the constraints of a single lifetime. When you meet someone and feel an inexplicable familiarity, it’s the acknowledgement of a deep, eternal bond. The experience is deeply personal—an intuitive feeling that suggests that some bonds are so deep and meaningful they endure, regardless of the passage of time—as if the universe reunited you with someone who has always been part of your existence. Thus: She was more than a friend; she was an atmami, a soul whose presence in my life was a reminder that some bonds never truly end. Or: as we spoke, I felt that our lives had always been intertwined, as if we had always known one another—he was an atmami.

Omnivistatude: From omni (Latin for all, or every), vista (Latin meaning view or sight; a broad or expansive perspective), tude (Latin tudo which describes a state or condition, like beatitude or fortitude). ‘Omnivistatude’ was my response to a request to describe a state of being where the boundaries between self and cosmos dissolve, allowing one to perceive oneself as both an integral part of the universe and the universe itself; where the vastness of the cosmos feels intimate, as though the stars, galaxies, and the very essence of being reside within you.

In a world often fragmented by differences, the feeling of being intertwined with the cosmic order brings a sense of inspiration, peace, awe, and belonging. Usage: Standing atop the mountain under a canopy of stars, she felt profound omnivistatude, as though she had become one with the infinite. Or: as the sun rose over the desert, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson, a wave of omnivistatude washed over him, filling him with awe and serenity.

I don’t necessarily expect these neologisms to pass into circulation overnight, and many experiences transcend language, anyway. I am also aware that many writers over the centuries have invented words that were never employed by anyone but themselves. But if any of these appeal to you, feel free to use them. Who knows? They may catch on!

editor@theweek.in

all-mps-should-serve-together

Sat Jan 04 11:19:31 IST 2025

Abraham Lincoln is lauded as among the very best presidents the US ever had: the statesman par excellence successfully steered the nation through the devastating and perilous years of the American civil war. Not only did Lincoln manage to keep his country united, he also ensured the passage of the 13th amendment to the US constitution, which abolished slavery.

All through these arduous years, Lincoln had by his side in his cabinet three men who had been political adversaries, and had contested against him for the 1860 Republican presidential nomination. Even beyond that, at a time of great national division and acrimony, Lincoln included three Democrats in his cabinet. Most of these men were more educated, and had enjoyed far more political prestige, than Lincoln himself. Yet, he did not hesitate to give them political importance that a lesser man might have feared would diminish him.

Lincoln built around himself what the American historian Doris Kearns Goodwin calls “A Team of Rivals”. He knew that at such a time of great national calamity, he needed all the best hands on deck. So, keeping personal and political egos and rivalries aside, he entrusted his former rivals with governing the US alongside him at its darkest hour. The rest, as they say, is history. Not only did Lincoln manage to keep the union intact and abolish slavery, he also rose—by dint, as Goodwin writes, “of a profound self-confidence”—to “a most unexpected greatness”, giving the world in the process a masterclass in exemplary leadership.

When I first became chairman of the parliamentary standing committee on external affairs, I said that “there is no such thing as a Congress foreign policy or a BJP foreign policy; there is only Indian foreign policy, and Indian national interests”. That sentiment did not prevent the BJP from removing me after one term as chairman.

But, five years later, as I serve again as chair, I cannot help but reflect on the bipartisanship and inter-party consensus that is characteristic of Indian foreign policy. Throughout the history of the committee—until I was replaced for five years by a BJP MP—the committee on external affairs was headed by an opposition MP, if only to demonstrate that our political differences stopped at our borders.

This bipartisanship was again revealed in a famous episode of Indian diplomatic history in 1994, when prime minister Narasimha Rao picked opposition Leader (and then chairman of the external affairs committee) Atal Bihari Vajpayee to lead the Indian delegation to present India’s case on Kashmir and counter Pakistan’s falsehoods, at a United Nations session in Geneva. The Congress’s minister of state for external Affairs, Salman Khurshid, was named as Vajpayee’s deputy! Later, as prime minister, in one of his historic parliamentary speeches, Atal ji amusingly recalled just how bewildered the Pakistani governing class was at seeing an opposition leader representing his nation’s interests at such a prestigious forum, and at such a crucial moment; because in Pakistan, he quipped, they were probably more used to opposition leaders creating trouble for their nation rather than helping their government! But such, Atal ji concluded, is our “vichitra loktantra” (strange democracy)—as clamorous and chaotic as it is miraculous and mesmerising.

Sadly, this episode has not been repeated in the last three decades, as our politics has turned ever more rancorous and bitter. There is very little mutual respect and friendship on display between the ruling party and the opposition. The core assumption of democratic politics is supposed to be that both sides understand that the other is as committed to the national interest as itself, even if they disagree on how best to ensure the nation’s well-being. In that sense the two sides are not enemies but adversaries. Sadly, there has been no indication on the government’s part in the last decade that it appreciates the legitimacy of the other side, whose statements and actions it frequently dubs as “anti-national”. Delegitimising opposition is to diminish our democracy.

With a far stronger opposition in Parliament, one hopes that attitude will change, to strengthen the very vichitra loktantra that Vajpayee spoke about. Only if MPs of all parties serve together and cooperate and collaborate constructively and creatively will India—and not just the government—succeed.

editor@theweek.in

stay-with-kochi-biennale

Sun Dec 08 12:14:19 IST 2024

The organisers of the Kochi-Muziris Biennale have just begun preparations for its sixth edition a year from now. I still remember its start, on the euphonious date of 12.12.12—December 12, 2012—when a group of idealist artists embarked with some trepidation on a bold attempt to transform India’s art scene. In the dozen years since its inception, the biennale has made a profound impact on both Kerala and the nation at large. As the largest contemporary art festival in Asia, it has transformed Kochi into a vibrant hub for international and Indian artists, fostering a rich cultural exchange and attracting art lovers from across the country and abroad.

Inspired largely by the Venice Biennale, which since 1895 has been one of the most prestigious cultural events in the world, the Kochi-Muziris Biennale, too, hopes to develop a reputation for showcasing ground-breaking art and introducing significant artistic movements. Each edition of the biennale seeks to reflect trends, tackle contemporary issues, and give space to voices that might not have a stage elsewhere. It also acts as a think tank for the Indian art world, influencing future artistic directions.

This edition’s curator, Nikhil Chopra, reflects this ambition. Chopra’s artistic practice ranges across live art, theatre, painting, photography, sculpture and installations. His performances, in large part improvised, dwell on issues such as identity, the role of autobiography, the pose and self-portraiture, the process of transformation and even the part played by the duration of performance. Taking autobiographical elements as his starting point, Chopra combines everyday life and collective history; not just daily acts such as eating, resting, washing and dressing, but also drawing and making clothes acquire the value of ritual, becoming an essential part of the show. It’s an intriguing choice to have someone whose work spans so many genres curating a biennale that showcases all of these arts, and more.

The biennale’s contributions to India’s art scene have already been considerable. It provides a prestigious platform for Indian artists to showcase their work alongside international peers, enhancing their visibility and opportunities on the global stage. It encourages experimentation and innovation in art, with diverse mediums such as installations, new media, and performance art being prominently featured, as again underscored in the selection of Chopra.

The biennale also facilitates cultural dialogue and exchange, bringing together artists, curators, and audiences from different backgrounds to engage with contemporary issues through art.

One of the challenges the organisers have faced is the perennial one of funding. In addition to a number of private sponsors, the biennale relies on a core donation from the state government. This is not an indulgence even for a government as notoriously broke and financially overstretched as Kerala’s. The biennale has revitalised Kochi’s cultural landscape, drawing inspiration from the ancient port of Muziris, a centre of international commerce millennia ago. It has brought global attention to Kerala’s rich heritage and vibrant contemporary arts, and put Kerala on the world art map, significantly enhancing the state’s image worldwide. By attracting thousands of visitors from around the world the biennale has significantly boosted local tourism, benefiting the economy and promoting local culture and cuisine.

The four months of the biennale witness every hotel and restaurant—from five-star hotels to the smallest tea-shop—thronged with tourists. This is good for the state’s economy and for the tourism industry of God’s Own Country, beleaguered since the setback of the pandemic.

In addition, the biennale has had an under-appreciated impact on the local population. The event has engaged local communities through educational programmes, workshops, and public art projects, fostering a deeper appreciation for art among residents. By hosting the biennale, they have learned to appreciate the value of art in their own lives by seeing its appeal to others from around the world.

Overall, the Kochi-Muziris Biennale has not only enriched Kerala’s cultural fabric but also positioned India as a significant player in the global contemporary art scene. Its contributions continue to inspire and elevate the artistic community, making it a cornerstone of India’s cultural identity. This is why I urge the Kerala government—and more important, the art-loving people of India—to continue their sterling support for the biennale.

editor@theweek.in

be-proud-of-accomplishments-of-our-ancestors-without-hindutva-delusions

Sat Nov 09 11:40:10 IST 2024

Indian readers have long known William Dalrymple as the chronicler nonpareil of India in the early years of the British raj. His latest book, The Golden Road, is a striking departure, since it takes him to a period from about the third century BC to the 12th-13th centuries CE. “What Greece was first to Rome, then to the rest of the Mediterranean and European World,” argues Dalrymple, “so at this period India was to southeast and central Asia and even to China.” That this argument is not commonly associated with a foreign scholar—and has been assumed, wrongly, to be the sole domain of the vishwaguru school of hindutva history—makes it all the more compelling reading.

It is fair to say that conventional wisdom tends to focus on ancient India—the glories of the Vedas and the Puranas, the flourishing of Hinduism, Buddhism and Jainism, and the triumphs of a handful of emperors, notably Chandragupta, Ashoka, Kanishka and Vikramaditya—from a fairly insular perspective, confining their impact to the subcontinent and largely omitting their influence on the rest of the world. It is also widely assumed that by the sixth or seventh century CE a national decline had set in, leaving India vulnerable to the Islamic conquests that began with the invasion of Sind by the youthful Arab general Mohammed bin Qasim in 712 CE.

Dalrymple transforms this narrative by focusing on India’s external relations. And rightly so: trade between the Roman Empire and India was so considerable that, he says, customs revenues generated perhaps a third of the total income of the Roman treasury. Roman senators debated the fondness of their women for Indian muslins, jewels and spices, lamenting that Rome’s fortunes were largely sunk in India—indeed, Indian museums contain more Roman coins than any country outside the Roman Empire. Recent excavations of Roman amphorae and artefacts at Pattanam in Kerala point to extensive trade relations between Rome and the southern tip of India well before the birth of Christ.

So what is “the Golden Road”? Dalrymple conceives of it not as a land route but a number of sea lanes, which Indian sailors used, aided by strong seasonal monsoon winds, to cross westwards to the Arab world or eastwards to Sumatra and Java in today’s Indonesia. They took with them goods, intellectual discoveries like mathematics, philosophy and astronomy, and, of course, religion and spiritual ideas.  Their travels spread Buddhism to Sri Lanka, Tibet, China, Central Asia and beyond, and Hinduism to southeast Asia, where its impact is still to be found, not just in the Hindu island of Bali, but in cultural practices and references in countries that today practise other faiths.

So to this day, the kings of Thailand are crowned in the presence of Brahmin priests, and are named Rama in continuation of the Ramayan tradition; the current monarch, Vajiralongkorn, is styled Rama X. Similarly, the Muslims of Java still bear Sanskritised names, despite practising Islam; Garuda is Indonesia’s national airline, and the Ramayana its best-selling brand of clove cigars; the largest Hindu temple in the world, Angkor Wat, is in Cambodia; and even the Philippines has produced a pop-dance ballet about Rama’s quest for his kidnapped queen.

If the world speaks of “Arabic numerals”, it is because the Golden Road took Indian mathematical concepts to the Caliphs in Baghdad, from where Europeans got them. Dalrymple quotes the Qazi of Toledo, in then-Islamic Spain, writing in an intellectual history of the world in 1068: “Over many centuries, all the kings of the past have recognised the ability of the Indians in all the branches of knowledge. The Indians… are the essence of wisdom… the Indians have made great strides in the study of numbers and geometry… they have surpassed all… in their knowledge of medical science.”

These are points I have often tried to make, while arguing that there is much to be proud of in the accomplishments of our ancestors without needing to buy into hindutva delusions about pushpak vimans and other fantasies. There’s much more in The Golden Road to reward the Indian reader; this column barely skims a fraction of Dalrymple’s findings. It is a must-read.

editor@theweek.in

i-shashi-tharoor-coined-the-term-multi-alignment

Fri Oct 11 16:21:12 IST 2024

‘‘May I request you to put the record straight on the patrimony of the phrase multi-alignment?” wrote a friend, a retired ambassador with a distinguished record in the Indian Foreign Service. “We have a little friendly firing on our [IFS retirees’] blog about it. I mentioned that you were the first person to use it. Some of my friends claim otherwise; they insist that [S.] Jaishankar is the father of this idea.”

I could not resist a wry smile at the query. External Affairs Minister Jaishankar is a friend and professional colleague for many years and there is no sense of rivalry between us, at least none of which I am aware. Nonetheless, it amused me that a phrase that had “sunk without trace” when I first attempted to float it, had now not only become fashionable, but even become the object of debate and “friendly fire” among experts over its origins.

“Multi-alignment” as a term first occurred to me when I was living in New York and making the occasional speech about India’s place in the world. In a land where I was being constantly challenged about the continued relevance of “non-alignment”, to which India stubbornly clung well into the first decade of the 21st century, I offered up this alternative to American audiences. At the time, the world was living through what was dubbed its “unipolar moment,” with the end of the Cold War having inaugurated an unquestioned period of American dominance—geopolitically, militarily, economically and technologically.

China, in those early years of the “noughties” (the ‘00s), was still engaged in a “peaceful rise”, concealing its more assertive and less benign intentions. There was no rival to the US, and Francis Fukuyama’s blithely-titled The End of History and the Last Man, asserting the worldwide triumph of liberal democracy and capitalism as the ultimate forms of human organisation, held complacent sway. Americans challenged me on why India continued to call itself non-aligned when there were no longer two contending superpowers to be non-aligned between.

“Multi-alignment” struck me as the answer. I used it extensively, often with a wry smile, and for the first time formally in a speech at the University of California, Berkeley, where I described “the networked world” thus:

“…the metaphor for today’s globalised world is really that of the world wide web. In this increasingly networked world, we are going to have to work through multiple networks, and those networks will sometimes overlap with each other with common memberships, but sometimes they will be distinct; they all serve our interests in different ways and for different purposes. Thus India can play an influential role with both the United Nations, a universal organisation that has 193 member states, and with the South Asian Association for Regional Cooperation that has only its seven neighbours. It belongs both to the non-aligned movement, which reflects our experience of colonialism, and the community of democracies, which reflects its decades of experience as a democracy. India is a leading light of the global “trade union” of developing countries, the G-77 (Group of 77), which has some 120 countries, and also of the “management”, the G20 (Group of 20 developed and developing countries in charge of global macro-economic policy). We have the ability to be in all these great institutional networks pursuing different objectives with different allies and partners, and in each finding a valid purpose that suits us. This is why I suggest that India has moved beyond non-alignment to what I call multi-alignment.”

When I tried the same formulation as minister of state for external affairs, however, the phrase didn’t catch on. I was considered a little too daring, talking about India’s “soft power” (then a new idea in our discourse) and when I floated “multi-alignment” at the annual conference of Indian ambassadors in 2009, it received a frosty reception.

One senior ambassador disregarded the deference due to my ministerial status and more or less accused me of sacrilege. So I was amused when Jaishankar began using the term as foreign minister, and at the Raisina Dialogue of 2020, was gracious enough to acknowledge that I had come up with the phrase. Since then it has been associated with him. What matters, after all, is not the word, but who gives it currency!

editor@theweek.in

how-i-became-indias-mr-difficult-words

Sat Sep 14 11:45:31 IST 2024

When my publishers at Aleph invited me to put together a book on words and language, I hesitated for a brief moment. A book on words (following on the heels of the successful Tharoorosaurus) was all very well, but did a serious politician really want to reinforce the image that had grown up of himself as an etymological egghead? As one journalist rather breathlessly asked me, “Your vocabulary has become the subject of memes, comedy shows and now a book! Did you ever think things would take such a turn?”

Well, no, I didn’t. I fell in love with language as a child, and used the words I came across quite unselfconsciously, as a beachcomber might blow into the shells he’s picked up on a stroll along the seaside. But in the process, I found I had inadvertently acquired a rather inflated reputation as a vocabularist. Such reputations tend to build gradually, but mine reached escape velocity with a specific tweet. Incensed by a libellous TV programme about me, I had tweeted that it was ‘a farrago of distortions, misrepresentations and outright lies broadcast by an unprincipled showman masquerading as a journalist’.

These were all words I had flung about with abandon in my debating days at St Stephen’s College, Delhi, but for some reason this sentence did not just strike a chord but triggered an almighty wave of enthusiastic curiosity on the internet. The Oxford English Dictionary even recorded in some puzzlement an unprecedented spike on its search engines, with over a million people, mostly in India, looking up the meaning of the word ‘farrago’ within the span of a few hours. My notoriety was established: I was India’s Mr Difficult Words.

From there it was a short step to being caricatured. Memes rolled off the versatile keyboards of those who seem to spend their creative juices entirely on web parody. Desi wits translated Diwali greetings and descriptions of bhel puri into logorrheic English and attributed them to me. A clever meme-maker put my tweet into the mouth of Captain Haddock, replacing his usual ‘billions of blue blistering barnacles’, while a taken aback Tintin responds, ‘Captain, I told you to stay away from that Shashi Tharoor fella!’

Photographs of my meeting the then home minister, Rajnath Singh, were modified to add a speech bubble above his head, saying ‘And I don’t even have a dictionary!’ While many of these were formulaic even if good-natured, the best was probably a rueful meme that stated, ‘I used to think I was poor. Now I’ve met Shashi Tharoor and I realise I’m impecunious.’

There are only two things you can do when a tidal wave of caricature descends upon you like this—either sulk crossly and reject any attempt to slot you into the jokers’ stereotypes, or embrace the caricature and try to turn it to your advantage. I preferred the latter course. I accepted an invitation to author a weekly column on words for the Dubai-based Khaleej Times. Many of these found wide circulation online, and the demand arose for a book. So here I am: my new book—A Wonderland of Words—has just been published.

Yes, words have always mattered to me. My father, Chandran Tharoor, was an immense influence on my life. After a village and small-town education in rural Malabar, he had moved to the UK in 1948 and relearned English from scratch. He was my teacher, guide, research adviser, imparter of values, my source of faith, energy, and self-belief. My enthusiastic approaches to life and learning are inherited from him; so is my work ethic—and my love for words. His great love of words and language, and the inventive ways my father put it to practise, inevitably rubbed off on his eldest child: me.

But it was never just words for their own sake. My father instilled in me the conviction that words are what shape ideas and reflect thought, and the more words you know, the more precisely and effectively are you able to express your thoughts. Hence a book on the wonderland of words, often a source of fascination—and indispensable for communication—seemed not such a bad idea after all. I hope my readers will agree.

editor@theweek.in

tax-the-rich-till-they-invest-more

Sat Aug 17 14:26:29 IST 2024

One of the little-remarked features of this year’s budget is that for the first time the share of individual taxpayers’ contributions to the government treasury exceeded those of the corporates. According to the data released by the Central Board of Direct Taxes, net direct tax collections amounted to Rs5,74,357 crore (as of July 11, 2024), of which personal income tax was Rs3,46,036 crore, while corporate income tax amounted to only Rs2,10,274 crore. Ordinary Indians, especially from the middle class, are actually giving the government more tax money than corporations.

During the UPA years, personal income tax was 21 per cent of total tax collections, while corporate tax was 35 per cent. Today, the share of corporate taxes out of total tax collections has dropped sharply to its lowest level at just 26 per cent, while the share of personal income tax has increased to 28 per cent.

Corporate tax rates were reduced from 2019, with the expectation that it would lead to a surge in private investment. Logical, provided you create the conditions that encourage companies to invest their money. Instead, private investment has nosedived in the Modi era, from a peak of 35 per cent of GDP under Manmohan Singh to below 29 per cent during 2014–24.

The corporate tax rate cuts have meant a considerable revenue loss for the government. Over the last five years, the aggregate revenue foregone is an astronomical Rs8.7 lakh crore. But what jobs have been created in return? Where is the additional capital investment?

The corporate tax cut has put this money in the pockets of billionaires, who have chosen to sit on their piles of cash, failing to spend it to generate productive employment—while the middle class continues to bear the weight of heavy taxation. In contrast, if money were to be put in the hands of ordinary people, they would pump it back into the economy.

It is a cruel joke that individuals subsidise direct tax cuts for corporates. In the US, income tax revenue does exceed corporate tax revenue. But they have a broader tax base: 43 per cent of the population pays taxes, compared to just two per cent in India. The burden of taxation in India rests on a tiny segment of the population—and they’re not the wealthiest Indians.

Taxes are an important source of revenue for governments. If direct taxes worked fairly, the rich—whether corporates or individuals—would pay more. That’s not how it works, though: corporates are paying less, and the rich have found multiple loopholes to minimise their tax obligations. Our billionaires have found myriad ways of filing their tax returns to ensure that they pay next to nothing on personal income. I contested against one in the last elections, whose last three years of declared taxable income, according to his affidavit, were Rs5 lakh, Rs17 lakh and Rs684! He would have paid far less income-tax than the average taxi driver in that time, while owning a fleet of 24 luxury cars, a private jet and a much-admired collection of high-end motorbikes, and living in a 49,000 square foot mansion in the toniest part of Bengaluru. The salaried, on the other hand, have a rougher time, often paying taxes and deductions at source, and without the kind of creative deductions available to them that the affluent enjoy.

And then there’s GST. This is paid by both individuals and companies, but once again the bulk of the burden is borne by ordinary people buying ordinary things: five per cent on tea, 12 per cent on ghee, 18 per cent on toothpaste, 28 per cent on soft-drinks. GST is regressive, since it is applied uniformly irrespective of the income level of individuals. As a result, consumers with higher incomes pay a smaller share of GST, relative to their incomes, than low-income consumers.

A final irony: the government puts people who earn Rs15 lakh in the highest tax slab, but SEBI bans them from options trading on the grounds that they are too poor to invest. Rich enough to tax heavily, poor enough to be barred from trading! It is time to reverse this injustice and tax the rich—until they invest more and create jobs.

editor@theweek.in

all-indians-dont-understand-how-our-democracy-works

Sat Jul 20 10:59:05 IST 2024

One of the peculiar frustrations of being an elected representative in India is the widespread ignorance among the electorate of the responsibilities and authority of those they are electing to office. We have three tiers of governance—local, state and federal—to which the same voters elect, at different times, councillors, MLAs and MPs. Yet an overwhelming majority of our citizens have no clue what role they are electing each of these representatives for.

On a recent “thank-you” tour of my constituency, which had just returned me to Parliament for a fourth time, I found myself greeting, from atop my open jeep, voters who in the same breath were pointing to the rutted, potholed stretch of road I was travelling on, making it clear they expected me to repair it now that I had won. But in every case the road was the responsibility of either the city council or the village panchayat and not the MP. Local roads are maintained by local government bodies; state roads by the state government, to which the MLA is accredited and where he or she has some influence; and central roads are those for which the MP can be made accountable. These are the National Highways and those major roads financed by the Union government under the Central Road Fund or the Pradhan Mantri Gram Sadak Yojana—not narrow country roads, vital though these are to those who live near them. But try explaining this to a voter, who assumes that MLAs exist to do what councillors can’t, and MPs to do what MLAs can’t! The confusion is compounded by the expectation that each elected representative must deliver “development” to his constituency.

Just as MLAs have some budgetary allotments available to them—in Kerala, each MLA receives Rs6 crore to be spent on development projects of his or her choice—MPs have the Members of Parliament Local Area Development Scheme funds, which entitles them to spend Rs5 crore a year on projects in their constituencies. But a Lok Sabha MP in Kerala represents seven MLA constituencies, and 25 per cent of the MPLADS total is reserved for expenditure on projects benefitting SC/ST communities, which leaves each MP some Rs50 lakh for each constituency where an MLA is spending Rs6 crore, 12 times as much. Inevitably the scale of the MP’s “development” projects is dwarfed by comparison with the MLA’s, yet voters cannot understand why the “more important” MP cannot do more.

MPs must lobby the Central government, but cannot determine favourable outcomes, and many require state government decisions, too. The question of an All India Institute of Medical Sciences for Kerala is a case in point. I stated during the election campaign that no MP can promise (as my opponent was doing) to set up an AIIMS in a location of his choice—it depends on what the state government proposes. When my party was in power in the state, I had ensured that Thiruvananthapuram was added to the list of possible AIIMS locations submitted by the state government to the Centre—and lobbied the Central government to choose it. But when the left came to power in Kerala, it opted for Kozhikode as the sole choice before the Centre. No MP could have done anything about that—it is, after all, the prerogative of the state to identify the location and provide the land.

But if voters do not always understand the complementary roles of the state and the Centre in decisions affecting their lives, they do not understand the differences either. During the recent election in my constituency, I was amused and mortified to see a viral video put out by the BJP campaign that showed a middle-aged woman voter saying she had voted communist all her life, but was now going to vote for the BJP because the communist government had not paid her pension for the last seven months. The poor lady had no idea that electing a BJP MP would make not a whit of difference to her pension, which is paid by the state government—where the left is in power and the BJP has no role.

Democracy is India’s greatest asset—but that doesn’t mean all Indians understand how our democracy works!

editor@theweek.in

i-played-twice-against-hollywood-cricket-club

Mon Jun 24 12:30:15 IST 2024

Despite widespread assumptions to the contrary, the US is no stranger to cricket. It was played in North America by the British colonists in the 18th and 19th centuries, and the very first international cricket match ever recorded took place in 1844 between the US and Canada. But thereafter, the game was supplanted in America by the shorter and simpler attractions of baseball, popularised after the Civil War by veteran Colonel Abner Doubleday. Still, cricket continued to flourish as a minority pursuit for leisured gentlemen, and the Philadelphia all-rounder of the turn of the century, J. Barton King, considered one of the fastest and best pacemen in the world, even led the first-class bowling averages in England in 1908.

In my days of playing club cricket in such far-flung outposts of the cricketing world as Geneva and Singapore in the 1980s, I recall playing twice against a touring team of the Hollywood Cricket Club. I could scarcely believe it existed, but they were very proud of the fact that a former England Test captain had established the club in 1932—Cecil Aubrey Smith, who became a Hollywood star of some distinction, playing “officer and gentleman” roles in the early decades of cinema.

For all this heritage, most Americans have no idea about the greatest sport on earth and the US has, for the most part, been an unlikely location for it to flourish, until an influx of cricket playing migrants (mainly from the Indian subcontinent and the Caribbean) brought a passion for cricket with them. Cricket’s gradual American revival, initially as a weekend sport for expatriates, spawned a sporting subculture that attracted attention—a phenomenon marvellously chronicled in Joseph O’Neill’s 2008 novel, Netherland. In time, the children of some of these cricket-obsessed migrants picked up the sport themselves and some discovered a genuine talent for it. The result is a hybrid US cricket team, dominated inevitably by Indians, some born there and some originally from over here. A US team of eight Indians, joined by a handful of Pakistanis, South Africans and Barbadians, stunned Pakistan in the T20 World Cup this month and gave India a stiff challenge in their next match. The US team even features an enterprising cricketer born in Canada and living in the US, who has played for both countries and switched loyalties four times. Improbably enough, his name is Nitish Kumar!

Their successful performances naturally elicited a great amount of amused comment and admiration in the mother country. One Indian wag observed that Pakistan was beaten not by the Indian A team, not the Indian B team, but by the Indian H1B team! Another cracked that Pakistan lost twice to Indians—first to Indian green-card holders and then to Indian Aadhaar card holders. Another claimed that when India played the US, half the US team was also singing the Indian national anthem!

Cricket undoubtedly has a future in the US. This was not obvious when, in 1975, I went to the US as a graduate student and found it challenging even to access cricket scores, which were of course never reported in the American newspapers. Today, in the era of the internet and satellite television, not only can one get the scores in real time at the click of a mouse, but one can even watch any match by subscribing to a cricket channel called WillowTV. It is very much easier to be an American cricket fan today, and to be inspired not just by weekend cricket, but by a professional Twenty20 cricket league called Major League Cricket, featuring prominent international stars in teams like the San Francisco Unicorns and the Seattle Orcas (owned by no less eminent a New American than Microsoft chief Satya Nadella).

In an attempt to popularise the game even further, the US was invited to co-host this year’s T20 World Cup. It’s a good precursor to the 2028 Los Angeles Olympics, which will feature cricket after over a century. The US cricket team’s performance at the World Cup is an important stepping stone to building a fan-base in the world’s most affluent sports market. Cricket USA could well declaim: “2028, here we come!”

editor@theweek.in

some-political-vocabulary-with-shashi-tharoor

Sun Jun 23 09:47:07 IST 2024

Since this column is slated to appear ahead of June 4 when the counting of votes takes place, and given my wholly inflated reputation as one excessively fond of obscure words, I thought I would combine the two and share with readers terms that might enhance their political vocabulary in the present climate.

These elections have seen a large number of empleomaniacs—people with a mania for holding public office—contesting at the hustings. Anyone who willingly subjects themselves to the strain of fund-raising, campaigning in the summer heat for 16 to 18 hours a day and making repetitive speeches to voters for weeks on end, may well be considered a maniac anyway. But empleomania (borrowed from a Spanish word, which is a combination of empleo (employment or public office) and mania) is a malady that afflicts only those truly obsessive about holding political power. (We have quite a few of those in India, of course).

Several of these politicians are, though they usually don’t know it, throttlebottoms. The term, which refers to particularly inept and futile persons in public office, comes from the name Alexander Throttlebottom, a character invented by George Kaufman and Morrie Ryskind for the 1931 musical ‘Of Thee I Sing’. It is more popular in the US than elsewhere in the English-speaking world, but has a deliciously apt sound to it.

While throttlebottoms are usually an innocuous lot of inept politicos, worse still are politicasters, petty or contemptible politicians who are unstatesmanlike practitioners of politics. As the suffix -aster indicates, this is even more of an insult; in English use—aster is added to words to describe people who are in some way inferior, worthless, or not genuine, and comes from Latin, in which language it means ‘only having a partial resemblance’. (In addition to politicaster, we find this suffix used to refer to inferior poets (poetaster), doctors (medicaster), and philosophers (philosophaster). India has its own special breed of journalisasters!)

Another American term we could usefully have borrowed in India is highbinder, meaning a corrupt or scheming politician who engages in fraudulent or shady activities. Highbinder was first used in English at the beginning of the 19th century, as the name of a particularly unruly gang. By the 1870s the word was used across the US to refer to members of Chinese gangs and secret societies. Inevitably, it soon began to be used to describe unscrupulous politicians. There is, as we all know, no shortage of highbinders contesting our present elections!

If elected to high office, many might well prove guilty of misprision, defined as misconduct or maladministration by a public official, in particular the neglect or wrong performance of official duty. Just as, in popular folklore, Eskimos (or more correctly, the Inuit and Yupik-speaking people) are purported to have hundreds of words for snow (which in fact they don’t), and the English are believed to have hundreds of words for being drunk (which in fact they do), one could well argue that Indians should have a plethora of words for political malfeasance. Since we don’t have as many as we need, we could make greater use of “misprision”.

And finally, one word to describe the misrule of the last 10 years, which has become all the more evident in the inflammatory rhetoric we have been hearing in this campaign? It is kakistocracy, a form of government in which the least qualified or most unprincipled individuals are in power. I first suggested years ago in print that, in recent years, it has seemed that the world’s largest democracy has in fact degenerated into a kakistocracy, but the term didn’t quite catch on. Derived from ancient Greek—the speakers of which were pioneers of democratic practice and knew a thing or two about good governance, or the lack thereof—a “kakistocracy” is a government by the worst elements in society. The word comes from the Greek “kakistos”, the superlative form of the word “kakos”, meaning “bad”. It hasn’t been used much in India, despite us undergoing the rule of people who declare they want to replace Mahatma Gandhi’s statues with Godse’s, and speak dehumanisingly of our Muslim fellow-citizens. Maybe it is time we began to use the term!

editor@theweek.in

let-us-not-surrender-the-idea-of-india-shashi-tharoor

Sun Apr 28 13:49:21 IST 2024

As Indians battle it out in our nation’s 18th general election, it is again time for voters to reflect on the “Idea of India”—or rather, on two duelling ideas of India that are now before us and between which the nation must choose at the ballot box. They both date back to before independence, when our nationalist movement was divided between two sets of ideas, one held by those who saw religious identity as the determinant of their nationhood and the other by those who believed in an inclusive India for everyone, irrespective of faith. The former became the idea of Pakistan, the latter the idea of India. Pakistan was created as a state with a dominant religion, a state that discriminates against its minorities and denies them equal rights. But India never accepted the logic that had partitioned the country: our freedom struggle was for all, and independent India would also be for all. 

This nebulous “Idea of India”—the phrase is Tagore’s—is, in some form or another, arguably as old as antiquity itself. Today, though, it incorporates a certain conception of human rights and citizenship, vigorously backed by due process and equality before law. Despite the mystical influence of Tagore, and the spiritual and moral influences of Gandhiji, the idea of India embedded in our Constitution is a robustly secular construct inspired by the vision and intellect of our founding fathers, notably (in alphabetical order) B.R. Ambedkar, Jawaharlal Nehru and Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel. The preamble itself is the most eloquent enumeration of this vision. In its description of the defining traits of the Indian republic, its conception of justice, liberty, equality and fraternity, it firmly proclaims that the law, and not religion or community, will be the bedrock of the idea of India. This is the idea of an ever-ever land—emerging from an ancient civilisation, united by a shared history, marked by rich diversity, sustained by pluralist democracy. India’s democracy imposes no narrow conformities on its citizens. The whole point of Indian pluralism is you can be many things and one thing: you can be a good Muslim, a good Keralite and a good Indian all at once. 

The Indian idea, as I have long argued, is that a nation may endure differences of caste, creed, colour, conviction, consonant, culture, cuisine, costume and custom, and still rally around a consensus. And that consensus is around the simple idea that in a democracy you don’t really need to agree—except on the ground rules of how you will disagree. My idea of India celebrates diversity: if the US is a melting-pot, then to me India is a thali, a selection of sumptuous dishes in different bowls. Each tastes different, and does not necessarily mix with the next, but they belong together on the same plate, and they complement each other in making the meal a satisfying repast. 

Many of us complacently assumed that this idea of India was immutable and universally held. But we were wrong; before Muhammad Ali Jinnah’s Muslim League passed its notorious Pakistan Resolution in 1940 demanding the vivisection of the country, the Hindu Mahasabha had in 1937 advanced the theory that Hindus and Muslims were two nations. Today’s ruling BJP is the political arm of the RSS, which remains committed to the doctrine of hindutva and advocates the establishment in India of a Hindu Rashtra. Such an idea has nothing in common with the constitutional idea of India. It represents a nationalism that is divisive rather than inclusive, embodied in a chauvinism intolerant of diversity and difference. The BJP/RSS idea of a Hindu Rashtra is the mirror image of Pakistan—a state with a dominant majority religion that seeks to put its minorities in a subordinate place. That would be a hindutva Pakistan, and it is not what our freedom movement fought for, nor is it the idea of India enshrined in our Constitution. 

This is a battle for India’s soul. India’s founding fathers wrote a constitution for their dreams; we have given passports to their ideals. Let us not let them down by surrendering our idea of India to the idea of Pakistan.

editor@theweek.in

hard-work-a-way-of-life-for-indians

Sat Mar 30 16:17:28 IST 2024

The young cricketer Yashasvi Jaiswal articulated an important insight about our country at the end of the third Test against England, where he scored his second double-century at the tender age of 22. “In India, when you grow up, you work really hard for each and every thing,” he said when asked about his approach to batting, after helping India take a 2-1 lead over England. “Even when getting the bus, you have to work really hard to get the bus. You have to work really hard to get to the train and auto [rickshaw] and everything. And I have done that since my childhood. I know how important every innings is—and that’s why I really work hard in my [practice] sessions and every innings counts for me and for my team. That is my biggest motivation to play for my country. And I just make sure that whenever I’m there I need to give my 100 per cent and then enjoy.”

Jaiswal went on to embody his own words, scoring 712 runs in the five matches and winning the man of the series award. But this column is not about cricket; it’s about the hard work young Jaiswal was talking about.

Hard work is a universally acknowledged virtue, but for Indians, at home and abroad, it is often a way of life. As Jaiswal—who slept in a tent on a cricket ground while honing his talent, and sold pani-puri to make ends meet in his formative years—understands only too well, hard work is ingrained in the Indian ethos. It emerges principally from the pressure of population: millions are striving for academic and professional success in a population that exceeds 1.4 billion. So Indians grow up facing intense competition for everything—from getting a place in school or college, to catching a bus or a train, to finding a job, to excelling at a profession. He who doesn’t strive is doomed to fail, because he is up against too many others who are trying very hard indeed.

In India, hard work is not just a characteristic; it is woven into the cultural fabric. From a young age, children are taught the value of perseverance and effort. The Indian education system, known for its rigour, instils in students the necessity of industriousness to outshine their peers. Hard work is indispensable.

When Indians venture abroad, they carry this trait with them, often amplifying it in response to the challenges of navigating a new country. The Indian diaspora is renowned for its work ethic, which has enabled many to achieve significant socioeconomic progress, rising to levels of prestige and affluence their parents could not have dreamed of. This is particularly evident in countries like the US, where Indians hold prominent positions in technology, medicine, academia, and business, and enjoy the highest median income of any ethnic group (even higher than white Americans or Japanese). Indians have excelled in fields that demand not only intellectual acumen but also an enduring work ethic. The success stories of Indian CEOs in multinational corporations, leading scientists in NASA, and entrepreneurs in Silicon Valley are testaments to this fact.

Consider the story of Satya Nadella, the CEO of Microsoft, who came from a middle-class background in Hyderabad and rose through the ranks by virtue of his dedication and diligence. Or Sundar Pichai, head of Alphabet Inc., whose journey from a modest upbringing in Chennai to the pinnacle of the tech world is a narrative of relentless effort. Or the inspiring tale of Nobel laureate Venkatraman Ramakrishnan, whose ground-breaking work in molecular biology was achieved through years of meticulous research. They are innovative thinkers, but they also worked harder than everyone else. Countless Indians across the world have reached formidable heights without any advantages other than their hard work. Their stories are a powerful reminder that while brains and talent are distributed evenly, access to opportunities is not. It is hard work that bridges this gap, turning potential into achievement. As the world becomes increasingly interconnected, the Indian ethos of hard work continues to be a beacon of inspiration, demonstrating that with perseverance, anything is possible.

editor@theweek.in

why-i-have-profound-respect-for-french-democracy

Sat Mar 02 14:42:59 IST 2024

As someone who admires France, its people, their refinement, their language, and their culture—especially their literature and cinema—I was deeply humbled recently to be conferred their highest civilian honour, the Chevalier de la Legion d’Honneur. For me, France is not just its world-renowned cuisine or the enchanting lavender fields of Provence. It is, in the famous expression, “France, mother of arts, arms and laws.”

To my mind, the conferral of this award to an Indian is also an acknowledgement of the deepening of Franco-Indian relations, and the continuity of the warmth that has been a feature of this relationship for a very long time. We have come a long way from the days the French colonisers fought with the British for land and resources in India, and the French lost. During World War I, some 1.3 lakh Indians served in and around the Somme, and nearly 9,000 died, in a combat that was not theirs. One hundred years later, things are much better.

President Emmanuel Macron said during his visit to India in 2018: “The trust we share protects us while our interests are aligned. We want India to be our first strategic partner here, and we want to be India’s first strategic partner in Europe.” As they adjust to the collapse of the post-war order, India and France recognise the urgency of building partnerships that can provide some stability in an increasingly unstable world. France, which had sought strategic autonomy as part of its alliance with the US, and India, which valued an independent foreign policy, are natural partners in building new partnerships for uncertain times.

My relationship with France was forged principally through my United Nations experiences. I enrolled in the UN French classes at the Palais des Nations in Geneva and found I had something of a facility for the language. Living in Geneva, I was a frequent visitor to neighbouring parts of France, and once I had left Europe, returned as a writer, for various literary conferences. I observed with great delight that the French have a remarkable ability to engage with ideas—the very hallmark of a civilised society—and also to put forth their viewpoints in the most civil, intelligent and courteous manner. The art of deliberation and discussion is on daily display in France—you can turn on your television at midnight and find thoughtful people discussing complicated issues with erudition and insight. No wonder it was a French philosopher, Rene Descartes, who said, “I think, therefore I am.” The Frenchman can give stiff competition to the “argumentative Indian”!

Inevitably, I have also nurtured a sense of profound respect for French democracy. It’s not too much to claim that the idea of a nation belonging to the people, the idea of a democratic state, was born in the land of “liberté, égalité, fraternité” where ‘the people’ first replaced ‘the king’ as the nucleus of the nation. I’ve been impressed by the French reverence for the republic’s genesis and its founding principles—which has given me, in turn, a deep-rooted appreciation of French democracy.

My association with France and its people is thus one of my most cherished relationships. And I’m not alone. More than 1,09,000 Indians live in France, including about 10,000 Indian students, and the numbers are steadily increasing.

An episode that encapsulated the beauty of the French spirit came during my trip to France in 2002 with a delegation of eminent Indian writers, including the likes of Mahasweta Devi, Javed Akhtar, M. Mukundan and U.R. Ananthamurthy, the ‘Belles Etrangeres’. Our writers, returning from a reception at the majestic Hotel de Ville, found themselves accidental witnesses to the interment of the nineteenth-century novelist Alexandre Dumas, more than a century after his death, in the magnificently lit Pantheon. The Roman columns of this great Parisian monument were bathed in purple, red and blue light; a military band played outside, while an honour guard escorted the coffin of the author of The Three Musketeers its final resting place. Ananthamurthy, the doyen of our group, put it simply to me. “The French,” he said, “really know how to honour their writers.”

May I now add: I am glad they are honouring ours, too.

editor@theweek.in

newspeak-seems-to-be-back-in-todays-world

Sat Feb 03 14:32:59 IST 2024

In his famous 1946 essay ‘Politics and the English Language’, George Orwell wrote about how language was being corrupted in “the defence of the indefensible”. When people were driven out of their homes, he wrote, it was euphemistically called “transfer of population”; the killings of people by totalitarian regimes was described as “elimination of unreliable elements”. Orwell developed this idea further in his dystopian novel 1984, when he wrote about how, in his fictional tyranny of the future, Oceania would have a new language called Newspeak, in which the ‘Ministry of Love’ was responsible for brainwashing the citizens, the ‘Ministry of Truth’ rewrote history to suit the Party, and the “Thought Police” arrested those charged with “thoughtcrime”. This brilliant and chilling novel gave the English language several new words, including “doublethink”—simultaneous belief in two contradictory ideas, which, in 1984, made critical thinking impossible.Newspeak seems to be back in today’s world.

A recent piece in The Economist deplored Harvard students in October writing about the “unfolding violence” in Israel without blaming Hamas’ October 7 attack and the killings and kidnappings of Israelis. It was equally critical of those using the term “collateral damage” for the innocent civilians, including large numbers of women and children, slaughtered in the Israeli bombing of Gaza. When Israeli soldiers actually shot some of their own citizens fleeing captivity, it was referred to as “friendly fire”—is fire ever friendly to those at the receiving end of the firing?

The issue became even more complicated, however, when South Africa brought a case against Israel at the International Court of Justice (ICJ), accusing Israel of committing a “genocide” in Gaza. Israel vehemently denied committing genocide and accused Hamas of that very crime instead. So is this a case of misusing language? As with all geopolitical conflicts, it rather depends on which side you are on. But first, the basics: the UN Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide defines it as acts intended “to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group”. The definition amplifies the meaning of genocide as also including, among other things, “Deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction, and inflicting serious bodily or mental harm.” So which examples of recent history meet this definition?

There is universal agreement on only two cases—the murder by Hitler’s Nazis of six million Jews in the Holocaust, which led to the adoption of the Genocide Convention, and the wholesale massacre of perhaps a million ethnic Tutsis by Hutu militias in Rwanda in 1994. Indians and Bangladeshis describe the elimination of a million Bengalis by the Pakistani Army in 1971 as a genocide (and Sheikh Mujibur Rahman used the neologism “gonocide”, since “gono” means “people” in his native Bangla), but few others concur. US president Donald Trump described the Chinese oppression of its Muslim Uyghur minority as a genocide, but again found few supporters. Opinion is similarly divided on whether the term “genocide” can be applied to Israel’s attacks on civilians in Gaza. Sympathisers of Israel argue that its actions do not meet the acid test: Israel does not “intend” to destroy an ethnic group (the Palestinians), they say, but only the Hamas. Critics of Israel point to the words “in whole or in part” and stress that Israelis are in fact exterminating all the Palestinian civilians in Gaza, which meets the definition.

It would be hard for Israel to deny that it is “deliberately inflicting… conditions of life” leading to “its physical destruction”, and inflicting “serious bodily or mental harm”—the conditions of life in Gaza are inhuman, and continued bombing clearly does cause serious damage to both bodies and minds. But the ICJ is divided on whether what Israel is doing in Gaza meets the definition of genocide. There is obviously no simple formula to apply. The Economist warned writers to avoid both “the evasions of euphemism” and “the temptations of exaggeration”. “Crimes against language,” it observed, “make it harder to describe crimes against humanity”. Whether you call what is happening a genocide or not hardly makes the suffering of non-combatants any more bearable.

editor@theweek.in

death-or-debt-is-the-question

Sat Jan 06 13:50:25 IST 2024

In 2015, I chaired, at the invitation of an international non-governmental organisation, a round table of a dozen members of Parliament, together with other policy-makers and civil society activists, to address a burning question: why wasn’t public health more of a priority for our political class? The discussion was rich and illuminating, but one fact stood out for me: that every single politician present agreed that public health simply wasn’t an issue that any voter bothered to press them on. When they visited their constituencies, MPs were badgered on a number of other issues, but no one told them to vote for, or spend more money on, public health. That’s why it didn’t loom large in their consciousness.

If any one thing has changed in our voters’ minds in the aftermath of the pandemic, it should surely be this: the public is now much more aware of the importance of health, and of the need for adequate governmental and political attention to it. This is true of the medical landscape across the world, where the Brookings Institute suggests that a $4.4 trillion increase in spending on public health care, especially among developing countries, is likely by 2040. Of course, these numbers alone will count for little if we do not leverage the current global momentum to address the principal challenges facing the health care ecosystem in our country. Key among these are the immediate and everyday challenge of the difficulty Indians experience in obtaining access to affordable quality health care. Affordability is the key issue here. Take Kerala: a state with perhaps India’s best health care system, with a doctor to patient ratio of 1:400, far better than the WHO standard of 1:1,000 and the Indian average of 1:2,000 people. Yet, in Kerala, since the 1990s, private health care has vastly surpassed the public health care infrastructure, with one estimate showing that 95.31 per cent of the hospitals and 97.09 per cent of the dispensaries in the state are run by private organisations. Even among poorer households, the majority currently prefer to look to private options for health care given the perception that the quality of treatment and facilities available at these venues are better. But this raises the ominous challenge of ruinous out-of-pocket expenditure to finance medical treatment.

Poverty remains one of the biggest challenges for India. But there is less awareness of the enormous role that health care plays in deciding the fate of India’s poor. The working poor are one economic shock—which, for a daily wage labourer, could mean as little as missing a single day’s work and pay on account of illness—away from slipping below the poverty line. A terminal illness like cancer could mean wiping out a family’s economic security, as land and home are sold to meet the medical expenses of the principal breadwinner when he is no longer able to earn to support his family. About 47 per cent of hospital admissions in rural India and 31 per cent in urban India are financed by loans and sale of assets, among the worst in the world. People often don’t have ill-health because they are poor; they are poor because they have ill-health.

So it is not enough just to give public health care a greater priority in governmental policy-making. Despite all the positive efforts to make quality health care accessible in Kerala, we are home to one of India’s highest levels of out-of-pocket expenditure. A 2020 study, which surveyed the impact of OOP expenditure in rural Kerala, found that 41.6 per cent of the total income of study participants was spent for health care of chronic diseases, which indicates a catastrophic level of health expenditure. This has worrying implications for the ability of our more vulnerable segments to stay afloat after medical expenses, and should be a concern for policymakers. So more resources for government hospitals and primary health facilities, and universal government-backed medical insurance to support continuing costs, are vital. Disease should not mean choosing between death and debt for so many of our compatriots.

editor@theweek.in

dont-snub-the-dollar

Sat Dec 09 15:10:51 IST 2023

One of the lesser-reported sidelights of the recently concluded Argentinian presidential elections was the promise of the victorious candidate, Javier Milei, to replace his country’s currency, the peso, with the US dollar. This, he argued, would end the rampant inflation that has frequently bedevilled Argentina (where inflation is currently running at 130 per cent and rising) and introduce stability to the economy. After his victory his government and its newly appointed finance minister have indicated there would no rush to implement this scheme, though the promise remains on the cards and the US dollar may, before long, become the only legal tender in Argentina.

The issue is all the more interesting because it is the exact opposite of the trend prevailing in the BRICS countries, whose last summit, in South Africa a few months ago, featured a growing clamour around “de-dollarisation” of their global trade. The idea was to reduce the power and influence of the US, through its control of its own currency, and the political clout it gave Washington by, for instance, imposing sanctions on countries it disapproved of by restricting their access to dollar transactions (Iran and Russia have both been sanctioned in this way). Leading up to the Johannesburg summit, there was speculation that, in a move towards de-dollarisation, the BRICS bloc would announce the setting up of a common currency. But they settled for a less ambitious goal of encouraging trade in local currencies. Russia’s 2024 BRICS presidency is set to focus primarily on using local currencies and payment systems, with discussions among finance ministries and central bank governors. There are many factors that have created hostility to the dollar in the developing world. The sanctions against Russia last year by impounding its foreign assets, as punishment for its Ukraine war, ignited fears among emerging economies that the US might capriciously use its outsize power against other countries too, thereby impairing their economic security. Besides, over the last two decades, there have been several instances when emerging markets were held hostage to dollar volatility. America can borrow cheaply in global markets because the rest of the world needs dollar assets and is eager to lend to it. Many countries also mutter grievances that they, in effect, incur an exorbitant cost to allow the US to perpetually live beyond its means, without consequences.

In theory, a BRICS common currency would shield the bloc from the perils of dollar hegemony. But in practice, that project will remain a non-starter because of both politics and economics. It is inconceivable that member countries, not least India, would be willing to give up their monetary policy autonomy and become hostage to a common currency that would be vulnerable to instability anywhere in the bloc. Because of its outsized economic muscle, China would easily dominate BRICS, and its yuan would also dominate the common currency’s fortunes. No matter the rhetoric about a new world order, it would be ironic if, to escape the dollar’s dominance, BRICS members succumb to the alternative of the yuan, issued by an authoritarian regime with a dubious reputation for institutional integrity, transparency and rule of law.

The second-best option chosen by BRICS—trading in local currencies—is a safer way forward, but it is also not an easy one. Local currency trade works best if bilateral trade between countries is roughly balanced. But if bilateral trade is structurally imbalanced, the surplus country would accumulate the trading partner’s currency, which raises the ticklish question of how to settle accounts. If they have to be settled in dollars or another hard currency, the benefits of local-currency trade will be largely neutralised. India has had some experience of this problem, because of our extensive trade with both Iran and Russia. Iran found it had accumulated far more rupees in India (in payment for Iranian oil) than it had any use for; there just weren’t that many Indian items the Iranians wanted to buy, and the rupee wasn’t of much use to them anywhere else. The same problem seems to have arisen with regard to paying for oil imports from Russia in rupees. So de-dollarisation is no panacea. As long as we don’t attract US sanctions, we are better off sticking to the system that works. Let’s stay with the dollar!

editor@theweek.in

why-higher-level-reading-is-important

Fri Nov 10 17:40:59 IST 2023

Whenever one stands up to decry the evident decline in reading, the defence comes back: “Oh, the younger generation are reading all the time—it is just that they’re reading on their mobile phones and not in books.” But that’s precisely the problem: many in the younger generation seem to believe that books are only for schoolrooms and homework, and that when you’re not studying them in order to pass examinations, they have no appeal or value in their lives. It is true that they are reading: text messages, WhatsApp forwards and the like, and in that sense, the reading they do digitally may cover as many words and as much text as my generation read in our analogue era. But even if the young are, in that sense, reading more than ever, they are also reading rapidly, carelessly and superficially—and that’s dangerous.

The alarm bells have been sounded in a new scholarly article in a journal called First Monday, titled ‘Why higher-level reading is important’, which laments the global decline in serious reading and of readers interested in and capable of complex interpretative interactions with texts. The short attention span required and perpetuated by the digital era has led, the scholar-authors say, to a significant decline of critical and conscious reading, immersive and slow reading, literary reading, non-strategic or non-goal-oriented reading and long-form reading. Even audio books, the authors point out, are not the equivalent of reading but a poor substitute for it.

The scholars identify many psychological processes involved in reading, including motivation and frustration, pleasure and leisure, emotional responses, therapeutic and meditative effects, imagination and mental imagery, creativity and inspiration. In my own asthmatic childhood, reading was my escape, my education and my entertainment. I read essentially for pleasure but grew in the process, widened my mental horizons and enhanced my vocabulary. That sense, of reading being an enjoyable activity which you can still benefit from, is sadly missing among many of today’s young.

Ironically, the higher-level reading skills that are now out of fashion are all the more essential to negotiate the complexities of the 21st century information society. We live in an era of fake news, conspiracy theories, distortions and disinformation, simplifications and outright lies, assiduously spread by our rulers to compromise society’s capacity for informed democratic decision-making. We need all the more to be able to critically interrogate what’s around us, and that comes with experience in engaging with the content and language of texts we read. Those who read very little are the ones vulnerable to manipulation by false and motivated WhatsApp forwards.

The scholar-authors conclude that reading skills and practices are “the foundation for full participation in the economic, political, communal and cultural life of contemporary society”, including “social, cultural and political engagement” as much as “personal liberation, emancipation and empowerment”. A healthy democratic society that requires “the informed consensus of a multi-stakeholder and multi-cultural society” also needs resilient readers, they argue.

They call for “concerted policies” to ensure that future reading education will promote reading habits and “practices to match the pivotal role of reading”. They want policymakers to invest in further reading research. Poetically and rather dramatically, they quote the line: “War is what happens when language fails.”

This scholarly “white paper” has prompted something called the Ljubljana Reading Manifesto, signed by a variety of writers, publishers and readers (including myself). The manifesto is a global appeal to promote reading—something I’ve been doing anyway, by responding to the perennial request to teach audiences a “new word” by replying with an old word: “read!”

It really does matter. I end the same way the manifesto does, with Margaret Atwood’s much quoted warning, “If there are no young readers and writers, there will shortly be no older ones. Literacy will be dead, and democracy will be dead as well.” If you want to save democracy, encourage the next generation to read!

editor@theweek.in

can-an-indian-succeed-pope-francis

Sat Oct 14 15:03:54 IST 2023

As Pope Francis celebrates the 10th anniversary of his ascent as the head of the Roman Catholic Church, the Vatican over which he presides appears poised at a crucial juncture of its long and momentous history. In the course of his decade in office, Francis has anointed over a hundred new cardinals. What makes this particularly interesting is that it is the powerful College of Cardinals that constitutes the electorate that chooses the next pope. While there are 241 cardinals, only 136 are cardinal electors, since they have to be under 80 to be eligible to vote. These 136 will decide one day on Pope Francis’s successor, and thereby determine the future direction of the church. Strikingly, it is Francis who has appointed as many as 99 of the future voters. If any more are appointed before the next pope is elected, they will also be chosen by Francis.

In the process, he has dramatically reshaped the College of Cardinals. Traditionally, the red-hatted eminences were white European males, with a customary preponderance of Italians. (There have been 266 popes—217 of them from Italy). When Francis himself, an Argentinian named Jorge Mario Bergoglio, was elected in 2013, Europeans and North Americans together accounted for 64 per cent of the electors, and an even larger percentages of whites chose each of his predecessors. The last time someone from outside Europe led the Roman Catholic Church was 1,282 years ago, in the year 741. That’s when Pope Gregory III, born in Syria, ended his 10-year reign.

Since Francis’s election, and over the last 10 years, European cardinals have dropped to 39 per cent and North Americans to 10 per cent, while Asian cardinals account for 18 per cent of the electoral college, Latin Americans for another 18 per cent and Africans for 13 per cent. The North and the South, to use contemporary terminology, now have about half of the College of Cardinals each. This has created a balance between the traditional strength of the white western cardinals, who for millennia have dominated the church, and cardinals from the developing world, where the church has been growing more impressively and substantially. The regions that were largely non-white and non-western are increasingly regarded as the future of the Catholic Church, while church attendance, and even the recruitment of fresh priests, dwindles in the white western world.

This is quite remarkable, and almost unprecedented. The image of the church as a white-dominated institution is largely justified. Church records tell us there were potentially three black popes in Catholic history: Pope Victor I, who headed the church from 189 to 199 CE, Pope Miltiades (311-314), and Pope Gelasius I, who was pope from 492 to 496. That was 1,527 years ago. Since then, however, the papacy has been an all-white preserve. Laurean Rugambwa (1912-1997) was the first modern native-African cardinal of the Catholic Church, a position to which he was appointed in 1960. It took till 2020 for the first black American, Wilton Gregory, to be appointed a cardinal in the Catholic Church. Asians got there a few years earlier when Peking archbishop Thomas Tien Ken-sin (1890-1967) was elevated to the rank of cardinal in 1946 and an Indian, Valerian Gracias (1900-1978), followed suit in 1953.

This situation opens extraordinary new possibilities, including that of a non-white pope succeeding Francis. Could that be an Indian? Today, of the 241 cardinals, five are from India—Baselios Cleemis, major archbishop-catholicos of Trivandrum; Oswald Gracias, archbishop of Bombay; George Alencherry, major archbishop of Ernakulam-Angamaly; Anthony Poola, archbishop of Hyderabad; and Filipe Neri Ferrao, archbishop of Goa and Daman. The sixth and the oldest cardinal, Ranchi archbishop Telesphore P. Toppo, 83, died on October 4.

Gracias and Alencherry are 78, and will only be eligible to vote for another two years; Ferrao is 70, but has only been a cardinal since August 2022; and Poola, though just 61, has also been cardinal for just a year. But Cleemis, aged 64 and already a cardinal for 11 years, is young and vigorous and has emerged as a formidable figure with a future. He is already a cardinal to reckon with and will be even more powerful in the years to come—and who knows, might emerge, as they say in Italian, as “papabile”: electable to the papacy himself. A man for Indians to keep an eye on!

editor@theweek.in

china-is-in-distress-many-things-have-gone-wrong

Sat Sep 16 11:39:37 IST 2023

The absence of Chinese President Xi Jinping from the G20 summit in India occasioned much speculation, but one simple reason might well be the current dismal state of the Chinese economy. So many things have gone wrong, and so much of it is blamed on the government’s mismanagement, that the country’s currency, the renminbi, has fallen to its lowest levels since before the pandemic. Experts no longer consider it inevitable that China will become, as long predicted, the largest economy in the world, overtaking the US.

What went wrong? The list is dismaying: a slowdown in property investment, a major driver of growth in the past, following the collapse of two major real estate firms with billions of dollars in debt; rising debt levels (China’s debt-to-GDP ratio is now over 250 per cent, among the highest in the world), limiting the scope for stimulus measures; the ongoing trade war with the US, which has hurt exports; a demographic slowdown, as the working-age population shrinks, putting a strain on economic growth; environmental challenges; and the government’s failure to drastically overhaul its growth strategy.

The result of all this is widespread gloom about China. The much-touted post-Covid recovery proved lacklustre, and the performance of state-owned enterprises, still occupying the commanding heights of the economy, has been hobbled by inefficiency. Xi’s government has contributed to the problems by its autocratic actions, which have seen major capitalists like Alibaba’s Jack Ma cut down to size, others arrested or going into exile, and increased geopolitical tensions as a result of Xi’s international belligerence. The macroeconomic forecasting consultancy TS Lombard predicts that China’s inbound foreign direct investment will slow down in 2023. The Financial Times says foreign investors are openly asking whether “China is investible” any longer.

Ordinary Chinese householders have become cautious about spending, in turn slowing growth. An extraordinary 70 per cent of Chinese household wealth is held in real estate (more than double that of the US), and much of it is imperilled. According to the World Bank, home price-to-income ratios in Beijing, Shanghai, and Shenzhen exceed “a multiple of 40”. Youth unemployment is said to be rising even as the population shrinks, though the government refuses to release data. And there is no real answer to the question: how can China manage the predicted (and necessary) transition to a consumer-based economy when consumers in general have placed so much of their wealth into properties that, thanks to the government’s refusal to bail out property companies, are ending up being worthless? What few measures the government has taken to stimulate the economy have been derided as too little, too piecemeal and devoid of any overarching strategic context. All China knows is to endlessly increase investment, which (since so much of it is unproductive and inefficient) has simply sunk it further into debt.

Xi’s heavy hand on all government policies, particularly after he won himself an indefinite extension of tenure as president, has not helped. An over-centralised government that micro-manages every major initiative cannot be expected to create or even encourage growth engines in the private sector. It is widely believed that Xi does not know what he is doing economically and has failed to empower those who do. Putting political pressure on the economy to hit government GDP targets does not work. Xi’s government is less adept than its predecessors at communicating its plans, doing little to inspire confidence in its prospects. And Xi’s failure to manage the relationship with the US has increased global “decoupling” from the Chinese economy and severely undermined the confidence of foreign portfolio investors.

Overall, the Chinese economy is still expected to continue to grow in 2023, but at a significantly slower pace than in previous years. The key to sustained growth will be for the government to implement reforms that address the underlying challenges facing the economy, but there are few signs of this happening. With experts declaring that China isn’t going to be a powerful driver of global economic growth in the near future, Xi has plenty to do at home.

editor@theweek.in

chandrayaan-3-new-horizons-beckon-beyond-the-stars

Sat Aug 19 11:16:30 IST 2023

As I write these words, Chandrayaan-3 is just 1,400km away from the moon. As you receive this issue of THE WEEK, all systems should be ready for the expected safe landing on the moon on August 23. A major space triumph, accomplished by very few countries, should be ours.

India’s space programme is among the oldest and most ambitious on the planet. We have undertaken missions to the Moon (Chandrayaan-1 and Chandrayaan-2) and Mars (Mars Orbiter Mission), created our own launch vehicles and satellites, and now plan to send an Indian citizen into low earth orbit by 2023.

But what does all this mean for India’s standing on the world stage? There is no doubt that India’s space programme bolsters our national development and global influence and showcases our technological prowess. India has been conducting space activities on a shoestring budget: not only was the successful Mars orbit a rare triumph (no other country had succeeded in a Mars orbit on its first attempt), but it was conducted at 11 per cent the cost of NASA’s programme, and slightly under the budget of the Hollywood space movie Gravity.

As a result India can afford to provide low-cost launch services to other nations, demonstrating our innovativeness and capacity. We have entered a new era of participation and influence in international space cooperation and governance, engaging actively with multilateral forums and bilateral partners. India also nurtures a vibrant private space sector, contributing to the global space economy.

A bright future awaits. India’s space programme is set to skyrocket. Experts predict it could make up at least 10 per cent of the global space economy in the next decade, a significant leap from the current two per cent. According to the Indian Space Research Organisation, India has pursued bilateral and multilateral relations with space agencies and space-related bodies with the aim of strengthening existing ties between countries; taking up new scientific and technological challenges; refining space policies and defining international frameworks for exploitation and utilisation of outer space for peaceful purposes.

Among the foreign countries that have used India’s space programme to launch their own satellites and benefit from space co-operation with India are France, a space partner since 1964, which has supported India’s development of launch vehicles, satellites, applications and human spaceflight, and has also launched several satellites using India’s Polar Satellite Launch Vehicle (PSLV) and Geosynchronous Satellite Launch Vehicle (GSLV); Russia, another long-time collaborator on various aspects of space exploration, including launch vehicles, satellites, planetary missions and training four Indian astronauts plus supplying key components for the crew module of Gaganyaan; and the US, with which India has a strategic partnership in space, covering areas such as earth observation, satellite navigation, space science, planetary exploration, launch services and human spaceflight. The US, Israel, Singapore, Canada, Germany, Indonesia, Japan, Luxembourg, the Netherlands, South Korea, the UK and many more have also launched several of their satellites using India’s PSLV and GSLV.

India has cooperated with many of these countries on various aspects of space technology, such as remote sensing, communication, navigation, telemetry, tracking and command, and propulsion. ISRO is planning to launch missions to study the Sun (Aditya-L1) and Venus (Shukrayaan-1) in the near future.

Driven by the vision of Jawaharlal Nehru, and sustained by brilliant home-ßgrown talents like Dr Vikram Sarabhai, India’s space programme is consumed by various factors such as national development, scientific curiosity, strategic interests and international prestige. Those who once scoffed at a poor country aspiring to send rockets into space now concede that India’s space programme has contributed to various socio-economic benefits such as disaster management, education, health care, agriculture, fisheries, urban planning and more.

A classic photograph from the early 1960s shows Indian rocket parts being transported on a cycle. We have come a long way since then. When Chandrayaan lands on the moon—and though things could still go wrong, as they did with Chandrayaan-2, ISRO chief S. Somanath is confident it will get there—the news will confirm India’s global status as a leader in space exploration. As we look up at the skies, we can contemplate an even more glorious future. New horizons beckon beyond the stars.

editor@theweek.in

four-observations-i-made-at-a-convocation-in-kerala

Fri Jul 21 16:22:02 IST 2023

Early this month I was chief guest at the convocation of an impressive new college of engineering in rural Kerala. As I handed out the certificates and awards, I was struck by four observations, which had been building up in my mind over the more than 50 such occasions at which I have officiated over the last decade, and which were reconfirmed for me yet again.

First, it is striking how many young people in our country are burdened with names that begin with the letter “A”. They are the offspring of a hyper-competitive generation of parents who wanted to equip their children with a name that would give them a seat in the first row, be called first on school occasions, and be served first whenever children were lined up alphabetically. Indian educational institutions, unlike western ones, usually go by first names and not surnames (unavoidably, since naming traditions vary so much within our country and even within communities). So a first name beginning with A is assumed to confer a great advantage. The problem is that too many parents had the same idea, so that often 25 per cent of a class consists of children whose names begin with A, thus nullifying some of the advantage. To restore the balance, parents have now started giving their kids names that start with “Aa”, like Aaron, Aashish or Aashiq! The last two, strictly speaking, don’t even need the second “a” and never used to be spelled that way a generation ago. (“Aasha” is no doubt round the corner!) Other parents go further and change names that used to be spelled differently, as names starting with other letters. Thus the Kerala name Ebin is now spelled Abin by many. One day we will probably see Urmila being spelled Armila. Where will this end, and when will parents learn to stop saddling their children with such oddities?

My second observation is that education is increasingly becoming a female preserve. In this college and in many other co-educational institutions where I have conferred degrees, girls were a minority—perhaps 30 per cent. Yet they were, as usual, a distinct majority of the high achievers. This seems to cut across disciplines—science and humanities, engineering and medicine, dental courses and ayurvedic studies, all have a preponderance of women excelling over men. (The one exception seems to be mechanical engineering, which is still largely, if not exclusively, a male field.) The bulk of the students may be men, but the toppers are almost always women. The 21st century is clearly going to belong to women, and we’ll all be much the better for it.

Third, the hunger for education is widespread and is driven mainly by parents who see in a good college degree the best hope for social advancement. It was striking for me to see parents in simple rural attire proudly watching their children, in graduation gowns and mortar-board caps, collecting engineering degrees earned in the English medium. But we are releasing our graduates into an employment ecosystem that may not be able to accommodate them. I was aware, though I did not mention it, that a study by the All-India Professionals Congress had established in Kerala that 66 per cent of engineering graduates ended up in jobs that did not require an engineering degree. It’s all the more essential to ensure that there is a connect between what students are taught and what the market-place needs.

Fourth, those black graduation gowns have to go. They are completely unsuitable for our climate and totally at odds with our colourful culture.

Instead of kids sweating in their gowns in sweltering weather, why not create an India-specific robe that consists of a kurta or jubba and a university-specific angavastram, both in appropriate university colours? As for the mortar-board tasseled caps, surely an Indian cap or turban would fit the bill better? My own preference would be for a gold-bordered Mysuru peta; and as for the tassels, you could replace them with metal pendants of the same provenance. We talk all the time of decolonising our education; why not decolonise our convocations, too?

editor@theweek.in

how-technology-enabled-and-destroyed-a-sunrise-industry

Sat Jun 24 11:32:06 IST 2023

As the world contemplates the dizzying ascent of Artificial Intelligence and what it will mean for workers everywhere, here’s a cautionary tale of how technology enabled and destroyed a sunrise industry in the 21st century. Medical transcription, the process of converting dictated medical reports into written format, witnessed significant growth in India at the cusp of the millennium. With the fibre-optic cables laid across the globe in the 1990s, a new business became possible. American doctors had to dictate their notes to a secretary, pay her overtime, put up with mistakes, and cope with absences for leave and illness. Dictating to transcribers overseas over the internet was both cheaper and more efficient in generating timely medical documentation.

India boasted a vast pool of educated individuals proficient in English and possessing strong typing skills, as well as a willingness to adapt to technology. Indian transcription companies offered competitive pricing without compromising on quality, making India an attractive option for offshore outsourcing. The cost advantage was linked to Indians’ command of the English language, including medical terminologies, ensuring largely error-free transcription. The time zone difference meant notes could be typed up in India while Americans were asleep. Overnight turnaround times ensured US health care providers received transcribed reports promptly, improving their efficiency and patient care.

Indian transcriptionists possessed more skills than American secretaries, did not disappear on holidays, and did not charge overtime. Seamless IT connectivity facilitated real-time communication between health care providers and transcription companies, ensuring quick feedback and prompt resolution of any clarifications. Indian transcription companies invested in rigorous training programmes to educate their workforce on medical terminologies, American regulations, and data security protocols. All this made India an ideal destination for medical transcription services. Indian companies’ commitment to quality and compliance, and the growth of a skilled workforce to meet the industry’s demands, earned the trust of international clients, further boosting the industry. Both sides thought they had a long-term winner on their hands.

They were wrong. They had not anticipated the advent of AI and voice recognition software, which led to the collapse of the medical transcription business. AI technology, particularly in natural language processing and speech recognition, rapidly advanced, leading to the development of sophisticated voice recognition software. These systems were capable of accurately transcribing spoken words into written text. For the price of one-time purchase of AI-driven voice recognition software, health care providers could reduce expenses by adopting automated transcription systems. The software enabled doctors to speak into their computers and see their words appear on the screen in real-time, eliminating the need for outsourcing to human transcriptionists. Why pay Indian companies for documentation that could be generated almost free in the doctor’s office?

While early iterations of voice recognition software had limitations, subsequent advancements in AI technology led to improved accuracy. Machine-learning algorithms trained themselves on the voice of the doctor, continuously analysing and learning from vast amounts of medical data, reducing errors and enhancing transcription quality. The integration of AI transcription software with electronic health records systems further streamlined operations. Automated transfer of transcribed reports into patient records improved data accessibility and efficiency.

There is a sobering lesson in all this. Those who thought the medical transcription business would play a vital role in the health care industry for several decades underestimated how rapidly technology would render their business model obsolete. The evolution of AI will continue to shape the health care industry. Indian radiologists who used to read MRIs for American hospitals (another seemingly sunrise industry, given the shortage of radiologists in the USA and their high wages) have already been displaced by AI systems.The Oxford Martin School estimates that 30 per cent of the jobs in the world in 2030 will be jobs that don’t exist today. Equally, at least 30 per cent of the jobs today will cease to be necessary or viable by then. We have entered a world in which our businesses will have to constantly focus on adaptation and upskilling if they hope to survive.

editor@theweek.in

biden-vs-trump-again

Fri May 26 17:31:17 IST 2023

US President Joe Biden’s announcement in April that he would be a candidate for re-election in 2024, and the continuing popularity of former president Donald Trump among hardcore Republicans, make it increasingly likely that the US is heading for a Trump-Biden rematch in the presidential elections next year. The irony is that a number of polls over the past six months have consistently shown that this is just what a majority of Americans do not want to see.

A discredited ex-president who orchestrated an attack on his own legislature in an attempt to steal an election he had lost, versus an octogenarian serving president whose decency is beyond question but whose mental acuity is not? Most Americans want another choice. Trump and Biden each lead in their party’s standings for very different reasons. Biden, as the incumbent, is almost impossible to dislodge and, in all fairness, has been a reasonably successful president in challenging circumstances. Though many Democrats are not happy to be led by someone so old and forgetful—he struggled, when asked by a child, to remember the name of the last country he had visited, just two weeks earlier (it was Ireland)—it is extremely unusual for any party in America to defenestrate its own incumbent president, as senator Ted Kennedy found out when he tried to unseat Jimmy Carter in 1980. In fact only once has a president who was elected in his own right been denied renomination for another term, and that was in 1856. (Four presidents who had been appointed upon the death of the previous incumbent did not win renomination.)

If it were not for his age, forgetfulness, and occasional rambling, Biden’s record is good enough to sustain the argument that, like all but one of his predecessors, he deserves another term.Meanwhile, roughly four in 10 Republicans do not want Trump (“a sociopath who has incited violent sedition against the government of the US”, as one critic dubbed him) as their party’s nominee.

The Grand Old Party (GOP), as it is known, has descended in recent years into a right-wing rabble sustained by a Trumpist personality cult as rabid as Bolsonaro’s in Brazil was. The party’s institutions, and therefore its presidential nomination process, are controlled by diehard Trumpians, whose zeal, bordering on irrational, gives Trump the votes he needs in the party to prevail. Defeating Trump for the nomination would not be easy for any other candidate, because he would face the fanatic opposition of the Trump devotees, who constitute the GOP’s base voters today.

Barring the risk of the various court cases against Trump making it legally and politically impossible to renominate him—something that at the moment seems unlikely, since the cases have only increased Trump’s popularity among the faithful—the nomination is safely his.Indians should not care unduly, because both Biden and Trump have been pro-Indian in orientation, and hostile to our principal adversary, China.

But what should interest us is the muted reaction Biden received to his announcement that he would continue with Kamala Harris as his running-mate. Harris is faring even more poorly in the polls than Biden, which is hard to imagine since his approval ratings are near record lows for an incumbent. But the vice president’s numbers are among the worst of any incumbent vice-president since such polls began to be done. Harris is widely considered to be a fairly lacklustre vice president, prone to making gaffes when unscripted, and with a history of staffing problems that suggest poor management ability. All this matters because of the fear that as understudy to America’s oldest president, she would have to step into his shoes were anything to happen, and there are widespread doubts of her ability to handle the job.

Many Americans (most prominently former New Jersey governor Chris Christie) have been saying openly that they will not vote if the election is Biden versus Trump again. But abstention is no solution in any democracy: staying away from one’s democratic responsibilities is not a responsible choice. But that it is even being considered is a measure of how unappealing are the alternatives confronting America’s voters next year.

editor@theweek.in

china-complicates-indo-russia-bonds

Fri Apr 28 15:07:26 IST 2023

It has become increasingly clear that we are facing a formidable adversary on our northern borders. China’s huge economy, brutally effective and well-equipped armed forces and recent advantages in technology make it a colossus in any case, but its aggression on the disputed Line of Actual Control (LAC) between our countries, its killing of 20 jawans in 2020 and its refusal since then to vacate areas occupied by its army that previously used to be patrolled by both sides, constitute a challenge we simply cannot afford to ignore. An added complication for us is that China’s diplomacy is making impressive headway around the world.

If China were merely a belligerent power, throwing its weight around, pushing its maritime neighbours to the limits of their territorial waters, embarking on a trade war with Australia, cracking down ruthlessly on Hong Kong and Sinkiang and threatening Taiwan, it would be easier to confront. But, instead, it has begun exercising a more subtle influence around the world, recently mediating the Saudi-Iranian agreement for normalisation of relations (which was widely seen as a diplomatic triumph for Beijing).

Together with the billions of dollars spent on worldwide infrastructure projects under its Belt and Road Initiative, this is promoting talk of a newly influential “global China”. Col Zhou Bo, now a strategist at the influential Tsinghua University, was recently quoted as saying: “Global China is definitely real. China is ubiquitous. China’s influence is everywhere.” That “everywhere” notably includes India’s close friend, defence equipment supplier and indispensable source of discounted fuel and fertiliser, Russia. Chinese President Xi Jinping’s recent visit to Russia made headline news around the world, but the media focused on the extremely unlikely outcome of Moscow agreeing to a peace deal to end the Ukraine war. That was always a red herring: it’s clear to everyone, including Beijing, that neither Russia nor Ukraine is ready for peace or even for negotiations at this time, as both believe they can “win” on the battlefield.

China was always unlikely to attempt to pull off peace during Xi’s Moscow visit. The trip was instead intended to burnish China’s international image and to shore up the two countries’ increasingly close relationship. China has long spoken of a “no-limits” friendship with Russia, and it is clear that the relationship continues to expand, with the two leaders agreeing to an important set of economic proposals, including a significant expansion of their natural gas trade. A new planned pipeline, named ‘Power of Siberia 2’, is to supply China with some 50 billion cubic meters of Russian gas annually, reaching at least 98 billion cubic meters of natural gas, in addition to 100 million tons of liquefied natural gas, by 2030. For a Russia unable to exploit its “natural” market in western Europe because of the sanctions imposed on it after the Ukraine invasion, the opportunity to supply China with its vast supplies of gas is of inestimable value. In addition, as Putin himself announced in Moscow, “Russian business is in a position to meet the growing demand from the Chinese economy both within the framework of current projects and those that are now in the process of negotiation.” Put less obliquely, Russia’s dependence on China for its own prosperity is increasing by the day. It’s a classic colonial relationship: Russia will supply resources to the new metropolitan power to the east, while importing more sophisticated Chinese technology than Russia possesses, such as computer super-servers from Huawei, in addition to all the daily consumer items no longer available from the west. There is increasing talk that the yuan [China’s renminbi] will be Russia’s main trade currency.

Where does this leave India? China is unremittingly hostile, refusing to budge an inch from its territorial gains in 2020 and continually thrusting itself into new areas along the LAC, most recently near Tawang. We have looked to Russia as a balancing power, but how useful can a Russia reduced to being a junior partner of China be to us? If our principal friend is helplessly dependent on our principal adversary, what’s the friendship worth? These are major questions to ponder as New Delhi recalibrates its geopolitical options while casting a wary eye on the irresistible rise of global China.

editor@theweek.in

how-centre-is-using-money-as-a-weapon-shashi-tharoor

Sat Apr 01 15:05:21 IST 2023

The finance bill 2023 was passed amid a din in the Lok Sabha, without discussion, giving the government some 45 lakh crore rupees of our taxpayers’ money without a single question being raised or addressed. This was a crying shame for our parliamentary democracy and an indictment of the state to which our institutions have been reduced.The bill comes at an uncertain time for the economic revival of our country. The economy had been laid low by demonetisation, and then shattered by the pandemic and the resultant lockdown; it is now in turbulent waters thanks to global developments following the invasion of Ukraine.

The former star performers like tourism and service industries are devastated; the backbone of the economy—agriculture and MSMEs—are both in crisis. Inflation and price rise are hurting the aam aadmi severely, with even basic commodities needed for daily sustenance becoming prohibitively expensive for the economically vulnerable. And there is an alarming lack of jobs in our economy, particularly for our unemployed youth, whose futures are at the risk of being derailed. If despite all this, we are growing faster than other major economies, it offers scant consolation.

Both the Union budget and the finance bill reflect a government lacking the necessary vision to find solutions to these grave challenges. Three principal failures were evident in the tepid Union budget. The first is its disastrous assault on the rights-based approach to social justice and economic empowerment, which have been fatally undermined by cutting the budget for social welfare by nearly 20 per cent. The second failure is the complete lack of acknowledgement of the elephant in the room—the need to generate employment. At a time of record levels of joblessness and widespread distress, particularly in the rural economy, the government has slashed several schemes (including MGNREGA by 33 per cent) that have served as ventilators for distressed citizens after disasters like demonetisation, the botched implementation of GST and the mismanagement of the pandemic. And third is the glaring failure to offer concrete support or relief measures for the segments of the Indian economy that are hurting the most—our MSMEs, the tourism and services sector, the middle class, salaried professionals and the economically impoverished.

This trend of underperformance continues. The finance bill reflects three broad narratives: a falsification of reality through misleading announcements that substitute PR for substance, a concerted attempt to centralise power and ride roughshod over the careful balance of federalism at the expense of our states, and a series of misguided financial policy measures that will only hinder the Indian economy. The bill has also raised concerns among philanthropic organisations, whose good work could be actively restrained by new restrictive proposals to limit donations and sharing of grants between charities.

But there is a larger and more worrying trend that the nation is witnessing under this government—the use of financial policy-making and weaponisation of fiduciary institutions as tools for coercion and control. The Union government has deliberately used these instruments to handicap our states financially, but also to clamp down on political opponents of the government—practically anyone who is even remotely critical, whether think tanks, the media or even vocal citizens.

We have seen this take place at a dizzying frequency in a number of ways—the use of the income tax department to go after media houses that have not toed the line of the ruling dispensation; the cancellation or withholding of FCRA licenses of prominent think tanks (like Delhi’s Centre for Policy Research) or even philanthropic bodies (Missionaries of Charity) that have left many with an existential crisis; and the use of the Enforcement Directorate to stifle the voice of the opposition. Of the 121 political leaders probed by the ED since 2014, 115 (95 per cent) as of November 2022 belong to the opposition. Such tendencies not only shame India in the global community but are an affront to our democratic constitutional principles. Sadly, as with legislation, policy making and the appropriation of autonomous institutions, the finance bill, too, only confirms that India is now led by a government that is inclined towards coercion, control and an unprecedented centralisation of power.

editor@theweek.in

debunking-deepak-baglas-hype-shashi-tharoor

Sun Mar 05 13:57:29 IST 2023

A recent speech by the head of Invest India, Deepak Bagla, has gone viral on social media. It is a wonderful exercise in boosterism, telling the world—especially potential investors—about the wonderful opportunities in India, our demographic advantage, rate of growth, burgeoning FDI and more. As an Indian, I felt a warm glow listening to it, and pride that we had achieved so much and had so much to offer the world. (For the very few who may somehow have missed the WhatsApp forwards, just google Mr Bagla’s name and the words “Treasury” and “2023”.)

All of us want to believe the best about our country. It is a welcome change not to be hearing the relentless negativism of our politics, hate-speech emanating from ruling circles and the deafening silence of the government when minorities are attacked, women are raped, innocent people are lynched and so on. But can we afford to delude ourselves that the rosy picture Mr Bagla paints is the full story of our India, even overlooking political and social issues and just focusing on economics?

A number of simple, uncontested facts and figures Mr Bagla does not mention come to mind: How much of our heady GDP growth can simply be attributed to population increase? In 1960, our population was 445 million, and we had a GDP of $37 billion; in 2020, it was about 1.4 billion, and our GDP was almost $3 trillion. So over 60 years, our population multiplied by three and our GDP by eight. This is no different from the way global GDP grew; exponential growth of this kind is not only not unusual, but typical. Much of our growth, in other words, was due to an expanding population, including a growing labour force.

The government tells us proudly that it distributed free food grain to 80 crore, or 800 million, Indians. If so many Indians required free food grain, does that speak of a glowing economic success story or a painful increase in poverty? Reports suggest that as many as 40 million, or 4 crore, Indians have sunk below the poverty line in the last four years, adding to the numbers of absolute poor.

The claims about FDI flowing into India at a record high rate have been contested—the $532 billion coming into our country in seven-and-a-half years is not borne out by the figures issued by reputable international bodies. But beyond the claims of high FDI, why is it that over the same period, private sector investment in India, as a proportion of GDP, has stagnated? Why are our own businessmen so afraid to invest in India, as Mr Bagla wants the world to do?

Some 8,000 high net worth individuals (that is, people with assets exceeding a million US dollars) have emigrated out of India last year (the third highest such exodus in the whole world). Does this suggest India is a good place to invest and flourish, or rather that many of the rich feel they cannot thrive in the business conditions here?

We can boast about our demographic dividend of a youthful working-age population ready to be the work-engine of the world, but what have we done to train and skill them to seize the opportunities offered by the 21st century? Most of the unemployed are unemployable because they have dropped out of school by the ninth grade, learned very little before then and failed to acquire usable skills thereafter.

Worse still, the numbers of educated unemployed testify to the irrelevance of much Indian college learning. Kerala’s Employment Exchange lists about two lakh professional and technical job seekers as of 2022, including 6,000 medical doctors and 44,000 engineering graduates. Of the rest, some 71 per cent of them are ITI certificate or diploma holders. Highly literate and educated Kerala’s youth unemployment stands at 42 per cent. What hope can we offer them?

And, finally, and perhaps, most damningly, a total of 1,83,741 Indians have renounced their citizenship this past year, as the government officially informed the Lok Sabha. Why would so many do that, if India was shining for them?

It’s wonderful to hear Mr Bagla, and always pleasant to feel good about ourselves. But if it becomes a substitute for thinking seriously about our nation’s challenges, it can only hurt us. India needs hope, not hype.

editor@theweek.in

pride-not-prejudice-is-the-way-forward

Fri Feb 03 13:25:17 IST 2023

On the eve of the budget session of Parliament, the talk about India’s economy is all bullish. At a time when fears of a global recession are mounting, India seems likely to prove an exception to the worldwide tale of woe. Our country is expected to log the best performance in 2023 of any major economy. Estimates vary, but if one examines the World Bank’s numbers, India is estimated to grow at 6.6 per cent, compared with just 0.5 per cent for the US and 4.3 per cent for China (though from a much higher base).

The good news may continue. The prestigious global think-tank, the Centre for Economics and Business Research, issues an annual “world economic league” table.

In its most recent report, the Centre writes: “India is now clearly on its way to becoming the world’s third economic superpower. Revised figures now show that India overtook the UK to become the world’s fifth largest economy in 2021. It has consolidated this position and is forecast to overtake Germany to become the world’s fourth largest economy in 2026 and to overtake Japan to become the world’s third largest economy in 2032. By 2035, India is forecast to become the world’s third $10 trillion dollar economy.”

This is no small matter. India’s economy is nearly $3.5 trillion—short of the $5 trillion that Narendra Modi had confidently predicted a couple of years ago, but a vast improvement on the lowly status we occupied in the first four decades after independence, when India served as a poster-child for third world poverty and destitution. Ever since the historic liberalisation of 1991, when Dr Manmohan Singh had declared in Parliament that “no power on earth can stop an idea whose time has come”, the Indian economic story has been on an upswing.

There have been setbacks and slumps—demonetisation (the single worst disaster to hit India’s economy since the Great Bengal Famine); “Make in India” never really caught on; and the expected outflow from China did not benefit us, with companies preferring to move instead to Vietnam and Malaysia. But, the story is changing for the better, as foreign governments and investors see that the arguments for investing in India are reinforced by geopolitical considerations.

Two new terms of art have come into vogue in the west. The first, “nearshoring”, refers to the need to shorten supply chains to reduce risks, by moving production lines from countries that are vulnerable to disruption. The second is “friendshoring”, the case for boosting economic cooperation with countries that have similar values to the west. In both cases, India’s stability and openness to the west as the world’s biggest democracy makes us a clear alternative to China. But there is work to do yet to make India a totally attractive investment destination—facilitating clearances, speeding up access to land, shaking up our clogged factory-to-port logistics, reducing input costs and providing tax incentives. The reform of the bureaucracy is another urgent task. For all the Modi government’s repeated talk about the ease of doing business, it takes an average of 112 days in India to obtain all the required clearances to start a business. In the US, it takes three days.

If there is one fly in the proverbial ointment, it is the risk posed by our dysfunctional politics to the social harmony that is so indispensable to economic progress. The readiness of our ruling party to stoke communal divisions in the country, fanning flames it first ignited by injecting the toxin of hatred of minorities into political discourse, is dismaying—all the more so since the same party rejoices in any economic good news and seeks credit for it. The government must realise it can either focus single-mindedly on creating the conditions for economic growth or try to reap violence by inciting hatred, but it cannot do both, because the latter undermines the former.

A country riven by resentment, rioting and violence is not likely to attract investors, because investors flee such places. For the India story to continue to glow, the BJP must abandon the politics of minority-bashing and preach the virtues of co-existence. It is time to put economic pride ahead of hindutva prejudice.

editor@theweek.in

success-of-indians-in-the-west

Sat Jan 07 11:21:35 IST 2023

This past year, the ascent of Rishi Sunak—a brown-skinned, cow-worshipping Indian—as prime minister of the UK has been enthusiastically celebrated. More strikingly, it serves as another reminder of the prominence of the Indian diaspora in the western world.

This has been evident in the private sector, where executives born and raised in India have been selected to head major multinational corporations. Indra Nooyi of PepsiCo, Satya Nadella of Microsoft and Sundar Pichai of Alphabet (Google’s parent company) are perhaps the three best-known examples of Indian talent at the top of globe-straddling American companies.

Yet they represent a very partial set of names. According to Standard and Poor’s 500 index, no fewer than 58 companies are headed by CEOs of Indian origin. This is despite the retirement of Nooyi and former Vodafone head Arun Sarin, the sacking of Twitter chief Parag Agrawal and the death of Anshu Jain, formerly of Deutsche Bank and Cantor Fitzgerald. The list of current Indian CEOs ranges from technology powerhouses like Adobe (Shantanu Narayen) and IBM (Arvind Krishna) to coffee giant Starbucks (Laxman Narasimhan), courier service FedEx (Raj Subramaniam) and even French fashion house Chanel (Leena Nair).

The phenomenon has crossed over into politics, too. In recent years, politicians of Indian descent have risen to head governments in Portugal (Antonio Luís Santos da Costa has been prime minister since 2015) and Ireland (Leo Varadkar, prime minister from 2017 to 2020 and again from December 2022). In the US, Vice President Kamala Harris had an Indian mother; a potential Republican contender in 2024, Nikki Haley, has wholly Indian parentage. With Sunak and Varadkar, Europe faces the piquant situation of the thorny post-Brexit issues between England and Ireland being negotiated between two leaders of Indian origin!

What makes Indians succeed when the companies and institutions they head were created in the west, the systems they rose in were devised in the west, and there is no shortage of local talent honed in the west?

Some explain it in terms of Indians’ familiarity with, and education in, English, giving credit to two centuries of British colonial rule. But language alone is hardly a guarantee of success. And in any case, it does not explain Indians’ success in non-Anglophone European countries like Portugal. Others speak of the extra energy and drive that emigrants bring to their new countries. True enough, and Indians seem to outstrip other immigrant populations. In the US, for instance, Indians have the highest per capita income of any ethnic group.

First-generation emigrants from India have grown up without taking affluence for granted; they have experienced or seen enough deprivation to strive to escape it. They have the “fire in the belly” that many in the west may lack, and out-compete others in their aspiration to succeed. They have also overcome adversities in India that their western counterparts have not, including scarce resources, shortages, limited facilities, government over-regulation and bureaucratic inertia.

Indians are also used to living with diversity; our history and India’s pluralist social environment exposes them to working with people of different languages, religions and cultures. Managing working relationships in a multinational corporation comes easily to them. Growing up in India, these young men and women have imbibed the habits and values of individual initiative and original thinking within a framework of polite behaviour, respect for elders and adherence to hierarchy. This Indian combination of attributes makes it easier for them to fit in.

The irony is that in today’s India, diversity is under threat from chauvinist hindutva hyper-nationalism; uniformity and obedience to the new national narrative trump individual freedom of thought and action. It is sobering that the virtues today being hailed as triumphantly Indian around the world may soon be present more in the diaspora than at home.

editor@theweek.in

a-new-world-order-is-in-the-making

Sat Dec 17 17:19:22 IST 2022

As we near the end of the year, some geopolitical trends are becoming apparent. One is the growing tension between the US and an increasingly assertive China under President Xi Jinping. Interestingly, the highly polarised US electorate seems largely to concur with the tough policy towards Beijing, promoted by both former president Donald Trump during his time in office and now by President Joe Biden. In 2011, only 36 per cent of Americans viewed China unfavourably; this year, it is a remarkable 82 per cent. This means that the onset of visible and bristling hostility towards the other rising superpower has been welcomed and endorsed by the American public.

A second geopolitical trend that cannot be escaped, and which I had drawn attention to in this space last year, is the accelerating pace of deglobalisation. There is no doubt that the perception of growing economic inequality in western countries has intensified, seriously adding to the unpopularity of what until recently had been the conventional wisdom, that globalisation was both unavoidable and welcome. The world economy had thrived since globalisation began in 1980 on an open system of free trade. That had already been shaken by the financial crash of 2008-09 and the American trade war with China. The pandemic has exacerbated these challenges, with estimates suggesting that nearly a third of global trade fell in 2020, though a gradual recovery trajectory was starting to emerge before the setbacks caused by the Ukraine war. Meanwhile, the pressure to “decouple”from China was increasing in the last two years, even as the sanctions on Russia have severely restricted trade, investment and financial flows into and out of that country.

In a recent survey conducted by research firm Edelman, a majority of respondents across 28 leading economies agreed that “globalisation is taking us in the wrong direction”. In its 2019 survey, only 18 per cent of respondents affirmed that “the system is working for me”, with 34 per cent being unsure and 48 per cent declaring that the globalised system is failing them. As sovereignties are reasserted across the world, and treaties and trade agreements increasingly questioned, multilateralism, the once taken-for-granted mantra of international co-operation, could be the next casualty.

In parallel, support for democracy has weakened, even in America and especially among the young. Political scientists Yascha Mounk and Roberto Stefan Foa reported in 2017 that while 75 per cent of Americans born in the 1930s agreed it is “essential to live in a democracy”, the figure was just 28 per cent among millennials. Similar trends can be seen in many other countries.

Populist leaders like Trump, who rose to the presidency of the United States on slogans of “America First”and “Make America Great Again”, and a host of others—from Jair Bolsonaro of Brazil and Recep Tayyip Erdogan of Turkey to Viktor Orban of Hungary and Narendra Modi of India—successfully persuaded their voters that they were more authentic embodiments of their nations than the allegedly rootless secular cosmopolitans they sought to displace. Others have been rising, from the Alternative für Deutschland in Germany and the Freedom Party of Austria to the Party for Freedom in the Netherlands and Marine Le Pen and Eric Zemmour in France, none of whom have won national elections but who came close enough to shift the national discourse. Of course, it is true that Trump and Bolsonaro have since suffered electoral setbacks, but most recently, Giorgia Meloni, Italy’s most right-wing leader since Mussolini, and Israel’s Benjamin Netanyahu have come to power heading extremely right-wing governments. It is useful to realise that, in a survey last year, Italy had the world’s second-highest dissatisfaction rates with democracy (after Greece). But together such parties and leaders, combining nationalist fervour with a determined articulation of popular prejudices, have restored nationalism to its place as the default model of national self-definition.

The auguries are not promising as the world contemplates the New Year.

editor@theweek.in

shashi-tharoor-on-the-rise-of-electoral-autocracies

Sun Nov 06 13:11:53 IST 2022

For some time now pundits and commentators, including myself, have tended to argue that the defining feature of our era was the rise of the strongman—the figure who, by embodying populist nationalism in his country, had risen above the limitations and constraints of his political system to assert one-man rule, or at least dominance, of the land. This phenomenon had affected democracies as well as less democratic countries. While, in the latter case, autocrats like Russia’s Vladimir Putin and China’s Xi Jinping represented a familiar type of leader in their nations’ recent histories, democracies had simply never been headed by figures like the US’s Donald Trump, Turkey’s Recep Tayyip Erdogan, Brazil’s Jair Bolsonaro, Hungary’s Viktor Orban or even India’s Narendra Modi.

The power of these democratically elected strongmen rested on an ability to argue that they were more authentic representatives of their people than the rootless cosmopolitans they had displaced; and by articulating nationalism and cultural values, they dispensed, often ruthlessly, with traditional respect for minority rights, liberalism, dissent and the checks and balances on their power wielded by autonomous institutions in their nations. Their personalised style of governance gave rise to what has been dubbed the “cult of the strongman”—the tough, larger-than-life leader who brought liberal democracy to heel, and saw himself (and it was always a “he”) literally above the law, if not the incarnation of the law himself. Observing such leaders, Freedom House was moved to speak of a deepening “democratic recession”; Sweden’s famous V-Dem (Varieties of Democracy) Institute started describing such countries under strongmen rule as “electoral autocracies” rather than the democracies they had previously been classified as being.

The new strongmen were skilled at manipulating modern technology to wield outsize influence through social media (as well as the conventional press, radio and television) and also to wield the power of surveillance over the actions and beliefs of their citizens. Today’s strongmen are very much a 21st century phenomenon, a marriage of nationalist sentiment born of the insecurities generated by the current backlash against globalisation, with the technological progress made in recent years that can both make life easier for the many and make manipulation and control more feasible for the few.But recent developments in world politics make me wonder whether the fears expressed by the likes of me (and many others), that liberal democracy was now increasingly in peril around the world, wasn’t, after all, overblown.

The defeat this week in Brazil of strongman president Bolsonaro by the familiar leftist labour leader, former president “Lula” da Silva, is the latest manifestation of a seeming turnaround of the earlier trend favouring such autocrats. Just as American voters sent Trump packing in 2020, and the French electorate earlier this year gave Macron resounding support in his efforts to ward off his challengers on the populist-nationalist right, so also the Brazilians seem to be saying that the era of the strongman is, in fact, reversible. Yet—is it too early to breathe comfortably? Orban in Hungary and Erdogan in Turkey still look impregnable, and the less said about Modi in India, perhaps the better. The recent Communist Party Congress in China has consolidated Xi’s power as de-facto president for life, while the military setbacks of the Russian armed forces in Ukraine have barely dented Putin’s absolute invulnerability in Russia. And in the US, Trumpists in the Republican party seem poised to make sweeping gains in the mid-term elections due this coming Tuesday (November 8).

Some strongmen have fallen at their most recent hurdles, but it is possible to argue that there are still enough around the world for optimism to seem unwarranted. In his recent book on the phenomenon, Gideon Rachman identifies four characteristics common to the style of all strongmen rulers: the creation of a cult of personality, contempt for the rule of law, populist claims to represent the “real people” of their countries as opposed to the elites, and a politics driven by fear and nationalism. These are all, sadly, familiar elements in our own country’s recent politics. As long as they exist, alas, any complacency about our democracy, and the eclipse of strongman rule, cannot be justified.

editor@theweek.in

congress-must-truly-become-the-party-of-young-india-shashi-tharoor

Sat Oct 08 16:52:49 IST 2022

When I entered the race to become president of the Indian National Congress, one of my key campaign themes was to increase our party’s emphasis on youth. As the immortal Rajiv Gandhi once memorably said in his famous address to a joint meeting of the US Congress, “India is an old country but a young nation… I am young and I, too, have a dream, I dream of India strong, independent, self-reliant, and in the front rank of the nations of the world, in the service of mankind”. In the three decades that have passed since his tragic passing, that characterisation of India and our youthful demographic remains truer than ever and must be a core focus area for the Congress party.

Today’s ruling dispensation often speaks about building a new India but any conversation on this topic must begin by looking at the interests of India’s future, our youth. After all, who else are we building this ‘New India’ for if not the young? We have trained world-class scientists and engineers, but 431 million of our compatriots are illiterate, and we have more children who have not seen the inside of a school than any other country in the world does. We have a great demographic advantage with the majority of the population under 25 and a startling 65 per cent under 35. This is potentially a young, dynamic labour force and could deliver to us that demographic ‘dividend’ so often proclaimed across global platforms. China, Japan, and even South Korea (our major East Asian competitors) are facing a serious demographic squeeze, and the rest of the world is ageing. India’s youth should not only be part of India’s development, but drive it.This requires us to provide our young people with both education and employment opportunities on an unprecedented scale. This is not happening.

Young people may be celebrated as bhagyavidhatas by our prime minister, but their current reality is one of shrinking opportunities. Record lows in job creation are compounded by a depressed economy still recovering from the devastation of the pandemic, the negative effect of demonetisation and the rushed implementation of GST, and now the inflationary consequences of the Ukraine war. And recent policy measures, including government promises to create just 12 lakh jobs a year in a country where 5.30 crore are currently unemployed and 47.5 lakh job seekers enter the market each year—suggests that the government is unlikely to turn things around.This grim scenario represents both a cause and an opportunity for the Congress. For the INC to start winning again, we can and should appeal to the large untapped political potential of unemployed youth, youth-heavy workplaces (notably the IT sector) and migrant hotspots. To take back the technocratic leadership of the nation, Congress has a large role to play via job fairs, skilling expos, and developing industry collaborations.

Our youth focused party bodies like the National Student’s Union of India (NSUI) and the Youth Congress must lead the way in these efforts and play a critical role beyond the good work being done by these frontals in organising large nationwide movements and mass protests. To strengthen their capacity, we need to embark on a meaningful revamp to make these and other Congress frontal organisations like Seva Dal our focus of attention for youth issues. Young Indians must believe we understand their aspirations and can be trusted to promote them in government.It has been painful to see the struggles of young India being reduced to rhetoric with little thought for their realisation. When the dust settles, the youth are left on the margins, mere observers to economic growth. Ad hoc policies to improve the opportunities available for India’s youth are clearly insufficient for the size of the problem that we are facing, let alone what it can grow to in the future.

We in the Congress must work to include young people in India’s development by ensuring that their skills are developed, their aspirations understood and their voices protected. We need grown-up economic management, not slogans and sound-bites. The Congress must truly become the party of young India.

editor@theweek.in

latin-catholics-not-anti-development-they-fear-for-fishing-communitys-existence-tharoor

Sun Sep 11 11:19:00 IST 2022

This is a story with a difference. At a time when the Latin Catholic archdiocese of Trivandrum has entered the news for leading an agitation of the fishing community against the development of Vizhinjam port, and thereby incurred the tag of ‘anti-development’, I want to challenge that narrative.

The Church agrees with those who believe that the rampant problem of coastal erosion has been worsened by the port construction. That is grounds for a separate discussion, since many argue that the vexed problem of sea inundation precedes the development of the port. But one thing that I, as MP for Thiruvananthapuram, can vouch for is that the Church is not anti-development.

To explain why, let me go back six decades. When our nation’s scientists, led by the legendary Dr Vikram Sarabhai, began to develop the contours of India’s nascent space programme in the early 1960s, the coastal village of Thumba was identified as an ideal location, given its latitude and natural features, to allow for rocket launches and allied research.

The catch, however, was that the land the community of scientists had identified in Thumba housed the St Mary Magdalene church and bishop Peter Bernard Pereira’s official residence. In any other community or for that matter in any other part of the world, the matter might have been put to rest then and there. After all, the idea of displacing an active spiritual establishment would certainly have evoked outrage and fury, especially in today’s India. But in this then relatively obscure part of Thiruvananthapuram district, when a decision of national importance and scientific progress presented itself, the community chose to make a remarkably patriotic choice—a choice for development and progress.

When initial conversations with local politicians and bureaucrats made little headway, Dr Sarabhai turned to bishop Pereira for his guidance. The bishop, after understanding the proposed mission of the scientists, asked Dr Sarabhai to come to the church on the following Sunday. During the service, bishop Pereira presented the proposition before the congregation. “My children, I have a famous scientist with me who wants our church and the place I live in for the work of space science research,” he explained. “Dear children, science seeks truth by reasoning. In one way, science and spiritualism seek the same divine blessings for doing good for the people. My children, can we give God’s abode for a scientific mission?” The answer—quite literally—was a resounding “Amen”. The church and the bishop’s house as well as other neighbouring inhabited areas were handed over to Dr Sarabhai and his team.

Thus was established, in 1962, the Thumba Equatorial Rocket Launching Station (TERLS, which would be renamed Vikram Sarabhai Space Centre, or VSSC, after the death of the legendary scientist nine years later). A year later India launched its first two-stage rocket from TERLS, marking our first foray into space. As the late president Dr A.P.J. Abdul Kalam, who was part of the original launch team, and who went on to work from the church building himself, wrote later, looking back at this memorable episode:

“Today, among us, Prof Vikram Sarabhai is not there, Rev Dr Peter Bernard Pereira is not there, but those who are responsible for the creation and make the flower and blossom will themselves be a different kind of a flower as described in the Bhagwad Gita: ‘See the flower, how generously it distributes perfume and honey. It gives to all, gives freely of its love. When its work is done, it falls away quietly. Try to be like the flower, unassuming despite all its qualities’.”

Those qualities have been typified by the members of the Latin Catholic Archdiocese of Trivandrum. They are not anti-development. But they fear for the very existence of the Catholic fishing community when they see their homes topple into the sea from fierce inundations. That is a problem that needs attention and resources, to build sea-walls and groynes to save the coast, and to provide compensation and rehabilitation for the devastated fisherfolk. It is not going to be solved by unjustly abusing those who have proved their patriotism time and time again.

editor@theweek.in

britain-not-ready-for-brown-pm-says-shashi-tharoor

Sat Aug 13 12:10:07 IST 2022

Rarely has the Indian public been as interested in a British prime ministerial election as this year. The reason is not hard to find: among the two finalists whose names are being put to a ballot of all the nearly 1.8 lakh members of the Conservative Party is Rishi Sunak, the Indian-origin former chancellor of the exchequer. Sunak, a bright, articulate, England-born and expensively educated multi-millionaire who also happens to be married to Infosys’s Narayana Murthy’s daughter, Akshata, has conducted an impressive, slick campaign that saw him consistently lead the pack throughout many rounds of balloting among Conservative MPs to determine the final shortlist of two. And, yet, he is trailing his rival, Foreign Secretary Liz Truss, in every poll of Conservative members, even though Truss is much less bright and well-spoken and barely squeezed through to the final round (after trailing in third place throughout the balloting).

Many reasons are advanced for why Sunak seems about to lose the race among the Tory members (who are generally more conservative than the MPs): Sunak’s unpopular tax increases, the revelation that his wife was not paying UK taxes on her considerable Indian income by claiming “non-domiciled” status, and the fact that even as a British cabinet minister he retained a US green card, acquired during his years working in that country. (None of these breaches any law, though in politics appearances are often more important than legalities.) All this adds up to a perception of him as the embodiment of cosmopolitanism, competence, and technocracy, qualities reviled by Brexit-loving Tory culture-warriors. Some have even claimed he comes across as arrogant and overbearing, but “Dishy Rishi” is genuinely modest in speech and manner, even though he has much to be immodest about. So why, then, is he trailing in the polls, when his own peers in parliament consider him the most qualified MP?

Very simple. Sunak’s main problem is something that no British commentator is prepared to concede. He is not white. No one likes to admit that such considerations exist, because saying so is seen as politically incorrect in these supposedly enlightened times. But they are fundamental. No one should underestimate the lingering racism of the general British public. As the brown-skinned son of immigrants who is openly and unapologetically Hindu, Sunak, despite his upper-class British accent, cannot hide his foreignness. To many white Britons, he just isn’t one of them—and never will be.

So when results are announced on September 5, Truss will probably be prime minister, and Sunak fobbed off with the consolation prize of a key ministry—perhaps foreign affairs, maybe home (the exchequer, which he relinquished during the political crisis that brought down Boris Johnson, is now with another brown man, the Iraqi-Kurd-origin Nadhim Zahawi). No one will say it, but the unspoken realisation across the country will be that Britain still is not ready for an Indian prime minister. Still, Sunak has brought the Indian community in Britain a long way towards the highest office in the land. It is a journey that began in 1892, when Dadabhai Naoroji, the Indian nationalist who authored the “drain theory” about British colonial exploitation of India, stood as Liberal Party candidate for Central Finsbury and won. Two other Indian Parsis, one the pro-empire Mancherjee Bhownaggree, the other the communist Shapurji Saklatvala, were also elected in the early 20th century. But they remained curiosities, and none of them had a particularly long or illustrious parliamentary career. None ascended to any prestigious positions in government.

Today, the picture is very different: people of Indian origin have, astonishingly enough, held two of the four “great offices of state” (home, finance, foreign affairs and prime minister). The other two posts no longer look out of reach.That is remarkably impressive, as evidence of how far Britain has come from the unabashed racism of its colonial past. Let us not forget the xenophobia with which some Indians reacted to the prospect of Italian-born Sonia Gandhi becoming our prime minister in 2004. We, too, have prejudices to overcome, so even if he loses on September 5, let us applaud Britain for Sunak even having come so close.

editor@theweek.in

shashi-tharoor-on-why-india-will-never-have-its-own-boJo-moment

Sun Jul 17 14:22:50 IST 2022

Amid all the drama and sensation of Boris Johnson’s resignation as prime minister of Great Britain, and the catalogue of misjudgments and follies that precipitated it, one aspect no one seems to have raised is staring us in the face—the absolute unlikelihood of anything like this ever happening in our country.

Think of it: just two and half years after leading his Conservative Party to a resounding victory in the general elections, and less than two months after surviving a vote of confidence held among his own party MPs, Johnson’s position became untenable when one by one, and then in droves, 60 of his own colleagues, senior and junior, abandoned him by resigning from his council of ministers. When he replaced one of the first to go, his chancellor of the exchequer (or finance minister), Rishi Sunak, with a rising star of Iraqi Kurdish origin named Nadim Zahawi, the latter’s first act was to advise his own boss to resign. A delegation of cabinet ministers and party grandees then called on Johnson, telling him his position was unviable. The prime minister saw the writing on the wall, and quit.

Johnson, understandably, blamed the “herd instinct of Westminster” for his exit. Once a herd gathers momentum, he reflected ruefully, it becomes unstoppable. At a time when, as he pointed out, he was working to fulfil the promises that had got him elected in 2019, his party was just marginally behind Labour in the polls and the challenges facing the nation warranted a steady hand at the helm, the herd had voted with its feet.

In India, all this would be unthinkable. Every political party in our country is constructed around fealty to its leader—whether an individual, a family, or a cabal. For any Indian MP, let alone a cabinet minister, to resign on grounds of lack of faith in the leader’s integrity, is impossible to imagine. It has never happened, partly because people in positions of power (or even just in office) prefer to cling on to it, and partly because such an act will merely seal the resignee’s political irrelevance, not his boss’s. The leader will always prevail.

The Johnson episode is all the more difficult for observers of Indian politics to imagine because he is actually the prime minister of the country. In India it is equally improbable within an opposition party. The preferred Indian way of handling discontent with a party leader is to grumble and complain, and to do so privately, behind closed doors. The grumbling is infused with the awareness that action on the complaints is impossible. The leader just “is”. He cannot be unseated, not least since no party has a mechanism for doing so, and no politician is willing to take the risk of trying. If he is upset enough, he quits and joins another party. He doesn’t challenge the existing one.

In Britain and most parliamentary systems derived from it, party leaders are subject to period renewals of their mandate, often at fixed intervals or whenever the party’s processes call for it. In most of them a specified number of members can call for an out-of-turn confidence vote, something Johnson had to undergo recently (ironically, he prevailed). After an election defeat, by convention, the leader resigns, and unless the party unanimously clamours for him or her to stay—which has happened very rarely in western parliamentary democracies—he or she steps aside gracefully and lets someone else try.

None of these things happen in India. Indeed, no party other than the two communist parties even has a fixed period for its designated leader to serve. No party has a mechanism to recall a leader, and even if a theoretical exercise were conducted to elect or re-elect one, the electors are handpicked by the existing leadership and are extremely unlikely to vote against its wishes. The famous example in the Congress, in which the charisma-mukt Sitaram Kesri trounced two popular leaders like Sharad Pawar and Rajesh Pilot who challenged him for the presidency of the party, only proves the point.

Perhaps, for once, it is time for us to ask ourselves whether there isn’t a lesson or two we can learn from what just happened to Johnson?

the-lessons-we-can-learn-from-history

Sat Jun 18 12:12:06 IST 2022

The question raised by an American journalist on Twitter—“Why is the Indian Prime Minister spending so much time attacking a Mughal monarch who died more than 300 years ago?”—is a reminder of how the past retains a capacity to inflame political sentiments in the present. The role of history in our contemporary politics may seem inexplicable, but it is not without precedent in many other countries where divisive politics is encouraged.

In my years at the UN dealing with the civil war in the former Yugoslavia, I was struck by how often my interlocutors on all sides referred to events from the distant past: there were two battles of Kosovo, in 1389 and 1448, but Serbs spoke of them as if they had happened yesterday, and these justified their resentments today, and their belligerence tomorrow. To take an Indian example, when Vinayak Damodar Savarkar (later the father of ‘Hindutva’) was, in his youthful phase, an advocate for Hindu–Muslim unity, he declared the rebellion of 1857 to have been ‘India’s first war of Independence’, featuring as it did Indians across divides of religion, region, caste, and language, fighting under the flag of the Mughal sovereign. The appeal to a positive historical memory can also play a significant role in constructing the nationalism of the present.

So, of course, can appealing to a negative historical memory—invasions, the destruction of temples, and their replacement by mosques. It is usually accompanied by an evocation of ancient civilisational memories that provides nationals with a sense of rootedness—the sense of belonging to a venerable and even timeless community. This in turn evokes both a sense of belonging to a common endeavour for the majority, and a sense of exclusion and alienness for a disfavoured minority.

Scholars like Benedict Anderson have told us that a nation is an imagined political community that reflects a single national identity, built upon shared social characteristics such as culture, language, religion, ethnicity, and a common history. This constructed national community is linked to a specific territory, resulting in a certain sanctification of geography, in the worship of the ‘motherland’ as the natural home of the nation. And next, this sanctified geography is married to a holy history. The history of a nation is marked by a shared recollection of the nation’s victories and defeats—as well as, quite often, resentment and rejection of other “nations” or communities, especially foreign forces that have conquered or dominated them. In the process nationalism involves an act of purification: purifying the people of religious, social and cultural contaminations that have come in from outside, leaving, in the case of our country, only the “new Indian” as heir to this precious ancient legacy. That new Indian, in today’s politics, must be Hindu, preferably Hindi-speaking, and resent the same past.

“The past is the essential element in [nationalistic] ideologies,” the historian Eric Hobsbawm has argued, “If there is no suitable past, it can always be invented…. The past legitimises. The past gives a more glorious background to a present that does not have much to show for itself.” Hobsbawm compares the role of history in nationalism with that of the poppy to the heroin addict. It is the source of the drug that both poisons and empowers the nationalist. Since the project of national unity, which is indispensable to the expression of this kind of nationalism, requires both a shared sense of cohesion and an identifiable territory, all nationalisms seek to create such fraternity. At the same time, to justify nationalistic zeal, both must be constructed on a long history—real or imagined. This is what makes history so important to the very idea of nationalism and so crucial to nation-building. And this is what the BJP has brought into our politics today.

It is not history, but the ways in which historical memories are used by nationalist ideologues, that have led to atrocities. Serbs and Croats lived together, in fact married each other, for decades, until the rise of the likes of Franjo Tudjman and Slobodan Milosevic accentuated their sense of historical difference and drove them apart. The same occurred to India in 1947 with the creation of Pakistan. Can we not learn from history? Or are we, in the famous phrase, doomed to repeat it?

editor@theweek.in