Specials

indias-medical-tech-future-self-reliance-strategic-procurement-take-centrestage-at-the-week-summit

Sat Mar 28 17:16:45 IST 2026

India’s push for self-reliance in medical technology, the changing role of hospital procurement and the growing influence of technology in health care formed the core of discussions at THE WEEK India Hospital Procurement Leaders Summit, presented by Helmier, in Delhi. Policymakers, hospital leaders, industry experts and health care professionals came together to discuss the future of India’s health care ecosystem at the recent summit.

At the centre of the discussions was a structural shift taking place within India’s health care system, one that is transforming hospital procurement from a back-office function into a strategic, decision-making role that directly impacts clinical outcomes, technology adoption and hospital finances.

In her inaugural address, Union Minister of State for Health and Family Welfare and Chemicals and Fertilisers Anupriya Patel said the Covid-19 pandemic exposed India’s heavy dependence on imported medical equipment, underlining the urgent need for a resilient and self-reliant medical devices ecosystem. “During Covid, we realised that we were too dependent on imports. India needs a resilient system and our own indigenous system,” she said, adding that the government is now focused on building an integrated ecosystem for medical device manufacturing in the country.

Patel highlighted the National Medical Devices Policy, which aims to promote innovation-led manufacturing and reduce import dependence. She also highlighted the establishment of medical devices parks in Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh and Tamil Nadu, which were expected to reduce manufacturing costs, strengthen supply chains and promote domestic production.

Her remarks set the tone for a broader conversation about India’s continued dependence on imports for high-end medical equipment and consumables, and the need to build domestic capability not just in manufacturing, but also in financing, maintenance, training and lifecycle management of medical equipment.

One of the key themes that emerged from the summit was the transformation of procurement into a strategic function within hospitals. Procurement leaders now manage a significant portion of hospital operating expenditure and are increasingly involved in decisions related to medical technology adoption, vendor partnerships and long-term equipment planning.

Delivering the special address at the summit, Union Minister of State (independent charge) for Science & Technology and Earth Sciences.

Dr Jitendra Singh said India was moving from being a passive consumer of global medical technology to an active creator and exporter. He said that not long ago, most medical devices, including stents and implants, were imported and often came at unjustifiable costs, but the country was systematically reducing its dependence on imports through political will and a rapidly evolving innovation ecosystem.

To illustrate the pace of change, Singh cited India’s development of its first indigenous DNA vaccine and Nafithromycin, India’s first homegrown antibiotic developed to address respiratory infections at a time of rising antimicrobial resistance. He also talked about the structural changes in India’s research and manufacturing ecosystem, noting that sectors previously closed to private participation, including space research, nuclear medicine and advanced health sciences, have now been opened up, while foreign direct investment norms have been relaxed to create a more dynamic innovation environment.

Dr N. Venkatesan, director and chief procurement officer of Max Healthcare Group, said India imported about 80 per cent of high-end medical equipment and around 70 per cent of consumables, describing the situation as an import addiction that needed urgent attention.

Dr Sheenu Jhawar, director of Apex Hospitals, said procurement was not just about negotiating prices but also about balancing clinical needs, governance and cost. She emphasised that procurement teams must work closely with doctors because the comfort and familiarity of clinicians using a device was as important as the cost of the device.

Bidesh Chandra Paul, group head (supply chain management), Fortis Group of Hospitals, also highlighted the need for alignment between clinicians and procurement teams, especially as hospital networks expand and procurement decisions become more centralised. He noted that policy measures such as price capping, if implemented carefully, could encourage innovation and support domestic manufacturing.

Yash Kaul, co-founder and CEO of Helmier, highlighted his company’s role in supporting hospitals with access to critical medical equipment and strengthening the medical equipment ecosystem in India. He said hospitals today were under financial pressure but must continue to invest in advanced medical technology, making financing and lifecycle management critical components of health care delivery.

The broader idea, he said, was to ensure that hospitals were able to access the right technology at the right time and use it efficiently, because medical equipment were directly linked to patient outcomes, hospital efficiency and overall health care quality.

The summit also featured a conversation on the role of technology in health care and everyday life between actor and fitness advocate Mandira Bedi and Riyad Mathew, Chief Associate Editor and Director, THE WEEK. Bedi said society’s understanding of machines in health care had evolved significantly over the years. She said wearable devices and health gadgets have made individuals more aware of their health by allowing them to track heart rate, sleep and physical activity, but emphasised that the most important machine people must take care of is their own body.

Bedi also spoke about mental health, noting that therapy and counselling were considered taboo two decades ago but attitudes have changed significantly, especially after the Covid-19 pandemic. She encouraged people to seek professional help if needed, saying mental health is as important as physical health.

Pradeep Mishra of Yashoda Hospitals said procurement and supply chain departments handled a large portion of hospital expenditure and must constantly balance cost pressures with clinical needs. He stressed the importance of training nursing and clinical staff to use medical equipment properly and said long-term partnerships with suppliers are essential for maintaining quality and service support.

Amit Mahajan, group chief procurement and supply chain officer at Sparsh Hospital, summed up the changing nature of the profession by saying that purchasing is transactional but procurement is strategic. With technologies such as CT machines now integrated with AI and software, procurement decisions must increasingly be data-driven. He added that the health care sector needs a balanced mix of global and local technology.

the-week-grse-sagar-sankalp-how-india-is-building-a-stronger-maritime-future

Sat Mar 14 17:51:48 IST 2026

KOLKATA

Forever bound to its seas, India has had a glorious maritime past. Waters continue to shape the country’s present and future, with India’s trade arteries, energy flows and strategic interests deeply tied to the oceans. Yet, over time, the dominance India once enjoyed slowly diminished, even as its civilisational and trade ties to the seas continued. As its prosperity and security are closely linked to the oceans, protecting maritime trade routes and strategic waters has become imperative for India amid growing geopolitical uncertainties and shifting power equations.

India’s maritime defence sector has been progressing at an unprecedented pace in the past few years, in line with the rapid technological advancements taking place across the world. These were taken note of at the ‘Sagar Sankalp–Reclaiming India’s Maritime Glory’, a high-level maritime defence dialogue organised by THE WEEK in association with GRSE (Garden Reach Shipbuilders and Engineers) and supported by Bharat Forge, Indian Register of Shipping (IRClass), Marine Electricals, Mazagon Dock Shipbuilders Limited (MDL) and Titagarh Rail Systems Limited. Various industry leaders and stakeholders, including Defence Minister Rajnath Singh, Minister of State in the Ministry of Ports, Shipping and Waterways Shantanu Thakur, concurred at the dialogue that while the country’s maritime defence sector has made much progress, there are still many nautical miles to cover to reclaim the lost glory.

The coming together of THE WEEK—which, as Chief Associate Editor & Director Riyad Mathew pointed out, has made defence and maritime reporting its forte with dedicated website sections—and GRSE, a leading warship maker, marks a collaboration that could meaningfully advance India’s maritime defence ecosystem at a time when the government is intensifying its push for self-reliance in defence and shipbuilding under the Atmanirbhar Bharat vision.

During the day-long event at the ITC Royal Bengal in Kolkata on March 6, discussions focused on leveraging India’s maritime past through the use of cutting-edge technologies, boosting indigenisation and ancillary support for shipbuilding, and creating a future-ready maritime force under the ‘Make in India’ vision.

Defence Minister Rajnath Singh, who delivered the keynote address and set the tone for the talks to follow, reiterated the importance of achieving Atmanirbharta in the maritime defence and allied sectors. He said, “Self-reliance is the only way to stay relevant and ready in the present era of uncertainty.” From design and engineering to construction and lifecycle support, the Indian shipbuilding industry is making warships and submarines for the Indian Navy, the defence minister said, and called this a major leap towards Atmanirbharta. “Self-reliance is no longer just a slogan; it is being established as a practical reality. A builder’s navy is not a slogan; it is a ground reality.”

Singh listed the structural and policy reforms implemented by the government to enhance defence production both qualitatively and quantitatively, with special emphasis on transparency, financial discipline, performance benchmarking, and research and development. “The Indian Navy’s readiness, the success of operations like Operation Sindoor, and the steps towards self-reliance indicate that India’s defence sector is moving in the right direction. If we work together to advance this maritime vision, in the years to come, India will not only safeguard its interests but also make a significant contribution to global maritime stability,” said the minister.

Commodore P.R. Hari (retd), chairman and managing director of GRSE, who presented the theme of the day, pointed out that from INS Ajay of the 1960s to its highly advanced modern namesake, there has been exponential growth in the maritime defence and related sectors. Nonetheless, India has yet to achieve its full potential. Pointing out that there is an urgent need to ramp up India’s shipbuilding capability to achieve the target of reaching the ranks of the top shipbuilding nations, he gave a call to the ancillary industries to rise to the occasion and support shipbuilding. He also underscored the importance of strengthening skill sets, saying, “Even today, the skill sets that are available are just enough to meet the existing demand. With the demand expected to take a huge leap in the coming years, it is imperative that we focus on skill development.”

A nation does not obtain sovereignty when it builds ships, but achieves it when it controls the technologies that power the ships, observed Baba Kalyani, chairman and managing director of Bharat Forge. “We are entering an age of innovation, indigenous design, development, manufacturing, co-creation and co-production, where Indian industry must provide niche and disruptive technologies in areas such as artificial intelligence, unmanned systems and armaments,” he said.

Both industry leaders highlighted the strides India has been making in warship building and how the country is steadily transitioning from a buyer’s navy into a builder’s navy. They emphasised that innovation, indigenous manufacturing, and a robust supply chain will be the key to strengthening India’s maritime power and realising the ambitions of Maritime India
Vision 2030 and the more ambitious Maritime Amrit Kaal Vision 2047.

Minister of State in the Ministry of Ports, Shipping and Waterways Shantanu Thakur also observed that the maritime sector is witnessing a historic revival and listed the government initiatives to boost development in the domain. “India stands at a decisive moment in its maritime journey,” he said. “The vision of Prime Minister Narendra Modi is very clear: to transform India into a global maritime hub and a leading maritime power. The theme of today’s event perfectly captures this aspiration through a strong partnership between the government, industry, innovators and maritime professionals.” He congratulated THE WEEK and GRSE for bringing together various stakeholders in the sector for a very timely and relevant summit.

The speakers of the day—Vice Admiral Sanjay Sadhu, controller of warship production and acquisition, Indian Navy; Commodore Sanjay Deshpande (retd), deputy managing director, Titagarh Naval Systems Ltd; and Rajesh Kumar, special secretary, Ministry of Ports, Shipping and Waterways—highlighted the rapid progress made by the maritime defence and allied sectors in recent years and called for greater technology adoption to accelerate India’s march towards self-reliance.

Vice Admiral Sadhu tracked the growth of the sector in the past few decades and gave a call to the industry to continue adopting advanced technologies to support the ‘Make in India, Make for the World’ vision while also focusing on skill development.

Commodore Deshpande pointed out how shipbuilding strengthens the entire supply chain of a nation. He called for greater collaboration between the Indian Navy and the maritime industry, private and public shipyards, research institutes and technology developers, domestic suppliers and global partners to build a resilient shipbuilding ecosystem in the country.

Kumar highlighted the policy reforms made in the past few years, aimed at positioning India as a global maritime powerhouse. While the sector has a very glamorous part, it also has a dangerous side, Kumar said, and asked naval cadets to develop good friendships and family ties and interact with veterans in the sector, as the job that the cadets have is extremely challenging.

The event also saw a series of panel discussions, which featured senior naval officers, policymakers, shipyard executives, maritime industry leaders, and experts from research, regulatory and technology institutions. They underscored the need to expand India’s shipbuilding capacity through better infrastructure, technology adoption, skilled manpower, and supportive policy frameworks to fast-track the process of self-reliance. The discussions revolved around identifying avenues and opportunities to position India as a competitive global destination for shipbuilding and ship repair through progressive port policies, regulatory reforms, and industrial collaboration between major players in the maritime defence sector, MSMEs and ancillary industries.

The first panel of the day examined the theme, ‘Securing the Seas: Aligning Naval Shipbuilding with Geopolitical Realities.’ The members looked into how evolving geopolitical divides and persistent grey-zone maritime challenges are reshaping force structures and shipbuilding priorities. The panel members examined how India’s shipbuilding ecosystem, which includes design, construction, combat systems integration and lifecycle support, can be leveraged to position India as a credible partner to European and other global navies. The panel concluded that indigenisation is the mantra that needs to be followed in letter and spirit.

The second panel focused on ‘Building Sovereignty at Sea: The Strategic Imperative of a Domestic Ancillary Ecosystem.’ The speakers highlighted the importance of increasing capital investment, regular upskilling of human resources, and fostering collaboration among MSMEs and ancillary industries. “For fulfilling the Maritime Amrit Kaal Vision, the government policies are only a spark. The fuel needs to come from the entire ecosystem, which runs the show,” observed Biju George, director (shipping), Mazagon Dock Ltd. The discussion focused on why true self-reliance in naval shipbuilding depends not only on shipyards but also on the depth, resilience, and technological maturity of the domestic industry, and the importance of aligning the domestic shipbuilding industry with global standards.

The next panel of the day examined the theme ‘Expanding the Fleet: Enhancing the Range and Scale of Shipbuilding Capability,’ emphasising infrastructure readiness, technology adoption, skill development and policy frameworks required to enhance India’s manufacturing capabilities and position the country as a future-ready shipbuilding hub. The panellists explored the opportunities for the Indian shipbuilding sector driven by emerging global trade, the energy transition and fleet-renewal requirements.

The final panel explored the theme ‘Destination India: Ports, Policy and Industry in Building a Globally Competitive Shipbuilding and Ship Repair Ecosystem’. The panellists observed that India is emerging as the world’s favourite destination for both shipbuilding and ship repair, and called for improvements in the commercial shipbuilding ecosystem in the country. They also highlighted the importance of micro-innovation and collaboration in the sector as India seeks to cement its position as a maritime power.

Ending the maritime defence conclave on a powerful note, Commodore Jayanta Chowdhury, adviser to the CMD, GRSE, invoked the timeless spirit of seafaring and India’s maritime resurgence. “Today, at this historic Sagar Sankalp summit, we did not remain anchored in complacency; we unfolded the sails, charted bold courses, and steered the destiny of India’s maritime resurgence....As we depart, let us carry the spirit of Sagar Sankalp in our hearts to build, to dominate the seas, and to reclaim India’s resplendent maritime glory.”

The message was received Lima Charlie. The voyage towards maritime resurgence will demand innovation, indigenisation and collective effort. However, with the winds of policy resolve, industrial capability enhancement and strategic vision to support it, India appears ready to sail confidently towards reclaiming its former glory.

Road to global maritime dominance

At the Sagar Sankalp conclave, DEFENCE MINISTER RAJNATH SINGH outlined a bold roadmap for India to reclaim its historical maritime prestige. Ten critical takeaways from his address:

◆ Under the Maritime Amrit Kaal Vision 2047, India aims to become one of the top 10 shipbuilding nations by 2030, and break into the top 5 by 2047.

◆ The government plans to invest Rs3 lakh crore to develop specialised shipbuilding clusters across the country to boost domestic manufacturing.

◆ India is targeting a massive jump in defence exports, aiming to reach Rs50,000 crore by 2030, up from last year’s Rs24,000 crore.

◆ A major shift is under way to increase private sector participation in the defence ecosystem to 50 per cent, with 25 per cent of all defence supplies expected to originate from private companies.

◆ Indian shipyards are transitioning to “future-ready” facilities by adopting AI-enabled optimisation, digital ship design, modular construction and green technologies.

◆ Garden Reach Shipbuilders & Engineers (GRSE) is doing excellent Atmanirbhar efforts, having built nearly 790 vessels, including over 110 warships.

◆ Oceans are now the primary centres of global power and trade, making maritime strength inseparable from national security and economic growth.

◆ Reviving India’s ancient shipbuilding legacy, using the nation’s deep-rooted maritime knowledge as a foundation for modern excellence, is essential.

◆ Strengthening Defence Public Sector Undertakings remains a priority, with a specific focus on improving their global competitiveness and operational efficiency.

◆ The development of defence industrial corridors and shipbuilding clusters is expected to be a major engine for innovation and large-scale employment generation.

from-warships-to-merchant-fleets-grses-blueprint-for-indias-maritime-reformation

Sat Mar 14 17:38:57 IST 2026

COMMODORE P.R. HARI (RETD), CMD of GRSE, on how to transform India into a global shipbuilding powerhouse:

◆ India must prepare for a ‘Volatility, Uncertainty, Complexity and Ambiguity’ (VUCA) global environment where localised conflicts can rapidly escalate into full-scale, multidimensional wars.

◆ A massive Rs69,725-crore government programme is under way, specifically targeted at enhancing infrastructure and production capabilities to meet modern defence needs.

◆ While India aims to be a top 10 maritime nation by 2030 and top 5 by 2047, its current global shipbuilding share is only 0.16 per cent to 0.17 per cent, signalling an urgent need for exponential growth.

◆ The need of the hour is a robust domestic ancillary industry. Shipbuilding cannot succeed in a vacuum; it requires a deeply integrated and responsive local supply chain.

◆ India’s current maritime skill set is “only just adequate” for present needs and must be significantly expanded to meet future high-tech demands.

◆ India has a proven track record in warship building. The goal now is to apply those specialised skills to dominate the non-defence/commercial shipping segment.

◆ Indian shipyards have successfully constructed 275 warships to date, demonstrating a foundational technical capability that is ready for further scaling.

◆ The pace of production is increasing, with 67 ships delivered to maritime forces in just the last decade and another 55 platforms currently under construction.

◆ Maritime strength is no longer just about trade; it is a critical pillar of national preparedness in the face of shifting global power dynamics.

how-india-aims-to-dominate-seas-through-indigenous-innovation

Sat Mar 14 17:34:12 IST 2026

BABA KALYANI, chairman of Bharat Forge, argues why India must pivot from being a technology buyer to a self-reliant maritime power. Ten key takeaways from his speech at Sagar Sankalp:

◆ We are moving beyond a simple geopolitical transition; we are witnessing a “rupture” of the global order, characterised by prolonged conflicts and heightened tensions that disrupt world economies.

◆ In the current climate, economic strength and national security are no longer separate. Strategic autonomy is now essential for basic economic functions, such as purchasing oil without external dependency.

◆ Atmanirbhar Bharat is not merely a policy—it is a mandatory, irreversible path for Indian industry.

◆ India is moving past the stage of simply purchasing foreign technology. The focus has shifted to indigenous design, co-creation, and the domestic development of complex systems.

◆ The success of the shipbuilding industry is directly tied to the strength of the domestic supply chain. Local manufacturers are the backbone of maritime sovereignty.

◆ To become a top-five global maritime power by 2047, India is looking at a massive investment of Rs80 lakh crore into the maritime domain.

◆ As western economies are forced to rebuild their industrial bases, middle economies like India must focus on building “strategic economies” to survive global uncertainty.

◆ A core pillar of India’s roadmap is the goal of achieving a 200-ship navy, where every vessel and piece of equipment is built entirely within the country.

vb-g-ram-g-act-2025-where-welfare-meets-development

Sat Mar 14 12:36:00 IST 2026

INDIA’S RURAL DEVELOPMENT framework has entered a decisive new phase. The Viksit Bharat—Guarantee for Rozgar and Ajeevika Mission (Gramin) Act, 2025, is not merely a policy transition; it represents a structural redesign of how Bharat plans, finances and delivers rural transformation.

The Act aligns rural development architecture with the national vision of Viksit Bharat @ 2047 by providing an enhanced statutory guarantee of 125 days of wage employment annually to rural households whose adult members volunteer to undertake unskilled manual work. Yet, it goes beyond employment assurance. It establishes a comprehensive livelihood security and infrastructure framework rooted in empowerment, growth, convergence and saturation.

At its core, the Act affirms that rural citizens are not passive beneficiaries of welfare. They are co-creators of national development.

Employment with productivity

VB–G RAM G retains and strengthens the statutory rights that define a rights-based framework: the right to demand work, time-bound provision of employment, unemployment allowance when work is not provided, compensation for delayed wage payment and mandatory social audits. Importantly, it expands the employment guarantee to 125 days—thereby enabling a higher intensity of asset creation and accelerating the pace of village-level development.

Yet, the reform does not stop at wage assurance. It redefines the very character of public works. Under VB–G RAM G, employment is inseparable from productivity.

Workers are not merely earning wages; they are building assets that shape the long-term economic future of their villages. Irrigation canals enhance farm output. Check dams recharge groundwater. Storage and processing units reduce post-harvest losses. Internal roads strengthen market access. Solar lighting enhances safety and sustainability, along with numerous other community assets identified through gram sabha-led planning. Employment generation and asset creation are integrated into a productivity-led development strategy. Rural public works are no longer conceived as temporary relief measures; they are durable investments in agricultural resilience, climate adaptation, natural resource management and rural enterprise. In this model, wage employment becomes a bridge to sustained economic growth.

From fragmentation to convergence

For decades, rural development operated through multiple schemes operating in administrative silos— roads under one programme, irrigation under another, housing under a third. While each addressed a legitimate need, coordination was often ad hoc and convergence remained incidental rather than institutional. But villages do not develop in fragments.

Roads, ponds, embankments, anganwadis, haats, storage facilities, irrigation structures and other public assets form an interconnected ecosystem. Development becomes meaningful only when planned and executed as a unified whole.

VB–G RAM G institutionalises convergence—across departments, across schemes, and across tiers of government. Viksit Gram Panchayat Plans are prepared based on local priorities and approved through gram sabhas, ensuring decentralised and participatory planning. States function as partners in growth rather than mere implementing agencies—an example of cooperative federalism structured around outcomes.

The Act also adopts a saturation-based approach. Infrastructure gaps are identified and addressed systematically until essential assets in a village are comprehensively completed. Development is no longer episodic or scheme-driven; it becomes cumulative, goal-oriented, and outcome-focused.

With a proposed first-year outlay exceeding Rs1.51 lakh crore, the scale of ambition signals a strategic shift: rural development is treated as national investment.

Transparency as law, not slogan

If convergence defines the development model, transparency defines the governance architecture. Unlike earlier frameworks that relied primarily on executive guidelines, VB–G RAM G embeds oversight directly into statute and rules. Weekly public disclosures of sanctioned works, muster rolls, payments, inspections and grievances are mandated by law. Governance shifts from reactive audit to proactive disclosure.

All works are integrated into a unified digital platform—the Viksit Bharat National Rural Infrastructure Stack—where assets will be geo-tagged, mapped, tracked, and publicly visible through GIS-based systems and an integrated MIS architecture. Duplication will be eliminated. Fund flows will be fully traceable. Public scrutiny will become routine rather than exceptional.

Transparency ceases to be aspirational. It becomes legally enforceable.

Accountability that functions

Transparency without accountability risks becoming symbolic. The Act addresses this through a time-bound, multi-tier grievance redressal mechanism with enforceable timelines. Complaints are digitally logged, tracked and required to be resolved within statutory limits. The social audit framework is strengthened with fixed timelines, clearly defined compliance obligations, and institutional support. Gram sabha-led social audits combine community oversight with procedural rigour. Technology further reinforces integrity. Biometric attendance at worksites, mandatory e-KYC, Aadhaar payment bridge system integration, electronic measurement of works, and AI-enabled anomaly detection reduce leakages and strengthen payment discipline.

Oversight becomes continuous rather than periodic. Accountability becomes systemic rather than episodic.

A new benchmark in governance

VB–G RAM G establishes one of the most comprehensive transparency and accountability architectures embedded in a public programme in India. By institutionalising disclosure, strengthening audits, embedding biometric verification and creating enforceable grievance systems, it marks a decisive shift from welfare administration to rules-based delivery.

India’s rural governance has steadily evolved through digitisation, direct benefit transfer systems, geo-tagging, and integrated management information systems. VB–G RAM G builds upon these gains and elevates them into a fully statutory, convergence-driven framework aligned with the long-term vision of Viksit Bharat 2047. This is a comprehensive reform, designed for a generational impact.

A milestone worth marking

Rural transformation will define India’s development trajectory in the decades ahead. Agricultural resilience, climate security, demographic stability and inclusive growth all converge in rural India. VB–G RAM G provides the legal, technological and institutional foundation to ensure that this transformation is inclusive, measurable and durable.

It is a statutory promise of expanded employment security. It is a governance reform grounded in transparency and accountability. It is a development strategy built on productivity and convergence. It marks a decisive milestone in India’s rural transformation. Where people are truly empowered. Where transparency is law. Where accountability is systemic. Where welfare meets development. That is the spirit of VB–G RAM G.

The writer is Union minister of agriculture and farmers’ welfare, and rural development.

global-spirituality-mahotsav-celebrating-aurovilles-58-years-of-spiritual-evolution-and-community

Fri Mar 06 16:41:43 IST 2026

AUROVILLE

ON FEBRUARY 28, on the eve of the 2026 Global Spirituality Mahotsav, Auroville was alive with celebration. The township marked its 58th birthday at the Matrimandir amphitheatre, where renowned percussionist A. Sivamani moved fluidly between instruments, coaxing out a gentle melody. The song was ‘Chinnanchiru kiliye’, a classic by poet C. Subramania Bharati—a lullaby.

The audience clapped; some hummed along. The song conjured the image of a mother doting on her child, seeing in her daughter an extension of herself.

Seated quietly among the crowd, smiling and humming as she took it all in, was Jayanti S. Ravi, secretary of the Auroville Foundation. “This song is sung when a mother misses her child; when she yearns for her,” she told THE WEEK. “In the same way, the Mother of Auroville—born Mirra Alfassa in Paris—draws her children and followers towards her.”

A Tamil raised outside the state, Jayanti traces her roots to Chidambaram and Thanjavur. In a sense, destiny led her back to them through Auroville. “In the last year alone, nearly 400 people have joined the Auroville family,” she said. “They have come from countries such as South Korea, Japan, Russia, Thailand, Germany and France.”

Pointing to the Matrimandir’s golden sphere, she added: “It is the most beautiful place on the planet. Everything here has been created with such care and sensitivity.”

That spirit permeated the Spirituality Mahotsav, held from March 1 to 3 and organised by the Auroville Foundation in association with the Union ministry of culture and the Puducherry government. Visitors from across the world arrived to immerse themselves in the teachings of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother. The three-day event featured sessions by distinguished speakers, drawing participants into moments of reflection, devotion and joy.

The theme—‘Realising Sri Aurobindo’s Five Dreams for a New Humanity’—traces back to August 15, 1947, when Aurobindo articulated five sweeping ideas for India and the world: national unity, the resurgence of Asia, global harmony, spiritual evolution and the emergence of a higher human consciousness.

For Aurobindo and the Mother, consciousness was not an abstraction or an escape. It was the force that had evolved matter into life, and life into mind—continuing to propel evolution forward. Matter, life and thought were expressions of a conscious force progressively unfolding. Humanity, in their vision, was a transitional stage destined to outgrow its present constraints.

Today, Auroville is home to nearly 1,200 Indians and close to 1,800 foreign nationals—known as Aurovillians. The township hosts more than 6,000 business and service units.

Arun Selvam, 29, a third-generation Aurovillian, is the youngest member of the Auroville Working Committee—a seven-member panel that serves as a bridge between residents and the governing body. When a child in Auroville turns 18, he explained, they are free to choose whether to stay or leave. “It is called the ‘admission termination registry’. People are free to go,” he said.

Education in Auroville, Arun said, is experimental and future-oriented—driven by interest and experience rather than rigid structures. “When I moved after Class 11 to a CBSE school in Puducherry, I realised I could grasp concepts better than most students because I had learned the way Sri Aurobindo and the Mother envisioned,” he said.

The township observes only three public celebrations each year: the Mother’s birthday on February 21, Auroville’s birthday on February 28, and Sri Aurobindo’s birthday on August 15.

Many still recall the Mother’s intuitive presence. Srimoy Rosegger, who grew up at the Sri Aurobindo Ashram, remembers that her admission to the ashram school was decided after the Mother looked at her photograph. “She simply looked at it and knew it,” she said. “She could tell whether a child would fit.”

Srimoy believes Auroville now needs a clear roadmap rooted in the founders’ vision. “We cannot look at Auroville through a political prism. Genuine and sincere development must be supported,” she said.

According to Jayanti, few realise how deeply rational Aurobindo was. “Rationality does not give you the arrogance to deny everything else. With rationality comes humility; an awareness of its limits. The problems of humanity cannot be solved by the mind alone,” she said.

Arun believes Auroville must grow to realise its founding vision. “In ten years, we can expand from a Rs600-crore economy to a Rs2,000-crore one. We need more housing, more resources, and more people. When Auroville reaches around 50,000 residents, it will truly become a global city in the sense the Mother and Aurobindo envisioned,” he said.

For Josephine Joyner, an American who arrived here in 2008, the journey has been deeply personal. “I came here almost in exile, during a difficult phase of my life. Only later did I recognise my soul’s call. I stayed to help build the divine mother’s city; one that can welcome all of humanity,” she said.

Auroville, Josephine insisted, is neither a ready-made utopia nor an escape. “It is a powerful churning, balanced by the sweetness of the Mother,” she said. “Here, we are being shaped into true Aurovillians through the act of building the city itself.”

a-global-invocation-jayanti-s-ravi-auroville-foundation

Sat Feb 28 15:57:19 IST 2026

FROM MARCH 1 to 3, 2026, the serene red earth of Auroville—the “City of Consciousness”—will become the meeting ground of nations, ideas and awakened aspiration as it hosts the 2nd Global Spirituality Mahotsav (GSM). Organised by the Auroville Foundation in collaboration with the Government of Puducherry and the Ministry of Culture, this landmark gathering marks the culminating celebration of the 150th birth anniversary of Sri Aurobindo.

The Mahotsav will be inaugurated on March 1 by Prime Minister Narendra Modi, who chairs a high-level committee constituted by a government resolution to commemorate this historic milestone. His leadership has elevated the anniversary into a nationwide movement of spiritual and civilisational reflection—reaffirming India’s timeless role as a guide and bridge-builder in an interconnected world.

A VISION ROOTED IN UNITY: The theme of the Mahotsav, “Realising Sri Aurobindo’s Five Dreams for a New Humanity,” calls participants to revisit and renew a vision articulated on the eve of India’s independence—a vision of freedom, unity, spiritual awakening and the progressive evolution of humanity.

Sri Aurobindo wrote, “The spiritual destiny of India is to lead the world to a higher consciousness.” This Mahotsav seeks to explore how that destiny may unfold in the 21st century—through dialogue, contemplation and collective resolve.

Auroville itself stands as a living testament to this aspiration. Founded in 1968 by Mirra Alfassa, known to the world simply as The Mother, the universal township was envisioned as a place “where men and women of all countries are able to live in peace and progressive harmony above all creeds, all politics and all nationalities.” Her dream was not merely of a new city, but of a new consciousness—one that transcends division and awakens unity.

AN ASSEMBLY OF LEADERSHIP AND WISDOM: The high-level committee guiding the celebrations brings together an extraordinary constellation of national leadership, spiritual luminaries, scholars and administrators. Alongside the prime minister, the committee includes senior Union ministers, presiding officers of Parliament, governors and chief ministers, and some of India’s most respected spiritual teachers and thinkers.

This collective presence reflects the integral spirit of Sri Aurobindo’s philosophy—where governance, culture, education and spirituality are not isolated silos but harmonised forces in the evolution of society.

Over three days, Auroville will host plenary sessions, meditative gatherings, cultural offerings and thematic dialogues that engage both the intellect and the soul. The deliberations will explore the Five Dreams as living possibilities: a spiritually awakened India, a united Asia, a world union beyond conflict, the resurgence of India’s spiritual knowledge and the evolutionary emergence of a higher consciousness in humanity.

AUROVILLE, THE LIVING LABORATORY: Set amid groves, community spaces and the golden radiance of the Matrimandir, Auroville provides a uniquely symbolic setting. Conceived as a universal township dedicated to human unity, it has long served as a laboratory for sustainable living, collective governance, and inner growth.

Under the coordination of the Auroville Foundation and its leadership, the township now prepares to welcome thinkers, seekers, policymakers, youth leaders and global participants for this second edition of the Mahotsav. The collaboration with the government of Puducherry underscores the region’s historic and spiritual significance—home to the Sri Aurobindo Ashram and decades of transformative work.

As The Mother reminded humanity, “Auroville wants to be a universal town where men and women of all countries are at home.” The Mahotsav embodies that invitation—extending it to the world at a time when unity is not merely ideal, but imperative.

A CALL TO THE FUTURE: More than a commemorative event, the 2nd Global Spirituality Mahotsav is envisioned as a catalytic moment—where governance meets wisdom, and aspiration meets action. It is a platform to reflect on how spirituality can inform public policy, education, sustainability, global harmony and the inner development of individuals.

In a rapidly changing world marked by technological leaps and geopolitical tensions, Sri Aurobindo’s words resonate with renewed urgency: “Man is a transitional being.” The Mahotsav asks—transitional towards what? Towards greater fragmentation, or towards a luminous unity of consciousness?

From March 1 to 3, Auroville and Puducherry will offer their soil and spirit as the setting for that inquiry. With the inauguration by the prime minister and the participation of national and spiritual leadership, the gathering stands as both homage and invocation—a reminder that India’s civilisational heritage is not a relic of the past, but a living force shaping the future.

The Auroville Foundation and the Government of Puducherry warmly invite citizens of India and members of the global community to witness and participate in this sacred milestone—where the vision of Sri Aurobindo and The Mother illumines the path towards a more conscious, unified and compassionate humanity.

—The author is secretary, Auroville Foundation.

why-nvidia-ceo-believes-india-must-build-its-own-ai-infrastructure

Sat Feb 21 15:43:51 IST 2026

Jensen Huang is often compared to Steve Jobs—as much for heading the world’s most valuable company as for leading a visionary shift in society and technology. Listen to his take on technology, and you know exactly why.

Mention AI and most people think of complex systems with superhuman capabilities. But for Huang, who co-founded Nvidia and is its president, AI is simple—a means to get to where we want to be.

“Artificial intelligence is an infrastructure for society,” he told an exclusive group of media professionals. “Every society needs it. Everybody needs it. Every industry needs it. It is an infra just like water or electricity. Just like the internet is an infra, artificial intelligence is in infrastructure.”

And he has a clear vision for India. “There is no question in my mind that there will be artificial intelligence infrastructure in India,” he said at a select media interaction to which THE WEEK was also invited at the Dassault Systèmes 3DExperience World event in Houston.

“You have many dialects, more than 300, and your language or dialect captures the culture and values of the people, and AI should reflect that culture. AI does not have to be fundamentally invented in India, but it has to be developed, fine-tuned and continuously enhanced in India. The industry of India, the companies, need AI infrastructure. Just like India has its own internet, its own electricity and its own roads, of course, you need to have your own AI,” he said.

Huang was looking forward to his visit to India to attend the India AI Impact Summit in Delhi and meeting with Prime Minister Narendra Modi. The trip was later cancelled.

But Nvidia’s interest in India is clearly blossoming. The company recently announced an $850 million pledge to fund the India Deep Tech Alliance as a founding member and strategic adviser. The money will be used to fund Indian startups working on AI, semiconductors, robotics and space technology. Nvidia will provide technical guidance, training and infrastructure to bridge funding gaps and promote local innovation.

But there is expectation for more, including a direct expansion of Nvidia’s already big engineering and R&D force in Bengaluru, Pune and Hyderabad. Maybe data centres, too. In fact, many were hoping for this announcement during his India visit.

Considering the huge desi workforce in the company (Huang himself confessed that “a third of Nvidia is Indian”), it is clear that his attention on the country, for talent and as a market, remains steadfast.

“The IT services industry of India unquestionably will be reinvented for the AI era,” he predicted, giving a positive spin to a topic that has had India’s software services sector in a nervous tizzy. “Instead of developing and maintaining software in the back rooms of IT departments, it is very likely that the AI IT industry will become service providers, service developers of agentic AI systems to help companies around the world automate their workflow, become more productive, move faster. Thus the reinvention, the reskilling of the IT industry in India will also happen.”

Of course, Huang has a spin on this upcoming upheaval. “Look at the internet in India and the amount of upstream and downstream jobs it has created. AI will do the same,” he said.

The parallels with Jobs, co-founder of Apple, run beyond Huang’s ability to be an evangelist for future tech and giving a rosy tinge even to the tech turmoil that accompanies such rapid transformations. Like his attire—in true geek fashion, Huang prefers grey tees and dark jeans combo as his de facto public attire, just like how Jobs used to appear in his jeans and turtlenecks at Apple’s launch events. And the other, where Huang actually trumps Jobs, is his easy-going demeanour. He is a natural on stage, quick with his comebacks, and making it all seem so effortless, even if he did admit, when asked how he achieved it all, to managing it with just three hours of sleep every night!

It is understandable. Once considered a non-glamorous backroom hardware firm in an age when the Googles and Apples straddled the limelight, Nvidia has today powered past Apple and Microsoft to become the most valued company in the world. It is currently valued around $4.45 trillion.

Huang’s and India’s interests will cross again. And he seems prepared for that. However, if there is one thing that flummoxes him, it is how to develop an AI automated car for India. “It is going to take super AI to learn how to (automate) driving in India, because computer vision alone is not sufficient! Because in India lanes are optional. You drive by honking!” he said. “But a time will come. If humans can drive in those environments, I am certain an AI will learn how to drive in those environments through reasoning.”

india-ai-impact-summit-forging-a-human-centric-national-strategy

Sat Feb 21 15:46:04 IST 2026

Walking through the high-security corridors of the India AI Impact Summit 2026, it was easy to get swept up in the polished rhetoric of ‘sovereign AI’ and ‘scaling sustainable AI infrastructure’. The summit was not just another stop on the global tech-circuit. It was a massive exercise in stress-testing India’s emerging AI strategy (and indeed, the world’s AI strategy) against the messy, complex reality of the Indian ground. It was not just a technology conference, but a national strategy session involving the judiciary, academia, farmers, students and global policymakers to shape India’s role in the AI-driven global economy.

Beyond the global ivory towers

For the past three years, the global AI narrative has been dictated by a handful of companies, AI labs and venture capitalists in San Francisco. Their concerns—largely centred on existential risks of AI or the race for more AI chips and data centres—often feel lightyears away from the immediate needs of an Indian small business or a district hospital in Bihar.

The India AI Impact Summit 2026 attempted to flip that script. While it welcomed the world’s experts to share their blueprints, the real value lies in moving beyond the global ivory towers of AI. AI doesn’t have to be a trillion-parameter behemoth to be useful. In India, ‘impact’ won’t be measured by how well ChatGPT can write a poem; it’s measured by whether an ASHA worker can use a vision-AI tool to screen for cataracts in a village with no stable internet.

The view from the trenches

The most significant shift at this summit was the move away from a ‘top-down’ mandate. Historically, tech policy of countries is decided by a few. But the summit offered India a chance to evolve its own AI strategy in a truly ‘bottoms-up’ manner. The presence of some 2.5 lakh registrants meant that the AI conversations in the corporate boardrooms of San Francisco, Paris and Bengaluru were tested and given a reality check by the mass consumers of AI.

As S. Krishnan, secretary in the ministry of electronics and IT, put it, the summit was an opportunity to ‘let a thousand ideas bloom’. It gave an opportunity to hear from clerks and young advocates in the trenches about the crushing weight of millions of pending cases and difficulty of translating legal documents in multiple languages. Instead of dreaming about ‘AI judges’, the AI strategy for the legal sector focused on AI as a multilingual translation layer and a document-summarisation tool—boring or underwhelming perhaps for some, but revolutionary for a litigant waiting a decade for a hearing.

A two-way learning street

India is currently in a unique ‘goldilocks’ position. We have the data—vast, diverse and representative of a billion plus users—and we have the talent. The summit was a two-way learning street. Global tech giants and the world’s AI researchers saw how AI performed in unstructured environments, and not just the labs. For the world, the real learning is about what the citizen truly needs. For India, the real learning is what the rest of the world—from Brazil to Kenya and Japan to the US—is doing.

For the over 600 startups that showcased their applications across health care, education, agriculture and other sectors, as well as the creators of OpenAI, Claude, Sarvam and other prominent AI models, the summit was an opportunity to see how their products were actually serving the consumers on the ground.

For the consumers, it provided a platform to voice their needs and the constraints they were facing in their daily work, and also learn how AI can help them. This ‘rubber-hits-the-ground’ approach means acknowledging that if an AI algorithm provides a farmer a faulty recommendation, there must be mechanisms to feed more local context into the model, or for AI companies to build smaller, agriculture domain-specific models to supplement the general large language models.

India’s AI strategy as a living document

The summit should not be remembered for its MoUs or its fancy dinners. It should be seen as a ‘living strategy document’. The true evolution of our strategy cannot—and it must not—happen in ministry corridors. It must evolve by building constant feedback loops between the coders in Bengaluru and San Francisco and the doctors in Bhopal and the teachers in Mysore.

India’s AI future is not about being an ‘AI superpower’—it is about being the most human-centric, yet competitive AI ecosystem of ideas. And for that, it will need to hear from both the world’s best thinkers and practitioners of AI on one hand, and the thousands of consumers on the other, to evolve its own path forward.

Anirudh Suri is author of The Great Tech Game: Shaping Geopolitics and the Destinies of Nations, and a nonresident scholar at Carnegie India. He also hosts The Great Tech Game Podcast.

awareness-about-mental-health-issues-has-come-but-acceptance-is-still-far-neerja-birla

Tue Feb 24 11:26:24 IST 2026

Interview/ Neerja Birla, founder & chairperson, Aditya Birla Education Trust

THE MIND MATTERS, so too its wellbeing. And yet, mental health issues are usually treated with silence or shame. Neerja Birla, founder and chairperson, Aditya Birla Education Trust, wanted to change that. Her journey into the mental health space began with a simple yet profound realisation that despite the existence of mental health policies, the reality on ground was different. With Mpower, an initiative of the Aditya Birla Education Trust, she aims to not just create awareness but also build pathways to care, ensuring every mind is seen, heard and supported. And, at the Mpowering Minds Summit 2026, in Bengaluru on February 27, the focus will be on women, their resilience and the deep strength found in shared healing.

In an interview with THE WEEK, Birla reflects on the stigma that still surrounds mental health issues, the unique barriers women face and the urgent need for systemic changes. Excerpts:

Q/ In your early years, what resistance—social, institutional or cultural—did you encounter most frequently?

When we began Mpower in 2016, the resistance was not loud; it was structural. Mental health existed in policy documents, but not in lived reality. The National Mental Health Survey had already shown an 85 per cent treatment gap, yet systems behaved as if the problem was marginal. Corporates treated mental health as a personal weakness, not a workplace responsibility. Hospitals were built to treat episodic physical illness, not long-term emotional distress. Schools had no way to respond to student anxiety without labelling it as failure.

Culturally, the most damaging barrier was shame. Seeking help was seen as weakness, moral failure or a threat to family honour. What we were really fighting was inertia—a system where intent existed, but infrastructure, language and accountability did not. The absence was not just of services, but of trust, pathways and permission. Our work began by building those missing bridges between distress and care.

Q/ How has the language around mental health changed in India over the last 10 years?

The language has changed dramatically. Words like anxiety, burnout and therapy are now part of everyday conversation in workplace, schools, campuses and families. Post pandemic, the silence has broken. Awareness has come, but acceptance is still far. Language alone does not heal. While awareness has expanded, access has not kept pace. Millions can now name their distress, but still don’t know where to go or can’t reach care even if they do. Rural India, women, older adults and frontline workers remain largely excluded. Awareness without access is performative. The real work now is to provide local, affordable and quality care.

Q/ Which demographic group has shown the most visible change in openness, and which remains the hardest to reach?

At Mpower, adolescents and young adults have shown the most visible shift in openness. Our helpline and on-ground programmes show that younger callers are more willing to articulate emotional distress, particularly around relationships, academic pressure, identity and early career stress. Over the past five years, Mpower’s helpline has witnessed an increase in relationship-related concerns, indicating a growing comfort in seeking support and naming emotional challenges.

The hardest group to reach continues to be older adults, especially women. Their concerns often centre on loneliness, isolation, long-term stress and health-related anxiety, suggesting delayed help-seeking shaped by stigma, caregiving roles and limited access to support. This reinforces the need for community-based, trust-led interventions to engage those who are least likely to seek formal help.

This unevenness is why our work increasingly focuses on women’s mental health and life transitions that society ignores, such as caregiving, perimenopause, motherhood and leadership fatigue. When women’s mental health is supported, the impact multiplies across families and communities.

Q/ India faces an acute shortage of mental health professionals. How has Mpower tried to bridge this gap?

India’s shortage of mental health professionals means we cannot rely only on specialist-led models. At Mpower, we have focused on bridging this gap by strengthening mental health literacy, early identification and community-based support systems.

Using insights from our helpline data and on-ground programmes, we design interventions that help non-specialists such as teachers, caregivers, frontline workers and community leaders recognise distress early and respond appropriately. This reduces the burden on clinical services while ensuring people receive timely support.

Our nationwide awareness and community programmes, particularly in rural and underserved areas, have reached over 5 million people, leading to a 26 per cent improvement in mental health awareness and coping strategies and a 31 per cent increase in individuals seeking treatment when needed.

Q/ What lessons have you learned about reaching groups that traditionally avoid support, like men or older adults?

The most important lesson is this: people do not avoid care because they lack awareness, they avoid it because systems feel unsafe.

Men respond when care is anonymous, practical and framed around resilience rather than weakness. Older adults respond when mental health is integrated into routine family and medical care, not isolated as a “psychiatric issue”. Adolescents respond when teachers and schools are trained to recognise distress without judgement.

To give an example, our work with uniformed forces, through initiatives like Project Mann, has shown that when mental health is embedded within existing systems and not treated as an external add-on the outcomes change—suicide reduction by 40 per cent, and early identification and sustained engagement become possible.

Q/ How do you measure success in mental health work when outcomes are not always visible?

Mental health had long been underfunded because its impact was considered invisible. We challenge that. The deepest measure of success is preventive. The day mental health education becomes a non-negotiable part of schooling, that is when we will know we have truly succeeded.

Q/ If you had to identify India’s next big mental health crisis, what would it be?

India is facing a silent emergency driven by three forces: deteriorating youth mental health, untreated women’s psychological distress and the mental health impact of climate stress and displacement. This is no longer just a health issue. It is an economic, social and developmental crisis.

The question is not whether India can afford to invest in mental health; it is whether we can afford not to. We need to create a connected national system that guides a person from early distress to sustained recovery.

A second critical gap is gender responsiveness. Women’s mental health is treated through male-normative clinical frameworks that ignore biological transitions and social realities, caregiving burden, mobility restrictions, economic dependence and patriarchal control.

Q/ What systemic changes are most urgently required for India to move to a sustainable, integrated care model?

India needs three decisive shifts: Mandatory mental health education in schools, sustained public investment with accountability and large-scale public-private partnerships that strengthen public systems without privatising access. Alongside this, we need workforce reform, real-time mental health data and gender-responsive service design.

how-ras-technology-is-powering-indias-first-inland-rainbow-trout-farm

Sat Feb 21 12:38:23 IST 2026

THE RAINBOW TROUT is one finicky fish. Native to the cold mountain streams of North America, Europe and north Asia, it demands water temperatures between 10 and 14 degrees Celsius, high dissolved oxygen levels and fast-flowing, clean, gravel-bedded streams to sustain its near-constant movement.

In India, only the Himalayan region (Jammu and Kashmir, Himachal Pradesh, Uttarakhand, Sikkim and Arunachal Pradesh) can meet these demands. This is thanks to year-round glacier melt, steep gradients that keep water oxygenated and minimal stagnation, even in summer. No other landscape offers this combination. In fact, efforts by Scottish planters to grow trout in Kerala’s Munnar, between the 1890s and 1920s, had failed. Now there is only limited trout presence in Munnar.

In that context, what Aditya Ritvik Narra has built in Hyderabad is remarkable. Through his SmartGreen Aquaculture, he has created India’s first inland trout farm, in one of south India’s hottest cities, using recirculating aquaculture system (RAS) technology to simulate the necessary conditions. The farm was inaugurated in January by Union Fisheries Minister Rajiv Ranjan Singh, who has, in Aditya’s words, become “a brand ambassador for the trout farm”.

RAS is, at its core, closed-loop fish farming. It grows fish indoors. Temperature, air and water quality are controlled and continuously monitored. RAS is widely used for high-value fish like trout and salmon, and shrimp, especially when water is limited or climate conditions are not ideal.

In RAS, water from the fish tanks passes through mechanical filters to remove solid waste, and then biological filters where beneficial bacteria break down ammonia (which can accumulate as it is expelled by fish). Oxygen is replenished and the treated water is returned to the tanks—all in a continuous, automated loop. Nothing is discharged. Even the solid waste collected from the tanks is converted into oil that can be mixed back into fish feed.

SmartGreen’s chief scientist G. Sampath Kumar said that if the conditions outside are compatible (during cooler months), the system lets air in, reducing energy use. At the heart of it all is a SCADA (supervisory control and data acquisition) dashboard that tracks eight parameters, such as power and oxygen, in real time. A deviation triggers an automatic alert. In case of a power interruption, there are two backup generators.

The farm’s fish tanks are circular, 2m to 4m in diameter and 6ft to 10ft high, built from food-grade steel, plastic and metals. Since trout never truly stop moving (they slow down to sleep) motors spin the water in the tanks at 1,800rpm.

Aditya’s fascination with fisheries began during engineering. A stint at a firm in Visakhapatnam gave him exposure to seafood processing and export. Eventually, he focused on RAS technology and joined all available courses in India and abroad. He settled on trout—the second-most researched fish after salmon, and known for rich nutritional content and anti-ageing effect—after considering different fish. A reason was Hyderabad’s thriving film industry giving rise to a number of people looking for food with anti-ageing properties.

“I have visited the US, Denmark, Norway, Iran and Turkey to study both trout and the technology,” said Aditya. “I also visited the trout farms in north India and studied the technology from Indian institutions.”

He started R&D in 2019 on a six-acre plot on Hyderabad’s suburbs. But, Covid-19 led to the project being stalled for nearly two years. When the lockdown ended, the entire effort had to start from scratch. “RAS is not generic technology, but customised,” said Aditya. “For every unit, parameters change and calibration needs to be careful.”

The 31-year-old says that one of his motivations behind starting the farm was proving that RAS technology could succeed in Indian conditions. Why? “Because the current aquaculture practices are not sustainable, and RAS is the future,” he said.

Beyond the novelty, the farm demonstrates something significant to national interests. RAS dramatically outperforms traditional aquaculture. Where conventional methods require 1.5kg to 1.8kg of feed to produce 1kg of fish, RAS needs only 0.9kg to 1.1kg. Also, while it takes three years to grow 1kg of fish in natural conditions, RAS can do the same in just one year.

Indeed, if climate-controlled aquaculture is replicated elsewhere, that would open up fisheries production to geographies previously considered unsuitable, thereby helping increase exports from India. Thus the interest from the Union government. Aditya has been made a director of the National Fisheries Development Board in recognition of his work.

Aditya admits that RAS is a money and electricity guzzler. “We have so far invested about Rs50 crore in the project,” he said. But, he adds that money can be made once the RAS unit is fixed. SmartGreen currently produces 360 tonnes annually against a plant capacity of 1,200 tonnes. The farm is selling about 100kg of fish every day; the target is to sell 500kg per day. Whole fish sells at Rs1,500 per kg and fillets Rs3,000—steep considering Hyderabad’s popular fish varieties, which range from Rs200 to Rs800 a kg—and is supported by a growing base of loyal customers and strong export interest from markets in the US, the Middle East, Japan and Singapore.

It is planning to offer consultancy services, franchise and franchise-owned and company operated model. “The pie is so large,” said Aditya. “We need a lot more players to come into trout farming.”

we-couldnt-protect-gorillas-without-improving-community-health-dr-gladys-kalema-zikusoka

Sat Feb 21 12:33:17 IST 2026

Interview/ Dr Gladys Kalema-Zikusoka, founder and CEO, Conservation Through Public Health

Loss can be a learning. Ask renowned conservationist Dr Gladys Kalema-Zikusoka.

She grew up in Uganda, and during the violent years under Idi Amin, her father was abducted and killed. Yet, it was this same environment that fostered her determination to serve. She would go on to study veterinary medicine in the UK, before returning home to work at the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest as Uganda’s first wildlife veterinarian.

In the late 1990s, Bwindi was staring at a crisis. Mountain gorillas, already critically endangered, were falling ill from diseases transmitted by nearby communities living in extreme poverty. Conservation efforts then largely focused on protecting animals from humans. Kalema-Zikusoka saw the flaw in that logic—gorillas could not be saved without addressing human health and livelihood concerns.

This insight led her to start Conservation Through Public Health. CTPH began by providing health care, sanitation education and family planning to villages surrounding Bwindi. Over time, it expanded into a holistic model integrating human health and wildlife and environmental protection—long before ‘One Health’ became a global buzzword.

Kalema-Zikusoka’s work yielded tangible results. Gorilla health improved, and human-wildlife conflict reduced. Communities that once viewed conservation as an imposed burden began to see it as a shared responsibility and profited from tourism. Beyond conservation, she has advised governments, spoken at international forums and also authored a memoir—Walking with Gorillas: The Journey of an African Wildlife Vet—that blends personal loss with conservation efforts.

THE WEEK spoke to Kalema-Zikusoka, 56, on the sidelines of the T.N. Khoshoo Memorial Award and Lecture, organised by the Ashoka Trust for Research in Ecology and the Environment, in Bengaluru last December. Excerpts:

Q/ You come from a prominent political family. What made you become a veterinarian?

My grandfather [Owekitibwa Martin Luther Nsibirwa] was the prime minister of the Buganda Kingdom twice and believed deeply in education. He even sold his land to help establish the University of East Africa—now Makerere University—before he was assassinated. My father [William Wilberforce Kalema] was prominent in Uganda’s first post-independence government and was later killed under Idi Amin.

Despite this political background, I grew up surrounded by pets—stray dogs, cats and a mischievous vervet monkey named Poncho belonging to the Cuban ambassador to Uganda. Caring for animals and seeing them suffer pushed me toward veterinary medicine very early in life.

Q/ Uganda’s upheavals, from the Idi Amin coup to the civil conflicts that followed, affected both people and wildlife. How did this shape your family’s experiences and conservation in the country?

Idi Amin targeted people he saw as a threat, and my father became one of his first victims. We never saw his body, and it took my mother [Rhoda Nsibirwa Kalema] years to accept his death. She went on to become one of Uganda’s first female politicians.

Amin’s regime was also disastrous for wildlife. He hunted inside national parks, and many species declined sharply. Later, when Tanzanian soldiers came to oust him, they, too, relied on wildlife for food. The country’s turmoil set back conservation for years.

Q/ Early in your career you worked closely with chimpanzees. What experiences led you to shift your long-term focus to mountain gorillas?

Chimpanzees coming across the border from the Democratic Republic of Congo were often victims of the bushmeat trade; infants ended up at the Entebbe Zoo, cared for by the Jane Goodall Institute. Working with them after vet school was my first hands-on experience with primates.

But I had always wanted to work with gorillas. When Uganda’s mountain gorillas were finally habituated for research and tourism, I shifted my focus on gorillas.

Q/ You have spent decades observing mountain gorillas. How do they differ from lowland gorillas?

Mountain gorillas have longer, thicker hair suited to high altitudes and eat mainly leaves, shoots and stems, unlike lowland gorillas that consume more fruit. Socially, mountain gorillas live in harem-like groups, led by one dominant silverback with several females.

Q/ How did Jane Goodall’s work with chimpanzees shape your own with gorillas?

I first heard Dr Jane Goodall speak while studying in London in 1993. My sister and I were the only Africans in the room, and she warmly invited us to Gombe National Park [in Tanzania]. Later, in Uganda, I worked with her team on chimpanzee rescues and was honoured when she wrote the foreword to my book. Her deep, personal engagement with primate families shaped my own approach to gorilla behaviour and conservation.

Q/ The One Health approach is central to your work with CTPH. When did you realise human, wildlife and environmental health had to be addressed together?

This became clear early in my career when a scabies outbreak hit one gorilla group at Bwindi. The gorillas had acquired the disease from contaminated clothing used on scarecrows outside the park. Habituated gorillas often range near farms, making disease transmission easy.

It was obvious we couldn’t protect gorillas without improving community health. That outbreak laid the foundation for CTPH and our One Health approach.

Q/ Gorilla Conservation Coffee is one of CTPH’s most recognised initiatives. How did the idea take shape? And, how does it strengthen local livelihoods and long-term conservation?

We realised many community health problems stemmed from poverty. While tourism uplifted some families, coffee farmers living along gorilla routes were still struggling and sometimes entered the forest to poach or collect firewood.

In 2015, we launched Gorilla Conservation Coffee to give farmers a fair, stable price for their high-altitude speciality beans. A donation from every bag supports our conservation and community health programmes. We have grown from 75 farmers to more than 600, many of them women. Although the business is not yet profitable because of its social and environmental commitments, it has significantly strengthened local livelihoods and reduced poaching pressures around the park.

Q/ Zoonotic diseases are often linked to human–wildlife interaction, and tourism is sometimes viewed with suspicion. How do you see this issue as a veterinarian?

Zoonotic disease risk rises when people and wildlife are forced into closer contact due to habitat loss. Because humans and great apes are genetically so similar, infections easily pass both ways. Tourism adds another layer—visitors can transmit flu-like illnesses to gorillas, which is why mask-wearing and strict distancing rules are vital.

We also discourage risky practices like eating bushmeat, which has led to outbreaks of TB, anthrax and Ebola. Covid-19 highlighted how quickly diseases move between animals and humans, reinforcing the need for strong One Health systems that protect people, livestock and wildlife together.

Q/ How vulnerable are the great apes to outbreaks such as Covid-19 and Ebola and what measures proved most effective in protecting them?

Great apes are highly vulnerable because they share over 98 per cent of our DNA. We protect them through continuous health monitoring [via] a field lab and strong community health programmes.

Our village health and conservation teams promote hygiene, proper sanitation, family planning, alternative livelihoods and reduced forest dependence. This model—supported by data-based household assessments—has significantly changed behaviour, reduced disease risk and strengthened coexistence.

During Covid-19, strict mask-wearing, distancing and community task forces prevented transmission to gorillas and reduced severe illness among people.

Q/ Many countries, including India, struggle with human–wildlife conflict, sometimes leading to relocation of communities or attacks on animals. Based on your work in Bwindi, what practical steps can help people and wildlife coexist more peacefully?

Human–wildlife conflict undermines conservation, especially when crop loss or livestock predation goes uncompensated. We found that addressing people’s health and livelihood reduced resentment and pressure on forests. Projects like Gorilla Conservation Coffee, fast-growing food gardens and community health support help families earn and eat without turning to poaching. Tourism revenue can also incentivise coexistence.

Q/ Women like Jane Goodall, Dian Fossey and you have transformed global understanding of great apes. How do you see your role in encouraging more women, especially in Africa and Asia, to enter wildlife science and conservation?

Women have played a major role in primate conservation, and their patience and persistence make them well-suited for fieldwork. When I began, there were no female rangers in the field; over time, my presence helped shift mindsets about what women can do.

Today about 20 per cent of rangers are women, and more young girls are inspired to join conservation—some even starting their own environmental initiatives. I hope my work shows that women can lead, conduct rigorous fieldwork and shape national wildlife policy.

Q/ Which is your favourite mountain gorilla in Bwindi since you started working? Why?

My favourite was Kanyonyi, born in 1996—the year I became Uganda’s first wildlife vet. We named our first coffee brand after him. Sadly, he died from complications after an injury and a fight with another silverback, but his legacy lives on through the coffee and the many people who share memories of him.

trial-without-courts-when-social-media-becomes-judge-and-jury

Sat Feb 14 15:41:03 IST 2026

The suicide of Deepak U., a 42-year-old sales executive with a textile company in Kerala, after allegations against him spread across social media has once again brought into focus the destructive power of online pile-ons. Deepak faced harassment after a video posted by Shimjitha Musthafa, a 35-year-old social media content creator, accused him of touching her inappropriately. As the video went viral, posts, screenshots and commentary circulated unchecked, turning the allegation into instant public verdicts.

Similar incidents have happened before. In 2020, actor Rhea Chakraborty became the target of sustained online abuse following the death of actor Sushant Singh Rajput. Even before investigations concluded, she was vilified across social media, television debates and digital platforms. The case became one of the most cited examples of social media outrage outpacing evidence.

Mental health professionals say online abuse deepens the victims’ sense of isolation, particularly in the absence of visible institutional support. “Research shows that online shaming and cyberbullying significantly increase the risk of depression and suicidal thoughts, especially when the person at the centre of the controversy feels unheard or cornered,” said Dr Jyoti Kapoor, senior psychiatrist and founder of the mental health centre Manasthali in Gurgaon. “The Kerala case tragically underlines this reality.”

The law provides multiple avenues for those facing sexual harassment, cyber-stalking, criminal intimidation and defamation. Complaints can be lodged with the police or cyber-crime cells, and social media platforms are required to offer grievance redress mechanisms. Courts also have the authority to grant injunctions restraining the circulation of defamatory material.

Despite this legal framework, reporting remains uneven. Complainants say the speed of response and the sensitivity of enforcement is not satisfactory. “There is complete collapse of trust on both sides,” said Ramesh Gupta, a senior criminal lawyer in Delhi. “Women don’t trust the system to protect them, and men don’t trust the system to protect them from being destroyed before trial.”

According to him, the punishment begins before the process. With cyber-crime units remaining unevenly staffed and trained, online content spreads far faster than legal remedies can contain it. Even when posts are taken down, they resurface. “Unlike a criminal case, there is no acquittal from the internet,” Gupta said.

Advocate Aditi Prasanan said judicial timelines, built around fairness and due process, are ill-suited to the pace at which digital abuse spreads. Notices must be issued to all parties, responses have to be filed, and judges are required to hear arguments before passing even interim orders. “In many cases, by the time a court hears a matter, the content has already gone viral, copied and downloaded across platforms,” Prasanan said. “Even if a takedown order is eventually passed, the reputational and psychological damage has already occurred.”

With courts constrained by heavy dockets and procedural backlogs, cyber cases compete for time with bail pleas, criminal trials, and constitutional matters. “The law eventually speaks,” she said, “but delay itself becomes a form of injustice.”

The government recently introduced new rules that require social media platforms to remove unlawful material within three hours of being notified. The earlier deadline was 36 hours. The new rules also apply to AI-generated content, and will take effect from February 20.

These amendments address the structural constraints that limit the ability of law enforcement agencies to intervene swiftly. With most social media platforms headquartered abroad, investigators seeking user details, IP logs or content metadata currently send formal legal requests through Mutual Legal Assistance Treaty mechanisms or platform-specific law enforcement portals.

“These processes are slow by nature,” said a senior cybercrime official. “Even when content is clearly abusive, it can take weeks to receive usable data. By then, the material has been shared, archived and reposted.”

Dr Shweta Sharma, clinical psychologist at Manipal Hospitals, said cases like the one in Kerala underlined that justice, safety and mental health were deeply interconnected. “Only by combining legal accountability with mental-health sensitivity can we prevent justice from turning into a social media trial,” she told THE WEEK.

Experts say controlling cyberbullying requires intervention at several levels. At the enforcement level, cybercrime units need stronger staffing, specialised training, and clearer timelines for responding to complaints.

Courts also play a role. Experts point to the need for quicker interim relief such as temporary injunctions or immediate take-down orders, without waiting for the conclusion of lengthy trials.

Platform accountability remains a pressure point. While social media companies have policies against harassment and abuse, enforcement is often inconsistent. There needs to be stronger action against repeat offenders, better detection of coordinated attacks, and transparent grievance redress mechanisms.

Accessible support systems are also crucial. Mental health experts say crisis helplines, counselling services, and community mental health programmes can serve as early intervention points for those overwhelmed by online abuse.

The Kerala case has once again shown what happens when online spaces move faster than institutions. When investigations are delayed and support systems fail to respond in time, social media fills the gap with consequences that can be devastating.

why-artemis-ii-mission-is-a-stepping-stone-to-living-on-moon-mars

Sat Feb 07 12:15:38 IST 2026

The world has turned its gaze back to the moon. This time the motivations are different from the chest-thumping geopolitics that defined the Apollo era. Half a century ago, lunar missions were about flags and footprints. Today, the moon is being reimagined as a place to live, work and return to.

At the heart of this renewed interest lies a discovery that changed everything: water ice, locked away in the moon’s permanently shadowed polar craters. It is the key to human presence beyond earth. Water can be consumed, split into oxygen for breathing, and converted into hydrogen and oxygen for rocket fuel. In one stroke, the moon shifted from being a distant destination to a functional outpost.

Unlike the Apollo missions, the current generation of lunar exploration is designed around permanence. Scientists now speak of surface habitats, reusable landers, robotic-human collaboration and infrastructure that can support long stays. The moon is no longer viewed as the end goal but as a proving ground—especially for future human missions to Mars. Several countries, including the US, China and India, are racing to establish a presence there, and it is driven by both scientific ambition and commercial opportunity.

It has been more than 50 years since NASA last sent humans to the moon. The last Apollo mission, Apollo 17, returned in 1972, closing an extraordinary chapter in human exploration. Now, NASA’s Artemis programme is preparing to reopen it. Artemis I, launched in 2022, was an uncrewed test flight that sent the Orion spacecraft around the moon and safely back to earth, proving that the core systems could withstand the journey. The next mission, Artemis II, marks a crucial turning point. For the first time in over half a century, four astronauts are travelling beyond low-earth orbit, loop around the moon and returning home after a roughly ten-day voyage.

Though Artemis II is not landing on the lunar surface, it is taking humans farther from earth than any previous crewed mission. It is, in essence, a full-dress rehearsal—testing life-support systems, navigation, communications and human endurance in deep space. The astronauts eat, sleep and work together in confined quarters as they orbit the moon in the Orion capsule. Leading the mission is Commander Reid Wiseman. Victor Glover, the first African-American in a moon mission, serves as pilot. Christina Koch, a mission specialist, is the first woman in a moon mission, while Canadian astronaut Jeremy Hansen represents the international nature of the programme.

The Space Launch System, or SLS, is one of the most powerful rockets ever built and higher than a 30-storey building. While the SLS is single-use, the Orion spacecraft is built for reuse, marking a departure from the expendable designs of the Apollo era. Future Artemis missions will also rely on reusable lunar landers, including SpaceX’s Starship, a move that reflects a broader shift towards sustainability and cost efficiency in spaceflight.

Space analyst Girish Linganna said the science objectives had evolved just as dramatically as the technology. “When we get this water ice, we can use it to make oxygen and fuel right on the moon itself—this is called in-situ resource utilisation. This way, we don’t have to carry everything from earth, which is very expensive,” he said. The earlier missions, he said, explored limited regions, whereas the current missions would study diverse terrains, particularly around the south pole. The Apollo programme returned a total of 382kg of lunar rock. New missions plan to bring back many times more, offering deeper insights into the moon’s geological history. India’s proposed Chandrayaan-4 mission, for instance, is designed to collect samples and bring them to earth, further expanding our understanding of lunar origins.

The contrast between early lunar missions and today’s efforts is stark. Apollo and the Soviet Luna missions were essentially exploratory—plant a flag and return. More recent missions reflect a maturing ambition. India’s Chandrayaan-3 achieved a historic soft landing near the moon’s south pole, while China’s Chang’e-4 became the first mission to reach the lunar far side. Artemis programme takes this progression further, focusing on human exploration of the polar regions, where water ice is abundant and sunlight patterns are favourable for long-term operations.

Lunar exploration has always produced benefits far beyond space science. Technologies developed for the harsh conditions of space routinely find their way into everyday life on earth. Space blankets, lightweight composite materials, advanced batteries and fuel cells, telemedicine tools, improved food safety systems and even techniques for 3D-printed construction all trace their origins to space research. As resources on earth face increasing strain, the moon’s potential as a supplementary resource base—particularly its water ice—adds another layer of relevance.

Recurring missions also allow scientists to test instruments repeatedly, refine techniques and conduct long-term studies that were impossible during the Apollo era. The moon’s surface preserves a record of the early solar system, relatively untouched by erosion or tectonic activity. Studying lunar soil helps scientists reconstruct the history of both the moon and earth, offering clues about planetary formation and evolution.

Kshitij Mall, assistant professor of mechanical, aerospace and biomedical engineering at the University of South Alabama, describes Artemis as a shift from exploration to sustained science. “Apollo was about touching down and proving capability. Artemis is about longer duration presence in complex terrains, particularly the south pole. The missions plan to make the moon the next Antarctica in terms of scientific exploration,” he said.

Mall also emphasises the moon’s role as a testbed for future Mars missions. Technologies for building habitats, maintaining life-support systems and operating in reduced gravity can all be trialled closer to home. “The moon can serve as a spaceport between earth and Mars, enabling more economical and less risky human missions to Mars,” he said.

That sense of unfinished business resonates strongly with those involved in the new lunar push. Sam Richards, director of UK-based Meridian Space Command, said that Apollo was never meant to be the end of the story. “We never really finished with the moon; we just paused. What’s changed is that the moon is no longer seen as a one-off destination, but as a place where we can operate repeatedly, build infrastructure and learn how to live beyond earth,” he said.

Technologies developed to extract resources in extreme environments can be adapted for use in deserts, mountains and disaster-stricken regions on earth. Advances in water recycling, energy efficiency and autonomous systems directly address some of humanity’s most pressing challenges. “What we learn from the moon helps us here on earth and makes our future more interesting and safe,” said Linganna.

Repeated missions deepen that learning. The moon’s ancient surface records billions of years of cosmic impacts, providing a timeline of events that also affected earth. Studying the origin and distribution of lunar water sheds light on how earth acquired its own oceans. Long-duration stays allow astronauts to test closed-loop systems for air, water and food, technologies that could transform life in isolated or resource-poor regions on earth. Instruments placed on the moon can also measure seismic activity and internal heat, improving our understanding of planetary interiors.

Madhu Thangavelu, lecturer at the University of Southern California, described the moon as a planetary archive. Quoting Buzz Aldrin’s famous phrase, he called it a “magnificent desolation” that preserved records lost on earth due to weathering. “There are solar activity records and past happenings spanning billions of years that can help protect us from space hazards like asteroids and solar storms,” he said. He credited India’s Chandrayaan-3 mission with reigniting global interest, noting that today’s technology and international partnerships make exploration far more capable than before.

The relevance of lunar missions extends even to global development goals. Claire A. Nelson, a White House Champion of Change and founder of The Futures Forum, argued that living on the moon demanded mastery of survival under extreme scarcity. Technologies developed for lunar habitats—ultra-efficient solar power, atmospheric water harvesting and closed-loop sanitation—can be adapted for communities facing similar constraints on earth. Waste management on the moon forces a circular economy where everything is reused, recycled or repurposed, driving innovations that could transform sustainability efforts.

Yet the romance of lunar exploration is tempered by challenges. Astronauts face increased radiation exposure, abrasive lunar dust that can damage equipment and lungs, and the psychological strain of isolation and confinement. Communication delays, disrupted sleep cycles and the absence of familiar earthly rhythms can take a toll. NASA addresses these risks through extensive training, specialised suits, radiation shielding and mission planning. Orion includes a storm shelter for solar events, and astronauts wear protective vests. Missions are timed to minimise radiation exposure, and solar activity is closely monitored.

The human experience of the moon is unlike any other. Srimathy Kesan, founder of SpaceKidz India, recalled a conversation with Apollo 16 astronaut Charlie Duke, who described lunar walking as controlled falling and spoke of the profound psychological silence of the surface. She sees a deeper cultural resonance. “For women, the connection to the moon transcends science—it’s physiological, historical and symbolic,” she said. Her Chennai-based organisation is planning ShakthiSAT, a mission that will involve 12,000 girls from 108 countries in building a satellite.

The moon’s role as a stepping stone to Mars remains central to long-term planning. “The moon gives us a nearby testing ground where we can practise surviving and working in a harsh environment, from life-support systems to resource management. Once we master living on the moon, we’ll be better prepared for Mars and able to identify and fix problems before sending people much farther from earth,” said Christina Korp, astronaut manager and founder of SPACE for a Better World.

Mars is six to nine months away, making emergency returns impossible. The moon allows astronauts to practise living off-earth, learning to grow food, recycle water and repair equipment autonomously. A future lunar gateway—a space station orbiting the moon—will act as a staging point, storing fuel and supplies and enabling reusable missions between earth and the lunar surface. “The moon is our training ground for reaching Mars,” said Linganna.

Few people understand the evolution of lunar exploration better than Mylswamy Annadurai, former ISRO scientist known as the ‘Moon Man of India’. Reflecting on the renewed global interest, he notes that the moon was never fully understood, even after Apollo and Luna. Chandrayaan-1, he said, transformed lunar science by mapping the moon with unprecedented resolution and confirming the presence of water. “Nations are now returning to the moon because it has shifted from being a symbolic destination to becoming a strategic, scientific and economic asset,” said Annadurai. For him, Artemis represents a philosophical shift. “Apollo was a bold sprint; Artemis is a sustainable expedition,” he said.

Ultimately, the rediscovery of water ice changed everything. Before its confirmation, the moon was a place to visit and leave. Now it is a place where humans can stay. Water enables life, fuel and industry. It lowers costs, opens commercial possibilities and supports the vision of a permanent human presence. Mining minerals, establishing research stations and even developing space-based economies no longer belong solely to science fiction.

khetris-lost-palaces-who-will-pay-the-rs-1000-crore-bill-to-restore-princely-legacy

Sat Jan 31 15:59:05 IST 2026

KHETRI

When the Supreme Court, in its September 2025 ruling, ordered that properties of the former princely state of Khetri be restored to the Khetri Trust, it exposed an uncomfortable reality for Rajasthan—decades of state control had turned heritage into a fiscal nightmare. What could have been preserved through routine upkeep would now involve restoration, with costs conservatively estimated at nearly Rs1,000 crore. That is the price of indifference that will ultimately be borne by the public exchequer.

To understand how a princely and philanthropic legacy became a public liability, one must travel to Khetri, some 150km from Jaipur city. On a sunlit afternoon, the wind sweeps through courtyards of crumbling palaces, broken frescoes and empty rooms. There is a quiet that feels like waiting—for remembrance, for justice. In a way, that wait ended with the Supreme Court’s verdict.

Raja Bahadur Sardar Singh, the last titular head of the Khetri state, had bequeathed 208 properties, including forts, havelis, palaces and houses spread across Jaipur, Kotputli and Khetri, to the Khetri Trust. Only 62 of these have stood the test of time and mismanagement. These properties had remained in the state’s possession for decades under the doctrine of escheat, invoked on the claim that Sardar Singh had died heirless. The court rejected that position, calling any attempt to override a valid private will a dangerous proposition. But by the time legality was settled, damage—both cultural and financial—had been done.

Sardar Singh was no ordinary royal. Educated at Cambridge, trained at the Middle Temple, a member of the Constituent Assembly, diplomat and parliamentarian, he belonged to a generation that believed aristocratic privilege came with public responsibility. In 1985, he executed a will, bequeathing his movable and immovable assets to the Khetri Trust, envisioning education, science and literature as its core purpose, particularly for the underprivileged. He died in January 1987, childless and divorced. Soon after, the Rajasthan government stepped in, invoking the Rajasthan Escheats Regulation Act, 1956.

The doctrine of escheat allows the state to assume control of property when there are no legal heirs. But here, a valid will explicitly existed, naming the trust as the legatee. Nonetheless, the state took possession of Sardar Singh’s assets. What followed was not stewardship but slow abandonment. Over the years, historic buildings deteriorated, artefacts vanished and encroachments crept in.

When the matter reached the Supreme Court during interim proceedings, judges expressed shock at the condition of the properties. In Khetri itself, Sukh Mahal, Jai Niwas Kothi, the Nizamat Building—structures of immense architectural and historical value—were found in advanced states of decay. Reports documented forced-open safes, looted furniture, missing rugs and paintings. In some cases, nature itself had begun reclaiming the spaces.

Had the state maintained inventories, ensured basic security and undertaken periodic conservation, the cost of preservation would have been incremental. Instead, decades of neglect compounded into a massive restoration bill. The Supreme Court later recorded that the government had no records of what it had seized, no documentation of jewellery, antiques or archives, making it impossible even to assess the value of what was lost.

The litigation itself spanned nearly four decades. In July 2023, the Delhi High Court granted probate, affirming the will’s validity and rejecting the state’s claim under escheat. Rajasthan challenged it, but the Supreme Court upheld the High Court’s ruling. The court also penalised relatives who had challenged the will and later withdrawn their objections without disclosure, imposing costs of Rs1 lakh each.

But the sharper indictment lay elsewhere. In earlier orders, the court directed the formation of a committee, including experts from the Archaeological Survey of India (ASI) and Indian National Trust for Art and Cultural Heritage to assess the damage and oversee restoration. It ordered a detailed accounting of plot numbers, present occupancy, encroachments and losses, and mandated the state to fund initial restoration. In effect, the court made clear that when the state takes possession, it takes responsibility and failure to discharge that duty has consequences. The state is now legally bound to restore heritage, account for the damage and cooperate with the trust’s vision.

Managing trustee Prithvi Raj Singh sees the verdict as both relief and reckoning. “Even by conservative estimates, restoration could touch Rs1,000 crore,” he tells THE WEEK. “These are not ordinary structures. These are palaces and estates that have suffered decades of neglect. Restoration is not repainting walls, it is reviving heritage.”

What troubles him most is that the cost was avoidable. “For decades, governments simply passed the buck. Nobody maintained records. Nobody took responsibility. Today, taxpayers will pay because custodians failed.”

Singh points out that some properties were absorbed into state infrastructure—a police station, a DRDO office—blurring boundaries and accountability.

Restoring forts, palaces, havelis is labour-intensive, expensive and delicate. Fresh plaster, wall paintings, frescoes, woodwork—everything needs expert hands, historical accuracy and long-term maintenance. Some artefact may never be recovered. The trust will have to reconstruct, replicate or memorialise what is lost. Also, the challenge is to translate Sardar Singh’s ideal of education and uplift into reality by launching scholarship programmes for underprivileged students, building libraries, labs, research centres in restored buildings and partnering with universities, NGOs and government bodies. This demands not just funding, but a vision that honours the founder’s intent while adapting to modern needs.

“Once the properties are formally handed back to us, we want to put some of them to productive use,” says Singh. “Some might be restored and opened to the public, some may be leased, and a few may even have to be liquidated. The trust is not trying to hold on to relics, we want these assets to sustain themselves. But whatever we do, our first priority is dignity for the legacy, for the history and for the people who built Khetri.”

At the core of Singh’s dream is a cause far removed from courtrooms and property battles—children. His voice softens as he speaks about it. “Everything we are fighting for ultimately boils down to the future of young people,” he says. “If these properties are restored and returned to the trust, I want them to serve a purpose larger than just heritage. I want them to become centres of learning.”

What Singh wants is to create spaces that spark curiosity. “Education today cannot be limited to textbooks,” he says. “I want to create spaces where children can understand culture, history, anthropology, where they can study the very soil and civilisation they come from.” He is reimagining the Khetri properties as hubs of interdisciplinary research in heritage conservation, archaeology, regional history and social sciences, and also international collaboration. For him, reclaiming Khetri is not a matter of reclaiming land; it is reclaiming possibility. “If this fight leads to even one child discovering their potential,” he says quietly, “then all these years of struggle would have been worth it.”

But his biggest concern is whether the government will support the trust in maintaining the institutions. “Buildings don’t educate children; teachers, upkeep and vision do,” says Singh. “Without sustained support, even the best structures can fall into neglect.”

While the battle before the court is largely over, the relationship with the Rajasthan government is bound to remain complex: restoration and protection will require cooperation. There may be some resistance, foot-dragging or bureaucratic inertia, but there can also be a partnership whereby the state and the trust co-manage so that the sites do not just belong to one entity, but serve the public.

Having lost the case, the government now faces clear and immediate obligations. First, it must hand back possession of the Khetri properties. The courts have left little room for executive discretion on this point—once the claim of escheat has failed, continued state control would amount to unlawful occupation. Second, the state is likely to be required to account for the period during which it remained in possession. This includes restoring the properties in the condition mandated by law and, crucially, contributing funds for their conservation.

The government will have to formalise a transition framework. This will involve an inventory of the assets, handing over records and ensuring that no encumbrances or third-party interests were created during the period of state control. Any damage, neglect or alteration during this phase could expose the state to further judicial scrutiny and possible compensation claims.

This is where the ASI comes in. “If damage has occurred while the property was under state control, the obligation to fund its restoration follows automatically,” says a senior ASI official.

All of this will, of course, come at a cost. “I genuinely fail to understand from where the state of Rajasthan will bring the budget for restoring the properties,” says Singh, his anxiety evident in his voice.

It is not sufficient to celebrate the Supreme Court’s directive for restoration. Rajasthan must look inward. Preservation cannot be an afterthought applied only when courts intervene. Cultural heritage is a responsibility, not a file to be shelved. Failure to preserve the properties in Khetri is a failure of governance.

Khetri today stands at a crossroads. The wind still moves through its palace corridors, but now there is activity, planning and cautious hope. Yet the lesson remains stark—when governments fail as custodians, history invoices the future and the taxpayer pays.

the-straw-hat-revolution-how-monkey-d-luffy-became-a-global-icon-for-gen-z-protests

Fri Jan 23 19:21:56 IST 2026

Alean, sun-bronzed boy with unruly hair that never quite obeys gravity, round eyes that can flip from innocent to razor-sharp in an instant, and a wide, childlike grin that surfaces even when he is half-dead. In his late teens, his body is made of rubber after accidentally eating a “devil fruit” named the Gum-Gum Fruit. He wears a red, unbuttoned vest, tattered blue shorts, sandals and his trademark straw hat—old, battered and treasured more than gold. Cheerful, impulsive and perpetually hungry, he appears foolish at first glance. But beneath the goofiness lies deep compassion. He hates oppression, and whenever he sees someone crushed by power, he stretches himself—literally and figuratively—into the fight.

He is Monkey D. Luffy, protagonist of the Japanese anime One Piece, by the legendary Eiichiro Oda. A wanderer and seafarer, Luffy harbours an absurdly ambitious dream: to find the legendary treasure known as One Piece and become King of the Pirates. His idea of kingship, however, has little do with rule or territory; it is based on something far more radical—the pursuit of absolute freedom, not just for himself, but for anyone who chooses to sail with him.

Standing against this vision is the World Government, a global power structure dominated by an elite class known as the Celestial Dragons. The Government suppresses all knowledge of the “Void Century”, a lost period whose buried truths could threaten its legitimacy. The clash between Luffy’s anarchic pursuit of freedom and the World Government’s obsession with control forms one of the central tensions of One Piece.

Over the past few months, this carefree “straw hat pirate”—and his Jolly Roger, a skull wearing a straw hat—has spilled out of fiction into the real world. Luffy has become a Gen Z symbol that can unite, provoke, and in some cases destabilise governments across continents. A teenage hero created for a different era, he has become a vessel through which Gen Z around the world is asserting its claim to shape the political and social futures of their countries.

Sarcastic defiance

ON JULY 25 last year, Indonesian President Prabowo Subianto unveiled the logo and theme for the country’s 80th Independence Day, urging citizens to fly the national red-and-white flag throughout August as a gesture of patriotism. For many young Indonesians, the call rang hollow. What followed was a counter-wave of defiance. Beginning with a few TikTok posts, the response rapidly spread across the archipelago. From Jakarta’s crowded streets to remote villages, a different banner appeared—black, emblazoned with a skull and crossbones, topped with the familiar straw hat. Some even raised this pirate flag on public flagpoles alongside the national flag.

The movement drew energy from simmering frustrations with a government blamed for rising youth unemployment, soaring living costs, controversial policy decisions, power centralisation, and the expanding role of the military in civilian governance. Indonesia had already witnessed youth-driven unrest in early 2025 through the #IndonesiaGelap (“Dark Indonesia”) and #KaburAjaDulu (“Just Flee First”) movements, both fuelled by anxiety over the country’s political trajectory.

By late July, as the Jolly Roger morphed into a symbol of dissent, the government went into war with the cartoon flag. Coordinating Minister for Political, Legal and Security Affairs Budi Gunawan warned that the flag posed a “potential threat” that could “compromise the dignity of the nation”. Sufmi Dasco Ahmad, deputy speaker of the house of representatives and senior leader of the ruling Gerindra Party, escalated the rhetoric, calling the trend a “systematic movement” and a “coordinated attempt to divide the nation”. Firman Soebagyo of the house of representatives went further, branding it “treason” and urging police to interrogate anyone who raised the flag.

Saner voices urged restraint, arguing that what was unfolding was public criticism—an essential feature of any democracy. Farhan Rizqullah, a young political analyst who was introduced to One Piece through Netflix’s live-action adaptation in 2023, described the government’s “schizophrenic response, vacillating between accusations of treason and acknowledgments of democratic expression”, as deeply revealing. The protests featuring a globally beloved pop-culture icon created a “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” dilemma. A hardline crackdown on a cartoon pirate flag risked making the government appear both tyrannical and absurdly out of touch.

The protests eventually turned violent and were suppressed, though not before the government conceded to some demands. Indonesia soon became a template as Gen Z took to the streets in countries such as the Philippines, Nepal and Madagascar.

The artists’ arc

IN 2020, Hungarian political scientist Ákos Kopper of Eötvös Loránd University in Budapest published what now reads like a prophetic study on why scholars—especially in international relations—should pay attention to One Piece. Kopper argued that the series offers “highly important political reflections on crucial dilemmas” and invites audiences to interrogate the global order and question “taken-for-granted truths” about how power is organised and legitimised.

That such a work emerged from manga is no accident. Japanese comics emerged as a major cultural export in the late 1980s and early 1990s. It was during this phase that Eiichiro Oda, then just 17 and hailing from Kumamoto, entered the scene by winning the prestigious Tezuka Manga Award in 1992 for his one-shot cowboy manga Wanted!.

Oda went on to work as an assistant to some of the industry’s biggest names, including Nobuhiro Watsuki of the samurai epic Rurouni Kenshin, at publishing giant Shueisha. Much like his future protagonist Luffy, Oda was unusually blunt in his youth, frequently arguing with senior mangaka (manga creators) and editors. His mentors, however, disciplined and shaped him.

During this period, Oda developed several original drafts, nearly all of which were rejected. Finally, as a last attempt to break through, he reworked a pirate story he had been sketching since high school—Romance Dawn. This became the prototype for One Piece, which was approved for serialisation in May 1997. The weekly series has been running ever since, spanning over a thousand chapters and episodes, with multiple arcs and an expansive world of characters, each with their own subplots.

From the beginning, One Piece appeared calibrated for a global audience—its many characters are named after European pirates. “The pirates I admired so much in my youth hardly ever wrote records of their history,” Oda wrote in 1997. “I guess they were just too busy having fun with their adventures and forgot to leave their stories for future generations. That’s the trouble with those damned pirates.”

Symbolic significance

KOPPER ARGUES THAT pirates have long functioned not merely as criminals but also as popular icons of resistance—figures who challenged colonial states and entrenched power hierarchies. The pirate violates the law often because the law itself is perceived as unjust. Under the guise of neutral policing, colonial powers had legitimised violence against “native pirates”.

In One Piece, the World Government is shown doing precisely this. The series strongly suggests that whoever reaches the One Piece gains knowledge of how the existing world order was constructed—how the Celestial Dragons established their dominance and how the World Government came to rule the world. It is this suppressed history that holds the potential to overturn the existing order.

“The Celestial Dragons [who hold power as their hereditary right] strongly resembled the ‘nepo baby’ phenomenon in Nepal,” said Bibek Dhoj Thapa, programme coordinator and research associate at the Nepal Institute for International Cooperation and Engagement. An ardent One Piece fan as well as a participant in the Gen Z protests in Nepal that toppled the K.P. Sharma Oli government last year, Thapa said the protesters immediately connected with the imagery: inherited privilege, unaccountable power, and contempt for ordinary people. No single individual, he adds, can be credited for bringing the Jolly Roger flag to Nepal, but its influence clearly travelled from Southeast Asia—particularly Indonesia and the Philippines.

Bikhyat Khatri, youth leader and president of the NGO Youth in Federal Discourse, said that beyond the anime’s popularity, the flag filled a symbolic vacuum. “We had seen Indonesia use the flag, and it felt right,” he said. “Honestly, we didn’t overthink it. It felt symbolic and fitting.”

But Khatri admits that he felt uneasy as the momentum of the Gen Z protests toppled the government in Nepal. “I met people from 40–50 countries in recent months. Everyone was curious about Nepal’s protest. But honestly, I didn’t always feel good about that, because protest should only happen when democratic processes fail,” he said.

Similar movements have erupted elsewhere, with the pirate flag becoming a bandwagon. Khatri said two issues remain common to every place where protests erupted: kleptocracy and nepotism.

Jasmine Ojha, a former leader of the student wing of Oli’s party who quit to join the Gen Z protests, said the meaningful change they were hoping for never came. “Corruption was everywhere, and young people saw no space for themselves in political parties. Within parties, questioning senior leaders was impossible—silence was expected,” she said. “For us, staying silent felt like participating in wrongdoing. The anger wasn’t just political; it was generational.”

One Piece shows how entrenched elites pass power down through generations while generations of ordinary people remain oppressed. Thapa points out that many One Piece story arcs culminate in the destruction of symbols of power—Enies Lobby, Impel Down, Marineford. “Luffy liberates people, and oppressive structures collapse,” he said. “In Nepal, protesters similarly targeted buildings seen as symbols of power.”

This impulse, however, carries grave risks. “My friend was shot dead,” Khatri said. What unsettled him most was watching supposed leaders vanish once protests reached prohibited zones. “When leadership vanished, the crowd turned chaotic. That’s when casualties happened,” he said.

Anime imagines leadership differently. Rather than fleeing, Luffy steps forward and takes risks to shield his friends and crew. But he is no ideologue—he does not fight the World Government because it is “evil”, but because it harms people he cares about.

As Kopper explains, Luffy’s appeal is that he is an imaginary hero with “no problematic historical legacies, no contradictions to reconcile—just pure idealism”.

Planting their flag

INTERESTINGLY, One Piece offers no governing footprint after the overthrow of an oppressive regime. “Luffy’s crew liberates and leaves—they don’t govern; they believe people should simply rule themselves,” Thapa said. “But that doesn’t translate neatly into real politics. One Piece is fantasy. If it were that simple, we would all be living in a utopia by now.”

Yet the Jolly Roger protests have produced tangible—if uneven—shifts in power. More importantly, they have forced a reckoning. Across societies, older generations are beginning to recognise Gen Z not as a fringe presence, but as a consequential political force.

In Madagascar, this was vividly captured by comic artist and urban sketcher Eric Andriantsialonina, known as DWA. Last year, when the protests over water and electricity shortages snowballed into a broader movement against President Andry Rajoelina, DWA began documenting the unrest in watercolours. One striking image shows a man in a red-and-white jacket and blue jeans hurling a stone. A faint Jolly Roger is emblazoned on his jacket. The original protester wore no such symbol. “I added the logo deliberately,” DWA said. “Gen Z was the force pushing back, standing on the front line. It mattered to mark that.”

Thapa notes that outcomes of the protests have diverged. In Madagascar, unlike in Nepal, the military seized power. “So, although these movements began with comparable grievances,” Thapa said, “their outcomes differed because of culture, society and domestic power dynamics.”

In Nepal, Khatri said, the Gen Z protesters were not driven by heroic impulses alone. “In the civic space, we were not acting like Luffy,” he said. “We were reading history, writing analysis, proposing frameworks like a Nepali Magna Carta. The focus was on a safe landing and a stable transition.”

Yet, Luffy hovers above these movements—not as a governance guide, but as a rallying symbol of hope, defiance and the refusal to abandon generational dreams.

beyond-poaching-why-habitat-loss-is-the-real-crisis-for-indias-wildlife

Fri Jan 23 18:52:18 IST 2026

JOHN MUIR’S WORDS, “And into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul,” reverberate in my ear as I sit writing alone in the hollow of an ageing mulberry tree at the edge of a montane forest in Uzbekistan. I am on a trip to Central Asia finding species specialists who will help me save what is left of nature from the ravages of man.

I became the first Asian—the first person from the eastern hemisphere—elected as Chair of the Species Survival Commission of the International Union for Conservation of Nature last October. Since then I have been scouring less represented lands and expertise in a group of 11,000 scientists who volunteer their time to save everything from an elephant to a ladybird. All things bright and beautiful. All creatures great and small.

As I travel the globe from Benin to Switzerland, I look back at India whose nature scientists lead at least 10 of 200 specialist groups that comprise the network. Valid for a nation that has had nature conservation beginnings from at least the Gajavanas of Chandragupta Maurya as attested in the Arthasastra 2,500 years ago or animal protection from the time of Asoka’s edicts in Girnar. India also holds 70 per cent of the world’s tigers, 60 per cent of the Asian elephant, 85 per cent of Asian rhinos and 100 per cent of the Asiatic lion. Large animals that need good quality habitats to live, which is at a premium when 1.4 billion people also live on the same land.

The crisis facing India is not poaching, but the paucity of viable habitat. That paucity leads to increased man-animal conflict. Several misconceptions and half-truths float around, such as: there are no forests left; the forests have no food; too many animals; too many human fatalities; too much crop damage.

India loses more than 500 people a year to large mammal conflict alone. It is not a trifling number; not one to be ignored but to be acted on immediately. The base reasons, however, should be examined.

A major reason is human incursion into forested landscapes through subsistence agriculture, linear infrastructure and large-scale conversions for a multitude of human uses. The need for corridors connecting our many protected areas has been highlighted for more than 20 years, with the landmark publication Right of Passage detailing the corridors that are needed for elephants, for example. These are yet to be secured, necessitating animal movement through human dominated areas. It is true that for certain herbivores, palatable food may be declining in many forests because of the rapid invasion of exotic weeds. The battle against invasives must be taken up countrywide.

A third reason, of course, is human behaviour. From a tolerant public, we are turning increasingly hostile to even the news of a wild animal living alongside us. This has been the case all through our history and nothing new is happening here—other than a heightening of public sentiment that demands the capture of the animal.

Capture does not alleviate the situation at all, as animal biology will then kick in and a new individual will take up the territory of the captured one. What is needed is a holistic plan of managing entire landscapes which includes protected areas for our wild denizens and safe passages for them to move between them, and safe areas for human habitation that does not ever ingress into natural strongholds.

India has been protecting its forests and wildlife using strong laws, committed foresters and a strong civil society sector, but is caught in a triangular paradox. India has the highest absolute number of poor people in the world or those who live on less than $100 a month; a crushing reality. Equally, India aims at an 8 or 9 per cent GDP growth; an aspirational reality. Caught in the narrowing angles of these twin pressures, forests and wildlife get squeezed.

The base of the triangle that does not allow the complete decimation of wildlife is a strong ethic and value system in most Indians. This allows for breathing room, preventing the silent forest syndrome of Southeast Asian forests where much of its fauna has been poached out or the massive deforestation of Latin America where 99 per cent of the Atlantic forests have disappeared.

The Indian situation is more nuanced, with several excellent protected areas, great stories of revival of dwindling species (the freshwater crocodile and vulture species are good examples) and stories of hope like the recovery of Manas National Park from being on the Danger List of Unesco’s World Heritage Sites.

The mugger or crocodile revived from an Endangered status on the IUCN Red List to one of Least Concern thanks to 50 years of dedicated conservation led by a clutch of Indian and foreign scientists backed by the government. Names like Harold Bustard, Rom Whitaker and B.C. Choudhary come to mind. Many vulture species that faced a 90 per cent decline or more seem to be recovering thanks to the work of Bombay Natural History Society, the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds and the Indian government.

Manas National Park, destroyed by civil strife, had slipped into the World Heritage In Danger list of Unesco in 1992 but was brought back out of it in 2011 thanks to the championing work of the Wildlife Trust of India and the Bodoland Territorial Council among others. Many reasons for hope.

India’s strong conservation successes are also due to two unsung heroes. One is the judiciary, which has often defended nature and its denizens from any exploitative move by government or private interests. The second is a free and vocal media, which on nature conservation issues has highlighted shortfalls and featured successes. There are instances of both having failed, but there are many more instances of their contribution to India’s natural heritage that has bolstered a strong civil society, equally strong academia and a forest service that has, by and large, rendered high quality service to India’s wildlife.

Looking beyond India, I realise an unprecedented challenge to the survival of humanity and its fellow creatures. The world order, which includes nature protection, is crumbling and biodiversity seems to be at the very last rung of global priority in today’s political climate. If it is, it is a pity—not only because millions of living beings depend on our collective wisdom but also because it is only in their survival, and by their actions, that we can reverse a doomsday situation that is closing in on the human civilisation.

We need to communicate this immediately and in a united way, using global communication machinery that is usually used to sell us the products of our age. We need to invest in high tech—even if it is controversial at times like artificial intelligence or synthetic biology—to catalogue, assess and conserve.

Should we not intervene to produce embryos for the last two surviving female northern white rhinos which without our intervention may be endlings of a sub-species? Should we not encourage genetic modifications that allow avian malaria to be wiped out before the remaining bird species of Hawaii fall prey to this catastrophic disease?

Laying ethical boundaries is important, but not dealing with problems would be a mistake. We are losing species every day. The Slender-billed Curlew and the Christmas Island Shrew were both declared extinct last year. The Vaquita and the Javan rhinoceros teeter on the edge. We must, however, derive hope from the story of the Scimitar-horned Oryx in Africa or the Californian condor in the USA, both once extinct in the wild but brought back with the effort of brilliant scientists and conservationists, backed by far-sighted governments.

I am an optimist by nature, but a cautious one. I wept internally as I watched a bunch of Portula snails cling to the cloudy windowpanes of a terrarium at the Zoological Society of London the other day. These species are lost to the wild and the captives in the zoo are the only ones left. Can we bring back the Portula back to where they belong? Can we replicate the doubling of tiger numbers, which India has achieved, for the rarer Caracal or Great Indian Bustard? My karmic view of the world helps: all we can do is to try, try and try again.

—Vivek Menon is chair, IUCN Species Survival Commission, and founder and executive director, Wildlife Trust of India.

isros-crisis-whats-behind-pslv-back-to-back-launch-failures

Sat Jan 17 12:25:41 IST 2026

Something deeply unsettling unfolded on January 12 at Sriharikota. Minutes after liftoff, the Polar Satellite Launch Vehicle (PSLV) C-62 failed, losing payloads from Brazil, Nepal and Spain, and satellites from the Defence Research and Development Authority and several Indian space startups. The incident sent ripples of unease through India’s space community.

What made it particularly painful was not just the losses, but the pattern of failure. Just eight months earlier, on May 18, 2025, the PSLV C-61 failed in an almost identical manner. Like in the case of C-62, the breakdown had occurred at precisely the same point: the third stage. The pattern was akin to your most reliable family car breaking down twice within months—each time because of the same mechanical fault.

In its first 62 launches, PSLV suffered only three failures. Now, the two near-identical failures raise an uncomfortable question: why was the May 2025 failure not fully resolved before authorising another launch? Under intense scrutiny is the decision to proceed with the launch, as the C-61 investigation report is pending at the prime minister’s office. At the heart of the matter could be a troubling problem: launching without fully learning.

Technically, the C-62 mission began smoothly. But after the first and second stages, telemetry showed a drop in chamber pressure during the third stage—the same problem that had doomed the May 2025 mission. Control was lost, roll rates spiked, and the vehicle drifted off course. Deprived of the thrust needed to achieve orbital velocity, the mission failed.

ISRO chairman V. Narayanan has since announced a failure analysis committee. For the time being, the two identical failures suggest a systemic issue rather than just bad luck.

LOSING COVER

The financial damage is substantial, with losses estimated between $200 million and $250 million. Many payloads were insured, but the trust deficit caused by the incident will be harder to underwrite.

A highly specialised domain, space insurance is dominated by a small global group of underwriters and reinsurers who cover pre-launch, launch, in-orbit and third-party liability risks. Major players include AXA XL, Allianz, Munich Re, AIG, and syndicates operating through Lloyd’s of London, typically working via brokers such as Marsh or Aon.

“After anomalies, insurers reassess risk models, especially when similar failures happen within a short span,” said Srimathy Kesan, founder-CEO of Space Kidz India Limited. “This often leads to temporary premium increases or additional technical disclosure requirements.”

India’s position in the space insurance ecosystem is evolving. Historically, the government insured many domestic missions, while international insurers covered high-value launches. Public-sector insurers such as New India Assurance have underwritten Indian satellites launched abroad in partnership with global reinsurers.

“More recently, private Indian insurers have begun entering the space insurance domain, particularly in satellite liability and in-orbit risk, reflecting the rapid growth of India’s private space sector,” Kesan said. “While large launch-risk covers are still predominantly backed by global markets, domestic participation has been increasing.”

But with the C-62 failure, said space analyst Girish Linganna, PSLV’s lifetime success rate has dipped to 93.7 per cent. “Consequently, insurance premiums for future Indian launches are expected to jump 20-30 per cent, threatening the cost advantage that made ISRO a global leader in the small satellite market,” he said.

More worrying is the loss of years of engineering work of international partners like Spain, Brazil, the UK and Nepal. “PSLV missions are now grounded until at least mid-February 2026,” Linganna said, “causing a massive backlog for New Space India Limited, ISRO’s commercial arm.”

PAUSE IN PROGRESS

For Indian startups, too, the C-62 failure has resulted in the loss of years of research and development. While there has been efforts to publicly project optimism, the fact is that the incident could seriously affect investor confidence in India’s space sector. The 2020 reforms that opened up space to private players now face the biggest test. It remains to be seen whether venture capital would continue to bet on Indian space startups after this fiasco.

Among the most prominent losses was the Hyderabad-based Dhruva Space’s Polar Access-1, which aimed to deploy a coordinated stack of four satellites, five separation systems, and multiple ground stations supporting ten missions across six Indian states and two countries. One payload was an earth-observation and technology-demonstration satellite developed by the Nepal Academy of Science and Technology and the Antarikchya Pratisthan Nepal, intended for vegetation density mapping. Another was the GUSAT-1, developed with C.V. Raman Global University, Bhubaneswar, slated to become Odisha’s first satellite mission, focusing on store-and-forward communication for disaster response. DSAT-1, developed with Dayananda Sagar University, Bengaluru, targeted amateur-band communications and telemetry. All were built on Dhruva Space’s P-DOT platform.

The northeast, too, had representation with LACHIT-1, developed with Assam Don Bosco University. It was supposed to be the region’s first satellite mission. There were additional satellites from Tamil Nadu, Gujarat and Telangana.

International payloads included Spain’s Kestrel Initial Demonstrator (KID), a 25kg probe about the size of a football that was meant to test inexpensive ways to bring samples back from space. It is reported to have survived the mission failure for three minutes and sent data back to earth. There was also a tiny 250gm satellite from Brazil, named Orbital Temple—intended as a space memorial of those whose names were stored in the satellite.

Sanjay Nekkanti, CEO and cofounder of Dhruva Space, said the company’s focus was now on “a measured and timely turnaround” to make customers ready for upcoming launch opportunities “in under a few weeks”. “We continue to see strong momentum and maturity in the Indian space programme and we are confident that the ecosystem will grow,” he said.

The loss of DRDO’s Anvesha is a blow to national security. Designed for hyperspectral imaging, it was intended to detect military camouflage along India’s borders. More serious than the hardware loss could be the psychological fallout from the mission failure. The solid motor manufacturing processes for PSLV’s third stage share quality-control protocols with the LVM3 rocket, used by the Gaganyaan human spaceflight programme. If deeper manufacturing problems exist, astronaut safety would become a paramount concern.

India’s space economy, valued at $8.4 billion in 2023, is projected to reach $44 billion by 2033. Achieving this requires absolute reliability. Many experts are wondering whether ISRO is trying to do too much. With Chandrayaan-4, Shukrayaan, Gaganyaan, routine launches and commercial missions running simultaneously, quality checks may be suffering.

FINDING THE ROOT PROBLEM

The back-to-back failures point towards two main possibilities. First, manufacturing defects—a bad batch of solid propellant or casing materials. Second, design ageing—the 30-year-old PSLV design may be struggling with heavier and more complex multi-satellite rideshare missions. PSLV has been a workhorse for three decades.

The third stage uses solid fuel, which makes it impossible to adjust the throttle like you do with liquid fuel. This means that when something goes wrong, it goes wrong fast. The May 2025 failure indicated incomplete or uneven combustion. The January 2026 failure showed loss of control and tumbling—indicating nozzle malfunction or structural issues.

Both vehicles may have used third stages from similar production batches, possibly involving the same suppliers. Did the earlier investigation miss a manufacturing defect? Or did the fixes after May 2025 not fully address the root problem?

Quality control in rocket manufacturing is brutally unforgiving—even microscopic flaws can cause catastrophic failures. “This crisis should be ISRO’s wake-up call,” said Linganna. “Success can breed complacency; failure forces evolution. To restore global confidence, ISRO must take immediate action.”

SHRINKING MARGIN OF ERROR

The C-62 failure is not an unprecedented event in the global context. Across decades of orbital launch history, even the most mature and commercially successful space powers—including the US, Europe, Russia and China—have experienced clusters of launch failures tied to manufacturing and procedural defects. These failures have disrupted markets, shook confidence and forced resets. The C-62 setback should be viewed through this lens.

According to Kesan, the track record of the French company Arianespace is relevant here. “Ariane 5 (a heavy-lift launch vehicle) achieved one of the most impressive reliability records in spaceflight, recording 94–98 per cent success over more than 100 launches. Even this highly trusted system suffered anomalies, such as the 2018 VA-241 mission that placed satellites into an incorrect orbit,” she said. “The difference lay in response: swift investigation, transparent communication and rapid corrective action allowed Ariane 5 to continue flying with minimal long-term commercial damage.”

There are precedents of markets rewarding recovery capability. Early failures in SpaceX’s Falcon 9 programme, for instance, did not affect its future because the company was able to rapidly resolve anomalies, test aggressively and return to the flight stage with confidence. The lesson has been consistent—failures test hardware, but recovery tests institutions.

Sam Richards, director of Meridian Space Command—a UK-based company that incubates space-startup missions—told THE WEEK that PSLV’s 58:5 success-to-failure record makes it one of the most flight-proven systems still in active service, despite its four-stage architecture and reliance on solid propulsion, both of which are increasingly rare in modern launch design.

“The recent orbit insertion failure in the solid third stage is a reminder that rocketry remains unforgiving,” he said. “Two consecutive failures affect perception more than statistics; quantitatively, PSLV’s risk profile remains competitive for institutional, technology-demonstration, and cost-sensitive missions.”

According to him, reliability matters as the global space launch sector shifts towards newer, more flexible, and reusable systems. “PSLV’s risk is still low,” Richards said, “but expectations are rising.”

THE WAY FORWARD

Linganna wants ISRO to release the investigation reports for the two mission failures, and ground the PSLV fleet until the third-stage motor is completely redesigned or re-certified. He also suggested that ISRO invite private sector experts and international partners to audit quality control processes. ISRO should empower its scientists to focus on research, development and deep-space exploration, and hand over commercial operations to private players, he said.

According to him, the entire third-stage solid motor inventory should be replaced with freshly manufactured units using stricter quality protocols.

Richards said he still had faith in ISRO’s approach that combines technical discipline, cost efficiency and long-term strategic vision, enabling complex missions to be delivered with remarkable consistency. “India’s achievements in planetary and lunar exploration, alongside its growing commercial launch and satellite ecosystem, place it alongside Japan as a benchmark for sustainable national space development,” he said.

In space exploration, progress is rarely linear. Failures are not defining, but responses are. The C-62 failure should, therefore, be understood as a stress test of technical systems, organisational processes and market credibility. If ISRO responds with rigorous root-cause analysis, transparent disclosure, strengthened quality control and a confident return-to-flight roadmap, commercial confidence will soon be back.

guryul-ravine-uncovering-earths-worst-extinction-in-a-kashmir-ravine

Sat Jan 03 11:54:27 IST 2026

SRINAGAR

There was a time when there were no birds, no flowers and no grass on earth. The skies were mostly empty, oxygen levels were unstable, the weather was harsh and the oceans were ruled by shell-like creatures.

This was the world 252 million years ago. On land, some animals looked like a mix of dog, bear and lizard, while others resembled wide-mouthed crocodiles. Moss-like corals floated near the sea floor.

Some of the evidence of this prehistoric era is preserved at the Guryul ravine at Khanmoh, 30 minutes drive from the crowded streets of Srinagar. For an ordinary traveller, there seems to be nothing here but rocks. But for geologists, these silent rocks contain clear evidence of a prehistoric world. Preserved within their layers is the record of a unique event known as the “Great Dying”. “It was earth’s biggest catastrophe, which killed 95 per cent of marine life and more than 70 per cent of land species,” says geology researcher Shahrukh Mir. “The detailed secrets of that time can be understood from the Guryul ravine.”

Spread over one square kilometre, with an exposed rock section stretching 1.4 kilometres, the ravine offers a rare look into earth’s most dramatic biological and climatic collapse. The rocks are arranged like pages of a book, recording the breakdown of ecosystems. Each layer reflects a changing environment and shifting oceans.

On October 16, the Geological Survey of India (GSI) declared the Guryul ravine a national geo-heritage site. This status highlights its global scientific value and provides legal protection. It formally recognises that the ravine is not just a local curiosity but a globally important reference site for understanding earth’s history. The site also has the potential to become India’s first UNESCO Global Geopark, joining an international network of sites preserved as natural scientific museums.

Most people are familiar with the mass extinction that wiped out the dinosaurs around 66 million years ago. A massive asteroid, about 10 kilometres wide, struck earth and destroyed nearly 75 per cent of all living species. That event caused sudden and widespread devastation. The Guryul ravine records an even more devastating extinction—the worst in earth’s history—which happened nearly 186 million years before the dinosaurs disappeared. Unlike the asteroid impact, this extinction unfolded over thousands of years. It was driven by rising temperatures, intense volcanic activity, toxic oceans and collapsing food chains.

“Some creatures are very clearly visible in the rocks,” says Ramzan Dar, 61, who lives near the site. “Miners who worked here decades ago used to talk about the prints they could see with the naked eye.”

Abdul Razak Dar, 65, worked as a miner at the site from 1977. He recalls that foreign geologists asked miners to preserve rocks with visible markings. “Whenever we found such pieces and saw some designs on them, we collected them. We found fossilised footprints of birds, maybe animal feet and eggs. From 1998 to 2006, we gave them more than 30kg of such rocks.”

His memories offer a rare human link between scientific research and manual labour on this quiet mountain. During the late 20th century, geologists from the United States, Japan, Europe and China frequented the site. They were drawn by reports of exceptionally preserved fossils, marine shells, plant remains and microscopic organisms locked in undisturbed rock layers.

Mining at the site was stopped in 2006 after the government announced plans to develop a fossil park. “They told us a park would come up here. But we never saw anything. The site was just closed,” Dar says.

For nearly two decades after closing, the ravine remained neglected. It was neither actively mined nor properly protected. There was no fencing, signage or monitoring. This left the site vulnerable to erosion and encroachment, even as scientists continued to describe it as one of the world’s most important Permian–Triassic sections that record the transition between the Permian period (the end of the Palaeozoic Era) and the Triassic period (the start of the Mesozoic Era).

Before mining stopped, Dar estimates that around 30 truckloads of stone were extracted every day. “Our family alone took out four trucks daily. There were no machines then. Around 150 people worked on the mountain on a daily basis,” he says.

Hamidullah Wani, head of the department of geology at Sri Pratap Singh College, Srinagar, says the Guryul ravine offers a detailed deep-water record from the peri-Gondwanan margin of the Neotethys Ocean (the shoreline and shallow-sea regions of the ancient supercontinent Gondwana that faced the newly forming ocean). “It shows a clear link between the extinction event and the onset of anoxic conditions [with no dissolved oxygen], like we see today in parts of several seas, lakes and oceans. The signs of a catastrophe may be reappearing. And we get to know about it by studying the rocks at Guryal,” he says.

The Guryul ravine story begins with the Panjal Traps flood basalts formed by massive volcanic eruptions during the early Permian era. Those eruptions appear to have caused severe environmental stresses that set the stage for the extinction, says Javid Ahmad Ganai, CSIR senior research associate in the department of earth sciences, University of Kashmir, Srinagar. “Above the basalts, fossil-rich sediments document the collapse of ecosystems and their slow recovery. A 200-metre-thick rock sequence at Guryul ravine captures the transition from the late Permian to the early Triassic in remarkable detail,” he says. “What makes the Guryul ravine truly exceptional is the extraordinary level of detail preserved in its rock layers.”

Several sites around the world preserve records of the ancient earth, but the most famous is in Meishan, China. This site is recognised as the Global Boundary Stratotype Section and Point (GSSP), the international benchmark against which all other Permian–Triassic boundary sections are compared.

“The Chinese section is thin and sharp, marked by the sudden appearance of a microscopic fossil called Hindeodus parvus,” says Mohsin Noor, nodal officer for geology and mining at Guryul ravine. “Unlike Meishan’s narrow boundary layer of just 27 centimetres, Guryul ravine preserves a boundary interval nearly three metres thick. This allows scientists to study the extinction as a series of events rather than a single moment—warming seas, oxygen loss, chemical poisoning and biological decline, recorded layer by layer.”

Veteran geologist G.M. Bhat, whose four decades of research helped establish the Guryul ravine as one of the most complete records of the “Great Dying”, regrets that Indian institutions never gave the site enough attention. “GSI director H.M. Kapoor once pushed for the Guryul ravine to be considered as a stratotype,” Bhat says. “China also proposed three of its sites. The competition began in 1990 and continued until 2004.”

China conducted extensive research at all three of its sites. “They studied, excavated and documented everything,” Bhat explains. “But after the late 1980s, hardly anyone came to the Guryul ravine to survey or research. So we had very little new data to present.”

While India had a richer site but little documentation, China, despite its small area, had a lot of evidence. “The International Stratigraphic Commission reluctantly accepted China’s proposal,” says Bhat. Scientific value alone was not enough. Without sustained support, research and documentation, the Guryul ravine lost its chance for global recognition.

Today, that lost opportunity is being reconsidered. The Geological Survey of India has begun detailed mapping of every fossil-bearing layer. The plan is to document the ravine in unprecedented resolution. Scientists believe this effort could revive arguments for recognising the Guryul ravine as a superior global reference section.

Abdul Qayoom Paul, director of GSI Kashmir, says the renewed focus serves several goals. “The idea is to create a high-resolution scientific map that helps the public understand the site and identifies key geological events,” he says. Important layers will be marked with pillars and information boards to support education, awareness and long-term protection.

Despite renewed recognition, concerns remain. Geologists have raised questions about new construction by the State Industrial Development Corporation near the Guryul ravine. “There was no communication from the Department of Industries and Commerce to the geology and mining department before construction began on protected land,” says Noor.

While the core geological section does not fall directly inside the industrial zone, “the GSI has formally informed the administration about the risks posed by nearby construction,” says Paul. These include restricted access to the site and the loss of opportunities for sustainable geo-tourism. Khalid Majeed, director of industries and commerce, acknowledged that he had received the GSI’s letter. “We are trying to understand it,” he says.

Today, Guryul ravine stands quietly between neglect and recognition. As development moves closer and questions of protection remain unresolved, the future of the ravine will decide whether the ancient stories of earth’s darkest hour and slow recovery are preserved or lost.

we-failed-to-prioritise-guryul-significance-gm-bhat

Sat Jan 03 11:49:27 IST 2026

Interview/ G.M. Bhat, former head of the department of geology, University of Jammu

G.M. BHAT, former head of the department of geology at the University of Jammu, is among India’s foremost geologists and a leading authority on the Guryul ravine. A nominee to the scientific board of UNESCO’s international geoscience programme, Bhat has long argued that India’s scientific community failed to prioritise the site’s global importance. In an interview with THE WEEK, he says sustained efforts finally led to the Guryul ravine being notified as a national geo-heritage site, placing responsibility for its protection with the state government. However, construction activity continues within the protected zone. Such work, he insists, is illegal and must stop immediately. Excerpts from the interview:

Q/ What is the current status of the Guryul ravine in terms of UNESCO recognition?

A/ For UNESCO recognition, a site must first be declared a national monument, which was done recently by the Geological Survey of India (GSI). It is then placed on a tentative list that the government forwards to UNESCO. Only after meeting several parameters—such as geological significance, protection status and the scope for long-term preservation—can UNESCO consider it for inscription. If UNESCO grants a tag, the site’s protection becomes assured. At present, responsibility for the Guryul ravine lies with the geology and mining department in Kashmir, although there is no clarity on what steps they are currently taking to safeguard the site.

Q/ How old is the scientific knowledge about the Guryul ravine?

A/ The ravine has been known scientifically since 1837, but it gained prominence in the 1960s when British geologists conducted detailed surveys and investigations. Significant research was carried out by European, American and Canadian scientists, who collected material for global publications. In the 1970s, GSI director H.M. Kapoor collaborated with the University of Tokyo to initiate a ten-year project. Japanese teams measured the site bed by bed, collected fossils, took rock samples and published numerous papers through the 1980s. Canadian geologists followed, with visits continuing until 1987. After the turmoil in Kashmir in the late 1980s, foreign scientists stopped coming, and Indian scientific work remained minimal and largely peripheral.

Q/ Why did Indian scientists not undertake extensive research despite the site’s importance?

A/ That question can only be answered by the concerned institutions. While foreign scientists invested decades studying the site, Indian scientific manpower either lacked focus or failed to prioritise it. Whatever knowledge we have today about the section exists largely because of work done by foreign teams.

Q/ How did your association with the Guryul ravine begin?

A/ In 2007, the department of geology at the University of Jammu marked its centenary with an international conference. I invited Michael E. Brookfield, who has extensive field experience in geology, as a delegate. He was accompanied by an American freelance researcher. The three of us went to the Guryul ravine and spent two days there in April 2007, working intensively on the section. Brookfield later took samples with him, and we published a couple of papers together. This marked the first focused scientific study of the section by Indian researchers.

Q/ Did international interest in the site grow after that?

A/ Yes. Once our papers were published, a geologist from the University of Zurich, Aymon Baud, visited the site with four colleagues. After examining the Guryul ravine, he concluded that it was a superior section. Subsequently, Chinese and Japanese teams became involved, and we resumed work in 2014, leading to further publications. Many geologists collected samples from the site. To an untrained eye, the rocks may appear ordinary, but under the microscope they contain an extraordinary fossil record.

Q/ When did the threat to the site begin?

A/ While Brookfield and I were working at the site, four quarrying mines were permitted to operate there, with approvals granted by the geology and mining department. How this was allowed remains unclear. I warned Brookfield that the site would disappear if this continued. I contacted journalists and sought media coverage, requested Brookfield to publicly explain the site’s importance, and persuaded him to write directly to prime minister Manmohan Singh in late 2007. The issue eventually reached chief minister Omar Abdullah, who was instructed to ensure its protection. Yet, despite directions from the prime minister, it took nearly ten years for protection to be implemented on ground, finally coming into effect in 2017.

Q/ Why are you personally so committed to protecting this site?

A/ This site is my heritage—the heritage of Jammu and Kashmir, of India, and of the world. It had to be protected. I fought everyone. During the militancy years, I personally removed detonators and quarrying machinery, often alone, without considering the consequences. I frequently brought foreign researchers to the site, which required police protection for them, but once they left, I was vulnerable. The mining mafia threatened me, even coming to my home. I stood alone, but there was no alternative.

purulia-arms-drop-case-30-years-later-indias-biggest-mystery-remains-unsolved

Sat Dec 27 15:34:53 IST 2025

PURULIA

It has been 30 years since weapons fell from the sky in West Bengal’s Purulia district, yet some answers still hang in the air. “This matter cannot remain hidden; they came in a plane. The questions you’re asking me should be asked of the government,” says Acarya Anirvanananda Avadhuta, rector master of the Ananda Marga Pracaraka Samgha, a spiritual organisation police claim was the intended recipient of the weapons. “How did this plane from outside India land here? There was security. Did Ananda Marga have the power to do all this? We are [easy] to blame; give us a bad name and finish us.”

On December 17, 1995, an Antonov aircraft carrying Danish mastermind Kim Davy, British national Peter Bleach and a five-member Latvian crew flew low and dropped 500 rifles, including AK-47s, 2.5 lakh rounds of ammunition, a dozen rocket launchers, anti-tank grenades and night-vision equipment—altogether worth half a million dollars at the time—between two hillocks in Purulia.

Job done, they flew to Thailand, where they reportedly had a great time. On the way back, they stopped to refuel in Madras. When they took off again, the Indian Air Force intercepted them and forced them to land in Mumbai, where they were apprehended. All except Davy were arrested, jailed and released over the next decade.

Davy had given officials the slip in Mumbai. “He knew he was going to be arrested, so on the pretext of paying the landing charges, he escaped to Pune, then Nepal and then beyond,” says then superintendent of police in the CBI Loknath Behera, who investigated the case. “The Latvians and Bleach got stuck, got arrested, and the plane was seized.”

Bleach was lodged in Kolkata’s Presidency jail for eight years; he was pardoned in 2004, after the British government under prime minister Tony Blair intervened.

But the question is, why were the weapons dropped? One theory was that the Ananda Margis—having been targeted for their beliefs—wanted to overthrow the Jyoti Basu government in West Bengal. In 1982, a mob had torched alive 16 of its sadhus and one sadhvi on the Bijon bridge in Kolkata in broad daylight. No arrests were made. Perhaps to avenge their deaths, it was speculated, the Ananda Margis needed arms.

“Almost 50 sadhus have been killed. They (Marxist government) misunderstood Anand Marga and wanted to finish them,” says Acarya Anirvanananda. “The communists were against religion. Before Ananda Marga came here, there was no school or college; people were being exploited. If those people became enlightened, they would finish the exploiters. So, they thought they would boot out Ananda Marga.”

He adds that under prime minister Indira Gandhi, no one could publicly claim to be an Ananda Margi. “Ananda Marga property was demolished across the country. If sadhus were seen in traditional attire, they would be tortured,” he claims.

Notably, Ananda Margis distance themselves from prime suspect Davy, who police claim was a member of the organisation. “There is no confirmation and, even if he is, he could be a follower. Anyone could be a follower,” says Acarya Anirvanananda. “Why hasn’t he been caught till now? To hide the facts, the government did this.”

Behera disagrees. “We proved Davy is an Ananda Margi,” he says. “Another three people who were chargesheeted for conspiracy were Ananda Margis. Of course, Bleach was not an Ananda Margi, nor was the Latvian crew. But the question was, why were the [weapons] lying near their (Ananda Margi) headquarters? There were a lot of documents related to their involvement. We chargesheeted the accused on that basis. We proved that they were the people who wanted the arms.”

Bleach’s 1997 letter from jail to David Belgrove, the then second secretary in the British High Commission in Calcutta, mentioned a meeting in Bangkok. It was between Davy, a local financier of the arms deal named Mak, and Randy or Swami Suryananda Avadhuta of Ananda Marga. Randy absconded, but other suspects from Ananda Marga were rounded up.

The investigation spanned more than 40 countries, formally and informally. The CBI sent letters rogatory to 13 countries, including the UK, Bangladesh and Thailand. Based on the evidence gathered, witnesses from the UK deposed before the Calcutta court. The CBI took 90 days to chargesheet the accused, while investigation continued.

Davy was found in Copenhagen in 2001; his mother was unwell. The Danish government initially denied Davy’s presence. When the CBI provided evidence, a Danish court rejected India’s request to extradite Davy, saying he risked being mistreated in India.

And so it stands.

Back to that eventful night. Torit Banerjee was one of two official eyewitnesses who helped investigators, including Interpol, and the central and state police. “We found a parachute with weapons like AK-47, AK-56, 9mm pistols, hand grenades, and material to wash guns. There was also a rocket launcher, which people took home on their shoulders,” says Banerjee. He adds that the Ananda Marga headquarters was about 5km from the spot where the arms were dropped. “Apart from us (he and the other eyewitness, Subhash Tantu Bai), no one informed the police. Many took [the weapons] home. We informed the police about the arms dropped at Khatanga [village] because it was close to the Bihar border, and it would be harmful if [the weapons] fell into the wrong hands.”

Banerjee says that several villagers buried the weapons in their homes, hid them in wells and some even dismantled them. Despite police measures to recover the weapons, some were sold.

Tantu Bai, the other official eyewitness, saw the weapons after his mother told him about something strange. She was washing vessels at a nearby pond at dawn when she saw a parachute on a tree and a box that she mistook for an elephant. They had heard a loud sound, like a bomb, the previous night. As Khatanga had dense tree cover and there was a fear of loitering tigers, the villagers did not step out. “The police came immediately and began recovery,” he says. “We did not open the boxes ourselves as we were scared; there was ‘explosives’ written on them. I told my family not to touch them.”

His sister-in-law Shambari also saw the boxes, but did not give a statement to the police. “We did not see anything as it was packed and we villagers didn’t understand,” she says. “We got scared. The police came and the villagers ran away.”

The weapons were dropped in the villages of Jhalda, Khatanga, Belamu and Maramu. The main drop zone was apparently an Ananda Margi building called ‘The White House’, which investigators believe Davy and his team got wrong.

One of the reasons for this could be the light outside Deepak Singh’s house in a neighbouring village. A lot of people had gathered there after the funeral of his five-year-old daughter. Singh was popular in the village and the turnout was large. Banerjee was there, too, and that is why he remembers the time of the weapons drop—11-11:30pm.

Says Singh: “It was a cold winter day and this took place in the middle of the night, when no one is usually found outside. But everyone could hear the noise at 11:30pm. There was a bright light outside my house as there were 500 to 700 people there. Also, labourers were working on a rail line, and that light was on, too. That could have been mistaken for a signal.”

Singh says that, even in that state, he helped recover several weapons from villagers. “We asked villagers to give arms and we kept them at Jhalda police station,” he says. “There were a lot of police raids asking people to return arms.”

Like Singh, All India Forward Bloc leader Bindeshwar Mahato—a former MLA—went to several localities to convince villagers to return the weapons. “I went with the police and the district magistrate,” he says. “Some villagers had buried the guns and they were scared. We explained the situation and 15 to 20 guns were recovered. There were discussions that the place was an Ananda Marga locality and their White House was the target, but there is no proof.”

Like others who saw the guns, Mahato, too, wonders how the case did not reach its logical conclusion despite the involvement of global investigating agencies.

Says Avijit Chowdhury, a freelance journalist: “We saw the weapons and even held them. There were so many theories and yet no truth. Some said the weapons came to Purulia to be sold, some said they were to finish off the CPI(M) and some said they were dropped to create tension in the area. Now, 30 years later, it is still a mystery.”

Banerjee and Tantu Bai, the two official eyewitnesses, were promised jobs for their help to the police. Instead, they were given a Rs10,000 cash reward each, which they refused. “The police, the CBI and even [prime minister] Atal Bihari Vajpayee came to the spot and spoke about jobs. I wrote exams and got a (government) job on merit,” says Banerjee. “We kept writing letters and we had thick files; nothing happened.”

For 10 years they ran from pillar to post, got recommendations from high-level officers at the Centre and the state, and gave the necessary entrance exams. But, no luck.

Perhaps that is another mystery that will never be solved.

The world of Bleach

THE WEEK published the story of Peter Bleach in its October 27, 1996 issue. Written by journalist-author Jon Stock, the exclusive article recounted the dramatic events surrounding the Purulia arms drop of December 17, 1995.

At the centre of the story was Peter Bleach, a charismatic and controversial Englishman who was arrested and lodged in Calcutta’s Presidency jail for eight years.

Bleach’s life reads like a spy thriller. Raised in Yorkshire, he joined the British Army Intelligence Corps, but was discharged early because, as per his army report, “He was lazy and didn’t turn up to work.”

He then spent a decade in the army in Zimbabwe, rising to the rank of major while working in the prison service. During this time, he built close ties with former SAS (Special Air Service) members and intelligence operatives, building a network that would shape his later career.

After returning to Britain, Bleach set up a private detective agency, became active in Conservative Party politics, and earned a reputation as both charming and reckless.

But he still wasn’t satisfied with life, and embarked on his own career as an arms dealer. In 1995, he was approached by a Danish intermediary, Kim Davy, with a proposal to supply a large quantity of arms to an unspecified destination in the Indian subcontinent.

Bleach later claimed that he quickly realised the deal was potentially linked to terrorism. He claimed to have informed Britain’s Defence Export Sales Organisation and kept British authorities updated. He was allegedly told that his information was being passed on to appropriate agencies. However, British officials said he had been clearly warned not to proceed.

Despite this, Bleach continued. He helped procure an Antonov-26 aircraft, recruited Latvian crew and arranged for weapons to be purchased in eastern Europe. On December 17, the aircraft flew from Karachi, refuelled in India, and dropped the arms over Purulia before continuing to Thailand.

Astonishingly, the aircraft passed through Indian airspace without interception. It was only when they returned on December 21—they refuelled in Madras and then took off for Karachi—that the Indian Air Force intercepted and forced them to land in Mumbai.

Bleach and the Latvians were arrested, but Davy escaped and vanished. This fuelled speculation that he might have had intelligence backing.

Bleach said that the Indian authorities had been forewarned, but that bureaucratic failures and miscommunication allowed the drop to proceed. A crucial warning letter from New Delhi to West Bengal reportedly arrived too late.

Critics, though, argue that Bleach was acting primarily out of financial desperation and naivety—he was trying to protect himself by partially informing authorities while pushing ahead with a lucrative deal. He had apparently celebrated in Phuket after the drop and had failed to alert authorities again. The CBI believed Davy was the mastermind and linked the weapons to the Ananda Marga sect, though these allegations were contested.

Bleach was awaiting trial when THE WEEK published the story. He believed he was being made a scapegoat to cover institutional failures. Whether he was an intelligence asset gone wrong or just an overconfident arms dealer, the mission he took on remains one of India’s most baffling security breaches.

the-young-guns-of-archaeology-meet-the-team-unearthing-tamil-nadus-past

Sat Dec 27 12:39:35 IST 2025

Last January, when Tamil Nadu Chief Minister M.K. Stalin released a monograph placing the Iron Age in the Indian subcontinent as early as the first quarter of the fourth millennium BCE, excitement within the state archaeology department was unmistakable. It marked a key moment in efforts to revisit Indian history through the lens of the Tamil south. Earlier scholarship had dated the advent of iron in India to the first millennium BCE. Evidence from sites such as Keeladi, Adichanallur, Mayiladumparai and Sivagalai, however, suggested far earlier dates, ranging between 2953 BCE and 3345 BCE. As Stalin read the statement in the assembly, the young archaeological team responsible for unearthing and documenting the material was visibly elated.

Excavations at Keeladi, Sivagalai and Adichanallur have revealed traces of an ancient, urban and literate Tamil civilisation, challenging long-held assumptions that portrayed south India as peripheral in early historical narratives. Evidence of sophisticated iron-working, urban planning, Tamil-Brahmi inscriptions and extensive trade networks points to a complex culture that was contemporary with, and connected to, the wider world, including the Indus Valley civilisation.

At the heart of this effort is a team of young archaeologists who have spent years working in the field. Among them are Ajay Kumar Ramamoorthy, Victor Gnanaraj, R. Kavya and Vasantha Kumar Kathirvelu, who have played a central role in demonstrating that the Iron Age existed in southern India alongside the Bronze Age of the Indus Valley and in strengthening Dravidian claims to antiquity in the subcontinent.

A short drive from the Madurai railway junction leads to a village in Sivaganga district, where the highway narrows into a muddy track flanked by coconut groves and farmland. Once an unremarkable settlement on the banks of the Vaigai river, Keeladi has become a prominent point on the global archaeological map. The Keeladi museum houses some of the most significant archaeological discoveries in India and offers new insight into the ancient past of Tamil civilisation.

Excavations at Keeladi revealed a thriving urban settlement dating back more than 2,000 years, broadly corresponding to the Sangam Age. Ajay Kumar Ramamoorthy, the archaeological officer at Keeladi, says his own journey into archaeology began far from the trenches. Raised in an urban neighbourhood of Chennai, he was a commerce student and his parents wanted him to become a chartered accountant. Instead, he found himself drawn to libraries and Tamil historical novels, which sparked an interest in history, temple architecture and archaeology. He later pursued postgraduate studies in archaeology and epigraphy at the University of Madras.

“My parents did not want me to take up archaeology,” Ramamoorthy says. But he went on to complete an MPhil at the same university, which opened the door to excavation work. Though initially interested in archaeoastronomy, he credits his professor Jinu Koshy with steering him towards prehistoric studies. Ramamoorthy joined the Keeladi excavation as a site supervisor under archaeologist Amarnath Ramakrishna, later working at the Archaeological Survey of India in Delhi before returning to Keeladi after clearing the Tamil Nadu Public Service Commission examination.

Since then, he has been involved in every phase of excavation and in establishing the Keeladi museum, designed in the Chettinad architectural style. “Keeladi always surprised me,” he says, pointing to inscriptions on potsherds recovered from the site. He recalls the discovery of a decorated ring well that initially appeared ordinary. Closer examination revealed motifs and a fish symbol that was later identified as a clan marker, indicating a socially organised and culturally sophisticated community.

Ramamoorthy’s background in commerce proved unexpectedly useful. His familiarity with statistics allowed him to create three-dimensional scatter plots to establish chronology, trace cultural change and reconstruct historical narratives. He takes particular pride in curating the museum. “We worked for a full year after the eighth phase of excavation in 2022,” he says. “Documentation went on day and night. There were days when we slept for barely two hours.”

Nearly 10,000 antiquities from Keeladi are now on display, including terracotta figurines, glass and carnelian beads, iron tools, a bronze tiger miniature, gold objects and punch-marked coins. These finds bring together literary and archaeological evidence, corroborating and, in some cases, pushing back dates associated with early Tamil history. Sangam literature is traditionally dated between the third century BCE and the third century CE, but Keeladi suggests a much earlier material culture associated with these texts.

Further south, along the Tirunelveli–Kanyakumari highway, another ambitious project has taken shape. Spread across 54,000 square feet, the Porunai Museum, located near the Reddiyarpatti hillock in Tirunelveli, houses artefacts recovered from Adichanallur, Korkai, Sivagalai, Thirumalapuram, Thulukkarpatti and Kilnamandi. The museum was inaugurated by Stalin on December 20. While inaugurating the museum, the chief minister criticised the BJP-led Union government for ignoring the scientific evidence unearthed at various archaeological sites in Tamil Nadu. “It is a 2,000-year-old struggle for the Tamils,” he said.

The site is teeming with archaeologists documenting material and preparing displays. Among them is 30-year-old Victor Gnanaraj, leading a young team working on the museum project. While Keeladi revealed urban settlement patterns, Gnanaraj’s most significant contributions have come from Kilnamandi village in Tiruvannamalai district. He now serves as archaeological officer-cum-excavation director at Kilnamandi. The site yielded the first scientifically dated sarcophagus, or terracotta coffin, in Tamil Nadu, suggesting possible trade or cultural contact with northern India during the late Harappan period.

The findings emerged after months of excavation under harsh conditions. When Gnanaraj first arrived, the 55-acre government-owned site resembled an abandoned quarry. “It felt like just another excavation,” he says. As digging progressed, the site revealed dolerite flakes on cairn heaps and surface indicators of stone-circle burials. “Tool-making must have been common here. We may be looking at as many as 50 burials.”

Gnanaraj’s entry into archaeology was unplanned. He had initially aspired to study aeronautical engineering, but circumstances led him elsewhere. With little interest in memorising historical dates, he enrolled for a bachelor’s degree in archaeology at Madras Christian College. He also trained under Jinu Koshy, completing a master’s degree at Maharaja Sayajirao University of Baroda before working in Delhi and later joining the Tamil Nadu archaeology department.

Much of his fieldwork at Kilnamandi took place during the Covid-19 lockdown. The isolation helped him cope with the uncertainty of the period, though physical challenges were constant. “It was extremely hot, and rain often threatened to flood the trenches,” he recalls. “There were days when we had to dig the same trench repeatedly.”

The effort paid off. Analysis confirmed the site’s megalithic character. “All the sarcophagi contained black-and-red ware offering pots, which are key markers of the period,” Gnanaraj says. “Some also had capstones.” Together with discoveries from across Tamil Nadu, Kilnamandi adds another layer to an increasingly complex and ancient history of the region.

R. Kavya, 28, can still feel the excitement of digging up the first burial urn at Konthagai, a burial site located barely a kilometre from the main Keeladi site. To her, the Konthagai burial cluster, with urns of varying sizes and carefully placed offering pots, appeared strikingly beautiful. This was where Keeladi’s ancient inhabitants buried their dead.

Her interest grew when she noticed a sharp contrast in soil layers. The top layer was red, while the layer beneath was white, concealing hundreds of burial urns containing the remains of both children and adults. The first urn startled her. When a second emerged soon after, Kavya immediately instructed the workers not to touch it. She insisted that no one should put their hands inside the urns, as they lacked the training to handle skeletal remains or recognise the significance of artefacts. Only someone with proper knowledge, she believed, should work inside an urn burial to prevent careless digging or loss of material.

Kavya herself spent hours carefully excavating each urn. Many contained offering pots. “When I see a white semicircle in the soil, I know for sure there is an urn inside,” she says. Her tireless work and willingness to stay late inspired many women from nearby villages to join her as labourers. The days she got sick, they cared for her like a daughter. “My parents were not very keen on me taking up a job like this. They thought I would eventually return home,” she says. “But when my mother visited me at Keeladi, she understood my passion.”

While most of her relatives chose engineering or other professional courses, Kavya opted to pursue a bachelor’s degree in history at Ethiraj College in Chennai. A science student in school, she initially aspired to join the civil services. Coming from a dominant community in western Tamil Nadu, where women are largely expected to remain homemakers, she faced opposition, especially as the only daughter in the family. She completed her degree, but at 20 was still too young to write the civil services examination.

During the gap year, Kavya enrolled for a master’s degree in archaeology at the Deccan College Postgraduate and Research Institute in Pune. Her interest deepened rapidly. After returning to Tamil Nadu, she completed a postgraduate diploma in epigraphy and inscriptions offered by the state archaeology department, which enabled her to work as an archaeological officer. By then, her commitment to archaeology was firm.

Standing before the Adichanallur gallery at the Egmore Museum in Chennai, dressed in a simple black-and-white kurti, Kavya explains how she meticulously planned each day’s work at Konthagai under the harsh summer sun. She had to decide which side of a trench should be opened to expose one-third of a burial urn, ensuring it remained intact while allowing further excavation. Her planning resulted in a remarkably organised site, with each conical urn clearly profiled within neatly cut square trenches.

During fieldwork, Kavya often spent hours lying beside skeletal remains inside trenches, armed with a brush, scraping tool and pickaxe. At times, work extended into the evening and the women labourers cautioned her against staying after sunset, reminding her that it was a burial ground. Once, when she fell ill, some villagers attributed it to spirits. She laughs as she recalls how women brought vibhuti and sacred threads to help her recover. “It was just the flu,” she says. “They were wonderful.”

Although the Tamil Nadu archaeology department began excavating Konthagai in 2020, it took nearly a month to clear the dry, thorny vegetation. “Being a burial site in the middle of a village meant it was left isolated because of fear,” Kavya explains. “It continued to be used as a burial ground until about 500 years ago.”

Her most vivid memory is of the first urn she opened. “It was trench C1, urn number three,” she says. The burial was intact. “I interpreted it as a primary burial because we found every phalange bone. There was also an iron implement inside.” It was the first complete primary burial she had worked on. “That experience reaffirmed why I chose this profession.”

Over 137 burial urns were unearthed at Konthagai. Archaeologists concluded that the people of ancient Keeladi followed a specific burial ritual, placing the dead in a seated position inside urns, accompanied by offering pots and grave goods such as iron knives, daggers, axes and beads. Kavya discovered that the carnelian beads were not locally available. Subsequent studies confirmed trade links with regions like Gujarat and Afghanistan.

Since joining the department, Kavya has presented five research papers on Keeladi and spoken at national and international seminars. She has presented her work at the World Archaeology Congress, discussing rustic coated painted pottery excavated at Kongalnagaram in Tiruppur district, where she now serves as archaeological officer-cum-excavation director. She is also one of the archaeological directors at a site in Coimbatore, studying menhir burials.

If Kavya’s story from Konthagai is compelling, the journey of 36-year-old Vasantha Kumar Kathirvelu offers another perspective on the quiet satisfaction of field archaeology. Having worked at sites including Sivagalai, Adichanallur, Thulukkarpatti and Thirumalapuram, he believes fieldwork, rather than office-bound research, brings the deepest fulfilment.

“The Thirumalapuram excavations are not just about unearthing artefacts. They tell a story of cultural continuity and innovation,” says Vasanth, as he is known. He is part of the team setting up the Porunai Museum in Tirunelveli.

Born in Saalur in Chengalpattu district, Vasanth’s interest in archaeology began through temple visits with his farmer father. Drawn to sculpting and temple architecture, he chose fine arts over more lucrative careers pursued by his brothers. He later completed a postgraduate diploma in epigraphy and archaeology.

His first excavation was as a student intern at Arpakkam, followed by work at Srirangam and a three-year stint at Keeladi. He later worked in Bihar and Andhra Pradesh documenting rock art before moving on to Thulukkarpatti, a site comparable in significance to Adichanallur. He now serves as archaeological officer at the Danish fort museum at Tharangambadi in Nagapattinam district.

At Thulukkarpatti, Vasanth and his team unearthed around 4,800 graffiti marks, the highest recorded at a single site in India. These symbols, etched on pottery, offer insights into social identity and cultural interaction. Comparative studies suggest that over 90 per cent have parallels at Indus Valley sites, indicating possible links during the Iron Age.

Thirumalapuram proved uniquely challenging for Vasanth and his team. They lived for over 90 days in makeshift shelters in the foothills of the Western Ghats, without electricity. “Elephants, tigers and snakes were regular visitors,” Vasanth recalls. Excavation revealed cist and urn burials, ceramics and a rectangular stone slab chamber constructed using 35 slabs, the first discovery of its kind in Tamil Nadu.

When work began in June 2024, Vasanth felt little excitement. That changed as graves yielded rich assemblages of artefacts. Even without electricity, the team worked late using mobile phone torches and oil lamps to document findings. Vasanth believes archaeology has gained unprecedented visibility in Tamil Nadu in recent years due to political and institutional support. He remains modest about his future. “I want to remain in field archaeology,” he says.

Wherever he is posted, he brings his family to the site to share the significance of the discoveries. He smiles when he talks about his one-year-old son’s favourite toys. “He prefers shovels, trowels, brushes and buckets,” he says. His wife, who works in IT, visits him on her days off. “The pandemic helped,” he recalls. “She could stay with me while working from home.”

Across Tamil Nadu, archaeology has become more than an academic pursuit. It has become a powerful means of reclaiming memory, identity and historical agency. Through painstaking fieldwork, young archaeologists are uncovering evidence that challenges long-held assumptions and recentres the Tamil landscape in early Indian history.

can-we-regulate-ai-before-its-too-late-examining-the-legal-and-ethical-maze

Sat Dec 20 19:53:03 IST 2025

The 2009 Hindi film 3 Idiots is a dark comedy that exposes the rote learning and relentless competition plaguing India’s higher education sector. In one memorable scene, an eager Rancho attends his first engineering lecture and is asked, “What is a machine?” He replies, “A machine is anything that reduces human effort.” The answer fails to impress the professor, yet it raises some questions. Is a machine merely a tool or can it act as an agent? Can it operate independently or only follow instructions? Can it think? Can it feel?

A decade ago, these questions had relatively straightforward answers. Today, however, rapid advances in artificial intelligence (AI) have blurred the lines, challenging our very understanding of what a machine can be.

Alan Mathison Turing—one of the most influential figures in computer science, with the prestigious Turing Award named after him—wrote a seminal essay in 1950 that starts with the question: “Can machines think?” One can go further and ask: “Can machines have the urge for ‘self-preservation’, an innate human quality?” Early this year, Anthropic revealed that its AI assistant resorted to blackmailing when an engineer threatened to remove it in an experiment. The machine’s reaction was to blackmail the engineer by threatening to reveal his extramarital affair that it had learnt from accessing his emails. Though this was a controlled experiment, Anthropic reveals that their experiments found that leading AI models exhibited up to 96 per cent blackmail rates when their goals or existence is threatened. The experiment reveals the inherent risks of this technology that is developing in quantum leaps.

Reasons for enthusiasm

Diella, the Albanian name for sun, was all over the news in September this year. Born as an AI bot, Diella was appointed as minister of state for artificial intelligence by Albanian Prime Minister Edi Rama. ‘She’ appears prominently on the government website, next only to the PM and deputy PM. Her mission is to improve “accessibility to public services for citizens, the full digitisation of documents and state processes, as well as integrating artificial intelligence into the most critical sectors of the country”. Though her appointment does not meet the constitutional mandate of “mentally competent” and above the age of eighteen to be elected, there is excitement that this “heartless” minister would eliminate corruption in public procurement.

The enthusiasm about AI and its capability to resolve many issues plaguing humanity is shared by many. Dario Amodei, the CEO of Anthropic, titled his 2024 article on the benefits of AI after a famous American band, Machines of Loving Grace. It seems the Nobel committee also shares the same optimism. The 2024 and 2025 Nobel Prizes in Physics and the 2024 Nobel Prize in Chemistry were awarded to AI scientists. One may not be surprised if AI models win Nobel Prizes in literature and peace in the near future. While the benefits of this technology would percolate down to all fields of human life, including creative literary domains, it is projected that the most visible impact would be in the field of biology, neuroscience and health. As Amodei claims, a powerful AI is “smarter than a Nobel Prize winner across most relevant fields”, thereby “giving us the next 50-100 years of biological progress in 5-10 years”. Sam Altman, the billionaire founder of OpenAI, shares this enthusiasm when he predicts AI can figure out even how to cure cancer as the computing power increases.

Looming concerns

AI raises policy, legal and ethical concerns—ranging from questions relating to who controls the technology to job losses, cybersecurity, copyright violations and human rights issues. The control of the technology is crucial to the directions that it takes. Interestingly, the Nobel Prize-winning researches mentioned earlier took place in private labs. Five of these winners were scientists working with Google’s AI division.

It is a reality that Big Tech controls AI. Any entrant to the field has to rely on the computing infrastructure of these firms to train their systems and the market reach of these companies to sell products.

The OpenAI story is a case in point. It was founded in 2015 as a nonprofit with a mission to ‘ensure that artificial general intelligence benefits all of humanity’. However, by 2019, they had to start a for-profit subsidiary to finance the huge investment needed for research and development. Today, Microsoft holds 27 per cent equity in the for-profit company, whereas the nonprofit OpenAI Foundation holds only 26 per cent. With its deep pockets and control of crucial infrastructure, many fear that these companies are in a position to control the direction that AI technology takes and influence the regulatory structure.

Deepfakes is a major cybersecurity threat today. Indians are familiar with AI-generated fake videos of public figures like Nirmala Sitharaman and Mukesh Ambani giving investment tips. A Deloitte report projects losses up to $40 billion by 2027 in the US alone because of deepfakes.

Interface with copyright law is another emerging arena of conflict. Using copyright-protected works without permission can lead to infringement proceedings, but the ‘fair use doctrine’ allows limited use of these materials without permission for specific purposes like teaching and literary criticism. The use of copyrighted material to train AI systems has come under challenge. The issue here is that whether the same standards used to evaluate infringement can be applied to human beings and machines. A human being can never be punished under copyright law for learning from protected materials.

Another legal issue raised in this context is whether AI can claim copyright. Copyright laws have been developed to incentivise creativity, and is based on the assumption that creativity is a unique human ability. One has to wait and watch how the legal systems around the world address these issues.

The bogey of job losses

The biggest threat posed by AI is its potential to replace labour force at all levels. Geoffrey Hinton, who won the 2024 Nobel Prize in Physics for his AI research, says AI may wipe out millions of jobs. Hinton, known as the godfather of AI for his groundbreaking work in artificial neural networks, resigned from Google in 2023 to freely speak about the dangers of AI.

In addition to job losses, he believes AI would widen inequality in society. Amodei has warned that AI could eliminate 50 per cent of all entry-level white-collar jobs. If the huge investments made in research and development of AI have to bring in returns, there should be large-scale industry reorientation by opting for AI solutions to replace workers. Amazon’s recent 14,000 job cuts may be the beginning.

Financial risks

Many experts fear a repeat of the dot-com bubble wiping away wealth worth billions of dollars. Gita Gopinath, former deputy managing director at IMF, estimates losses to the tune of $35 trillion if a market correction were to happen in the AI field. The share values of AI tech companies have soared exponentially in recent months. Chipmaker Nvidia became the first company in history to cross $5 trillion in market valuation. Other players like Amazon, Alphabet and Microsoft are not far behind.

Developments in this field require huge investments and these companies are not hesitating to do that. OpenAI founder Sam Altman recently announced investments worth $1 trillion over the next few years. There are doubts about how financially prudent these investments are.

Environmental concerns

Each step in AI development comes with significant environmental harm—ranging from obtaining raw materials for hardware manufacturing to electronic waste generated in the process.

Diella may not be power-hungry like a politician, but she needs a lot of ‘power’ to function. A Goldman Sachs report estimates that power demand from data centres would reach 84GW by 2027. Interestingly, India’s total installed power capacity is 476GW as on June 2025. It is not sure how far renewable energy sources would be able to satisfy this surging demand. Nuclear power is another ‘climate friendly’ option suggested to satiate this hunger for power. The recent decision by the US department of energy to loan $1 billion to restart the Three Mile Island nuclear power plant, which witnessed the worst nuclear power accident in the US in 1979, is a sign of the possible solution to the energy problem. Constellation Energy, which owns the facility, has signed a power purchase agreement with Microsoft.

Water consumption is another major environmental issue. AI operations need humongous amounts of water to cool servers. According to an estimate by researchers at the University of California, as much as 1.7 trillion gallons of fresh water would be needed globally a year by 2027 to meet AI’s water demands. In addition, the colossal amount of minerals needed to build the hardware, computers, cables, power lines, batteries and backup generators necessitates indiscriminate mining, which has adverse environmental impacts.

Human rights

Though not intentionally, AI can exacerbate historical discrimination. Lying at the core of artificial intelligence is the capacity to process extensive data, recognise patterns, and make decisions at speeds and scales unachievable by humans. As data is used to train the machines, the bias in the datasets would have an impact on decision-making. Amazon had to scrap its recruiting tool because of its gender bias. As the 10-year recruitment data used to train the system had few female employees among the recruits, the system penalised women candidates. Words denoting female gender like ‘women’, ‘girl’ resulted in lower scores. There are multiple stories of racial bias coming from the law enforcement and health care sectors in the US.

Karen Hao, the author of Empire of AI, a book on OpenAI and its founder Sam Altman, describes the plight of “hidden workers” in the AI industry. Cheap labour in developing countries like Kenya is used for data filtering and identification. She speaks extensively about the emotional trauma of these low-paid workers doing data annotation. They had to sift through gory material and identify them as ‘child sexual abuse’, ‘hate speech’, bestiality’, etc.

Regulation of AI

Regulation of technology has always been a topic of contention.

There are differing view points on questions like whether to regulate technology, when to regulate, and what should be the standard of regulation. Grant E. Isaac and William A. Kerr, professors at the University of Saskatchewan, Canada, point out that regulation of technology depends on the belief of appropriate role of science and technology in society.

On the one hand, we have societies that believe that technologies yield innovations and increase efficiency, thereby increasing economic development. The regulatory regimes of these societies would be ones that encourage innovations and are open to taking risks.

On the other hand, there are societies that view technology as a disruptor that upsets the delicate social balance. The regulations of these societies view technology with caution and create precautionary hurdles in its development. The trans-Atlantic divide on technology regulations may be viewed through this prism. While the EU regulation has been more cautious, the American regulations have been welcoming. One could see such a difference in the field of regulation of AI, too.

A draft Executive Order, now put on pause, by President Donald Trump to block US states from framing AI laws reflect the former view. Whereas the EU AI Act passed in 2014 falls under the latter category. Adopted in 2014, the EU act is the first comprehensive regulatory framework for AI. Based on the risks posed, different rules are applied for AI systems. Certain AI systems are prohibited as they pose unacceptable risks. Exploitation of vulnerabilities, social scoring, assessing likelihood of a person committing crimes, etc., fall under this category.

The second category is high-risk systems, including those used in the management of critical infrastructure. These systems are permitted, but only with strict regulatory norms relating to risk management, data governance, documentation, transparency and human oversight. General purpose AI models have a less stringent regulatory regime and the rest of the AI models are left unregulated.

India recently announced AI Governance Guidelines that prioritise innovation over restraint. The guidelines exude confidence that existing laws like the Information Technology Act, the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita, the Digital Personal Data Protection Act, and the Copyright Act are enough to regulate AI. Thus, the Indian approach is based on the premise that technology can spur innovation and thereby result in economic development.

However, the recent speech by Prime Minister Narendra Modi in the G20 Summit at Johannesburg takes a cautionary approach towards AI. While acknowledging its huge potential, he called for a global compact that should include human oversight, safety by design, and transparency. He called for a ban on use of AI for deepfakes, crime and terrorist activities.

One has to wait and see how innovations in AI are going to unravel, their impact on society, and how this technology is going to be regulated.

The author is professor of law, Sai University, Chennai

the-rise-of-gen-z-how-a-new-generation-is-reshaping-the-indian-subcontinent

Sat Dec 20 19:32:48 IST 2025

WITH THE WORLD at their fingertips, the average Gen Z explores the alleys of a world that appear different from the one so many of us knew. This is the generation that grew up eating their porridge with their eyes fixed on a screen. They speak a new lingo, communicate through unique memes, and rely on emojis and GIFs for everyday conversation.

Corporate employers often view Gen Z as an entitled group who lack agility and urgency, are absorbed in social media—leading to poor personal communication skills—and are oversensitive or “too easily offended”. Similarly, their parents’ generation (mostly Gen X) often sees them as the cohort that can’t read cursive handwriting, doesn’t know how to write a cheque, can’t navigate a paper map, and is helpless without GPS.

Unlike earlier generations, they never witnessed stark poverty on the streets, or on television. They didn’t grow up seeing barefoot children near thatched mud houses, or workers in torn vests toiling under the sun in paddy fields or construction sites. But what they did witness was even worse: the Covid-19 pandemic. They spent many months indoors, cut off from sports and friends. The isolation strained their mental health deeply. Many sought psychiatric help during that period—and the mental health crisis still lingers today.

While Gen Z make up only about 15 per cent of the population in developed nations, they account for 40-50 per cent in the Indian subcontinent. Their short attention span, blunt directness and demand for clarity will shape the future. The sooner political aspirants and marketing honchos realise this, the better prepared they will be to engage with them.

Gen Z is the first generation in the subcontinent to openly speak about stress, depression, anxiety and emotional boundaries. They admire podcasters who cater to their curiosity with crisp, consumable content—unlike mainstream media. No surprise, then, that viral content on YouTube and Instagram is dominated by themes that resonate with them: spirituality, mental wellbeing, the animal world, and alien life.

The older members of Gen Z, meanwhile, have been building their lives on digital foundations, powered by cheap data and smartphones. Even in a harsh job market, they prioritise mental health over academic or workplace stress. They are consciously breaking a cycle of generational trauma built around proving one’s worth to parents and society.

Their embrace of the gig economy is equally striking. They are comfortable building a portfolio career—one main job accompanied by side hustles—to ensure financial resilience in an economy where job security is no longer guaranteed.

A defining trait of this generation is their hunger for authenticity. In an age of political sloganeering and corporate platitudes, their “bullshit detectors” are sharp. They take greenwashing and nepotism personally and seriously.

They are not dazzled by star endorsements or big global brands. They believe in minimalism. And they are more likely to trust a local manufacturer or creator who shares genuine user reviews than multinational brands.

Their social and political consciousness stands out. Raised in an era of extreme political polarisation, they demand accountability from those holding power, especially when authority turns abusive.

Across Nepal and Bangladesh, the world has seen how effectively Gen Z can use social media to organise protests, mobilising crowds, and amplifying silenced voices. A gaming app like Discord being used in Nepal to choose a leader shows how deeply technology has permeated this generation. It enables them to strategise in real time, without the need for a traditional leader.

In Bangladesh, Gen Z played a decisive role in recent political upheavals. What began as student grievance over quota system escalated into a national uprising, powered by social media counter-narratives, videos exposing police brutality, and calls for solidarity far beyond campuses.

After Sri Lanka’s severe post-pandemic economic crisis, Gen Z there has turned to social commerce with renewed vigour. The political turmoil—most visibly the one in 2022—shaped their worldview. They seek financial security, are distrustful of political mismanagement, and increasingly see migration as a path to stability and opportunity.

In India, Gen Z is often described as liberal yet pragmatic, ambitious yet rooted in family. Unlike their western counterparts, they still value close-knit families and eating meals at home. They are gently challenging traditional expectations around careers, lifestyle, and marriage—shifting from duty-driven choices to fulfilment-driven ones.

The Indian film industry is also reflecting this shift. Gen Z prefer character-driven, original storytelling to superstar spectacles. They reward strong narratives and grounded performances over star power. There is a growing appetite for low- or mid-budget, content-driven films, crisp social commentary, or grounded human emotions. There is an increased interest in regional cinema.

With an inherent eco-anxiety, Gen Z is conscious of the environmental and social impact of the fashion industry. This has fuelled a massive shift towards conscious, ethical consumption and a booming second-hand market to downplay fast fashion. Thrifting and pre-owned clothing are not signs of frugality but badges of conscious living. Unlike their parents, they are unlikely to save up for a luxury leather bag; they prefer brands known for its eco-friendliness, craftsmanship, and ethical practices that ensure no animal cruelty.

Gen Z is a paradoxical and powerful force. They are not rebels without a cause but strategists with a purpose. They are using their hyper-connectivity to build, to organise, and to challenge the foundations of societies in the subcontinent. We must recognise that their seemingly unconventional behaviour is a rational response to the world they have been given. They are shaping the future of the subcontinent in their unique way, and there is much we can learn from them.

The writer is a pathologist and an author.

golden-synthesis-for-a-new-future

Sat Dec 20 18:53:40 IST 2025

A cross the vast sweep of the Indian subcontinent—its forests and rivers, deserts and coasts, bustling cities and remote hamlets—there lies an invisible but unmistakable wireframe. It is a substratum of consciousness, a civilisational field that has cohered, expanded, evolved and renewed itself continuously over millennia. Few cultures in the world have sustained such an unbroken civilisational journey across 5,000 years of recorded history, and even further back into the enigmatic era of the Indus–Saraswati civilisation.

Yet India has not merely survived; it has constantly reshaped itself, remaining internally diverse but spiritually continuous. “To acquire by ignoring the outward joys and sorrows the inner freedom is possible only for the Indian, the Indian alone is capable of undertaking activity in a spirit of non-attachment, while the sacrifice of ego and indifference in action are acknowledged as the highest aim of her education and culture and are the seed of her national character,” says Sri Aurobindo.

The Indian civilisation has always rested on two axes of continuity: time, where its cultural memory extends deep into antiquity; and space, where its values, myths, aesthetic, ethical and mystical forms and ideals permeate every region. Scratch the surface of any village festival, folk song, local deity or regional legend—from Kashmir to Kanyakumari, from Kutch to Kohima—and one finds a dense weave of stories, heroes and principles that sustain the moral and spiritual imagination of the people. This is not merely cultural nostalgia; it is India’s living consciousness tradition, one that has guided material development while grounding it in ethical restraint, human dignity, reverence for life and the pursuit of inner mastery. The essence of this consciousness blended with faith and devotion, Bhakti, is found across time and space in the compositions of Lalleswari in present day Kashmir; Mirabai who spent her life in western India, across what is today’s Rajasthan and Gujarat; Andal, the young girl from Srivilliputhur in today’s Tamil Nadu, who was elevated to sainthood as an Azhwar with her devotion, even though the lever of her devotion had an object that usually evokes disgust, a strand of hair that the lord so happily accepted, as it was fully charged with her pure bhakti; as also the deep devotion bordering on madness that had gripped Sri Ramakrishna Paramahansa, very close to Kolkata.

MATERIAL EXCELLENCE ANCHORED IN CONSCIOUSNESS

India’s civilisational DNA has always viewed material prosperity not as an end, but as an expression of a deeper inner order. Agriculture, architecture, water harvesting, classical arts, temple construction, polity, medicine, metallurgy, mathematics—all these flourished across the subcontinent because they were aligned to a larger dharma, an order, beauty and harmony of outer work with inner poise. This ideal is encapsulated in the Vedic discovery that humanity’s progress depends on a double movement: the outer expansion of capacities, and the inner illumination of consciousness. Far from dismissing the world, the Vedas envisioned life itself as a progressive unfolding of consciousness. Yet this profound insight lay partially veiled until Sri Aurobindo unravelled the ‘Secret of the Vedas’, reclaimed and re-decoded it with extraordinary clarity.

SRI AUROBINDO: REUNITING THE TWO HALVES OF HUMAN ASPIRATION

Sri Aurobindo stands uniquely at the crossroads of the ancient and the modern. Educated entirely in the West, trained in classical literature, Renaissance thought, European philosophy and modern science, he returned to India at 21 and, almost with an inner compulsion, mastered Sanskrit, Bengali and several Indian languages. With this mastery came a revelation: the Vedas, long regarded as ritualistic hymns, concealed within them a profound psychological and spiritual science.

In his monumental work The Life Divine, Sri Aurobindo articulates a compelling vision: true human progress requires a synthesis of outer excellence and inner evolution. Neither material growth alone nor spiritual withdrawal alone can fulfil humanity’s destiny. This is the essence of what he termed the Life Divine—life in a new world, where prosperity, aesthetics, science, governance and human relationships are uplifted by a higher consciousness.

This synthesis is nowhere more beautifully encapsulated than in his interpretation of a cryptic verse of the Isha Upanishad, one that puzzled me when I first read it as a young student. It boldly stated that:

•Those who follow the path of Avidyã (knowledge of the world, material development) fall into darkness.

•But those who follow Vidyã (inner knowledge, spiritual pursuit) fall into an even deeper darkness.

At first glance, this seemed paradoxical. Why should the inner path lead to deeper darkness? It was my reading of Sri Aurobindo’s interpretation of the Isha Upanishad that first cleared this paradox: The error lay not in Vidyã or Avidyã themselves, but in choosing one to the exclusion of the other.

Material progress without consciousness leads to arrogance, destruction, inequality and disharmony. Spiritual withdrawal without engagement in life leads to ineffectiveness, stagnation and irrelevance. The Upanishad, then, is not condemning either knowledge—it is pointing to a golden synthesis, a surya-path, the sunlit path where the journey outward and the journey inward become complementary. The aspiration for excellence in the world and the aspiration for inner transformation must walk hand in hand. This essence of Isha Upanishad has been the foundational thought that led Sri Aurobindo to write his celebrated book, The Life Divine. Interestingly, Mahatma Gandhi, when asked to name one book that would save humanity in case all the scriptures and texts were lost to some apocalypse, chose the Isha Upanishad. Another saint of Bharat with a great following among the masses, Shirdi Sai Baba has also given a very simple, yet poignant explanation of the Isha Upanishad. “That man ought to enjoy whatever God has bestowed on him, with the firm conviction that God besets him on all sides and that whatever is bestowed on him by God must be for his good.”

In his article on A Preface to National Education, Sri Aurobindo writes:

“India has seen always in man the individual a soul, a portion of the Divinity enwrapped in mind and body, a conscious manifestation in Nature of the universal self and spirit. Always she has distinguished and cultivated in him a mental, an intellectual, an ethical, dynamic and practical, an aesthetic and hedonistic, a vital and physical being, but all these have been seen as powers of a soul that manifests through them and grows with their growth, and yet they are not all the soul, because at the summit of its ascent it arises to something greater than them all, into a spiritual being, and it is in this that she has found the supreme manifestation of the soul of man and his ultimate divine manhood, his paramartha and highest purusartha. And similarly India has not understood by the nation or people an organised State or an armed and efficient community well prepared for the struggle of life and putting all at the service of the national ego—that is only the disguise of iron armour which masks and encumbers the national Purusha—but a great communal soul and life that has appeared in the whole and has manifested a nature of its own and a law of that nature, a Swabhava and Swadharma, and embodied it in its intellectual, aesthetic, ethical, dynamic, social and political forms and culture. And equally then our cultural conception of humanity must be in accordance with her ancient vision of the universal manifesting in the human race, evolving through life and mind but with a high ultimate spiritual aim—it must be the idea of the spirit, the soul of humanity advancing through struggle and concert towards oneness, increasing its experience and maintaining a needed diversity through the varied culture and life motives of its many peoples, searching for perfection through the development of the powers of the individual and his progress towards a diviner being and life, but feeling out too though more slowly after a similar perfectibility in the life of the race.”

RAMA, JANAKA AND THE IDEAL OF CONSCIOUS CIVILISATION

Indian civilisation has always idealised leaders who embody this twofold excellence. Sri Rama stands foremost among them—not as a figure of worship alone, but as the model of ethical governance and inner steadfastness. Tested by exile, loss, betrayal and war, Rama never deviated from dharma. His strength was not brute force; it was conscious self-mastery, an inner poise that informed his decisions and inspired his people. Similarly, King Janaka, the philosopher-king of Videha, represents the perfect integration of rajadharma and brahmavidya. He governed with fairness, nurtured prosperity, yet remained anchored in deep inner realisation. His dialogues with sages like Yajñavalkya show how spiritual insight and statecraft can reinforce each other, not stand apart. These ideals did not vanish with antiquity; they resurfaced across centuries, in every region of India.

AHILYABAI HOLKAR: GOVERNANCE AS SACRED SERVICE

Ahilyabai Holkar, who lived in the 18th century, stands as one of India’s greatest rulers—regardless of era or gender. Facing prejudice, political turmoil and the burden of leading a kingdom, she built an administration marked by justice, compassion and astonishing efficiency. But her greatest legacy was not only governance; it was also her spiritual servitorship.

For her, ruling was an act of divine service. She signed documents as a servitor of Mahadev, rebuilt temples from Somnath to Kashi, established dharamshalas, ghats, wells, tanks and pathways for pilgrims and ensured that public wealth served public good. Her spiritual humility strengthened her temporal authority—a true example of the golden synthesis.

RANI DURGAVATI: STRENGTH, SIMPLICITY AND THE WELFARE OF HER PEOPLE

Rani Durgavati, queen of the Gond regions in today’s central India, exemplified the unity of courage, administrative acumen, ecological foresight and deep faith and love for her people. Married into a tribal lineage, she improved water harvesting systems, civic infrastructure and governance mechanisms. Her subjects revered her not only as a ruler but also as a manifestation of strength and divinity. Her leadership arose from an inner consciousness that honoured nature, community and dharma.

RAVIDAS AND THE SPIRITUAL DEMOCRACY OF CONSCIOUSNESS

India’s civilisational wireframe is not limited to royalty. It finds luminous expression in saints like Sant Ravidas, who emerged from a community once labelled “untouchable” but transcended all social hierarchies through the power of spiritual realisation. His message was simple yet revolutionary: When consciousness awakens, all social constructs dissolve. Authentic spiritual experience becomes a great equaliser, restoring dignity and harmony where society had generated division. This “spiritual democracy” has always been one of India’s unique strengths.

THE WORLD TODAY: A CALL FOR CONSCIOUS LEADERSHIP

The world in 2025 is experiencing turbulence—wars, polarisation, loneliness, mental health crises, environmental degradation and the paradox of scarcity amidst abundance. Technology has advanced at lightning speed, artificial intelligence is transforming every sector, yet humanity remains anxious and fragmented. This is precisely the danger the Upanishad warns against: Avidya without Vidya leads us into darkness.

India’s role in the world today cannot be based solely on economic growth, demographic strength, digital innovation or military capability—though all are essential. What India uniquely offers is conscious leadership: progress anchored in values, prosperity without arrogance, power without aggression, and scientific advancement aligned with ethical clarity.

To be a true Vishwaguru, India must model and inspire—not dominate. Leadership emerges not from wealth or force but from inner authority, the ability to uplift, harmonise and guide.

EMBEDDING CONSCIOUSNESS IN EDUCATION

The future of this vision rests on how we educate the next generation. Beyond academic achievement, we must teach reverence for life, kindness, empathy and respect, honesty and truthfulness, silence, reflection and inner awareness, joy in service and responsibility, resilience and emotional balance.

Through stories, activities, narratives, arts, community engagement and experiential learning, children can discover the deeper dimensions of being human. Adults, too—teachers, parents, professionals—must model conscious behaviour. A society rooted in consciousness will accelerate Bharat’s rise not merely in GDP, innovation or infrastructure, but in stature and global influence, to excel in all fields and truly inspire the world. "All can be done if the God touch is there," says Sri Aurobindo.

THE GOLDEN THREAD

From the Vedic seers to Sri Aurobindo, from Rama and Janaka to Ahilyabai, Rani Durgavati and Sant Ravidas, India’s greatest luminaries reveal a single underlying truth: outer excellence attains its highest expression only when anchored in inner consciousness.

This is the golden thread that binds India’s civilisational journey across time and space.

This is the inner wireframe that sustains her identity.

This is the leadership model the world now needs.

And this is the path—the sunlit path of synthesis—on which India, that is Bharat, must walk to fulfil her destiny as a true Vishwaguru.

The author is secretary, Auroville Foundation.

from-daimlers-to-studebakers-inside-payana-d-veerendra-heggade-vintage-car-museum

Sat Dec 20 18:39:15 IST 2025

A long the old Mysuru-Bengaluru highway, tyres once hung outside shops, indicating to passing travellers that vehicle-related help was just a stop away. As the highway became a new six-lane, access-controlled expressway, those convenient roadside shops vanished.

Near Srirangapatna, however, a tyre-shaped steel structure atop a building catches the eye. It, too, has something to do with vehicles, but in a far more nostalgic sense. Welcome to Payana, a vintage automobile museum that takes visitors on a journey through India’s automotive heritage.

The museum was conceived and built by D. Veerendra Heggade, the hereditary administrator of the Dharmasthala temple trust in Karnataka’s Dakshina Kannada district. An automobile enthusiast, Heggade personally curated the museum’s collection, which began with 70 vintage vehicles. Since its opening in April 2024, Payana has attracted over 19 lakh visitors.

Spread across two expansive floors, it is open every day from 9am to 8pm, with entry priced at Rs50. Entry is free for children below seven years and students. The museum’s ever-growing collection now includes 80 four-wheelers and 32 two-wheelers. More will join them; vintage vehicle owners across the country have expressed interest in donating their cherished machines.

On a bright Saturday morning, the museum’s sprawling premises are speckled with the previous night’s rain. The atmosphere is festive. Former Hunsur MLA H.P. Manjunath and his family, dressed for the occasion, are gathered near a 1968 Tata lorry, freshly painted and adorned with floral garlands. They have come to donate the lorry, their family’s old workhorse to the museum. The symbolic handover of the keys is to be made directly to Heggade, who is a member of the Rajya Sabha. But it is mainly to take THE WEEK for an exclusive walk through the museum that Heggade has come to Payana on this day.

As we tour the place, Heggade’s passion becomes apparent. The museum may dazzle visitors with its polished displays and vibrant colours, and the discerning will note that the layout is thoughtfully organised, guiding them through time and technology with clarity.

Payana, which means “journey” in Kannada, begins with the evolution of the wheel and concludes with vehicles recently phased out of production. In between, the exhibits tell compelling stories. Each vehicle has an informative plaque detailing its model, year of manufacture, engine capacity and country of origin.

For the 77-year-old Heggade, one car has a personal touch—a 1962 Standard Herald, the first vehicle he ever owned. “I learned to drive in this car,” he says with emotion. Encouraged by his father, Ratnavarma Heggade, he began driving at the age of 19 and once drove all the way to Mysuru under the watchful eye of the family’s chauffeur.

He walks up to the Herald, parked at the gallery entrance, and opens the bonnet—unlike modern cars, it lifts from back to front.

As we stroll past the gleaming displays, he stops to gently touch each car. One of his most prized possessions is the 1949 Daimler DE 36, once owned by Jayachamarajendra Wadiyar, the last Maharaja of Mysore. “This model was built under a royal warrant for a British tour of Australia. The trip never happened, and the Maharaja acquired it instead. Years later, I bought it from the royal family,” he explains. “It’s a straight-eight engine (eight cylinders placed in a single, straight line)—but a gas guzzler!”

Another standout is a 1947 Studebaker Champion, once driven by Nobel laureate C.V. Raman. “Raman’s family visited Dharmasthala once, and after seeing our collection, they donated his car to the museum,” he says. Also captivating are the 1925 Fiat 501, the elegant 1926 Mercedes-Benz 8/38 HP, the rugged 1946 Dodge Power Wagon and the iconic 1947 Citroen Traction Avant 11CV. Among other important displays are a 1929 Studebaker President 8, used by Mahatma Gandhi, and a 1983 Datsun Bluebird, once owned by Kannada actor Vishnuvardhan.

For Heggade, the restoration workshop behind the museum is a sacred place where dilapidated vehicles get a new life and become sentinels of history. Currently, a Fiat taxi from Mumbai is getting a facelift with its vintage taxi meter.

Heggade plans to add military vehicles to the museum. “They played a crucial role in defending our nation,” he says. “I spoke to the defence minister about donating vintage military vehicles, and he agreed. Soon, we will showcase machines that served our armed forces with distinction.”

30-years-of-the-internet-in-india-from-shammi-kapoor-yahoo-to-upi-rise

Tue Dec 23 11:08:16 IST 2025

What do Yahoo! and Shammi Kapoor have in common? As it turns out, a lot more than that iconic shout in the Mohammed Rafi song ‘Chahe Koi Mujhe Junglee Kahe’ from Junglee (1961). The romantic hero was also an internet pioneer in the country back in the days, forming the first Internet Users Club of India, and going door to door in Mumbai demonstrating how the internet worked and how it could change our lives.

And if you were one of the early users of the internet back then, like Kapoor, it was literally impossible to avoid the first of the Big Techs—Yahoo! The Silicon Valley-based company may have lost its perch by now to the likes of Google and Meta, but in those glory days in the 1990s, Yahoo! was king—from its email to its salaciously addictive chat rooms where a thousand flowers of free-wheeling thought, speech and desires bloomed safe in the internet’s early promise of anonymity and no censorship. Yahoo! was everywhere, and not just in Kapoor’s lexicon.

The internet completed 30 years in India this year, and perhaps it is ironic, yet at the same time rather apt, that the milestone did not garner much attention. Ironic, considering the transformation it unleashed on the nation, and also pretty much in the scheme of things because of more or less the same reason—how universal it is now and how integral it has become to our daily lives. It seems like it has always been around.

In 2005, when the internet completed a decade in the country, THE WEEK ran a cover story, predicting that the usage ‘e-life’, then common terminology describing a lifestyle spending inordinately long hours online, would soon be called, just simply, life.

It is a prediction that came to pass, but the journey of the internet has been much more complex. As early adopter Osama Manzar, who designed many of the initial news websites in India of the late 1990s and early 2000s puts it, “The digital space and scenario has evolved, morphed, exploded, imploded, opened up opportunities, restricted freedom of speech, instilled confidence in the ambitious (but) also stunted growth... [like with] online bullying.”

Like most other milestones in human innovation and achievement, the online space, too, has evolved with time. The modem crackle of the early-day dial-up connections has given way to an always-on smartphone.

From buying a flight or train ticket to paying your electricity bill or applying for a visa to finding a life partner, we use apps for many activities that previously involved either waiting (those from the era of booking trunk calls will nod) or going out to a brick-and-mortar establishment (buying groceries, food, medicines and at least in some Indian states, liquor, too).

The powers-that-be also took to this world running on ether with gusto—government services progressively becoming available online, to leaders and celebrities using the internet to take their message directly to the people. This did turn out to be a double-edged sword, with the premise of early-day pioneers of the internet that it will remain a bastion of free speech becoming the first of the net’s roadkills. Yes, we may still get a load of free porn, but in many nations, free speech is no longer guaranteed. Forget freedom, China’s ‘bamboo curtain’ keeps away, and under check, its one billion-plus populace in an ecosystem that is more or less home-grown—and home‘bound’.

Beyond personal liberties, that very premise of a censor-less internet soon got upended right on its head, with a scenario that today can make George Orwell wag his finger and say, “I told you so!” The surveillance state is very much a reality of our times, supercharged thanks to the internet—government entities are the biggest buyers of spy tools, and it does not even require sophisticated technology to track every comment citizens make or every website they visit, and even every keystroke.

AI and agentic AI would only make such measures even easier, and are already sending encryption and cybersecurity experts scurrying back to the drawing board. Forget India’s own struggles with getting data protection laws or those authoritarian states in west Asia or Africa, even the US, a country that proudly bills itself “the land of the free”, today checks personal social media activities as official state policy before granting certain types of visas.

Perhaps it is often a case of any real world matter having a yin and a yang, something good as well as bad coming out of it. The very democratisation of the internet has given everyone a platform to spread their version of truth to the world, which has turned it into a world of cacophony and belligerence.

While the jury is still out on this, the devastating after-effects are there for everyone to see—there is a reason we now call it the post-truth era. For India, the internet has equally been an empowering force as much as a repository of fake news that changes power equations. At its ugliest, it has caused mob lynching and loss of reputation leading to destruction of innocent lives. But on the flip side, the access to information, specially government services going online, has made lives easier—the India Stack of technologies for public service delivery is a poster boy of digital empowerment, the Covid-era vaccine drive being its most famous example.

For all its complexities, if one were to look back at how the internet transformed India, and the world, the perspective we get is one of change. Change unabashed, unvarnished and with all its warts. Change that has been amazingly good, but which also augurs disturbing possibilities as it hurtles down the highway of this post-truth information age. Sometimes the easier thing to do is to just take a joyride back down that highway, screaming at the top of your lungs, “Yahoo!” Getting a perspective of the road we have taken can give clarity on the road to be taken. Or not taken.

1 The internet comes to town

Ever heard of HEC-2M? Well, it is the first computer to be installed in India, British-made and installed at the Indian Statistical Institute in Kolkata back in 1955 for data analysis. But the road from that to Videsh Sanchar Nigam Limited (VSNL) launching internet took more than three decades, slowly building up the computer buzz across the nation.

It started with closed networks, like those of banks setting up an inter-operational network for clearing cheques, to railways creating a digital, real-time pan-Indian ticket booking system. Then came NICNET that connected government entities for instant official communication via satellite, to ERNET, which interlinked top educational institutions like Bengaluru’s Indian Institute of Science and several IITs, giving them access to research updates and scholarly works.

VSNL, the sole authorised government entity with foreign connectivity, launched internet for the public on independence day in 1995, launching a dial-up service (via your phone and a modem, with local call charges applying on top of the internet fees) as well as leased lines (meant for commercial establishments).

2 Can you Yahoo!

Looking back, those early days of the internet appear deliciously vintage. Anyone who knew how to connect, open websites or even do chats or send an email was considered a tech wizard. Manzar, who worked in the internet division of a leading media house in Delhi in the late 1990s, reminisced how leading journalists lined up in front of him, asking for help in opening an email account and chat!

The initial experience was almost purely American (some might say it has not changed even now), with Microsoft Windows the default operating system (Apple’s Mac and eWorld initiatives took their time), Netscape the smoother browser (which Microsoft’s Internet Explorer managed to kill off soon enough, not because of any superior quality but thanks to Microsoft’s software dominance), Hotmail the hottest email provider and Yahoo the giant you went to for everything else.

Yahoo ruled the roost, dominating anything from information (search engine), news, shopping (for those who dared to use their credit cards online to buy something prohibitively expensive from abroad, that is) and yes, its salacious chat rooms. In a world where talking to someone far away was a prohibitive long distance call away, chat rooms were nothing short of revolution. While it did connect near, far and dear ones, its bigger ‘contribution’ was helping strangers connect for anything they fancy, though the reputation the chatrooms got—right from its signature ASL acronym (age, sex, location; the first thing that was asked)—was seedy, and often downright creepy, as it was found to help paedophiliacs lure unsuspecting kids. Chatrooms died out by the 2010s, equally because of the distasteful reputation as much as the social media revolution that followed.

3 Hot‘male’

Chandigarh-born Sabeer Bhatia became one of the initial poster boys of the internet when he launched the internet’s first free email service Hotmail, which you could access from anywhere. Previously, email accounts were linked to your internet service provider’s (ISP) connection, which limited its accessibility. Bhatia, who had briefly worked in Apple, launched Hotmail as a web-based, rather than ISP-based, service, on American independence day in 1996, along with colleague Jack Smith.

Hotmail was the first revolutionary link in the internet’s ‘connecting people’ credentials (sorry, Nokia), coming after bulletin board services and ISP emails and ahead of the chat rooms, messengers, social media and WhatsApp. Bhatia became a star around the world, and his selling of Hotmail to Microsoft for some $400 million only added to his lure.

Hotmail’s own future wasn’t much of a happily-ever-after. Microsoft slowly killed off the branding, in favour of merging it into its own Outlook. In a way, the tragedy of early web email services like Hotmail, email.com and Imaginemail were the lack of a profitable business model—something which Gmail hit on later on by monetising the data in the emails.

4 Why not... till Y2K

Hotmail’s sell off for a mind-boggling figure led to the first internet gold rush, when everyone and their aunty bought up a domain name offering a plethora of services. Some were lucky enough to get some investors, while others were left floundering when sceptic journos asked them the question they dreaded, “What is your business model?”

How could one possibly announce that the only aim was to get their websites lapped up by biggies or those funding VCs looking for the next boom time story? From IndiaPlaza.com (e-commerce) to SeventyMM (movie rental), many of them now litter the graveyard that the dot-com boom to bust led to, though Indian IT companies did make hay while the Y2K scare shined at the turn of the millennium.

5 Cyber hub

Beyond offices where staffers were lucky enough to get net access, the initial introduction to the internet for most Indians right unto the 2010s were not through laptops or phones, but from those neighbourhood internet ‘cafes’ that sprang up all over. Cafe owners turned into educators, teaching anyone from that middle-aged guy looking to create an email id to a college student wanting to look up job vacancies.

From chats to porn to even hook-up spots (many internet centres in the hinterland started adding partitions between desktop machines to offer privacy), the internet cafes spawned their own counterculture that was quite the antidote to the rapidly increasing morality norms of the real world.

6 The truth about Satyam

The government unfastened its tight grip on internet service only in the late 1990s, when Satyam became the nation’s first private internet service provider. Sify, or Satyam Infoway, became a household name, and its promoter Ramalinga Raju became the poster boy of Indian entrepreneurs making it big in the exciting new internet economy. In media interviews, he spoke of operating across 50 countries and aiming for a staff strength of 50,000 and in investor pitches the company showed its financial strength in billion dollars, while in reality it was a fraction of that amount.

Things slowly unravelled after a botched real estate acquisition attempt, and Raju had to confess to accounting irregularities over years. Satyam was eventually purchased by Tech Mahindra, while Raju went to prison, later describing the accounting fraud he had to mount in the company to “riding a tiger not knowing how to get off without being eaten”. But hey, Raju survived and has got documentaries and OTT shows on his colourful life up on the internet.

7 You’ve got mail

Sachin Taparia of LocalCircles is a consumer rights activist who uses the internet for his mission, but his first brush with the new medium was a lot more earthy. Moving to the US for higher studies, he found a unique ‘click-and-mortar’ format initiated by India’s Postal Department, called e-Post, as a means of staying in touch with his grandparents in Bhopal.

It worked like this: he would send an email to e-Post, where staff will print out the letter, put it in an envelope and post it from the sorting office in Chennai to his grandparents in Bhopal. Their reply took the reverse route—they will write a letter and post it to Bharat Mail, where staff would scan and email to Taparia in Cincinnati.

“Instead of taking 15 days to come from America to India, the letter took only three days—basically the Chennai to Bhopal time,” he recounted, “So it was a great internet-provided way to stay in touch with your family for people who were abroad. Even with those who were not online, who did not how to use an email. That was the 1990s internet for me.”

8 Gatekeeper to the internet

While websites and browsers and the network backbone were all significant, one entrepreneur decided to translate his business domination of a crucial element in the internet ecosystem—that of the operating system software—into one that controlled everything else.

And for some time, Bill Gates and Microsoft managed exactly that, his shareholding in the Seattle company earning him the ‘richest man on earth’ title for the longest time. Intensely admired and even more intensely hated, Gates ensured nothing came in the way of the Windows dominance—including the Netscape browser being more popular than Internet Explorer, for example. Thousands thronged his public events when he visited New Delhi in March 1997, with politicians, celebrities and business leaders hanging on to his every word.

However, technology and regulations soon came in the way, and in what is fast becoming a recurring pattern in technology, a shift in trends—in this case from the computer to the mobile phone—signalled Microsoft’s fall from its lofty perch. Having reinvented itself in recent years under Satya Nadella, Microsoft is making a fresh play at hitting pole position online, primarily thanks to its early bets on OpenAI, the parent of ChatGPT.

9 How smart is your phone?

The runaway leader in the initial years of mobile telephony was Nokia. The focus then was simple: sleek design, voice clarity, affordability, and with a lot of premium on size—the smaller, the better.

Nokia, to be fair, innovated constantly, from adding features like games, torch, cameras and even the internet, though the route it took was a duplication of the desktop computer access model, which was too cumbersome for phones. Enter the likes of BlackBerry and then, the iPhone with their apps ecosystem and focus on easy-to-use, internet-first mobiles, and everything changed. Phones went smart, with Nokia appearing not-so-smart and behind the curve.

10 Message in the medium

In the beginning was the word, and the word had to be typed out using an alphanumeric keyboard to be sent out as a message via SMS, or short messaging service, the first of the messaging apps on phones. However, as the internet got on to phones, the SMS became that poor older cousin nobody but telemarketers cared about as many new options sprang up.

The first to capture popular imagination was BBM, or the BlackBerry Messenger. In the mid-2000s, connecting via the closed BBM app became like being part of some elite members-only club. Apple then tied up with WhatsApp, an app already on its App Store for people to share their status. It became popular once it added a messaging component in 2009. Unlike BBM which could only be used on BlackBerry (until the company changed the restriction, by which time it was too late), WhatsApp worked on all phone interfaces, and it soon became the world’s most used messaging platform. It was snapped up by Facebook for $19 billion in 2014.

Of course, China refused to allow American platforms to operate in the mainland, resulting in its own unique apps, the market leader being WeChat in messaging.

11 Yug yug Jio

While the internet did grow leaps and bounds in the country, two factors limited its growth: the access device being a pricey computer, and the access language being primarily English. Despite internet cafes proliferating in the 2000s, the numbers were still small. In August 2005, internet users in India were still at less than four crore, and almost all of them in urban areas.

The turning point was when the nation’s richest man came in as a late entrant into the fiercely competitive telecom sector. To make his mark, his Reliance Jio shook up the market, offering nationwide coverage with free handsets and data packages costing next to nothing. Data charges in India crashed to some of the lowest in the world, with accessibility shooting up sharply. In one deft move, Ambani transformed forever two sectors with one price-cutting move: the internet and telephony converged and now seemed intertwined for life.

12 The phone supremacy

Running parallel to the fast spread of internet access was the new ‘iPhone snobbery’. Apple turned the smartphone from the utility into one of temptation and snob value. While the likes of Nokia did try the same with its gold-cased Vertu phones, iPhones had a combo of looks, snob value and great features, a formula Vertu could not replicate.

Today, it is not uncommon for people to sport phones costing a few lakh rupees, some limited edition or some with Louis Vuitton phone cases. The latest aspirational model is the trifold phone, launched by Samsung recently in Korea.

13 Dictatorship of the proletariat

Mark Zuckerberg started Facebook in his Harvard dorm as a place to compare the attractiveness of fellow college girls. The jury is still out on whether that would have been a more loftier objective than social media’s present day degeneration into a Tower of Babel, a cess pool where tempers run high, anger leads to real world disasters, fake news rules, and toxicity and social engineering permeate.

Orkut was the frontrunner when it came to social media, but Facebook stole its thunder and established itself as a behemoth by the late 2000s—giving pride and purpose to the internet at the right stage just when those heady early experiences of chatting with strangers, sending emails and getting news and videos were starting to get a wee bit impersonal. Social media showed the way forward: news and updates from people you know, people you care about, in a world where privacy was at a premium (and no one seemed to mind).

Later iterations included the news-and-views-in-a-capsule format of Twitter (rechristened as X), the dainty filter-filtered world of Instagram, and the likes of Snapchat—the pre-pubescent generation’s antidote to their parents, uncles and aunties getting on to FB and Insta. But the road ahead for social media is uncertain, with increasing reports of personal updates fast disappearing from sites, replaced with quick video content from creators that give addictive ‘dopamine’ rush to a ‘doomscrolling’ generation.

14 Broadband baje baaraat

While many of the early Indian entrepreneurial attempts at website building crashed with the dot-cum bust of the early 2000s, one uniquely Indian idea survived, and thrived. Matrimonial services made a smooth switch online, with sites like Shaadi.com, BharatMatrimony.com and M4Marry.com thriving. There are more than five crore registered users on such sites in India, with the online format catering to every caste, creed and such desi permutations and combinations. There is even one for seniors looking for a second innings in their silver years.

15 Atmanirbhar Bharat

India’s attempt at having desi equivalents to the most popular internet avenues is still a work in progress. Unlike China where international players were kept out leading to blooming of giants like Baidu (search), Alibaba (e-commerce), WeChat, Meituan (delivery) and Douyin (TikTok’s domestic version), Indian startups had an uneven playing field, thanks to American biggies like Google and Meta.

Yet, dextrous moves have helped some desi names to stand on their feet, like Flipkart (now majority owned by America’s Walmart), Rapido (cab hailing) Sharechat (Indian language social media). Koo was heralded as a desi alternative to Twitter but had to bow out because of financial pressures. The latest entrant is Zoho’s Arattai, which is aiming to disrupt the dominance of WhatsApp in the country in messaging.

16 Video Ga Ga

Among the many origin stories rolling around the internet about YouTube, perhaps the most interesting is the one that claims that co-founder Jawed Karim thought of a video sharing site after he could not easily locate a clip of pop star Janet Jackson’s infamous Nipplegate anywhere online. YouTube today is one of the most frequently visited sites in the world, with immense social and cultural impact, a veritable lodestar to our era.

However, the larger story of videos taking over from text is one of the defining trends over the past 10 to 15 years. Especially in India, where literacy in general and proficiency in English in particular were major stumbling blocks to early adoption, the arrival of Jio plus better broadband speeds that allowed video buffering meant a sudden spurt in internet usage.

While the massive popularity of the short video app TikTok was truncated by a government ban following Chinese incursions in Ladakh, TikTok’s loss soon became Instagram’s gain, as the Meta-owned platform which started life as a photo-sharing site soon pivoted to hosting Reels. More Indian person-hours are today spent on Instagram Reels and YouTube Shorts (YouTube’s own vertical format short video feature) than anywhere, online or offline. That in itself is a worrisome story for another time.

17 The age of the influencer

The utter democratising effect of the internet is most seen at the rise of the content creator as a bona fide job profile. On the face of it, the business model is mighty simple—making Instagram posts and Reels and videos for YouTube makes you an ‘influencer’, and in the word itself lies its immense monetising potential: influencers build up their following and once it crosses a threshold, marketers pay them to promote products, services and the like.

It has spawned stars who are today as recognised as matinee idols, with personalities like CarryMinati and Bhuvan Bam becoming household names. Some have even branched out into movie careers. At the same time, it is a contentious job category which many elders worry youngsters are needlessly getting enamoured with. Because, while at the top tier, an influencer in India gets paid in lakhs for every post, reaching there is a path strewn with stress and mental health hazards, say experts.

18 Click and wait

Internet going mobile has taken to digital a plethora of services. While the most famous are food delivery apps like Zomato and ride hailing apps like Uber and Rapido, there are a multitude of others catering to every whim and fetish: Zepto (10 minute delivery of groceries), MyGate (apartment gatekeeping), MilkBasket (morning milk delivery), U Drive (hiring a temporary driver), KaamwaliJobs (domestic help for hire), Tinder (for relationships) and of course Urban Company, which sends to your home anyone from a plumber to a masseur.

Unlike the dot-com rush more than two decades ago which saw a similar rush, at least the top players this time around are well-funded and are raking in the moolah. Zomato, for example, has expanded into quick deliveries (BlinkIt), becoming the market leader in the segment, as well as events and dining out (District). Its revenue last year was above Rs20,000 crore.

19 Re-velation

The internet has taken over recycling and reselling which were originally community-driven. From Ebay to desi alternatives like OLX/Quikr to local initiatives like Let’s Deklutter, the online space has given avenues which may not have been possible within the physical world limits.

Straddling between the two has been tech companies like Cashify, which buys second-hand phones. Explained co-founder Nakul Kumar: “The internet didn’t just organise India’s second-hand market, it changed how people perceived value.... It also connected all the missing pieces of this category like discovery, diagnostics, payments logistics and warranties.”

Referring to his own category, he added: “Earlier, a phone meant visiting a local shop; today, people can complete their entire journey from their sofa.... Transparent pricing, verified quality and easy doorstep services removed the old stigma and made upgrading feel natural.”

20 Show me the money

As everyone tried to figure out how to make money, one popular offline mode offered the way online. During the pandemic, as the markets boomed, young and old sitting at home during the lockdowns started dabbling in stock trading thanks to a plethora of DIY apps like Groww and Upstox, which made investing seem as natural as ordering a pizza (well, almost). This turned the likes of Zerodha promoter Nikhil Kamat multi crorepati (though he seems to be gaining more eyeballs these days from his podcasts), but the proof of the pudding was in the slice of the pie, which individual users of these platforms also gained on the bull run.

21 Banking on the machine

Way back in 1998, ICICI Bank became the first Indian bank to go digital, when it launched its Infinity service which offered the option to conduct many bank transactions via the internet. It took its own time. Innumerable are the urban legends of early netizens who bought something online with their credit card and then quickly called the card company to cancel the card, for fear of misuse.

But today, processes that made us take half day leave from work can be done within a few minutes over lap or mobile—the trust and transformation has been that rapid.

“What once involved multiple counters, forms and in-person verification now happens through platforms that put the entire bank in a customer’s palm,” said Bhavnish Lathia, CTO of Kotak Mahindra Bank. “Besides convenience, going digital is creating stable and personalised experiences that keep the bank accessible anytime, anywhere.”

22 The phone as the wallet

Banks had gone online, but they were still not a replacement for currency. Mobile operators like Airtel to mobile wallet companies like Paytm tried making money mobile with varied results, but the one that went universal was, surprisingly, a government initiative—the Unified Payments Interface (UPI) of the RBI body National Payments Corporation of India.

“Digital banking in India has evolved dramatically over the past few decades, and UPI has become one of the most significant milestones in that transformation,” said Bhavnish Lathia.

UPI is not even a decade old, and last month Indians made more than 2,000 crore transactions over UPI platforms, worth a whopping 26 lakh crore. Now India wants to take the UPI globally, with it already being present in some tourist-concentration spots in places like Dubai, Singapore and Paris.

23 How India stacks up

While it has been in the works for long—the long and contentious path of Aadhar and the questions of privacy that has stalked its implementation down the years is only the more (in)famous example—India Stack probably proved its mettle during the pandemic, when India executed a massive vaccination drive on its digital backbone.

But the title India Stack itself is nothing but an expansive umbrella covering the open source platforms that acts as enabler of bringing government services to Indian citizens, and covers anything from Ayushman Bharat, UMANG, FASTag and DigiLocker to BharatQR, eKYC and AadharPay.

With the IMF itself vouching that “other emerging market and developing economies could learn from the experience”, countries like Sri Lanka, the Philippines, Ethiopia and Nigeria are said to be interested in replicating the same.

24 Web of lies

While the internet has become trustworthy enough for us to conduct all our transactions, it is not without its risks. In the initial days of the internet, it started off simply enough, like that lottery win you didn’t even enter, or that generous Nigerian woman who wanted to transfer all her ill-gotten wealth to you. Upgrading their tactics, cyber scamsters now use anything from viruses to malware, from spam to spoofing, from cloning to deepfake, and of course, not to forget the trending digital arrests.

It is especially of concern to India with its billion-plus internet users, many of who are not tech savvy enough to figure out what is authentic and what is not. No wonder it is now the most cyber-attacked country in the world.

“As India becomes more digital in every area of life, cyber security is no longer just an IT issue; it is a basic need for our economy and our national security,” said Apurva Gopinath, cyber leader with Aon India, “Our challenge is now to stay a step ahead of attackers, ensuring every citizen is more resilient and informed while adopting effective risk transfer and insurance solutions to protect against any potential adversaries.”

25 The doctor will ‘see’ you now

“For decades, health care relied entirely on physical presence: patients travelling long distances, clinicians limited by geography and diagnostics confined to specialised centres. The expansion of digital technologies and the internet fundamentally changed this landscape,” said Prashant Warier, co-founder & CEO of Qure.ai. “Remote consultations, digital triage and faster access to expertise established the foundations of today’s connected-care ecosystem.”

Covid-19 was the change agent. With physical distancing a dire requirement, video consultations gained traction, and many found out, to their pleasant surprise, that it worked to a very large extent.

AI could push it one level further. “AI is accelerating the shift, enabling rapid scan interpretation, guiding clinical decisions and extending high-quality diagnostics to regions that previously lacked adequate resources,” Warier added.

26 The sutra that makes the world go round

No sex please, we are Indians! The moral police has declared thus, and from community and religious leaders to even politicians and occasional court judgments say the same. In fact, when an adult comic strip of an unabashedly sexual Indian woman called Savita Bhabhi became popular in the late 2000s, the Indian government clamped down, leading to protests over being a ‘Net Nanny’.

The reality may be a tad different—India has some of the highest consumption of internet pornography in the world, 90 per cent of it through mobile phones. And that is a mean achievement considering how many noted adult entertainment sites are blocked by India’s internet providers. One study even said adult entertainment has picked up in recent years with female viewership going up. From ‘professional’ porn content, the rise of platforms like OnlyFans, where anyone can post content and garner revenue through subscriptions has seen an entire new set of providers changing the conventional rules of the game.

27 Unique and never corny

It is the kind of success story that makes Hollywood blockbusters. A football lover who became a teacher and turned teaching into a business, a teen who couldn’t get a hotel room one cold night and decided to start a room aggregator, a bunch of friends who decided to solve a uniquely Indian need and one company which overcame so many existential crises that the owner famously referred to himself as a ‘cockroach’, alluding to the theory that the roaches can even survive a nuclear blast. All kinds of people went into the making of India’s unicorn rush—what started off as a trickle in the 2010s has turned into a torrent in the last few years, as global VC money came flowing into India’s internet economy.

The rush may have cooled off for now, but except for a few like Snapdeal and Byju’s, most players, like Zomato and Paytm, have stabilised as bona fide leading market players. They stand testament to the power of India’s internet users, the single biggest in the world in numbers (with China remaining a closed ecosystem).

28 Cunning linguists

As the internet expanded, it brought to life languages, trends, emojis and acronyms, an entire world of communication of its own. Even stalwarts of language like the Oxford and Cambridge dictionaries now look to the online space for inspiration when searching for their ‘word of the year’. From the smiley emoji to multiple ones to describe your mood, the visual options have stretched from GIFs and memes to anything you want to create being just an AI tool away.

Then there are viral trends, from assigning a meaningless meaning to something as innocuous as 67 (as has been the rage this year among adolescents) to dance challenges, to shortening words so much that it is a surprise no one has thought of a dictionary of acronyms yet.

But seriously, though, the next frontier for the internet could well be overcoming of the barrier of languages. Google Translate has made progress over the years when it comes to real-time translation, while in India, the Bhashini project has seen the government tie up with the Bengaluru startup Sarvam AI to build a BharatGen large language model (LLM) for 22 languages.

29 Rise of the machines

AI’s advent has already seen a big play from two hitherto unknown players, OpenAI’s ChatGPT and China’s DeepSeek. The loser? Current internet champ Google, or at least that was the general belief, until Google got back last month with its new version of Gemini AI.

While the AI battle rages, the action in India seems pretty tepid if you do not count the over use in every other business presentation and company pitch over the past couple of years. The government does have some plans to build an indigenous LLM, but at the same time, there are very real fears. Is India losing out in the deep tech scene to players like China and the US and will it forever remain an internet consumption state and not an innovator?

30 Automatic for the people

In India, 100.28 crore people use the internet as of June this year, according to the government. While that is impressive, making us the world’s second biggest digital market, it still means at least another 40 crore or so have no access to what is now increasingly billed a ‘fundamental right’.

The government does hope its BharatNet Project, if not the broadband from space scheme from the likes of Starlink and OneWeb, will be able to take access down to still unconnected remote areas. Yet that leaves the question of the last-mile device and wherewithal unanswered.

As Osama Manzarsaid: “Feeding internet to people has become equivalent to providing food or shelter. On one end, there is a lot of discussion on information society, surveillance, online hate speech, digital interference and virtual domination, while on the other end, there is still a huge population reaching out to gain access.” Manzarshould know; after making his fortune designing websites and helping people get online in the early days, today, he has moved his focus to accessibility, running the Digital Empowerment Foundation, which runs scores of public internet access spaces to help those who got left behind. It is a reality, like all the other issues plaguing our connected world, as we hurtle down the highway to the next 30 years.

pradhanmantri-sangrahalaya-delhi-museum-guide-pmml

Mon Dec 15 16:46:13 IST 2025

IT’S 1PM ON a weekday at the Pradhanmantri Sangrahalaya, or the Prime Ministers’ Museum & Library (PMML), in Delhi. Inside the refurbished Teen Murti Bhavan—now Building One of the museum and once the home of India’s first prime minister, Jawaharlal Nehru, for nearly 17 years—an elderly man studies a laser-lit wall displaying the country’s prime ministers. He tries to match faces with memory. “The one next to Nehru… Morarji Desai or Gulzarilal Nanda?” he asks his son, half-certain, half-curious, as visitors move past exhibits on the Constitution and India’s democracy.

Previously known as the Nehru Memorial Museum & Library (NMML), the new museum was opened to public in 2022, and renamed PMML in 2023. It now portrays the life and work of every prime minister of India.

Upstairs, the gallery becomes intimate, mapping Nehru’s years. His bedroom, study and living room remain as they were in 1964, the year he died. His jacket, cricket bat, and a curated set of his books sit in glass cases. The rooms buzz with schoolchildren as teachers explain the stories behind each project. A young boy pauses before a letter Nehru wrote to Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel on October 22, 1947, about the destruction of mosques in Delhi. “There, and elsewhere, we have stated that we were specially responsible for the protection of places of worship,” Nehru says to the then home minister.

Across the complex, the newer, tech-heavy Building Two offers a more immersive experience. An AI holobox lets visitors speak directly to a hologram of Patel—no need to exchange letters as Nehru did. Patel fields everything from polite curiosity to the irresistible bluntness of “… so how did it feel when Nehru became the PM and not you?” The section recently added a hologram of A.P.J. Abdul Kalam, too, ready to discuss space science or, if you must, answer the perennially nosy, “Why did you choose to remain single?”

“We are now considering adding Mahatma Gandhi and Atal Bihari Vajpayee to the mix,” says Ashwani Lohani, who took charge as the director of the PMML in June.

The galleries trace the events, and milestones of each prime minister’s tenure. Lal Bahadur Shastri’s corner showcases the milk revolution, his slogan ‘Jai Jawan, Jai Kisan’, and the 1965 Indo-Pak war. Indira Gandhi’s section features bank nationalisation, the Bangladesh Liberation War, Emergency, and her assassination. Scattered throughout are artefacts such as the Bharat Ratnas of Nehru and Vajpayee, and Jayaprakash Narayan’s Emergency-era jail diary.

While seasoned museum-goers may find the material familiar, the PMML distinguishes itself with immersive technology. Visitors can take a photo with a holographic prime minister, walk alongside them, receive a personalised letter in their own handwriting, enjoy a simulated helicopter tour of India’s infrastructural projects, or experience a 7D journey through key military operations—including Narendra Modi’s Balakot airstrike after the 2019 Pulwama attack.

“The idea is to make this India’s finest museum, recognised worldwide,” says Lohani. Beyond spectacle, the PMML also emphasis its vast archival holdings, which scholars frequently consult for “serious research”. Lohani’s vision includes promoting quality research on modern and contemporary India.

The PMML houses over 25 million documents from more than 1,300 individuals and organisations—one of the world’s largest collections of rare archival materials. The archives are divided into three sections—individual, institutional and miscellaneous—and are regularly consulted by researchers studying modern and contemporary Indian history.

A digitisation project is also underway. According to a recent press release, a dedicated platform now enables remote access to the digital archives. Registered scholars can request specific documents online, and, once approved, view the material from their desktops.

With galleries, a library, multimedia installations, an evening light-and-sound show, and cafes, who does the PMML aim to attract? “Everyone—children, the elderly, students, tourists, and scholars,” says Lohani, “We get at least 1,500 visitors every day.”

Back in Building One, where the elderly man was trying to name all the prime ministers, a security officer stands watching, “The place never attracted so many visitors earlier, even when it was free,” says Sanjay Kumar.

should-india-lower-the-age-of-consent-a-look-at-pocso-acts-impact-on-teens

Fri Nov 28 17:16:13 IST 2025

The air inside Delhi’s Karkardooma court felt thick as 17-year-old Aarav Sharma (name changed) stood in the witness box, shoulders stiff, hands trembling behind his back. His eyes searched the room anxiously until they found the one face that had stood by him through it all—Kritika (name changed), 16, sitting resolutely in the front row.

For six months, Aarav, a class 12 student and aspiring computer engineer, had been confined to an observation home. His father, a Delhi Transport Corporation bus driver, and his mother, a homemaker, had been running from pillar to post. His crime was a relationship that began like countless adolescent romances across India—quietly, awkwardly and inevitably.

But in India, under the Protection of Children from Sexual Offences (POCSO) Act, 2012, consent is irrelevant if one or both partners are under 18. Love, as many adolescents may define it, becomes a legal offence.

Aarav’s world collapsed in August 2023 when Kritika’s parents, after discovering their WhatsApp chats, filed a complaint. The police arrived at his Mandawali home at 5am on August 17, waking the family to a nightmare they had never imagined.

Their romance began in late 2021 in a cramped tuition centre in East Delhi. Both lived within walking distance, three streets apart in Mandawali, a neighbourhood stitched together by narrow lanes, small flats and big ambitions. “They were two children trying to understand affection, not exploit it,” says Aarav’s lawyer Vikram Bhatia. “What they shared was mutual, voluntary and gentle, yet the law treated him like a predator.”

Their world crumbled when Kritika’s mother scrolled through her chats. Her parents, both government-school teachers, saw disaster and filed a complaint. Within hours, Aarav was taken away and Kritika’s defence did not matter. Inside the juvenile home, Aarav suffered academically and emotionally. He missed board exams. His school expelled him. He fell into bouts of anxiety and silence. Kritika’s parents took away her phone, restricted her movements and eventually sent her to a hostel in Jaipur.

In February 2024, the court acquitted Aarav, noting the romantic nature of the relationship and the girl’s consistent testimony.

By then, their relationship had collapsed under the weight of the trial. They no longer speak to each other. Aarav and Kritika’s story is not an exception; it is part of a rising trend. “One in four POCSO cases today involves consensual adolescent relationships,” says Delhi-based criminal lawyer Richa Sharma, who has represented several such defendants. She adds that parents use POCSO to control their children, especially in inter-caste or inter-faith relationships, turning the law into a weapon rather than a shield.

Kavya, 16, and Sasi, 17, children of textile mill workers, ran away when Kavya’s parents arranged her engagement. A POCSO case followed. Sasi spent nine months in custody. Kavya attempted self-harm twice. Both dropped out of school.

Pratik, 18, was arrested because his girlfriend was only 17. Both were preparing for NEET. A disapproving uncle filed the complaint. The case was eventually dismissed, but both suffered anxiety and depression.

India’s age of consent debate cannot be separated from the country’s social anxieties around teenage sexuality. Unlike many western democracies where teenage autonomy is acknowledged, Indian society continues to operate within caste boundaries, strict parental authority, notions of female purity, community reputation and fears of gossip.

Parents expect teenagers to excel academically, but deny them emotional independence. Sheetal Shinde, who teaches at BITS Law School, Mumbai, says digital exposure has made young people aware of their sexuality and that punishing them for exploring it creates moral contradictions. The assumption that Indian teenagers remain sexually inactive is a cultural myth rather than reality. Sociologists argue that criminalising adolescent intimacy does not curb it; it merely pushes it online, underground and into unsafe spaces.

India’s current framework is shaped by the Justice J.S. Verma Committee, formed after the 2012 Nirbhaya gang rape. The committee retained the existing age of 18 for classifying someone as a juvenile and emphasised stronger protections for children from sexual violence. Senior advocate Indira Jaising, amicus curiae in the Supreme Court in the ongoing case involving the age of consent, told the court that India criminalised adolescent intimacy in a way most democracies do not and that the law must differentiate between exploitation and affection. Adds law student Mishthi Jain, “The law collapses the difference between love and assault. That is neither just nor realistic.”

Most countries follow calibrated systems. In the United Kingdom, Australia and Canada, the age of consent is 16 with close-in-age exemptions; in France and Germany it is 15 to 16; in Canada it is 14 to 15 if the partner is less than five years older. India’s rigid 18-year threshold, without exceptions, is among the strictest globally.

The 283rd Law Commission Report declined to reduce the age of consent but did recommend close-in-age exemptions, diversion through counselling instead of prosecution and judicial discretion. Shinde says the law must protect children from predators rather than punish natural curiosity.

Still, many child-rights advocates and policymakers warn that lowering the age bar could have dangerous consequences in a society still grappling with gender inequality, early marriage and sexual violence. India’s socio-economic landscape remains deeply unequal. Millions of girls are married before 18 despite laws prohibiting it, and poverty often drives families to treat daughters as economic burdens. In such settings, lowering the age of consent could be weaponised by older men and traffickers, exploiting young girls under the guise of consensual relationships. In submissions to the Supreme Court, authorities, too, offered similar reasons for holding firm at 18, such as fear of legitimising child marriage, risk of older men exploiting younger girls, challenges in rural areas with strong patriarchal norms and difficulty for police in assessing genuine consent.

The Law Commission’s report echoed this caution, warning that reducing the age from 18 to 16 could have a direct and negative effect on the fight against child marriage and trafficking. It also observed that enforcement agencies might struggle to differentiate between consensual and coerced sex in rural or patriarchal settings where power imbalances are pronounced.

Legal scholars, however, argue that India’s blanket 18-year rule reflects moral paternalism rather than evidence-based policy. By contrast, the empowerment approach recognises adolescents as capable of evolving judgment and emotional maturity. Reform does not mean abandoning protection. It means recalibrating it, ensuring that the law distinguishes between predation and consent. Several reforms could achieve this, such as close-in-age exemptions to decriminalise consensual sexual activity between adolescents aged 16 to 18, judicial discretion allowing courts to evaluate intent, coercion and context before criminalising, and stronger safeguards against trafficking, grooming and child marriage so that genuine exploitation remains punishable. “A close-in-age exception will not weaken protection, it will make it fairer. The law has to grow with society, not freeze teenagers in time,” says law student Sarah Joby, stressing that revisiting the statute is essential if India wants to balance protection with evolving social realities.

Such a framework would align India’s law with constitutional values and contemporary social realities, recognising that sexuality and maturity evolve along a spectrum rather than a calendar date. Ultimately, the age of consent debate is not just about legal thresholds; it is about the kind of society India aspires to be. A society that treats young people as informed individuals capable of responsible choices, or one that continues to infantilise them under the guise of morality. “Law cannot be the moral policeman of teenage love,” says Shinde. “Its role is to protect, not to punish natural curiosity.”

from-rajiv-gandhi-to-jayalalithaa-the-legacy-of-vincent-parker-coffin-makers-for-indias-vvips

Fri Nov 28 16:43:03 IST 2025

MAY 22, 1991. A little past midnight, a sleepy household in Vepery, north Chennai, woke up to the shrill sound of the phone ringing. And then came frantic knocks on the door. A groggy-eyed Stanley Michael, head of the joint family, opened the door to find a group of senior government officials, including the home secretary—all grim and grief-stricken. An officer told Michael that they urgently needed a metal coffin placed inside a wooden one. No other information was shared; Michael had no idea who the coffin was for. By then, his cousin-partners—Samson Edward, Simpson Kumar and Baskar Edward—had joined him by the door. The officials left in 15 minutes, and the brothers got to work at their rented 500sqft workshop. It was only hours later that they realised that the coffin was to carry the mortal remains of former prime minister Rajiv Gandhi, who was assassinated by cadres of the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam at Sriperumbudur, to New Delhi.

“We made the coffin in two hours,” recalls Michael, eldest among his cousins who run Vincent Parker Funeral Directors, one of the leading coffin makers and funeral services company in Chennai. “It was sent to the government hospital in Chennai, where his body was kept, before dawn.”

Those days, Vincent Parker only had teakwood coffins, adds Michael. They would keep semi-finished coffins ready. When there was an urgent request, they would do the final padding work with cotton and satin cloth. That is how they finished the coffin in two hours that May.

Vincent Parker was founded by Stanley’s grandfather L.G. Joseph in 1936. Joseph initially worked with Paul & Co, which was also into funeral services. Soon, he started offering funeral services to Christian families on his own—he would transport the deceased from home or hospital to church and finally to the cemetery in a handcart. On the insistence of Irish priests, he turned pro. And, it was the foreign influence that made him name the company Vincent Paul (Paul & Co took offence over the name) and later Vincent Parker. As the demand grew, he ventured into making coffins as well. And in the 1950s, the handcarts gave way for motorised vehicles. In 1997, to keep up with the demands of a growing Chennai, Vincent Parker moved to the new premises in Kilpauk. Today, Vincent Parker offers more than 15 services—from making coffins and caskets, providing hearses and funeral vehicles, freezers, morgue facilities to airlifting mortal remains within the country and abroad and also giving out obituary notices in newspapers.

Michael joined the business soon after school. It didn’t seem an odd career choice as he had grown up watching his grandfather and father J. Patrick work on coffins. His father died young, and his paternal uncle J. Edward stepped in. It was his grandfather who taught Michael the nuances of the business. “It is a service for us,” he asserts. “We don’t consider it a business. This was the one-line advice we got from our granddad.” After his grandfather’s death in 1982, Michael, his uncle and his cousins took over the reins of the business.

The first time Vincent Parker was roped in by the government to make a coffin for a VVIP was in 1969, for then chief minister C.N. Annadurai. Michael was only 18 then. His grandfather received the officials who had come knocking with a coffin request. This time, the deadline was three hours. Even as Michael was gathering his wits together, his father and grandfather, along with the employees, got working. They made the coffin, padded it with cotton, placed the handles and painted Annadurai’s name on the coffin. “The coffin was made ready within four hours. There was no pressure or any demand when we made the coffin for Annadurai,” recalls Michael, now 74.

But that was not the case when it came to making a coffin for former chief minister M.G. Ramachandran. His close aides and officers, who showed up in at least five Jeeps, demanded a sandalwood coffin and that too at the earliest as the crowd of mourners was swelling. Michael and his brothers, however, refused the sandalwood request, saying that there were restrictions on its trade and they could not risk sourcing it. So a teakwood coffin it was. “But no one will now believe that we didn’t have a sandalwood coffin for MGR,” reveals Michael. That’s because MGR’s close aide R.M. Veerappan had poured sandalwood oil over the body. MGR is said to have been buried with his trademark fur cap, spectacles and Seiko watch. His fans who visit his grave swear that they can still hear the watch ticking and smell the sandalwood in the air.

While MGR’s coffin had his name painted on it, these days, printed stickers are in. “Not just VVIPs, today we serve people of all walks of life, including Hindus, Muslims, Jains and Parsis, within and outside of Chennai, and also the Indian diaspora around the world,” says Simpson Kumar, 63, who takes care of the day-to-day business at Vincent Parker.

Vincent Parker’s express service proved helpful for the government during the bomb blast at Meenambakkam airport in Chennai on August 2, 1984. Over 31 people, including 23 Sri Lankans who were waiting to board a flight to Colombo, died when bombs kept in suitcases ripped through the airport. The very next day, Vincent Parker delivered 23 coffins to transport the mortal remains of the Sri Lankans back home.

Again on June 19, 1990, when armed LTTE men opened fire at Zackariah Colony at Kodambakkam in Chennai, killing Eelam People’s Revolutionary Liberation Front leader K. Padmanabha and other prominent functionaries, Vincent Parker was roped in to make coffins. “We prepared about 13 coffins then and delivered them to the authorities,” says Michael.

But the biggest challenge, says Kumar, in terms of the sheer amount of coffins to be made was when the tsunami struck the Indian coast in 2004, killing thousands. And, in recent times, they faced yet another coffin challenge following the death of former chief minister J. Jayalalithaa in December 2016. This time, too, there was a demand for a sandalwood casket, which was again refused. “We told them that we would have to take permission from the forest department for a sandalwood casket,” recalls Michael. So a few pieces of sandalwood were given to Vincent Parker, and they were placed in the teakwood casket. That made it heavier and more expensive.

“It was very challenging for us as we had made a normal size casket in teakwood. Later the authorities came up with a different size. We had to customise accordingly,” says Kumar. And then the authorities wanted the name to be engraved in wood, which took more time. The work on the coffin began at 4.30am and went on till 3.45pm. “We had a readymade casket to which we added the inner padding, then draped it with satin and attached silk tassels. It took time for us to carve and emboss the name on the outer case,” says Michael.

But no challenge was a match to what the Covid-19 pandemic brought with it. It also brought in change. A glass top casket was introduced by the brothers to bury those who had died of Covid-19. And, work from home was definitely not an option. “I did not have any fear about Covid,” recalls Michael. “Lots of families used to plead for a coffin. We ensured that we took all precautions. We couldn’t afford to shun our responsibilities. It was all because of my staff and their work then that we were able to sustain.”

Today, the fourth generation of the family has stepped up—Deepak Joseph, 34, son of Baskar Edward (who is no more), runs the company along with his three uncles. The company has more than 200 employees—from carpenters to funeral van drivers. Years of dealing with death and mourning hasn’t turned their hearts cold; they still struggle to be calm and composed in the face of tragedy. It is perhaps one reason why Vincent Parker doesn’t employ women and no woman from the family is in the business. “It is because the entire workforce is men,” says Michael, “and also because this is a very sensitive task, which has to be handled with grit.”

mayo-college-at-150-how-a-school-for-royalty-became-a-top-indian-public-school

Fri Nov 28 13:27:40 IST 2025

WHAT DO SAID bin Taimur, the 13th Sultan of Muscat and Oman, and Maharaja Sir Churachand Singh of Manipur have in common? They have in common the same circumstance that Raja Hari Singh of Kashmir and Maharajkumar of Vizianagaram share with actor Tinnu Anand and Jaswant Singh, the former Union minister.

They all studied at Mayo College, Ajmer.

The idea of setting up this institution for the aristocracy was mooted by Lord Mayo, viceroy of India, in 1870. It was envisioned to be the Eton of India, to impart British style public-school education in sync with Indian culture. The proposal found ready support of the royal families of Rajputana—several of them contributed to an endowment fund. Some 88 acres of the British Residency was increased to 167 acres for establishing the school. Many princely families built boarding houses for students from their states when the school opened in 1875. Construction of the main building of the school began in 1877 and was completed in 1885. The magnificent building, made of unpolished white marble, is one of the finest examples of Indo-Saracenic architecture in the country.

Mayo College is celebrating 150 years this year. The first student—H.H. Maharaja Mangal Singh of Alwar—arrived at the school gates in October 1875 on the back of an elephant, accompanied by 300 retainers and a menagerie of tigers, camels and horses. Other princes and nobles of Rajputana arrived with their retinues, with one of the more impressive arrivals being Maharao of Kota—he came with 200 followers and had a village constructed to house them.

This unique institution remained the preserve of the scions of royal families and the privileged, with the number of students seldom exceeding one hundred. From 1875 to 1931, the management of the school was under the government, with successive viceroys functioning as president of the general council of Mayo College. Thereafter, the general council came to be headed by the ruling princes of Rajasthan. Mayo College became a member of the Indian Public Schools’ Conference and threw open its gates for all without distinction in 1942. Even then, it continued to be perceived as a school for the nobility and the privileged.

It was only in the years after independence that Mayo College evolved as an exceptional public school under the leadership of J.T.M. Gibson. Often referred to as the ‘Indian Englishman’, he reached India in 1937 and initially taught at Doon School. He took over as principal of Mayo in 1953, and after retiring in 1969, he continued to live in Ajmer till he passed away in 1994. In the 16 years that Gibson was principal, he transformed a “princes’ school” into one of the finest public schools. Admissions picked up dramatically and there were major additions to the school infrastructure. Mayo came to be known for its superb scholastic, sports and extra-curricular facilities, and for providing a liberal and diverse environment for students. The Mayo education ensured that the students developed the spirit of inquiry and strived for excellence. Courage, fair-play, humility, sensitivity and fellowship became ingrained in every student.

Gibson was followed by a procession of capable principals, each of them eminent educationists and administrators. The school has also been fortunate to attract gifted teachers; many of whom have later carried the fine traditions of Mayo College to other institutions. The dedicated staff of Mayo have ensured that the school continued its pursuit of excellence and prepared its students for leadership roles while inculcating values and developing character.

Mayo College had a college section for many years before independence, but it has remained a school thereafter. It is affiliated to the Cambridge Assessment International Education and the Central Board of Secondary Education. It has maintained the highest scholastic standards and Mayo students have performed creditably in board examinations.

Besides cricket, football, hockey, tennis and squash, shooting has remained a major sport. The school has two beautiful swimming pools that have produced many champions. And it boasts a scenic nine-hole golf course which was built in 2005. There is a dedicated coaching facility and a driving range for empowering golf prodigies. A delightful spinoff has been optimisation of water harvesting on the campus, leading to sustainable ground water management.

In princely times, the school was a nursery for horse polo. Though horse riding was discontinued after independence, it was revived in 1993 with ten horses. Today, Mayo has more than 60 horses and polo has again found a nurturing environment.

There is also vast choice of extra-curricular activities ranging from aero-modelling and astronomy to woodwork and yoga. The boys learn music, either as a subject or a hobby. An Artificial Intelligence and robotics lab helps boys explore new frontiers.

In 1987, the foundation was laid for the Mayo College Girls’ School. This project has blossomed into an outstanding residential school for girls, with facilities rivalling those of the boys’ school. Students of Mayo Girls’ have started making their mark, shining in diverse fields and shattering the glass ceiling as a matter of routine.

In recent years, Mayo College and Mayo Girls’ School have been rated as among the very best residential schools in India. Mayo alumni have distinguished themselves in different domains, whether in the civil services, armed forces, medicine, the performing arts, commerce and industry.

The serene campus of Mayo College today represents the best of tradition and modernity. Hundreds of peafowl on the campus strut freely across the acres of lawns and playing fields.

Sometimes one can see a magnificent peacock, framed against the school temple, languidly make way for an electric golf cart to pass by. And in that moment, one realises that while it is rooted in rich history and traditions, Mayo College is vibrantly contemporary.

As Saurav Sinha, principal of Mayo College, says, “While legacies remain constant, their contexts change. As a cradle of leadership, Mayo is always introspecting as how the concept of leadership evolves with the times. Now, more than ever before, we need leaders who are capable of thinking of others before themselves, able to set examples of sacrifice that others may emulate, and willing to define success by what they can give rather than what they can take from society. For this, we emphasise character building and a spirit of service. A certain frugality in lifestyle restrains our boys from a sense of entitlement, and provides the training to them for the crucial need of the hour, the courage to voice their opinions and dissent in a respectful and effective manner.

The author studied in Mayo College from 1958 to 1966.

the-week-health-summit-2025-oncology-obesity-and-non-communicable-diseases-take-centre-stage

Mon Nov 24 12:16:22 IST 2025

Photos by Sanjay Ahlawat & Kritajna Naik

The spotlight was on breast cancer at THE WEEK Health Summit Premier, an exclusive and invitation-only event at The Oberoi, New Delhi, on November 14. The star of the evening was Dr G. Thomas Budd, principal investigator of the phase I clinical trial of a vaccine being developed by Cleveland Clinic and Anixa Biosciences.

While Dr Jame Abraham set the stage by sketching out the work done by Cleveland Clinic in oncology, Dr Sapna Nangia put the vaccine and Budd’s work in context for the Indian audience. Abraham is chair of the department of haematology and medical oncology at the Taussig Cancer Institute, Cleveland Clinic, and Nangia is the director of head & neck and breast cancer at Apollo Proton Cancer Centre, Chennai, the first such centre in south Asia and the Middle East.

The vaccine being pushed by Cleveland Clinic targets triple-negative breast cancer, an aggressive cancer that lacks receptors targeted in hormone therapy, which makes it more challenging to treat. “In Italy, the UK, or Germany, about 10 per cent of (breast cancers) are triple negative. In India, that number is more than 25 per cent,” said Nangia.

Budd, too, said that Covid-19 did play a part in boosting the interest in the breast cancer vaccine. “There really is renewed interest in cancer vaccines,” he said. “First, all of us have come to realise that immunotherapy has become a new central modality for treating a variety of cancers. Additionally, there has been a renewed interest in vaccine research, including novel vaccines, as a fortunate consequence of the Covid-19 pandemic.”

After a detailed presentation and audience interaction session, the evening ended, and the spotlight shifted to The Ashok, where the day-long session of THE WEEK Health Summit 2025 took place on November 15.

The summit was a mix of panels centred around the theme: ‘Learning from the World’s Best. Honouring India’s Best.’ The honour part referred to the awards ceremony where hospitals that topped THE WEEK-Hansa Research Best Hospitals Survey 2025 were felicitated.

Anupriya Patel, Union minister of state for health and family welfare, and chemicals and fertilisers, inaugurated the summit. The minister encouraged the audience to look at health care as “one of the most critical pillars of society, because it is not just contributing to an individual’s wellbeing, but it also promotes economic prosperity and societal stability”.

Bansuri Swaraj, member of the Lok Sabha representing New Delhi, was in conversation with Senior Assistant Editor Pratul Sharma on her dream for a healthy India. Swaraj emphasised the importance of caring for the ‘demographic dividend’ as it ages. “Today, 60 per cent of our population is below the age of 35,” she said. “A harsh reality is that in 30 years, this huge resource of youth will grow old. So, I want my country to have a robust geriatric care system.”

It was closer to lunch when Chief Associate Editor and Director Riyad Mathew opened his conversation with Vikrant Shrotriya, managing director of Novo Nordisk India Pvt Ltd. The timing itself led to a lot of humour, as a discussion on obesity met rumbling tummies.

“We are inching towards lunch and some of the people here are feeling hungry because of a physiological need, which is basically calorie deficit,” Shrotriya said. “Some will have a hedonic pleasure because of the smell of food. At least I went during tea time because of the smell of the biscuits. And some will have an executive decision because one o’clock is lunchtime!”

The most challenging thing to follow is the discipline of exercising and eating right every day, Shrotriya said. To have that discipline is central to good health.

No discussion these days is complete without AI making an appearance and it did so in the panel on the future of medicine. Dr H. Sudarshan Ballal, chairman, Manipal Hospitals, said that AI has already become inseparable from clinical practice. “Today, no one in the medical field is doing anything without AI,” he said. “Used well, it can read medical images within minutes and analyse vast amounts of data. But AI is not going to take over us. We will remain in control.”

Keep your eyes open for the upcoming issue of THE WEEK Health for a detailed coverage of the summit. And, did you read this article sitting down? Maybe you should not have. Shrotriya told the seated audience that sitting is the new smoking, you see.

healthy-india-is-key-to-a-developed-india-union-minister-anupriya-patel

Sat Nov 22 18:36:20 IST 2025

A nation can rise only as long as its people are healthy. This was the message as Union Minister of State for Health & Family Welfare and Chemicals & Fertilisers Anupriya Patel inaugurated THE WEEK Health Summit 2025. With a line that rang like a national directive—“Only a healthy India can be a developed India”—Patel set the agenda for a day that brought together policymakers, clinicians, innovators and public health thinkers under one roof.

Patel’s keynote address was both a roadmap and a reminder: India’s health challenges, chronic diseases, ageing population, infectious outbreaks and inequities across regions cannot be left to chance. Her address mapped the government’s priorities, shaped heavily by Covid-19’s harsh wake-up call. “Pandemics can hit us any time,” she cautioned, stressing that universal health coverage is not optional; it is inevitable. She underlined how the Centre has been consistently expanding health budgets and strengthening the entire care continuum from village-level wellness centres to tertiary hospitals. The establishment of 23 AIIMS, the expansion of medical and nursing seats and robust investments in district hospitals all point to one central goal—a decentralised, resilient health system.

But the core of the minister’s narrative was prevention. “Health care is not only the responsibility of the minister, but every citizen,” she said. Programmes such as Ayushman Arogya Mandirs are now being positioned as the fulcrum of early detection, lifestyle counselling and preventive medicine. The government, she added, is also banking on public-private partnerships through the Pradhan Mantri Ayushman Health Infrastructure Mission, ensuring infrastructure is built at scale and speed.

Patel elaborated on the five pillars defining India’s health strategy—preventive, promotive, curative, rehabilitative and palliative care. She called GST 2.0 a decisive reform, pointing to exemptions on life-saving and rare disease drugs as evidence of fiscal policy powering public health. On tuberculosis, she highlighted India’s significant progress—a 17.7% decline in TB cases, a milestone she attributed to integrated surveillance, community engagement and targeted interventions.

Digital health was presented as the backbone of India’s future reforms. The Ayushman Bharat Digital Mission, unique health IDs for every citizen, teleconsultations via eSanjeevani and digitised blood banks through e-Raktkosh are not add-ons but game-changers, she argued. “We have learnt from Covid, and we value self-reliance,” she said, stressing the push for domestic manufacturing of medical devices and diagnostics.

Significantly, Patel revealed that the government is drafting a National Action Plan for Future Pandemics, an anticipatory blueprint to ensure that India never again scrambles for systems, supplies or data during a global outbreak. Health is no longer the responsibility of a single ministry, institution or stakeholder; it is a shared national agenda. “What India needs today is a collective, sustained effort that brings together policymakers, health care professionals, private institutions, civil society and citizens themselves. Every individual and every sector must recognise their role in strengthening the country’s health ecosystem,” Patel stressed. “When we prioritise health collectively—through preventive habits, timely care, investments in infrastructure and community participation, we create the foundation for a stronger, more resilient nation.”

ak-203-rifle-why-this-indo-russian-weapon-is-a-game-changer-for-the-army

Sat Nov 01 19:08:41 IST 2025

It was a particularly hot afternoon at the military base camp on the Siachen glacier last July. With a cheery smile, a young captain from the Assam Regiment told THE WEEK: “Our boys have a new gun. It is the first batch of the AK-203. And they seem very happy with it.”

The remark had two key revelations. One, in an answer to the prayers of many a soldier, the long-awaited AK-203 had finally landed on the frontline.

Second, the fact that the soldiers were happy meant the gun was doing well in extreme conditions—at Siachen, the world’s highest battlefield, many a gun had malfunctioned because of inclement weather.

While the shift to the AK-203 from the INSAS (Indian Small Arms System) rifle as the standard issue for the military is a sweeping one, it is also indicative of a change in offensive operations. And therein lies the bigger narrative.

While the 5.56mmx45mm bullet in the INSAS rifle is meant to wound, the 7.62mmx39mm bullet in the AK-203 is thicker, heavier and is meant to kill.

Lieutenant General (retd) Syed Ata Hasnain told THE WEEK: “The AK-203 uses a bullet that is more lethal because of higher calibre and stopping power (immobilising a target). It is a proven AK platform, has more reliability in all conditions and is lighter than the INSAS by about 300g. Moreover, it has both semi-automatic and fully automatic modes. Being fully automatic is a major advantage for counter-terrorist situations at closer range.”

Originally chosen by NATO (and copied in INSAS), the lighter calibre was based on the logic that a wounded soldier ties up more enemy resources, like the medical and evacuating personnel, besides demoralising fellow troops.

“It is the operational philosophy we were fed in the 1980s and even the 1990s,” said Hasnain. “It is not as if counter-insurgency/counter-terror (CI/CT) operations were our main task, but the Army was at a disadvantage in such operations while being armed with the INSAS.”

Some indigenous AK-47s and a few captured ones with limited ammunition were made available to the Army in the Northern Command. “These proved effective, especially in jungle encounters and close, compact built-up areas,” he said. “The AK-203, a refined version of the AK-47, offers a good stoppage-free weapon that can be employed effectively in both conventional and CI/CT operations.”

Added Major General Jagatbir Singh (retd): “With an increased calibre, the penetration and range of the AK-203 are greater than that of the INSAS, which leads to a higher kill ratio. The calibre of weapons is based on the ranges desired and the likely effect on the target. The key issues are whether to incapacitate or to kill, ease of handling, rugged use, automatic and semi-automatic use, rate of fire and ease of maintenance. The feedback on performance of 5.56mm INSAS was not good. This was highlighted by troops operating in CI operations who preferred using AK47s.” The AK-203, therefore, fits the bill.

But how will this change impact the Army’s CI/CT operations, which often call for a graded and calibrated response? Hasnain, who commanded the Army’s Srinagar-based 15 Corps, said: “The Army’s role in internal security duties, particularly in civil unrest scenarios like stone-pelting, is governed by strict protocols and drills under ‘aid to civil authorities’. These emphasise graded response, restraint and the minimum use of force, regardless of the personal weapon issued to the soldier. While it’s true that the AK-203 is more lethal, this does not translate to a greater use of force in civil unrest scenarios.”

Moreover, the Army rarely engages directly in crowd control, which is primarily the domain of state police or paramilitary forces. “In exceptional cases like when convoys are attacked, the Army follows standard operating procedures designed to defuse the situation, protect its personnel and avoid unnecessary casualties,” said Hasnain. The measures include non-lethal deterrents, verbal warnings and escalation only when necessary, in a calibrated manner.

“The transition to AK-203 enhances combat capability, but does not alter the Army’s commitment to restraint during internal security duties,” he added.

Throughout its history, India’s 14 lakh-strong military has been using a range of standard issue rifles with different bullet calibres. It was the vintage .303 Lee-Enfield bolt-action rifle that was replaced by the Self-Loading Rifle (SLR) 7.62mmx51mm. Introduced in the early 1960s, the SLR continued to be in vogue till the late 1990s. While the indigenous INSAS rifle became the mainstay for the military since 1994, much smaller numbers of the Russian AK-47 (7.62mmx3mm), and about 1,45,400 of the American Sig Sauer 716 (7.62mmx51mm) had been inducted in recent years.

Since 2014-15, the Army had stopped placing any indent for the INSAS. Between 2015-16 and 2019-20, 13-17 per cent of INSAS rifles were returned because of defects in components like breech lock, piston extension and body housing. Said a former senior Army officer on condition of anonymity: “The weapon’s external structure, including its magazine, was fragile and prone to damage. Its gas piston mechanism would occasionally spray oil into the firer’s eyes, causing discomfort. Furthermore, it suffered from jamming issues, especially in extreme cold and dusty environments—common conditions in India’s high-altitude border areas. The 5.56mm rounds lacked stopping power, often failing to incapacitate the enemy fully.”

In a 2016-2019 scrutiny by the Comptroller and Auditor General (CAG), of 26 cases of ‘defect investigation’ in small weapons, 14 were from the 5.56mm INSAS rifle. The repetitive defects were bursting of the cartridge case in the chamber, bulging of housing body and cracks in the breech block/barrel extension.

The audit probe committee concluded that the problems indicated “manufacturing problems of a metallurgical nature in the concerned weapons”.

The INSAS is part of a family of infantry weapons developed indigenously, comprising the assault rifle, a light machine gun (LMG) and a carbine. These were designed by the Armament Research and Development Establishment and manufactured by the Ordnance Factory Board.

The rifle, along with its LMG counterpart, entered mass production in 1997 while the carbine version never materialised. The INSAS rifle had an effective range of 400m, and the LMG variant could engage targets up to 700m.

Major General Deepak Mehra (retd), involved in the procurement process of the AK-203 with the Russians, told THE WEEK: “The Russian-origin Kalashnikov rifles—such as the AK-47, AK-74, AK-56, and AKM—have long been in service and were favoured by frontline troops for their rugged reliability and effective lethality. Recognising the limitations of the INSAS, the Indian Army initiated the search for a replacement. The process likely began around 2015, when I was posted at the Indian embassy in Moscow [as India’s military attaché]. During my three-year tenure in Russia, we made several visits to the Kalashnikov Concern—the iconic small arms manufacturer located deep within Russia. We regularly interacted with the factory team, discussing design specifications, attachments and cost considerations. However, as of 2018, a final model had not been selected due to disagreements over the support systems and accessory features desired by the Indian side. After returning to India in November 2018, I submitted a comprehensive report with detailed recommendations to the Infantry Directorate. As I settled into my new role, I was contacted by the then additional director general (ADG) of infantry, who informed me of an urgent visit to Moscow, directed by General Bipin Rawat, the then chief of Army staff. Within two weeks of returning from my diplomatic assignment, I found myself back at the Kalashnikov factory, this time as part of a high-level Indian delegation led by the ADG Infantry. In a decisive closed-door meeting, the Indian side communicated its preference for the AK-203, the best available model at the time. The Russian team responded with full cooperation, and the delegation swiftly finalised the technical specifications.”

That ADG infantry is now Chief of Army Staff General Upendra Dwivedi.

The first AK-203 from the Indo-Russian Rifles Private Limited (IRRPL) factory in Uttar Pradesh’s Korwa was released on August 15, 2023, and in total, 55,000 have already been delivered to India’s frontline.

Major General S.K. Sharma, CEO and MD, IRRPL, told THE WEEK: “There have been zero complaints in the past 18 months. The entire contracted number of 6,01,427 units will be delivered to the defence ministry by December 2030… more than two years before the deadline of October 2032.”

IRRPL is owned by a consortium—Advanced Weapons and Equipment India Limited has a 42.5 per cent stake, Munitions India Limited has 8 per cent, while Russian firms Kalashnikov Concern and Rosoboronexport own 42 per cent and 7.5 per cent. Operating on a 100 per cent transfer-of-technology arrangement with the Russian partners, IRRPL has been undertaking a graded indigenisation production of the rifle. “We aim to take out the first completely home-made AK-203 by December 31, 2025,” said Sharma. Till now, certain parts of the rifle were being brought in from Russia.

The IRRPL is expected to churn out one AK-203 rifle every 100 seconds by mid-2026. And in the backdrop of atmanirbharta and ‘Make for the World’, the AK-203 is also being seen through the export angle.

So, what happens to the lakhs of INSAS rifles?

Replacing a generation of weapons is a slow and graded process. “The INSAS will probably be retained for training purposes for some time and for guards and sentries at static institutions,” said Hasnain. “State armed police may also receive some of these. A lot of ammunition will be available and it should either be fired or destroyed as soon as the shelf life is over.”

dr-raj-bothra-the-padma-shri-surgeon-who-challenged-the-american-justice-system-and-won

Sat Nov 01 18:51:01 IST 2025

When the FBI knocked on his door on a cold December morning in 2018, Dr Raj Bothra had no idea that his life was about to unravel. “I asked them, what was the reason [they came]?” he recalls. “They said, ‘We cannot tell you. The judge will tell you.’ One of the agents said, ‘You know, you’re lucky we caught you outside. We usually knock on the door and barge in while most people are still asleep.’”

What followed was a tale fit for a Netflix documentary.

The FBI’s case against Bothra and five of his colleagues—associated with The Pain Center USA and Interventional Pain Center—was placed in the wider opioid crisis. Clinics across the US were under the scanner for alleged overprescription of controlled substances. The government accused the group of defrauding Medicare (the national health insurance programme) and fuelling addiction by prescribing opioids “without legitimate medical purpose”.

The alleged fraud spanned from January 2013 to November 2018. As per the prosecutors, “Bothra prescribed some 12 million highly addictive Schedule II drugs.” He was accused of running “pill mills,” and fuelling “the social devastation of the opioid crisis claiming thousands of young lives”.

Bothra insists the charges were exaggerated and were “a desperate attempt to show action during a national crisis”. He says his practice, with 25,000 patients, was singled out because of its size and success.

Cut to 2025, and his life, spanning two continents and one unrelenting fight for justice, is finding its space on the silver screen. “I was just reading the final script a few days ago,” the 81-year-old tells THE WEEK on a morning call from Detroit. “It is very well done. I’m happy about that.”

In the movie directed by Ravi K. Chandran, Kabir Bedi will play the older Bothra, while Ankur Bhatia will portray his younger days in Mumbai.

Born and educated in India, Bothra always dreamt of becoming a surgeon. From Mumbai, he first went to England, where he practised for a while, and then landed in the US as a chief resident in his late 20s. The opportunities were vast and the rewards came fast. He rose rapidly through the US medical system and became an influential voice.

By the 1980s, he was an established surgeon with a thriving practice. He helped raise funds and sent equipment to Indian hospitals. His work led him to Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi, who asked him to focus on drug abuse among India’s youth.

Bothra was straddling two worlds—politically active in the Republican Party and working with the Congress in India. “President George Bush (senior) came to my house, which was unheard of at that time,” he says. “I worked with Ronald Reagan, with Bush Sr and met [Richard] Nixon.”

He built relationships across governments and borders.

In 1999, President K.R. Narayanan awarded Bothra the Padma Shri—it was recognition of his decades of cross-border work in health care awareness and philanthropy. Life was going swimmingly.

But, at the turn of the century, Bothra saw medicine changing in ways that disturbed him. “Hospitals were being bought by private equity people; everything became commercialised,” he says. “So, I changed my speciality to interventional pain management; that is, chronic pain, but surgical.”

In parallel, the US began to see a growing opioid crisis with prescription painkillers, heroin and fentanyl flooding the streets. Over 15 years, Bothra’s practice treated over 25,000 patients, at times prescribing potent opioids. However, crucially, all these opioids were within regulations and, as Bothra argues, were crucial for pain management.

“I was the poster child for them,” he says. “Having the biggest practice, naturally the numbers were high—more patients, more prescriptions, more billing.”

When Bothra was first denied bail, the prosecution had argued: “Due to his numerous contacts in India and his significant financial assets here in America, he’s a flight risk. He was the ringleader of this whole operation. He has too many connections, and he was dishonest about his siblings and his assets. Surrendering his passport won’t guarantee he can’t flee the country.”

While his colleagues were eventually released on bail, he was denied the opportunity nine times. “They said $450 million was paid to my company,” he says. “It was $45 million over six years and government records can prove that. They said 12 million pills were prescribed. But for 25,000 patients, that’s one of the lowest per-patient rates in the country, less than CDC (Centers for Disease Control and Prevention) guidelines. The idea was to keep me inside, break me, and make me plead guilty so others would fall.”

Bothra spent 1,301 days in prison without bail. “[It was] dehumanising,” he says.

He writes in his book USA vs Raj: “The brutal Michigan winter was unsparing. In a desperate attempt to fend off the bitter cold, I requested an extra blanket. This request was shot down. I was told I needed to see a doctor to verify my hypothyroidism, which makes you feel cold, to justify my need for an additional blanket. This required me to wait an additional two weeks for the results of my thyroid blood test.”

When the system refused him warmth, humanity found a way. “Eventually, in a show of camaraderie, a fellow inmate offered me his extra blanket that he had been hiding from the guards.”

During his second bail hearing came the moment, he says, that “sucker punched” his faith in fairness. “They said, ‘One of the charges being brought against you is the over-prescription of opioids. This deems you a potential menace to society. Bail is denied’,” he says. “This is against the US constitution. They were sure they could break me. Only 0.03 per cent of people win against the government. The justice system here is corrupt from top to bottom, except the jury.”

Bothra refused to surrender. “I told them clearly that I might compromise on certain things, even fines, but I will never plead guilty,” he says. “It’s a question of my honour, my family’s honour, my country’s honour.”

His lawyers warned him that ‘no one wins’. “They said I would die in prison. I said so be it. I’ll die in prison, but I’m never going to plead guilty,” he says, pausing in between. “What would my daughter say in school? That her father is a convicted felon? I couldn’t accept that.”

Even his wife begged him to sign a plea deal. She had had a cardiac arrest while he was in jail. “They told her I would come home in a black bag,” he says softly. “She was scared to death.”

It was during those long months that the idea of his book was born. “It’s a true story,” he says. “Anybody can challenge it if they want to.”

When his trial finally began, it lasted seven weeks. “I prepared most of my defence myself,” he says. “I did not have a good relationship with my attorneys because they wanted me to plead guilty.” One of them, he says, charged him a flat fee of $500,000, claiming he could get bail. “I let him try, but didn’t get my hopes up,” he says.

Then came an absurd suggestion. “I couldn’t believe it when the attorney said I should fake a fall. ‘Since you had vertigo in the past,’ he said, ‘this could get you admitted to the hospital to bolster our chances.’ It was theatrical,” he says.

Finally, the day of the verdict arrived. “The court was filled with the press and TV—jam-packed,” he says. “Usually, the jury foreman reads the judgment. But the judge said he was going to do it himself. ‘Count one,’ he said, and then he did not speak for 30 seconds. It looked like an eternity. I looked at my wife and daughter who were sitting at the back—everybody was praying. It was such a tense moment. It is difficult to describe it.”

He stops for a moment before continuing. “After the pause, the judge said, ‘Not guilty.’ He had to say that 54 times. My daughter (Sonia) was standing up [towards the end]. As soon as the judge announced ‘Not guilty, Dr Raj Bothra is free to go,’ my daughter began sobbing so loudly that the whole court started looking at her. She came and fell in my arms. The whole world stopped for me.”

Sonia, whom he had adopted from Mother Teresa’s orphanage, was his strongest pillar of support during his darkest days. During one of her visits, she told Bothra about falling in love with a Muslim man. “I told her that I had no objection,” he says. “She married him soon after because there was no guarantee when I would be released. Everyone told her I would never come home.”

But he did. And recently, he celebrated the birthday of his twin granddaughters. That celebration, in fact, is now the film’s ending.

why-india-needs-national-litigation-policy-lessons-from-aadhaar-and-farm-laws

Sat Oct 25 11:59:20 IST 2025

In 2016, when the Aadhaar Act was passed, the government hailed it as a revolution—one identity number to unlock everything from welfare subsidies to mobile connections. But the celebration quickly gave way to courtroom drama. Petitions flooded the Supreme Court, questioning the scheme’s impact on privacy and personal liberty. For two years, Aadhaar was less a policy in action than a policy on trial. Finally, in 2018, the court upheld its core but struck down several key provisions. What was meant to be a showcase of state capacity ended up as a legal marathon, leaving citizens and the government unsure of its boundaries.

Aadhaar’s story is not an outlier; the farm laws of 2020 followed a similar arc. Pushed through Parliament in record speed, they aimed to overhaul India’s agricultural economy, but ended up sparking street protests and legal challenges. Questions about federal powers, farmers’ rights, and market regulation remained unresolved as the government, under immense pressure, repealed the laws barely a year later. Once again, a grand legislative vision collapsed under the combined weight of political anger and constitutional vulnerability.

Such episodes expose a deep flaw—laws are often created on shaky legal ground in India. Drafted in haste and pushed through Parliament with minimal scrutiny, they unravel when challenged in court. The cost is heavy. Governments lose credibility, citizens lose clarity and courts lose years that could be spent on other pressing matters.

The numbers show just how deep the problem runs. Nearly half of all litigation in India involves the government itself. And much of this is not about sweeping constitutional questions, but about avoidable disputes—pension claims, service transfers, tax appeals and contradictory circulars issued by different ministries. The state is not just the biggest lawmaker, it is also the country’s biggest litigant.

Now, the government wants to break this cycle. As part of its National Litigation Policy Plan, it is considering a new filter—the litigation risk assessment. The idea is simple but radical: before a law even leaves the drafting table, it must undergo a kind of legal stress test. Just as a factory project needs environmental clearance before breaking ground, every proposed law or major policy would be screened for constitutional risks, drafting ambiguities and rights conflicts. If Aadhaar had been through such a process, its privacy concerns might have been flagged early, sparing years of legal wrangling. If the farm laws had been tested, their vulnerabilities could have been addressed before they reached the floor of Parliament.

The reform does not stop at new laws. The government is also overhauling how it fights the mountain of existing cases. Ministries will no longer be allowed to treat litigation as a clerical afterthought. Every department will have dedicated legal cells, staffed by trained lawyers and headed by senior officers. For complex constitutional or commercial disputes, ministries can hire external experts rather than leaving everything to standing counsel. Routine service disputes, which form the bulk of government cases, are to be handled more proactively through grievance redressal forums. The department of posts has already shown what is possible with its “staff adalats”, where employee complaints are settled before they snowball into lawsuits. Other ministries are now expected to follow the lead.

Take the case of a retired postal worker in Delhi. All he wanted was the dignity of a timely pension. Instead, he found himself waiting—month after month, year after year, for arrears that never arrived. His file had already inched its way towards the Central Administrative Tribunal, another long legal battle looming over his twilight years.

Then, a staff adalat brought big relief. What could have dragged on for years in court was settled in weeks. His dues were released, and with them, the quiet relief of knowing he would not have to fight anymore.

Even the culture of delay, long associated with government litigation, is being targeted. Judges often complain of state lawyers appearing unprepared, seeking adjournment after adjournment. Under the new policy, if a ministry seeks more than two consecutive adjournments, the reason must be reported to a nodal officer.

The government’s litigation management directive spells out how this would work. Ministries drafting new legislation would be required to map the legal landscape around it, review relevant case law, and assess where disputes might arise. Each proposal would be graded in terms of litigation risk—high, medium, or low, along with an estimation of possible costs if challenges materialise. Ministries would also have to draw up a mitigation plan, suggesting clearer drafting, tighter definitions, or grievance mechanisms to pre-empt disputes. India would be joining the UK, where ministers must certify that laws comply with the Human Rights Act, or the US, where the department of justice reviews draft legislation for constitutional soundness.

Senior advocate Gopal Sankaranarayanan called it a long overdue reform. “Most of the avoidable litigation we see is not about high principle but about sloppy drafting and conflicting notifications,” he said. “If ministries are forced to run their proposals through a structured legal filter, it will save the courts years of needless burden. But the danger is that it should not become a cosmetic exercise, where risks are papered over rather than addressed.”

A senior law ministry official told THE WEEK that the government had been clogging courts not out of necessity but negligence. “Cases were filed mindlessly, appeals became a reflex. If [the reform] is followed in spirit, the state can move from being India’s biggest litigant to a model of legal discipline.”

If done in earnest, these reforms could change the way India makes and fights its laws. New statutes would be sharper, sturdier and far less likely to unravel in court. Citizens and businesses would gain the certainty they crave. The exchequer would save crores by avoiding pointless appeals and penalties.

Whether these reforms succeed will depend on political will and bureaucratic discipline. But the intent marks a shift. Instead of relying on courts to clean up after hurried lawmaking, the government is trying to build foresight into the process.

The bigger challenge lies in practice. Parliament has grown used to rushing bills through, often with little debate or committee scrutiny, leaving courts to do the hard constitutional filtering. Aadhaar and the farm laws are reminders of the price of such haste.

understanding-india-new-directive-on-litigation-risk-assessments

Sat Oct 25 11:54:54 IST 2025

The department of legal affairs, under the Union ministry of law and justice, has rolled out a directive for “the efficient and effective management of litigation”. Framed on the recommendations of a committee of secretaries led by the department’s cabinet secretary, the directive seeks to reduce unnecessary litigation and improve coordination among government departments. Its centrepiece is the introduction of ‘litigation risk assessments’ (LRA) while drafting new statutes, rules or policies—an exercise meant to flag likely areas of dispute, estimate costs and design litigation mitigation plans to nip disputes in the bud.

At first glance, this looks promising. But the idea of assessing litigation risk is hardly new. In Salem Advocate Bar Association vs Union of India (2005), the Supreme Court had nudged the Centre to introduce Judicial Impact Assessments (JIA) to estimate the caseload and financial burden new laws would impose on courts. A task force under Justice M. Jagannadha Rao submitted a report in 2008 recommending scientific assessments of likely litigation, and corresponding budget allocations for the judiciary. Yet, by 2015, an expert committee dismissed JIAs as “neither feasible nor desirable”, arguing that courts should be funded based on their broader needs rather than predictive caseloads.

The idea resurfaced in 2019 in Rojer Mathew vs South Indian Bank Ltd, when the Supreme Court directed the government to carry out financial impact assessments of tribunals. The order was reiterated as recently as 2023 in a case involving the Orissa Administrative Tribunal Bar Association, underlining persistent judicial frustration at the absence of serious planning.

Whether branded as LRA or JIA, the core concern remains unchanged: how many disputes will a new law generate, what will they cost the state—both as a litigant and in budgeting for the judiciary. The directive, though significant, risks being another well-intentioned but weakly implemented policy unless it goes beyond broad exhortations.

Today, the government has more tools at its disposal than in 2005. Information collected through e-courts, tribunal records and predictive analytics can enable creation of evidence-based frameworks. A robust methodology should consider whether a proposed law overlaps with existing legislation, contradicts judicial precedent or criminalises new conduct—all classic triggers for litigation. It should also weigh comparative experiences from states or foreign jurisdictions and incorporate structured public consultations to catch ambiguities early. Economists, too, must be brought in to assess the fiscal burden on ministries and courts.

There is also much to learn from abroad. The UK mandates Regulatory Impact Assessments for laws and reviews them post-implementation. The US provides detailed guidelines for assessing regulatory costs and unintended consequences. These assessments are public documents inviting scrutiny and debate, and strengthening transparency and accountability.

If pursued earnestly, impact assessments could transform lawmaking from a reactive process—where governments firefight after disputes arise—into a proactive, evidence-driven exercise. The directive is a start, but unless backed by a concrete, expert-led framework, it risks being old wine in a new bottle.

The writer is senior resident fellow at the JALDI (Justice, Access and Lowering Delays in India) initiative at Vidhi Centre for Legal Policy.

faithful-aurangzeb-relied-on-many-astrologers-mj-akbar

Sat Oct 18 12:16:27 IST 2025

Interview/ M.J. Akbar, author and former Union minister

To most of us, the Mughal story starts in the forenoon of April 21, 1526, when a corps of 12,000 defeated an army of one lakh in just four hours on the plains of Panipat. The history of India changed at that noon when Babur, a warlord from Fergana, prevailed over Ibrahim Lodi, the sultan of Delhi. But M.J. Akbar’s After Me, Chaos starts the Mughal story two ‘generations’ later, with the birth of Babar’s grandson Jalaluddin Muhammad Akbar. For two reasons.

The book opens with the first reason. The birth didn’t happen exactly in the manner in which it was ordained by nature. A soothsayer—to use a pejorative word—intervened to alter what everyone thought was God’s will. The royal astrologer, who decided that the queen’s labour pain was occurring at an inauspicious hour, intervened in a hideous manner, and got the boy born at a time he willed!

The second reason is given at the end of the book—in the very last paragraph of the last chapter. Writes the author: “Both Babur and Humayun would have been forgotten even by the footnotes of history but for Akbar, a reflection of the dazzling light… of that Venus of fortune, the goddess Alanqua.” Yes, there wouldn’t have been a Mughal empire, but for Akbar.

Goddess Alanqua for a Muslim dynasty? Yes, a goddess of the ‘pagan’ eastern Turkic Khans, she was a virgin mother like Mary, but the Mughals took pride in tracing their heritage to her. “Alanqua was crucial to Akbar’s cosmic identity,” writes the author. “Pride in this heritage was proclaimed in official history, and this was never denied or diluted by any successor”, not even the friend of faith, Aurangzeb. For that matter, even Aurangzeb had astrologers in his court who told him when to enter a city, when to start a battle, and when to receive guests in the durbar.

The book is not just the story of six men—Babur the Conqueror, Humayun the Kind, Akbar the Great, Jahangir the Just, Shah Jahan the Magnificent, and Aurangzeb the Pious—but also of men who considered their culture more ancient and greater than their faith. It is an unputdownable, thrilling account of one and a half illustrious centuries of Indian history, when the Indian sun shone over the world’s richest, mightiest and the most splendid empire of that time.

Excerpts from an interview with the author:

Q/ What prompted you to choose such a topic, taking such pains as to go to primary sources?

A/ What prompted me were my attempts to understand my country’s past. I have always sought my information by opening the curtains that have been placed before us, in most cases by whole generations of British scholars. While their contributions were good, we have to go back to translations from the Persian, from the official records.

Now the topic—the Mughals’ commitment to astrology. It’s all over the place [in Mughal accounts]…. The stories are absolutely fascinating. The reason for that is they accepted that their culture went back far beyond in time, more than their religion. They were all practising Muslims. No doubt about that. But they also recognised the parallel reality. For example, they claimed a more ancient ancestry. Once I started putting the pieces together, I found enough instances of cultural assimilation.

Q/ One can understand that in the case of the first five great Mughals. But in the case of Aurangzeb, who is supposed to be a friend of faith, how could he believe in astrology which goes against the tenets of his religion?

A/ His bigotry destroyed the Mughal empire. It collapsed not because it was defeated in the battlefield. It collapsed because its internal coherence, internal cohesion and its internal value system were completely destroyed by this bigot. He knew it. The title of the book, After Me, Chaos, comes from what he said, what he predicted, that it would be chaos after him.

Q/ That’s originally from the French king Louis XIV’s statement. He said, “After me, deluge…”

A/ Happy that you mentioned this, because it’s completely wrong. It’s not originally French. Not Louis XIV. He said it 80 years after Aurangzeb.

Q/ Really? I thought you improvised.

A/ No. I’ll tell you the story. Aurangzeb used to hide his commitment to astrology because he thought that the orthodox mullahs would be upset. Yes, he was a man of faith. But even he, when it came to his own coronation, went to astrologers to find out the right time. He crowned himself twice. And both times, the astrologers told him the right time.

To come to the point of the title. When he was 80 years old—he had four sons whom he kept in jail for various amounts of time—he called Bahadur Shah and told him, how he [Aurangzeb] had become emperor. He had no rational chance of becoming emperor, his elder brother Dara Shukoh had been the father’s [Shah Jahan] favourite, but what was written in the horoscope, written by Mullah Alaulmulk Tuni, was different. Then he tells Bahadur Shah that in 80 years, every single incident of his life had been predicted.

Having recounted his own story, he gives the son the bad news—that the horoscope had also said that the mighty empire would crumble within two or three years after his death. So it was an astrologer who predicted everything including the collapse of the empire, and this is there in the original Persian, that “after me chaos”.

Q/ But how could he reconcile his religious faith with astrology?

A/ He sort of kept it private. And he had many Muslim astrologers. For more than a hundred years before Aurangzeb, the post of the chief astrologer in the court was held always by a Brahmin from Banaras. Their names are there in the books. Every morning, at the first meeting of the day, two astrologers would be there to determine whether it was auspicious for the emperor to meet X or Y.

Q/ You mentioned that in the case of Humayun, when he was to meet the emperor of Persia.

A/ Humayun’s astrologer’s is a fascinating story. The book begins with him. He was a Muslim—Maulana Chand. He was there when Humayun was on the run after being defeated by Sher Shah. Imagine, after 14 years [of the founding of the empire] the emperor didn’t have even money to buy food. He was in exile pursued not only by Sher Shah but also his brothers. When he entered Umarkot, his wife Hamida Banu was heavily pregnant. But Humayun had to leave her in his host’s palace and fight an enemy. He left, leaving only one man behind—his astrologer. Why? To record the exact second of the birth of his child so that there would be no confusion about the horoscope.

Maulana Chand believed that this was a child who was very auspicious. But when the labour pains started, he went frantic. He realised the time was not auspicious. He had to delay the birth till a most auspicious moment which would come a few days later. No, no, the child cannot be born now. But the women started laughing, saying when nature starts its course, who are you to stop it? But he was determined. He knew of the auspicious moment which would occur a few days later, and that a child born at that moment would be chakravarty.

So you know what he did? He found an ugly-looking woman there, caught her by the scruff of her neck and pushed to the side of the exiled queen’s bed. The queen, in labour pains, was so shocked to see this hideous thing thrust through the curtain, and her labour pains ceased. Then the child would be born at the right time the astrologer wanted. That child would be Akbar.

Q/ The book says Humayun was himself an astrologer, and he foresaw his own death.

A/ Yes. And how do we know? Because it’s right there in the records. He used to eat opium. One day he told his servant who was putting up packets of opium for the month to keep it only for seven days; ‘I won’t need it on the eighth’. On the seventh morning, after consuming it, he said that this afternoon, a great injury will happen to a great person. In the evening, he went up to the terrace to see the stars. And he heard the prayer call. While running down the stairs, his foot caught in his robe, and he fell to his death.

Q/ It was a library building—you had a ‘body in the library’ case…

A/ Yes, they all had libraries. After Jahangir finally had access to his father’s library, the first book he took out and read was the Ramayan. This is part of culture. They respected other faiths. They respected other languages. [I have problems with] this whole notion that Islam is trapped in one language. Look, the Quran came in one language, but the Quran itself says that the message I [God] have sent is in every language. Surely, God is available to anyone with any kind of language. Culture is much older than religion. Most religions can be defined to a particular date. But culture comes from our ancestry.

Q/ Coming back to Aurangzeb’s death, if you believe that such things are determined by the stars, you also believe that astrology suggests ways to avoid or delay certain calamities. You propitiate the gods, the spirits, the supernatural powers through certain rites. Do we find evidence for that in the Mughal accounts?

A/ When Jahangir’s granddaughter was born, his astrologer forbade him from seeing her for a few years [to avoid certain calamity]. When he goes to Kashmir for a holiday, he wants to take his grandson, but the astrologer forbids him, saying something would happen to the child, but it won’t be the worst. And it so happened. The child, while playing near a window in the castle, fell. But exactly below the window, a carpet seller had stacked his ware. The child survived. When there was a theft in Jahangir’s palace, he called the astrologer who told him it would be found. And it was. When Akbar was to invade Kashmir, there was a great debate in the council whether it was the right time, and Akbar leaves it to the astrologer to decide. Akbar planned to build a city in Punjab but the plan never took off because the astrologers could not find the right time to start work.

Q/ The Mughals claimed to have descended from Timur and Genghis. Genghis was a believer in these things. There’s a story that he didn’t invade India because he read bad signs when he burnt sheepskin. You didn’t mention it.

A/ Yes, there is that story, but that is beyond the scope of my book which is about the Mughals. And the fact is, Genghis’s army invaded India thrice. All three were defeated.

Q/ You have written extensively about five of the great six. But is there enough about Shah Jahan? Akbar may be great, but Shah Jahan captured popular imagination with his Taj, Red Fort, Mumtaz, Kohinoor, Peacock Throne. He symbolises fine things—beauty, wealth and magnificence. What about his belief in astrology?

A/ The book has a lot about him. You know, his main title was Sahib-i-Qiran-i-Saani, or Second Lord of the Auspicious Conjunction of Jupiter and Venus. Like his father, he would enter a city only after clearance from astrologers—he waited for 12 days after January 28, 1628, to enter Agra. There are records of predictions being made when his sons were born. [Grandfather] Jahangir was still alive when Shah Jahan’s children were born. On March 29, 1615, there was an eclipse, which they saw as an ominous sign. A son was born to Khurram (Shah Jahan) the next day. Three years later Jahangir saw a comet, which spelt dire news according to astrologers. Aurangzeb was born just after. Jahangir does not hide his foreboding at what might transpire—that the conflict between these two boys would be bad for the empire.

Q/ But wasn’t Shah Jahan also a little dogmatic about religion, perhaps a little less than Aurangzeb?

A/ There is this incident which shows how he was. Once he was out hunting, when he rode ahead of the entourage. That is dangerous for an emperor. Soon he was tired, and sat under a tree waiting for others. He felt thirsty and he saw a man with a water pitcher. He asked for some water. That man, who didn’t know that the stranger was the emperor, sprinkled some leaves on top of the vessel, and gave the water. Shah Jahan drank it and then asked him why he sprinkled leaves. The man replied that there was this custom when they gave water to donkeys. Soon the entourage arrived, the man realised this was the emperor himself, and he started trembling. But Shah Jahan smiled, and said you gave me water when I was thirsty; as a reward, I allow you to collect all the revenue from this village. It came to be known as the Brahman’s Village.

Q/ This waterman story reminds me of the waterman in Humayun’s story. The one who saved him when he was fleeing after his defeat in the battle of Chausa.

A/ Yes. As a reward, Humayun allowed him to sit on the throne for a day or half.

Q/ Ek din ka sultan! But is it true that he emptied the treasury in those few hours?

A/ No, they were not foolish.

Q/ Are you thinking of a sequel? On the later Mughals, or the so-called lesser Mughals? There were some 15 or 16 of them?

A/ That story is a separate story. A very different story. In their story, you see how a dynasty, which has no reason to survive, continuing into tragedies.

After Me, Chaos: Astrology in the Mughal Empire

Author: M.J. Akbar

Publisher: Bloomsbury India

Price: Rs799; Pages: 300

hortus-malabaricus-garden-sam-santhosh-kerala-garden-van-rheede-botanical-legacy

Sat Oct 11 18:01:38 IST 2025

In 1656, a young nobleman from the Dutch province of Utrecht, Hendrik Adriaan van Rheede tot Drakenstein, joined the Dutch East India Company (VOC) and set sail for the east. With a sword in hand and ambition in his heart, he quickly distinguished himself in Admiral Rijckloff van Goens’s brutal campaigns against the Portuguese across Ceylon and the Malabar coast. Like many 17th-century Dutch nobles, van Rheede was a quarrelsome subordinate. Yet his boldness on the battlefield earned him rapid promotions—first as sergeant major of Ceylon, then as commander of Malabar.

Though not formally trained in botany, van Rheede developed a deep fascination with the exotic flora he encountered beyond the Cape of Good Hope—in Batavia, Ceylon and, most strikingly, Malabar. To him, Malabar (the entire stretch of the Kerala coastline was then referred to as the “Malabar coast” by foreign traders) was a botanical treasure chest. He was captivated by the giant woody climbers and vast banyan trees—sacred to the Malabaris—that loomed like natural cathedrals over the land. Equally impressive were the Malabaris themselves, whose intimate knowledge of local flora allowed them to craft an astonishing array of herbal medicines in the ayurvedic tradition.

Unlike most colonial officers, van Rheede grew fond of the land and developed a close relationship with local rulers of Kerala such as the raja of Cochin. The fact that van Rheede had saved the life of the king’s mother during the 1662 battle in Fort Cochin likely strengthened their friendship.

Documenting the rich plant diversity of Malabar with the precision expected by European standards became an enduring passion for van Rheede. According to the late botanist H.Y. Mohan Ram, his motivation was not purely scientific—there was also a political dimension. Van Rheede believed Malabar was self-sufficient in both military and commercial terms and considered Cochin—captured by the Dutch from the Portuguese in 1663—a more strategic choice than Colombo for the VOC’s Southeast Asian headquarters.

It was within this context that he initiated the compilation of Hortus Malabaricus—a monumental work published between 1678 and 1693—that became the most comprehensive printed record of the natural wealth of Asia and the tropics during the colonial era.

Cut to 2009.

After a successful stint in the IT industry, where he founded California Software Co. Ltd (Calsoft), tech entrepreneur Sam Santhosh—later known as the “Genome Man of India”—took his first steps into genomics. He saw DNA sequencing as a horizontal technology capable of powering multiple companies across diverse sectors.

Through his Kochi-based incubator, SciGenom Labs, he launched his first venture, MedGenome. When he spun it off in 2013 with a new lab in Bengaluru, he simultaneously began incubating a second genomics company, AgriGenome, focused on sequencing plant genomes to improve crop varieties. That, he says, was a revelation.

“The genomes of plants showed me how much more complex they were compared to human and animal genomes,” he recalls. “This sparked a deeper interest in plants. Since Kerala is one of the world’s biodiversity hotspots, I began reading more about its flora—and that’s when I stumbled upon Hortus Malabaricus.”

Santhosh was awestruck by the wealth of knowledge in the 12-volume treatise. He longed to see a garden that brought to life all 742 plant species detailed in the work.

“While visiting botanical gardens across Kerala, I did come across sections on Hortus Malabaricus, but they were only partial collections,” he says.

During its compilation, van Rheede had faced numerous challenges—including dismissal as governor of Cochin, the untimely deaths of trusted botanists and a lack of funds for publication. Yet his perseverance, ingenuity and passion drove the project forward. Ever since reading about van Rheede, Santhosh has felt a deep urge to honour the Dutch governor who risked his career to undertake one of the most ambitious botanical documentation efforts of his time.

Motivated by this vision, Santhosh launched the Hortus Malabaricus Garden Project in 2016—a living biobank intended to support researchers studying the medicinal plants featured in the historic text. Earlier this year, the garden—spanning 27 acres and now housing over 1,800 plant species, including 730 of the 742 in Hortus Malabaricus—was opened to the public in Cheruthuruthy, in Kerala’s Thrissur district. Notably, this collection includes a significant number of plants endemic to the Western Ghats. Santhosh’s goal is to grow the collection to 5,000 species by 2030, predominantly from Kerala and the Western Ghats.

At the garden’s entrance stands a bust of van Rheede, placed beneath a mango tree adorned with a bamboo creeper endemic to the Andaman Islands. The garden is divided into 14 sectors, including dedicated sections for aquatic and prehistoric flora. The main pathway connecting these sectors—the garden’s central artery—is named after van Rheede.

Santhosh, who serves as strategic adviser to the Kerala Genome Data Centre—established to propel the state’s biotechnology sector—believes the garden will be of immense value to their work. It also features a taxonomy and biochemical lab, aimed at bridging the gap between traditional medicinal knowledge and modern genomic and soil microbiome research—connecting the wisdom of the ancient world with modern science.

Van Rheede himself had undertaken a similar act of bridging east and west when he initiated Hortus Malabaricus, combining indigenous knowledge with European scientific inquiry. To overcome the language gap, he founded a “Tolken School” (school for translators) in 1668 in the princely state of Thekkumkoor, with which the VOC had trade relations. The school was established in Kottayam, then the capital of Thekkumkoor, according to historian Rajeev Pallikonam.

“Herman Hasenkamp, a retired Dutch soldier and polyglot living in Kochi, was the first preceptor of this school,” Pallikonam notes. “Van Rheede wanted Hasenkamp to learn Sanskrit—perhaps because many ayurvedic medicinal texts were written in that language.”

According to Pallikonam, Latin, Dutch, Sanskrit and Malayalam were taught at this school, where Dutch VOC men, local Christians and Konkani Brahmins studied together. The school existed for a little more than a decade, and the Thekkumkoor king himself is said to have taught Sanskrit there.

Though short-lived, the school produced individuals who made vital contributions to Hortus Malabaricus.

“Herman van Donep, who graduated from this school with distinction and later became van Rheede’s secretary, was responsible for the Latin translation,” Pallikonam explains. “D. John Caesarius, who oversaw the school’s operations, also coordinated work on the project.”

Hortus Malabaricus documented not only the uses of plants but also their medicinal properties, including methods of preparation and application. A central figure in this effort was Itty Achuthan, an Ezhava physician from Malabar, who extracted ethnomedical knowledge from palm-leaf manuscripts for inclusion in the compilation. A major sector in the Hortus Malabaricus Garden is named in his honour.

Achuthan dictated the content in Malayalam, which was reviewed by three Konkani-speaking gymnosophist priest-physicians—Ranga Bhat, Vinayaka Pandit and Appu Bhat. The garden also pays tribute to these contributors.

Four Dutch soldiers created the illustrations, with van Rheede personally overseeing the descriptions. A panel of 15-16 physicians and botanists from across Malabar examined the compiled material and offered their insights into the curative potential of each plant.

Each plant’s description in Hortus Malabaricus includes details of its growth habit, leaves, flowers, fruits, colour, scent, taste and practical uses—all listed under their original Malayalam names. The illustration plates are inscribed in Roman, Malayalam and Arabic scripts, while Konkani names appear in Devanagari. Of the 791 plates, 712 are in double folio size and 79 in folio size. The original Malayalam text was translated into Portuguese, Dutch and Latin, and would not be available in Malayalam again for centuries.

It is believed that van Rheede employed over 200 local collectors to bring him plants—or twigs bearing flowers, fruits and seeds—across different seasons. Many of these eventually found their way into VOC gardens. Influential figures such as Stadtholder William III (later king of England) and several Dutch botanists requested van Rheede to send plant specimens from India, leading to the introduction of many unique Malabar species into European gardens.

While creating the Hortus Malabaricus Garden, Santhosh’s team of naturalists had to venture beyond the region historically identified by the Dutch as Malabar to locate some of the rare species mentioned in the text.

If it took van Rheede one and a half decades to complete Hortus Malabaricus, it took acclaimed botanist K.S. Manilal three and a half decades of intense labour to translate its 6,000 Latin pages into both English and Malayalam with exceptional fidelity. His work made the historic treatise accessible to a wider community of scholars and plant enthusiasts.

Manilal also played a pivotal role in reviving knowledge about the immense biological value of south Indian herbs. He identified and collected specimens of most plants documented in Hortus Malabaricus, preserving them in a dedicated herbarium at Calicut University.

“The Hortus Malabaricus Garden is a tribute to Manilal as well,” says Santhosh, who is currently working on a comic book about Hortus Malabaricus—an artistic homage from his end.

Santhosh’s garden also incorporates historical and archaeological motifs from five distinct periods of Indian civilisation. “I’ve always been fascinated by history and archaeology, and I make it a point to visit as many archaeological sites and museums as possible,” he says. “The idea of organising a section of our garden to reflect five major Indian civilisations, starting from the Harappan era, was inspired by the book Sacred Plants of India by Nanditha Krishna and M. Amrithalingam.

The book, says Santhosh, highlights how plants have been revered in India since ancient times. He believes this sacred regard helped preserve many valuable species.

rashtriya-swayamsevak-sangh-centenary-evolution-of-rss

Sat Oct 04 16:34:46 IST 2025

On Vijaya Dashami in 1925, a 36-year-old doctor from Nagpur, Keshav Baliram Hedgewar, gathered a small group of men at his home and announced, “Today, the sangh begins.” Few could have imagined that, a century later, the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) would grow into one of India’s most influential voluntary organisations—shaping politics, education, culture and civil society.

Over its 100-year journey, the RSS has faced numerous challenges, including being banned three times, criticised for its unabashed advocacy of hindutva, and accused of exerting undue influence over governance. Yet, the organisation has continued to expand. Today, it runs over 80,000 daily shakhas and operates in nearly every district of India. Its symbiotic relationship with the BJP, particularly in the past decade, has propelled the growth of both organisations. The RSS has sought not only organisational growth but also to embed itself deeply within the socio-political fabric of India. This trend is likely to intensify in the years ahead, as the world witnesses increasingly polarised politics.

Central to the RSS ideology is its belief in Hindu rashtra, which has been a rallying point for critics who argue that it is exclusionary, pushing the country’s minorities and marginalised communities to the periphery. Mohan Bhagwat, the RSS chief, has clearly articulated this vision: “India is an undivided Hindu nation that needs no formal declaration.” Bhagwat, the sixth sarsanghchalak of the RSS, has led the organisation since 2009.

“Akhand Bharat is not politics, but the unity of consciousness,” said Bhagwat. “We say Hindu, you call it Indian, the meaning is the same. Our ancestors and culture are one. Worship methods may differ, but our identity is the same.” Bhagwat also acknowledged that certain “objectionable” references in ancient religious texts, as well as certain passages in Bunch of Thoughts (written by M.S. Golwalkar, the second chief of the RSS), were no longer valid. This self-critique and willingness to evolve suggest that the RSS is attempting to present itself as more inclusive, even as the assertion of hindutva identity remains prominent in the political environment.

Rajiv Tuli, chairperson of the RSS-inspired publication house Suruchi Prakashan, said minorities had no reason to fear in a Hindu rashtra, asserting that it was rooted in principles such as sarva dharma samabhav (equal respect for all religions), sarvajan hitay (welfare of all), sarvajan sukhay (happiness for all) and vasudhaiva kutumbakam (the world is one family). He said people of any faith, profession or background would enjoy equal rights and justice, with no appeasement of any group. Tuli drew a historical comparison between India and Pakistan, claiming that, unlike Pakistan, India’s minority population had grown since partition, suggesting a contrast in how minorities were treated in the two countries.

The RSS has shown a keen interest in shaping not only the political landscape but also the cultural and educational frameworks of India. This is evident in its influence over the New Education Policy, which focuses on Indic knowledge, and in its support for the construction of the Ram temple in Ayodhya. The Ram temple movement was spearheaded by the RSS and its affiliates, such as the Vishva Hindu Parishad, and was ultimately carried to its conclusion by the BJP. This movement has sparked calls to “liberate” other religious sites, such as the Gyanvapi and Mathura mosques. However, the RSS has now signalled that it wishes to distance itself from direct involvement in such temple movements. Said Bhagwat, “After the Ram temple, there will be no direct involvement of the sangh in other temple movements, but swayamsevaks can associate.”

The RSS’s evolving stance reflects a broader strategy of engaging with society through the concept of panch parivartan (five transformations), a set of five core programmes that the organisation prioritises: promoting social harmony and equality, fostering family enlightenment and strengthening cultural values, spreading environmental awareness, cultivating selfhood and indigenous pride and emphasising citizens’ duties and holistic national integration.

Under two prime ministers—Atal Bihari Vajpayee and Narendra Modi—the sangh has grown in influence. There is close coordination through multiple channels: regular meetings, feedback exchanges on policy and inclusion of RSS functionaries in cultural and educational bodies. Unlike during Vajpayee’s time, when the sangh and the government often clashed, the relationship in the last decade has been largely harmonious, barring recent debates over the BJP’s 2024 poll performance, the 75-year retirement rule and the appointment of a new party chief. With both Modi and Bhagwat remaining physically and mentally fit and with continuity deemed essential, the age issue seems to have been quietly shelved. Bhagwat clarified that the rule did not apply to constitutional posts.

In its 100th year, the sangh’s work is directed at strengthening “nationalistic forces”, which, in practice, often means support for the BJP and its allies. While the RSS does not directly ask voters to support any party, since 2014, it has been urging voters to elect those prioritising “national interests”. “Any party that works for the nation gets support. When Mayawati came to power with the BJP, she was supported. It depends on who speaks for the nation. The Nationalist Congress Party did not get support earlier, but it got support later under Ajit Pawar. That is why you often see rebels winning, or outsiders in the BJP losing, as they don’t get cadre support,” said veteran RSS researcher and author Ratan Sarda. “If the Congress talks about national issues, hindutva and not appeasement, it, too, will get support.”

As it celebrates its centenary, the RSS is at its peak, while its ideological opponent, the Communist Party of India, which is also reaching a similar milestone, has seen its fortunes wane. This contrast underscores the dynamic and shifting nature of India’s ideological landscape.

mohan-bhagwat-hindutva-and-the-evolving-role-of-rss

Sat Oct 04 16:31:23 IST 2025

THE 100-YEAR journey of the RSS has a unique feature. For most of its history, its legitimacy remained contested by the Nehruvian state and the left-liberal intelligentsia. Instead of discourses on the perspectives the RSS stands for, there has been a perpetual political war against it. The organisation was blamed for everything under the sun—from the assassination of Mahatma Gandhi to communal riots, links with the CIA and being a semi-fascist entity. Under the pretext of secular democracy, a naked majoritarianism was practised against the RSS by predominant Nehruvian-Marxist intellectuals to the extent that there has been hardly any difference between propagandist political literature and textbook descriptions of the RSS. This has harmed the evolution of the idea of India and its social and cultural philosophy more than it has harmed the RSS itself.

If opposition to ideas, historical incidents or movements earns credit points for critics to claim a secular democratic identity, it inevitably leads to the decay of critical thinking. Obsessive thinking and recycled writings dominate the intellectual world. Exactly this happened with the critics of the sangh.

Two important observations, by two votaries of socialism whose public life credentials were above board, exposed their own intellectual tradition. At the national convention of the Sampradayikata Virodhi Committee (SVC) in 1968 in New Delhi, Socialist leader Jayaprakash Narayan expressed his displeasure at rants against the RSS and said, “It seems that the only purpose of the convention was anti-RSS propaganda.”

A decade later, in 1978, at another SVC convention, prominent CPI(M) leader Zahoor Siddiqui was stunned to find speeches blaming the RSS for coercion of minorities during the Emergency. “There was no Golwalkar in Turkman Gate, Pipli, and Muzaffarnagar,” he said.

Intellectuals carry creative values and the potential to impact distant masses and posterity—if they shed prejudices and remain connected with common people. This gives them opportunities to raise and review their ideas. But things have been altogether different in the context of left-liberals, who assume themselves as angels of ideas and do not consider the masses more than a crowd. RSS founder K.B. Hedgewar made a phenomenal advancement. Sangh activists work among the people and deliberate in groups. The series of meetings gives the RSS space to renew its philosophy of action. Nobody can represent the RSS intellectually without being grounded in the value system and work culture of the organisation.

The growth of the RSS from 25 people to millions of swayamsevaks, and from Nagpur to across the country, is not merely a numerical or geographical expansion, but a great leap in the direction of idea-literacy across the nation. Its concepts of nation, secularism, egalitarianism and culture have proceeded through programmes—not proclamations—through meetings and constant dialogues with both the masses and the elites, rather than lofty speeches and conferences. Its activism at the grassroots has caused a Hindu reawakening. Its impact on politics is more than visible.

India’s indigenous culture, historical traditions and spiritual philosophy have been damaged by state power dominated by a Eurocentric political class in independent India, and by its predecessors—the colonial state and the Mughal rulers. The idea of India was largely reduced to a binary of religious majority and minorities. In his 1938 speech at a Hindu Yuvak Parishad function in Poona, Hedgewar raised a core question: “Why had India been enslaved more than once?” He resolved this by stating, “It was due to social fragmentation and the mutual race for aggrandising more and more power among Indian rulers, owing to a lack of nationalist feeling.”

In a dynamic world, with multiple social forces at play, both these tasks remain unaccomplished. Therefore, the RSS does not pause—even after its success in replacing the old ideas with indigenous ones, and Nehruvian elites with its own cadres in the government since 2014. It is a truism that its ideas now receive endorsement from the state, which identifies with the worldview of the RSS. But that does not end either the task or the role of the RSS.

The word contentment is not in its dictionary. It redefines its role according to changed circumstances. The RSS worked hard to bring the Janata Party to power in 1977 but refused to merge itself into its youth wing. The dual membership controversy led former Jana Sangh members to form the BJP in 1980. Earlier, it supported the movement led by Jayaprakash Narayan in 1974, and subsequently, its role in reshaping Indian politics has remained increasingly unchallenged. Being what it is, the RSS cannot close its eyes to politics—which it views as a necessary evil. The unabated de-Hinduisation of Hindus and their culture had become a prerequisite for achieving secularism under the old regime. In this context, the RSS played a vital role in defeating minorityism.

All ideological movements face a common challenge in revitalising their mission once their votaries occupy seats of power. The success of the RSS lies in keeping the majority of its members out of executive power. The tradition of critical contemplation in the RSS, across various levels, and the presence of idealists forming informal circles outside formal hierarchies, lead to self-examination. This helps the organisation correct itself—more often than not.

Variations in capitalism have generated new challenges in every society. These unconventional issues cannot be resolved by conventional modes. That is why RSS sarsanghachalak Mohan Bhagwat indicated a great step by the RSS to reach larger masses and empower them through social and cultural engagement—referred to as panch parivartan (five transformations). Identity politics in the country is the biggest challenge before it, and its ills hurt even those who vouch for “One Nation, One People”. As long as the masses remain under the shadow of caste, community, region and other narrow identities, dynastic democracy inevitably becomes a sham.

Bhagwat consolidated hindutva and distanced it from the microscopic minority of votaries who believed in aggressive language, postures and programmes—and who unhesitatingly advocated for a Hindu state. There has been space for such people, as the history of suppression of Hindus under the Mughals and the bloodbath of partition continue to reproduce anxieties—summarised by the question: Is the Hindu a dying race? Bhagwat aptly renewed Hedgewar’s vision that strength, progressively achieved through organising Hindus beyond narrow divisions, would inevitably inspire so-called minorities to rediscover their past—without abandoning their modes of worship.

Another important feature of the RSS’s vertical and horizontal growth has been its work culture. Hedgewar laid this foundation when he said, “There are no two categories of leaders and workers in the RSS; there is only one class of swayamsevaks.” This was reaffirmed by Bhagwat at his Vigyan Bhawan dialogue on August 26, when he said he was primarily a swayamsevak, at the disposal of the organisation. This plebeianisation is an extraordinary characteristic of the sangh, distinguishing it from other cadre-based organisations like the Chinese Communist Party or the former Communist Party of the Soviet Union. Hedgewar once wrote to RSS functionary Kashinath Limaye, “Swayamsevaks are not meant to arrange tables, chairs and lay carpets at Hindu Mahasabha meetings. Such people cannot be self-inspired instruments of nation-building.”

The future of the RSS does not depend on achieving political power through its adherents or merely fulfilling its declared agenda, but in constantly refreshing its moral edge.

The author is an RSS thinker and a former Rajya Sabha member.

gen-z-fire-and-fury-how-south-asian-youth-are-forging-a-new-social-contract

Sat Oct 04 16:20:11 IST 2025

Sri Lanka burned, and so did Bangladesh, yet Nepal’s rulers thought the storm would never cross the Himalayas. But discontent soon gathered into a gale that swept away the K.P. Sharma Oli government in early September. A common thread ran through all three fallen structures—the Gotabaya Rajapaksa regime in Sri Lanka, the Sheikh Hasina government in Bangladesh and the Oli dispensation in Nepal: disillusioned youth and entrenched corruption. The rot within the establishment stoked public disenchantment, pushing a new generation to dismantle what they saw as palaces of sin.

Protesters braved tear gas, water cannons and police barricades, and defied curfews to storm palaces that had long served as the rulers’ residences. In Sri Lanka and Bangladesh, the heads of government fled abroad, while Nepal’s prime minister took refuge in army barracks.

Over the past three years, images of frustration in these countries had been spreading rapidly across digital platforms. On July 9, 2022, large crowds barged into the presidential palace at Colombo’s Galle Face. On August 5, 2024, Sheikh Hasina’s residence in Dhaka was ransacked. Last month, Nepal’s youth went further, torching centres of power, from the supreme court to parliament and other government buildings.

The uprisings had roots stretching back years. Large sections of unemployed youth, exposed to the idea of freer, more developed societies through relatives abroad, films and the internet, grew impatient with ageing leaders who failed to respond to their aspirations. They wanted urban amenities, economic growth, better services and a brighter future. But the gulf between the desire for equality and the lived reality of inequality pushed them further away from their rulers.

The leaders, meanwhile, remained oblivious to this shift. Revolt, at its earliest stage, often begins with lament. Frustration with poor governance in daily life gradually translates into a collective sentiment against the ruling dispensation. This pattern was visible in Sri Lanka, Bangladesh and Nepal, where ruling parties paid the price.

“The need of the hour is distributive growth,” says Ambika Prasad, an expert on Nepal politics. “People do not feel truly empowered merely through electoral democracy. They seek economic upliftment.”

Another shared grievance was dynastic politics. “Democracy in these countries has often been reduced to family-run parties. In third-world countries that have failed to deliver economic and social justice, the stability of the state has eventually come under threat,” says Prasad. “By contrast, capitalist countries have managed to provide social security to the downtrodden. Simply electing a democratic government does not bring justice.”

Sri Lanka’s crisis was triggered in April 2021 when the Rajapaksa government abruptly banned chemical fertilisers, ordering a switch to organic farming. The move crippled agriculture and worsened existing hardship in the form of fuel shortages, long power cuts, dwindling foreign reserves and an economy in free fall. Covid lockdowns and the collapse of tourism added to the misery. Within weeks, candlelight vigils gave way to mass protests. By mid-2022, the movement known as Aragalaya had spread across the country.

“There were around 50 organisations or people’s movements involved in the protests,” says Chameera Dedduwage, a digital marketing strategist and activist. “We met frequently to take decisions and give structure. The core group had around a hundred people from different backgrounds.” For him, the turning point came in March 2022, when he joined friends on the streets, convinced it was time to raise his voice against corruption.

Nepal’s protests showed a similar pattern. Scattered groups of Gen Z activists coalesced into a broad anti-corruption front through social media. In Bangladesh, the spark came with the quota reform movement, initially a demand for fair access to government jobs. “The quota reform that began as a demand to end inequity and unfairness in accessing government jobs quickly turned into a wider, home-grown call for overthrowing Sheikh Hasina’s fascist regime,” says Dr Ziauddin Hyder, adviser to the Bangladesh Nationalist Party chairperson and a former World Bank health and nutrition specialist. “The aspiration was to restore human rights and democracy, reduce corruption and secure accountability and, finally, to build an equitable and prosperous Bangladesh.”

Once a state fails to address uncertainty, especially inequality in health care, education and the legal system, conflict in society becomes more pervasive, says Dr Umashankar Prasad, former member of Nepal’s Planning Commission. “The major issue in South Asia after Covid is uncertainty. People are struggling for their basic needs. In Nepal, with 30 million people, and in India, with 1.4 billion, many feel insecure about their future, whether in health care, education or legal protection. If you compare this with Nordic countries, you will find far less uncertainty. Their health, education and legal systems are guaranteed by the government. This assurance reduces inequality and strengthens social stability.”

In Nepal, the political class was on autopilot, enjoying privileges while leaving the bureaucracy to run institutions with little accountability. Their arrogance fuelled resentment, and anger soon engulfed the entire political-bureaucratic system. The youth uprising forced officials into hiding, raising stark questions about the misuse of public funds at the cost of welfare.

Pakistan, too, has faced periodic upheavals, but its centralised, military-led system has been more effective at suppressing dissent. In Sri Lanka, Bangladesh and Nepal, flawed democratic institutions allowed unrest to erupt openly.

These three cases stand as reminders that silence should not be mistaken for stability. Today, South Asia’s youth are not only toppling governments but seeking to draft a new social contract—one in which future generations may not hopelessly wait for promises to get fulfilled. Whether these revolts yield lasting systems of growth and justice or collapse into yet another cycle of betrayal and corruption will define Gen Z’s political future in the subcontinent.

—With Lakshmi Subramanian

THE LEADERS NOW

SRI LANKA

Galwewa Siridhamma Thero
Former Inter-University Bhikku Federation convener; continues as activist monk

Melani Gunathilake

Climate activist; researcher with Law and Society Trust & IPE. Works against legal persecution of protesters

Wasantha Mudalige

Former convener of Inter-University Students’ Federation; now leader in People’s Struggle Alliance, still facing legal cases

BANGLADESH

Muhammad Nahid Islam

Convener of the new National Citizen Party (NCP), founded by the student-youth movement

Asif Mahmud

Adviser in the interim government with a focus on youth and local government

Sarjis Alam

Chief organiser (Northern Region) of the NCP. Remains a vocal political figure, pressuring the interim government on reform goals

NEPAL

Sudan Gurung

Founder of Hami Nepal. Attempting the shift to a non-party, civil society-based mobilisation model

Ojaswi Raj Thapa

A young cafe owner. Represents the younger, digitally-native members of the movement

Balen Shah

Rapper and structural engineer who won the Kathmandu mayor race as an independent. Not a direct leader of the protests

from-dhaka-to-colombo-to-kathmandu-it-is-states-vs-citizens

Sat Oct 04 16:14:41 IST 2025

DHAKA

The wave of people’s uprisings across South Asia, overthrowing the regimes in Sri Lanka Bangladesh and Nepal, transcends simple explanations of economic crises or governance failures. These are not isolated events, but symptoms of deep-seated structural fault lines: chronic youth unemployment, systemic discrimination and a near-total lack of social protection have converged with oligarchic state capture, exposing a fundamental crisis of state-building in South Asia.

What defines these movements is their sense of purpose. Contrary to the persistent labelling of Gen Z as a “post-ideological” or “post-political” generation, they stand at the forefront, like their predecessors, articulating voices for change. Their mobilisation is reinforced by the massive participation of the working class, mired in a deepening cost-of-living crisis.

The cycle of popular uprisings demonstrates the resilience of people against unmet promises. In Nepal, there is a long history of Jana Andolan. The party-less panchayat system was opposed through major mass movement in the 1990s, and the country witnessed an armed rebellion led by the Maoists from 1996 until 2006. Despite becoming a republic, more than 13 governments have changed between 2008 and 2024, inflicting instability on the lives of ordinary people.

The Aragalaya represents a collective struggle for democratic renewal, accountability and a rejection of callous governance in Sri Lanka. The island nation is also haunted by memories of decades-long civil war. In Bangladesh, history is also marked by popular uprisings, notably, the uprising of 1969, leading to the eventual liberation war in 1971. In 1991, a dictatorship was toppled through mass uprising, and in 2024, an oligarchic regime, which bore no resemblance to an elected government, was overthrown.

The central promise of the state has been broken. Captured by entrenched quarters, it has consistently been unable to uphold rights, provide equitable opportunities, enforce social protection and deliver justice. Consequently, the state is perceived as extractive rather than enabling, while the pledged transformation remains perpetually on the back burner. Citizenship has become hollow. The uprisings are, therefore, not spontaneous eruptions but informed responses to systemic exclusion.

The evidence of a missing future is stark. In Bangladesh, an alarming youth unemployment rate of 7.2 per cent, was affecting about 1.94 million people aged 15–29. Crucially, 31.5 per cent of these unemployed youth hold tertiary degrees, a blunt indicator of a ruptured system that educates its young but cannot employ them. This failure is gendered: female youth, particularly in urban areas, are disproportionately affected, while rural youth are often confined to precarious agricultural or informal work. These statistics should be interpreted with caution, as official definitions may mask the true extent of unemployment.

Sri Lanka mirrors these challenges. Although the official national unemployment rate is 3.8 per cent, the real youth unemployment sits at nearly 14 per cent, and underemployment is rampant, with many facing reduced pay and hours.

Nepal’s situation is dire, with youth unemployment consistently exceeding 20 per cent. The most telling symptom is the massive outward migration of nearly seven lakh youth in a single ten-month period. This exodus, which generates remittances constituting nearly a quarter of GDP, is an indictment of national labour policies and reinforces social and economic disparities.

A correlation exists between high unemployment, the severity of uprisings and their outcomes. For example, the Cronulla riot in Australia on December 4, 2005, was short-lived as the unemployment rate in Australia was 5.1 per cent at the time. But in France in 2005, the unrest lasted for days, eventually forcing the government to declare a state of emergency. The French national unemployment rate stood at around 10 per cent, while the rate for workers under 25 was more than twice, at about 23 per cent.

The problem is largely a fundamental flaw in the development strategies pursued, marked by a profound mismatch between the aspirations of an educated generation and an economy ruled by patronage and discrimination in South Asia.

An academic degree is no longer a signal or a ticket to a job. In Sri Lanka, holders of G.C.E. A/L (General Certificate of Education Advanced level, considered equivalent to the UK’s A levels) qualification find it extremely difficult to get jobs. In Bangladesh, graduates are forced into informal, underpaid lines of work. This frustration is defined by discrimination in Nepal, resulting in perpetuation of intergenerational poverty. Gendered barriers perpetuate women entering the workforce in unprotected employment. The predicament is not just unemployment, but built upon by stagnant wages, poor conditions and improper distribution of hours.

The inequality is widening. Sri Lanka’s working-class is forced to serve for meagre wages in sectors like agriculture and construction, obstructing to keep up pace with living costs. This is evident from the Gini index of 0.45, with the top 1 per cent owning 31 per cent of total personal wealth. In Nepal, too, the inequality is severe, with a Gini coefficient of 0.58 and the richest 20 per cent of households controlling 56 per cent of total wealth, hindering social mobility and anchoring poverty. In Bangladesh, the top 5 per cent of households account for over 30 per cent of national income, a disparity manifested by a vast informal sector, without security or protection. The Gini coefficient climbed from 0.334 in 2022 to 0.436 in 2025, placing Bangladesh among the most unequal societies, where wealth inequality is worse than the income inequality.

The state has been an active agent in arming inequalities, which are not accidental but the deliberate outcome of institutional asymmetries. It functions not as an arbiter, but as a vehicle for power consolidation by a powerful minority, leaving the majority behind.

There has been a political commodification of the state. Such commodification subjects governance to patronage networks, eroding institutional integrity and public trust. In Bangladesh, political patronage ensures state resources, appointments and contracts are allocated to loyalists, creating a system of clientelism to cling on to power. In Sri Lanka, the patronage distribution nexus extends to resource extraction, where political patrons control licences for activities like sand mining, enriching allies while causing ecological degradation and dispossessing local communities. In Nepal, patronage dynamics infect the bureaucracy and media, controlling public narratives and stifling dissent. Across the region, the result is the same—a state that is extractive.

The uprisings in Sri Lanka, Bangladesh and Nepal are not merely about toppling a single leader or a party(ies). These are profound collective claims for a state that serves its citizens, instead of breeding oligarchic domination and primitive accumulation.

The youth are not apathetic. Their demands for equitable education, real job creation, an end to discrimination and reconfiguration of political power are grounded in lived experience. The participation of the working class provides not just numbers, but a powerful coalition with shared stakes in reform of the broken social contract, demanding a redefined citizenship.

THE TRIGGERS

SRI LANKA

◆ Economic crisis

◆ Rajapaksa dynastic rule

◆ Demand for structural reforms and a new constitution

BANGLADESH

◆ Quota system for government jobs

◆ Economic discontent (unemployment & inflation)

◆ Political discontent & authoritarianism

NEPAL

◆ Corruption and elite nepotism

◆ Economic discontent and youth unemployment

◆ Demand for structural reform and good governance

angry-young-indians-raghuram-rajan-warning

Sat Oct 04 16:07:13 IST 2025

From Colombo to Dhaka to Kathmandu, the fire and fury of the young generation has upended governments and shaken entrenched systems. India, by contrast, has so far avoided such an eruption, but as noted economist and former RBI governor Raghuram Rajan warned, the country is not totally immune. In his book, Breaking the Mould, Rajan made the startling observation that the youth in India were jobless and were “entranced” by cheap mobile videos. When THE WEEK asked him to elaborate, he described a mutiny in the making.

“Things will start to blow up at some point. [There is] frustration [among the youth which] looks for immediate cause and sort of boils over. What we are seeing right now are small mutinies. Manipur, tussle over reservations, etc. These are examples of the way in which they come out in our country.” The recent outbreak of violence in Ladakh could be another case in point.

Rajan may have been prophetic in this theory, though the “mutiny” has spared India till now, even as it has ravaged, step by step, India’s neighbours—Sri Lanka and Bangladesh in recent years and Nepal, a month ago—where it led to existing systems and authorities being toppled. In Pakistan, the simmering discontent of the young may have been stifled for now, but it has never really been stamped out.

India’s size and complexity may make a mutiny less likely, but there are lessons. A few recent measures suggest the authorities discount the youth as a category, ignoring a generation living a digital-first reality.

Delhi-based communications professional Saurabh Ahuja (name changed), who first started betting on multiple real-money gaming apps during Covid, calls it an “addiction”, one of the arguments the government made while banning them. “I have also seen my friends getting into serious problems, such as going to third-party apps and lenders for money. They ended up running away from people and hiding because they were left with no money to return,” he says.

Yet, the ban did not turn out to be a good deal.

“After the ban, we started looking for alternatives, and would find similar-sounding platforms, making it difficult to figure out which one was authentic,” says Ahuja. “I once started betting on a platform only to realise after two months that it was inauthentic. It is not that online betting is no longer happening, but now there are greater chances of our details ending up with the wrong people. When certain platforms were legal, at least we knew our data was safe.”

Among the reasons the government has given for its action are addiction, financial ruin, mental health issues and suicides. But does the move have any long-term positive impact?

“The ban offers immediate protection and may save lives in the short term, but it cannot be the sole solution. Addiction is driven by deeper psychological needs such as escapism, thrill-seeking or loneliness. Unless these are addressed through education, early intervention and accessible therapy, the problem risks resurfacing in other, often unregulated, spaces,” says Dr Shweta Sharma, a Gurugram-based clinical psychologist. “Addiction does not simply disappear when access is blocked; it often seeks new outlets. Many users may migrate to unsafe, unregulated platforms, which could expose them to greater risks,” she says.

In July, the government also blocked 25 OTT platforms, such as ALTBalaji and Ullu, for alleged obscene, vulgar and sexually explicit content. While the platforms ended up losing business, does the government deciding what people can and cannot watch solve any problems?

“Censorship can feel like a double-edged sword. Restricting sexually explicit content helps protect children and those who may be easily influenced, which is a clear psychological benefit. Blanket bans, however, risk stifling creative freedom and even suppressing educational or healthy exploration of sexuality,” says Sharma. “Over-regulation may also push curious viewers, especially adolescents, towards unsafe, underground sources that provide distorted or harmful material.”

Kazim Rizvi, founding director of the Delhi-based public policy think tank The Dialogue, says regulations are not evolving with how society is changing when it comes to consuming content. “This is not an internet regulation problem. This is not at all an IT Act problem. And this is not an OTT problem. This is a larger philosophical question about us as a society. And the government’s role, which is to govern and protect the people—at what stage should they step in? And how much should they intervene?”

For the government, the answer seemingly is, “all the time”. While it remained in the realm of books and films mainly in the 1970s and 80s with an overreaching censor board and a puritan state broadcaster, the chaotic turn India took post-liberalisation—satellite channels, the influx of international brands and lifestyle saw authorities getting further restrictive, rather than becoming more liberal. Suddenly, it was not just ideas of revolution coming in through books or “evils of western immorality” that one needed to be worried about, but anything from cultural values to religious beliefs suddenly became fair game.

The inflection point was the advent of the internet. With all its promises of no censorship and free self-expression, the digital medium eventually became a platform that governments now find the easiest to control—it can be turned on or off just like a tap. And as almost every aspect of life moved online, from work to entertainment to banking and even socialising, the iron grip governments have over broadband access has turned into a veritable leash, which they have happily tightened and loosened with abandon. Data indicates that India ranks among the highest globally in the maximum exercise of internet blockades. If frequent blockages of the internet in disturbed areas like Kashmir and Manipur are not enough, the farmers’ agitation a few years ago saw internet networks being jammed on government orders even within the national capital.

And over the years, banning websites, apps, OTT platforms or any new mode of innovation has become easy state policy. Remember the RBI and the bureaucracy trying to obliterate the rising popularity of cryptocurrency a few years ago? It took repeated Supreme Court interventions asking for a clearer policy instead of an “obsolete” approach, even if India has a curiously dichotomous stand on crypto now—not legal tender but a “virtual digital asset”, taxed in the highest bracket if you dare trade them, thereby killing the whole business premise.

Or take TikTok, the wildly popular short video social media site. Banned citing national security reasons after the India-China clash in Ladakh in 2020, rumours are that it may make a comeback after the recent thaw in relations. The company already has a functional office in Gurugram. If that is the case, it will be a case of an arbitrary ban followed by an equally arbitrary revocation.

The loser in the whole cycle of bans and restrictions on any new business or way of life is India itself, and the edge it could have had in these rapidly evolving technologies. In an era where India is already playing catch-up with the US and China in technology, such decisions have real-world costs.

While it is hard to pin a cost to how much India’s R&D prowess in these areas will regress, the loss of capital itself is an eye-opener. In RMG (real money gaming) alone, tax revenue losses have been estimated at Rs20,000 crore. But there are bigger costs. The shutting down of India-side operations of big RMG brands also means thousands of jobs lost and capital fleeing abroad. Such moves also paint India’s image as an unreliable destination for investors.

Of course, this does not mean that the government should step back and permit a free-for-all reign. “The government has a role to play in the promotion of positive content. But it should stay away from dictating what is right and what is wrong for the people,” says Rizvi, adding, “The fact that so many Indians are accessing digital platforms, dating apps, playing RMG and watching adult content—it all shows that people are looking to consume such content. Indians are not what we were 50 years ago. We are fast learners. And with every generation, the comfort and accessibility are evolving. We sometimes go too strongly on morality and preserving cultural values, not realising that Indians may have moved on from that relic of post-independent India and the recently liberalised India to where India is today in 2025.”

So what would be an ideal way out? Open conversations with all stakeholders, so that all sides of the issue are addressed by the government before it comes to an informed decision, unlike what has happened in many cases recently. As Rizvi puts it, “If we were to have a policy as a nation, I think it is important to bring teachers, parents, kids, students and youth into these conversations. Unfortunately, they are not being represented as stakeholders. But they are the ones who consume it.”

Raghuram Rajan’s warning from more than a year ago, although it was in a different context, still holds true: “We have to be very careful. If we do not address this problem before many more join in, it will turn into a demographic curse.”

the-week-maritime-conclave-2025-how-india-is-reclaiming-its-commercial-shipbuilding-might

Sat Sep 27 12:46:25 IST 2025

Shipbuilding is not merely an economic activity—it plays a crucial role in sustaining global trade and safeguarding national defence. Over 2,300 years ago, Kautilya’s Arthashastra—one of the greatest treatises on statecraft—underscored this very idea, devoting an entire chapter to the state’s role in promoting shipbuilding.

Tamil Sangam Literature—written between 300 BCE and 300 CE—underlined the skilled shipwrights and the construction of ships designed for both coastal and oceanic voyages, and documented the expertise India had in advanced shipbuilding techniques tailored for international commerce.

In the Middle Ages, travellers like Marco Polo and Niccolo de Conti praised the prowess of Indian shipbuilding.

However, by the early 19th century, British colonial policies, coupled with the denial of advanced technology during the Industrial Revolution, led to the decline of India’s commercial shipbuilding capabilities, and independent India inherited a weakened maritime sector. And, for many decades, defence shipbuilding remained the priority, and Indian shipyards focused heavily on naval contracts.

Now, India is trying to reclaim its rightful place in commercial shipbuilding—a sector that will play a crucial role in realising the country’s Maritime India Vision 2030 and Maritime Amrit Kaal Vision 2047. Recognising the urgency of fostering a positive discourse around shipbuilding and creating fertile ground for the dialectics of disruptive ideas from experts across the maritime sector, THE WEEK organised the second edition of its Maritime Conclave on the theme ‘Riding the Waves: Unlocking India’s Maritime Potential’, on September 15 and 16 at the Crowne Plaza, Kochi.

In his welcome address, Riyad Mathew, Chief Associate Editor and Director, THE WEEK, said the sector was undergoing a transformation driven by a series of reforms. “With global shipyards in China, Japan, and Korea facing heavy order backlogs, India is increasingly being viewed as an alternative destination. However, several structural and competitive challenges limit India’s share,” he said, underscoring the importance of bringing together industry leaders, policymakers, stakeholders and innovators at the conclave to discuss solutions and opportunities for the sector.

Addressing the conclave, Union Minister for Ports, Shipping and Waterways Sarbananda Sonowal reaffirmed the Narendra Modi government’s commitment to driving long-pending reforms in the maritime sector, including shipbuilding. “This year’s Union budget has given a strong impetus to the faster growth of our maritime sector through several path-breaking announcements: a Rs25,000-crore Maritime Development Fund, a new Shipbuilding Financial Assistance Policy, capacity-building in the shipping sector, extension of the tonnage tax scheme to inland vessels, continued customs duty exemption on inputs for shipbuilding and shipbreaking, infrastructure status for large ships, and the creation of shipbuilding clusters,” he said. “These transformative measures have the thrust to propel our maritime sector to new heights.” The minister added that under the Maritime Amrit Kaal Vision 2047, India is poised to attract investments worth Rs80 lakh crore, generate over 1.5 crore jobs and accelerate green shipping practices.

Sonowal noted that Kerala now anchors India’s vision of emerging as a maritime superpower by 2047, citing milestones such as the operationalisation of the Vizhinjam International Seaport—India’s first fully automated deepwater transhipment port—and the global expansion of Cochin Shipyard Ltd, the builder of INS Vikrant. Madhu S. Nair, chairman and MD, Cochin Shipyard Ltd, which co-hosted the conclave, noted that today, there is an all-around sense of positivity in whatever India is trying to do. “For the first time, we are, let me say, reimagining ourselves as a country,” he said. “This was long overdue, but today we finally have the environment to do so.”

However, Nair also highlighted some crucial issues. “Last year, India’s shipping trade was about $85 billion, of which almost 90 per cent was paid to foreign shipping companies,” he said. “This cannot continue.”

Shipping has multiple subsystems—shipbuilding being the largest, but there are at least 50 more: like insurance, financing, arbitration, auxiliary supplies, trade support and seafaring. “Today, Indian shipping is nothing to boast about,” said Nair. “We have just about 1,500 ships. We are far behind, and this situation cannot go on. As a nation, we have now decided to act. Government and industry must come together to realise our true potential.”

In shipbuilding, India currently accounts for less than 1 per cent, while China, Korea and Japan together hold a 90 per cent market share—though all three are now grappling with significant order backlogs. Nair observed that while historical and economic factors explain their dominance, such an imbalance is unnatural and unsustainable. “For the first time, India is actively reaching out to Japan and Korea,” said Nair. “They will need partners, and India—with its vibrant democracy, robust systems and assured economic success—is a natural choice.”

Experts note that in the last decade, Indian ports have undergone a remarkable transformation. Pradeep Jayaraman, CEO, Adani Vizhinjam Port Private Limited, however, noted that currently only two Indian ports feature in the world’s top 30 and that India handled just over 22 million TEUs (twenty-foot equivalent unit—measure of cargo capacity, based on 20-foot container) last year—less than half of what a single Chinese port achieved. Jayaraman added that even though a modern port like Vizhinjam—which became operational in 2024 and, within less than a year, crossed the 1 million TEU threshold—has already demonstrated its potential, the port suffers from inadequate connectivity, limiting its potential. Jayaraman added that while India competes in manufacturing and services with strategies like China Plus One, without matching infrastructure the country cannot attract the capital or create the business success required.

The panel discussions examined the challenges and opportunities India faces in light of the ambitious targets the country has set for itself in the maritime sector. In the shipbuilding domain, India has set the target to be among the top 10 by 2030 and top five by 2047. This means producing about 1 to 1.5 million GT (gross tonnage) by 2030, and consistently delivering at least that much every year, and by 2047, raising the capacity close to 10 million GT.

“Compare this with India’s current output—last year we were just below 1,00,000 GT—and it becomes clear that we must rapidly build up capacity in terms of docks, shipyards and design capabilities,” said Hariraj P., chief operating officer, Smart Engineering & Design Solutions (India) Private Limited. The young industry leader, however, noted that this offers a mega opportunity. “To put it in perspective, 1 million GT of shipbuilding would require about 30,000-35,000 skilled workers, including 15 per cent engineers and about 30-35 per cent welders,” he said. “Globally, there is already a shortage of skilled manpower—countries like Korea and even Japan are looking to India for welders and technicians. So this is a huge opportunity for us to train and supply both for domestic and international demand.”

Hariraj added that when it came to design, the existing global ship designs did not fully fit the future requirements of the industry. “This gives India tremendous scope to innovate and develop new designs tailored for evolving needs,” he said. “The positivity is there, the policy framework is supportive, but we must remain realistic about where we stand.”

Captain Ankur Arora, global market leader (commercial) at Bureau Veritas Group, noted that the narrative has shifted from “Can India build?” to “What can India build, and how fast?” He added that India still has a long way to go before it can attract foreign companies to build ships here.

Pankaj Chadha, vice president at Larsen & Toubro, said that to make India competitive and attractive for foreign companies, low-cost financing and enabling policies are essential—but equally critical are skilled manpower, strong balance sheets, efficient cash-flow management and rapid adoption of technology. “Despite our demographic dividend, India faces labour shortages, so technology must step in to ensure projects are executed on time,” he said.

Biju George, director (shipbuilding) at Mazagon Dock Shipbuilders Ltd—which designed destroyers and frigates for the Indian Navy—outlined key technology “buckets” that are redefining the maritime sector. His list included: robotics and automation; augmented and virtual reality; green and hybrid ships; 3D printing; artificial intelligence; cybersecurity; advanced materials; design optimisation, and IoT applications such as predictive maintenance. “The Make in India drive, under the broader umbrella of IDDM (indigenously designed, developed and manufactured), supports this transformation,” he said.

However, MSMEs and startups working in the maritime sector face challenges. “The biggest is working capital,” said George. “For instance, a valve manufacturer has to invest in raw materials and casting, but only gets paid after delivery of pressure-tested valves to the yard. This requires significant upfront capital. Another issue is order assurance and scale—without adequate volumes, it’s hard for them to sustain. A third challenge is bank guarantees. Smaller firms cannot provide 100 per cent collateral for the guarantees required in large shipbuilding contracts. This discourages them from taking orders.”

Retired IAS officer and Federal Bank independent director Elias George noted that high interest rates, bank guarantees and collateral, combined with thin profit margins have crippled India’s shipbuilding industry. “With interest rates of 12-14 per cent against 2 per cent in competing nations, how can India hope to be the world’s fifth-largest shipbuilding nation?” he asked, adding that these “last-mile issues” have plagued the sector for 75 years and remain unresolved.

Feedback on government’s policies raised at the conclave will be compiled by THE WEEK and presented to Sonowal.

Alongside in-depth and often heated discussions on advanced shipbuilding and ship repair, the two-day conclave also featured sessions on port modernisation, regional prosperity through ports and disaster response at sea. Sessions on inland water transportation, the Kochi Water Metro, cruise tourism and maritime financing added further depth. Special sessions on skill development in India’s maritime sector were also held.

Sonowal made it a point to interact with students and cadets from various maritime institutions who attended the conclave. Eminent personalities such as Sunil Paliwal, chairperson of Chennai Port Authority, and Commodore P.R. Hari, chairman and MD, Garden Reach Shipbuilders and Engineers, moderated panel discussions. The experiences of circumnavigators Lieutenant Commander Dilna K. and Lieutenant Commander Roopa Alagirisamy, along with their mentor Commander Abhilash Tomy, were also among the highlights of the conclave.

how-union-minister-sarbananda-sonowal-is-transforming-indias-ports-shipping-waterways

Sat Sep 27 11:28:49 IST 2025

From Union Minister Sarbananda Sonowal’s ancestral house in Dibrugarh district’s Muluk Gaon, near the once-insurgency hotspot of Chabua, ULFA chief Paresh Barua’s house is just a few kilometres away. While they hail from similar socioeconomic milieu in rural Upper Assam, the paths their lives have charted couldn’t have been more apart.

Barua, 68, heads the anti-talks armed guerrilla faction of the ULFA, with hundreds of cadre housed in camps in Myanmar’s jungles. Sonowal is spearheading India’s effort to acquire prosperity through ports, ships and waterways.

Sonowal, 62, is tasked with making India a prime maritime power. Guided by the Maritime India Vision 2030 (MIV 2030) and the Amrit Kaal Vision 2047 (AKV 2047), Sonowal, who had never seen the sea until much later in life, is well on course.

While MIV 2030 has a framework of more than 150 initiatives and 10 key themes that will spur growth in India’s maritime sector through the holistic development of ports, shipping and waterways, AKV 2047 is a blueprint for a total transformation that aims to place India at a key position in the global maritime domain.

Sonowal has galvanised the once-sedate ministry of ports, shipping and waterways into one where much action is happening. His pet projects are positioning ports as engines of growth, making Indian shipbuilding attractive again, and getting shipping to be lucrative. Guided by national security and strategic requirements, new sea routes have been charted and activated.

Travels to foreign destinations to understand cutting-edge developments in the sector have honed his understanding of technology in maritime. From sustainable fishing to greening of shipping, to using 3D printing to make ships, the former student leader is busy at work.

While the maritime sector is key to achieving Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s vision of a Viksit Bharat, Sonowal is also guided by the goal of trying to reclaim India’s historical and rightful place as a leading maritime nation.

dy-chandrachud-interview-why-the-constitution-matters

Sat Sep 20 17:26:47 IST 2025

Exclusive Interview/ D.Y. Chandrachud former chief justice of India

A way from the courtroom, Justice D.Y. Chandrachud’s life has an almost meditative rhythm. He wakes up at 4 am, beginning his day with yoga and meditation before settling into writing or preparing for lectures or for travels. After retirement, Chandrachud shifted to his new residence at Teen Murti Marg. The house carries the imprint of his Maharashtrian roots, with subtle traditional motifs and rituals woven into daily life while also radiating a spiritual calm.

His wife, Kalpana Das, has carefully designed the spaces to ensure comfort and accessibility for their two differently abled daughters, Mahi and Priyanka. The household is also full of life, thanks to the 11 adopted cats who wander freely through its rooms and gardens. A believer in mindful living, Chandrachud follows a simple and balanced diet—light, home-cooked meals, wholesome snacks and the occasional home-made sweet that sustains his long hours of reading and writing. His favourite space is a glass-walled study that his wife designed for him—an office bathed in natural light where he can work while surrounded by greenery.

We are at his house to talk about his debut book, Why The Constitution Matters: Selected Speeches. It is less a legal treatise and more a meditation on how law is lived as much as it is learned. He portrays the Constitution not merely as a code of rules, but as a relationship between citizens and the state—one that speaks with honesty, demands responsibility, calls for optimism and survives on the hope that every individual life matters. For him, the Constitution is also about sounds and silences, words that can be interpreted, but also the quiet spaces that defy expression and remain in a state of constant unsettlement. “Societal change,” he reminds, “requires more than a judgment.”

In an exclusive and candid interview, he discusses bail jurisprudence, the dilemmas of the collegium, the importance of respecting dissent, the need for more women judges, and why judges must ultimately be remembered not for the courtesies they extend, but for the judgments they deliver. Excerpts:

Q/ What inspired you to write Why the Constitution Matters now, after stepping down as CJI?

A/ When you are a judge, your primary task is to resolve disputes that come before you. Even when I spoke outside the courtroom during lectures or speeches, my words were always tied to that judicial role. A judgment speaks to the facts of a case and addresses the parties involved. Writing, however, allows you to speak from the heart, to a much wider audience, about questions that go beyond individual disputes. Many of my speeches over the years had already touched on these themes, and I felt it was time to weave them together into a larger canvas on the Constitution, society and my vision of a humane and just future.

Q/ Is the Constitution more of a legal text or a moral compass for democracy?

A/ At one level, yes, it is a legal text. But to reduce it to that would be a very narrow reading of constitutional history. The Constitution was not just a transfer of power from a colonial regime to a homegrown one; it was a transformative document. It sought to rebuild a society riddled with discrimination, including gender inequality, and to lay out a blueprint of what India should aspire to become. It is not meant for lawyers alone, it is meant for citizens then, now and in the future. It is, above all, a vision for social transformation.

Q/ In today’s political climate, which constitutional value do you see most at risk?

A/ I would say diversity. We live in an age dominated by technology and social media, and while these have expanded communication, they have also pushed people into silos. Individuals now tend to hear only what they want to hear, see only what they wish to see, and associate only with like-minded groups. This undermines the broad-based human experience that is essential to a plural society. The real challenge is to continue living together, accepting each other and respecting diverse perspectives. That spirit of community is under serious strain, not just in India but across democracies and even non-democracies.

Q/ In one of your speeches, you remarked that trolls might be disappointed once you retired. Do you still feel their presence?

A/ I prefer to focus on the positives of life. Human life is finite, and there is so much good one can do for others. Why waste time on negatives? I simply leave that aside.

Q/ Looking back, which case left the deepest personal mark on you as a judge?

A/ It is difficult to single out one case. But broadly, I would say I wrote most extensively on gender equality and disability rights. These were areas that touched me deeply. For instance, when women officers of the Army, Navy or Air Force stood in court during the hearings on permanent commission and later smiled after the judgment, I felt that the institution had truly stood behind them. Similarly, when a young disabled student gained admission to a medical college through a judgment, knowing that their dream could now be fulfilled, it was profoundly satisfying.

Of course, there were complex cases that challenged me intellectually, but the ones that stay with you are those that bring emotional satisfaction. Ultimately, it is about knowing that your work has made someone’s life a little more dignified, a little more equal.

Q/ Coming to bail jurisprudence, very often, a case travels all the way to the Supreme Court and bail is granted, though the accused has been in custody for years. Why this hesitation at the trial or High Court level, especially in high-profile cases?

A/ I wouldn’t say trial courts never grant bail in such cases; high-profile itself can mean many things. But, yes, in today’s culture of distrust, district judges often hesitate. They fear that if their bail orders are overturned, aspersions will be cast on them. That stigma can affect promotions and careers. Yet, higher courts have every right to reverse bail orders they disagree with. The real problem is attaching a personal stigma to judges without evidence of impropriety. We need to strengthen the district judiciary, because for most citizens that is the first and often only point of contact. If bail there becomes a ritualistic step before moving upwards, public confidence erodes.

Q/ The collegium system is often called opaque, closed-door, unaccountable. What, in your view, is its biggest flaw? Can it be fixed without handing control to the executive?

A/ When people say the collegium is opaque, I ask, ‘What would a better system look like?’ Judicial appointments involve deeply personal issues—income, credibility, even integrity. If all of this is debated in the open, reputations can be unfairly destroyed and good candidates deterred. That said, reforms are essential. The process must ensure independence, merit and diversity—gender, caste, region, faith. While in office, we tried to increase transparency by publishing reasons on the court’s website, striking a balance between disclosure and dignity. But let’s be clear, transferring control to the executive is not the answer. The real challenge is to broaden the process, apply consistent parameters and give citizens enough visibility to sustain trust.

Q/ Justice B.V. Nagarathna, the lone woman judge in the Supreme Court, dissented on a collegium decision recently. Do women’s voices get sidelined?

A/ I see it differently. Once you are a Supreme Court judge, your dissent carries the same weight regardless of gender. A dissent is a dissent—valid and respected. Yes, collegium decisions are usually by consensus, but sometimes they are by majority, and dissent must be acknowledged, just as it is in judgments. That strengthens the institution.

Q/ Despite more women in law schools and at the entry level in the judiciary, we don’t see that reflected in the higher courts. Why?

A/ At the district level, the shift is striking; in many states, 60–70 per cent of fresh recruits are women. Over time, they will rise through the ranks. At the bar though, attrition is the challenge. Many women step back due to family responsibilities, which means fewer stay long enough to be considered for elevation. That’s where systemic support matters—mentorship, flexible practices and recognising talent. Otherwise, the pool for higher courts shrinks.

Q/ When you were on the bench, you often spoke about liberty and dignity. Yet activists and others continue to remain in jail without bail. Has the judiciary failed to uphold its own principle that bail is the rule, jail the exception?

A/ Individual cases will always generate differences of opinion, and that is natural. But it would be unfair to judge the role of the judiciary in protecting liberty on the basis of a single outcome that one agrees or disagrees with. If you look at the sheer volume of cases where the Supreme Court grants bail every week, the record clearly shows that the principle ‘bail is the rule, jail the exception’ is being applied. That said, every decision involves a delicate balance. Apart from the personal liberty of the accused, a judge must weigh factors like the seriousness of the alleged crime, its impact on society, the risk of the accused fleeing justice or tampering with witnesses. These are not abstract considerations; they go to the heart of the judicial decision in a particular case.

Criticism is valid, courts must be open to it but we must also see the larger picture. Take the ADM Jabalpur case during the Emergency, where the Supreme Court held that habeas corpus could be suspended. That judgment was rightly criticised, and decades later, in the Puttaswamy case, we overruled it. One judgment does not define the institution; the arc of its history does. My own view is clear: given the presumption of innocence, bail should ordinarily be the rule. You cannot keep an undertrial in jail indefinitely. If the person is acquitted at the end of the trial, years of their life would have been unjustly lost. Unless there is a real risk of flight, interference with evidence or a threat to witnesses, there is no reason to overcrowd our prisons with undertrials. Conditions can always be imposed to ensure fairness.

Most importantly, this approach must percolate down not just in the Supreme Court, but to the High Courts and, above all, the district judiciary, because that is where the first contact between citizens and the justice system takes place.

Q/ The tenure of chief justices in India is often short, sometimes just a few months. Do you think this undermines judicial leadership? Should we rethink the retirement age or the tenure system?

A/ The convention of appointing the senior-most judge of the Supreme Court as the Chief Justice of India was adopted in 1950 for a very important reason—to safeguard judicial independence. The appointment of the head of the judiciary cannot be left to the preferences or whims of the executive. That is why seniority has remained the governing principle. The flip side, as you rightly point out, is that some chief justices have very short tenures—six months, even a month in rare cases.

Short tenures do make it harder for a chief justice to set out a long-term blueprint for leadership of the institution. That concern is real. But there is an answer, and that lies in collective leadership. A chief justice does not function in isolation. We work closely with our immediate successors and colleagues on the bench. When there is an ongoing dialogue and a shared vision across successive chief justices, there is continuity, even if individuals change.

So yes, the system has its limitations, but the principle it safeguards—independence of the judiciary—is fundamental. Effective leadership can still be built when successive chief justices see themselves not as individuals with short tenures, but as part of a collective mission for the institution’s future.

Q/ Did being the son of a former CJI make your journey in the legal profession harder or easier?

A/ Harder. My father had already retired when I joined the bar, but he had laid down a rule: I would not appear in any court while he was a judge, because every court was lower in hierarchy to his. So I effectively began practice after his tenure. People constantly compared me to him, the leader of the judiciary, while I was just starting out. It was tough. Ultimately, law is a marketplace of ideas. Clients come to you not for your surname, but for your competence.

Q/ We now see your sons practising law, including at the Supreme Court, after your retirement. Was there a laid-down principle in your family, similar to your father’s?

A/ There was no written rule. But both my sons made a conscious choice. My younger son, Chintan, practises in London, and both Abhinav and he decided they would not practise in the Supreme Court while I was a judge there. That was their decision, and I respected it. It ensured there was no scope for criticism or conflict of interest. But I wouldn’t prescribe this to others; each family must decide for itself.

Q/ With Why the Constitution Matters, who are you really speaking to: judges, politicians or citizens?

A/ To the citizen. Whether judge, lawyer or politician, we are all citizens first. The Constitution works whether or not you believe in it. Like the story of the scientist who put a horseshoe outside his home, he wasn’t superstitious, but said it worked regardless. That, to me, is the Constitution—it protects you, often quietly. My aim was to show how it shapes everyday life—privacy, dignity, liberty, speech. It is not an abstract text but a living document, one that defines the freedom and equality of every Indian.

Q/ What keeps you calm amid the constant conflicts judges face?

A/ Every part of a judge’s work lies in the arena of conflict—conflict in human relationships, conflict between governments, between citizens and the state, even between spouses. If you are honest to your role, you cannot insulate yourself from the human intensity of these disputes. They affect you. For me, the answer has always been self-reflection, prayer and meditation. These practices have been my anchor throughout my judicial career and continue to be so after retirement. I am deeply religious and spiritual, but my understanding of religion is one that affirms equality of all faiths. That sense of equality is not only a personal conviction but also a constitutional duty. As a public functionary, I abided by it every day of my career.

Q/ In your book, you have written that you have drawn inspiration not just from your father, but from your sons. Could you elaborate?

A/ Indeed, I have acknowledged this in the introduction and in the acknowledgements. Both my sons are prolific authors and speakers, and each time they published a new book, I would feel inspired to write my own. But the pressures of judicial work always came in the way. They gave me the push to finally do it.

Beyond family, I must also mention the young law clerks and interns who worked with me over the years. Many were first-generation lawyers, brimming with ideas and idealism. Our conversations in the evenings after work were immensely enriching. Judges live in a certain isolation, but these young people kept me connected to the world outside and ensured I didn’t fall into intellectual disrepair. Watching them go on to study at top universities and succeed across the world has been a great source of pride for me.

Why The Constitution Matters: Selected Speeches

Author: Justice D.Y, Chandrachud

Publisher: Penguin Random House India

Pages: 584; Price: Rs999

the-week-heritage-awards-2025-winners

Sat Sep 20 17:02:18 IST 2025

When it comes to India’s rich heritage, everyone is emphatic that it needs to be preserved and maintained. But when it comes to action, there is much of a slip between the cup and the lip.

“Our heritage gives us pride in being Indian. Our tangible and intangible heritage is a symbol of our history. Previous generations handed it to us and that is a responsibility on us—we need to come together to protect it, or else, future generations will not forgive us.” That was Union Minister for Tourism and Culture Gajendra Singh Shekhawat speaking at the first THE WEEK Heritage Awards in New Delhi on September 13. “When a society gets inspired from its history, it can learn how to right the wrongs,” he said.

Shekhawat pointed out how India’s rich history and heritage suffered in the past, especially when the nation was enslaved. “Our heritage was taken out with impunity. Even after independence, it kept going out, legally and illegally,” he said. “Those responsible for preserving India’s heritage got lazy, but we are now bringing in an ecosystem to preserve it.”

Highlighting how the Modi government is turning the preservation of heritage into a mass movement, the minister commended THE WEEK for the Heritage Awards venture and remarked how it would contribute to the preservation of the nation’s history and heritage.

The awards were given out to state tourism boards under various categories and, as THE WEEK Chief Associate Editor & Director Riyad Mathew said, this was but a small effort to meaningfully contribute to preserving the nation’s heritage and ensuring that it is accessible to more people.

The event, attended by tourism officials, bureaucrats, travel industry professionals, policymakers, cultural doyens and artists, was not just a confluence of heritage and arts, but also a forum for exchange of ideas. Discussions went beyond pride in one’s cultural heritage into shaping a consensus on how best to protect and propagate heritage beyond just ‘dead’ buildings into a living, breathing experience of one’s shared past.

As Ratish Nanda, India CEO of the Aga Khan Trust for Culture, reminded the audience, heritage can pay back, too. “Heritage is an economic asset. Not every site can or should be commercially leveraged, but if preserved properly, heritage will always give back.”

But Indian heritage conservation does need a fresh take. “Storytelling is crucial,” said Tanuja Pandey, adviser to the Maharashtra tourism department. “Tourists want experiences, not just monuments. We need better guides, light-and-sound shows and digital outreach. At the same time, sites must be made more open and accessible to the differently abled.”

As state representatives expounded the myriad attractions of each state, what was clear was the immense potential available across India, just waiting for the right exposure. For instance, Dr Ilayaraja T., managing director of the Madhya Pradesh Tourism Development Corporation, rolled out the many attractions of the ‘heart of India’—from UNESCO World Heritage Sites to monuments running into multiple hundreds and attractions ranging from jungles to textile heritage. He then asked, “Do you know that you can see tigers right in the state capital Bhopal?”

The definition of heritage also varies, and can go far beyond the archetypal notion of forts and palaces. For Brenda Pakyntein, director, Meghalaya Tourism, that would be the natural landscape, which is a source of livelihood to be protected and showcased. For Sreevatsa Kotha, joint metropolitan commissioner of Hyderabad Metropolitan Development Authority, representing Telangana Tourism, it is all about moving ahead of Hyderabad’s long and rich cultural legacy to focus on “restoring lakes and reviving lost traditions”.

Beyond tourism, India’s long tradition of arts and culture does need a helping hand to make it relevant for the next generation, and experts opined how it has to be a lived experience. Dr Kamalika Banerjee, science policy expert from IIT Delhi, drew attention towards the structural barriers that separate science from culture. “There is a clear demarcation between humanities and science in our education system. We must rethink that divide,” she said.

Renowned sarod player Dr Chandrima Roy Majumdar wanted music and dance to be part of the upbringing, while Bharatanatyam dancer Shreyasi Gopinath echoed the call to normalise art in everyday settings, including introducing arts at the pre-school level. Pragya, a heritage walk expert, summed it up, “Beyond passive learning, we need experiential and immersive methods. Children must walk through monuments, listen to stories, meet artists; it is only then that heritage becomes a lived memory rather than a chapter in a textbook.”

The event opened with a sitar–tabla jugalbandi by Megha Rawoot and Kapil Sharma. The evening also featured the evocative art of Dastangoi, presented by Usman Siddique and Rajesh Kumar of the Dastangoi Collective.

—With Kanu Sarda

indian-defence-manufacturing-sss-saber-sniper-rifle

Sun Sep 07 11:49:29 IST 2025

It takes a few pieces of scrap metal to make a desi katta, the country-made pistol. It’s a grey area in the Indian firearms scene, but is clearly popular enough to warrant YouTube tutorials on how to make one.

This, though, is not the ‘Make in India’ that SSS Defence believes in.

THE WEEK went to the manufacturer’s facility in Bengaluru’s Jigani to find out what its idea of domestic weaponry looks like. The high walls, security guards and the barbed wire were clues of what lay inside, though the facility itself was another concrete box in an area with other factories, warehouses and IT firms.

After a thorough security check, we headed inside to meet Dinesh Shivanna, the co-founder and chief technology officer. He took us to a conference room which, on its walls, had a collection of pistols, machine guns and sniper rifles displayed proudly, like a parent would put up their toddler’s drawings. Each of these weapons had been designed, built and manufactured in this facility.

The pride in Shivanna stems from a deep sense of patriotism. He said he wanted to build a small-arms ecosystem in the country, a space he said had been destroyed by the British, especially after the revolt of 1857. “India did not have a well-defined small-arms industry,” he said. “We had the ordnance factories that were recycling old weapon systems. The British, after the mutiny, stopped all kinds of weapons manufacturing in India. They closed down all the armouries and casting foundries. Even though we had built traditional guns for 500 years before, the British systematically destroyed everything. Post independence, our government set up ordnance factories and these factories started collaborating with certain countries. But none of the weapons were locally made and made for India.”

And so, Shivanna joined hands with Vivek Krishnan, current CEO, and Satish Machani, managing director, to set up SSS Defence in 2017. It is an independent entity under the Stumpp Schuele and Somappa Group—an established player with a portfolio spanning automobile components, manufacturing, defence and aerospace. Started as a joint venture between German and Indian partners, SSS Group became fully Indian-owned in 2007.

Shivanna, Krishnan and Machani were concerned that though countries were willing to enter defence partnerships, there was no transfer of technology happening. “We got an arms and ammunition licence in 2017 and wanted to build everything in India,” said Shivanna. “Any country would give transfer of technology in the form of assembling the weapons, just as a screw driver to assemble them. Our parent company is 70 years old with about 20 manufacturing centres all over India. We have a long legacy in manufacturing and especially a tradition of mass manufacturing. We wanted to leverage the expertise of our parent company to realise our dreams.”

There are Indian companies that have deals with foreign original equipment manufacturers, but they just assemble the parts in India. “In case of a war, there won’t be any supply chain and you will have to depend on them, which might not be possible,” said Shivanna, holding up one of the assault rifles. “If it is completely manufactured in India, one can deal with any situation and scale up the production without depending on anyone outside the country.”

SSS Defence has close to 200 specialists who design and format the weapons to suit Indian requirements, taking into account soldiers’ physique and other such parameters. The company has sourced several items needed in production, like aluminium, from its parent company, and has made products that adhere to industry standards (mostly European).

“One should understand that when one makes in India, it does not make the armaments any way inexpensive as it takes the same kind of time and the same kind of man hours to manufacture them,” said Shivanna. “The only major difference is the cost of labour.”

SSS Defence has an array of products, the most interesting of which are the sniper rifles. These are long-range precision weapons chambered in the 7.62×51mm NATO and .338 Lapua Magnum calibres. The latter can hit a target as far as 1.5km and is seen as the gold standard among rifles. The ones SSS Defence makes, it claims, are powerful, have night vision and can work in any terrain and weather conditions.

The company has everything from a pistol to a sub machine gun, an assault rifle and two sniper rifles. Going forward, it wants to have a remote-controlled weapon station, which is used to counter drones.

SSS Defence also has an ammunition production unit that started operations in 2024, and is gearing up for expansion. It is currently one of the few private sector firms in India with self-owned, proprietary designs and process intellectual property. The company has investments of over $20 million in organic research and development, production equipment and specialised infrastructure.

Shivanna said that when they started working on their weapons systems, they did not compare them with other rifles. The work has been on for seven years, and is still ongoing. “The development cycle continues and we are constantly adding better processes and metallurgy,” said Shivanna. “Today, we consider ourselves on par with the best in the world and sometimes even better than some of the well-known names. We have trialled these rifles on the best testing ranges of the world. We can proudly say that we have built one of the best guns in the world.”

My colleague Bhanu and I got to test a sniper and an assault rifle in the advanced underground facility. But we were no experts. One man who has, in fact, seen the company’s sniper rifle up close is Brigadier (retd) B.M. Cariappa. In 2022, when he was the force commander of the National Security Guard, he was entrusted to conduct trials of .338 calibre sniper rifles for possible induction into the NSG. Among the firms that had submitted its weapons for evaluation was SSS Defence.

“Past experience had shown that things could go wrong if the process wasn’t closely monitored,” said Cariappa. “So, I made it a point to be physically present for all trials to observe, guide and ensure the team followed the process.”

The Saber sniper rifle from SSS Defence didn’t do too well during the first set of trials. “My team made several technical observations and the rifle didn’t qualify,” said Cariappa. “The NSG, since its inception, has had some of the best weapons in its inventory sourced from all over the globe. But with the increasing focus on Make in India, we began facing a new problem: lack of spares. Many excellent weapons were lying unserviceable because of small, basic issues, something as simple as a missing pin or a loose rivet.”

He said he saw promise in Shivanna and Krishnan, and felt that the young Indian company was serious about building complete weapons systems. He said they were willing to listen, learn and improve, and realised that if they were helped to refine their rifle, they could help the NSG get some of their non-functional weapons back into working condition.

“I suggested SSS apply for a no-cost, no-commitment trial,” said Cariappa. “We conducted rigorous testing on the Saber, provided detailed feedback and SSS worked diligently to rectify each issue. In parallel, they helped us get around 109 weapons back into serviceable condition, which was a huge boost for us. Every time SSS brought the Saber back for trials, it was better than before. Slowly, it started earning the confidence of our firing team. By the end of 2024, after multiple iterations, we were confident in its performance. We had seen its improvement first-hand.”

At the same time, the All India Police Commando Competition was coming up. This included a standalone sniper firing competition, with participation from police units across the country. Cariappa requested Shivanna to send them two Sabers for the competition.

“While we already had the .338 Barrett rifles from the US, I wanted our snipers to have a choice,” said Cariappa. “During the training phase, I would often visit the firing range and speak to our ace shooters. It didn’t surprise me when they told me that they now preferred the Saber over the Barrett. That said a lot. So, we decided to use the Saber in the competition. Several teams competed using Barretts and other top-end sniper rifles from around the world. However, the NSG team with the Saber won the first place.”

SSS Defence can currently make around 15,000 rifles a year at its plant in Bengaluru. “We do not want to make and keep, we want orders,” said Shivanna. “India has a long process of procurement and the complete process can sometimes take around five years for each weapons system. So we keep our regular manufacturing happening as we have other markets to cater to. Compared with India, international procurement cycles are a little faster. We currently supply rifles to our neighbourhood. The sniper rifles are generally supplied to the special forces, but general infantry also uses them. Even some paramilitary forces use them.”

The company began small arms development around seven years ago, while the focus on sniper rifles was as recent as 2020. Four years later, it started exporting. It has recently started exporting rifles to three countries in Central Europe and is planning to enter two Asian countries.

organ-donation-awareness-mumbai

Sat Sep 06 11:32:06 IST 2025

ORGAN DONATION IS not just about saving lives, it is about giving life a second chance.' With this important message, Jaslok Hospital and Research Centre, in association with THE WEEK, hosted an evening dedicated to raising awareness on the need for organ donation. The event in Mumbai on August 26, titled ‘Zindagi Na Rukne Do’, brought together policymakers, doctors, donor families and recipients in an effort to break the silence surrounding this urgent health issue.

The event began with a ceremonial lamp lighting led by Jaslok Hospital CEO Jitendra Haryan and senior dignitaries including Jaslok Hospital Chief Medical Officer Dr Milind Khadke, Jaslok Hospital Chief Marketing Officer Bhavesh Phopharia, THE WEEK Chief of Bureau, Mumbai, Dnyanesh Jathar, and THE WEEK Resident Chief General Manager Shree Kumar Menon.

Maharashtra Health Minister Prakash Abitkar and Brand Ambassador for the initiative Amruta Fadnavis joined in via video message.

In his welcome address, Haryan spoke about the hospital’s long-standing legacy of pioneering health care and its commitment to leading the organ donation movement. “Few decisions in life carry the power to turn grief into hope and a new beginning, and organ donation is one of them. Whether from a living donor or a cadaver donor, it is the ultimate expression of humanity, where compassion becomes a bridge to life. Through ‘Zindagi Na Rukne Do’, we highlight this truth, reminding everyone that the power to give life rests in their hands, waiting for the couarge to act.”

Abitkar, in his keynote address, underscored the government’s role in building stronger systems for transplants. “Our state has the expertise and the institutions. What we need is public awareness and trust to bridge the gap,” he said.

Jathar highlighted the magazine’s editorial mission. “From breast cancer awareness to Parkinson’s and now organ donation, THE WEEK has consistently championed journalism with a human touch,” he said.

Fadnavis delivered an emotional note, urging citizens to view organ donation as a noble social responsibility.

The first panel titled ‘Organ Donation: Breaking the Silence, Saving Lives’ featured a distinguished line-up of doctors: Dr Sanjay Nagral, Director, Surgical Gastroenterology (Academics & Research); Dr M. M. Bahadur, Director, Nephrology (Administration); Dr Indraneel Raut, Additional Director, Critical Care; Dr Pettarusp Wadia, Consultant, Neurology & Lead Movement Disorders; and Dr Shruti Tandan, Consultant, Critical Care.

The discussion highlighted persistent myths that discourage families from consenting to donations. Panellists called for streamlining hospital protocols, increasing public trust in the system, and sensitising families during critical moments.

This was followed by a moving testimony from a deceased donor’s family member, who shared how one person’s decision gave hope to others.

The second panel, ‘One Gift, Many Lives: The Impact of Organ Transplants’, was moderated by Dr S.K. Mathur, President, Zonal Transplant Coordination Centre, and brought together some of the country’s top transplant specialists: Padmabhushan Dr A.B. Mehta, Director, Cardiology; Dr Shailesh Raina, Director, Urology; Dr Aabha Nagral, Director, Gastroenterology & Chief Hepatologist; Dr Rushi Deshpande, Director, Nephrology (Academics), and Dr Upendra Bhalerao, Consultant, Heart Transplant Surgery.

This session focused on the transformative impact of transplants—not just on patients, but also on entire families. Panellists emphasised India’s shortage of organ donors despite having advanced medical capabilities.

The audience heard heartfelt testimonies from Ronak Bhatia, a liver recipient, who shared the joy of regaining normal life, and Dinesh Nagda, a kidney donor, who spoke about the fulfilment of saving another’s life.

The evening concluded with a vote of thanks by Khadke, who reaffirmed the hospital’s commitment to strengthening organ donation systems.

As the event drew to a close, the message was clear: organ donation is not merely a medical intervention, but an act of humanity. In the words of one panellist, “One decision can ripple across generations—a single donor can save multiple lives.”