Rumbling democracy

inside a train

‘Hello! Please lower the volume or use earphones,’ I asked the man on the train, watching a YouTube video. The discussion on the financial upheaval in the Indian share market by the panellists in the video reached the aisle seat, where I was seated, from the window seat, just like the line moving sideways on a line chart, indicating a sideways trend of a stock.

Apparently, my words didn’t register in his preoccupied ears. So I gesticulated like a flight attendant, synchronizing my hand movements with the words I repeated in my head. Eventually, the window-seat man noticed it and instantly complied, though unapologetically. 

But… but my request was met only to be discarded 10-12 minutes later. A display of sheer entitlement! Annoyed by his inconsiderate demeanour, I decided to start a protest on the train, since sadad pe faisla wasn’t possible then. I put aside my book and unlocked my phone to play a YouTube video. 

But before deciding, I wanted to ask the elderly lady in the middle seat for consent. Perturbed by her neighbour, I shared her frustration at the disregard for her democratic right. After agreeing upon the issue at hand, I watched the news loud enough to disrupt the window-seat man’s attention. I even leaned forward to amplify the effect. 

Lo and behold! The window-seat man was as dismissive of me as the BJP government was toward the CJP and its first-ever protest. 

Having failed as a pressure group, unlike the CJP, which allegedly succeeded in its first protest, I ended my protest, feeling dejected and resumed reading. My YouTube protest, supported only by the elderly lady, fizzled out as soon as it began, much like the E20 fuel protest; even so, I didn’t have enough fuel in my body to fight for my democratic right to peaceful travelling. And how many could I fight against? 

Because it wasn’t just the window-seat man;  another man, who had moved to a vacant window seat with an unoccupied aisle chair, tangentially from me, was watching one of those viral videos with a wheezing laugh track like the whistle of a kettle. Even his raspy laughter, which shook his whole body, matched the artificial wheeze so well. 

Interestingly, every time he watched a reel, he seemed to follow a particular pattern: first, he roared with laughter; then he called out to his wife; and lastly, he confirmed with her whether she had watched the reel he was watching. 

Changing a seat, I realized, can sometimes be as challenging as attempting a regime change

Irked, I shifted my focus to the little child in the front seat who behaved as little children are expected to behave — talkative and playful. Her constant chatter seemed more pleasant amidst the undemocratic chaos all around. 

*****

Friend: ‘Rumbling’ or ‘Crumbling’ democracy?
Me: Suit yourself.

The Dimaagi Naxals

row of soldiers with weapons

Disclaimer: I am a proud Indian, and I am not a ‘Dimaagi Naxal’.

In his address on the 80th Independence Day of India, the Prime Minister used the term dimaagi naxal, presumably referring to those intellectual minds and forces that work against the holistic growth of India. And obviously, as expected, repercussions followed. In no time, many across India fell into his rhetorical trap. Koi shak!

A Gujju at heart, we are told farti topi pehri nai levani, which figuratively means don’t let anyone trick you. Nevertheless, without naming anyone, many were tricked by the Gujju PM, and we had senior leaders like P. Chidambaram who proudly claimed to be a dimaagi naxal. 

Most of us know that Naxalism refers to a militant Maoist movement in India that advocates armed struggle to overthrow the state and establish a communist order. I am sure Mr Chidambaram is also well versed with its definition; after all, he served as the Home Minister of India when naxalites still existed in India.

And it’s not just him. Many politicians and non-supporters of the government had their own interpretations, eventually leading to political mudslinging. 

While everyone was pointing at the outside traitor, my mind immediately identified a traitor within my body—the rebellious hormones. 

Based on my research, in a woman’s body, hormones like estrogen, progesterone, testosterone, and many more work for years in harmony with her body, only to seemingly rebel against it as she ages, snailing towards perimenopause and menopause. 

These insurgent hormones start disrupting the body that seems to control them. They fluctuate within her, sometimes drastically, leading to severe anxiety and irritability, much like many in Gen Z. While they are, for obvious reasons, worried about their futures and irritated by the local and global upheaval, many women get irked by something as mundane as thinking about what to prepare for lunch or dinner. 

And I wonder, how come men don’t face such a backlash during andropause? Why don’t they have similar ‘pauses’ in their lives like women after a certain age? 

Disturbed by one more example of inequality, I did some research. Research says many men don’t even realize that their hormones—many of them the same as women’s—interfere in their everyday life. That’s because their hormones vary in amounts and patterns. Their irritation, anger, mood swings, and other symptoms are more about lifestyle than hormones.  

Once I was enlightened, the dimaagi naxal (the result of my fluctuating hormones) within me was struck with an idea. Right now in our country, protests are the new normal, popping up like mushrooms. Why not the women of India rise to a new protest, demanding equality of physical and mental pain for men?

Laughable, of course.

The idea was immediately followed by the realization that such a protest might not gain traction across India. But women can do one thing for sure—begin with creating awareness about male menopause and its symptoms akin to sowing a seed. Scare them with some medical jargon. Hyper-aware them. Podcasts after podcasts on male menopause or late-onset hypogonadism, making them more anxious. Let normal ageing signs worry them. Make them feel that they are victims of some unique changes in their body, thereby putting men and women on an equal pedestal. Dimaagi naxal, of course, because of hormones.

If this kind of protest doesn’t work, women can initiate a fifth wave of feminism, taking inspiration from RaGa’s slogan ‘Smash the patriarchy’ that reverberated at the Chhatron Ki Goonj event in Pune. Surprisingly, the event was exclusively for young women! Why wasn’t it considered relevant for young men?  

Those who got an opportunity to speak from the stage voiced their anger against patriarchy, but no one questioned Mr Gandhi, “Sir, why don’t you begin with smashing the patriarchy by supporting a 33% seat quota for women in Parliament?”

We know the dimaagi kidaa of patriarchy cannot be wiped completely from any society, since the conditioning goes back to eras. Today, in the so-called progressive world, patriarchy is like a sloth; it often stays completely still for long periods to conserve energy, waiting for a predatory moment akin to naxal-like guerrilla attacks. They may not always leave visible physical harm, but they do create a mental dent. True for women and men both. 

Even today, many men in Indian society have not been able to smash the patriarchal concept of mard ko kabhi dard nahi hota—an irony in itself for a manly man. It is this mindset that refrains them from exhibiting their vulnerable, feminine qualities, eventually leading to depression and suicides.

According to the latest official data from the National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB) report, 73.5% of men commit suicide across the age spectrum. And the most common recorded reason is family problems. 

It’s okay to be called sissy sometimes, man. We are all born with masculine and feminine qualities. Explore them like women. Smash the patriarchy.

BTW, shouldn’t women bear a grudge against ‘sissy’ being used as an insult for men?

*****

Brother: Who, according to you, is a dimaagi naxal?
Sister: Let’s leave that question for today. It’s Raksha Bandhan.

Unfiltered.

black and white protest in kano nigeria

What you will read today in this blog, readers, are my unfiltered thoughts—thoughts born out of disappointment, disgust, and distress. Excuse my grammatical errors and abrupt transitions. That’s how our mind works when it is disturbed, I suppose. Sometimes it fails to understand chronology. And so does my mind. And so does my blog.

*****

I’ve been following the CJP protest at Jantar Mantar for quite some time. For a broader perspective, I also did some background research on who’s who in this protest. Listening to so many people on TV debates and podcasts with polarised viewpoints, honestly, I feel quite confused. Whom to believe? Was this protest about students’ concerns and complaints, or had it been born out of political angst and agenda? 

Of course, our education system has flaws, because it is created by humans who also have flaws. And I am as disappointed with it as the students. I also understand that it must have been exhausting—mentally and physically—for the students who had to bear the consequences—with some ending their lives—of the corrupted people—the ones who supplied the NEET-UG exam paper and those who demanded it. 

There’s always a supply and demand angle to such leaks. So, is demanding the resignation of Mr Pradhan, the Education Minister, sufficient? Could it be the first step towards a better education system?

That’s a general opinion. A similar view was also shared by one of the NEET aspirants on a news channel. She believed that at least asking for a resignation would serve as a deterrent for the new minister who would fill his place. Okay. Makes sense. But then, what if the same thing happened under the leadership of the new minister? 

In this case also, Mr Pradhan didn’t leak the paper; people working under him, and those working under these people, and many down the ladder. In fact, the person who leaked the paper was the paper setter. 

What I am trying to say is that the problem isn’t just the minister; it’s the corrupted system. And how, where, and when does corruption begin? It begins with us—the people of the country.

How many of you have handed a 100-rupee note to the policeman when you are pulled aside for flouting some traffic rules? How many of you have gotten your driving license without appearing for the driving test? How many of you have bribed the pujari or pandit or maulvi or whoever for a VIP entry to the sanctum sanctorum at a religious place? How many of you got a fake sick leave certificate from your family doctor?

These are just a few day-to-day life instances. Corruption has seeped into us to such an extent that sometimes we don’t even notice it until such incidents occur. And then it becomes very easy to play the blame game. 

Okay. Blame the government’s policy. Blame the system. Start a protest. Demand a change. Question a policy. These are the democratic rights of every citizen of India. 

But with rights also come responsibilities. Were the protesters using language befitting a responsible citizen? How does one justify the vile and vulgar language used by many protesters at Jantar Mantar to voice their dissent? How can one agree with expletives used for the Prime Minister of the country?

Was it just for social media reels? Performative? For likes and followers? Where’s the accountability—something the protesters kept demanding from the government? 

Would such language have been tolerated during the time of the Emergency in India?

*****

Student: Uncle said that the school trip is always free for you.
Teacher: Not free of the responsibility for 100 students for an entire week. 

*****

I’d like for readers to share their thoughts on this issue/protest by replying to this blog. You can also DM if you have any opinions/observations. I can post your views, anonymously if you wish, as a reply to my viewpoints.


Protests, Poribortan, and Paltu Rams

As much as I would like to avoid processed food, I can’t be completely off it. Recently, when I went to buy a packet of puffed lemon rice from a nearby general store I frequently visit, the shopkeeper asked me whether I would be willing to change my preference to the new food time introduced by the famous company. He asked me to try a jhalmuri snack instead. 

‘Oh! Jhalmuri! The one Modiji tasted before paltifying the TMC rule in Bengal?’ I confirmed. But I wasn’t ready for a sudden change in my identity — from a Gujarati surti to a Bengali maanus. Poribortan takes time.  

Walking home, I tumbled into the metaphorical rabbit hole of fantastic thoughts. 

First, I came across a group of angry chameleons. They appeared really upset with humankind, especially the recent Paltu Rams in politics — the ones who defected from their political party for paisa, power and position. How willingly would they change their narrative to suit their political career! 

The reptiles were surprised at humankind’s ability to change colours just as naturally as they did, making it difficult for them to classify them as humans.

Unanimously, the chameleons decided to file a defamation case against the ministers, specifically those who defected from their party. They felt that in the name of freedom, these Paltu Rams are maligning their biological and evolutionary identity. So, the famous chameleon Trumpy, known for its agility to change colours, shouted, Are you with me or with me?, and the sound of cheerful ‘Yay’ reverberated in the hole. 

When I fell deeper into the hole, I saw a small group of cockroaches. They had also gathered for some sort of protest. Eavesdropping on some conversations made me realise that they were discussing India’s current education system. A genuine concern, though. A much-needed poriborton after the NEET paper leak and CBSE controversy.

Suddenly, there was a loud announcement by their leader, who stood on a mound and called himself Tipke. Oh! The same cockroach guy who claimed to have a million followers. But I was surprised to see that only a small percentage of them had turned up for the protest. 

Tipke began with his address to his fellow cockroaches gathered there. ‘Friends, Indians, Gen Z, we demand educational reforms and accountability from our government.’

Mm-hmm.

I could see many cockroaches swiftly running here and there as if they weren’t even aware of what was being said. They seemed unaware of the agenda. Not a fan or follower of cockroaches, I decided to interview a few of them.

One of the youth members told me he was there to demand the resignation of Amit Pradhan, the Minister of Education.

Huh! Amit Pradhan? 

The other cockroach, flaunting his black coat (he said he had come directly from the High Court), told me his bhai, standing next to him in a black coat, would answer the question since he wasn’t aware of the issue at hand. 

Woowww!!! 

Like an enthusiastic young Indian, I approached a group of Gen Z, probably discussing something important. On questioning, one of them belligerently complained about the hacking of EVM machines by the current government in particular states. And the best part was that he even prophesied about the hacking that would happen in Kerala and Tamil Nadu in the next election. 

Uhhm!! 

Finally, I went to a baby cockroach and inquired about the reason for her attending the meeting. Confused, with a fluttering voice, she said she was there to ask the government to stop the war between America and Israel. 

Whaaaattt?? 

Baffled by such responses and the engulfing darkness, I opened the door at the other side of the hole and entered my house. Finally, it was all light and radiant. 

*****

Friend: Be the change you wish to …
Me: Ahha!

Your intention matters. Does it? 

serene beach sunset in huarmey peru

Intentional living. A concept gaining momentum in our fast-paced lives. And rightfully so.

To the uninitiated, Intentional Living, according to the easily approachable baba Google, is about identifying your core values and actively designing your daily life—your time, energy, and resources—to align with those beliefs. It is the practice of moving off “autopilot” and making deliberate choices about who you want to be and how you want to spend your life. 

Since one of my life goals is to live healthily, I’ve been trying to practise this concept so passionately that while eating food, I make a conscious attempt to ensure that each of the misaligned teeth in my jaw gets to chew every morsel I eat. Only then do I allow it to enter my belly. In doing so, sometimes I tire my family that waits for me to finish my meals, so they can quickly move on with their lives. 

Mind you, water also receives a similar treatment. I make sure that the water I sip after food visits every corner of my small mouth, dislodging the debris along my gums and crevices. Only then is it allowed to mix with the food in the belly.

Following Maddy’s (R. Madhavan’s) advice on wellness and health, I drink my food and chew my water.

But even today, when I wear my pair of Kolhapuri chappals, I still can’t digest the fact that the modest, traditional Indian chappals, generally priced between ₹500-₹1,500, were displayed as leather sandals, at around ₹84,000 to ₹1.2 lakh, in the 2025 Milan menswear show by the Italian luxury fashion brand Prada. And the devil wore Kolhapuri without even acknowledging the Indian artisans who are the original creators.

Those in the leadership position should have at least thought through their intentions before designing a sheer fashion heist. Such a cultural appropriation cannot be as discreet and simple as making haldi dudh turmeric latte.  

Inspired by our PM’s aggressive warning, ‘ghar mein ghus kar maarenge’, the nationalists hit Prada left, right, and center through social media trolls. Eventually, the brand made a conscious effort to ethically collaborate with artisans from Maharashtra and Karnataka, thereby expanding India’s reach to global luxury markets.

Markets remind me of the economic inflation driven by global markets, and the PM’s appeal to the nation to practice austerity. Following his example, after some reflection, I decided to reduce the number of vehicles I use from one to zero. On some days, irrespective of an odd-or-even-number date, I walk down the streets to buy (hopefully) unadulterated milk and paneer, watermelons and mangoes that aren’t injected with any toxic chemicals or sweeteners, and vegetables whose price rises like the summer temperature in the city. 

While the heat of the sun is exhausting, equally draining would have been the news of the cancellation of the NEET-UG 2026 exam for aspiring doctors due to the choices of a few corrupt people in the system. Devdutt Pattanaik, the Indian mythologist and author of Escape The Bakasura Trap and many other books, would call these people Bakasura, trapped in the cycle of insatiable hunger—hunger for money? Power?  

Would a timely reflection before leaking the question papers have saved many futures?

That’s the question they should be pondering behind bars. Of course, if they are made to stay there for long.

But for me, nowadays, the question to mull over is: Should I chew hafooz or drink hafooz? 

*****

Me: Can I ask you a question?
Friend: Introspective? Umm … Leave it.