By Bhaga Warkhade

The devastating fire at a Delhi hotel that claimed innocent lives is not merely an accident — it is collective murder committed by India's corrupt, negligent, and dysfunctional administrative machinery. The ink had barely dried on a similar tragedy in Goa when the nation's capital repeated it. Both incidents confirm the same grim truth: human life has been reduced to zero value in the pursuit of commercial profit.

Despite repeated reprimands and stern orders from the Supreme Court, a staggering indifference pervades every level of governance — from municipal corporations to state governments. That indifference has now gone beyond concern. It has become a systemic crisis.

The Incidents

Twenty-one people died in the Delhi hotel fire, including 18 foreign nationals from Bangladesh, Nigeria, Mozambique, and Liberia. Months earlier, 25 people — again including tourists — perished in a fire at a popular Goa nightclub.

These are not isolated accidents. They are symptoms of a catastrophic failure across urban administration, fire safety systems, local bodies, licensing authorities, and state governments.

The most disturbing pattern is this: after every tragedy, inquiries are announced, audits are ordered, strict enforcement is promised — and then, within weeks, everything returns to normal, until the next disaster.

In Delhi, the fire is suspected to have started in the ground-floor restaurant and spread with terrifying speed, forcing people trapped on upper floors to jump from windows. Local residents threw mattresses to break their fall. Those images were not merely heartbreaking — they were a public confession of administrative failure. When guests in a hotel must leap from windows to survive a fire, fire safety has collapsed entirely.

Rules Exist. Enforcement Does Not.

India does not lack fire safety regulations. There is a National Building Code. States have fire safety laws. Fire NOC requirements exist. Inspection mandates exist. Numerous court orders exist.

The Delhi High Court had, just months ago, directed the administration to prepare a comprehensive safety framework for hotels, clubs, and restaurants. Yet the ground reality has not changed.

The real problem in India is not the absence of rules — it is the absence of enforcement.

Many commercial establishments obtain proper licenses initially, then proceed to add unauthorized constructions, extra floors, sealed staircases, converted terraces, excess seating capacity, and changes that openly violate safety norms. Local authorities often know. Sometimes they look away. Sometimes corruption ensures they do. Buildings that appear safe on paper become death traps in practice.

The lack of coordination between municipal corporations, fire departments, electricity inspection agencies, licensing authorities, and development bodies compounds the crisis. One agency issues the trade license, another the fire safety certificate, a third the construction permit, a fourth conducts inspections. When disaster strikes, each department blames the other. Accountability disappears. Negligence thrives.

"Fire Audit" — A Hollow Ritual

The phrase "fire audit" has become a piece of administrative theatre. A tragedy occurs, a fire audit is announced, inspections happen for a few days, notices are issued to a handful of establishments — and then silence returns.

In reality, fire audits must be continuous, not ceremonial. Checking whether fire systems are functional, emergency exits are clear, smoke detectors are operational, electrical systems are safe, and staff are trained — these are not one-time tasks. In most Indian cities, such checks exist only on paper.

After the Goa fire, Delhi's municipal corporation had issued directions to conduct fire audits of hotels, restaurants, and bars across the city. The question that must now be answered honestly: had those orders been effectively implemented, could today's tragedy have been prevented?

The International Dimension

There is another dimension that demands attention — India's global image. The Delhi fire killed a significant number of foreign nationals. The Goa fire also claimed foreign tourists.

Tourism is not merely a revenue source; it is an ambassador of national character. When international visitors come to India, they experience not only its heritage and natural beauty — they experience the competence and safety standards of its systems.

Tragedies at hotels, clubs, and tourist spots make international headlines and embed a sense of insecurity about India in the global mind. Today's tourists research safety standards when planning travel — airports, transport, accommodation, emergency response. Recurring fire disasters are a direct threat to India's tourism sector. If "Incredible India" cannot guarantee basic safety, the slogan rings hollow.

What Must Change

These tragedies have restated a fundamental truth: development is not measured in tall buildings, rising tourist numbers, or growing investments. Real development means protecting the lives of citizens and visitors.

Fire safety is not a costly formality. It is a life-saving necessity. Observing it is not optional — it is an absolute duty.

Appointing inquiry commissions, announcing compensation, and suspending a few officials after every disaster is no longer sufficient. What is required:

A clear, enforceable chain of accountability linking municipal bodies, state governments, fire departments, and licensing authorities. Regular, independent, publicly disclosed fire audits — not post-tragedy performances. Immediate closure and criminal action against establishments that violate safety norms. Court orders implemented on the ground, not just on paper.

Without this, today it is Delhi, yesterday it was Goa, and tomorrow it will be another city. The same promises will be made, the same inquiries held, the same silence will follow — but the lives lost will not return.

Every such tragedy leaves another dark stain on India's administrative credibility, its tourism sector, and its global standing.

The real lesson of the Delhi and Goa fires is this: the cost of negligence is not counted in property damage alone. It is counted in human lives, national dignity, and the public's trust in governance.

It is time — long past time — for those in power to take that lesson seriously.

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By Prof Ujjwal K Chowdhury

The Judge Speaks — and a Nation Hears Its Own Name

On May 15, 2026, a Supreme Court bench headed by Chief Justice Surya Kant was hearing a contempt petition about fraudulent professional credentials. What followed was unremarkable in juridical terms but seismic in political ones. The Chief Justice, speaking from the highest bench in the land, reportedly compared unemployed youth who drift into activism, journalism and RTI-filing to 'cockroaches' and 'parasites of society.' He later insisted that his remarks were aimed specifically at those wielding fake degrees — not at unemployed youth broadly. But the damage, as they say in Delhi, was done.

In a nation of 1.4 billion people, where 40% of graduates aged 25 and younger are currently unemployed — a figure cited by the Azim Premji University's State of Working India 2026 report — those three words landed not as a clarification, but as a confession. They confirmed what tens of millions of Indians had long suspected: that the powerful regard the struggling masses not as citizens deserving redress, but as inconvenient noise. Within 24 hours, that noise became a roar.

"Those in power think citizens are cockroaches and parasites. They should know that cockroaches breed in rotten places. That's what India is today."  — Abhijeet Dipke, Founding President, CJP

Abhijeet Dipke, a 30-year-old Boston University public relations student and former political communications strategist, posted a simple question on X (formerly Twitter) the following day: 'What if all cockroaches come together?' He launched the Cockroach Janta Party (CJP) — a satirical, unregistered digital movement — on May 16, 2026. The name was a pointed play on the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP). Its eligibility criteria were stripped of all pretence: to join, one needed only to be unemployed, lazy, chronically online, and capable of 'ranting professionally.' Within a week, the CJP amassed over 22 million Instagram followers, more than double the BJP's official account — a party that has governed India for over a decade and describes itself as the world's largest political organisation.

The Anatomy of a Gagged Republic

To understand why a mocking online platform exploded into a mass movement, one must first understand the pressure cooker it emerged from. India's democratic decline is no longer a matter of academic debate. The V-Dem Institute's Democracy Report 2026 classifies India as an 'electoral autocracy' — a status it has held since 2017. According to the report, the average global citizen's experience of democracy has regressed to 1978 levels; in South and Central Asia, the decline is even steeper, reaching benchmarks last seen in 1976 — a trajectory driven substantially by India's backsliding.

The term 'electoral autocracy' requires unpacking. It does not describe a country without elections. India holds them — with remarkable efficiency and scale. What it describes is a country where elections persist but the ecosystem around them decays: where the press faces structural intimidation, where civil society organisations are regulated into submission or delegitimised as foreign agents, where opposition leaders face investigative agency raids timed to electoral cycles, where judiciary independence is questioned, and where constitutional language is invoked while its spirit is hollowed out. This is what scholars call 'executive aggrandizement' — elected leaders slowly capturing the institutions designed to constrain them.

The casualties are not abstract. For India's educated unemployed, the daily reality is an unemployment rate of 9.9% among 15-29-year-olds nationally, rising to 13.6% in urban areas per official 2025 data — and 40% among graduates under 25, by independent estimates. For the labouring poor, gig economy exploitation and the collapse of formal employment guarantees define survival. For women, persistent under-representation in Parliament, cabinets and party leadership persists despite decades of constitutional promise. For Dalits and minorities, the intersection of economic exclusion and everyday humiliation — sharpened under a political climate where majoritarian identity politics has become the dominant grammar of governance — renders citizenship itself precarious. For all of them, the traditional channels of democratic expression — the newsroom, the university, the courtroom, the street protest — have narrowed, been criminalised, or been captured.

In this landscape, a 2026 Draft IT Rules proposal seeking to extend regulatory oversight to independent digital content creators represents not merely a policy measure but the deliberate elimination of the last relatively free space in Indian public life. When the street is watched, the university is cautious, the newsroom is pressured, and the social media handle is next — the pressure-cooker either explodes or finds strange release valves. The Cockroach Janta Party was one such valve.

Why the Old Parties Cannot Hear the Roach Underthe Floor

The rise of the CJP exposes a structural failure that both the ruling establishment and the main opposition parties must confront — though neither shows signs of doing so. The BJP has, over its decade in power, mastered the art of translating popular anxiety into electoral capital. Economic insecurity becomes nationalist pride. Unemployment becomes the enemy's sabotage. Dissent becomes anti-nationalism. Critics become urban elites, toolkit operators or foreign-funded conspirators. This grammar is remarkably effective at winning elections. It is, however, entirely incapable of genuinely addressing the grievance of a 24-year-old commerce graduate in Patna who has appeared for 14 competitive examinations — three of which were compromised by paper leaks — and has spent six years waiting for a government job that pays a living wage.

The main opposition — primarily the INDIA Bloc alliance led by the Indian National Congress — has legitimate grievances, credible leaders, and occasional moments of potent parliamentary resistance. Yet it too has struggled to convert diffuse mass anger into sustained organisational imagination. Opposition parties endorse viral outrage. They sign up to the CJP membership drive. Shashi Tharoor told the Indian Express that the CJP's popularity revealed 'the extent to which there is frustration and dissatisfaction among India's youth.' Mahua Moitra and Kirti Azad enrolled as CJP members. But endorsing a meme is not the same as building the booth-level infrastructure through which the unemployed graduate, the contract labourer, the Dalit student, or the young woman demanding political agency can act collectively and sustainably.

This is precisely the vacuum the CJP walked into. It was not born in a party office. It was born in the gulf between institutional politics and citizen desperation — in the space where formal democracy says 'vote every five years' but offers no mechanism for the voice of the helpless between elections. As YouTuber Meghnad S observed, the popularity of a satirical non-existent party is 'a giant commentary on Indian political parties in general.' That commentary is worth heeding.

Twenty-Two Million Cockroaches: The Digital Public Square

The numbers demand attention. In less than a week, the CJP amassed over 22 million Instagram followers, nearly 4 lakhGoogle Form sign-ups for 'membership,' and over 2 lakh X followers before that account was withheld in India. By contrast, the BJP — the self-described world's largest political party, in power for over a decade with the resources of the state and its IT cell — had 8.8 million Instagram followers. The Indian National Congress, the principal opposition, had 13 million. A satirical movement run by one sleep-deprived 30-year-old from a Chicago apartment had outstripped them both.

These numbers are not just a curiosity. They represent the aggregate of India's unexpressed political frustration finding a language — absurdist, mocking, self-deprecating, but unmistakably political. The hashtag #MainBhiCockroach ('I too am a cockroach') became a shorthand for a shared identity of exclusion. Students who had endured NEET paper leaks joined alongside informal workers invisible to policy, alongside women tired of being spoken about rather than heard, alongside Dalit youth who had faced casteist abuse online the moment they raised their voices, alongside minority citizens who felt the weight of majoritarian suspicion in every institutional encounter.

The CJP manifesto — even in its satirical register — made five serious demands: a ban on post-retirement rewards for judges, 50% reservation of Parliament and Cabinet seats for women, protection of voting rights, an independent press, and a 20-year ban on political party-switching. These are not fringe demands. They are cornerstones of democratic accountability. That they had to be wrapped in cockroach imagery to be heard at scale tells us something profound about the state of India's democratic public sphere.

The State Blinks — and in Blinking, Reveals Everything

Nothing has validated the CJP's central thesis more powerfully than the Indian government's response to it. Within days of the movement's launch, the CJP's official X account — which had gathered over 2 lakh followers — was withheld in India following a directive from the Ministry of Electronics and Information Technology (MeitY) under Section 69(A) of the Information Technology Act, 2000. The stated justification, according to reports citing Intelligence Bureau inputs, was that the account's content posed risks to 'national security and sovereignty.' By May 23, the CJP website itself had been blocked. The Instagram account, with over 16 million followers at the time, was placed under surveillance. Impersonation accounts created to confuse supporters were reportedly linked to ruling-party digital operatives.

The intimidation did not stop at digital platforms. AbhijeetDipke, physically located in the United States, began sharing WhatsApp screenshots of death threats received from unknown numbers. One message warned him to delete the CJP account and join the BJP — or face being 'killed in America.' Another implied the sender had knowledge of his parents' location in Chhatrapati Sambhajinagar, Maharashtra. His parents, alarmed, reportedly begged him to abandon the project. The Print reported messages suggesting they would find his address 'in no time.' Dipke posted publicly: 'Nobody's family should be hounded.' He declined to shut down. 'Cockroaches never die,' he wrote.

"You can hack and withhold the accounts but you cannot hack this movement. Every attack makes cockroaches stronger."  — Abhijeet Dipke, May 23, 2026

The political conspiracy theories arrived in rapid succession, each more implausible than the last. Because Dipke had volunteered for the Aam Aadmi Party between 2020 and 2023, the movement was branded an 'AAP venture' designed to stealth-destroy democratic opposition space. Former minister Rajeev Chandrasekhar described the CJP as a 'cross-border influence operation targeting Prime Minister Modi.' Union minister Sukanta Majumdar alleged suspicious patterns in the movement's overseas follower base. The CIA and the American Deep State were invoked. Pakistan-based botaccounts were cited. Former civil servant Ashish Joshi quit the movement demanding transparency, while educationist Sandeep Manudhane publicly warned citizens to 'beware' of the enterprise. All of this, in response to a satirical Instagramaccount run by a PR student.

The paradox is worth dwelling on. A regime that routinely claims strength, mandate, and popular legitimacy treated a satirical movement — whose own manifesto was framed as absurdist comedy — as a national security threat severe enough to invoke intelligence bureau action, platform suppression, and the intimidation of a founder's elderly parents. As opposition legislator Shashi Tharoor noted, this response tells us far more about the government's anxieties than about the CJP's power. The overreaction is, as the CJP's supporters have correctly noted, not a refutation of the movement's diagnosis — it is its confirmation.

Broad Conclusions: Frustration Has Gone Subterranean

Several conclusions emerge from this episode with uncomfortable clarity. The first is that India's democraticfrustration is no longer episodic or single-issue. The CJP's traction cannot be explained by any one grievance — not exam paper leaks alone, not unemployment alone, not judicial insensitivity alone. What the movement crystallised is a cumulative emotional economy of resentment, in which joblessness, inflation, caste humiliation, communal anxiety, institutional distrust, gender exclusion, and media capture have fused into a single collective experience of being ungoverned rather than governed, of being managed rather than represented.

The second conclusion is that India's democratic crisis has both an institutional and a psychological dimension. Many citizens continue to vote enthusiastically. But the reduction of democratic participation to periodic voting — while everyday forms of protest are delegitimised, surveilled, or criminalised— produces what might be called thin democracy: the form without the substance, the ritual without the meaning. When constitutional rights must be exercised in cockroach costume to avoid suppression, the form of democracy has survived but its spirit has been evacuated.

Third: digital mobilisation is now the de facto public square for India's youth — and it is a dangerously fragile one. Accounts can be suspended, withheld, throttled, flooded with impersonators, or drowned in organised trolling. The CJP's rapid encounter with platform suppression, just days after its founding, illustrates that the digital sphere — though vast — is ultimately navigable by state power. Section 69(A) of the IT Act is a blunt instrument, but it is available, and the current establishment has demonstrated no reluctance to use it.

Fourth and finally: contempt can become combustible. The Chief Justice's remarks — whatever their intended target — were heard by millions as elite disdain for the structurally excluded. That hearing produced solidarity at scale, across class, caste, gender and regional lines, with remarkable speed. When the powerful call the powerless parasites, they sometimes inadvertently create the very mass identity they sought to dismiss.

Three Futures: Dissipation, Civic Pressure, or Political Formation

The CJP now stands at a crossroads with three plausible trajectories. The first and most likely, absent deliberate strategy, is dissipation. Many online movements burn bright and briefly — a viral event, a few petitions, some international coverage, and then gradual fade under the twin pressures of state intimidation and audience fatigue. The platform suppressions have already begun. Dipke has expressed intent to continue, but the movement's leadership remains concentrated in one person, operating from abroad, without formal structure or legal infrastructure in India.

The second route is becoming a sustained civic pressure platform — and this is the most strategically viable path. The CJP need not contest elections to matter. It can become a constitutional youth accountability forum focused on employment, exam integrity, women's political representation, RTI campaigns, anti-caste protections, minority rights, judicial accountability, and media independence. It can build issue papers, coordinate legal challenges, and link its digitally native base with the offline struggles of farmers' movements, trade unions, women's groups and Dalit rights organisations. This is the 'societal engine' that the V-Dem Institute's research identifies as essential to democratic defence — and democratic recovery.

The third route is political formation — the riskiest and most complex path. A transition to formal party status would expose the CJP to legal scrutiny, resource constraints, ideological incoherence, infiltration, and the perennial risk of personality cult. If it moves too fast, it fractures. If it delays too long, it loses momentum. The challenge, if this path is chosen, is building organisation without being captured — by partisan interests, by state surveillance, or by the very electoral arithmetic it seeks to disrupt.

What Must Be Done: From Digital Catharsis to Democratic Architecture

If CJP's founders and supporters intend something more than a cathartic meme, specific institutional discipline is required. Transparent funding — crowdsourced, publicly audited, with no corporate or partisan dependencies — is non-negotiable if conspiracy allegations are to be pre-empted rather than merely rebutted. Decentralised leadership is equally essential: a movement that lives or dies with Dipke's personal safety and freedom of movement is a movement with a single point of failure that the state has already demonstrated willingness to target.

A legal defence team and digital security infrastructure are urgent necessities, not optional add-ons. The CJP must also build a moderation and fact-checking unit — not only to repel state-directed trolling, but to ensure the movement does not itself become a vehicle for misinformation, hate speech, or mob behaviour. A clear constitutional charter — explicitly committed to non-violence, anti-caste equality, gender justice, secular citizenship, labour dignity and institutional accountability — is needed to define what the CJP stands for, not merely what it stands against.

Most critically, the CJP must migrate from anger to agenda. Sonam Wangchuk, who declared himself an 'honorary cockroach,' understood instinctively that the movement'sresonance comes from its emotional authenticity — but emotional authenticity without programmatic clarity cannot generate lasting policy change. The isolated acts of symbolic protest — volunteers dressed as cockroaches cleaning the Yamuna riverbank, local rallies in Rohtak, the Bengaluruhuman chain that was pre-emptively denied permission by police citing a High Court order — must evolve into a coordinated national strategy of non-violent civic resistance rooted in specific, achievable demands.

What This Means for Indian Democracy: The Elected Autocracy Looks into the Mirror

The CJP experiment is the most vivid commentary on the state of Indian democracy in the 21st century precisely because it was not designed to be commentary at all. It began as absurdist humour and became political diagnosis. And what it has diagnosed — corroborated by V-Dem data, by independent economic research, by the plain evidence of the government's response — is a democracy that continues to hold elections while systematically eliminating the conditions that make elections meaningful.

V-Dem's classification of India as an 'electoral autocracy' is contested by the ruling establishment, which regards the label as foreign interference or opposition propaganda. But the CJP episode gives that classification a lived texture that no dataset alone can supply. Elections continue — but fear spreads. Citizens speak — but often through parody, because direct speech has been made costly. Youth organise — but accounts are withheld by intelligence directive. A founder's family is threatened because a satirical Instagram account became inconveniently popular. Constitutional language is invoked — 'peaceful, democratic, within the Constitution,' as Dipkehimself repeatedly and deliberately emphasised — and the response is blocking, surveillance, conspiracy theories, and WhatsApp death threats.

This is precisely what democratic erosion looks like in its 21st-century form. Not tanks. Not midnight arrests of all opposition leaders. Not the abolition of elections. Instead: the incremental normalisation of intimidation, the weaponisationof digital infrastructure against citizen expression, the deployment of conspiracy theories to delegitimise dissent before it can crystallise into organisation, and the cultivation of a climate in which the rational response to public engagement is private fear.

The task before India — before its citizens, its opposition, its institutions, and its civil society — is not to crush the cockroach metaphor but to listen to why 22 million people sought shelter in it. India's democracy has survived worse crises, including the Emergency of 1975-77, when the comparison with today is not merely rhetorical but is being made by serious constitutional scholars who lived through both. It survived because citizens acted — in courts, in newspapers, in elections, in streets, in cultural resistance. The question is whether the current generation of citizens, faced with a more sophisticated and digitally equipped form of democratic erosion, will find equivalent resolve.

"Democracy survives not when power is protected from citizens, but when citizens are protected from power.

Whether the Cockroach Janta Party fades into internet memory or evolves into a catalyst for democratic renewal remains genuinely open. But its legacy is already secure: it has revealed the depth of a nation's frustration, the fragility of a regime's confidence, and the endurance — even in the most suffocating political conditions — of the human impulse to mock the oppressor and insist on dignity. Cockroaches, as Abhijeet Dipke noted, never die. In the context of India's receding democracy, one can only hope the same holds true for the voice of youth.

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The Bihar Assembly Election 2025 has evolved into one of India’s most defining political contests in recent memory. What began as a state poll has now become a national litmus test — of performance versus perception, continuity versus change, and power versus patience. Bihar, a state often seen through the prism of poverty and migration, today stands at the crossroads of a political transformation whose echoes will resonate far beyond its borders.

Chief Minister Nitish Kumar, leading the BJP–JD(U) alliance, faces the toughest challenge of his long political career. His pitch for a “double-engine government” rests on claims of development — improved roads, electricity, and welfare schemes for women and students. Yet, the promise of industrial growth and job creation remains largely unfulfilled. Bihar continues to top unemployment charts, and lakhs of its youth still migrate to other states in search of dignity and livelihood. The very narrative that once consolidated Nitish’s image as “Sushasan Babu” is now under strain.

The opposition INDIA bloc, led by Tejaswi Yadav’s Rashtriya Janata Dal (RJD) and supported by the Congress, senses an opportunity to turn public frustration into political capital. Tejaswi’s campaign has focused on unemployment, caste justice, and corruption under the current regime. He has successfully re-energised the traditional Yadav-Muslim base while attempting to appeal to young and aspirational voters. However, his biggest challenge remains credibility — convincing the electorate that a new generation of RJD leadership represents change, not the return of the past era of lawlessness.

A third dimension has quietly entered Bihar’s political equation: the rise of independent movements such as Prashant Kishor’s Jan Suraaj. While their seat count may remain limited, their growing traction among first-time voters and educated youth indicates fatigue with the existing political binaries. These new formations may not capture power, but they are beginning to capture imagination — a space the mainstream parties have long ignored.

Beyond party arithmetic, the deeper story of Bihar 2025 lies in governance fatigue and social realignment. Caste equations, once rigid, are showing signs of fluidity. Issues such as job security, education, and gender empowerment are now shaping voter consciousness more than clan loyalty. Women voters, who have been Nitish’s consistent support base due to welfare schemes, may prove decisive again — or may express silent dissent if their aspirations remain unmet.

The conduct of the Election Commission, allegations of voter list errors, and the use of welfare delivery as electoral leverage have also sparked debate about institutional neutrality. The integrity of the process will matter as much as the outcome itself.

Whatever the result, Bihar’s election is not merely about changing governments — it is about restoring faith in governance. If the NDA wins, it will validate continuity and welfare-driven stability. If the INDIA bloc rises, it will signal a generational shift in Bihar’s political mood. Either way, this election is a reminder that democracy, even in its most fragile corners, remains India’s greatest strength — the power of the people to demand better from those who rule them.

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By Rahi Bhide

The Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) has successfully built a narrative that its own leaders are as “clean as washed rice,” while leaders from other parties are portrayed as “tainted and corrupt.” If the BJP wants to realize its concept of a “100% BJP India,” it must systematically weaken and discredit its allies — and ironically, its allies’ own missteps are helping the BJP do exactly that.

After allegations and administrative stays on Chief Minister Eknath Shinde’s decisions, it now appears that Deputy Chief Minister Ajit Pawar is the next target. The latest controversy — involving land purchases by Pawar’s son Parth Pawar — gives the BJP an opportunity to corner its ally ahead of local body elections.

In the Mundhwa land deal case in Pune, police have registered an FIR against eight persons, including Digvijay Amarsingh Patil, Parth Pawar’s cousin and business partner. However, the police’s selective action has raised eyebrows: Parth Pawar, who owns 99% of the shares in the concerned company (Ammedia Pvt. Ltd.), has not been named in the FIR, while those with just 1% shareholding have been booked.

From meeting the gangster Gaja Marne to alleged irregularities in land transactions, Parth Pawar has repeatedly landed himself — and his politically powerful father — in controversy. The latest case has once again forced Ajit Pawar, known for his aggressive style and administrative efficiency, onto the back foot.

Earlier, a series of inquiries and stays were ordered on decisions taken by Chief Minister Eknath Shinde. Now, the same pattern seems to be unfolding against Ajit Pawar. Political observers are asking whether the BJP — their coalition partner — is deliberately tightening the noose around him in the run-up to the municipal elections.

The irony is that what the NCP (Nationalist Congress Party) once did to the Congress — systematically weakening it from within — is now happening to the NCP itself under the BJP alliance. During its coalition years with the Congress, the NCP expanded its base by eroding Congress influence in key local bodies. Ajit Pawar pulled control of the Pimpri-Chinchwad and Pune Municipal Corporations away from Congress stalwart Suresh Kalmadi, and even the Pune Zilla Parishad came under NCP’s control. But today, the BJP appears to be doing to the NCP exactly what the NCP once did to the Congress.

In Solapur, several former MLAs aligned with Ajit Pawar — including Rajan Patil and Baban Shinde — have switched to the BJP. Even in sports administration, the BJP has steadily undercut Pawar’s dominance. During the Maharashtra Olympic Association elections, Ajit Pawar was pressured to compromise with the BJP. Though he retained the president’s post, most key positions went to BJP loyalists, and under the agreement, the presidency itself will transfer to the BJP after two years.

Adding to Pawar’s discomfort, one of his close aides, Namdev Shirgaonkar, faced criminal charges and threats of arrest — only to receive interim bail later. But by then, the BJP had already gained control of important posts.

Now, the Mundhwa land scam involving Parth Pawar has exploded in the media. The case revolves around 48 acres of land originally reserved for the Botanical Survey of India — land classified as “Mahar Watan”, historically reserved for community use. This land was allegedly transferred through multiple “Power of Attorney” arrangements, ultimately linked to companies associated with Parth Pawar, who planned to build an IT park there.

Because Ajit Pawar has long held sway over Pune’s administration, necessary permissions reportedly came through with unusual speed. But in the last six to seven years, the BJP has systematically dismantled his control over Pune and Pimpri-Chinchwad.

Now, as municipal elections approach, the land scam’s timing appears far from coincidental. With even Chief Minister Eknath Shinde promising an inquiry, and revenue department officials already suspended, speculation is rife that the BJP has launched a coordinated strategy to isolate and weaken Ajit Pawar politically.

Of course, it must also be said — as many within political circles admit — that Ajit Pawar’s son himself has handed the BJP this weapon through his questionable dealings.

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By Prof Ujjwal Anu Chowdhury

The so-called ceasefire in Palestine has been brought into effect on October 10 after Hamas freed the remaining alive 21 Jew hostages. Israeli army still maintains control over most of Gaza, continues to hold thousands of Palestinian refugees, has started renewed action in West Bank rapaciously stealing land and resources there, and at least a hundred Palestinians have been killed since Oct 10.

And in the last two years of 'war', which is actually a genocide, more than 70,000 killed, largely women, children and the elderly, more than 120,000 injured, and countless suffering hunger and homelessness now. 

"Indifference is the deadweight of history,": Antonio Gramsci, Italian philosopher. 

Yes, International Court of Justice has held Israel twice guilty of genocide and declared its ruler Netanyahu a war criminal. UN Security Council and the General Assembly have declared the so-called war, a classic full-scale text-book case of genocide. The most responsible nation for the birth of Israel, the United Kingdom, along with Australia, NZ and most of Europe, apart from the usual others, have recognised the State of Palestine and stressed upon the two-nation theory.

Israel, and it's benefactor, the USA, stand isolated. Yet the oppression continues, aid does not reach the Palestinian people, only a handful of their thousands of hostages have been freed, and there is  a hypocritical diplomacy by most of the nations, ours included. 

Ubuntu: I am because you are. The ages-long African wisdom is best seen ignored by mankind today. Sumud- the Arabic for Steadfastness, is best seen by the besieged historical people, the Palestinians. For them, the steadfast resilience is the only way of life, resilience with grace, defiance with dignity. It is seen in countless stories in the media, of injured grandmothers telling her Palestinian grand-children amidst rubble of their homes, "Remember, you have to rise again." It is there among the West Bank farmers who are now replanting Olive saplings exactly where the armed Jewish settlers had uprooted their fully grown trees. It is seen in the pictures of ill-fed unbathed Palestinian children studying under plastic sheets where their schools once stood. Palestine will eventually write the strongest story of graceful yet defiant survival against the worst oppressions of this century. 

It is heartening to see from the streets of Japan, across European cities of Italy and Spain, and upto the universities of the US, YOUNG people are up in strong loud rallies against the genocide. That hundred and more nations are recognizing the State of Palestine. That sports and trade and film meets boycotting Israel. Even Jew citizens asking to end the siege and young Jews refusing to join the Israeli Defence Forces (IDF) even facing arrest. 

In the land of Gandhi and Netaji, what are we doing? If not anything else, at least speak, write, rally, enact street theatre, protest art, organize seminars and create awareness. Let your tiny voice be heard and your conscience clear for posterity. Even a small stone can create ripples in dead water.

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By Rahi Bhide

The festive season of Diwali brings joy and celebration, with lights and sweets marking the victory of hope over despair. Yet, amid this glow, shadows loom. Farmers grapple with the uncertainty of life, worried about how to keep the hearth burning in the wake of devastating floods. While Diwali brings happiness to some, a darker reality confronts the youth of India, the very hands that are supposed to shape the nation’s future are treading a perilous path. It is imperative to eradicate this darkness amid the festival of lights.

Maharashtra has long been associated with farmer suicides, but now the state bears the additional stigma of rising youth suicides. According to the latest report by the National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB), student suicides in India have reached alarming levels, accounting for 7.6% of all suicides nationwide. The tragic death of a cadet at the National Defence Academy (NDA) in Pune has once again brought this issue into the spotlight. Every year, an estimated 13,000 students in India take their own lives.

The root causes are multifaceted: academic pressure, social stress, and the lack of institutional support and awareness. Children are trained for exams but not for life. They are often ill-equipped to handle failure, disappointment, or uncertainty. Mental health education should be a regular part of school curricula, and educational institutions must create environments where students can freely express their concerns and be listened to attentively. Teachers should be trained not only to teach but also to listen.

Beyond academic challenges, students face significant societal pressures. Despite numerous educational reforms and mental health initiatives, excessive academic stress continues to adversely affect youth. To address this, governments must implement programs providing psychological support to students, teachers, and parents. Intense competition, rigorous grading systems, and the lack of mental health services are key contributors to student suicides.

There is a growing sense of unease and distrust within India’s educational system. College counselors should be trained to identify students in need of urgent support, understand suicide risks, and provide appropriate interventions. Institutions must teach students emotional resilience, stress management, and suicide prevention, ensuring they never feel forced to give up on life. “Gatekeeper training” is essential for both students and educators to recognize signs of distress and respond effectively.

A 2019 study conducted jointly by the University of Melbourne, India’s National Institute of Mental Health and Neurosciences, and several Indian medical colleges surveyed over 8,500 students across 30 universities in nine states. It revealed that more than 12% of students had considered suicide, and 6.7% had attempted it at some point in their lives. The study recommended immediate implementation of mental health support and interventions in schools and colleges. The Supreme Court of India has described the situation as a “suicide epidemic” and, in March, established a ten-member national task force to develop a comprehensive strategic framework.

The pressure to succeed at any cost is immense. Tragically, a student’s entire sense of self-worth can hinge on a single exam, and this stress can lead to irreversible consequences. Establishing a robust support system—a protective shield—for students is essential. Most students lack adequate support, navigating academic and personal challenges alone. Mental health services tailored to their needs must be urgently expanded. Narrow definitions of success, gender bias, violence, and limited employment opportunities exacerbate stress and mental health issues.

In 2023, student suicides rose to 13,892, nearly a 65% increase from 2013 and a 34% increase from 2019. Overall suicides in India rose from 135,000 in 2013 to 171,000 in 2023—a 27% increase. Experts attribute this rise to academic pressure, unemployment, mental health challenges, and familial stress. Psychologists highlight that competition and social media pressures are accelerating mental health problems, often leaving students unable to express their struggles. Timely mental health assistance, counseling, and expanded support within educational institutions are crucial. Families and communities must also be sensitive to the mental well-being of children and youth.

Maharashtra leads the nation with 14.7% of student suicides, followed by Madhya Pradesh at 10.5%. In Kota, Rajasthan, a hub for coaching centers, there were 17 student suicides in 2024 and 26 in 2023. By May 2025, 14 students in Kota had already taken their lives. Across occupations in 2023, 27.5% of suicides involved daily wage workers.

Diwali is a festival of light, yet it should also illuminate the darkness engulfing our youth. Urgent, collective action is needed to address the mental health crisis in students and to provide them with the guidance, care, and resilience required to navigate life’s challenges. Only then can we truly celebrate a festival of light that dispels the shadows within our society.

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By Bhaga Warkhade 

(translated from marathi)

While Pakistan continues to hurl accusations at India and falters on every front, Pakistan-Occupied Kashmir (PoK) is burning in the flames of its own unrest. The region has witnessed a series of violent confrontations, deepening internal fractures within Pakistan itself. Several provinces have begun to voice secessionist sentiments, while Islamabad’s central authority appears increasingly weak and cornered.

The latest eruption in PoK came when violent clashes between demonstrators and security forces claimed the lives of nine people, including three police officers. Dozens were injured. To contain the situation, Pakistan’s federal government dispatched a negotiation committee to Muzaffarabad to hold talks with the Joint Awami Action Committee (JAAC) — a civil and trade body that has become the face of grassroots dissent across the territory.

The shutdown, called by JAAC leader Shaukat Nawaz Mir, began on 29 September, bringing life to a standstill across the districts of so-called Azad Jammu and Kashmir (AJK). The government imposed a complete communication blackout on 28 September, cutting off mobile networks and internet access. Muzaffarabad’s once-bustling markets are shuttered; street vendors have disappeared, and public transport lies idle. Nearly four million residents now find themselves in a fog of uncertainty and fear.

In a statement, authorities urged citizens not to be swayed by “false propaganda and fake news” on social media, claiming efforts were underway to restore order. Yet, this is the third major protest in just two years, triggered by Islamabad’s refusal to accept JAAC’s 38-point charter of demands. The ongoing conflict between local authorities and demonstrators shows no sign of abating — a crisis that demands a closer look at its roots.

The Roots of Unrest

PoK, a picturesque yet perennially disputed Himalayan region, has been a theatre of tension since 1947. Both India and Pakistan have fought multiple wars over it, while China controls two northern stretches. India’s repeated assertion that it will reclaim PoK has only sharpened Pakistan’s insecurities. Despite its alliance with China, Pakistan continues to lay claim to all of Kashmir, excluding the Chinese-held parts.

According to the 2017 census, PoK has a population of over four million. Though nominally self-governed with a Prime Minister and legislative assembly, it remains firmly under Islamabad’s grip. The roots of the current turmoil date back to May 2023, when citizens took to the streets against soaring electricity bills and the shortage of subsidized wheat. What began as scattered protests over daily hardships evolved into a coordinated movement by August 2023, culminating in the formal creation of JAAC the following month.

From Protest to Revolt

By May 2024, the agitation had transformed into a full-fledged “long march” to Muzaffarabad, turning violent and claiming six lives, including a police officer. Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif was forced to concede key demands—reducing wheat and power tariffs and announcing billions in subsidies. But the peace was short-lived. In August 2024, JAAC renewed its protest, demanding not just economic relief but structural reforms.

Its 38-point charter includes free education and healthcare, major infrastructure projects, tax relief, and an end to the entrenched privileges of the ruling elite. Among the most contentious demands are the abolition of 12 legislative seats reserved for refugees from Indian-administered Kashmir and the withdrawal of privileges for senior officials, such as state-funded cars, unlimited fuel, and personal staff.

JAAC argues that the refugee seats — originally intended to represent those who fled from Indian Kashmir during Partition — have become a political monopoly, sidelining local residents. It also demands the withdrawal of legal cases filed against protestors in 2023–24 and better employment opportunities for youth.

Islamabad’s Crumbling Grip

In response, the local administration has shut down schools indefinitely and called in paramilitary reinforcements from mainland Pakistan — a move that has inflamed local resentment. Official figures admit to nine deaths in the latest clashes, though local sources claim 15 fatalities. JAAC leaders have objected to the paramilitary deployment, calling it unnecessary and provocative.

Finance Minister Abdul Majeed Khan admitted that earlier negotiations had failed to produce a breakthrough. He defended the government’s stance, insisting that most demands were already accepted and that “not everything can change overnight.” The talks, however, collapsed over the two flashpoints — the reserved refugee seats and the rollback of elite privileges.

Khan’s justification — that refugees from Indian Kashmir had lost their homes and fortunes in 1947 and deserved protection — reflects Islamabad’s deeper fear: that granting full autonomy or equity to PoK’s residents could unravel Pakistan’s carefully maintained illusion of “Azadi” (freedom) in the region.

The Illusion of Freedom

For decades, Pakistan has portrayed PoK as a model of self-determination and a symbol of its solidarity with Kashmiris. But the reality on the ground tells a different story — one of economic neglect, political disenfranchisement, and growing alienation. As JAAC’s movement gathers strength, the myth of “Azad Kashmir” is being stripped bare before the world.

Repeated assurances from Islamabad have failed to calm the outrage. The deaths of protestors have further deepened public anger, making reconciliation increasingly unlikely. What began as an outcry over bread and electricity bills has now turned into a political awakening — a demand for dignity, accountability, and real autonomy.

The fires in Pakistan-Occupied Kashmir are no longer just about inflation or governance failures. They are the flames of a suppressed people asking questions that Islamabad can no longer silence.

If Pakistan cannot douse this fire with justice and reform, it may soon face the unthinkable — the unraveling of its own “Azad” narrative.

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