After the World Goes Quiet...

Someone shared these lines with me recently, and they resonated with me deeply.

These days, I find it difficult to sleep. When the day ends and everyone retires to bed, the night and the silence sit beside me and give me company. They know too much. The thoughts we avoid during the noise of the day. The things I never say out loud.

I dread the silence, because when the world finally goes quiet, it becomes unbearably loud.

The Laughter, The Arguments, The Regret and The Relief

My first memory of Jagdev goes back to Class 10 in school in Ranchi.

The session had already started a few weeks back and one of the classes was going on when a teacher walked into the classroom with a very lean, quiet Sikh boy and asked him to take a seat. That was Jagdev. If my memory is not failing me, he was wearing all whites - so maybe it was a Saturday - and had a green patka (A patka is a smaller, simpler form of turban worn by Sikh boys and sometimes by Sikh men during sports or casual activities).

To everybody’s amusement, instead of sitting in the boys’ section, Jagdev crossed the entire width of the classroom - straight to the first bench in the girls’ row - and sat there calmly. The entire class found it hilarious. Jagdev, however, looked completely unfazed.

I do not think we became friends immediately. In fact, when I think back about Class 10, I do not remember too many incidents involving him and me together. We must have been cordial - like everybody else in the class - but not particularly close.

He stayed in the main Dipatoli military cantonment on the outskirts of Ranchi and I stayed in the officers’ quarters in the middle of Ranchi. I am not even sure whether those were technically separate cantonments or part of the same military establishment. The two places were several kilometers apart and, in those days, friendships depended heavily on physical proximity. There were no mobile phones, no internet and no social media. Once school ended, everybody disappeared into their own part of the city.

Things changed a little in Class 11 when both of us joined the Commerce section. Ours was a smaller section with around fifteen or sixteen students while the Science and Arts sections were much larger. Smaller groups naturally create more interaction.

I started visiting his house occasionally. His family was warm and welcoming. His father had risen to officer rank in the army and they lived in officers’ quarters. Jagdev had sisters and he was the only son in the family. I could sense that he was deeply loved and probably the most naughty and pampered member of the household.

He was introverted. He spoke very little. But whenever he did say something, it was either unintentionally funny or unintentionally awkward.

And sometimes both.

The Haircut

One of my strongest memories from school involves Jagdev and a very unfortunate haircut.

When Jagdev had joined the school in Class 10, he used to wear a patka. At that point, like most Sikh boys from traditional families, he had long hair and had probably never imagined cutting it.

Then suddenly one day he decided to chop it all off. I still remember him telling me that with his hair gone, he was probably no longer welcome at his grandfather’s house in Punjab.

Why did he do it? I honestly do not know. Maybe he wanted to blend in better with the rest of us. Maybe he was tired of standing out. Or maybe, like most teenage boys, he thought a new hairstyle would dramatically improve his appeal among girls. High hopes!! That did not happen at all.

Initially, everything was fine. After the first few days, everyone got used to seeing Jagdev without a patka or turban. The novelty faded away and life moved on.

And then fashion happened.

Back in those days, a particular hairstyle had become extremely popular. Boys kept their hair longer on top while shaving or trimming the sides and the back almost to zero. Jagdev decided to go for it.

The result was unforgettable.

Since his scalp had remained covered by long hair and a turban throughout his life, suddenly exposing it fully revealed skin that was unbelievably white. It looked so strange and unexpected that the entire class found it hilarious. Even teachers commented on it. It made Jagdev awkward and conscious.

The next day, however, something miraculous happened.

Jagdev entered the classroom and his scalp looked completely normal. The shocking whiteness had disappeared overnight. For a brief moment we were genuinely wondering how he had managed that....Till he started sweating.

Slowly, very slowly, thin black streams began appearing near the sides of his head. That is when we realized the truth. To darken the exposed white skin, Jagdev had applied black liquid shoe polish all over his scalp. And now, because of sweat, the polish had started dripping down. People laughed uncontrollably. Even Jagdev eventually saw the funny side of it and started laughing himself.

Even today, after so many years, the incident brings a smile to my face.

Another thing that I remember from that entire haircut disaster is that Jagdev started getting a lot of flak from teachers for his new hairstyle. So, in what we believed was a great act of friendship and solidarity, some of us decided that we too would get the same haircut. I do not remember how many actually went through with it, but I definitely did. The hairstyle looked ridiculous on us. I blame the barber.

Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge

Another memory from those days is when he suddenly came to my house and insisted that I accompany him for a movie. The movie was Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge.

Both of us had already watched it, but he wanted to watch it again. He had truly loved the movie while I had found it just “okay”. So I was a little reluctant, but looking at his enthusiasm I joined him. He watched the movie like a complete fanboy and lived every moment of it. I could make out that the movie had made a significant impact on him. That remains one of my key memories of Jagdev from school days.

Shared Stupidity

There were also the usual immature school incidents that now seem ridiculous and funny in hindsight.

Once Jagdev made a remark to one of the girls in our class which offended her badly. She was furious enough to complain to our class teacher, who also happened to teach us Accountancy.

Now this particular teacher already disliked our group because we bunked his class quite regularly. So the moment he realized he finally had a legitimate reason to thrash one of us, he arrived in the classroom with the speed and aggression of a man who had been waiting for this opportunity for months.

Back then teachers could thrash students and easily get away with it. In fact, many parents probably considered it part of a teacher’s responsibilities. Nobody questioned it too much. Sometimes I miss those days (this is for a specific reader..my daughter)!

Until the teacher stormed into the classroom, most of us had absolutely no idea what Jagdev had done. The teacher entered, walked straight up to Jagdev and slapped him immediately before even beginning the lecture. The entire classroom froze for a second. Then he announced to everybody what Jagdev had apparently said to the girl.

The girls in class were scandalized. The boys - like boys - found the entire thing hilarious.

There stood our friend getting thrashed while the rest of us idiots struggled desperately to suppress our laughter. Some were giggling with heads down. Some were hiding behind notebooks pretending to be serious. We all ran the risk of becoming the next target.

School friendships are strange. At that age affection rarely expresses itself through emotional conversations or loyalty. More often it hides itself behind mockery, laughter, leg-pulling and shared stupidity.

Lost Touch

After Class 11, Jagdev left school. His father got transferred to Delhi (if I am not mistaken) and, like countless friendships in army/cantonment life, we lost touch completely. That was normal in the 1990s and before. People vanished from your life without closure. My father served in the army and I had already experienced this cycle repeatedly while growing up.

Reconnect-Disconnect-Repeat

Years later, social media happened.

Somewhere around 2012 or 2013, old classmates found each other again on Facebook and WhatsApp.

Jagdev was in Australia by then, living with his wife and daughter and working with Harvey Norman. I was in Malaysia with my own family.

Unfortunately, adulthood had changed all of us. In school we bonded over jokes, cricket, movies, girls and harmless stupidity. Now everybody had political opinions.

Jagdev and I often found ourselves on opposite sides politically. Initially the debates were manageable, but gradually they became personal and unpleasant. He would sometimes comment aggressively on my posts or on posts by some of my friends or colleagues, even though he did not know them personally. Heated exchanges became common.

To be honest, even in school we were never inseparable friends. After reconnecting online, we were more like old batchmates rediscovering each other.

Yet, when he blocked me on Facebook after one argument, I found it deeply strange. I could never understand how school friendships could become casualties of political disagreements.

Then one day he disappeared from the WhatsApp group too. For a couple of years, we did not interact.

Then one day in 2016, I randomly called him.

I have noticed something strange about myself over the years. I can remain angry with someone for a long time, but eventually the specifics fade away. That is a good habit in me. Unless I have felt insulted, I forget about the specifics of any argument or fight. I do not recall who said what. That makes it easy to overcome any bitterness. Sometimes all it takes is one normal conversation to rebuild a bridge.

That day I was sitting at KL Sentral in Kuala Lumpur when I decided to call Jagdev.

We spoke for a very long time. He spoke about spirituality and about a Guruji he had started following. He said he sometimes felt like leaving everything behind and staying in an ashram. He had actually discussed it with his Guruji but was discouraged from doing so. 

I asked him if everything is alright.

He told me that his marriage was going through a difficult phase. His wife had moved out and was staying separately with their daughter. I do not know the full story and therefore I cannot judge what happened between them. I told him that while I do not know the specifics, it seems that the issue is not something that cannot be resolved through communication and understanding. 

During the conversation, what I could clearly sense was the pain of separation from his wife and especially his child. Jagdev came across as a sensitive person and he sounded emotionally shattered. I realized for the first time how deeply he loved his daughter. 

I believe that daughters change men. They make even strong men vulnerable in the gentlest possible way.

That conversation affected me deeply and I prayed for him.

In the months that followed, he again went into a shell and unfortunately we again lost touch. I did try to reach him a few times but could not.

Regret

Probably the first time I regretted a social media argument was sometime in 2017.

Years earlier he had unfriended and blocked me after a political argument. Later he had again sent me a friend request on Facebook. I ignored it. Not because of ego. Not because I hated him. I think I simply felt hurt that somebody could throw away an old school connection over silly online debates.

Now I realize I was being equally silly.

In mid-2017, I got the news that Jagdev had passed away in a motorcycle accident in Punjab. It was a hit-and-run case. 

He was visiting his family in India. During his trip, he bought a motorcycle and had taken it out for a ride at night. A car hit him and sped away. He lay injured on the road for some time before help arrived. (source: a friend of Jagdev, who I reached out on Facebook when I heard the unfortunate news)

And just like that, a school friend was gone...forever.

Honestly, when I heard about his death, grief was not the only emotion I felt. I felt regret for losing touch. I felt regret for not accepting his friend request. I felt regret for not speaking to him more often.

But, above all, what haunted me most was the thought of his daughter. In 2017 she was just a toddler. I kept thinking that when she grows up, she may not even remember her father’s face clearly. She may never fully know how much he loved her.

And that thought broke something inside me. That silly argument and not accepting his friend request haunts me and will haunt me forever.

I made a silent promise to myself that if I ever get to connect with his daughter, I would tell her that her father truly loved her and cared for her deeply.

Relief

A few weeks ago another friend and classmate from school - Jinish Thomas - who is stays in Australia told me that Jagdev’s wife and daughter are doing well. They are in touch with Jagdev's family in Punjab and even visited them. He told me that Jagdev's daughter is growing up well. She is doing well in studies and extracurricular activities. She is happy. 

Hearing that gave me immense relief.

Jinish shared a video of Jagdev's daughter where she is wishing Happy Diwali to everyone. I felt that she looks like Jagdev but Jinish said she looks more like Jagdev's younger sister. I do not recall the face of Jagdev's sister so I cannot comment. But the video made me very happy and relieved.

I do not know if I will ever meet her in person or connect with her digitally. But if I do, I will tell her this -

"Your father loved you and cared for you deeply. More deeply than words can explain."

Jagdev, I miss you, my friend. Life took us in different directions and somewhere along the way we allowed silly arguments and distance to come between us. But when I think of you today, I remember the awkward, funny, sensitive boy from school days and the father who loved his daughter deeply. I will always pray for your daughter’s happiness, strength and well-being.

--------------------

The above is my FB post in 2017, when I heard the news. Much of what I had written, remains true even today. I still regret the silliness of those arguments and the distance that followed. But after hearing recent updates from Jinish about his daughter doing well, growing up happy and staying connected with Jagdev’s family, I finally felt a sense of relief. Somehow, that mattered to me more than I can explain. 

Leadership is More Than Knowledge and Expertise

Two leadership related statements stayed with me over the past year.

The first was:

“People respect someone and consider them a leader only when they see strong knowledge and expertise.”

The second was:

“There is a thin line between being friendly and being a friend.”

Both statements were made (in separate conversations) in the context of discussing the traits of a good leader. While leadership is far broader and more nuanced than these two perspectives alone, I found myself reflecting deeply on them.

Having observed leaders, teams, and workplace dynamics across a career spanning 23 years, I find myself agreeing with both statements to an extent. Expertise and knowledge certainly matter, and they do contribute to a leader’s credibility. However, I agree far more strongly with the second statement.

In fact, I recently came across a situation where both these statements could almost be analyzed side by side.

A close friend told me about a highly knowledgeable individual who took over a large team in his company. Multiple sub-teams were reporting into him and everyone was communicated the same. The person has robust domain knowledge and is highly experienced, and by the logic of the first statement, respect and leadership acceptance should have naturally followed. Yet, despite formal authority and clear communication structures, the individual continued struggling to gain genuine acceptance from the team.

Over time, it became increasingly visible that the challenge was not knowledge - it was leadership approach. In an attempt to be liked and accepted, the individual gradually became overly agreeable, tried to accommodate every concern, avoided taking firm positions, and focused heavily on staying in everyone’s good books. Last heard, he has also started to push back on few decisions of the management and has now adopted a 'Union Leader' approach, just to get the popularity votes. His leadership style has become less about balanced direction and more about seeking approval.

He also tends to take up the more important and visible tasks himself, possibly in an attempt to lead by example. While that may come from good intent, the way it is perceived by the team matters equally. When routine or less glamorous responsibilities are delegated, it sometimes creates an impression that such work is somehow beneath him. Over time, this can unintentionally weaken team ownership and create a sense of imbalance, because good leadership is not only about taking ownership of high-impact work, but also about demonstrating equal respect for every contribution within the team.

So, knowledge certainly matters. No two ways about it. Competence gives a leader credibility and creates confidence that the person understands the work. But expertise alone rarely guarantees respect or influence. Teams do not follow people only because they are knowledgeable. 

For example, in sports, some of the greatest players have not necessarily become the most successful captains or coaches. Technical brilliance may earn admiration, but leadership in a team environment requires the ability to inspire, manage personalities, maintain discipline, and make difficult decisions for the larger good of the team.

In fact, there have been examples where leaders proved their mettle despite having little or no technical expertise in the domain they were leading. Since I come from an automotive background, I naturally look at examples from that industry.

A fascinating real-world example is Alan Mulally. Before joining Ford Motor Company, he spent most of his career at Boeing and was not an automobile expert. Many within Ford understood the technical side of the business far better than he did. Yet Mulally became one of Ford’s most respected leaders - not because of technical superiority, but because of his ability to bring clarity, accountability, collaboration, and direction to the organization.

Coming to the second statement, I agree that problems begin when a leader crosses the line from being friendly to becoming a friend. In an attempt to be liked, some leaders start agreeing with everyone, validating every grievance, avoiding difficult conversations, and trying too hard to stay in everyone’s good books. While this may create temporary goodwill, it often weakens long-term respect.

Teams usually respect leaders who can maintain balance - leaders who are empathetic without losing objectivity, approachable without losing authority, and supportive without avoiding accountability.

Knowledge may create initial credibility. But leadership is ultimately sustained by maturity, balance, and the ability to maintain that fine line.

The Death of Boredom

These days we have endless options to entertain ourselves digitally. YouTube has millions of videos and shorts. Instagram has posts and reels, and the algorithms are so smart that they constantly show us exactly what we like - or what they think we want to see. Then there is WhatsApp to keep chatting with people all day. Add OTT platforms like Netflix, Amazon Prime Video, JioHotstar, Sony LIV, ZEE5, MUBI and countless others, all overflowing with content to watch. With so many options available at every second, we simply do not like even a moment of boredom anymore.

Something alarming happened today. I was watching a LIVE cricket match on TV and during every break, every strategic timeout, I found myself automatically looking for something else to watch. Whenever a decision was referred to the third umpire, I instinctively tapped the screen a couple of times to fast forward by 10-20 seconds - something that works on YouTube and OTT platforms but obviously not on LIVE television. At first, I found my own behavior funny. Then strange. And then honestly, a little alarming.

People my age have at least seen a different world. We have seen days with no TV, no electricity for hours, no mobile phones, no tablets, no internet. We have experienced boredom naturally because there simply were not endless distractions available all the time. But what about today’s kids? Imagine what constant exposure to reels, shorts, TikTok-style videos, binge watching and algorithm-driven entertainment is doing to attention spans and patience. If even we are struggling to sit through a 30-second pause in a LIVE match, what happens to a generation that has never really experienced waiting?

Ironically, studies now prove that embracing boredom is actually important for mental well-being. When the brain is not constantly stimulated, it shifts into what researchers call the “default mode network” - a state linked to creativity, self-reflection and problem-solving. Boredom is not something the mind should always escape from. In many ways, it pushes us to think deeper, reflect more, set goals, develop patience and reconnect with ourselves instead of depending on constant digital stimulation every waking second.

Maybe boredom was never the enemy. Maybe our inability to sit quietly with our own thoughts is. May be, we should let children experience boredom from time to time.

Bengal 2026: Why BJP’s Victory Was More Than Just an Election Result

There are some elections that merely change governments, and then there are elections that feel like larger political and social shifts. The 2026 West Bengal Assembly election belongs firmly in the second category. This was not just a routine transfer of power. It was the collapse of a political structure that had appeared invincible for over a decade and the rise of a party that, until recently, barely had any meaningful presence in the state.

Since the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) came to power at the Centre in 2014, it has been trying relentlessly to make inroads into West Bengal. For years, the state appeared politically impenetrable for BJP despite its rise across India. The party improved its numbers steadily, but Mamata Banerjee’s All India Trinamool Congress (TMC) continued to dominate Bengal politics.

In the 2024 Lok Sabha elections, TMC won 29 seats while BJP managed 12. The contest had been much closer in 2019 when TMC won 22 seats and BJP won 18. In 2014, TMC had won 34 seats while BJP had managed only 2.

The same pattern existed in Assembly elections too. In 2021, TMC won 213 seats while BJP won 77. In 2016, the tally stood at 211 to 76 in TMC’s favour. And in 2011, BJP had won just 1 seat out of 294. 

All of that changed dramatically in 2026. BJP won 207 seats while TMC was reduced to 80.

That is not just a victory. That is a political earthquake.

Why Did TMC Lose And Why Was It Politically Significant?

In my opinion, the single biggest reason many people wanted TMC to lose in the 2026 West Bengal Assembly election was the unchecked and undocumented influx of Bangladeshi migrants into the state and the gradual deterioration of law and order that voters felt had followed over the years. And let us stop pretending this issue exists only in political speeches. It is a real issue. No border state can absorb illegal migration indefinitely without social, economic, demographic and security consequences.

A large section of voters in Bengal increasingly began feeling that the issue was being deliberately ignored or politically protected for electoral reasons. The concern was not merely about migration itself, but about the perception that successive political interests were more focused on converting undocumented migrants into dependable vote banks rather than addressing the long-term implications for the state and the country.

Whenever concerns regarding illegal immigration, demographic changes or border security were raised, discussions were often diverted into emotional or ideological territory while the actual concerns of ordinary citizens were dismissed. For many voters, this gradually became symbolic of a government that appeared unwilling to acknowledge uncomfortable realities.

Importantly, these anxieties were never viewed as limited only to West Bengal. Bengal increasingly became both a settlement zone and a transit corridor. While many undocumented Bangladeshi migrants stayed back in Bengal because of local political protection and support networks, many also gradually spread into other states through informal labour networks. Concerns regarding illegal immigration and demographic changes have repeatedly been raised in Assam by Chief Minister Himanta Biswa Sarma, and similar anxieties exist in Tripura, Meghalaya and Mizoram. Reports and concerns have also emerged over time from Bihar, Jharkhand, Delhi, Maharashtra, Karnataka and Kerala. For many voters and BJP supporters, this therefore evolved beyond a state-level issue and became increasingly viewed as a governance issue, a border-security issue and ultimately a national issue.

The situation also contributed to growing dissatisfaction regarding law and order within Bengal itself. There were increasing complaints of intimidation, cadre dominance, political violence and localized criminal networks allegedly operating with political protection. Fear slowly became embedded into Bengal’s political culture, especially during elections and local political conflicts.

At the same time, many Hindus genuinely began feeling that their concerns, faith and cultural identity were being pushed into the background while minority appeasement increasingly became central to TMC’s politics. Festivals that should have been celebrated openly and proudly started becoming subjects of restrictions, permissions and political calculations. Complaints regarding Ram Navami processions, temple-related issues and communal clashes strengthened the perception among many voters that expressions of Hindu identity were often treated with visible discomfort by the ruling establishment. A secular government is expected to treat every community equally, not selectively appease one while alienating another.

Ironically, despite decades of so-called secular politics, very little genuine work has been done to improve the educational and economic condition of ordinary Muslims in India. Many political parties merely reduced them to dependable vote banks. If Muslims become educated, economically independent and politically aware, they eventually will begin questioning the very parties that claim to represent them.

Mamata Banerjee’s political approach over the years also deepened public frustration. There was a constant tendency to dismiss criticism as political conspiracy while avoiding genuine engagement with public concerns. Political violence became increasingly normalised, women’s safety emerged as a growing concern and many people gradually felt that the government had stopped listening altogether.

The R. G. Kar Medical College rape and murder case became a major turning point in that regard. The incident triggered outrage far beyond party lines and contributed significantly to the decline in support for TMC, especially among urban voters, women, students and sections of the middle class. The anger was not merely about one horrific crime. It reflected a broader frustration with the state of governance, administrative insensitivity and the perception that accountability had collapsed.

Eventually, accumulated public anger catches up. 

By the time the 2026 election arrived, anti-incumbency had become overwhelming. Fifteen years is an extremely long period in modern politics, especially when large sections of society begin feeling unheard, politically intimidated and disconnected from the ruling establishment. That is why the verdict felt less like a routine electoral defeat and more like years of accumulated frustration finally expressing itself democratically.

The election was also politically significant at the national level. Though regional, TMC had emerged as one of the strongest opposition parties in India. Even though opposition unity often appears inconsistent and opportunistic, regional parties collectively can influence national politics significantly over the long run. Weakening TMC politically therefore strengthens BJP and the National Democratic Alliance (NDA) nationally. 

Top of Form

Bottom of Form

How Did BJP Win?

The situation in West Bengal had become extremely volatile over the years. Ever since BJP seriously began expanding in Bengal, there were repeated reports of attacks on BJP workers and leaders. Several BJP workers lost their lives in political clashes and violence over the years, and this created enormous frustration among BJP supporters both inside and outside the state.

Many BJP supporters across India - including myself - believed at several points that the situation justified President’s Rule so that the central government could restore order directly.

But one thing must be acknowledged about BJP.

No matter how frustrated its supporters become or how aggressively opposition parties behave, BJP generally attempts to pursue its objectives institutionally and constitutionally.

Whether it was Article 370, citizenship laws or electoral battles, the party has consistently tried to operate through legal and procedural frameworks instead of extra-constitutional shortcuts.

So what did the party do?

I had always maintained one thing about West Bengal elections: if there were genuinely free and fair elections in Bengal where people could vote without fear, intimidation or pressure, TMC would lose. And that is perhaps the single biggest reason behind TMC’s defeat in 2026. For the first time in many years, a large section of voters genuinely felt they could step out of their homes, walk to polling booths and cast their vote without fear of local intimidation.

In many parts of Bengal, that itself was the biggest challenge.

The massive deployment of central forces played a crucial role in creating that confidence. People sitting in television studios can debate politics endlessly, but ground realities are often very different. In several parts of Bengal, political fear had become normalized and violence had become routine. The visible presence of central forces changed that atmosphere to a significant extent and reassured many voters that this time they would not be left completely at the mercy of local muscle power. And once that happened, the results followed.

Secondly, BJP workers, RSS karya kartas and leaders deserve enormous credit for this victory. What BJP achieved in West Bengal was not easy. Bengal is not historically a BJP state. Yet, over the years, the party steadily built grassroots organisation, expanded booth-level presence and campaigned relentlessly in districts where it was once almost invisible.

For years, BJP workers and RSS volunteers kept working relentlessly across Bengal despite repeated failures, political violence and intimidation.

Election after election, they kept trying. Sometimes they gained a little ground. Sometimes they suffered setbacks. Many workers were threatened, attacked and in some tragic cases even killed. Yet the organization continued expanding patiently at the grassroots level.

In many ways, it reflects the spirit of Rabindranath Tagore’s timeless words:

“Jodi tor daak shune keu na ashe, tobe ekla cholo re.”

(If nobody responds to your call, then walk alone.)

And eventually, people did respond.

Another thing BJP did intelligently was absorbing local cadres and leaders from other parties - especially those deeply entrenched in Bengal politics but disillusioned with TMC. Politics is not won only through speeches from Delhi. It is won through local networks, local influence and understanding the pulse of specific regions. BJP understood that reality.

Special Intensive Revision (SIR) of electoral rolls also played a part and became a major point of political controversy. TMC alleged that the process unfairly removed minority and migrant voters from electoral rolls. 

Let me be very clear about my position. Even if illegal or duplicate voters were removed disproportionately, I DO NOT consider that problematic. TMC had to be defeated at any cost. 

The official objective of SIR was to remove duplicate or deceased voters, correct electoral rolls and update residency records. Opposition parties alleged that Muslim-heavy areas were disproportionately affected. Whether one agrees or disagrees politically, ensuring accurate electoral rolls is not undemocratic. In fact, it is essential for democratic legitimacy. Through SIR, election commission ensured that no bogus vote is cast.

And ultimately, blaming SIR alone for such a massive defeat sounds more like political excuse-making than serious analysis. A victory margin of this scale cannot be explained only through voter-roll revisions. The public mood had clearly shifted.

More Than Just Electoral Mathematics

This victory feels much larger than electoral arithmetic. It feels like the result of years of persistence, organisational expansion and refusal to surrender despite hostility and intimidation. For BJP workers and RSS volunteers who spent years building the party patiently in hostile conditions, this victory represents vindication as much as political success.

After all, Bengal is the land of Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose - a man who believed courage and decisive action matter more than endless excuses.

“Freedom is not given, it is taken.”

Perhaps Bengal has finally decided to take back something fundamental. The confidence to vote without fear. The confidence to speak without intimidation. And the confidence to demand governance over political violence.

What Do I Expect From BJP?

Now comes the more difficult part. Winning elections is one thing; delivering meaningful change is another.

The new state government, along with the central government, now carries enormous responsibility because people have not voted merely for political change. They have voted with expectations - expectations of better law and order, safety for women, an end to political intimidation, and governance that functions without fear or violence.

One of the government’s biggest priorities must be restoring public confidence in the administration and policing system. Ordinary citizens should feel that they can live, speak, work, and practice their faith freely without constantly navigating political pressure, intimidation, or local muscle power. Bengal’s political culture remained excessively confrontational for years, and changing that atmosphere must become an immediate priority for the new government.

At the same time, the government must take border security and illegal immigration seriously. Illegal migration cannot continue unchecked indefinitely, especially in a sensitive border state like West Bengal. Borders require stronger monitoring, and people staying illegally in the country must be identified and dealt with strictly according to law. To put it clearly, kick them out.

For years, concerns regarding demographic imbalance, border security, and political appeasement were either ignored or dismissed. The new government will now be judged on whether it can address these concerns responsibly and lawfully rather than merely using them as electoral talking points.

However, governance cannot revolve solely around politics and identity issues.

Bengal desperately needs economic revival, industrial growth, administrative stability, and job creation. This is a state with enormous cultural, intellectual, and economic potential, yet for years governance remained overshadowed by political conflict and power struggles.

People now expect the government to move beyond slogans and finally bring stability, development and investment to Bengal.

Victory was the mandate. Governance is the test.

The Weight of a Broken Promise

I should not have written what I wrote.

Not because it was dishonest. Not because I said something I did not mean. But because the very act of writing it crossed a line I had promised I would not cross.

Someone shared something with me out of genuine care. It was not gossip, not manipulation, not an attempt to provoke me. It was something I was told only because that person felt I deserved to know. And before telling me, there was one clear request: do not react, do not discuss it, do not tell anyone.

I agreed.

What I was told deeply unsettled me - not because of the outcome of the incident itself, and not because things may not have gone in my favor. I did not ask for that and did not need that favor - though I genuinely respect someone acknowledging my contribution and fighting for me. However, I am content with what I have, and I do not live expecting more. Also, I do not think anything more is good for the larger cause. 

What disturbed me was something far more difficult to process: the nature of the conversation, the arguments made, and the positions taken by people I trusted. Learning that such a discussion had happened, and hearing how I was perceived within it, affected me more than I was prepared for.

It shook me.

That night, the weight of it stayed with me until the early hours. Sleep did not come easily. My mind kept returning not to what happened, but to what it revealed. In that emotional state - hurt, restless, and not thinking clearly - I did what I have often done when I do not know where else to place my thoughts: I wrote.

My blog has always been a strange, deeply personal space for me. It is not a weapon, not a signal, not a coded message meant for others to decipher. I do not write personal things there to provoke reactions or to make people respond. I write because, sometimes, it feels like the only place where I can speak without interruption. In many ways, it has been less of a platform and more of a friend - one that absorbs what I cannot always carry alone.

Writing eases pain for me. It organizes distress. It gives shape to emotions that would otherwise remain chaos.

But this time, even if my intentions were private, the act itself was still a reaction.

And that is where I failed.

I told myself I was being discreet. I convinced myself no one would understand what I was referring to. But discretion does not erase the fact that I responded when I had given my word that I would not. I broke a promise - not publicly perhaps, not explicitly perhaps - but meaningfully enough for me to know that I did.

That is what I regret.

I regret not honoring the position of someone who trusted me enough to share something difficult, carefully, and with concern. I regret allowing my distress to override my discipline. And most of all, I regret failing to uphold the one thing I had clearly said I would: remain silent.

This is not about denying my hurt, nor about pretending I was unaffected. I was affected, deeply. But emotional pain does not excuse breaking trust.

So this is simply an acknowledgment: I should have handled it better. I should have respected both the care with which that information was shared and the boundary that came with it.

I am deeply sorry.

If Sudama Had a Voice

We celebrate the friendship of Krishna and Sudama as one of the purest forms of friendship - humility meeting grace, devotion meeting divinity. Sudama had little, Krishna had everything, and yet their bond is remembered because neither wealth nor power defined it. Sudama came with love, not demands. Krishna gave with understanding, not pity.

But I often wonder what their relationship would have looked like if Sudama had a voice and he questioned Krishna when something felt wrong. What if he was still humble, loving, and deeply devoted, but not silent? What if he opposed Krishna when he believed it was the right thing to do - not out of pride, but because love sometimes demands honesty? What if devotion did not always look like folded hands, but sometimes like standing firm?

Would that have made Sudama less worthy, or would it have made the friendship even deeper?

Maybe Krishna, being who he was, would not have loved Sudama less for having a voice. Maybe he would have understood him more. And that is perhaps why their friendship would have survived even truth, even questions, even opposition.

I am sure their bond would still have endured - because Krishna is God.

Krishnas of Kalyug want devotion, not truth. They just expect the Sudamas to feel obliged and stand in a corner with folded hands. If Sudama finds his voice or questions, it will not tolerated and the friendship would end.

The Mirror You Handed Me

You are telling me, “Thanks for showing me the mirror and my true worth.”

First - see how well I know you, because I had already written about this exact reaction.

Second - isn’t this the pot calling the kettle black?

In the last episode we had, I told you very clearly that there was something I did not like. I told you that you insulted me. I told you that I am hurt. And what did you choose after that? Sarcasm. Silence.

So that is MY exact worth in your eyes, isn’t it?

That I should not have a voice? That I do not have the right to feel hurt? After all, who am I?

Moreover, you are telling me that I showed you your true worth - after reading my last blog!! After the episode where you weighed my worth in monetary terms? But Raja Saab ko toh sab maaf hai, isn’t it?

Before the latest episode, I come and hugged you so many times because I missed you. I have told you what you mean to me. I have stood by you. I have defended you. I have categorically refused to throw you under the bus and prevented others from doing that. I have always tried to be there whenever you needed me. I have cried for you. I have cared. I have prayed for you. I have counted on you.

I neither have the intention to tell you your worth nor the right to do that. 

But yes. I am showing you the mirror. Someone needs to. I do not have the right. But its not the first time nor the last time. That is because I care. 

Maafi Hukum 🙏

The Friend You Used to Be

You were once someone rare to me.

Not because you did grand things - though you did, and I don't deny that - but because you noticed me when most people didn’t. It felt that you understood me. In a world where presence is often loud but shallow, yours was quiet and real. That is what stayed with me. That is what mattered.

And it still does.

I’ve thanked you many a time. I still do. And I have meant it each time. May be you won’t understand why, but you mattered to me in ways that had nothing to do with what you could give. I of course never had much. I am not a man of means - I never was - but I have always tried to show up in the only way I knew how: by being there. Emotionally. Physically. Honestly. Consistently.

But now, may be in the last couple of years and definitely in the last one year, it feels that things have changed. I feel that you have changed and I guess you feel that I have changed. 

The person who once felt warm and genuine now feels distant and 'calculated'. I am sure that when you do things for people, you do not expect much. However, now very frequently, I hear that I did 'so much' for XYZ and I did not get anything in return. And invariably, that 'so much' is materialistic, expensive things. I have found it both strange and different. After all, friendship and generosity are not 'investments' and people's emotions cannot be 'returns'.

That shift is hard to ignore.

Another change is in the people you spend time with. They can be put in three broad buckets (and I am not including women; that's a very different subject). 

There are those above you. These are the ones you seem eager to impress, to emulate. I’ve watched you around them. You stop being yourself. You put up a performance. You are often quite fake in front of them. And I really do not think they respect you the way you think they do. I genuinely hope I am wrong.

Then there’s the middle ground - new friends who are similar to you in status. Comfortable, safe, predictable. No imbalance there, so no tension. You like spending time with them.

And finally, the ones who’ve been around the longest. The ones who knew you before all of this. The ones who care. This group also includes people who have not made it and probably never will. At least they would never achieve the definition of success that you have. You meet them but off late, it feels that you do not respect them. Their value seems negligible. Their voices are inconvenient.

Isn't it strange how the people who stood by you the longest now seem to matter the least?

The past couple of years have made this even clearer. You went through difficult times. To a large extent, it was self-created. From one bad habit to another (let us call them that as I really do not want to be specific). When you felt low, sad, depressed, angry - I was there. Not perfectly, not always with the right words, but I stayed. I questioned you when I had to because I am a friend and not a 'Yes Man'. I supported you when you needed it. I didn’t walk away, even when you tried to push me out. 

During this period, you made several choices. Some of them, extremely hard to defend. Harder to watch. I remained by your side.

I tried to be the 'voice of conscience' and told you the right thing to do. You never did. I still remained by your side.

You hurt people. You dismissed them. You subordinated everyone and everything - work, family, friends, me and - above all - your pride and self-respect. That's the part that hurts me the most because I took pride in you and respected you. I tried to stop you. You distanced yourself, proudly declaring that you no longer care what anyone thinks - that you’re finally living life for yourself. 

Well...you are succeeding. And I genuinely hope you are happy.

You pushed everyone away. Even those who once stood firmly beside you. You’ve drawn lines where there didn’t need to be any. And yet, when those same people feel bad and step back, you act surprised!!! Hurt, even!!!

That part is almost poetic.

I can already imagine your reaction to all of this - something along the lines of, “After everything I’ve done…”

And that’s exactly the point.

Not everything can be bought. Not loyalty. Not respect. Not self-worth. Contrary to what you might believe now, not everyone is transactional. Not everyone trades dignity for gifts, or affection for favors. Some people still hold on to things like pride and self-respect. Outdated concepts to you perhaps but they matter to people. 

For what it’s worth - I never stayed because of what you offered. Not the gifts. Not the gestures. Not the things you insisted on giving. Take back everything you have given and more....but return my old friend.

I stayed with you because of who you were. You used to care. You used to listen. You used to understand without needing explanations. That version of you - that’s the one who mattered. This version… now feels unfamiliar. 

I am hurt.

You know that. Not because you understood. Now, I no longer expect that from you. You know that because you asked, "are you mad at me for something"? And I told you. And then what? You chose silence over conversation. I would never do that to you because this is not what friends do.

But ya, it’s an interesting choice - to walk away from someone who doesn’t need to ask if you’re hurting, because they already know. You have said that to me. I understand when you are hurt, sad, angry, depressed, anxious. I get that by looking at you. I get that from your voice. If I have to ask you then I have failed as a friend.

I am someone who stayed. I am someone who cared. Someone who, despite everything, still does.

But I don’t expect anything from you now. Not explanations, not apologies, not a sudden return to who you were. High hopes, isn't it??!! What am I even thinking? I know your reaction if and when you read this would be what I said earlier, "Wow...after everything I’ve done, this is what I get...."

I just hope - genuinely - that whatever path you’re on keeps you as happy as you believe it will. That the bubble holds. That the wonderland doesn’t crack under its own weight.

And that your 'Pursuit of Unrealistic Happiness' turns out to be worth it. Because it did cost something. More than you realize - or may ever be willing to admit.

Take care. I mean that. Even now. 

You have hurt me immensely. You know that - unlike you - I do not have many friends and when I needed anything, I have always turned to you. Thanks for taking that away. You have shown me, with remarkable clarity, how little I matter.

But I still care and...I always will. I have not given up on you. It is not in me at all. I still hope that one day you will stumble your way back to senses and understand your priorities and the people who genuinely care. Will wait...

Girl on the Foot-Over Bridge

Yesterday, my wife showed me news reports about the death of Ali Khamenei’s granddaughter in a joint USA-Israel strike on Iran. While I personally support Israel’s position in this conflict, the photograph of the 14-month-old child visibly unsettled my wife and made me pause as well. I found myself thinking about the fate of the child, who would not have understood what is going on around her. Well, she was not alone as no one completely understands what is going on.

This brief exchange with my wife somehow took me back to 2016. To a personal experience but the context is of Syrian civil war and the refugee crisis.

I would not go into the details of the crisis but by 2015, millions of Syrians were attempting to flee the conflict, seeking refuge across borders. Several neighboring countries like Turkey, Lebanon, Jordan, Iraq and Egypt hosted millions of refugees.

In Europe, Germany opened its doors to a large number of asylum seekers. I remember that I would often joking remark that Germany appeared to be attempting to correct a historical wrong, though I questioned whether such a gesture was necessary or prudent. Countries including Austria, Sweden, Netherlands, and Greece also received significant numbers of refugees.

I remember being particularly struck by France’s position. France has had issues with Islamic fundamentalists. It probably started with the 2010 ban on face-covering veils (burqa). Then in January 2015, the offices of French satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo in Paris were attacked by Islamist gunmen, resulting in the deaths of 12 people. The assault was motivated by the magazine’s earlier publication of cartoons depicting the Prophet Muhammad, which had generated significant controversy. “Je suis Charlie” (French for “I am Charlie”) emerged as a worldwide slogan, hashtag, and emblem of solidarity in defense of freedom of expression and the press.

That France was also among the nations that extended shelter to Syrian refugees – though in comparatively small numbers (roughly 50,000) - struck me as bizarre! France indeed has been facing issues as there have been concerns about security, national identity, and the capacity to integrate migrants.

Back in 2015, in various discussions and on social media, I was vocal in criticizing what I perceived as an overly casual and permissive approach by several European countries. I argued that unchecked influx of Syrian refugees was risky as it was believed that even radicals, involved in mass killings in Syria, were using the situation to get into Europe. I maintained firmly that Syrian refugees should remain within neighboring region.

Yet, even as I held that view, a single image shook me. In September 2015, a two-year-old Syrian boy drowned in the Mediterranean while his family attempted to reach Europe. The photographs of his small body on a Turkish beach became the symbol of the crisis. The image haunted me for some days and may be weeks but then like it always happens, we moved on and forgot about it. My strong opinion about the Syrian refugees did not change though.

Then something happened in late 2016. It did not change my opinion but gave me another perspective.

It was the time when me and my family were preparing for our relocation from Malaysia to India. We had spent 5 years in Malaysia and were looking forward to the move to India. We were quite busy with the packing, paperwork and coordination with the cargo company. Our departure was probably a week away and then – like always in the last minute - my wife reminded about my daughter’s bicycle. My daughter was 5 years old and was extremely fond of her pink and white bicycle. It would have been prudent to sell off the bike and buy a new one in India but so much was about to change in her young life that I did not want her to part with something familiar and comforting.

Transporting the bicycle required dismantling it properly, so we decided to take it to the same shop from which we had bought it. The incident happened on the way.

It must have been around 3PM and we took a cab to go to the bicycle shop. At a busy traffic junction, I noticed a well-built man in a thick brown T-shirt and grey trousers. He was barefoot, moving from one vehicle to another, asking for help. Homelessness and begging, while not as visible as in India, do exist in Kuala Lumpur, so at first I paid little attention. A few seconds later, I looked again and saw that he was holding a piece of cardboard that read: “Syrian Refugee. Looking for Work and Help.” I looked at him for few seconds as I had not met or seen someone from Syria before. I was certain that I would not give him any money - primarily because of my strong opinion regarding Syrian refugees.

I looked away.

Near the junction stood a foot-over bridge (or pedestrian overpass) and I noticed a little girl sitting on the stairs. She was about the same age as my daughter. She was fair, had unkempt hair, and was barefoot. She was wearing a soiled frock - which I am sure would have been white back in Syria. Both the frock and the little girl looked as though they had seen much better days.

She watched the Syrian man with an expression that can be best described as a combination of affection, hope, and a child’s boredom. I looked at the Syrian man and at that point I noticed that, while he was busy going from one vehicle to another, he was regularly looking at her. While I am not certain, but I think she was his daughter.

Even in that condition, the little girl was strikingly beautiful. Her face radiated innocence. I kept looking at them – especially the little girl.

(Since I am sure you are thinking about it, let me clarify that it was a busy signal and we were there for few minutes.)

Then something else happened. A ragpicker – apparently a Malaysian homeless man - appeared from nowhere and started climbing the stairs of the foot-over bridge. He too had unkempt hair, wore a dirty shirt and khaki shorts. He was wearing a pair of slippers. When he reached the girl, he stopped. I felt a surge of anxiety. I looked at the Syrian man but at that moment, he was not looking at his daughter. This made me even more anxious.

Suddenly, the ragpicker reached into his bag and took out a half-eaten packet of potato chips. I distinctly remember shouting a silent “No” from inside the car. The girl looked at the packet, then at the man, then back at the packet. I hoped she would refuse, worrying that it might be unhygienic. I also questioned the ragpicker’s intentions. We clearly had different concerns in mind. She was thinking of hunger, I was thinking of hygiene and her safety.

She glanced toward the Syrian man, who at that very moment - much to my relief – looked toward her. He paused briefly and nodded, giving silent permission. The girl smiled. I still clearly remember that beautiful smile. She looked at the ragpicker, smiled again, and accepted the chips. The ragpicker gently and lovingly touched her head and walked away. I felt a sudden strange pain in my heart. It broke my heart to see she was so hungry that she was willing to take a half-eaten packet of chips.

Just then, the traffic began to move. Argghhh!!!

I do not know why but I asked the taxi driver to stop. He refused, saying he could not halt in the middle of the junction. Of course! I asked him to cross and stop beyond it. He replied that our destination was only 400 metres ahead and that it would be better to stop there. I agreed.

When we reached the bicycle shop, I carried the bike inside and asked my wife to supervise the dismantling as I have to go somewhere. She looked puzzled but did not question or stop me.

I ran back toward the junction hoping to find the girl there. I was desperate and ran as fast as I could. Somehow, it still took a while! When I reached the junction, I was relieved to see that the little girl was still sitting on the same step, eating the chips slowly, as if determined to savor each bite.

I crossed the road and approached her. She was startled to see a chubby Indian man hurriedly approaching her - while gasping for air!! (okay, I am not a runner......yeah yeah, I am not even a walker)

I stopped and looked towards the Syrian man, who by now had noticed me and was hurriedly moving towards us. When he reached us, I asked him if the girl was his daughter. That is when I realized that he does not understand English. He obviously did not understand Hindi, and I did not understand his language. He was looking at me with suspicion.

So, using gestures, I tried to explain that I too had a daughter of similar age. I took out my wallet and handed him all the cash inside. I do not know how much money was in it as I never have an idea about the money in my wallet, but it was not a small sum. I handed him the money and tried to explain to him that it is for her, and he should buy her something to eat. With gesture, I blessed her.

I do not know how much he understood but I think he did get some of it. He no longer looked at me with suspicion. He said a few things softly, but I did not understand him. He extended his hand and we shook hands. He had very thick, very strong hand and a firm handshake. I looked at the girl and smiled. She was looking at us and had a puzzled expression on her face. I wanted to say something to her. I think I did. She did not understand me. I said bye to both and turned back to go to my confused wife and my little angel - who was probably thinking that we have come to buy another bicycle for her! When I reached her, I hugged her and silently prayed that she stays away from misfortunes.

Three thoughts came to me on that day - two immediate, one later.

The first was that I wished I had more money in my wallet. They clearly needed help.

The second thought troubles me to this day. I wish I had bought her some snacks on the way. There was no time to buy a proper meal, but I could have stopped - during my marathon - to buy her something to eat.

The third thought came hours later. And it returned yesterday, when my wife showed me the photograph of the deceased granddaughter of Ali Khamenei. Whatever positions we may take on conflicts between nations, religions, races, or political ideologies, when we arrive at the most fundamental human level - the level of an individual, especially a child - our instinct is not to argue but to feel for them. And if possible - unless the person is truly evil or it's a matter of nation's interest - respond with humanity.

That is the way it should be. Before we are citizens, supporters, critics, or opponents, we are human beings. And it is precisely this reflex - to see the child before the flag, the person before the politics - that is likely to preserve what is best in us. If anything can sustain humanity through its divisions, it is that simple, uncalculated impulse to care.