Opinion
Mon 13 Oct
The article has been published with: As the first phase of US president Donald Trump’s 20-point peace plan for Gaza gains traction, with both Hamas and Israel cautiously signing onto its initial framework, a new moment of reckoning arises not just for the region but for India, whose interests and ideals converge at the heart of Gaza’s fragile peace.
For India, peace in Gaza is not an abstract moral issue but a question deeply linked to its historical diplomacy, energy security, and regional aspirations. New Delhi’s engagement with the Palestinian question predates its own independence. In 1947, Jawaharlal Nehru ensured India’s participation in the UN Special Committee on Palestine, where India defied the Western bloc to support a single federal state with Arab and Jewish provinces, a stance consistent with its postcolonial belief in coexistence and self-determination.
As the first phase of US president Donald Trump’s 20-point peace plan for Gaza gains traction, with both Hamas and Israel cautiously signing onto its initial framework, a new moment of reckoning arises not just for the region but for India, whose interests and ideals converge at the heart of Gaza’s fragile peace.
The plan, which emphasises large-scale international investment in water, energy, health, and infrastructure, has drawn careful support from the European Union and several Arab states, including Egypt, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, and the UAE.
While many remain concerned over the absence of a clear timeline for Israel’s withdrawal, the momentum itself is significant. Prime Minister Modi welcomed the plan as “decisive progress” and a “significant step forward,” signaling India’s willingness to see stability return to Gaza after years of destruction and despair.
For India, peace in Gaza is not an abstract moral issue but a question deeply linked to its historical diplomacy, energy security, and regional aspirations. New Delhi’s engagement with the Palestinian question predates its own independence.
In 1947, Jawaharlal Nehru ensured India’s participation in the UN Special Committee on Palestine, where India defied the Western bloc to support a single federal state with Arab and Jewish provinces, a stance consistent with its postcolonial belief in coexistence and self-determination.
In the following decades, India extended sustained financial support to the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees (UNRWA) and contributed troops to successive UN peacekeeping missions, including the UN Emergency Force in the Suez and Sinai, where Indian soldiers even lost their lives during the 1967 Arab-Israeli conflict.
India’s solidarity with the Palestinian cause has never been merely symbolic. In 1988, it became one of the first non-Arab nations to recognise the State of Palestine, a step that many Western democracies only began contemplating decades later. Yet, the early 1990s marked a recalibration. When India established full diplomatic relations with Israel in 1992, it was not a repudiation of its commitment to Palestine but a response to the changing geopolitical order.
The Madrid Peace Conference has brought new players to the table, and India, wary of being excluded from the evolving peace process, adjusted its strategy to engage with both sides. Since then, India has attended donor conferences, participated in UN committees on Palestinian rights, and provided development assistance and technical training to the Palestinian Authority (PA), while simultaneously building robust defence, agricultural, and technology partnerships with Israel.
This dual approach, combining principled support for Palestinian sovereignty with pragmatic engagement with Israel, has been the defining feature of India’s Middle East policy for over three decades.
India has repeatedly condemned terrorism in all its forms, including attacks on Israeli civilians, while also expressing concern when Israel’s military operations inflict civilian suffering in Gaza. Its response to the recent conflict, particularly after the airstrikes near Doha, was carefully worded but deliberate, reiterating the need to respect international humanitarian law and resume dialogue toward a two-state solution.
At the heart of India’s interest in the new Gaza plan lies not just diplomacy but economics as well. With the Abraham Accords reshaping West Asia, India finds itself part of a new cooperative architecture that bridges both Israel and the Gulf.
The India–Middle East–Europe Economic Corridor (IMEC), announced in 2023, exemplifies this shift, a project linking India’s ports to the Gulf, Israel, and onward to Europe through rail and maritime routes. Its success depends on regional stability.
A peaceful Gaza, integrated into a broader framework of reconstruction and trade, directly serves India’s interests in securing energy supplies, ensuring uninterrupted trade flows, and maintaining safe conditions for over eight million Indians living and working in the Gulf region, whose remittances exceed $40 billion annually.
Israel’s ambassador to India recently suggested that New Delhi should take an active role in Gaza’s reconstruction, citing India’s expertise in infrastructure, water management, and digital governance. Indian companies such as Larsen & Toubro and Tata Projects have already demonstrated their capacity to execute large-scale civil works across the Middle East.
India’s engagement in the region would not only consolidate the nation’s image as a development partner but also reinforce its credentials as a responsible power capable of constructive mediation.
Beyond economic calculations, India’s participation would resonate with its broader foreign policy doctrine, one that blends strategic autonomy with normative leadership. As a founding member of the Non-Aligned Movement, India has historically positioned itself as a bridge between the Global North and South.
Today, that legacy continues through new minilateral groupings such as the I2U2 (India, Israel, UAE, United States), which promote cooperation in food, energy, and innovation. By constructively engaging in Gaza’s recovery while upholding Palestinian sovereignty, India can project itself as a moderating force that values peace without partisanship.
However, the path ahead demands caution. Aligning too closely with the Israeli or American approach could alienate traditional Arab partners, especially those sensitive to Palestinian sovereignty.
The challenge for India, therefore, is to sustain a credible middle course one that upholds humanitarian principles while remaining anchored in realpolitik.
In Gaza’s fragile future, India’s role could go beyond financial assistance. Its record in peacekeeping, institution building, and capacity training makes it uniquely positioned to help restore basic governance, healthcare, and education systems.
Indian NGOs and development agencies, working alongside UN bodies, could contribute to skill-building programmes that empower Palestinian youth and reduce dependence on aid.
From Nehru’s moral idealism to Modi’s pragmatic outreach, India’s policy on Palestine and Israel has been marked by adaptation without abandonment. The new Gaza peace plan presents yet another test of that balance.
Whether India chooses to remain a cautious observer or an active participant in reconstruction will reveal how it defines power in the twenty-first century.
Opinion
Fri 3 Oct
This article has been published with: Rethinking free speech through Sahyog
Sahyog can serve public good but only if backed by transparency, statutory clarity and judicial review. Otherwise, it will remain a contested experiment seen by some as shield against cybercrime and by others as a step toward state overreach.
From the very beginning, India’s free speech story has been a push and pull between expansive liberty and cautious regulation. When the framers of India’s Constitution enshrined freedom of speech and expression in Article 19(1)(a), they understood that democracy thrives on debate, disagreement and dissent. Yet they built in caveats; Article 19(2) that permits the State to impose “reasonable restrictions” in the interests of sovereignty, public order, morality and security.
In this regard, the Supreme Court has often stepped in. In Romesh Thappar v. State of Madras (1950), it struck down a ban on a political journal, declaring that freedom of speech lay “at the foundation of all democratic organisation.” In Shreya Singhal v. Union of India (2015), it famously scrapped Section 66A of the IT Act, holding that vague powers to police online speech violated constitutional guarantees.
Time and again, the judiciary has stressed: restrictions must be narrowly tailored, reasoned and subject to oversight. Which brings us today to the Sahyog portal. Launched by the Union IT Ministry last year, it is a centralised digital platform through which government agencies and police can issue takedown requests to social media intermediaries. Officially designed to combat cybercrime and harmful online content, it allows authorities to flag and demand removal of posts directly.
The controversy arises because critics argue that the portal bypasses the safeguards of Section 69A, operates in secrecy and risks enabling censorship.
Yet, in a recent ruling, the Karnataka High Court took a different view: it upheld the government’s use of this digital tool, dismissing X Corporation’s plea that labelled the system “extra-legal censorship”, and instead described the portal as “an instrument of public good” and a “beacon of cooperation” against online harms, and that it is a cooperative mechanism to tackle cybercrime.
Soon after, Elon Musk’s company declared it was “deeply concerned,” warning that Sahyog allows millions of officers to demand removals in secrecy, bypassing safeguards of Section 69A, infringing on constitutional rights.
So, is this really censorship?
Supporters say this is not an arbitrary censorship but enforcement. The internet is flooded with deepfakes, child exploitation material, hate campaigns and frauds. Harm spreads at the speed of a click, while legal blocking orders often take weeks. A centralised portal, they argue, makes cooperation efficient, protects victims swiftly and reflects the State’s duty to maintain public order.
Seen in this light, Sahyog is a policing tool against criminal misuse not a muzzle on political dissent.
The high court’s view fits this reasoning: challenging the portal is, in its words to ‘misunderstand its very purpose.’
Yet critics, civil society, legal scholars and X see danger in how Sahyog operates. Unlike Section 69A, which requires reasoned, reviewable orders, Sahyog enables opaque takedown requests. No public record, no notice to users, no guaranteed oversight. This, they argue is ‘arbitrary censorship,’ not in its declared intent, but in its unchecked potential.
The real threat is that an officer in one corner of the country could order content down in another, with the citizen left unaware of the grounds. Genuine dissent or inconvenient reporting may vanish under the same framework meant to remove harmful content. When removals happen without transparency, it often seems as silencing even if done unintentionally.
Well, censorship is not always about intent, but also about a process. A system that removes content without reasoned orders, without notice, and without accountability resembles censorship in practice, even if born of noble objectives. Sahyog, as currently designed, can risks blurring that line.
The government insists that “the Constitution wins.” Musk insists that free expression is under threat. The truth lies in neither extreme. Sahyog can serve public good but only if backed by transparency, statutory clarity and judicial review. Otherwise, it will remain a contested experiment seen by some as shield against cybercrime and by others as a step toward state overreach.
India’s constitutional journey has always been about negotiating liberty and restraint. Whether Sahyog becomes a cooperative safeguard or a creeping censor will depend less on its technology, and more on how faithfully it is made to follow the spirit of Article 19.
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Opinion
Thu 4 Sep
Asia’s most prestigious public service honor, Ramon Magsaysay Award, has this year been conferred on “Educate Girls,” an Indian non-profit that has brought millions of out-of-school girls back into classrooms. The recognition stands both as celebration of achievement and as a symbol of aspiration.
For the first time, an Indian organisation and one dedicated solely to girl’s education has received this prestigious honour. The award not only highlights how far India has come in transforming the lives of millions of girls through education, but also serves as a reminder of the long journey that still lies ahead before this silent revolution reaches its full promise.
From a time when literacy among girls was an exception, India now has near-universal enrolment at the primary level, gender parity in early schooling, and the foundations of a society that is increasingly recognising the right of every girl to study.
India’s education system today is among the largest in the world, with 250 million children enrolled in schools. Yet many girls drop out due to poverty, patriarchy, household chores, early marriage, lack of nearby schools, and sometimes due to basic barriers such as absence of toilets. Addressing these last-mile challenges will decide whether India’s educational revolution matures into a lasting transformation.
To deny a girl education is not just injustice, it is a self-inflicted wound.
The organization “Educate Girls,” founded by Safeena Hussain, began with just 50 villages in Rajasthan and today, it operates in more than 30,000 villages, having mobilised over 1.4 million girls into schools.
The organisation’s genius lies not just in advocacy, but in architecture as well. Team Balika, an army of 20,000 community volunteers works door-to-door, persuading families, negotiating with local authorities, and hand-holding children back into classrooms. This blending of grassroot energy with systemic reform has made the model durable and scalable. Hussain’s earlier recognition with the WISE Prize, and now the Magsaysay, underline that India’s innovation in education resonates across the globe. As “Educate Girl’s” chair Ujwal Thakur puts it, “This is not charity or welfare, but the most powerful investment in the nation’s future.”
Well, this story of change is not of civil society alone. The Indian state has laid strong foundations for this educational transformation. The Right to Education Act, made schooling a constitutional guarantee. Samagra Shiksha integrated quality, equity, and access into one umbrella scheme.
Kasturba Gandhi Balika Vidyalayas created safe residential schools for marginalised girls. Beti Bachao Beti Padhao shifted the national imagination about the value of the girl child. States, too, innovated, like the Bihar’s bicycle scheme became a symbol of adolescent girls mobility and confidence, reducing dropouts and inspiring replicas across India. These interventions, combined with grassroot efforts, have pushed the revolution forward.
It is worth remembering that this is the fulfilment of a vision long articulated by Indian reformers. Savitribai Phule, the country’s first woman teacher, defied caste and gender prejudice to open schools for girls in the 19th century. Her husband, Jyotirao Phule, fought alongside her to expand education as a right of the oppressed. Rabindranath Tagore saw learning as liberation of the mind, while Mahatma Gandhi and B.R. Ambedkar regarded education as the pathway to equality and justice.
In more recent times, Amartya Sen has persuasively argued that women’s education is not just a moral imperative but a developmental multiplier.
Today’s progress is attribute to these thinkers and to the ordinary teachers. Volunteers, and families who are carrying their legacy forward.
The dividends are quite visible. Each year of secondary schooling delays early marriage, improves mental health, and boosts lifetime earnings. The World Bank estimates that every girl in India completed 12 years of schooling, the GDP could grow nearly 10% within a decade. Girls’ education has ripple effects across health, productivity and democracy itself.
When given the chance to study, rural girls often break cycles of poverty and challenge deep-rooted stereotypes. Their education becomes a multiplier. Anita Gupta from Bihar, born to a family of daily wage labourers, studied under streetlights because her home had no electricity. Her determination earned her scholarship and a place at the UN Youth forum.
These journeys show that rural girls are not passive benefeciaries but active changemakers.
The challenge now is to sustain momentum and extend gains. Rural India still sees the widest gender gaps, with millions of young women having dropped out between the ages of 15 and 30. Educate Girls’ PRAGATI programme, which reintroduces adolescent girls to learning through camps and open-school exams, shows how to plug this gap. Expanding Kasturba Gandhi Balika Vidaylayas up to Class 12, ensuring universal access to safe transport, and prioritising foundational literacy by Grade 3 are critical next steps. Most importantly, India must move beyond enrolment as a metric, and make completion and learning outcomes the new benchmarks of success.
Globally, there are lessons to borrow. Bangladesh tied stipends to attendance and delayed marriage, keeping adolescent girls in school. Vietnam invested heavily in rural schools and achieved near-universal lower secondary completion. Whereas, Indonesia focused on safe transport and teacher training. India, with its scale and experience, is positioned not just to catch up but to lead, provided it sharpens its focus on secondary education, harnesses technology and data to track progress.
The Ramon Magsaysay Award for Educate Girls is a recognition of what India has achieved, but also a reminder of what remains unfinished. The fact that millions of girls today step into classrooms who once would have been denied even the chance is itself a revolution. However, the true measure of success will not be the enrolment figures we celebrate, there must be expansion of secondary schooling, securing their safety, tackling rural dropouts, and ensuring that learning outcomes match enrolment gains.
The revolution must continue in classrooms, in villages, in policies, and in the hearts of families who choose to send their daughters to school.
The next leap will come from treating these not as isolated successes but as non-negotiable rights guaranteed to every girl child.
Opinion
Mon 25 Aug
This article has been published with: Neither US words nor China’s weight, India must script its own
If Washington and Moscow reduce their hostility, China may find itself subtly squeezed, a development India could exploit diplomatically. But history warns us not to take Trump’s overture at face value: his unpredictability is his only constant.
Today, it feels as if geopolitics is a game scripted, twisted, and replayed at the whims of one capital—Washington, and more precisely: Donald Trump. His mercurial policies and sudden resets are not just redrawing alliances but also forcing countries to constantly recalibrate their foreign policy stance.
The turbulence of Trump’s world is not just background noise, it is an everyday strategic dilemma. The recent meeting between Trump and Putin in Alaska stirred speculation about shifting alignments in the global order.
Trump’s outreach to these nations is seen as a strategic gambit, not nostalgia for Putin, but a “reverse Kissinger” strategy. In the 1970s, Henry Kissinger opened the door to China to contain the Soviet Union. Today, Washington dreams of peeling Moscow away from Beijing to contain China. But for India, this realignment poses a problem; if Washington warms simultaneously to Moscow and Beijing, New Delhi risks being pushed to the margin of an evolving balance of power.
But India’s immediate concern lies closer to home: the Himalayan frontier with China. Despite multiple rounds of military and diplomatic talks, the business of disengagement remains unfinished.
Reports indicate that Indian troops still face restrictions on patrolling, while local herdsmen continue to be denied access to grazing grounds in “buffer zones” they traditionally frequented.
Wang Yi’s recent visit to New Delhi, coming on the heels of his high-profile stop in Islamabad, added layers of complexity. In Pakistan, he declared that the “ironclad friendship” between Beijing and Islamabad was “unbreakable,” underlining China’s South Asian balancing act.
While in New Delhi, his outreach carried both signals of de-escalation and veiled pressure. Beijing simultaneously pushes ahead with constructing the world’s largest hydropower project on the Brahmaputra in Tibet, close to the Indian border, ignoring India’s lower riparian concerns.
China’s actions are puzzling but calculated. By offering de-escalation talks while advancing projects that threaten India’s strategic water security, Beijing keeps pressure points alive. On the One-China policy, New Delhi has maintained consistency, refusing to dilute its position despite heightened tensions.
Simultaneously, both India and China have found rare convergence in opposing what they term “unilateral bullying” from Washington. Yet this fragile overlap cannot mask the reality that Beijing’s assertiveness is still here to stay, and India must act with caution.
Overlay this with Trump’s Alaska gambit with Russia, and the contours of a changing world order become clearer. If Washington and Moscow reduce their hostility, China may find itself subtly squeezed, a development India could exploit diplomatically. But history warns us not to take Trump’s overture at face value: his unpredictability is his only constant.
For India, therefore, strategy must rest not on speculation about Trump’s impulses but on a long-term recalibration of its own place in a multipolar world.
Henry Kissinger’s balance of power theory resonates strongly today. The Cold War was defined by a bipolar struggle; the post-Cold War decades by American unipolarity. But the 2020s are unmistakably multipolar, marked by shifting alignments and fragmented solidarities.
The Alaska meeting, the assertiveness of Europe in resisting US dominance, the Indo-Pacific alliances, and China’s Pakistan axis all signal the blurring of neat binaries.
What then should New Delhi’s playbook be? First, if Asia’s two strongest players, India and China, can sustain channels of cooperation, both stand to benefit, not only for each other but for Asia as a whole, for they also recognise that prolonged hostility carries immense risks. As Kuldip Singh, a retired army officer, observes, war between India and China is never a lucrative venture: Beijing gains little by fighting a near-peer competitor. Even a military victory would leave China weakened economically and politically, and strategically undermine its pursuit of “great power” status vis-à-vis the United States.
Second, India must strengthen its economic resilience. China’s hydropower gamble is a reminder that economic vulnerabilities translate directly into strategic risks. Water security, technology, supply chains, and critical minerals must form the new pillars of India’s security doctrine.
Third, India must invest more in narratives. Beijing and Islamabad have mastered the art of framing their ties as “ironclad.” India must project its civilizational ethos and democratic pluralism as soft power anchors in a world where narratives matter as much as navies.
The world order is shifting; neither America’s word nor China’s weight can be taken as absolute.
The age of great-power flux demands an India that is nimble, assertive, and imaginative. India’s game is not merely to react but to shape, ensuring that neither Beijing’s ambitions nor Washington’s impulsive deals undermine its rise.
Opinion
Wed 20 Aug
This article has been published with: Sudarshan Chakra: Can India build its own Iron Dome?
There is symbolism and morale factor—for a country positioning itself as a rising power, demonstrating capability in futuristic defence technology is as much about deterrence as it is about actual use.
National security is no longer defined only by troop strength or nuclear deterrence. In the age of drones and cyber-enabled strikes, air defence has become the first line of survival. Recognising this, Prime Minister Narendra Modi has launched Mission Sudarshan Chakra, an ambitious plan to develop an indigenous Iron Dome-like system by 2035.
This decision reflects both the lessons of global conflicts and the pressing need to shield India from asymmetric threats.
PM Modi said the project draws inspiration from Lord Krishna’s Sudarshan Chakra, a weapon that symbolised divine protection and precision strike in India’s civilisational history.
The recent India-Pakistan escalation was just the latest reminder that our neighbour continues to probe and provoke. Moreover, China’s growing military assertiveness and its expanding missile arsenal have sharpened the prospect of India confronting a real two-front challenge.
Both adversaries have invested in drones, rocket systems and increasingly sophisticated precision strikes. Meanwhile, non-state actors have shown that they do not need billion-dollar arsenals to unleash chaos; low cost UAVs can achieve devastating effects as well.
Wars raging elsewhere should erase complacency. Ukraine’s blackouts, caused by Russian drones and missile strikes, show how civilian life collapses when skies are left unguarded.
India’s air defence architecture today is a patchwork of imported systems and indigenous efforts. The country relies on Russian S-400s, indigenous Akash missiles, Israeli Barak systems, and the DRDO’s Advanced Air Defence (AAD) programme. Yet, as recent conflicts have shown, even the most sophisticated militaries struggle against the new face of warfare which is cheap, fast and swarming drones combined with precision missiles.
The Iron Dome’s effectiveness in Israel, intercepting thousands of rockets, has become the gold standard in layered air defence. But replicating that success in India, a subcontinent with vast borders, diverse terrain and different threat perceptions, poses immense challenges as well.
The government has set an ambitious timeline, reportedly aiming for full deployment till 2035. However, defence projects in India have not been quite linear. The Light Combat Aircraft (Tejas) took decades to reach induction. Even the Agni and Prithvi missile systems, though ultimately successful, faced long delays.
Critics may wonder: Is Mission Sudarshan Chakra another lofty promise or a realistic possibility?
Why this pursuit matters goes beyond immediate timelines. Developing Sudarshan Chakra carries weight for three key reasons. First, it strengthens strategic autonomy, reducing India’s reliance on Russia and Israel for crucial defence technology while allowing the creation of a system tailored to its own geography and threats.
Second, it reflects the changing nature of warfare, recent conflicts from Ukraine to the Middle East have shown how drone swarms and rocket barrages can overwhelm traditional defences, a reality India cannot afford to overlook.
Finally, there is symbolism and morale factor—for a country positioning itself as a rising power, demonstrating capability in futuristic defence technology is as much about deterrence as it is about actual use.
However, caution is very much warranted. India must avoid the trap of turning this mission into a political slogan. National security requires continuity across governments, not announcements tied to electoral cycles.
So, what can be expected in the near term?
Realistically, India may roll out a limited shield for major metros or strategic assets within the next decade, rather than a nationwide system.
A hybrid model where Israeli and Russian systems plug gaps until DRDO’s version matures seems more plausible. Collaboration with private Indian firms and foreign partners may accelerate progress, but success hinges on sustained funding, rigorous testing and political patience.
In that sense, Sudarshan Chakra is less an Iron Dome in the making and more a signal of intent. It shows that India recognises the shifting character of modern warfare and does not want to be caught unprepared.
PM Modi’s invocation of Lord Krishna’s Sudarshan Chakra was designed to stir pride and imagination. Yet, the true challenge lies in science, timelines and strategic clarity.
Will India actually field a working Iron Dome-like system within years, or will this remain a vision on the drawing board?
For now, this mission is both a promise of protection and a reminder that India’s quest for security is still a work in progress.
Opinion
Tue 5 Aug
This article has been published with: The hidden cost of India’s urban boom
India’s flood crisis is no longer a surprise, it is the consequence of decades of poor planning, weakened regulations and a dangerous habit of responding only after disaster strikes.
India is dealing with a flood crisis that is no longer seasonal, it’s systemic and accelerating. Flash floods are no longer rare episodes; they are becoming a lived reality across regions. Once considered localised, floods have now turned into a national emergency, fed by climate change, governance failures and unchecked urban expansion.
India has reported an alarming average of over 5,000 flood-related deaths annually. According to the Union Jal Shakti Ministry, global temperature anomalies have jumped from 132 in 2020 to 184 in 2022, highlighting the growing influence of climate change on extreme weather events. But climate alone is not to blame. In fact, government data shows that only about 25 per cent of recent floods were directly caused by precipitation. The remaining majority stem from avoidable, human-induced vulnerabilities such as poor dam management, delayed flood-control measures, encroachment on wetlands, and unscientific urban planning.
Climate change may be the trigger, but it’s colliding with systems already weakened by years of mismanagement.
The Himalayan region, western coast, and central India are now seen as emerging flood hotspots, vulnerable not just due to geography but due to aggressive human activity as well.
Himachal Pradesh is continuously witnessed catastrophic landslides and flash floods. According to the State Emergency Operations Centre (SEOC), since June 20, 170 people have died, 301 roads are blocked, and damage to homes, agriculture and livestock continues to rise. A combination of cloudbursts, electrocutions, and flooding has left parts of the state paralysed.
The recent Supreme Court’s remarks couldn’t have come at a more urgent time. Warning that Himachal Pradesh could soon “vanish into thin air”, Justice JB Pardiwala didn’t speak in abstractions, he pointed directly at what many chose to ignore: unscientific construction, short-sighted planning and unchecked pursuit of profit. In a petition filed against the notification declaring Tara Mata Hill a green area, the court warned that development driven solely by revenue has come at the expense of long-term ecological safety.
Meanwhile, Gurugram often celebrated as a model for urban success finds itself underwater after each heavy rain and has been nicknamed “Sink City” by its own residents. What is meant to be a symbol of global aspiration, floods every time it rains. It has become routine enough for locals to joke: Who needs a resort with a swimming pool when your parking lot floods for free?
But behind this sarcasm is frustration. Overflowing garbage, clogged drains, and poor civic response are daily reminders of how little thought went into the basics. Add to the criticism from foreign visitors and consultants like Suhel Seth who quipped: “Every year, without government help, we create a Venice for people to enjoy.”
Well, this rot is collective. Citizens dumping waste into drains, builders eating into wetlands, and planners approving projects without even a glance at flood maps, are all part of this civic chaos.
On the west corner, Rajasthan has a painful irony. A water-scarce state now drowning in rainwater. Schools have been shut in 11 districts, rivers are overflowing and a recent audit has revealed 2,699 weak buildings in 224 urban bodies, each one a disaster waiting for a trigger.
It’s not just flooding that’s the problem, it’s the crumbling foundations that have been ignored for decades.
Even Kerela, often admired for its planning, couldn’t escape the grip of extreme flooding. Last year, in Wayanad, landslides swept away homes, transport routes collapsed, and families were displaced overnight. The combination of urban sprawl, deforestation, and unpredictable rainfall has made even this well-governed state vulnerable.
The previous year, Ladakh saw cloudburst severing remote valleys. Sikkim faced floods that tore through infrastructure and crops. This isn’t regional problem anymore, it is national, and growing louder each year.
In Bengaluru, the signs are depressingly predictable. IT parks and global HQs sit beside choked stormwater drains, cracked roads, and sewage-filled floodwaters.
It’s a brutal mismatch, a world-class economy built on a city where even an hour’s rain can paralyse life. The problem isn’t just about bad planning; it’s about misplaced priorities and growth without grounding.
India’s flood crisis is no longer a surprise, it is the consequence of decades of poor planning, weakened regulations and a dangerous habit of responding only after disaster strikes. Climate change may be the accelerant, but the fuel has been laid by human hands as well.
Addressing this crisis demands more than relief packages and post-disaster assessments. It calls for a shift, strengthening early warning systems and modernising dam and drainage infrastructure are essential, but they must be matched with political will and community awareness.
Urban planning needs to return to first principles; respecting natural water channels, protecting wetlands, and building with climate resilience in mind.
States must enforce construction strictly, not dilute them to appease private interests. Equally, the public needs to stop treating civic rules as optional.
A culture of accountability must be shared between citizens, corporations and the state.
Floods will always be a part of India’s monsoon story. The real question is whether they continue to drown our cities or whether we begin to rise above them, together.
Opinion
Sun 27 Jul
It’s the same year and another conflict has escalated. But this time, it wasn’t where the world was looking. While eyes remained fixed on Ukraine or Gaza, a conflict erupted in the far east between two southeast Asian neighbours: Thailand and Cambodia.
There has been no shortage of headlines, calling it a “religious war”, a “Hindu temple clash,” a “culture conflict.” But let’s not be misled by the simplicity of slogans. The escalating conflict between Thailand and Cambodia may have reignited around the Preah Vihear temple but to call this war over a temple is to misunderstand both history and the present moment.
The truth is messier and far more political. The temple is very ancient and sacred. But it is not solely a Hindu site. The conflict is not solely about faith, it is about territory, military positioning, and unresolved trauma from colonial cartography. Religion, in this case is the backdrop not the battleground.
The Preah Vihar temple, a UNESCO World Heritage site perched atop the Dângrek Mountains, was handed over to Cambodia in a 1962 ruling by the International Court of Justice (ICJ). But the 4.6 square kilometres surrounding it were left undefined becoming symbolically sensitive and contested ever since.
The roots of this hostility stretch back over a century. In 1907, French colonisers drew the border between Cambodia and Thailand with ambiguous, imprecise maps. Thailand has long argued that the boundary was unfairly set. Diplomatic attempts have flickered over the decades, but resolution has never arrived. Instead, blood has.
Between 2008 and 2013, the dispute exploded into deadly skirmishes. Jungle warfare flared near Preah Vihear and other temple sites, with both sides blaming each other. In 2011, a ceasefire halted the violence, after 15 people were killed and thousands displaced. The International Court of Justice (ICJ) stepped in, ordering a troop withdrawal and establishment of a demilitarised zone but stopped short of settling who controls the larger disputed territory. The troops never really left.
Presently, in 2025, the fire has been lit again.
On May 28, a Thai soldier was ambushed. Tensions, already high, turned volatile. A Cambodian soldier was killed in a subsequent skirmish. Accusations flew and each side blamed the other. Later, in June diplomatic call between Thai Prime Minister Paetongtarn Shinawatra and Cambodia’s de facto leader, Hun Sen aimed to dial things down. However, it only made matters worse.
A leaked recording of the call went viral. In it, Prime Minister Shinawatra appeared to disparage her own military and referred to Hun Sen as “uncle,” offering to “arrange anything” he wanted. The reaction in Thailand was explosive. Lawmakers from her own party called for her resignation. On July 1, she was suspended by Thailand’s Constitutional court for alleged ethics violation.
Meanwhile, the war on the ground intensified. On July 23, a Thai soldier lost a leg in a landmine blast. Thailand retaliated, not only militarily but diplomatically recalling it’s ambassador and expelling Cambodia’s. Phnom Penh responded in kind. By the time artillery fire echoed across the forests, at least 12 people were reported dead, including 11 civilians and more than 40,000 villagers had fled their homes. Schools and markets were shut down. The fear of unexploded landmines once again gripped the region.
The fog of war has now thickened. Neither side’s account of the fighting matches the other’s. Thailand claims Cambodian trooped deployed surveillance drones and fired rockets near a Thai post striking civilian areas. While Thailand responded with six F-16 fighter jets targeting the latter’s military positions. Clashes erupted in six locations along the border, and Thailand reinforced it’s positions in Sisaket province. Acting Thai Prime Minister Phumtham Wechayachai insists there has been “no declaration of war” but warns that hostilities must stop before talks can begin. However, danger goes well beyond these two nations.
Southeast Asia is already on the edge, from civil war in Myanmar to tensions in the South China Sea, another full-blown war, this time between ASEAN members threatens to expose the limits of regional diplomacy. ASEAN has long prided itself on “quiet consensus,” but in moments like this, that consensus sounds suspiciously like silence.
The memory of the 2008–2011 standoff, which left over 40 dead, looms over this moment. Back then, too, there were ceasefires and court orders. But even after the dust settled, nothing changed. Today, we risk repeating history only at a greater cost.
Leaders on both sides have portrayed the skirmishes as matters of sovereignty and pride, but at the heart of it, this isn’t just about lines on a map, but people caught in crossfire of pride and power. The only question now is, how many more borders will bleed just to keep maps clean, while real lives are erased on the ground?
Opinion
Sat 26 Jul
After years of deadlocked talks under three Conservative Prime Ministers, India chose not the familiar, but the functional. It was not based on shared heritage but shared goals. And so, it was under Keir Starmer and not Rishi Sunak that India finally signed one of it’s most ambitious Free Trade Agreements.
Modi’s decision to bet on a recalibrated Labour speaks volumes. The question isn’t why India didn’t sign this deal earlier. The question is: why now, and why Starmer?
Despite a decade-long Conservative rule, the FTA had remained elusive. The Boris Johnson government launched the 2030 roadmap in 2021, which promised deeper ties across trade, defence and innovation. But symbolic gestures often outpaced substance. The Conservative era stretching from Johnson to Liz Truss to Rishi Sunak, often celebrated It’s ‘special relationship’ with India but while language was warm, the outcomes remained lukewarm.
Negotiations on the FTA began with high ambition, but soon encountered roadblocks. Key issues such as the movement of Indian professionals, mutual market access and labour mobility remained unresolved. The UK’s domestic debates on immigration, especially post Brexit created hesitations that made meaningful compromise politically complex.
While Sunak’s Indian heritage was treated as an implicit bridge, policy progress remained cautious. The FTA talks continued, but no major agreements were concluded during his tenure. Despite his visit to India during the 2023 G20 Summit and a public willingness to deepen ties, a reciprocal state visit from the Indian side never really took place.
Labour’s return to power in 2024 marked a turning point in how India perceived UK’s political climate. From 2021 onwards, Starmer’s leadership emphasised a more balanced and bilateral approach. He distanced Labour from diaspora-driven resolutions and refrained from commenting on India’s internal matters. A gesture New Delhi has welcomed. By the time Labour’s election manifesto was released, there was a clear shift in tone: no mention of contentious issues, and a strong focus on trade, investment and cooperation.
This course correction wasn’t seen as diplomatic hygiene, but it truly changed the atmosphere. It allowed both sides to return to the table with clarity and mutual trust. Long-stuck issues like skilled migration, tech exchange, education linkages and defence co-production finally found room to breathe. The tone shifted from hesitation to possibility.
This agreement also comes at a time when India is actively rebalancing it’s external partnerships. With Washington re-entering a cycle of unpredictability, India isn’t putting all it’s chips on old alliances. Instead, it’s expanding its bandwidth by seeking stable, policy-driven partners who offer long-term value without theatrics.
India signed high-impact FTA’s with the UAE and Australia to clinching an economic agreement with the European Free Trade Association(EFTA). Each of these deals reflect not just commercial intent, but a future-facing alignment.
The UK now enters this circle not as a sentimental choice, but as a re-evaluated partner that fits India’s calibrated worldview. At the same time, Modi’s parallel diplomatic choreography says even more. His visit to the Maldives reinforces India’s renewed focus on neighbourhood diplomacy, while his recent engagement with China- the first high-level visit since the Galwan clash signals a cautious but important attempt to manage regional tensions.
Unlike the earlier chapters of India-UK engagement, which was often defined by grand cultural displays, diaspora pageantry, and speeches laced with heritage, this visit stripped away the sentimentality. What emerged was a relationship finally ready to stand on it’s own terms.
Both sides seemed to quietly step past the weight of history. For decades, the relationship had often swung between romanticising the past and hesitating because of it, usually caught between post-colonial discomfort and nostalgia-driven diplomacy. However this time, there was not attempt to overplay identity, ancestry or symbolism.
This FTA wasn’t born in a moment of goodwill, it came from years of careful watching, waiting and preparing for a window that felt right. India didn’t rush, it waited for a government that was aligned institutionally.
Modi’s visit under Starmer is more than a mere handshake, it’s a reset. It reflected a larger truth that India and UK have finally outgrown their need to define the relationship by the past. The colonial chapter will always exist, but it no longer needs to dominate the page.
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