What a load of sh*t! IPL is betraying no one

This article reflects my own thoughts and says it better than I could say it, hence you see this here. I read it first here : 

http://www.firstpost.com/sports/ipl/what-a-load-of-sht-ipl-is-betraying-no-one-795689.html

by Prayaag Akbar

I have been on a hunt for the Betrayed Billion. Since Thursday morning, I have searched — on the streets, on rooftops, online, on my couch, under my couch. My abacus at the ready, I have looked and looked. Because these past two days I’ve been told, repeatedly and authoritatively, that a billion souls have been devastated and betrayed by the actions of three idiot men.

It’s strange, because life in my corner of Mumbai seems to carry on at about the usual rate of devastation. Yet, all I hear and read from our increasingly incestuous news channels and newspapers is that the national heart has been cleaved, a billion people un-moored from their sense of self because of this sudden renunciation of the standards of propriety, justice, fair play and financial probity that the Indian Premier League has always set.

As the Americans say, what a crock of sh*t.

Protesters demanding a ban on Sreesanth. AFP.

To be betrayed means you had to have reposed a significant degree of faith. Since inception, the IPL has been anything but a receptacle of moral trust. I should know. I’ve spent most of my evenings these past five weeks watching the damned thing, ignoring the girlfriend’s protests, sometimes even catching two games at a time. For most people, even avid cricket fans, I suspect the IPL is something to turn to at a loose moment: there’s a limit to the number of times can you watch a seven-foot West Indian shatter the confidence of an emaciated medium-quick from Saurashtra.

Most of this nation, I think, sees this tournament for what it is: a giant carnival of capitalism, one that comes with a little cricket attached. We like the cricket, we like the cheerleaders — I personally have fallen deeply in love with presenter Rochelle Rao — we like the insane-asylum-inflections of some of the commentators, but we don’t take it all that seriously.

So why all this frothing and foaming since news dropped of spot-fixing? It seems to me that the ones who are so traumatised are either beneficiaries of the status quo or hopelessly inept, questioning only the surface, never the structure. Why are there hour-long prime time interviews with BCCI chief N. Srinivasan, in which he is asked a series of questions about these players, their families, the police and bookies but none of the angry phrasing and righteous spittle is directed at the fact that he owns a team in the league and also sits as president of the BCCI? Why is there no conflict of interest when his franchise captain (also the national team captain) owns one of the biggest sporting agencies in the country and stocks his teams with players from it?

Or, before getting on Sreesanth’s back, perhaps we can have a frank discussion about the ownership structures of most of the teams. If you ever manage to get your hands on one of these flowcharts, don’t let it pass you by. It is truly edifying, a wonderful muddle of offshore accounts and shell companies all joined together by twisting arrows, financial structures of such magnificent complexity that Bernie Madoff would smile.

What Sreesanth, Chandila and Chavan did was inexcusable. Ban them forever, if you must. But let us inject context into this conversation. Was I the only one discomfited by the shot played on loop all Thursday evening, of the Three Fixeteers being frog-marched into the police station, heads shrouded in black in the manner of accused terrorists?

It fit both the hysteria of the moment and the beheading-by-media that concurrently took place. Yet this is all misplaced furore. There is a serious problem with amplification in our electronic media. On television, any issue determined to be of national interest gets the same treatment. It reminds me of a mob in a particularly good episode of South Park. Helicopters! Rabble Rabble Rabble. Coal! Rabble Rabble Rabble. Rape! Rabble Rabble Rabble. Fixing! Rabble Rab….

If we discuss everything from terrorist attacks to pyjama cricket at the same decibel level — because that is what the paymasters demand — we end up equating them all. I, for one, was more bothered by a former air chief allegedly lowering specifications so that a Rs 3,600 crore contract could be awarded to a favoured company for 12 VVIP helicopters. I was even more bothered that VVIPs believed themselves very, very important enough to be deserving of Rs 300 crore helicopters bought with taxpayer money. Yet on television everything is accorded the same outrage.

As ever, the real problems will not be addressed. Dawood will be trotted out, convenient bogeyman that he is for all that ails India and Sanjay Dutt. Which is not to suggest he is not involved. He will have his finger in this pie as well, but are you surprised? He is a mobster and a determined enemy of this country. What about the conditions that allow him to thrive? Who is being bribed so that the illegal betting market in India—so big that a day’s betting would easily buy those 12 choppers for our VVIPs—continues to flourish?

When Sports Illustrated carried a comprehensive investigation into it a couple of years ago, it was ignored because too many vested interests were being shaken up. And perhaps also because the bookies interviewed in the piece suggested that one glorious recent moment, the semi-final victory over Pakistan in Chandigarh, a match when Sachin Tendulkar top scored after being dropped four times, was also fixed.

It’s obvious that there is no lack of information, but there is a lack of political will. So I will extend, then, a little sympathy for the devil. Sreesanth and the other two have been stupid, and they should suffer for it; the Keralite especially, because he has made a good living from the game. But imagine you have spent your life playing a game yet remained on the edges of its biggest bounties.

Imagine you are smack in the middle of a bloated, overdone tournament, and someone offers you half a crore to bowl one quickly-forgotten over a little awry. We go on about these players’ betrayal of their team, but politicians have sold the country for less.

Prayaag Akbar is a journalist with the Sunday Guardian. You can find him on twitter @unessentialist

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Porn OK, please

Why don't SC judges read this article for a bit of enlightenment?

Porn OK, please : By Anup Kutty
(This article appeared in the TOI on April 21st, 2013)

Like most men from my generation, I did not learn about sex from my parents or teachers. It was my neighbourhood video rental man who was responsible. I believe he is no more. God bless his soul.

All those years ago, when he was alive, my friends and I would troop into his parlour every week. After some pointless nudge-nudge-winkwink we would be rewarded with a videotape that contained the secrets of adulthood. My first porn movie was a '70s classic featuring the mature Kay Parker who, with her chipped tooth and ample breasts, seduced teenage boys. Like most first times, it wasn't a pleasant experience. I threw up during the money shot and swore never to watch porn again.

It took me just a couple of days to be back at the video rental store. By then a whole new world had opened up along with fresh facial hair and a change of voice. My new teachers — the brunette Racquel Darrian, the oriental Asia Carrera and the blonde Jill Kelly — taught me that a woman's genitalia looked nothing like a cow with horns and that it was capable of far more than just "receiving the spermatozoa discharged from the male organ". With cable TV came the secret 11.30pm slots for "double X" flicks. If one was in a mood for local flavour there was always Surya TV's late night Malayalam and Tamil porn. My schooling was now complete.

In the hallowed student residence of St Stephens' College, we had a term for smut. "Pondy", in the form of graphic literature, was generally stashed under mattresses and circulated in times of dire necessity, especially during exams. A lot of it was handed down to juniors and I believe some stash from my time is still in circulation.

The internet happened around this time. That ghostly sound of a modem connecting to the www was music to our ears. It meant getting to watch Pamela Anderson pleasure her husband who's driving a car. At times, the girls secretly borrowed from our collection. "Go watch some porn and get off, asshole!" was a standard line they used (and still do) to fend off aroused men.

All this happened while my parents still fumbled for the remote control each time a sanitary napkin or condom commercial came on TV. I finally came of age the day my mother discovered that my VHS tape collection was more than just guitar tutorials. That was the day my father began discussing household finances and politics with me.

As cliched as it sounds, times have changed. The trickle of broadband has made learning life's important lessons so much easier. I envy today's kids. They don't have to smuggle bulky videotapes in and out of their homes. They don't have to smother a bellowing modem with a pillow in the dead of the night. They don't have to wait till everyone's asleep, tiptoe to the living room, switch on the TV and press 'mute' just in time.

Not for long though. If this PIL that's proposing to make viewing porn on the internet anonbailable offence goes through then we are suddenly surrounded by a lot of criminals — young twisted minds with broadband access who have wronged society by giving vent to their otherwise suppressed selves. Huddled in cyber-cafe cubbyholes across the country, these are apparently future rapists who are sharing their devious ideas through little pen drives and mobile phones. They are watching their favourite pornstars enact their deepest, darkest fantasies and relishing it. They are creating alter egos on Facebook to follow pages dedicated to Hot Aunty Breasts. They are doing this because at home they have to reach for the remote during condom commercials and watch sterile movies with words like "crap" and "sex" bleeped out.

The petitioners for the PIL, just like those who opposed the Playboy club in Goa, have claimed that pornography treats sex as a commodity and exploits it commercially in turn provoking violence towards women. In a society where repression and hypocrisy are ways of life, this is as absurd as claiming that vaginas look like cow heads. Criminalising the whole thing instead of regulating adult content, taking strict action against brutal forms like child porn and snuff, and then channelising it to the right section of society is about as regressive and ridiculous as blaming a woman's sense of style for the trauma she faces on the streets. The trauma that she can't even try to wriggle out of by asking the pervert to get off on some porn. It would be criminal to do that.

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The sexual offence allegations against Assange.

The timeline in bullet points

Huge interest in the subject but I don't think many aware of the specifics of the allegations and why they are raising suspicions and doubts. The following is presented as an agreed statements of facts and issues by both sides, according to ABC Four Corners "Sex, Lies and Julian Assange" documentary. Mods later choose to merge this with the other thread, but I felt this was relevant enough to warrant a separate thread to garner attention to these specifics.

On August 11th 2011, Assange arrived to attend a conference organised by the Swedish Brotherhood. He was offered Anna Ardin’s apartment whilst she was away, but Ardin returned a day early on the 13th and invited Assange to stay over the night where they would have sex. She would later tell police Assange had violently pinned her down and ignored her requests to use a condom. Assange denies this.

On August 14th, the following day, Assange addresses the conference with Ardin at his side. Later that afternoon, Arden organises a crayfish party [barbecue] and posts a Twitter message writing: "Julian wants to go to a crayfish party. Does anyone have a couple of seats tonight or tomorrow?”

The crayfish party was held that night and went on till the early hours of the morning. Ardin posts a twitter message: “Hanging out with the coolest and smartest people in the world at 2am. Its amazing”.

A guest at the party would later tell police the event was a “very hearty evening”. When he offered to host Assange for the night in his apartment, Ardin replied: “He can stay with me”.

The next day, Assange attends a dinner party organised by Pirate Party founder, Rick Falkvinge. Anna Ardin had arrived with Assange, and according to Falkvinge, the mood at the dinner was “professional”. Here is a photograph of that evening. Anna Ardin is on the left. Assange would yet again spend the night with her.

The following day, August 16th, Assange had sex with Sofia Wilen at her apartment. According to police reports, Ardin was aware that he had slept with Sofia. A witness tells police that he had contacted Anna Ardin looking for Assange, to which she texted back: “He’s not here. He plans to have sex with the cashmere girl every evening”. That same day, the witness asked Ardin: “Is it cool he’s living there? Do you want me to fix something else?”. She replied back: “He has a problem with his hygiene, but its okay, he lives with me. It’s no problem”. {Note: The tweets would later be deleted}

Three days later, Sofia, accompanied by Ardin, went to the police to seek advice on whether Assange could be forced to take an STD test. Ardin had gone along primarily to support Sofia but at some point during the questioning, the police had announced that Assange was to be arrested and questioned about possible rape and molestation. [Note: it wasn’t the police themselves who pressed for this but a duty prosecutor who was contacted by the police]. Sofia became so distract by the idea that she refused to give any more testimony, and refused to sign what had already been taken down. Assange was “arrested in his absence”. Assange wasn’t questioned by the police.

Within hours, not only was this development leaked to the tabloids, but in addition to that were the statements made by the two women. It became international news.

Less than 24 hours, a more senior prosecutor dismissed the rape allegations leaving only the lesser allegation of molestation.

On the 30th of August, Assange of his own accord went to the police and expressed his fears of anything he said in questioning would end up in the tabloids. The interviewing officer responded: “I’m not going to leak anything”. The interview was then leaked.

This article is reproduced from the website : 
 http://www.neogaf.com/forum/showthread.php?p=41190027#post41190027

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Sachin and the god particle

By : Ajaz Ashraf | December 22, 2012

This article below is more about us mad Indians, than about Sachin ... and how true! - cr

The debate over whether Tendulkar should retire provides us a perspective into our collective psyche. How dare he fail after we have worshipped him for 23 years?

Five months before the English cricket team began its tour of India, triggering a passionate debate on whether Sachin Tendulkar should retire from international cricket, the batting maestro was in Herzogenaurach, Germany, where the Adidas headquarters are located. The Germans were astonished at the reception Tendulkar received: a few hundred Indians gathered at the headquarters, lustily cheered and screamed at his sight, and jostled to touch or have him sign their autograph books. One Adidas executive remarked to a journalist, "Even Lionel Messi did not receive such a reception. " The dwarfing of Messi for a soccer-crazy nation seemed inexplicably mysterious. 

Obviously, the German executive did not know that deification is embedded deep into the Indian psyche. Remember the bewildering pantheon of gods we Indians worship. Recall our propensity to turn the cremation sites and residences of mortals, extraordinary though their achievements are, into monuments and museums. From gods we ultimately become a tad alienated as our supplications do not lead to divine intercession, goading us to shout Jim Morrison style, "You cannot petition the Lord with prayer. " 

From the Invisible we can only turn away, but our disappointment with the flesh-and-blood gods provokes us to acts of vengeance. It is we who assassinated Mahatma Gandhi. We mock Jawaharlal Nehru, pummelling him more now than what we did in his life, dismissing him as a woolly-headed idealist who wanted to keep India non-aligned and insisted on the state occupying the commanding heights of economy. We have belatedly begun to herald BR Ambedkar's contribution to the framing of the Indian Constitution but have no qualms in breaking his statues. 

It is this national trait of deification which has turned Tendulkar the cricketing genius into Tendulkar the god of cricket. How dare he fail after we have worshipped him for 23 years, pinned our hope on him for India's redemption on the cricket ground, bought goods he advertised and sent our children to coaching camps! It is galling that his failure has coincided with India's precipitous decline in Test cricket. Aren't gods supposed to magically help us overcome seemingly insurmountable odds, which perhaps are consequences of tamasha cricket aka T20 cricket? 

No doubt, unharnessed popular expectations mounted tremendous pressure on Tendulkar. What else can explain the sudden dip in form as soon as he reached his 99th international century? Till then, he had been in fine fettle, batting with aplomb and scoring centuries as frequently as only he can. Thereafter, in 17 Tests he managed 953 runs, at an average of 31. 76;in ODIs, he managed 473 in 14 outings, at an average of 33. 78. On reaching his 100th international century against Bangladesh, Tendulkar said, "I was not thinking about the milestone, the media started all this, wherever I went, the restaurant, room service, everyone was talking about the 100th hundred. Nobody talked about my 99 hundreds. It became mentally tough for me..." Indeed, there couldn't be a more apt example of how deification unravels gods. 

The debate over whether Tendulkar should retire provides us a perspective into our collective psyche as much as it has diminished his chances of, yet again, rediscovering his old form. What explains our national trait of creating idols of our heroes? In some ways, it is redolent of the feudal mindset, from which we believed we had emerged. The personality of the feudal lord was infused with charisma that made his subjects consider him worthy of unquestioning adulation. It was/is an important factor why many erstwhile royalties were/are elected to Parliament. The subcontinent is the land where charisma reigns - the Nehru-Gandhis are supreme in India, as are the Bhuttos and Sharifs in Pakistan, the Wajeds and Zias in Bangladesh and, to some extent, the Koiralas in Nepal. 

Worship presumes accepting your own inferiority in relation to those who boast of seemingly exalted lineages or, as in the case of Tendulkar, are prodigiously talented. From them, we feel, flow our blessings, whether in politics or cricket. We prescribe a different set of rules for them. We wish to exempt Tendulkar from the mandatory duty on the car he wants to import. We nominate him to the Rajya Sabha, knowing he won't have the time to attend its proceedings. Not for us a culture, say, that of Germany, which incarcerated tennis star Steffi Graf's father for violation of tax laws. Our inferiority stems from the pervasive caste codes which have taught us to accept the inequality inherent in the social system. 

Place the national psychology and Tendulkar's breathtaking talent against the backdrop of political ambience of the 1980s, in which he made his debut, and you will understand why he was turned into a national icon. The 1980s was the decade of pessimism. There had been a succession of grisly communal riots - Moradabad, Bhagalpur, the Nelli massacre etc. In 1984, the assassination of Indira Gandhi sparked off a veritable slaughter of Sikhs, prompting an organisation to print a poster with the photos of Kapil Dev (Hindu), Mohd Azharuddin (Muslim), Roger Binny (Christian) and Maninder Singh (Sikh) with a caption declaring, "If we can play together, we can live together. " In 1989, the Bharatiya Janata Party initiated the Ram Janambhoomi movement, bringing consecrated bricks from different parts of the country to Ayodhya. The nation was pushed to the edge. 

It was also in December 1989 that Sachin Tendulkar, a callow 16-year-old, stepped out on Pakistani soil to make his debut, against the fury of their fast bowlers. In the fourth Test of his life he was struck on the nose. Blood gushed out but he refused to leave the field. The picture of that moment was there in every newspaper;he went on to score 57. A dream had been born, of talent and aspiration. 

It was to take another three-four years for the dream to truly develop wings and soar high. By then, the Babri Masjid had been demolished and Mandal and Mandir politics had bitterly divided the nation. In this gloomy scenario Tendulkar became the symbol of national unity, his majestic wielding of the bat papering, however ephemerally, over all social schisms. He was also our only popular entertainment, as the culture of VCR was gradually squeezing the life out of Bollywood until the multiplex-driven renaissance resuscitated the cinema from its death throes. We made him a national icon because of our own compulsions, and laid out different yardsticks for him. 

Forgetting our own connivance in turning Tendulkar into a god, we have triggered a debate not only graceless but also deeply insulting to our own memory of pure bliss he brought to us. As a people we are notoriously fickle. We hailed Indira Gandhi as an incarnate of Durga and then pelted stones at her, only to vote her back to power three years later. Likewise, we mounted such pressure on Tendulkar at the time he was a century away from his 100th ton that his batting prowess diminished overnight, as if some celestial being wished to punish us for our pathological obsession with milestones. 

Yet a question remains: why didn't the crossing of the 100th-century milestone relieve the pressure on Tendulkar ? Alas, as any psychologist would tell you, it is difficult for a person to rediscover the earlier state of serenity once his mind learns fear and anxiety. Such foibles are habit-forming. This malaise had afflicted him earlier as well. Tendulkar took as many as eight Tests and a string of poor scores - 2, 8, 1, 8, 2, 5, 55, 3, 20, 32* - to equal Sunil Gavaskar's 34 centuries, then the world record. He took eight more innings to reset the record and another 18 innings to score his 36th ton. That malaise has now returned on a more tragic scale. 

Perhaps he now finds difficult to overcome his mind because he lacks the resilience of the young. The biological change is often sudden - for instance, many 40 year olds suddenly discover one day that they need to hold the newspaper closer to their eyes to read it. It's the body's signal to have reading glasses prescribed. Tendulkar's cheap dismissals are time's intimation to him of his ageing body and slower reflexes. 

Perhaps he still believes he has the capacity to adjust to the gradual withering away of his powers. Or perhaps he can't retire because, as some allege, the business model built around him would collapse. But give Tendulkar a few more Tests to know whether or not his form has deserted him permanently. Let Tendulkar bat without the fear that he might be asked to leave without a delectable swansong. Should such an innings prove elusive, he won't potter around, for the structure of sports can't sustain a cricketing equivalent of Dev Anand, who continued to produce films for the love of it even though no one watched them. We owe this much to Tendulkar, for bringing light and warmth in those gloomy years we lived in. 

(The author is a Delhi-based journalist. Email: ashrafajaz3@gmail. com)

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Baby Falak - Only the nurses remember

FALAK KI YAAD ME

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phoolo si komal thi jiski kaya,

jivan me jiske andhera tha chaya,

masumiyat jiske chehre se jati thi jhalak

ha ha us pari ka naam tha baby falak.

usne apne jeevan me kya paya,

na mata pita ka sath

or na apno ka saya

bachpan uske liye ban gaya ek abhishap,

garibi or lachari ka bhugta usne dushparinam.

na ma ka use anchal mila ,

na pita ka mila sahara,

or na hi bhai bahan k sath waqt usne gujara,

jane kin lakiro ne uske hatho me ghar tha banaya,

jane kesi taqdeer ne tha uska matha sajaya,

ese jaal me uljhi vo nanhi pari,

aatma jhakjhor de esi vipda us par padi

masumiyat bhare uske chehre par

kar diye hevaniyat k nishan,

sharir par hazaro jakham diye,

har pal nikalti uski jaan.

karhana usne sikh liya tha ,

kilkariyo ki umar me.

har dard apne naam kiya,

bachpan k khel bhool k.

par hosla tha uska buland ,

ladi thi vo jee jaan se.

begano se bhi apno sa pyar mila,

desh videsh se mili duaae thi.

par ek din wo har gai ,

is jivan jaal se.

hevan rupi insan se ,

or uske kiye kam se.

par jaate jaate wo dikha gai ,

hame buraiyo ki shakal.

de gai ek gehri soch ,

ki kesa hoga hamara ka.

kya yu hi bachpan dam tode ga,

majboori or lalach k jaal me.

kya yu hi bikti rahe gi aaurat,

hevano k hath me.

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India's Baby Falak

This is Falak, this is India and this is the story of our own inhumane psyche, where nobody is at fault, but a few poverty stricken people living with their own miseries. The people who should be accountable, in the various child welfare agencies, and the government  for paying them salaries, go scott free, as other Falaks and worse brutalities continue to happen... Click link below to read the story. It will be worth it...

NEW DELHI–The story of Baby Falak is a close-up look at the underbelly of Indian society: prostitution, human trafficking, bride selling, and domestic violence.

It also is the story of a small group of ordinary people – a young mother, a rebellious teenager, a taxi driver, a tire repairman, a lonely graduate — trying to escape the tribulations of their daily lives, and of the people who exploited them, the institutions that failed them, and the people who helped them. 

The events that transpired over 10 months, from mid-2011 to early 2012, moved millions, at least briefly, to unprecedented outrage and introspection, as if India were asking itself: “Are we like this only?”

Falak: The Complete True Story of ‘India’s Baby’

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This govt is taking the country down with it

By : Francois Gautier | (As appeared in DNA on Tuesday, May 8, 2012)

In Tamil Nadu, one of the country’s most industrialised states, there are 10 to 15 hours of power cut a day, workers stand idle, small units are closing down daily by the dozens and business is slow. The rupee is sliding, India is downgraded by many countries as an investment risk and the stock market tumbles. The government allows the best airline, Kingfisher, to go nearly bankrupt, bled dry by extravagant airport charges, huge fuel taxes, while it keeps pouring thousands of crores into Air India.

India is the laughing stock of South Asia: Pakistan sends its terrorists, New Delhi cries murder, but the next moment the pretty Pakistani foreign minister comes and the Indian media goes gaga. China plays the Indian government like a violin. Maoists have a field day, kidnapping officials at random, knowing that ransoms will be paid.

Indians today live in a country where mullahs can preach secession, while Hindu gurus revered by millions of Hindus are the target of ridicule, media attacks and police assaults.

Even the army, India’s last non-politicised, casteless barrier is not safe: since Sonia Gandhi has come to power, it has been targeted, first by attempting to make a census of its Muslim soldiers, then by trying to remove AFSPA, which would be as good as giving away Kashmir to Pakistan, and lastly by the concerted attack on General VK Singh, the man who dared to expose the total disinterest of the Indian government on the army’s preparedness and the rot in defence procurement.

Here we have a government that is racked by scandal after scandal which would have brought down any government in the world. But this government has no shame: it does not care if it brings down the country with it, as long as its ministers can keep their perks and loot the country for another two years. What it is good at, however, is surviving, using lie, deceit, all that with a smile on its face.

For, democracy in India has been hijacked to the point that a government that is basically in minority, which is openly flouting all values of decency and honesty, which has lost the trust of the people, is able to continue damaging India’s fabric, taking advantage of the fact that the majority of Indians, who are Hindus, do not riot and descend in the streets when they are unhappy. The instruments of power have also never been so perverted in India: the CBI blatantly and shamelessly quashed all injunctions against Ottavio Quattrrochi and even allowed him to get away with billions of rupees which he had stolen from India. Yet, without batting an eyelid, and with the Indian media turning a blind eye, it goes ruthlessly after Narendra Modi, chief minister of the most efficiently run state, the most corruption free. Her governors shamelessly hijack democracy by twisting the laws.

It is a fact that Sonia brought discipline, order and cohesion into the Congress party. But the amount of power, that she, a non-Indian, a simple elected MP, like hundreds of others, possesses, is frightening. She is the ultimate arbiter and nothing of importance is decided without her caveat. Because of her immense power, India has now entered an area of semi-dictatorship, where hundreds of thousands of phones are tapped, emails are read, letters opened, gurus arrested, journalists scared to speak aloud…

The going down of India because of the selfishness and petty interests of its politicians, including the BJP, which is terribly disunited and refuses to acknowledge that Modi is its only eligible PM candidate, is a tragedy for the few of us who have dared over the years to defend India in our respective countries, by saying that India, and not China, should be the natural choice of investment for western countries, for it is democratic, liberal, pro-western and friendly people. We have also clamored that the West should realise that India is of an immense strategic geopolitical importance — at the cross roads of many civilisations, a buffer of freedom against the Chinese hegemonic tendencies and an example of integration in the face of Islamic fundamentalism.

Cry O my Beloved India, look at what Thy children are doing to Thee…

Follow Francois Gautier on Twitter@fgautier26
Link : http://www.dnaindia.com/analysis/column_this-govt-is-taking-the-country-down-with-it_1685873

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