The Karur crowd crush of September 2025 should have been a political funeral. 41 people died including a two‑year‑old, young couples, mothers with their daughters, crushed in three successive waves at a TVK rally where the FIR explicitly names party office‑bearers for reckless over‑mobilisation. In any textbook democracy, the leader at the centre of such a mass‑casualty disaster would face prolonged political exile, if not criminal liability. Instead, Vijay returned to the campaign trail within weeks, rebranded himself as the victim of a DMK conspiracy, and is now being reinforced by one of the most experienced organisation men in Dravidian politics. That trajectory, from culpability to consolidation, is the real story of late 2025.

The Psychology Of Absolution

What makes Karur historically unusual is not the tragedy itself; India has seen stampedes before. It is the public psychology that followed. Grieving families, on camera, said Vijay should not be blamed. Some even spoke of consoling him when he called them. His supporters instead chose to frame it as a disaster deliberately orchestrated by the DMK to curb his rise. The mental gymnastics needed to turn 40 preventable deaths at Vijay’s own rally into a storyboard of someone else’s villainy is astonishing — and, disturbingly, it seems to have worked.

This is not mere “fan loyalty.” It is a new strain of political psychology where emotional investment in a leader becomes so intense that objective culpability cannot penetrate it. The same voters who would demand resignations if a DMK or AIADMK rally killed dozens have decided, almost instinctively, that Vijay is exempt. That exemption is now a political fact, and every other actor in Tamil Nadu must reckon with it. And not every one will get this leeway or advantage.

Vijay’s Transformation: From Screen Image To Political Inevitability

Until TVK’s launch, Vijay’s “politics” was widely read as a combination of three things: his carefully crafted screen persona (the righteous outsider fighting systemic corruption), his late father S.A. Chandrasekhar’s unfulfilled ambitions, and the absence of any visible grassroots organisation or ideological framework. He is not a great orator like a Karunanidhi, Seeman or Annamalai. He doesn’t have the administrative depth, versatility or in-depth knowledge like Jayalalithaa. He has not built a grassroot cadre-based entrenched parties like how MGR or Jayalalithaa did. Vijay is seeing politics as an extension of his cinematic persona. That explains the cringeworthy, scripted and rehearsed speeches on stage and social media bytes. Everybody including this author still feel that Vijay is just all hype and no substance.

But the game changed in Karur. Vijay’s first major post‑tragedy speech was not apologetic but combative. It became an opportunity for him to make it into a DMK–TVK fight. The crowds that once saw him as a superstar now see him as a wronged leader fighting a hostile regime, an underdog – a classic victim‑to‑challenger arc that Karur, perversely, accelerated.

Yet this “inevitability” narrative has limits. TVK’s visible strength is concentrated in urban and peri‑urban belts, among first‑time voters and anti‑establishment middle‑class blocs. There is much less evidence of penetration into Dalit‑marginal constituencies that VCK, Left parties, and smaller outfits still organise at the ground level. Caste‑anchored local leadership, panchayat‑level patronage networks, and trade‑union linkages remain weak points. Treating Vijay as the “third pole that has already replaced AIADMK” is exactly the premature coronation TVK wants the ecosystem to perform.

Sengottaiyan: The Full‑Stack Organisation Man

Into this volatile moment walks K.A. Sengottaiyan, a man who spent roughly half a century inside AIADMK’s machine, from MGR’s early campaigns through Jayalalithaa’s iron rule and the post‑Jaya EPS period. His brand is not charisma but organisation: loyalty to leadership so total that he was called AIADMK’s “rubber stamp,” an iron grip over Kongu region networks, and an instinct for converting crowds, cadres, and caste equations into winnable arithmetic.

That such a man walks out after 50 years, resigns his MLA seat, gets expelled by EPS, and then crosses over to TVK, not DMK, signals several things at once:

• He believes AIADMK, as currently led, is a sinking or at least stagnating ship, incapable of offering him meaningful authority.
• He reads TVK as the only vehicle where his experience will translate into real command, not decorative posting.

TVK has validated that reading immediately. Sengottaiyan has been made chief coordinator of the party’s executive committee and organisational secretary for the western region (Erode, Coimbatore, Nilgiris, Tiruppur), posts structurally placed alongside, not below, the general secretary and campaign general secretary. For a party dismissed as a fan club with no clarity, this is fast‑track institutionalisation: a proper chain of command, region‑wise responsibilities, and a 77‑year‑old with an MGR–Jaya pedigree supervising young aspirants.

The Double‑Edged Sword

But Sengottaiyan is not a cost‑free asset. He embodies the old Dravidian style: opaque deal‑making, top‑down discipline, and comfort with caste‑weighted arithmetic. If Vijay truly wants to present TVK as a clean break from 50 years of DMK–AIADMK cynicism, he now has to explain why his first major induction is exactly the sort of back‑room strongman his Gen‑Z supporters said they were done with.

There is also a tactical risk. By placing Sengottaiyan at the executive committee’s apex, Vijay has narrowed his own future room for course‑correction. If TVK underperforms in the Kongu belt, or if there is backlash within AIADMK‑leaning Gounder blocs against this defection, rolling back Sengottaiyan’s influence later will be politically costly and publicly embarrassing.

AIADMK’s Historic Blunder

Losing Sengottaiyan to Vijay is not just an embarrassment for Edappadi Palaniswami; it may prove to be a historic miscalculation for the entire anti‑DMK space. Until now, DMK vs TVK looked like a far-fetched rhetoric. But with Sengottaiyan’s induction it has begun crystallizing. Whether this momentum will continue to bring in other disgruntled leaders like O Paneerselvam, TTV Dhinakaran and others will determine TVK’s weight as a formidable third front. But Edappadi Palaniswami’s attempt to keep an iron grip on the party is having its effect — people are slipping away like sand through a clenched fist

AIADMK has effectively pushed a veteran like Sengottaiyan into TVK’s arms, thereby strengthening the very challenger that could, in time, cannibalise its own base.

In western Tamil Nadu especially, where caste‑driven Kongu arithmetic has long underpinned AIADMK’s strength, Sengottaiyan’s relocation offers TVK ready‑made ground networks that no fan club can build overnight. Even if TVK does not immediately convert this into dozens of seats, it can deny AIADMK easy victories, distort margins, and accelerate the fragmentation of the non‑DMK vote.

BJP’s Silent Loss

A few weeks ago, Sengottaiyan met senior BJP leaders, including Amit Shah and Nirmala Sitharaman, amid discussions that may have included a possible shift to the BJP. However, since the BJP had already finalized its alliance with Palaniswami, any move by Sengottaiyan to join BJP would have been seen as politically inappropriate and akin to poaching. Had he joined BJP before the alliance was sealed, it could have strengthened BJP’s organizational presence significantly.

But now for the BJP, this is almost a strategic dead‑end. Reports indicate that Union ministers and RSS functionaries tried to use Sengottaiyan’s anger to reshape AIADMK into a more pliable partner; those efforts failed, and once his intentions became clear, Delhi quietly backed off. In effect, Sengottaiyan’s jump helps lock BJP into a spectator role in Tamil Nadu, unless it can engineer a fresh realignment closer to polling.

DMK’s Comfort And Blind Spot

DMK’s front, meanwhile, remains numerically solid: Congress, Left, VCK, MDMK, and even Kamal’s MNM are either within or orbiting the alliance space, giving Stalin a broad “secular” shield and a narrative of stability. There are ongoing feelers to PMK, DMDK, and other caste‑based outfits to at least prevent them from becoming spearheads of a rival bloc.

But DMK’s comfort inside this stitched‑together coalition can also be a blind spot. The party’s answer to TVK so far is to sneer at its supposed lack of ideology while downplaying how post‑Karur sympathy, anti‑corruption rhetoric, and a high‑decibel social‑justice plank are reshaping youth perceptions. Each time Vijay calls DMK a “looting syndicate” or “dynasty cartel” and backs it with selective data points, he is not just firing at Stalin; he is offering disillusioned DMK‑haters an option that is neither AIADMK nor BJP. With Sengottaiyan’s entry, that option now has a spine.

The Larger Precedent: Impunity With Fan Consent

The sharper way to read Karur is not just as Vijay’s “baptism in blood” but as the normalisation of impunity with fan consent. International and national coverage emphasises three crush waves, failure of mic and spotlight systems, overcrowding beyond permitted numbers, and even TVK cadres blocking ambulances. When that chain of preventable errors ends without any serious political cost to the central figure, it signals to all future organisers of every party that such risks are survivable so long as blame can be narratively outsourced to the administration.

India still lacks a binding, justiciable framework for maximum density, exit‑to‑entry ratios, or real‑time crowd‑flow monitoring at political events, despite repeated stampedes in temples and rallies across the country. Karur is not only TVK’s sin; it is a symptom of how all parties have normalised unsafe rallies for decades. But the fact that Vijay emerged politically stronger from it, rather than diminished, sets a precedent that will embolden future recklessness across the spectrum.

Where This Trajectory Points

It is still too early to project vote‑shares or seat counts. Karur’s ghosts will follow TVK into 2026; court findings and commission reports can still reshape public memory; and organising a party is not the same as organising a fan club. Yet some trajectories are already visible:

First, Vijay has survived a moment that would have ethically destroyed many leaders and has emerged with an even more hardened, emotionally committed base.

Second, TVK has recruited one of the last “full‑stack” organisation men of Dravidian politics, giving the party a ready‑made manual in booth work, cadre discipline, and alliance negotiation.

Third, the anti‑DMK space is now splitting into 2 with being the apex of a possible third front.

If there is a single line that captures this phase, it is this: Karur did not stop Vijay’s politics; it baptised it in blood, and Sengottaiyan’s jump has now given that baptism an organisational church. Whether Tamil Nadu rewards or punishes that combination will decide not just 2026, but the post‑Dravidian balance of power itself.

Hydra is a political writer. 

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The post Vijay May Be A ‘Tharkuri’ But He Must Be Taken Seriously, What Sengottaiyan Joining TVK Means For Tamil Nadu Political Parties appeared first on The Commune.

The Dhwajarohan ceremony on 25 November 2025 at the Ayodhya temple is a moment of profound fulfilment. It is a testament to centuries of faith and decades of dedication.

The physical temple is complete.

But this temple is more than its pillars and carvings. This temple is more than the home of the presiding deity.

It is a symbol of resurgence and resilience. It is the soul of a civilization. And that soul has a story; a story of immense sacrifice that remains, for now, whispers in the wind, fading memories in the minds of millions.

Yet, as the flag flutters, marking the official completion of the temple’s physical structure, it is time to turn our attention to a project that safeguards its modern soul – a memorial museum for the Ram Janmabhoomi movement. A gentle urgent reminder of a promise yet to be fully redeemed.

A temple, in its highest ideal, is not just a structure of stone but a repository of collective memory. Our ancestors etched their times, their stories and contemporaries in the ancient temples that exist today.

The story of Ayodhya is incomplete without honouring the countless individuals who, for generations, kept the flame of our civilizational memory alive. Their sacrifices are the invisible foundations upon which the visible temple now stands.

The proposed memorial-museum is not a project rooted in grievance, but in gratitude. It is an opportunity to answer a sacred civilizational duty: the duty to remember.

Imagine a space that does more than just chronicle a political or legal battle. Imagine a world-class institution that tells the epic, human story of the movement. It would house the personal effects of a kar sevak, a worn-out jhola, a handwritten letter, alongside the profound intellectual contributions of scholars who fortified the cause with historical and legal research. It would honour the leadership that steered the movement, but, more importantly, it would etch into permanent record the names and faces of the unknown, the unsung, the balidanis who offered their lives.

From the Kothari brothers in Ayodhya to Swami Lakshmanananda in Kandhamal, and the many others who fell defending their faith elsewhere, their stories are not isolated tragedies. They are threads in the larger tapestry of a civilization re-awakening to its identity. To forget them is not just an act of omission; it is a loss of our own moral and historical compass.

Every pilgrim who walks away from the sanctum sanctorum should have the opportunity to understand the immense human cost and unwavering devotion that made their pilgrimage possible. This context does not diminish the spiritual experience; it deepens it, connecting the divine to the earthly struggle that reclaimed its abode.

The call for this memorial is a call to sustain the “sense of history” that brought us here. The Hindu psyche, often rightly celebrated for its philosophical depth, must also cultivate the institutional strength to preserve its contemporary narratives.

Ayodhya, the very ground that witnessed this centuries-long civilizational journey, is the most hallowed ground for such a memorial. Let it be a project undertaken with the same vision and dedication as the temple itself. Let it be a place of quiet reflection, of learning, and of profound gratitude; a permanent, dignified tribute ensuring that the keepers of the memory are never themselves forgotten. The temple is complete, but the sacred duty of remembrance has just begun.

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Consider the immediate aftermath of any terror attack in India. A bomb rips through a market in Jaipur. A train is blasted in Mumbai. Gunmen lay siege to a temple. Before the smoke has cleared, before the last victim has been identified, the machinery of our national consensus whirs into motion. The script is as predictable as it is comforting. Within an hour, television anchors, their faces grim, will speculate about the “masterminds across the border.”

Government spokesmen will release identical statements: “We condemn this cowardly act” and “We will give a fitting reply.” The conversation is now firmly, and exclusively, about Pakistan. The purpose of this ritual is not to find the truth. The purpose is to pre-empt the truth. The purpose is to ensure that the one set of questions that truly matters is never asked. Who is the man who lives in that Pune colony who surveyed the German Bakery? Who is the “student” in Jaipur who procured the bicycles? Who is the “local businessman” in Mumbai who provided the safe house? These are uncomfortable questions. They are inconvenient questions.

The official narrative, the one taught in our textbooks and repeated by our public intellectuals, is that the ideology which created Pakistan left India with the new border. That the Muslims who “chose” India were, by definition, secular, moderate, and committed to the new republic. But let us put these assumptions to the stress test. The demand for Partition was the political culmination of an ideological assertion: that a separate Muslim identity, law, and society (the “Ummah”) could not be submerged into a composite, non-sectarian, democratic state. This ideology did not evaporate on August 15, 1947. It simply changed its tactics. It burrowed. It waited. It presented itself not as a demand for a separate state, but as a demand for special status within the Indian state. Every time the state has been confronted with this obstinacy, it has buckled. This is the “secularism” we have practiced. When the Supreme Court granted a pittance to an elderly woman, Shah Bano, the entire clerical establishment rose as one. The “liberals” who now lecture us on television were silent. The state, led by a Prime Minister with a brute majority, overturned the court’s judgment. This is of a piece with the insistence on separate personal laws, the riots over cartoons in a distant country, the organized opposition to Vande Mataram, the refusal to allow reform. This is a relentless political project. It is the assertion of a parallel sovereignty. And this is the very history that the “Blame Pakistan” reflex is designed to make us forget.

The great truth of our age is this: the single-minded focus on Pakistan is an analytical error. One can even go as far as to say that it is a sophisticated, multi-layered, and wholly deliberate act of intellectual and political evasion. It is the shield which our entire establishment, new and old, from South Block to the newsrooms of Delhi, holds up to protect itself from a reality it dares not name. That reality is the history, and the continuing present, of Islamic obstinacy and radicalism within India.

Now, see how this evasion connects directly to terror. A module cannot function on air. A Pakistani agent, no matter how skilled, cannot simply walk into a sensitive area and plant a bomb. He needs a network. He needs a local guide, a translator, someone to rent a flat, to buy a SIM card, to procure the chemicals, to weld the containers. He needs, in short, a domestic support system. And what has our own investigative history shown? Time and again, after the media’s focus has moved on, the charge sheets are filed. And who are the names? They are not phantoms from Islamabad. They are the members of the Students Islamic Movement of India (SIMI). They are the founders of the “Indian” Mujahideen. They are local clerics, university students, and software engineers from Azamgarh, from Bhatkal, from Kerala. They are Indians. Their motive is not Pakistani nationalism. Their motive is the same ideology that our establishment has refused to confront for seventy years. They are fighting for that same parallel sovereignty. They see the Indian state, its constitution, and its “kafir” society as the enemy.

But the “Blame Pakistan” narrative performs a vital service. For the ‘secular’ establishment of old, it was a tool to appease a vote-bank. But for the new ‘pro-Hindutva’ establishment, this evasion is more profound. Why? Because blaming Pakistan is easy. It is the perfect performance of nationalism. It allows for a muscular, theatrical display which electrifies the base and consumes the news cycle. It requires no hard choices, no messy internal reforms. The alternative, confronting the domestic fifth column, is the hornet’s nest that they choose not to confront. To do so would be to admit that the problem is not a simple foreign policy dispute but a deep-fanged societal rot. It would mean undertaking the hard, grinding, unpopular work of statecraft: genuine police reform, the modernization of madrasas, the enforcement of a uniform civil code against all opposition, and the patient, thankless task of intelligence gathering in hostile domestic localities. Why bother with this difficult, protracted war at home when a spectacular, prime-time “fitting reply” to Pakistan gives you all the political capital at a fraction of the cost? The “nationalist” establishment has discovered that the rhetoric of strength is a perfect substitute for the creation of a hard state.

The result of this grand, collusive deception is that the problem is never solved. It only festers. By attributing every attack to an external enemy, we give a free pass, a complete immunity, to the internal, ideological fifth column that sustains it. We are, in effect, pruning the weed while carefully watering its roots. The 26/11 Mumbai attack was the perfect example. It was a Pakistani plot. But it could not have been executed without the maps and surveillance provided by domestic facilitators. Yet, even in that case, which part of the story was quietly buried? The hunt for the Indian helpers. We have chosen a comfortable lie over an inconvenient truth. The ‘secularists’ traded national security for the applause of a moribund intellectual class. The ‘nationalists’, more cynically, trade it for the roar of the crowd, for the tactical convenience of an external enemy. The result is the same. This shared delusion will not last. The nature of reality is that it does not care for our narratives. It has a way of asserting itself, often in the most brutal fashion. By refusing to name the enemy within our gates, by all sides shielding themselves with the “foreign hand” theory, we are not displaying secular tolerance or nationalist strength. We are committing national suicide.

Postscript

Let us be unambiguous. The case against Pakistan is settled. It is an irredeemable state dedicated to our destruction, and it must be treated as such. The question is not whether to confront Pakistan, but what else we are failing to do while we are so consumed. The obsessive focus on Pakistan is not a lie, but it is a half-truth so vast it functions as a lie. It is the ‘nationalist’ establishment’s great alibi. It is the single, deafening drumbeat they use to drown out the sounds of the enemy already inside the gates. An enemy they perhaps find politically inconvenient, and therefore terrifying, to name.

Yours truthfully,

Nishkala

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The post How Pakistan Becomes A Smokescreen To Mask A Far More Dangerous Internal Threat appeared first on The Commune.

On 9 November 2025, mythological fiction author Devdutt Pattanaik, known for his fantasy book series, posted about an article he wrote for The New Indian Express.

The article was titled “A fantasy called Chanakya”, with a byline. “The legend of Chanakya is simply this trans-civilisational script recast as Indian patriotism, with a dash of casteism”

This is not just wrong but mischievous ideological narrative building by Pattanaik.

The Impossible Standard Of Proof

Pattanaik’s central premise is that “there is absolutely no historical evidence that a man called Chanakya ever lived.” He demands contemporaneous, archaeological proof – a coin, an inscription, a royal edict bearing his name.

This standard is just unrealistic. If we were to apply it universally, we would have to dismiss the existence of most major figures from ancient history.

Alexander the Great: Our primary accounts of his life were written 300-400 years after his death by Greco-Roman historians like Arrian and Plutarch. There are no contemporary Indian records of his invasion.

The Buddha: There is zero contemporaneous evidence of his birth, life, or teachings. His existence is reconstructed from texts compiled centuries later by communities with a vested interest in promoting his legacy.

Jesus Christ: The earliest New Testament gospels were written decades after his crucifixion, by followers, not neutral observers. There is no Roman record of his existence from his lifetime.

Would a “selfie from Pataliputra” be enough for Pattanaik? Ancient history is not a court case where you get inscriptions on demand to prove something ‘beyond a reasonable doubt.’ It is a forensic science that pieces together probabilities from fragmented, often biased, and later sources. By Pattanaik’s logic, the fields of classical and ancient history would cease to exist.

The Plurality Of Sources: A Consensus Of Traditions

Pattanaik dismisses the sources on Chanakya as “later Buddhist and Jain chronicles and Sanskrit plays… imagined after 500 AD.” This oversimplifies the whole thing.

What makes Chanakya credible is that so many unrelated traditions mention him. He appears in:

• Buddhist texts like the Mahavamsa (5th century CE), which draw on older Sri Lankan commentaries.
• Jain texts like the Parishishtaparvan (12th century CE), which meticulously detail Chandragupta’s conversion to Jainism and his death by sallekhana (ritual fasting) in Shravanabelagola—a tradition supported by local inscriptions and enduring worship.
• Sanskrit literature, most notably Vishakhadatta’s political drama Mudrarakshasa (c. 4th-8th century CE), which takes the Chanakya-Chandragupta story as its central plot.

These are not a single, monolithic “Brahminical” narrative. They are competing accounts from traditions that were often doctrinally opposed to each other. Yet, they all converge on one central fact: a brilliant, shrewd Brahmin named Chanakya (or Kautilya) was the mastermind behind the Mauryan empire’s rise. For these diverse traditions to independently affirm his pivotal role is powerful evidence of his historicity, not a reason for dismissal.

The Arthashastra: A Text With Layers, Not A Forgery

Pattanaik points to references to Chinese silk and Roman gold coins in the Arthashastra to claim it was composed around 200 AD, “almost 400 years after Mauryan rule.”

This is a classic case of mistaking the leaves for the tree. Mainstream scholarship, including historians like R. C. Majumdar and D. D. Kosambi, agrees that the core of the Arthashastra is a product of the Mauryan period. The text we have today likely underwent centuries of transmission, with later scribes and scholars adding commentaries, examples, and updating terminology—a process known as interpolation.

The presence of a later interpolation does not invalidate the entire text’s origin. The sophisticated detailing of a complex bureaucracy, taxation, and espionage in the Arthashastra aligns perfectly with what we know of the vast Mauryan state from Ashokan edicts and Megasthenes’ account.

The “Mentor Trope” And Selective Cultural Skepticism

Pattanaik argues that the Chanakya story is merely a common “narrative trope” found globally, comparing it to Merlin and King Arthur, Hemachandra and Kumarapala, or Vidyaranya and the founders of Vijayanagara.

This argument backfires spectacularly. The universal presence of the “wise mentor” archetype doesn’t prove these figures are fictional; it points to a recurring historical and sociological reality. Powerful rulers have often relied on the counsel of learned advisors.

The Buddhist monk Nagasena debated and guided the Indo-Greek king Menander, as recorded in the Milinda Panha.

As Pattanaik himself notes, the Phagpa Lama was a preceptor to the Mongol emperor Kublai Khan.

Why are these relationships, or that of Aristotle and Alexander, not dismissed as pure fiction, while Chanakya’s is deemed a “fantasy”? The bias is hard to miss: only Indian civilizational heroes, particularly those valorized in a “Hindu” or “Brahminical” context, are subjected to this level of deconstructive scrutiny. The mentor-king trope is accepted as a plausible historical reality everywhere except in this specific Indian instance.

The Agenda Of Selective Historical Destruction

The most telling part of Pattanaik’s thesis is what he doesn’t attack. He will never write a column titled “A fantasy called St. Thomas,” despite the complete lack of contemporary evidence for the apostle’s legendary journey to Kerala in 52 CE; a story crucial to the identity of many Indian Christians.

He will never question the existence of the Buddha, whose life is documented only in texts written centuries after his parinirvana by his devoted followers. This selective application of “skepticism” exposes the game: the target is not historical inaccuracy, but specific elements of the Indian/Hindu historical consciousness that do not align with a particular ideological worldview.

It is possible that Devdutt and his ilk would also claim Nalanda university was destroyed by Brahmins based on some spurious later period texts; however, they will not believe Chanakya existed because it comes from later period texts. The standard of evidence is flexible, bending to serve a pre-determined narrative that often seeks to undermine traditional Indian institutions.

History Is Not A Weapon

Devdutt Pattanaik’s article is a masterclass in historical nihilism disguised as progressive scholarship. By imposing an impossible standard of proof, ignoring the consensus-building methodology of historians, and applying his skepticism with glaring selectivity, he does not enlighten but obscures.

The figure of Chanakya—the brilliant, ruthless strategist who orchestrated the fall of the Nanda empire and the rise of India’s first major imperial power—is supported by a robust cross-traditional consensus. His legacy, encoded in the Arthashastra, resonated across Asia for over a millennium, with his aphorisms being translated and treasured from Nepal to Tibet and Sri Lanka.

To dismiss this as a “convenient fiction” is not just bad history; it is an attempt to sever a people from a pillar of their historical memory. If there’s any fantasy here, it’s the idea that you can throw out every old source that doesn’t fit your politics.

In the end, what Pattanaik peddles is not history but a deracinated sermon meant to shame Indians out of their own civilisational confidence. Chanakya endures not because of blind patriotism, but because multiple traditions, texts, and centuries of scholarship recognise the magnitude of his political genius.

Reducing him to a “fantasy” says nothing about Chanakya and everything about the ideological compulsions of those desperate to unwrite India’s past. A civilisation that produced the Arthashastra does not need validation from armchair mythographers masquerading as scholars. The real fantasy is the belief that selective skepticism can erase a figure who has lived robustly in the subcontinent’s historical, literary, and political memory for over 2,000 years.

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The post No, Chanakya Is Not A Fantasy, But Devdutt’s Self-Proclaimed ‘Scholarship’ Certainly Is As He Writes Like A Deracinated Missionary Stooge appeared first on The Commune.

Bihar has delivered its verdict, and it comes with a warning siren that should echo all the way to Tamil Nadu. The NDA has stormed back to power, the Mahagathbandhan has collapsed, and one man who thought he could script a political revolution — Prashant Kishor — has been flattened by the voters he claimed were secretly marching behind him.

PK, the so-called master strategist who once dictated election blueprints to Chief Ministers, finally tested his own political luck. He floated Jan Suraaj, toured the length of Bihar, declared Nitish Kumar finished, and confidently predicted a “silent wave” only he could hear. The crowds cheered, cameras clicked, his volunteers amplified his every word — and PK began believing his own myth.

But voters exposed the mirage.

Jan Suraaj contested everywhere. It led nowhere. By the end of counting, the party sank without a trace, with a vote share so thin it wouldn’t even register on a political ECG. For a strategist who helped others win, his own debut was a spectacular self-goal.

And embedded in this humiliation lies a message Vijay can ignore only at his own peril.

Because Tamil Nadu’s newest political entrant must understand one brutal truth — mass applause, blockbuster dialogues, and lakhs of screaming fans do not translate into votes. Cinema charisma cannot replace booth strength. A blockbuster opening cannot substitute for street-level organisation. Politics is not a Friday release; it is a 365-day grind of booth committees, cadre discipline, voter lists, and tireless ground work.

Which brings us to the biggest red flag standing next to Vijay: his inner circle — especially Aadhav Arjuna.

Here is a man who has hopped from DMK to VCK to TVK, leaving behind confusion, factional fights, and suspicion. He dragged Prashant Kishor onto the TVK stage, created a media flutter about a possible understanding, hinted at coordination, and then — as if struck by lightning — publicly denied any alliance the very next day. It left the entire political class wondering whether TVK even knew what it was doing.

In Tamil Nadu political circles, Aadhav’s name floats with whispers — “DMK’s mole”, “opportunistic broker”, “unpredictable operator”. True or not, the perception exists. And in politics, perception can kill faster than reality.

Yet Vijay, in his naïveté, has placed hefty responsibility on a man many seasoned politicians wouldn’t trust for five minutes.

This is the danger. This is the Bihar lesson.

PK lost not because he wasn’t known — but because he trusted his own hype and surrounded himself with people who amplified that hype instead of grounding him in reality.

Vijay must not make the same mistake.

Fan mobs don’t win elections. Star power doesn’t win elections. Instagram reels don’t win elections. Booth captains win elections. Street workers win elections. Understanding the voter’s pulse wins elections.

And trusting the wrong people can destroy a movement before it even begins.

Tamil Nadu’s political battlefield is ruthless. It has chewed up film stars before. It has sent larger-than-life personalities packing. And it will do the same to Vijay if he keeps letting smooth-talking, loyalty-shifting operators navigate his path.

Vijay still has time to course-correct. But he must choose between two futures:

— one where he becomes a real leader who builds a disciplined ground force, listens to genuine workers, and cuts out freeloaders
OR
— one where he becomes yet another star who believed applause was equal to votes, trusted the wrong voices, and watched his political story end before it even began.

Bihar has shown what happens when leaders float in their own bubble.

Vijay’s test is simple:
Will he burst that bubble now — or let the voters do it later?

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In a rare moment of cross-continental comedy, stand-up philosopher and full-time X revolutionary Kunal Kamra declared that New York politician Zohran Mamdani “makes India more proud than Adani and Ambani.”

A touching statement, except for one minor detail: Zohran Mamdani was born in Uganda, spent his early childhood in South Africa, and has lived in the U.S. for the last three decades. But who cares about geography when your GPS is permanently tuned to “performative nationalism”?

Of course, it turns out Mamdani’s father is Mahmood Mamdani, a Ugandan academic of Gujarati Muslim origin – one of the many Indians who migrated to East Africa during the British colonial period. Which means by Kamra’s nationalist logic, Zohran isn’t just Indian; he’s 200% Indian. Gujarat to Kampala to Queens; he’s double-strength Indian, with ancestral roots, overseas experience, and a progressive resume.

If ancestry is all it takes, Kamra might soon extend “Indian pride” to every Uber driver with a subcontinental playlist. Next week, expect him to post: “Greta Thunberg’s Uber driver with <insert any Indian-ish surname> now makes India prouder than ISRO.”

And truly, why stop there? With such elastic patriotism, we can claim everyone – from Elon Musk (born in Africa, like Mamdani!) to Kamala Harris (half Tamil, full America). India’s pride exports are doing better than IT services.

In the end, Kamra’s joke works perfectly because it’s about as Indian as Zohran Mamdani himself: globally misplaced, emotionally dramatic, and factually flexible.

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The post Islamo-Leftist NYC Mayor Was Born In Uganda And Raised In US, But Congress Lackey Kunal Kamra Says He Makes India Proud appeared first on The Commune.

There’s a spectacle that unfolds every year on Park Avenue in New York City, one that is both profound and deeply public.

Thousands of Shia Muslims gather for the Ashura Procession, a solemn commemoration of the martyrdom of Imam Hussain. Dressed in black, they march, chant, and engage in rituals like chest-beating, transforming a iconic Manhattan boulevard into a river of religious devotion. Similar gatherings, lectures, and mourning sessions fill Islamic centers across Brooklyn and Queens throughout the month of Muharram.

One thing I find amazing if that if Hindus do something similar in US, you would find a bunch of Hindus raining down upon them, making videos shaming them or saying this happened because of Modi. No one else does this on their own community/religion.

And you wonder why Vivek… pic.twitter.com/QrsYb0ayp2

— Arnab Ray (@greatbong) November 6, 2025

This public display of faith is, rightly, treated as a protected expression of religious freedom. It is a powerful testament to the multicultural fabric of America.

But observe this scene and then consider a hypothetical: imagine a procession of thousands of Hindus performing a similarly intense, public religious ritual on the same streets. The reaction, particularly from within our own community, would be starkly different.

You would instantly find a cohort of Hindus raining down upon them. There would be a flurry of social media videos shaming them, calling them “backward,” and attributing their newfound public confidence not to their own rights as citizens, but to a political climate in India. The refrain would be familiar: “This is happening because of Modi.” It’s a bizarre form of self-flagellation that is almost unique to the Hindu diaspora.

And then we wonder why a figure like Vivek Ramaswamy might feel compelled to apologize for or downplay his faith in public life.

The truth is, the reason you see Hindus in the US coming out into public spaces with more visible displays of religiosity now is precisely because others have been doing it for years. The Ashura Procession is just one example. A standard has been set in the West: public religious expression is a valid form of cultural identity.

For decades, Hindus, often wary of standing out or being misunderstood, largely kept their worship within temple walls. Now, as a new generation asserts its place, it is simply following the path that other communities have already paved. Yet, when Hindus walk this path, the rules seem to change. The same public display that is a protected right for others is suddenly labeled as “egregious” or “political” when performed by Hindus. And the most vocal critics are often from within. If anyone dares to question this hypocrisy, the accusation of “phobia” is instantly deployed, shutting down all debate.

Let’s be clear: fifteen years ago, these large-scale public religious displays by other communities were less visible. And coincidentally, so were those by Hindus. The recent increase in Hindu public expression has nothing to do with the RSS or Modi. It has everything to do with a natural evolution in a multicultural society – a desire to claim the same space and the same rights that every other immigrant group has fought for and won.

The problem isn’t that Hindus are becoming more public. The problem is that a segment of Hindus refuses to grant their own community the same grace and autonomy they effortlessly afford to others. Until that changes, we will continue to see this painful double standard, where our faith is the only one expected to apologize for its own existence.

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Come 12 November 2025 and the Supreme Court will hear Indira Jaising’s case on lowering the age of consent from 18 to 16 in India. One would wonder if Indira Jaising has no other job but to waste the Apex court’s time on something that is detrimental to society, but we never know and not our concern.

The narrative is that the Protection of Children from Sexual Offences (POCSO) Act, 2012, is too harsh, unfairly criminalizing “consensual romantic relationships” between older adolescents and thus, the calls for lowering the age of consent from 18 to 16 years.

The Biology of Adolescence

Modern neuroscience is unambiguous. The prefrontal cortex – the brain region governing decision-making, impulse control, and consequence-evaluation does not mature until the mid-20s. At 16, this critical structure remains incompletely developed, with white matter development continuing well into early adulthood. More significantly, there is a neurological mismatch during adolescence: the limbic system (governing emotion and reward-seeking) matures earlier, creating what scientists term “dual-systems imbalance.”

This means that at 16, teenagers experience heightened sexual drive and emotional intensity coupled with underdeveloped executive control. They may intellectually understand that something is risky yet lack the neurological capacity to override impulses or resist manipulation. Consent obtained from a brain in this developmental stage is not informed consent, it is consent extracted from neurological immaturity.

By 18, while brain development continues, the trajectory shifts markedly. Impulse control strengthens, consequence-evaluation improves, and resistance to manipulation becomes substantially more robust. This neurological reality, confirmed by decades of MRI and longitudinal studies, is the biological foundation for why 18 not 16 serves as a coherent threshold across voting, driving, marriage, and employment.

18: The Bedrock of Legal Adulthood and Responsibility

Before delving into the specifics of POCSO, it’s critical to recognize that 18 is not an arbitrary number. It is the universally recognized threshold for legal adulthood in India, a line drawn after due deliberation to mark the transition from childhood to civic and social responsibility.

Consider the rights and responsibilities that vest at 18:

The Right to Vote: At 18, a citizen is deemed mature enough to elect the government of the world’s largest democracy. We trust them with the future of the nation, yet some argue they are not mature enough to understand the consequences of a sexual relationship.

The Right to Drive: Obtaining a driver’s license at 18 acknowledges the requisite judgment, reflexes, and sense of responsibility to operate a vehicle safely. The state recognizes that this level of cognitive maturity is necessary to protect both the individual and public safety.

The Right to Contract: At 18, an individual can enter into legally binding contracts, be it for education loans, rental agreements, or employment. The law holds them accountable for their financial and legal commitments, believing they can comprehend complex, long-term consequences.

The Age of Marriage: The law sets 18 as the minimum age for women to marry (at least for Hindus in India), recognizing that marriage requires the emotional and mental maturity to build a family and navigate a partnership.

It is a profound contradiction to argue that a 16-year-old is mature enough to consent to sexual activity, a decision with immense physical, emotional, and psychological ramifications while simultaneously holding that they are not mature enough to vote, drive, take a loan, or marry. This coherence across laws is deliberate. It creates a clear, consistent bright line that protects young people and provides legal certainty.

Global comparisons: Why “Lower” Is Not Stronger

Across the world, ages of consent differ but lower legal thresholds are not proof of greater protection or youth empowerment. On the contrary, they often correlate with heightened risks.

Many European countries have ages of consent between 14 and 16 years (for example, Austria, Germany, Italy set it at 14).

Globally, adolescent pregnancies remain a serious challenge: in low- and middle-income countries, an estimated 21 million pregnancies occur each year among girls aged 15-19, of which around half are unintended.

Teenage birth-rates in Europe: in 2022, countries such as Bulgaria recorded almost 10.2 % of births to teenage mothers.

These figures show that simply having a lower age of consent does not guarantee better outcome for minors. It provides a legal minimum, but what matters far more are protective systems, social norms, education and enforcement.

Between 2017 and 2022, 41,083 teenage pregnancies were recorded with 35% (14,561) occurring outside wedlock. In the Philippines, where consent was historically set at 12 and then changed to 16 recently, the situation is grimmer still: over 500 girls aged 15 to 19 become mothers every single day.

Parental Trauma and Inter-generational Effects

Beyond statutory ages and birth-rates, there is another layer too often ignored: the trauma borne by parents, and the consequences for children. Research shows that cumulative maternal trauma (exposure to abuse, substance use, PTSD, etc) predicts higher parenting stress, greater potential for harsh discipline, and in turn higher risk for child behavioural and emotional problems.

What does this mean in the context of lowering the age of consent?

• Earlier sexual activity and adolescent parenting often coincide with disrupted schooling, financial strain, family instability and emotional stress – all potential sources of trauma for both parent and child.
• A minor parent is more likely to experience mental health challenges (depression, anxiety, adverse childhood experiences) which then impact the next generation’s development.
• Legal thresholds of 18 inherently reflect a recognition that full emotional and cognitive maturity takes longer and that children need protection not only from external abuse, but from the cascade of inter-generational damage that exploitation, early parenthood and untreated trauma set in motion.

The Illusion of “Consensual” Adolescent Romance in India

Proponents of change in India often cite studies that claim a significant proportion of POCSO cases involve consensual relationships. But this framing is deeply flawed. The fundamental error lies in taking the term “consensual” at face value. We live in times where sexual grooming has unfortunately become common parlance. How can adults in such a society agree that a 16-year-old’s acquiescence to an older partner ever be considered free and informed?

Lowering the age of consent would provide these predators with a ready-made legal defence, making it exponentially harder to prosecute what is, in essence, sexual exploitation. The experiences of the countries where age of consent is 16 such as in Malaysia and Philippines show us the real-world outcome of such a policy: not liberated youth but exploited adolescents and a surge in teenage pregnancies.

The Indian Data Tells its Own Story

The National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB) data for 2022 paints a clear and sobering picture:

• Over 1.6 lakh crimes against children were registered.
  POCSO cases constituted 56.6% of these, amounting to 91,068 cases in a single year.
• The majority of victims are not older adolescents in romantic entanglements.
• A significant proportion are children below 14, with many under 12, suffering horrific abuse, often at the hands of family members or neighbours.

The claim that POCSO is primarily used to punish teenage love is a dangerous mischaracterization. The law is overwhelmingly applied to combat severe sexual violence against the most vulnerable. Diluting it based on a debatable subset of cases, while ignoring the clear warning from our regional neighbours, would be a catastrophic misstep.

The Predator’s Playbook

The romanticised image of two slightly-older teenagers in a relationship, oppressive law enforcement overreaching bears no resemblance to actual POCSO case profiles. India’s own child protection research documents systematic predation disguised as relationships. A 16-year-old girl is sexually assaulted by a man who funds her expenses and falsely promises marriage. A teenager is drugged, photographed without consent, then coerced into repeated sexual acts through threat of image publication. A 15-year-old is abducted, confined for days, and raped.

These are not innocent romantic entanglements. They are predatory exploitation at scale. Grooming, the deliberate cultivation of trust followed by exploitation is endemic across documented cases. Adult predators exploit power imbalances, economic vulnerability, and developmental naiveté to systematically violate adolescents.

If the age of consent were 16, perpetrators could simply claim consensuality. Prosecutorial burden would shift dramatically; prosecutors would need to prove coercion rather than defendants proving consent. In circumstances where vulnerable adolescents are often unable or unwilling to testify openly, this represents a massive prosecutorial handicap. Lowering the age of consent does not fine-tune justice; it creates legal loopholes through which predators escape.

The Digital Dimension

The landscape of adolescent vulnerability has dramatically shifted. Teenagers face unprecedented exposure to pornography and hypersexualised digital content. Research links frequent exposure to permissive sexual attitudes, earlier sexual debut, and riskier sexual behaviour. It is also associated with elevated rates of depression and anxiety.

In this environment, where predators use online platforms to systematically groom adolescents and where teenagers are inundated with sexualised messaging, lowering the age of consent would remove a critical legal backstop. It would signal to predators that adolescents are sexually available to teenagers that early sexual activity is developmentally appropriate, and to society that we have abandoned our protective obligation to young people.

Sensitivity without dilution

There is legitimate concern that older adolescents in consensual relationships may be swept into criminal processes that are designed for predatory abuse. That calls for better enforcement: judicial discretion, contextual assessments, training of law-enforcement. The juvenile justice system already allows for screening of 16-18 cases for maturity and intent. But lowering the statutory threshold is not the right fix. It substitutes complexity and risk for clarity and protection.

The Line Must Not Move

The campaign to lower the age of consent may be framed as reform, but it is in fact regression from its hard-won protections for children. However eminent the advocates, their argument collapses before the evidence. Neuroscience, developmental psychology, and global public-health data converge on a single truth: adolescence is a period of heightened vulnerability, not full autonomy.

Legal reform must be informed by science and the lived realities of survivors, not by ideological or rhetorical convenience. To dilute the law is to invite harm that cannot be undone.

India’s legislators and courts must hold their ground. The age of 18 is not a matter of sentiment or culture; it is the product of empirical reasoning, constitutional duty, and moral clarity. To compromise it would be to turn away from the very children the law was created to protect.

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The post Why Lowering India’s Age Of Consent Would Erode The Very Foundations Of Child Protection appeared first on The Commune.

America loves to lecture other nations about religious freedom. The U.S. Commission on International Religious Freedom (USCIRF) regularly denounces countries like India for allegedly persecuting Christians, demanding they be designated as “Countries of Particular Concern.” Yet here’s the uncomfortable truth: the American government is simultaneously creating task forces to privilege Christianity at home while Hindu Americans face harassment at the highest levels of government. This is not hypocrisy but a calculated use of religious freedom rhetoric as a geopolitical weapon.

The USCIRF: A Tribunal For Thee, But Not For Me

The mechanism for this hypocrisy is official and well-funded. The U.S. Commission on International Religious Freedom (USCIRF) acts as a global moral arbiter, annually publishing reports that name and shame other nations for their failures. It recommends designating countries as “Countries of Particular Concern” and lectures the world on the path to tolerance.

Yet, this moral authority rings hollow. How can we credibly condemn the suppression of religious minorities abroad when, domestically, we see a concerted push to impose a majoritarian Christian culture? The same political ecosystem that supports USCIRF’s mission often champions a vision of America where non-Christian faiths are treated as foreign, suspect, or simply in need of conversion.

The Vance Case: A Microcosm Of Assimilation

Look no further than the personal story of JD and Usha Vance. Usha Vance has spoken with clarity about her Hindu upbringing, stating it shaped her parents into “really very good people.” Yet, in the public square, her faith has been systematically erased and targeted.

Her husband, the vice president, did not defend her heritage when it was mocked by trolls in his own political base. Instead, he publicly diminished her religious background and expressed his hope that she would “eventually” embrace Christianity. Vance just made a public statement that signals a disturbing norm: your faith is welcome only as a waystation on the road to ours.

This is the domestic reality of “religious freedom” for many in the US: not the liberty to practice one’s faith in peace, but the pressure to assimilate into the dominant Christian identity to be fully accepted.

The Ramaswamy Test: Conditional Acceptance For A “Model Minority”

The experience of Vivek Ramaswamy further exposes the conditional nature of this acceptance. He ran for president as a staunch Hindu, but to be palatable, he was forced to perform a delicate dance. He constantly framed his Hindu beliefs as an echo of “Judeo-Christian values,” a testament to the unspoken rule that to be legitimate, a faith must be validated through a Christian lens.

Despite his compliance, he still faced naked bigotry. When commentator Ann Coulter told him, “I still would not have voted for you because you’re an Indian,” it laid bare the ultimate barrier. His faith, no matter how he packaged it, and his ethnicity were, for a significant portion of the electorate, disqualifying. His story proves that for non-Christians, acceptance is often provisional and can be revoked at any time by the forces of pure prejudice.

Digital Demonization: When Hindu Gods Become Targets

Beyond policy and politics, the cultural hostility toward Hinduism plays out most visibly in the digital sphere. On social media, a network of ultra-Christian zealots — often based in the U.S. — regularly circulate abusive caricatures of Hindu gods and goddesses, depicting them as “demons,” “false idols,” or “Satanic figures.” Organized evangelical pages and YouTube channels openly call for “breaking the idols of India,” echoing a colonial-era contempt dressed up as modern evangelism.

Platforms like X (formerly Twitter), Facebook, and Instagram are flooded with memes that mock Hindu deities, equating sacred symbols like Om, Shiva, and Durga with devil imagery. These attacks rarely face moderation, even as the same companies swiftly censor perceived “hate speech” against Christianity or Islam. Hindu Americans who call out such bigotry are dismissed as “Hindutva extremists,” while their abusers hide behind the language of “religious freedom” and “free speech.”

Alexander Duncan, a Republican leader from Texas, posted on social media:
“Why are we allowing a false statue of a false Hindu God to be here in Texas? We are a CHRISTIAN nation!”

He was referring to the 90-ft statue of Lord Hanuman at the Sri Ashtalakshmi Temple in Sugar Land, Texas.

The statue continues to face online attacks from MAGA supporters since its unveiling in 2024.

This is not fringe behavior — it reflects a deeper ecosystem that normalizes the vilification of Hinduism while presenting Christianity as the universal moral standard. The irony is stark: the same America that lectures India about tolerance harbors online crusaders who actively dehumanize Hindu belief, often with silent approval from the very institutions claiming to defend religious liberty.

The Great American Sham

This is the great American sham. They cry freedom of religion through USCIRF in other countries, pointing fingers at nations that privilege a state religion or a majority faith. Yet, simultaneously, a powerful movement in their politics seeks to do the very same thing in their country – impose a Christian identity on their laws, their culture, and their national self-concept.

Until America extends genuine religious freedom protection to its own minorities, until it stops lecturing other nations, until a Vice President can’t publicly hope his wife converts, until Hindu candidates aren’t subjected to religious tests for office, American preaching about global religious freedom will remain what it truly is: cynical geopolitical theatre masquerading as principle. The hypocrisy isn’t incidental. It’s the entire point.

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The post Convert, Confirm Or Be Cancelled: Religious Freedom In US Is A Sham, A Country That Preaches Freedom Abroad But Practices Intolerance At Home appeared first on The Commune.

In world cricket, expressions of faith have always had a curious double standard. When Western players kneel, pray, or point heavenward, it is described as “spiritual,” “humble,” or “deeply moving.” When Indian athletes express pride in their Hindu faith by saying “Jai Shri Ram” or “Har Har Mahadev”, the same global commentators suddenly find it “polarizing” or “majoritarian.”

The recent example of Jemimah Rodrigues has brought this contradiction into sharp focus.

In India’s stunning semi-final win over Australia, Rodrigues played the innings of her life – a magnificent 127* that powered the women’s team into the World Cup final. As cameras rolled and the world waited for her reaction, she began her speech not with a tribute to the tricolour, not to her team, but to Jesus. “Firstly, I want to thank Jesus, because I couldn’t do this on my own. I know He carried me through today,” she said.

Jemimah Rodrigues the gem of a person u are pic.twitter.com/vXWdPpc3lI

— Plow Wan (@usermodeabc) October 30, 2025

No one condemned her. Nor should they have. Faith is personal, and she had every right to express it publicly.

But imagine, for a moment, if a Hindu player had said, “I want to thank Lord Ram, He gave me strength,” or quoted a verse from the Bhagavad Gita instead of the Bible. Would the reaction have been as serene? Would the same media outlets have called it “graceful faith,” or would they have exploded with editorials about “religion entering the playing field”?

This hypocrisy has persisted for decades, nurtured by the colonial hangover that still defines what is “acceptable” belief in public life.

The irony deepens when we look beyond the field. Rodrigues’s father, Ivan Rodrigues, a preacher associated with Bro Manuel Ministries, allegedly used Mumbai’s Khar Gymkhana where Jemimah herself held honorary membership, to host a series of evangelical gatherings aimed at “bringing people to Christ.” After members complained of repeated use of the club for religious events, Jemimah’s membership was revoked. The same liberal ecosystem that celebrates her “faith journey” had little to say about these alleged attempts at proselytization inside a secular institution.

Her old video, now resurfaced, shows a teenage Jemimah testifying about “how Jesus made her score 25 runs” before collapsing in what appears to be a charismatic-style religious trance — again, an overtly religious moment treated as harmless.

As Jemimah Rodrigues takes India to finals, here’s her old video from an evangelical event where her father used her for proselytising purposes.

In the video, as the host approaches Jemimah, she acts as if she is possessed and collapses on the ground. pic.twitter.com/IJ739Vplas

— Brutal Truth (@sarkarstix) October 30, 2025

Let us be clear: no one questions Jemimah’s right to believe. What needs questioning is the hypocrisy of those who champion “freedom of religion” for evangelicals abroad, often through platforms like the USCIRF or the Western press, but shame Hindus at home for expressing their devotion openly.

If Jemimah can thank Jesus, Hindu players should never hesitate to thank their Bhagwan. If an Indian Christian can quote Scripture on camera, an Indian Hindu should feel no guilt in chanting “Jai Shri Ram” or “Har Har Mahadev” when they triumph.

Take, for instance, players from Pakistan or other Muslim-majority teams. It is routine for them to bow in sajda after reaching a milestone or to gather for namaz on the field — powerful public affirmations of their faith. No Western journalist calls it “divisive” or “inappropriate.”

Yet, if an Indian cricketer were to fold hands before the stumps or raise a “Jai Shri Ram” after a victory, the same global commentators who applaud namaz would be quick to label it “majoritarian” or “Hindu nationalist.” This selective outrage exposes not a concern for secularism, but a deep discomfort with unapologetic Hindu expression.

For too long, Hindus have been conditioned to suppress visible faith, to whisper their prayers while others preach theirs. That era must end. Equality in expression means equal respect for every form of faith, not selective celebration based on Western comfort.

So yes, thank you Jemimah Rodrigues. Not for the runs alone, but for reminding a billion Hindus that belief, too, deserves its voice. That faith does not have to be hidden. And that if Jesus can be thanked at the crease, then so can Ram.

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The post If Thanking Jesus And Allah Is Not A Problem, Why Is ‘Jai Shri Ram’ Communal? appeared first on The Commune.